Can you give me more blasé?

"I cannot be Zen now and rise above!" Susan screamed it at the top of her lungs. "I am so sick of EVERYTHING!" More screaming.

"I don't want to talk about it so stop." Randall was not going to give in. He turned and started walking away.

"I am sick of you not wanting to talk about it. I am sick of it being a protected topic with you. As a matter of fact, I am sick of YOU!" Susan's fists clenched. The carotid arteries on the sides of her neck bulged.

Still walking away, Randall replied, "Fine. But I know you. You'll change your mind."

Susan watched his back as he continued to leave. "AAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!" She screamed as she raced towards him and tackled him. They both fell to the ground.

"What the fuck!? Susan! Stop!"

"No. I'm not going to stop." She shoved his face into the sandy beach. "You will listen to me, goddammit!"

Spitting out sand and wiping his mouth on his sleeve, Randall got up on all fours. "Jesus, Susan!"

Still perched on his back, Susan kicked him in the ribs. "Woo Hoo! Ride m' Cowboy!"

Randall cursed again. "Son of a bitch!" Susan started to slide off his back as he attempted to sit up so she grabbed his hair and held on tightly.

The director yelled, "Cut!"

Anna let go of Billy's head and slid to the ground. Billy sat back on his haunches and rubbed his head.

"Sorry, Bill."

"No problem. It's in the script." He gave her a wane smile.

"That was fantastic but let's try it one more time. I want to see as much anger as you can muster, Anna, and Billy - see if you can give me more blasé."

The actors looked at each other.

"Anna, think of a time when you felt completely powerless. Maybe when you were a child. And you felt wronged and couldn't do anything about it," the Director suggested. Anna nodded.

"Bill, try to find a place inside where you know no empathy. Almost like a sociopath. No conscience. No sense of wrong. You don't care what Anna, or Susan, says, you aren't wrong."

"OK," Bill replied.

"Great! Places everyone. We're going to do this again."


 

Elsa and the Bear

Elsa ran out of the cave. Her chest heaving and her legs pumping with all of her might, she shielded her eyes with her arm as the bright sun exploded around her. Never again did she want the darkness to trick her into thinking it was more suited to her than the warmth and glow of the sun.

Her long brown hair whipped around her face as she turned back to check on the distance between her and the cave. Feeling safe that its black tendrils couldn't reach her, she slowed her pace and caught her breath. Elsa promised herself she would never have to feel those rough chalky arms around her shoulders again. She shivered remembering how black ragged pieces would break off and cut her flesh as the tendril wrapped around her forcing her closer.

Up ahead was the golden field where all of her favorite flowers bloomed. Lilac bushes full of heavy creamy purple blooms decorated the air with their perfume and tickled the inside of her nose. Poppies danced their orange delight as their flower heads waved in the soft breeze. The tall irises boasted their glorious pageantry, visually pleasing. The tiny Forget-Me-Nots and Pansies played patty-cake choosing to stay close to the earth.

Elsa found a spot in the tall soft vividly green grass and plopped down. It was warm, but not hot. The sun, high in the sky, winked at her. "Rest now, Elsa. It is a beautiful summer's day. The grass is your bed. The chipmunks and squirrels your lookouts, tirelessly watchful. Do you see how the birds fly? Can you hear their song? They are singing you a lullaby. Rest and be at peace."

So tired, Elsa looked down at the scars the darkness had left on her arms. All she wanted to do was rest and forget. She looked back up at the sun, who smiled back down on her. Looking around at the flowers dancing and playing, bending to the gentle winds, her eyes grew very heavy. Her body and mind ached with the need to sleep. As she reclined, the grass became her mattress and the earth her floor, their distinct odors hopscotching around her, depending on the wind's direction.

She could still see the light through the lids of her closed eyes. Opening and closing her fingers, Elsa felt the grass. The beating of Elsa's heart slowed to an even pace and soon she was asleep.

A big black bear came by and placed a basket of berries at her feet. His brown muzzle contrasted with his thick dark luxurious coat. He lied down next to her; he would wait for her to awaken. Elsa, like most of us do, turned in her sleep and bumped into the bear. He stayed still while she nuzzled into him, the brown of her hair the same shade as the bear's snout.

The sun drifted lazily in the sky. Sensing the change in time, Elsa awoke. Opening her eyes, she saw darkness and panicked. Was she back in the cave? No, she couldn't be. Soft and big. What was lying next to her blocking out the sun's direct rays? Pushing against the bear's large belly, she sat up. The bear, not wanting to frighten her, did not move. He only smiled and said, "Hello."

"Hello," Elsa answered. Then, feeling impolite, she introduced herself. "I'm Elsa. Who are you?"

"I am Bear."

"Just 'Bear'?"

"Yes."

"Hello, Bear."

He smiled again and sat up. Instead of his big body frightening her, she felt good. Protected.

Pointing to the basket of berries, he said, "I brought you some berries. I thought you might be hungry and thirsty."

Delicately, Elsa picked up one berry. Popping it into her mouth, she chewed and swallowed. "You are a wonderful berry picker, Bear. This is delicious."

Nodding, he answered, "Thank you. Please eat as many as you would like."

So she did. She also was thinking that she and Bear should be friends. "Would you like to be my friend," she asked.

"That's why I am here, Elsa. To be your friend and for you to be mine."

Elsa, her tummy full, stood up. So did Bear. He was tall! She took his paws in her hands and they looked into each other's eyes. Love filled their hearts.  He asked her, "Are you ready now?"

Elsa said, "Yes." His left paw holding her right hand, they started walking. Elsa, needing to make sure, turned her head back one more time looking for the cave. She couldn't see it. Bear, understanding, patiently waited. Only a few seconds had passed when Elsa cleared her throat and looked up to Bear. "I'm ready."

It's My Party and I Would Cry if only I Could

So I don't know who I am. I know I am repeating myself. I'm not sure I have relayed to you as deeply as possible what that means.

It is talking and then realizing that you didn't know you would say that. It is acting on feelings and not knowing why you are being so extreme or at the other end, why you don't care. It is fighting anxiety on a level you never knew before.

The brain is magnificent and delicate. It is amazing and intricate so when it is even slightly damaged, it is unlike any other destruction. Someone having had a stroke is understood. Another dealing with the ravages of Alzheimer's is understood. But a closed head injury is something that few understand.

Sometimes I want to cry, but since the accident that is very difficult for me to accomplish. I don't stay on one emotion long enough or feel it deeply enough. Like a ghost slipping past me in the night, tears come and then swiftly dry up.

Meditation has become my cool water in the heat of the day. It relieves the anxiety and soothes me. It helps me clear my head of the noise. The music of my medication CDs gently drifts in, around, and through my tired brain bringing it peace and comfort. I fall asleep into a meditative state. I wake up refreshed, freed from anguish. I understand myself better but I know it will happen all over again.

If you are cold, move closer. My body heat will warm you up.

The New Me...?

Almost a year and a half later, I still surprise myself at times.

I always kept my thoughts and feelings to myself only sharing when I was with a very trusted ally.  Now I speak my mind with freedom.

I morphed from situation to situation depending on what I thought was the safest way to behave. Now I am the same person no matter who I am with or what the circumstances are.

I used to be able to concentrate on tasks in a way that would freak people out. Now I have to listen to music while I work because instead of it being a distraction as it would have in the past, it helps me to concentrate. Having Attention Deficit Disorder has been one of the harder things to adapt to especially when trying to get things done. I found myself walking around the house taking care of one chore, see another chore, dropping the first chore and then realizing I was supposed to be doing the something else but not remembering what I was originally doing. It took months to teach myself to keep on point. I have learned that when I feel confused the only way out of it is to stop moving both physically and mentally. I don't care where I am; I will stop and get quiet to ask myself, "What are you doing? What should you be doing? What were you doing?" It's like hitting the reset button.

My typing skills have suffered, too. I consistently type letters in the wrong order. That rarely happened before the accident. It still frustrates the crap out of me. I can hear you thinking - "what's the big deal? That's not life and death." Well, for this grammar and spelling Nazi, it can make me want to smash my fist down on my desk.

Speaking of wanting to break things...

Not long after the accident there were a few new things about me that towered above the rest. I wanted to punch the walls. I wanted to drive my car into the ditch. I wanted to destroy things! These overwhelming feelings of destruction were not because I was angry, sad, or bitter. I wasn't angry. As a matter of fact, I didn't give a shit about anything. I felt nothing. My array of emotions had left town and I didn't know if they would come back from vacation. So, I was a dichotomy of wanting to slam my fist into something hard and unforgiving to being void of emotion all at the same time.

When I shared these feelings with my doctor, his first question was, "Are you hitting anything?"

"No. I'm not," I answered back with a meek smile on my face. "At this point I am controlling the urges."

He seemed to physically relax, "Good. Is there anything else?"

"Yes. I am having really bad nightmares. They are like horror movies with people getting torn apart. They are very vivid."

He thought for a few seconds and then prescribed an anti-anxiety drug. "If all of these feelings don't get better, let me know. This is the mildest strength we can go so if needed, we will raise it."

The little pill worked! I was safe around society and the nightmares ceased. But, I still didn't give a damn. That turned out to be a blessing. Work had become a hotbed of personality disorders run amok and my personal life was less than optimal. Poppy (my Chihuahua) and my mother became my safe places. I also developed a close friendship with the only other sane person in the office. Even though she now lives somewhere else, she is still my rock.

Slowly, very slowly, feelings moved back in to one degree or another. Thinking about the range of emotions I have in my color pallet now, I am fine with it. At times I think I am emotionally steadier than I was until I react to a situation like a volcano erupting.

Oh, well. Life wasn't perfect before so why should I expect it to be perfect now?

The cool night breeze feels good. It gently moves my hair. Are you sure you aren't cold?  I'm always hot so I'm not a good judge.

I Don't Know Who I Am

I don't know who I am. That is how I felt after the car accident. That is what I would say to myself in response to my actions. Quite rapidly, remembering how I used to be, how I would respond to life,  faded. I tried to hold onto to it, but couldn't. Who was I now? I couldn't trust myself. I didn't have the history of past actions to refer back to. It was like being an adult but as fresh as a baby. I lost my reference point. I had no guide. I couldn't predict my own actions. I had become an observer of my own life watching a replacement actor stand in for me.

"Frontal Lobe (behind the forehead) An injury to this part of the brain can cause changes in emotional control, initiation, motivation, and inhibition. An intolerance for frustration and easily provoked aggressive behavior are typical. Promiscuity and lethargy may also result."

I chatted up the young woman at the MRI center's front desk. For those of you that are introverts, you understand how out of character this is. I stood outside of myself watching and listening to the repartee. I wasn't uncomfortable at all! This was actually easy! Who the hell am I?

There were other problems, though, that didn't have such a happy result. My short term memory was shot. I couldn't hold onto conversations. Sometimes I couldn't remember I even had one! I would be sitting at my desk at work struggling to focus. My mind was all jumbled up and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't make it calculate at the speed and efficiency I had always known. Frustration mounted. It was like living in a room filled with cobwebs, batting at them trying to pull them down but not being able to clear them out. 

There was one time when I was sitting at my desk at work trying to recall what the current task was. I looked at my computer screen and then looked down at the piece of paper lying on my keyboard. Oh, yes. I printed that out and here it is. In front of me. But, I have no memory of pushing the print button, getting up, walking to the printer, retrieving the job, and then sitting back down. Inside I was screaming, "My mind! What am I going to do if this is permanent? I know I am going to get fired." Then I would do some self-talking. "Hang on, Nancy. Calm down. Stop panicking." 

The doc treating me after the car accident said I needed to take time off from work to heal. My brain needed to heal and in order for that to happen it needed to not be stressed. While I suffered from a constant bad headache and back and neck pain, it was the head injury that was debilitating. I was told to sleep as much as I could. To be forgiving towards myself. Yes, I was frustrated but I had to be patient and kind with myself.

When folks see someone with a broken leg, they understand the injured person's limitations. You can't see a head injury. My suffering was invisible to others. One acquaintance of mine told me to just push through. I fought with him trying to make him understand. This wasn't something I could make better by willing it to be.

To make matters worse, I now suffered from Aphasia. This is "...a communication disorder that results from damage or injury to language parts of the brain."

"Aphasia gets in the way of a person's ability to use or understand words. Aphasia does not impair the person's intelligence. People who have aphasia may have difficulty speaking and finding the "right" words to complete their thoughts. They may also have problems understanding conversation, reading and comprehending written words, writing words, and using numbers."

Specifically, I was dealing with Anomic aphasia. "...the person has word-finding difficulties. This is called anomia. Because of the difficulties, the person struggles to find the right words for speaking and writing."

I found myself relying on others to fill in the blanks when I couldn't bring up the word I needed. I used words that were close to what I meant, but still were wrong. Right church, wrong pew. I had to stop conversations in mid sentence and attempt to describe the definition of the word I needed. I would hold my head with both hands grinding in frustration wishing I was not like this. For someone like me, a writer, this was devastating. 
 
I couldn't take time off from work, as advised. My employer didn't provide disability insurance and I couldn't afford it without it. No one paid my bills but me. My doctor said he could write a note for six weeks off, but then he knew I needed to work. His work around was telling me to take breaks throughout the day. Find somewhere to take a nap during lunchtime.

I love looking at the stars on a clear night. Don't you?

The Car Accident - What Just Happened?

The fire is beautiful as the flames reach up to the stars. Sit close to me.

It was December 15th, 2014, and I was on my way to work. Monday mornings were always bad as the traffic was heavier than the other weekdays. I was about fifteen to twenty minutes into my one hour commute. I was coming up to an intersection that was always a problem because at the light a private high school was on the left. There was a very long left turn lane but the cars still backed up into the next lane over. Even though the light was green, I was forced to slow down and stop. Checking my right side mirror, I saw that traffic was coming too thick and fast for me to merge so I resigned myself to wait it out.

I remember checking my rear view mirror and wondering why the woman behind me was trying to merge into the constant flow of traffic. Before I blanked out I watched the dashboard jiggle in my frame of vision. After that, my next memory is thinking I must have been hit. Why am I just sitting here? I need to get out of the car and look at the damage.

I opened my door and getting out saw behind me two cars and one pickup truck, in that order. Everyone was already talking on their cell phones. I wondered again how long had I been sitting in my car and why were the others so far ahead of me?

I walked around to the back of my car and nothing looked damaged. For a brief second I was elated. Then I walked around to the right side of my car and my elation turned into misery. My beloved Taurus' back right tire was at a 45 degree angle turned into the body of the car. The right rear panel was dinged up. I was not going to drive the car away from this accident. I also thought the damage was a death knell and I would have to buy a new car. Now I was wondering why my air bag hadn't deployed.

I think it was about this time I realized the car was still running so I got in and turned it off. Every action I was taking was an effort. I knew I was all jumbled up and pushed myself to get clear thinking. Phone. I had to call someone. Who do I call? I couldn't think straight.

For whatever reason, and I don't know why I thought it, I knew no one had called the police so I did. I tried to communicate the best I could to the 911 dispatcher where the accident was and how many cars were involved. She asked if anyone needed an ambulance. I called out to the three others her question and they answered that they didn't.

Obediently, I stayed on the phone with the dispatcher until I heard the sirens.

Are you warm enough? It feels good to get this off my chest.

Car Accident - The Beginning

I am different now.  I'm not who I used to be.  On December 14, 2014, I was the 4th car to be hit in a domino of rear end collisions. When everyone else was standing outside their cars on their cell phones calling for help, I was sitting in mine. I had a closed head injury and had lost consciousness.

I have been released to write about this since my lawsuit is closed.  I have waited a long time to get this experience out of me and written for you.  I hope you enjoy the trip I want to take you on.

I was stopped in traffic when hit. The impact caused my brain to be knocked against the inside of my skull. My frontal lobes and right side of my brain were injured. The front part of the brain is the part that is involved in planning, organizing, problem solving, selective attention, personality and a variety of "higher cognitive functions" including behavior and emotions. While I have healed quite a bit, it has been well over a year and I think who I am at this time is who I will be forever.

I now have ADD and it is hard to concentrate. I still experience memory issues but certainly not as bad as it was for me initially. If I want to remember something, I have to write it down. It is commonplace for people to inform me of discussions or decisions that have taken place and I can't remember them.

Writing is harder for me. I am finally writing the book some of you have asked me to do!  But it is difficult now and sometimes I get frustrated with myself. The people in my writers' group have been invaluable to me and keep me forging ahead even when it is like walking through knee high snow drifts.

I am also less emotional than I used to be. In future posts I will go into a lot of detail about this. It was the hardest change to get used to as the memory of who I used to be faded.

Lets get cozy around the fire pit and I'll tell you my story. I love the sounds of the snaps and crackles.

Bravery at the Grocery Store

The other morning I was at Winn Dixie making the weekly produce run for work.  Because I am there so early on a weekday, the people that are shopping are pretty much those picking up something before work, or if they work the night shift, grabbing something before heading home.  Rarely do I see the harried moms with one kid holding her hand, the other riding in the cart, and the third tearing boxes off of the shelves.

The store isn't busy.  There's one register with a human and one self-checkout open.  Occasionally I will have a disgruntled patron standing behind me with a few items in their arms waiting for my cart full of my fruits, vegetables, and bleach to be rung up.  If I see them and I haven't started to check-out yet, I'll always offer them the option of moving ahead of me.  It surprises me when, out of a sense of fair play, my offer is rejected.  I can see the wheels turning in their heads while they are trying to decide what the right thing to do is.

That morning, I noticed a man with short salt and pepper hair in his late 50s.  Early 60s at the most. His right arm was tucked against his chest, his hand bent downward at the wrist.  His right leg wasn't in sync so when he walked, his foot never fully left the floor causing it to drag.  It was one of those errant children lagging behind the group.  The one that the mother has to keep turning around to check on and urging to keep up.  My guess was he suffered a stroke.

His face was stoic as he went about the store.  No smile.  Just business concentrating on the task at hand.  I wondered how many physical therapy sessions he endured to get him to where he was now.  Surely he was just as brave during those as he was now grocery shopping.  For a man that exuded self-sufficiency, I'm sure this was a battle he didn't like fighting every day.  Maybe minute to minute, depending on what he was asking his body to do.  Always capable, now having to be patient with himself.

Having finished shopping and with my trunk loaded up, I was back in my car ready for the drive to work.  After stowing the grocery receipt in the usual place in my tote bag, I looked up and saw him again.  He had walked his empty cart to the parking lot repository.  For him, there wasn't a question as to whether to leave it in the grass or in a parking space.  His sense of right and wrong couldn't, wouldn't, be denied no matter the extra effort it took.

I watched him walk, way too quickly, back to his car. I was scared for him that he would trip and fall as he pushed himself.  His drive to be normal, to not let this affliction dominate his life, was more powerful than taking the risk of the humiliation of falling down.  He made it without a mishap and I let go of the breath I was holding.

I hope he is good to himself.  I hope he doesn't hate who he is now.  I hope he defines himself by his bravery, not his loss.  I hope he continues to recover.  I hope he smiles.

Jailer

I woke up with a need so great.
An animal caught in a trap
Blood dripping down the iron cage walls
Trying to claw my way out.

Looking through the bars
For the face of my jailer
The only one that can set me free
From the gouge I have made
From pacing, pacing, pacing.

I can hear the keys now
Jingle jangle hitting his hip
As he walks down the hall
To free me from my cage.

I will be his.  Hurry.

What If...My Dear Sir

You have managed to weave a beautiful fantasy, my dear Sir.
How many fish have you caught in your net?
Wide eyed does daring to look
Muscles quivering ready to break into a run
Aware of the danger but unable to move.
As they stare into your eyes
That stare back at them
Promising warmth by the fire.

The fire of your soul that promises to make them whole, my dear Sir.
The mysterious music that tinkles gaily from your open mouth with your white teeth
Hypnotizes their minds while the shadows from the fire
Dance upon your beautifully painted work of art.

If you find my pulse
If you make me yours
If I fell under your spell
Would I feel all of those
Things that you promise I will?

Would you protect me from harm
Would you make me laugh
Would you hold me with strength
But not crush me with might?

What if you......
What if I.......
What if.......

Hurry, my dear Sir.

Just Another Lonely Valentine's Day

Just another lonely Valentine’s Day.

C’mon Baby, won’t you stay?

Kiss me hard all through the night.

C’mon Baby, hold me tight.

Just another lonely Valentine’s Day.

Look at me and find a way

To help me mend my broken heart.

It’s really easy.  Help me start.

Candy, hearts, and flowers

Won’t be mine today

But you are here and so am I.

C’mon Baby, won’t you stay?

I’m not asking for forever.

I’m just asking for the night.

Lie here with me in the dark.

Only ‘till the morning light.

Just another lonely Valentine’s Day.

C’mon Baby, won’t you stay?

Kiss me hard all through the night.

C’mon Baby, hold me tight.

Just another lonely Valentine’s Day.

Look at me and find a way

To help me mend my broken heart.

It’s really easy.  Help me start.

This Man Should Be Illegal

She woke up that morning looking at a wall that wasn't hers.  Where was she?  Oh, yeah.  She remembered now.  Slowly she rolled onto her back and looked to her right.  There he was.  Still as beautiful as last night.  His dark hair short except for his bangs, which fell across his forehead.  To get a better look, she carefully raised herself on her right elbow being as quiet as possible careful not to shake the bed.  She wasn't ready for him to wake up.

He had impossibly long eyelashes, black against his olive skin. She squelched her impulse to reach over and run her finger the length of his eyebrow.  His nostrils naturally flared.  When she first noticed that last night in the bar, she couldn't decide if she was attracted by it or not.  When she was looking up at him last night feeling the weight of his body on her and in her watching him orgasm, she decided they fit right in with the rest of him.

It was not her style to go home with someone she just met.  God.  This man should be illegal.  She wasn't a nubile young thing anymore.  He was in his mid-thirties, too, she guessed.

His 5 o'clock shadow was now beard stubble.  She wanted to lick his cheek and feel its roughness against her tongue.  The taste of his skin a solid memory.  She wanted to bite his jawline.  His pulse beat steady in his neck.

Involuntarily, a sigh escaped her.

Oh, no!  He's smiling!

New Start, My Heart

New Start, My Heart

I drew my head back and howled at the moon.

My heart bled down my chest, red pooling at my feet.

Why, oh why? I asked.

Weakness, exhaustion, and depression.

The moon set and the sun rose.

I drew my head back and squinted at the suns rising.

Sore, but no more bleeding, my heart’s beat was strong.

Thank you, oh thank you.  I said.

Recovery, stability, and strength.

I drew my head back and smiled at the noon sun.

My heart’s rhythm in time, happiness.

New start, my heart.  I said.

Rest, peace, and joy.

Soulful Knowledge

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

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

***

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

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

Pedicures and the church

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They are Watching

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

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

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

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

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

Children learn by example.

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

Blood Letting

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Old Soul

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mexi-Ghetto Regulations!

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

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

2. The dog was found to be healthy.

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

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

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

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

I Told You So

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mexi-Ghetto

Politically incorrect but true

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

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

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

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

This is way outside of my rule of invisibility.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Counseling Saved My Life Twice

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Did You Know I Love You?

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

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

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

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

Timing is Everything

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

To everything - turn, turn, turn

There is a season - turn, turn, turn

And a time to every purpose under heaven

A time to be born, a time to die

A time to plant, a time to reap

A time to kill, a time to heal

A time to laugh, a time to weep

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

New but comfortable

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

My little notebook

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

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

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

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

  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Go Play Outside

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

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

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

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

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

Musings, not necessarily amusing

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

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

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

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

Whose Fault is it Anyway?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Drunk Bees

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

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

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

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

Wait. How old are you?

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Where do I buy a camisole?"







  

Removing Attachments

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sucker Punch

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

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