Bits and Pieces

Eating at my desk

I realize this isn't the prettiest picture I have ever posted but I had to share.  It's like someone that saw an accident and had to share the gory details with anyone that would stand still long enough to listen.

Sometimes I eat a microwave meal (TV dinner for those that are my age) at work because I didn't have time to prepare something before leaving home.  This mess is Swanson's turkey, gravy & stuffing, mashed potato entree.   As I was sitting at my desk eating it while working, I looked down and realized that I was eating the turkey and stuffing from the bottom and the mashed potatoes from the top.  WTF!  I scared myself.  What holy hell does some part of my brain create?

Poppy getting cozy on the couch

Here is a cute picture of Poppy I took last night to get rid of the above thoughts and images.

Tacked onto a tree at the Myakka City post office's parking lot 

For those that aren't in the know, Myakka City has one flashing traffic light and a lot of farm land and livestock.  When the weather affords it and I roll my car windows down, my commute from Sarasota to Myakka can be quite fragrant!  

One of the things I do on my way in is stop at the post office to pick up the company mail.  The pick up service hours (post office jargon for when a post office employee is available and at the window to help customers) this post office offers are Monday-Friday 9:00am - 11:00am then 1:00pm - 4:00pm; Saturday 10:00am - 12:00pm.  Lucky for me the lobby hours are 24/7.   

This morning, as I pulled into my regular parking spot, I noticed the above sign tacked, literally with office type thumb tacks, to a tree.  This tree is located at the end of a parking spot so if someone ignored the length of the parking space they would immediately hit the tree.  Here is my ultra-creative picture I just drew in the paint program so that you would know what I mean:

The green oval is the tree and the grey rectangle is the parking space....in case you couldn't figure that out for yourself and you thought I was attempting a self-portrait.  

I sat in my car looking at the sign trying to figure it out.  Slow down.  Slow down?  I'm in a parking lot.  What was the meaning the artist was trying to convey?  Then I read the response written in black under the colorful command.  I hope you laughed, too.

The beauty of Myakka City

Easier on the eye than my lunch pic, huh?

Lastly, a round of applause for my 2006 Ford Taurus SE:

And you thought FORD stood for Found On Road Dead

Freedom

How does one define freedom?  Is it not owning anything that makes one free or is it owning so much there is no longer a need?  Is it not each one's mindset because each on thinks he is complete?  In the end, is freedom defined in the mind no matter the circumstances?  Reality shifts depending on our perception of it.

Pockets of Sunshine

The world can be a beautiful place.  Maybe not everywhere at the same time but a pocket here and a pocket there joy and happiness are exploding from earth's surface to the heavens.

I eat dinner tonight and I have enough to be full.  I look outside and it is pouring, as is the norm in Florida summer afternoons, and I am inside and dry.

I have my dog sitting on my lap and I feel loved.  He is the best kisser, you know.  When I walk in the door after a long day at work I pick him up and he holds my face with his paws and covers me with kisses.  He bends his head down so that it rests in the crook of my neck.  I try to give him his fill of love back and release him back to the floor when he is ready.

There are pockets of happiness.  Sometimes they are very hard to find and we feel like it is impossible.  There are dark times.  There is always going to be a challenge in one form or another as long as I am alive.

What I need to do is live my life as if I am taking a walk in a forest knowing that at times in my journey the sun has trouble breaking through the tops of the trees but there will be pockets of it, some small and some large, that will warm me and provide light as I hike along.  I may get lost but I need to know I will still have a path whether it is well worn or I am making it as I go.

I also need to remind myself that it is OK to stop to rest.  It is OK to be sad sometimes.  What is not OK is to let the darkness in and take root.  I need to walk through it because somewhere up ahead is another pocket of sunshine.

Barefooted

Is it better to have loved and lost?  Do we crave that closeness, companionship, and touch so much that we are willing to put ourselves out there time and time again?  How many scars does it take for a heart to have trouble beating?  Does the drive to love and be loved back push us and move us to action or do we resist?  And, if we resist, does it cripple us?

http://www.heart.org/HEARTORG/Conditions/More/Cardiomyopathy/Is-Broken-Heart-Syndrome-Real_UCM_448547_Article.jsp

We can literally die from a broken heart. I have read about this and although science comes up with some really mind blowing new things, the poets and the playwrights have always known this.  The grieving half of what was once a whole have always known it.  Science has finally proven it.  Facts instead of prose.

If we have always known it, why do we take the chance?  Why did you take the chance?  To fulfill your own needs?  To make life better, more fulfilling?  To have a family?

Was it by chance?  Did it sneak up on you when you weren't looking?  Some fall in love and some make a decision based upon pros and cons, future plans, and calculations.

Love is tricky.  Defining it is impossible as language can only try to communicate what fills one's heart.  Who we love and how we love are varied and some stand in judgment of others.

One may look at a shoe and describe how it looks, how it works, and for what it is used but until one puts on the shoe one cannot describe how it feels.

Some of us keep trying on different shoes seeking the right pair and as we sit in our chairs we become surrounded by discarded shoe boxes filled with pairs that weren't right, weren't comfortable. Some of us are determined none will do while others are happy with the first pair just knowing that one day they will be broken in and comfortable.

Some are happy to walk through life barefooted.  Is it better to have loved and lost?

Giving Up

Giving up is the beginning of freedom.
Dying to want is the beginning of love.
Letting go is the beginning of living.

It is not by my hand that I shall live.
Although I have considered it, it is not by my hand I shall die.
If I run alongside the river of truth
I will always know my path.

Each day when the flag is lowered and taps is played
Each night when my head rests upon my pillow
I will be done for that day.
I shall not carry the worst or the best to bed with me as they will rot
And I do not wish to entangle myself between the sheets with what is done and gone.

When my bare feet touch the floor
While the birds of the morn are calling
I will lean forward into the new day
To practice.  To maybe get it right.

Roses and Thorns (The completed short story of 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 at the end of the bed, got up, stretched, meowed, and jumped down.  Rose watched the feline haughtily walk out of the bedroom.  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, the end of sorrow, and the end of anger.  Her eyes quickly filled with tears that overflowed onto her cheeks, running down the sides of her face and tickling her ears as their descent slowed and pooled.  She made no sound as she had stopped sobbing so long ago.  Somehow someway she was going to make this pain stop.  She was going to find a way.

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

The cat ran back into the bedroom and flying onto the bed came to a quick stop in front of Rose.  She couldn't help but laugh and reaching over petted her.  Rose 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 Tim’s picture on the dresser seemed to jump out at her in 3D. With a sharp intake of breathe, she refused to again be consumed by her emotions.  She forced her eyes from the photograph to the mirror and this time gasped with disgust.  “Oh my God,” she said as she turned to her cat.  “Lovey, how can you even look at me?”  Lovey answered by rubbing her head against Rose’s arm.

As she walked to the bathroom she peeled off her t-shirt and underwear balling them up and throwing them into the already overflowing hamper.  One arm peeked out from under the lid as if it wasn't ready to say that final goodbye.  The tiles of the bathroom floor felt cool under her feet, solid and sure.  Lovey jumped onto the toilet lid and watched as Rose turned on the shower and tested the water.  Just before climbing in, Rose reached over and tickled Lovey’s chin.

The spray hit the top of her head as she bowed under its stream leaning with both hands on the shower wall.  A flash of memory exploded inside her head.  “You bitch!”  Tim was slurring his words as spittle sprayed from his lips trying to intimidate her by crowding her with his body and height.  Shit.  Breathe.  Breathe through it.  Let it happen and then let it pass.  And so she did.

Rose walked back into the bedroom naked and still 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 into the acceptance stage like a baseball player slides into home plate.  Sighing, she thought out loud, “This is hard work.”

With patience, Lovey sat in the wicker chair by the window watching Rose pick-up the multitude of dirty clothes off of the floor and then tear the filthy sheets from the bed.  The cat only cracked the whip when hungry.

Rose stuffed everything into the laundry hamper and 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.

As Rose picked out a clean pair of underwear from her dresser drawer, Tim’s picture assaulted her again.  “Dammit!”  She assaulted it back by picking it up and slamming it into the trash can with such violence that the wooden frame flew apart and the glass shattered.  “Fuck you!”  Yep.  The anger phase.

She was breathing hard from the exertion when the next memory lit up her brain.  Fear was squeezing her hard as she wiped his spittle from her face.  Tim’s gait was unsteady as he weaved his way towards the back door grabbing the car keys nearly ripping the hook out of the wall at the same time.  Rose ran up to him and demanded he hand them over to her.  He was in no shape to drive.  All at once he was upon her choking her with his free hand.  “I am not drunk!”

Clarity, just for a second, hit him.  Tim let go of Rose his hand dropping to his side.  She saw remorse and disgust bloom in his eyes.  Quietly he slurred, “I have to go,” and walked out the door.

Her heart was pounding in her chest and sweat slid from her brow into her eyes.  She realized she was sitting on the floor and had no idea when that happened.  Lovey walked over and meowed as she rubbed against Rose’s hip.  Jeez, she still wasn’t dressed.  Her therapist said she had Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder with a topping of panic attacks.  Rose was learning all sorts of new lingo but this was not the kind of education she wanted, although she definitely paid for it.

Sitting at the breakfast nook she drank coffee.  The resulting acid in her empty stomach made her nauseous.  Toast would help.  Rose ended up eating four slices loaded with strawberry jam and butter.  Mmmmmmmmmm….sugary sweetness.

Chapter 1

Rose was standing at the kitchen sink washing the dishes that had been left there from both breakfast and lunch.  Calm in her routine, her hands were warm from the sudsy water.  The cotton dress she wore felt soft on her body and with each gentle gust of wind coming in from the open side door the dress kissed her legs.  Looking out the kitchen window, she 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 and as she watched the tall grass sway in the breeze, peace continued to fill her heart and quiet her mind.

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

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

“Hey, Big Man.  How’s your day going,” Rose asked as she turned around to face him.  He kept her snug in his arms even when she reached up to unbutton his shirt so that she could run her fingers through his soft curly chest hair that she loved so much.  Rose then rubbed her face where her fingers had been and inhaled deeply.  Jeff always smelled so 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, just as she had been doing, and probably thinking about next week - just as she had been doing.  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 felt the change and taking her by the arms pushed her away from him just enough to be able to see her face.  Automatically she tilted her head up.  Looking into his soft brown eyes, her smile started off as brave and then crumpled.  Rose’s eyes filled with tears even though she wanted so badly to not give in to the desperation she hated to admit she felt.  She couldn’t imagine life without him.  After all that she survived, 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.  It got quiet again when Bill transitioned to the carpeted hallway.  Outside their closed bedroom door, he lied down and rested his big head between his front paws.

Chapter 2

Turning her head to see the clock, Rose was not surprised that it was 6:30 pm.  She was wide awake lying in bed next to Jeff.  He was a quiet sleeper and when they first had overnight visits she would check on him like a mother does her newborn to make sure he was breathing. 

The dog had to be let out and fed.  Dinner had to be made, too, but she didn't want to be out from under Jeff’s embrace.  It felt heavy, strong, and good.  Feeling safe, she looked up at the ceiling and let her mind wander. 

She was back at her old house in her old kitchen eating the toast spread with the sweet jam.  The memory, still so vivid even after the decade had passed, made her mouth water so much she had to swallow.  Rose opened her eyes again, this time to look at Jeff.  The desire to touch his black hair and run her finger down his cheek to his lips immediately possessed her.  Holding the impulse back, more important than indulging herself was not waking him up.  To her, he was the most beautiful man she had ever seen.  Even in the dimness of the room she could see his end-of-the-day stubble and she didn't have to touch it now to know its roughness.  He had teased her enough rubbing it against her face.  His broad shoulder made a peak under the summer blanket and she followed the slope to his slim hip down to his feet.  Rose knew every inch of him.  The day he entered her life, the sun came out on a permanent basis. 

From past experience, Rose knew that Bill was just outside the bedroom door and he needed her care, too. 

At the sound of Rose getting out of bed, Bill sat up 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 knelt down on the floor and gave Bill a big hug around is soft furry neck.  They walked down the hall together, through the kitchen, and out the door.

Rose sat in the same wicker chair from way back when as it was one of the few things she kept from those days and watched Bill make a mad dash to the nearest bush and unceremoniously lift his leg.  It was that eerie but lovely time of early evening when the day creatures start turning in for the night and the nocturnal ones are just getting started. 

How selfish was it of her that as Jeff faced the surgery he needed to save his life she was worried about the possibility of how she would make it without the one she loved. 

As Rose watched Bill in the yard, she thought back to Tim.

Chapter 3

She had loved Tim with every molecule of her body.  From the first time she saw him something fantastic and strange happened and she felt complete.  Those ever present nagging feelings of searching for something, needing something she didn't have immediately disappeared.  Rose thought that night when Tim was so drunk and violent, when he became Mr. Hyde to his Dr. Jekyll, that night when he drove drunk and died, she died with him.  She thought she would never recover from the loss, the guilt, but mostly the pain.  Her silver lining was that he didn't take anyone else’s life but his.   Even so, the pain was overwhelming.  That part of herself that she had finally found, reveled in as it snapped into place inside the core of her, had been ripped from her soul.  Before meeting Tim she knew she was missing something undefinable.  After that awful night, she knew exactly what it was and that she would never have it back.  The incompleteness drilled deeply through her heart and kept going until it gouged a cavern into her humanity.  That was why she had had trouble leaving her bed.  That is why she hadn't cared if she ate or bathed.  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.

Jeff was the love she thought she would never have, let alone try to find.  He was gentle and kind instead of fireworks and cotton candy.  He was strong and brave.  He was her cowboy and although she did not love him in the same way as she had Tim, she loved Jeff with all of her heart and she knew in her bones that he felt the same way about her. 

Her thoughts had come full circle when she 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?”

Jeff could always tell when she was thinking back to the time she nearly lost herself.  It made him sad when she tortured herself like that but he would never show her that.  He was her rock and he knew that.  He also knew that she felt guilty about still wanting, no, needing him to be strong now, too.  He wanted to be her man and everything that that required.  He wanted her and loved her.  He needed her as much as he needed to breath. 

Jeff held the screen door open for her and she gave him a kiss on the cheek as she walked past him into the house.  Bill followed behind Rose and Jeff followed behind Bill and closed the door behind them.

EPILOGUE

Rose stiffly sat on a puffy chair in the waiting area that some decorator tried to make cozy.  It was still the hospital and she was still waiting to hear from Jeff’s surgeon so no amount of dreamy colors or soft furniture was ever going to be cozy or comfortable.  She stopped drinking coffee hours ago and switched to diet soda.  When that lost its allure, she sipped on bottled water.  The TV was blah, blah, blah and when she tried reading the words made no sense.  She looked out the window and wished she could at least pace the sidewalk but if she did that she would probably miss the doctor’s arrival.  She hadn't felt this kind of anxiety for many years and was trying to remember the tricks her therapist had taught her.

Upon hearing her name being called, Rose turned away from the window.  She saw that it was Jeff’s doctor and he was smiling. 

The Weekend the House was Tented

Poppy taking advantage of Teddy's absence and rummaging through Teddy's toy stash.

This weekend Poppy and I stayed at my mom’s house while the house I am renting was tented. 

Die, mother fucking fleas!!!!! 

Thursday night I sweated through nearly 2 hours of double bagging anything edible in the fridge, in the freezer, and dry goods on the shelves.  Anything that could be ingested by both human and animal also needed to be double bagged.  Don’t overlook any kind of medicine, health and personal care items like mouthwash and toothpaste that had been opened or not in the original packaging, and make-up.  Do you can see why it was such a pain in the ass?  I also had to pack for the weekend for myself, Poppy, and the cats. 

I dropped the cats off to the vet Friday morning before work.  This was after looking for Trixie for 20 minutes, finding her behind the washing machine, using a broom to get her out, grabbing her, backing her into the carrier ass first, and finally locking her in.  A couple of scratches later and with sweat streaming down my head and face, the mission was accomplished.  Why did I bother starting the day with a shower?  This fiasco cut into my flea combing time and now the cats would have to be dropped off without it.  Embarrassing but it is out of my hands.

It just happened to work out that my mother was out of town this past weekend so it was just Poppy and me camped out until Sunday afternoon when my landlord was to text me the “all clear” and Poppy and I could return home.  The time frame provided was the whole afternoon and being just a tad OCD I forced myself to relax into the unknown.  I did not have control over it so I let go of it.

Something else I had to lean into and accept was that I would be without internet access unless I wanted to leave Poppy alone and venture out and TV options would be greatly diminished as my mother’s viewing needs are not the same as mine.  I knew that I would probably feel a little like I was marooned on a small island.  It ended up feeling more like a mini vacation.  I was stuck in the situation so I thought of it as a forced exile from the pressure of errands and other routine weekend rituals.

Poppy was so excited, knowing where we were by the change in the smell of the air that blew from the car’s air conditioner.  He ran into my mother’s house expecting to be greeted by Teddy, Shadow, and Nana.  As he made his way into the living room, I could see him realize that that the house was empty.  It was a little too weird for him and he didn't eat much for the remainder of our time there.  I didn't know that it was possible, but when we went to bed he was glued to my side even more.  When I would move him over to make room for myself in the bed he would panic. 

It was weird for me, too.  I would go to my laptop to indulge in internet time and remember I couldn't.  There was no TV guide/menu button on the remote so I had to flip through the channels or sit on channel 2 watching the channel programming scroll.  Then, I found HD channels that weren't listed anywhere. 

I started reading a new book, thanks to my brother-in-law’s mother who supplied me with a grocery bag full of them from which to choose.

All night it was quiet unlike at home where there is always something going on because of the street sweeper company next door that does most of their work in the overnight hours, my crazy sometimes druggy sometimes fighting neighbors across the street, or the Hispanic families a bit down the street celebrating someone’s birthday with a loud music-filled party.

Poppy got a lot of walks and I sweated some more in the heat and humidity of Florida.  People that didn’t know me waved to me from their cars as they drove by.  One man barked from out of his open car window.  I’m still unsure as to why he thought that would be funny.  I donated a poop bag from my roll to a lady whose miniature Dachshund had diarrhea.  I answered the door to a neighbor who asked if while she went back up north for a couple of months my mother would water her hanging plant.  I told her to just add it to the rest of them and it would be no problem.

I took a relaxing bath with ¼ of a jar of Dead Sea bath salts on Friday night and then again Saturday night.  Since I only have a shower at home, I took advantage of what has become a luxury.  Poppy also got a bath but I don’t think he considered his relaxing or a luxury.

Because Poppy was feeling off kilter, my only outing was when I went out Saturday night for Chinese take-out, a small gift and card for my mother, and lottery tickets.

Sunday afternoon around 1 p.m. I got the text from my landlord the tenting company took some readings and it was safe to return.  Woohoo!  I packed all of our stuff back up, made sure to take out the trash, clean any dirty dishes, and make our footprint as small as possible. 

I picked up the cats after work tonight and now we are back home and hopefully flea free.  I spent the weekend in the Twilight Zone.  It is good to feel normal again.  Relatively speaking.

How do I use the plug in the bathroom?

This is how.

Dad

My father was the best dancer.  He loved playing his Big Band albums on the hulking stereo system that lived in the living room.  He would grab me up and with patience and happiness he taught me how to be his dance partner.

I think he found freedom when he danced. To this day I am told by his friends from childhood what a great dancer he was.  As a teenager, to me weddings meant more than a couple's nuptials. They were when my father and I could spread out on the huge wooden dance floor and have fun.  I couldn't help but have a silly grin plastered on my face whenever we did that because he had one on his face, too.  The last time we danced at a wedding he took my hand as we walked out onto the dance floor and cautioned me that he could probably safely only manage one dance.  He had had a couple of heart attacks and heart surgery.  He was outliving the doctor's predictions but he was feeling his physical limitations more acutely.  

We got out on the floor and once again entered the world we created together with music and steps.  I knew when to turn, when to look for his hand, what he would do next.  The moments we danced together were golden.  My best memories are of those times.  I can still feel his cheek pressed against mine.  I can still smell his cologne.

Being his daughter was not always easy so when, after not making it out of his last surgery in 1992, he passed on, I didn't cry.

He is buried very close to where I live.  I drive past him every day commuting to and from work.  When I think about it I wave and turn my head in his direction and say, "Hi, Dad!"  This afternoon on my way to run errands, I visited his grave.

I parked, turned off the car, and reached for a stone of sorts that I had found at the beach a while back and was still located near the cup holder.  I was getting choked up as I swung the car door open and got out.  It had been a couple of years since I was last there and I meandered a bit as I headed in the direction I knew to be correct.  Tears were running down my face as I looked and when I saw his name I started sobbing.  As is Jewish custom, I crouched down and put the stone from the beach on his tombstone.  The sobbing and the tears kept coming.  Standing up, taking off my sunglasses, wiping my eyes, still crying.  It took 22 years but finally the anger was gone.  My heart could break for the father I lost way too soon.

No Waste

Rickety tickety tock
Blickety flickety flock
Running around, arms on a clock

Blippety flippety flop
Strippety mippety mop
Running hard
Heart wanting to pop

Racing, keep pacing
Flying, keep trying
Speeding forward ahead of the line

Fingers gripping the life
Out of life
Squeezing, forcing the seeds of
Despair, disdain, dislike, distaste
No waste

My Bedroom

My Bedroom

How strange is it that my bedroom, at 53 years of age, looks like it could also be a 16 year old's?  I guess it is okay since otherwise I am a responsible adult.  The bills get paid on time, I go to work where I am a conscientious employee, and the oil in my car gets changed as recommended by the sticker on the windshield.  

I like to play.  I certainly don't feel my age although there are times when I feel 100.  Have you noticed that my lamps don't match?

  

I am an Introvert

I am introverted.  I talk only when I feel that what I have to say is something of substance.  I will add my input only when there is a large enough lull in the conversation as barging in with my two cents is uncomely.  I will make small talk when the situation forces me into it but am very uncomfortable doing so.  I usually end up kicking myself under the table because of the stupid things that Hai Karate themselves out of my mouth attacking the listener in the brain.  More often than not I walk away from the conversation feeling like a moron.

A couple of years ago I was talking with a co-worker and he started to chuckle.  As far as I knew nothing funny was said so I asked him about it.  He very bluntly stated, "You are Sheldon."  For those of you that watch The Big Bang Theory, this needs no explanation.  For those of you that don't watch the show, Google it.

It's weird.  Half of the population thinks I am charming and gets a kick out of me.  The other half are offended by me.  I am actually much less introverted than I used to be.  As a teenager, in social situations it was hard for anyone to get two sentences out of me.  As a young adult, when I went out on my first date with my soon to be husband, he carried the whole conversation all night.  As an adult, I find that I gravitate towards the more outgoing and forthright individuals as they allow me to be me without thinking that I hate them.  I think these types of people find me soothing to be around because while at times I may be a horrible talker, I am always an excellent listener.  Just don't abuse my ears or my patience because while I can be quiet, it doesn't mean I am enthralled or, to the contrary, not being thoughtful, analytic, and empathetic.  Quoting a friend, "Don't let this dumb look on my face fool you."

In a world where being outgoing, friendly, and the life of the party is extolled, us introverts get a bad rap.  Our quietness can be intimidating, unnerving, and misunderstood.  Oppositely, we find those that jump on tables and swing from the ceiling fans gives us cause for burrowing even deeper into our protective shell.

Lastly, please don't confuse introversion with being shy.  I have no problem walking up to you, shaking hands, and introducing myself.  I am unafraid of being judged.  I just find large social situations to be way too stimulating.  For further information on the difference, please click on this link:

http://www.thepowerofintroverts.com/2011/07/05/are-you-shy-introverted-both-or-neither-and-why-does-it-matter/

I once lamented to a friend that I wished I could be more extroverted.  She said to me, "If we all were talkers, who would be there to listen?"

Now let's all channel Julie Andrews and sing, "Getting to know you, getting to know all about you, getting to like you, getting to hope you like me....."

Rules do apply to you, too.

Yesterday morning Poppy and I were in the car waiting for the light to change from red to green.  We were just starting the drive from home to Mom's house, as we typically do on Sundays.

I was the one driving and Poppy would soon start the battle of wills as he believes he should help.  He has full access to look out the passenger side window but instead pointedly tries to cram himself between the steering wheel and me.  Placing his front paws on the steering wheel and his butt on my stomach, he uses my chest to lean back on.  This way he is able to comfortably see the activities in front and to both sides of the car.  This is important to him as he polices the other drivers and with either silence or barking delegates them to either the "Good Driver" or "Bad Driver" categories.  I'm not sure what the parameters are, but he's got the checklist memorized.

This is the first light I encounter when leaving my house.  It is also the longest light on the planet.  I have sat in front of this light for 2 minutes anticipating moving my foot from the brake pedal to the gas.  It really is 2 minutes long.  I have timed it.  This is FOREVER especially on work days!  It is also teeth grinding when you are car number 5 and car number 4 is being driven by Mr. Slow MoFo who takes a 1/2 an hour to move then another 1/2 an hour to make a right hand turn causing you to have to sit through the light again.  The good news is that recently there was a pneumatic road tube counter laid across the road so that traffic volume could be counted and since last week the light doesn't last more than 1 minute tops so just as I am ready to break out into hives from the anticipation the light changes.

It is about 10 am when Poppy and I are at the red light trying to be patient.  We feel pretty good because he knows we are going to see Teddy, the terrier, at Nana's house and I have the upcoming week off of work.  A pedestrian starts to cross the street in the designated crosswalk and then the light turns green.  Depending on the walker's speed, I may have to sit through this light again.  Eventually he makes his way to the other side of the street and the light is still green!  Foot on gas, moving forward, making our way into the intersection and then movement in my peripheral vision causes me to look to my left.  I am still moving forward.  I look up and check.  Yes, my light is green which means the opposing traffic should be stopped at a red light....which they are.  All of the cars are stopped.  What the hell?  It is a bicyclist running a red light.  RUNNING A RED LIGHT.  He is peddling bent over his handle bars in his bicyclist helmet and tight uniform ignoring the red light.

Without braking, he corrects his trajectory and scoots behind me.  What if there was someone behind me?  I continue driving and look in my review mirror while calling this person all kinds of names from the benign moron to more colorful adjectives.  I am experiencing the after-terror adrenaline shakes and my breathing is jagged.  I have to loosen my grip on the wheel and as I come back to being present in the moment I look for Poppy with my hand to check on him.  Sensing something upsetting just happened, he is quiet and his ears are folded down submissively.  I talk to him and tell him everything is okay and he recovers much more quickly than I.  I could have killed that man.

I don't understand why bicyclists don't think the traffic laws apply to them and this is where I get judgmental only because it has been my experience.  It seems that the ones that ride the expensive bikes with the fancy outfits are also the ones that think they are above the rules.  The thick-wheeled bikes being ridden by people in street clothes normally align themselves with traffic. I have even seen them get off of their bikes to walk them across the intersections.

This man put his life in danger and he also could have ruined mine.  For Pete's sake, bicyclists, when you decide to ride in downtown traffic, obey the traffic rules!  I hope what happened had an impact on him but I am not counting on it.  If he didn't learn this time then it wouldn't surprise me the lesson is put in front of him again.

You never have to ask

You never have to ask your dog how much he or she loves you.

Poppy snuggling with Senator

Mom

My mother and I have not been close our whole lives.  It isn't until the past year that we've found peace.  There has always been some kind of weird behavior from my mother towards me that she has a hard time controlling.  She has admitted to it on and off through the past 10 years most recently about three months ago.  She has apologized to me again and again for "not being nice to me" and I know that a large part of it is that she feels that if she had loved me properly and treated me kindly I would not be in the position I am in now.

One of my earliest memories of my mother is when I was somewhere around 4 years old.  I was in the front yard playing while she was taking a nap on the couch in the living room.  This was the early '60s in a small town at a time when it was safe to let your kid do that.  Being curious, I observed a bee a little too closely as it went about it's business in the bushes and I got stung.  Crying, I ran into the house to my mother asking for solace and help. Instead I was told to go back outside and play.  Everything was fine.

I no longer experience emotional pain when I recall this.  With age comes acceptance plus my mother has apologized enough.  She is 79 and I don't want her to be awash in guilt.

The position I am in now is I am making 36% less money in Florida than I did in Baltimore. I live in a house where 95% of the windows are painted shut and the ones that I can open don't stay open unless there is something propped up keeping them that way.  There are termites and the bedroom carpeting, despite my vacuuming efforts, is a luxury spa for fleas.  Since last fall my landlord has promised he will tent the house.

The appliances were new in the '70s except for the microwave that my landlord replaced last year.
Since the old one was part of a stove/oven/microwave combo, the new one sits on a table in the kitchen.

Because I left my abusive alcoholic ex-husband who wouldn't allow the 40 some odd potential buyers into the house I used to own to view it to make a possible $40,000 profit, I have been in the foreclosure process and have been notified I owe a lot of money despite the auctioning off of the house that was a couple thousand short of the asking price.

Getting back to my mother.  I routinely call her on my drive home from work.  It keeps me awake after a long day,  the hour long drive seems shorter, and I can give her the time she wants.  As we were talking yesterday afternoon, Poppy's allergies came up which was followed by the subject of fleas and termites.  My mother with a voice choked with emotion said, "I can't believe a child of mine is living this way."  I told her it was okay and I wasn't ashamed to live where I do.  Of course I wish I was living somewhere nicer but in the end we all die and we can't take it with us.  Whatever we do in our present lives will end and some day we will be back and I hope the next life, having learned what I have in this life, will be cushier.

I have lived through cancer and decisions I made hoping they would patch-up emotional wounds.  I no longer raise my fists in response to fists being raised at me.  I can admit to imperfection without losing my sense of self.  I can cry without feeling less than.  I can feel weak or strong without guilt and/or the sense that I am letting someone down or carrying them.  The only expectations I aim to fulfill are my own; the ones I set for myself.

I love my mother and I accept her.  She is not going to change and she loves me with all of her heart as best she can.  I am going to enjoy and cherish her and sometimes grit my teeth because of her but I will do it until I don't have her anymore.

Rose and Jeff Continued

Jeff could always tell when she was thinking back to the time she nearly lost herself completely.  It made him sad when she did but he would never show her that.  He was her rock and he knew that.  He also knew that she felt guilty about still wanting him to be strong even when facing the prospect of his own mortality.  He wanted her and loved her and needed her as much as he needed to breath.  He knew that she knew but neither one wanted to say it aloud for fear of jinxing the world they created together.

Stained with Red

I never asked you to change for me, to make my life better.  I thought it all would come naturally and a little of it did but it didn't last.  How can I know you if you don't know yourself?  The evil twins and their handmaiden surrounded you.  Your past clung to you like a dying man to a stick in the water wanting to use you to keep it alive.

How is it that my heart still bleeds for you?  For you?  I don't even know you.  The real you.  How is it that the pain of loss is still alive?  I keep thinking I have pulled the knife out only to look down and discover it is still there.  Just a little messier.  The handle a little more stained with red.

Rah-rah!

I am my dog's cheerleader.  When he poops or pees on his puppy pad, I set off the celebratory fireworks and get out my pom-poms.  It is weird.

I always had large dogs.  My whole life, in fact, and that includes when I was a kid.  Wait.  I'm lying.  French poodles are not large dogs but they aren't teeny, either.  They have bladders large enough to hold their pee.

With Poppy everything was different and I had a steep learning curve that required me to sprint up it.  No time to lollygag.  Chihuahuas can't hold it the same way large dogs can.  When told I needed to train him to go on puppy pads, I squidged up my nose.  Say what?  No dog of mine is going to have to use a puppy pad for evah!

Wrong.  It was the best move I made.  It saved the floors that he was peeing on whenever and wherever.  There were no rules.  Walk him at 9:00 where he peed and pooped and then at 9:10 he peed and pooped again in the house at a random location of his choosing.  If it weren't so disgusting it would have been whimsical.

That is why I am his cheerleader when he uses the puppy pads.  It works for us.  I am not ashamed.

It is you I still miss

Folding clothes from the dryer
On the bed with the dog
And his toy

Thinking about one and a half years ago.

Two and a half years ago was the start
I never wanted to part
My soul would tear in two
And bleed when not with you.

The dog walks on the clean shirt
I throw the toy, what a good boy.

Your arms were my nest
The place I found rest
From the outside world of noise.

Then the whole thing changed
Everything was rearranged
Dark gloom descended as
Light backed out the door.

I walked the halls
I bumped into walls
Feeling every misstep and mistake.

No longer willing
No longer able
I asked for your keys
Please put them on the table.

Folded clothes in drawers
Standing, staring at the dog
Bending down for his kiss
It is you I still miss.

Not a Hotty

Apparently I am attractive to Hispanic men or I could chalk it up to percentages because of my neighborhood.

One tried to make conversation with me from his car window as I was walking Poppy.  He had waved me on and then after Poppy and I left the curb he caught me mid-cross with compliments.  We went through the whole "I don't speak Spanish" routine as I dragged Poppy along.  "It is NOT the time to smell things, Popparooni!" my inner dialogue was screaming.  When the dog and I were finally a comfortable distance away the drive said while sticking his head out the car window, "You are beautiful."  It wasn't said with menace or vulgarity.  He was kind of polite, actually.

Another pulled up to the gas pump next to mine early one morning before work.  He smiled at me over his car as I got out of mine, so I smiled back.  "Good morning," he said.  "Good morning," I replied.  With my credit card button punching question answering completed, I lifted the nozzle, chose the lowest grade, and inserted the nozzle in the tank of the car.  I stared at the numbers flying by in the dollar section and compared those to the numbers ambling along in the gallon section.  I felt a pulling in my psyche so I looked over and sure enough this guy was smiling at me.  I smiled back.

Done pumping the gas I ripped my receipt from the machine and started back around my car.  He looked me over and said, "You look nice," in a benign and easy-going way.  "Thank you," I said as I kept walking.  I was starting to feel a little closed in and scrutinized.  Wait a minute here.  I'm wearing jeans shorts and a t-shirt.  I look nice?

"You going to work?" he asked still smiling while holding his cell phone in one hand and the gas nozzle with the other while leaning over the top of his car.
"What?" I asked.      
"Are you going to work?" he asked again.
"Yes," I replied as I lowered myself into the driver's seat.

He said something else but I have no clue what it was because I was closing the car door.  As I drove away a niggle that was in the back of my head came to the forefront.  Did he take my picture with his cell?

Both men were very polite and I didn't feel dirty for having spoken to them.  I didn't feel threatened, either. As a woman, I am always aware of my surroundings.  From Jr. High on it has been drilled into my head to look around, appear confident, and the old stand-by of grab, twist, and pull.  I suppose I have been thinking that at my age and nearing being on the other side of menopause I would have become invisible.  Maybe not.  At least not for these two men.

Keep Calm

You can tell yourself everything is alright and that you're not stressed out.  You're handling everything just fine.  You're an expert at juggling and keeping everyone happy.

Nope.

You're sitting at your laptop and you feel your heart start banging around in your chest.  You have to take deep breaths.  Keep calm.  It's a panic attack.

I don't like the name panic attack because in my personal experience it happens when I am quiet, not panicking.  Heart disease runs in my family so when I had my first one many years ago my initial thought was heart attack.  A co-worker, who was a sympathetic soul, told me to lie down on the office couch because it was a panic attack.  We didn't need to call the paramedics just yet.

Periodically someone will post on Facebook a bare bones explanation of why people have panic attacks and that those that experience them should not be ashamed.  "They are signs of having tried to remain strong for too long."  I cannot argue with that as those are the times I experience them.

My heart and mind voted to have my body, the big mouth, do the talking for them.  "Take it easy.  Don't put so much pressure on us because you are freaking us out!"

Got it.  I'll make some changes.  Thanks.  And sorry.

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.

You're how old?

This afternoon I met with our payroll company representative.  He stops in about once a year.  If we were located in a more civilized part of the world we would probably see him more often as he enjoys the opportunity to talk face-to-face with us.  He always sticks a thermometer in our mouths.  "How's it going?  Any problems?"  No fever or ailments evident so he talks about the other products the company offers its clients.

I am either a salespersons wet dream or worst nightmare depending on the salesperson's style.  I will be blunt and up front and won't waste your time.  If you are an arm twister hard sell type just fuhgeddaboudit. I'm not budging so back off.

Poppy and I were the only ones in the office when he showed up for our meeting.  Poppy, being the LCF greeter for the day, met him at the door and decided he was OK.  "Entrez, s'il vous plait," said Poppy with a very fake French accent.  I looked at our rep, shook my head and said, "Chihuahuas....."

So, the rep (I'll call him Bob since I shouldn't use his real name) and I are talking while Poppy fell asleep in my arms bored out of his gourd when all of a sudden something very strange happened.  Bob and I are looking at a Simple IRA presentation on his tablet when Bob turns to me and says, "You're in your early 30s."  Say what?!

"You're not serious, right?  You're just trying to be nice."

"No.  I'm being serious.  I'm not trying to goof on you.  I could have sworn you told me you were born in 1978," Bob says as he looks at my face as if for the first time.  I know he's calculating something like the percentage of laugh lines times the number of grey hairs divided by visible wrinkles and thinking....isn't that her age???

"I'm 53," I say back.  He says, "Really?"

Just then a recent memory smacks me side the head.  I remembered saying yesterday to a friend of mine,"I hate the way I look.  I didn't used to look like this."  You see, my dears, when I had my neck dissection in 2010, a whole bunch of lymph nodes were removed from my neck.  This caused a fluid traffic jam in my face and neck because the fluid drainage highways no longer existed.  In order to help the fluid drain from my head and face, every day I do a massage of my neck and shoulder area to try to push the fluid along.  I hate it but if I don't the swelling in my face and neck is even more pronounced.  I hate the way I look because my face and neck are perpetually puffy.

I was embarrassed by what I said yesterday and how I feel every time I look in the mirror and Bob thinking I was 20 years younger than I really am was a kick in the pants and a wake-up call.  First, I need to stop being so critical of myself.  Secondly, I need to remember that I am alive and so far have survived cancer.  Thirdly, why is Poppy speaking French and not Spanish?
 

It's the law

One night last week, after working all day, driving an hour to get home, feeding the critters, and walking the dog, I ventured back out of the house to make a Publix run.  It is a short drive and I managed to find a most excellent parking spot.  After I got out of the car and started walking to the store entrance, I was nearly shoulder to shoulder with a member of law enforcement.  He confidently and with an air of grandiose ego law enforcement obnoxiousness moved ahead of me.  My immediate reaction was my gut clenching with annoyance but then I shot his back with a quick once over.

His head was a buzz cut and his uniform was dark green.   He looked surprising old to still be on the streets and not doing desk work.  Maybe he just isn't that good and never got promoted.

Sitting low on his waist he had on his super hero belt with all of its interesting and deadly gadgets intact. I bypassed his ass.  I was just not interested.  Then I saw his shoes.  What the heck?!  They were so shiny and perfect in their patent leather awesomeness!  Light rays from the Publix signage bounced off of them.  How does a cop, or sheriff's office deputy, or whatever manage to keep his shoes so clean?  Did he not have to run down any bad guys?  Did he not have to ummm....do his JOB.....and in the process get his shoes dirty?

The Publix near my house is small.  Instead of visiting and feeling regular sized, one feels like they are a part of a dollhouse.  I'm not sure what they were thinking when they decided to move into the space.  Maybe it was, "Let's find enough space to stock it with half the stuff we normally sell so when people walk the aisles they won't have trouble deciding what to buy because there isn't much stuff."  To make up for the lack of space to put stuff and sell stuff, someone decided to make the entry area unnecessarily large.  (Is this the same as when men buy large trucks?)

So, I'm still behind Mr. Law Enforcement when he stops to pick up a hand basket.  I need a basket too so I stop.  I wait as he chats up the homeless population 4 deep sitting on the long bench against the wall that one must walk by in order to get into the second door which leads the shopper to the inner sanctum of shopping.  As Mr. L. E., officer to you, is talking I am staring at the pile of hand baskets willing him to get started.  He reaches down and lifts up the top basket and I am thinking, "Finally!" but wait!  He lifts up the basket under the top basket, too.  He then lifts in unison the top two baskets and takes the 3rd one down.  What?  WHAT?

Does her really think the 3rd one down is cleaner, newer, better?  Why is the 3rd one down better?  Have the germs had more time to die on it?  Then it dawned on me.  That's why his shoes are so clean.  One word - OCD.  Okay, not one word but one acronym.  Anyway, he's a little spit shine crazy, isn't he?

Now it was my turn to pick up a basket.  I looked in the top one and no garbage was in it so I took it.

Good Men

Yesterday morning I took Poppy to the vet's office to see if he met the 5 lb minimum weight for Trifexis, a medication that prevents heartworm, kills fleas, and controls worms in one easy pill. It was very busy with the line 3 people deep waiting for the one person left manning the front desk trying to keep his cool while handling all of our needs. 

As Poppy and I waited patiently in line, he vacillated between wanting to be in my arms and wanting to be down on the floor. Up, down, up, down. Well, during one of the "down" times, he decided it was also a good time to poop. A couple barely out of their twenties sitting with a cuddly box of newborn puppies had front row seats. The husband, wearing his Sarasota corrections uniform, said, "I've got this." He walked to the nearby bathroom and brought me out paper towels. I took one, bent down and retrieved the poop and when I stood back up I saw he was standing there with another paper towel in hand. He said, "You can put it here," as he held out his hand. I handed it off to him and he finished taking care of the mess in the bathroom. I think I must have thanked him 5 times.

When he came back out of the bathroom, he walked over to his wife and said, "I washed my hands. Can I see one of the puppies?" She reached in the box and held one up to him and he kissed its little head.

That, my friends, was awe inspiring to me. His wife didn't say, "Honey, go help that woman out." He volunteered for the job because he wanted to, because he could, because he thought it was the right and good thing to do. He was johnny-on-the-spot. To him it was probably in-consequential, but to me it was fantastical! I think my heart even grew a size.

P.S. Poppy weighs 5.1 lbs., or possibly 5.2 lbs. Hard to get a good read on a moving target.

I WANT A COWBOY

I want a cowboy.
His jeans are soft from wear.
I want a cowboy.
Leather gloves and leather belt.
I want a cowboy.
He is true, kind, and strong.
I want a cowboy.
He knows right from wrong.

His mind is clear.
His skin is tan.
His heart knows love
For beast and man.

I want a cowboy.

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.