March 31, 2010
Wednesday, 8:13 P.M.
Home
Our Lady of Consolation Nursing Home did without the services of their Nursing Administration assistant today. I took a mental health day. Of course, I didn't tell them that; just said I didn't feel well, but the truth is, I have a lot of things weighing on my mind these days. Every once in a while, I begin to feel overwhelmed by the circumstances surrounding me, can't turn off the rambling thoughts in my head and realize that it is time to get them sorted out and determine what my future actions should be. Then supreme effort goes into editing that down to what those actions actually will be. Very often, they are not one and the same. And very often, night will fall and the way still is not clear. This is one of those nights. I am completely aware of what I should do but I know I won't do it. Or maybe this time I will...
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Monday, March 29, 2010
Character Building
March 30, 2010
Monday, 7:00 P.M.
Home
If I appear to emphasize my mom's homemaking and mothering in the next couple of posts, the reasons will become clearer as this tale progresses. I remember her on her hands and knees, with her big pregnant tummy inches from the floor, holding a rag in her hand applying Butcher's Wax to all the oak floors in the house, upstairs and downstairs. She would get up, grab her waxing machine with the brushes attached, brush the wax in, then change the brushes for buffers and buff those floors to a slippery shine. Many were the hours that we kids spent in our sock feet sliding across the hall floors from one bedroom to another. Mommy would call us in for baths and clean clothes before Daddy came home from work, so we would all be nice and fresh when he got there and we sat down to dinner. Dinners were pretty simple fare, nothing fancy except on Sundays and we were never allowed to have soda with our meals. As a matter of fact, for some reason, we didn't even get our milk until after we finished eating. Nobody dared ask to leave the table before Mommy and Daddy were finished eating. Then you were able to ask, "May I please leave the table?". We could never just say, "I'm finished" and get up and go. As I have mentioned before, manners were very important in our home.
As I look back today, I can see a couple of harbingers of things to come from back in the "good days" of our family. At that time, I just thought of them as the way we were expected to behave. For instance, my brother, Jimmy, (pre Jim days) hated peas, I mean really hated peas. My whole family knew how much Jimmy hated peas and yet, my mother would insist on serving those damn peas. Every time I saw we were having them for dinner, my heart would go out to my little brother. He tried everything; mixing them with the gravy or mashed potatoes, swallowing them whole, holding his nose, you name it, he tried it because we were not allowed to leave the table with anything left on our plates and we were not allowed to refuse anything that was served on them. Jimmy would be forced to sit there, sometimes for what felt like hours, until every last pea was gone from that plate. His little body would spasm with the gagging and the tears would slide down his cheeks as he tried to force them down. He suffered this fate silently, but I knew how very much it was hurting him. Our character was being built...
Monday, 7:00 P.M.
Home
If I appear to emphasize my mom's homemaking and mothering in the next couple of posts, the reasons will become clearer as this tale progresses. I remember her on her hands and knees, with her big pregnant tummy inches from the floor, holding a rag in her hand applying Butcher's Wax to all the oak floors in the house, upstairs and downstairs. She would get up, grab her waxing machine with the brushes attached, brush the wax in, then change the brushes for buffers and buff those floors to a slippery shine. Many were the hours that we kids spent in our sock feet sliding across the hall floors from one bedroom to another. Mommy would call us in for baths and clean clothes before Daddy came home from work, so we would all be nice and fresh when he got there and we sat down to dinner. Dinners were pretty simple fare, nothing fancy except on Sundays and we were never allowed to have soda with our meals. As a matter of fact, for some reason, we didn't even get our milk until after we finished eating. Nobody dared ask to leave the table before Mommy and Daddy were finished eating. Then you were able to ask, "May I please leave the table?". We could never just say, "I'm finished" and get up and go. As I have mentioned before, manners were very important in our home.
As I look back today, I can see a couple of harbingers of things to come from back in the "good days" of our family. At that time, I just thought of them as the way we were expected to behave. For instance, my brother, Jimmy, (pre Jim days) hated peas, I mean really hated peas. My whole family knew how much Jimmy hated peas and yet, my mother would insist on serving those damn peas. Every time I saw we were having them for dinner, my heart would go out to my little brother. He tried everything; mixing them with the gravy or mashed potatoes, swallowing them whole, holding his nose, you name it, he tried it because we were not allowed to leave the table with anything left on our plates and we were not allowed to refuse anything that was served on them. Jimmy would be forced to sit there, sometimes for what felt like hours, until every last pea was gone from that plate. His little body would spasm with the gagging and the tears would slide down his cheeks as he tried to force them down. He suffered this fate silently, but I knew how very much it was hurting him. Our character was being built...
Sunday, March 28, 2010
Manners, Grammar, & Posture
March 28, 2010
Sunday, 8:54 P.M.
Home
I maintained my status as baby of the family for all of eleven months and five days. Gail Eileen came into the world, on November 8, 1952, five days late, allowing me to retain my very own Birthday. Jim, Jill, Colleen, Robin, and Tracey followed in fairly rapid succession behind us and we were a family to behold. People we would meet would always say, " One is prettier than the next." I always took this to mean that I was the least attractive of the bunch because I was the oldest. It was okay though, 'cause I really loved my siblings and they were all beautiful.
My memory is fuzzy on early homes. I was born in Queens Memorial Hospital in Jamaica, New York, so it's safe to assume we lived in that vicinity but I'm not sure. As a very little girl, I remember living in Levittown, apparently in a rental home. My parents bought their first house in Massapequa Park, a four bedroom ranch with a basement for five thousand dollars. Imagine that! I started kindergarten in this town, so the year was around 1955. I was one of those kids who had a late birthday, so started school at four years old. Life was good, Jill and Colleen were born in 1956 and 1957, respectively. My dad worked at Republic Aviation Corporation in Farmingdale and my stay at home mom kept a beautiful home with very well behaved, polite children. We were the only kids on the block who addressed our neighbors as Mr. and Mrs. So and So, rather than Aunt and Uncle. Our manners, grammar, and posture were very important to my mother back in those days. All of those have served me well to this day.
Sunday, 8:54 P.M.
Home
I maintained my status as baby of the family for all of eleven months and five days. Gail Eileen came into the world, on November 8, 1952, five days late, allowing me to retain my very own Birthday. Jim, Jill, Colleen, Robin, and Tracey followed in fairly rapid succession behind us and we were a family to behold. People we would meet would always say, " One is prettier than the next." I always took this to mean that I was the least attractive of the bunch because I was the oldest. It was okay though, 'cause I really loved my siblings and they were all beautiful.
My memory is fuzzy on early homes. I was born in Queens Memorial Hospital in Jamaica, New York, so it's safe to assume we lived in that vicinity but I'm not sure. As a very little girl, I remember living in Levittown, apparently in a rental home. My parents bought their first house in Massapequa Park, a four bedroom ranch with a basement for five thousand dollars. Imagine that! I started kindergarten in this town, so the year was around 1955. I was one of those kids who had a late birthday, so started school at four years old. Life was good, Jill and Colleen were born in 1956 and 1957, respectively. My dad worked at Republic Aviation Corporation in Farmingdale and my stay at home mom kept a beautiful home with very well behaved, polite children. We were the only kids on the block who addressed our neighbors as Mr. and Mrs. So and So, rather than Aunt and Uncle. Our manners, grammar, and posture were very important to my mother back in those days. All of those have served me well to this day.
Hospice
March 28,2010
Sunday, 8:22 A.M.
CarolAnn's house
Hospice. The word sends a shiver through the heart and brings a tear to each eye. You need only hear it to know how very close to the end of a story one has come. Renee, the Hospice lady, was here to visit with CarolAnn, her sister, Geri, brother-in-law Larry, and me yesterday. Me, mainly because I seem to have drifted into a major care giver role. This is not a pleasant, sip a cup of coffee, snack on a cookie kind of visit. This is serious, straight faced, box of tissues stuff.
Renee knows her job and I guess she does it well. When she left, she has a signed health proxy in her bag assuring that CarolAnn's wishes will be carried out by her sister (which I secretly fear will not be the case), a DNR (Do Not Resuscitate) Order, and a synopsis of CarolAnn's personality. She told us that if CarolAnn doesn't want to eat, don't make her, don't even let it bother us. This often happens when people are taking this journey. She asked Geri about CarolAnn's finances (which are nil, so she doesn't need a will), disposition of her personal belongings (find out what things she wants to go to whom), and funeral arrangements (which would be so much easier for the family if they do them in advance). She told CarolAnn that everything will be done her way because that is how they want to ease her from this life, with no loose ends and no questions as to why noone paid attention to her wishes. She made an appointment with CarolAnn just to talk, on Wednesday at 11:00, left the traditional packet of information, (CarolAnn has a lot of those these days) and went on her way. Take care, Renee, wish I could say it was a pleasure.
Sunday, 8:22 A.M.
CarolAnn's house
Hospice. The word sends a shiver through the heart and brings a tear to each eye. You need only hear it to know how very close to the end of a story one has come. Renee, the Hospice lady, was here to visit with CarolAnn, her sister, Geri, brother-in-law Larry, and me yesterday. Me, mainly because I seem to have drifted into a major care giver role. This is not a pleasant, sip a cup of coffee, snack on a cookie kind of visit. This is serious, straight faced, box of tissues stuff.
Renee knows her job and I guess she does it well. When she left, she has a signed health proxy in her bag assuring that CarolAnn's wishes will be carried out by her sister (which I secretly fear will not be the case), a DNR (Do Not Resuscitate) Order, and a synopsis of CarolAnn's personality. She told us that if CarolAnn doesn't want to eat, don't make her, don't even let it bother us. This often happens when people are taking this journey. She asked Geri about CarolAnn's finances (which are nil, so she doesn't need a will), disposition of her personal belongings (find out what things she wants to go to whom), and funeral arrangements (which would be so much easier for the family if they do them in advance). She told CarolAnn that everything will be done her way because that is how they want to ease her from this life, with no loose ends and no questions as to why noone paid attention to her wishes. She made an appointment with CarolAnn just to talk, on Wednesday at 11:00, left the traditional packet of information, (CarolAnn has a lot of those these days) and went on her way. Take care, Renee, wish I could say it was a pleasure.
Friday, March 26, 2010
Anticlimax
March 26, 2010
Friday, 5:57 P.M.
Home
To most baseball fans, October 3, 1951 was the day Bobby Thompson, of the New York Giants, hit the "shot heard round the world" against the Brooklyn Dodgers to win the World Series. To one diehard Giants fan, it was the best thing that ever happened in her life. To hear her often tell it, over the course of the years, the birth of her first child one month later, on November 3, 1951, was an anticlimax to the Thompson homerun. So marks my entrance into this world on a stormy fall morning. It took some time to pick a name. My mother was torn between the name, Gail, because of the raging storm outside and the name, Dawn, the alias of a prostitute she had met years earlier. So enamored of the name, she planned that one day, should she have a daughter, then Dawn she would be. This resulted in, I found out many years later, my Birth Certificate reading Dawn Gale Slattery rather than my christened name and the one I use to this day, Dawn Kathleen. There would be many things I would find out many years later, another of them being that I was the daughter of an unwed couple. For most of my childhood, till I was around sixteen or seventeen, we had all been told my parents had married on October 13, 1950, but in truth, it was 1951.
Friday, 5:57 P.M.
Home
To most baseball fans, October 3, 1951 was the day Bobby Thompson, of the New York Giants, hit the "shot heard round the world" against the Brooklyn Dodgers to win the World Series. To one diehard Giants fan, it was the best thing that ever happened in her life. To hear her often tell it, over the course of the years, the birth of her first child one month later, on November 3, 1951, was an anticlimax to the Thompson homerun. So marks my entrance into this world on a stormy fall morning. It took some time to pick a name. My mother was torn between the name, Gail, because of the raging storm outside and the name, Dawn, the alias of a prostitute she had met years earlier. So enamored of the name, she planned that one day, should she have a daughter, then Dawn she would be. This resulted in, I found out many years later, my Birth Certificate reading Dawn Gale Slattery rather than my christened name and the one I use to this day, Dawn Kathleen. There would be many things I would find out many years later, another of them being that I was the daughter of an unwed couple. For most of my childhood, till I was around sixteen or seventeen, we had all been told my parents had married on October 13, 1950, but in truth, it was 1951.
Thursday, March 25, 2010
Somebody Else's Story
March 25, 2010
Still Thursday, 10:54 P.M.
Still Home
The night brings a plethora of thoughts that, in turn, trigger emotions which trigger more thoughts, triggering more emotions and round and round it goes. At fifty eight years old, though not decrepit or expecting to look death in the eye tomorrow morning, I am confronted by the fact that the major portion of my life here on earth is behind me. It is strange, in this place that I have come to, that so much of the last fifty eight years feels like somebody else's story. The childhood that I know belonged to the woman typing these words, has become lost in another lifetime, separated from the woman I have become. The people who played major roles in the scenes of my youth have taken on an image that seems conjured, fictitious, unreal, dreamlike. The memories, most of them heartbreaking, are scattered and can't be put in their proper order. It is time that I face this life I have lived, time to take it out in all its tarnished glory, view it through the eyes of the person it has formed, and chronicle it in some form that will hopefully take shape and make sense as it goes along. Each step I have taken has brought me, for some reason, to this place. Where am I going from here and will it seem to be somebody else's story when I'm through or will I recognize the heroine as myself?
Still Thursday, 10:54 P.M.
Still Home
The night brings a plethora of thoughts that, in turn, trigger emotions which trigger more thoughts, triggering more emotions and round and round it goes. At fifty eight years old, though not decrepit or expecting to look death in the eye tomorrow morning, I am confronted by the fact that the major portion of my life here on earth is behind me. It is strange, in this place that I have come to, that so much of the last fifty eight years feels like somebody else's story. The childhood that I know belonged to the woman typing these words, has become lost in another lifetime, separated from the woman I have become. The people who played major roles in the scenes of my youth have taken on an image that seems conjured, fictitious, unreal, dreamlike. The memories, most of them heartbreaking, are scattered and can't be put in their proper order. It is time that I face this life I have lived, time to take it out in all its tarnished glory, view it through the eyes of the person it has formed, and chronicle it in some form that will hopefully take shape and make sense as it goes along. Each step I have taken has brought me, for some reason, to this place. Where am I going from here and will it seem to be somebody else's story when I'm through or will I recognize the heroine as myself?
Life Savers
March 25, 2010
Thursday, 8:53 P.M.
Home
Topics for the blog are endless when I am at work. It seems that every action and reaction of people in that facility is fodder for this venue. I tell myself to remember these instances and use them, then I get to this point in my day and all the fodder has turned into a forgotten jumble. I simply must carry a pen and paper with me at all times to write down the ideas as they are formulated because I have come up with some good stuff! Writing is cathartic for me, always has been. I have poured my heart and soul into writing for years and have never saved a one of them. (I lie, there is one saved one, maybe I'll put it here sometime.) But I digress. The point is that writing is part of my being and my tears of joy and tears of sorrow have found their way on to hundreds, maybe thousands of pages in my lifetime. Each time I have been a better person for having put the words to paper. I have been freed of restraints, I have traveled from here to eternity and I will be forever grateful for being blessed with two innate talents; one to form ideas that translate beautifully to words and the other, to form words that translate beautifully to music. Both, at one time or another, have literally saved my sanity and my life.
Thursday, 8:53 P.M.
Home
Topics for the blog are endless when I am at work. It seems that every action and reaction of people in that facility is fodder for this venue. I tell myself to remember these instances and use them, then I get to this point in my day and all the fodder has turned into a forgotten jumble. I simply must carry a pen and paper with me at all times to write down the ideas as they are formulated because I have come up with some good stuff! Writing is cathartic for me, always has been. I have poured my heart and soul into writing for years and have never saved a one of them. (I lie, there is one saved one, maybe I'll put it here sometime.) But I digress. The point is that writing is part of my being and my tears of joy and tears of sorrow have found their way on to hundreds, maybe thousands of pages in my lifetime. Each time I have been a better person for having put the words to paper. I have been freed of restraints, I have traveled from here to eternity and I will be forever grateful for being blessed with two innate talents; one to form ideas that translate beautifully to words and the other, to form words that translate beautifully to music. Both, at one time or another, have literally saved my sanity and my life.
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Invisible
March 24, 2010
Wednesday, 10:27 P.M.
Home
I spent the day feeling invisible. For eight hours I worked at my usual station; Nursing Admin Office, outside the offices of three associate directors of nursing. In the center of the arena I type, make appointments, create forms, set up interviews, devise schedules, field phone calls, print up and copy labs, distribute mail, verify invoices, requisition supplies, place orders, do inventories, deal with the Dept. of Health, maintain payroll information, monitor staffing hours, update procedure and policy manuals, etc., etc.
Not for a moment today, did I get a chance to stop and catch my breath. In six months at this position, I have taken a lunch break four times. Granted, that is my own fault, but the point of this story is that work hard, I work conscientiously, and I take pride in what I do. I also take pride in acknowledging the people around me, no matter how busy I may be, even if it's only a quick hello. And you know what? I am so tired tonight that this is going to end right here. Maybe I'll continue the story tomorrow or maybe it won't even matter that much by then.
Wednesday, 10:27 P.M.
Home
I spent the day feeling invisible. For eight hours I worked at my usual station; Nursing Admin Office, outside the offices of three associate directors of nursing. In the center of the arena I type, make appointments, create forms, set up interviews, devise schedules, field phone calls, print up and copy labs, distribute mail, verify invoices, requisition supplies, place orders, do inventories, deal with the Dept. of Health, maintain payroll information, monitor staffing hours, update procedure and policy manuals, etc., etc.
Not for a moment today, did I get a chance to stop and catch my breath. In six months at this position, I have taken a lunch break four times. Granted, that is my own fault, but the point of this story is that work hard, I work conscientiously, and I take pride in what I do. I also take pride in acknowledging the people around me, no matter how busy I may be, even if it's only a quick hello. And you know what? I am so tired tonight that this is going to end right here. Maybe I'll continue the story tomorrow or maybe it won't even matter that much by then.
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Wedding Bell Blues
March 23, 2010
Tuesday, 5:32 P.M.
Home
I'm a bad mother. Nope, don't try to make me feel better. I am a bad mother. My baby got married on Sunday and after a perfect, beautiful, sweet wedding ceremony and a rollicking, fun, happy reception, I came home and cried. I am honestly happy for the kids and I wish them all the most wonderful things life has to offer them. That's what makes this reaction so hard to understand. It's purely selfish, very unmaternal. I became second place in another son's life on Sunday. I am no longer "the contact in case of emergency". I am relegated to hearing second hand any good news, bad news, and everything in between, and I will probably hear it from my son's wife rather than from him. That's if they ever even call me at all! Daughters are different. Any bonding that was broken in adolescence returns in marriage. They want to be around their moms, they want to share all that girly stuff. I am the first one to tell you I am not a girly girl. I was never a giggler, or wasted my time concerned about designer clothes, fingernails, or hairdos. I am a tomboy, enjoying a hike through the woods far more than a day at a spa. Shake shingling my house is a far better use of my time than sitting in a salon getting a mani/pedi. So God, in his infinite wisdom, knew what he was doing when he blessed me with my boys. At first, I thought that was pretty cool. I loved being the mom of sons. It seemed so much easier than putting up with all the little and big girl moods and expectations. Well, I still love being the mom of sons, but with that comes letting them go when they take themselves a bride. There is an old saying that goes something like this, "My son is my son till he takes him a wife, but my daughter is my daughter for the rest of her life." I miss my sons. I miss my importance in their lives. Selfish, right?
Tuesday, 5:32 P.M.
Home
I'm a bad mother. Nope, don't try to make me feel better. I am a bad mother. My baby got married on Sunday and after a perfect, beautiful, sweet wedding ceremony and a rollicking, fun, happy reception, I came home and cried. I am honestly happy for the kids and I wish them all the most wonderful things life has to offer them. That's what makes this reaction so hard to understand. It's purely selfish, very unmaternal. I became second place in another son's life on Sunday. I am no longer "the contact in case of emergency". I am relegated to hearing second hand any good news, bad news, and everything in between, and I will probably hear it from my son's wife rather than from him. That's if they ever even call me at all! Daughters are different. Any bonding that was broken in adolescence returns in marriage. They want to be around their moms, they want to share all that girly stuff. I am the first one to tell you I am not a girly girl. I was never a giggler, or wasted my time concerned about designer clothes, fingernails, or hairdos. I am a tomboy, enjoying a hike through the woods far more than a day at a spa. Shake shingling my house is a far better use of my time than sitting in a salon getting a mani/pedi. So God, in his infinite wisdom, knew what he was doing when he blessed me with my boys. At first, I thought that was pretty cool. I loved being the mom of sons. It seemed so much easier than putting up with all the little and big girl moods and expectations. Well, I still love being the mom of sons, but with that comes letting them go when they take themselves a bride. There is an old saying that goes something like this, "My son is my son till he takes him a wife, but my daughter is my daughter for the rest of her life." I miss my sons. I miss my importance in their lives. Selfish, right?
Saturday, March 20, 2010
Most Important
March 20, 2010
Saturday, 4:42 P.M.
Home
I sit here this afternoon on the beautiful first day of Spring, pleased that the sun is shining and the air is deliciously warm. I also sit here, alone, realizing that I am living the last day of my life as the most important person in the world to someone. My youngest son is getting married tomorrow and I am wise enough to know that I must step aside gracefully to allow his wife to step into that place that I have held so dear. I know how this routine goes; it has happened before with my older son. One day, you are special and loved beyond all things and the next, you have dropped to second, third, fourth, or even lower place. It is a painful experience and it makes me sad. I wish for my Tom the same that I wished for his older brother; that he find joy and love and peace with his new wife, my daughter-in-law. Len has. He and his wife and children are an amazing family living the American dream to its fullest. Sometimes they let me come in.
So tomorrow morning, I will wake up alone, get ready for the wedding alone, drive myself to Fox Hollow alone, walk through the doors alone, witness the beginning of my end alone and then come home to be alone. I feel older somehow than I did yesterday. Today, I am Tom's mom, tomorrow I will be Megan's mother-in-law. I am not the most important person in the world to anyone, anymore...that's lonely.
Saturday, 4:42 P.M.
Home
I sit here this afternoon on the beautiful first day of Spring, pleased that the sun is shining and the air is deliciously warm. I also sit here, alone, realizing that I am living the last day of my life as the most important person in the world to someone. My youngest son is getting married tomorrow and I am wise enough to know that I must step aside gracefully to allow his wife to step into that place that I have held so dear. I know how this routine goes; it has happened before with my older son. One day, you are special and loved beyond all things and the next, you have dropped to second, third, fourth, or even lower place. It is a painful experience and it makes me sad. I wish for my Tom the same that I wished for his older brother; that he find joy and love and peace with his new wife, my daughter-in-law. Len has. He and his wife and children are an amazing family living the American dream to its fullest. Sometimes they let me come in.
So tomorrow morning, I will wake up alone, get ready for the wedding alone, drive myself to Fox Hollow alone, walk through the doors alone, witness the beginning of my end alone and then come home to be alone. I feel older somehow than I did yesterday. Today, I am Tom's mom, tomorrow I will be Megan's mother-in-law. I am not the most important person in the world to anyone, anymore...that's lonely.
Friday, March 19, 2010
Part of an Essay
March 19, 2010
Friday, 9:35 P.M.
Home
I have been fortunate, in my adult life, to have lived in relatively safe, peaceful neighborhoods. Once a year, for thirty years, my husband and I would throw an open house 4th of July party. People we hadn’t seen all year long would know to show up at our house on that day; no invitations and it was always a wildly successful blowout. All day long and into the night, the fireworks were being lit and exploded. Bottle rockets whistled through the sky and decorative displays would light up the night. Not once in all those years did a neighbor call the police. They would come from their houses as the sky darkened carrying their folding chairs and they would park themselves along the street to admire the displays. It was the one time in the year when the neighbors in this area came together. They would o-o-o and a-a-ah and you would hear occasional applause. When the fireworks works were over, they would fold up their chairs and go home, with nary a word. They were always content in the knowledge that the next morning we would be outside, going up and down the street, cleaning any debris that may have found its way into their yards, leaving the street just as pristine as it had been on July 3rd. They would not step out to say good morning or comment on the day before. The street remained closed and empty. It was strange.
Friday, 9:35 P.M.
Home
I have been fortunate, in my adult life, to have lived in relatively safe, peaceful neighborhoods. Once a year, for thirty years, my husband and I would throw an open house 4th of July party. People we hadn’t seen all year long would know to show up at our house on that day; no invitations and it was always a wildly successful blowout. All day long and into the night, the fireworks were being lit and exploded. Bottle rockets whistled through the sky and decorative displays would light up the night. Not once in all those years did a neighbor call the police. They would come from their houses as the sky darkened carrying their folding chairs and they would park themselves along the street to admire the displays. It was the one time in the year when the neighbors in this area came together. They would o-o-o and a-a-ah and you would hear occasional applause. When the fireworks works were over, they would fold up their chairs and go home, with nary a word. They were always content in the knowledge that the next morning we would be outside, going up and down the street, cleaning any debris that may have found its way into their yards, leaving the street just as pristine as it had been on July 3rd. They would not step out to say good morning or comment on the day before. The street remained closed and empty. It was strange.
Thursday, March 18, 2010
It's Thursday?
March 18, 2010
Thursday, 8:57 P.M.
Home
Where did this week go? It just up and got away from me. My essay is due on Saturday and I haven't added one word to what I began in class last Saturday. This is not a good thing. Normally, by this time of the week, I have written, proof read, edited, rewritten, proof read again, edited, given a final read and printed the finished product. What's worse, is that I probably won't get to it this evening either. Maybe it's the subject matter that isn't moving me to my usual depths. I see neighbors, but I don't know any of them. A few nods here and there and even some smiles, a moment to pet a dog or say hello to the stroller ensconced baby, but not much else. I fear it will make for some pretty mundane reading.
Thursday, 8:57 P.M.
Home
Where did this week go? It just up and got away from me. My essay is due on Saturday and I haven't added one word to what I began in class last Saturday. This is not a good thing. Normally, by this time of the week, I have written, proof read, edited, rewritten, proof read again, edited, given a final read and printed the finished product. What's worse, is that I probably won't get to it this evening either. Maybe it's the subject matter that isn't moving me to my usual depths. I see neighbors, but I don't know any of them. A few nods here and there and even some smiles, a moment to pet a dog or say hello to the stroller ensconced baby, but not much else. I fear it will make for some pretty mundane reading.
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
Listening Ears
March 17, 2010
Wednesday, 7:43 P.M.
Home
Having a conversation with a coworker today, I considered, not for the first time, how very little people listen to one another when they speak. It seems as though when one person's mouth is moving, that is the cue to the listener to turn off their "listening ears" as Judge Judy would say. If you look very closely, you can almost see the little flicker in the eye that indicates electrical waves going crazy in the brain to come up with the worse or best story scenario. If the speaker is going on about a sore toe, then the listener must one up him with a twisted foot. If the speaker is referring to his new jet ski, the listener has a beautiful new sailboat. If the speaker is down in the dumps, the listener is suicidal. If the speaker has a happy marriage, the listener has the best guy in the world. What is it about human nature that we can't just listen and truly hear the person who is talking to us? Why is it so difficult to empathize or feel delight for the speaker? It seems to me people miss out on a lot of good feelings and happy thoughts by behaving this way. I can't count the number of times I have left a conversation feeling so much better than when it started, simply because I paid attention and gleaned that little spark of pleasure for having done so. Call me crazy, but I feel badly for someone who is hurting and I am pleased as punch for someone who is doing well and either way, I want them to know it. My bigger and better or sadder and more devastating can wait for another time...
Wednesday, 7:43 P.M.
Home
Having a conversation with a coworker today, I considered, not for the first time, how very little people listen to one another when they speak. It seems as though when one person's mouth is moving, that is the cue to the listener to turn off their "listening ears" as Judge Judy would say. If you look very closely, you can almost see the little flicker in the eye that indicates electrical waves going crazy in the brain to come up with the worse or best story scenario. If the speaker is going on about a sore toe, then the listener must one up him with a twisted foot. If the speaker is referring to his new jet ski, the listener has a beautiful new sailboat. If the speaker is down in the dumps, the listener is suicidal. If the speaker has a happy marriage, the listener has the best guy in the world. What is it about human nature that we can't just listen and truly hear the person who is talking to us? Why is it so difficult to empathize or feel delight for the speaker? It seems to me people miss out on a lot of good feelings and happy thoughts by behaving this way. I can't count the number of times I have left a conversation feeling so much better than when it started, simply because I paid attention and gleaned that little spark of pleasure for having done so. Call me crazy, but I feel badly for someone who is hurting and I am pleased as punch for someone who is doing well and either way, I want them to know it. My bigger and better or sadder and more devastating can wait for another time...
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
Fraction of Time
March 16,2010
Tuesday, 8:29 P.M
Carol Ann's House
Yep, I'm at Carol Ann's place tonight. I am writing this between American Idol contestants. She and I had a nice light dinner, which she lost and are now enjoying the show and the memories that come with it. It's one of those back and forth evenings. She is sad, then she's OK, then she's sad, then she's positive, then she's sad and on and on it goes. Tomorrow is an important day in that she will go to the doctor and get answers to some very pertinent questions. We can then make plans from there.
In the meantime, we will have fun loving the singers or picking them apart and for just a fraction of time, we will forget...
Tuesday, 8:29 P.M
Carol Ann's House
Yep, I'm at Carol Ann's place tonight. I am writing this between American Idol contestants. She and I had a nice light dinner, which she lost and are now enjoying the show and the memories that come with it. It's one of those back and forth evenings. She is sad, then she's OK, then she's sad, then she's positive, then she's sad and on and on it goes. Tomorrow is an important day in that she will go to the doctor and get answers to some very pertinent questions. We can then make plans from there.
In the meantime, we will have fun loving the singers or picking them apart and for just a fraction of time, we will forget...
Monday, March 15, 2010
Fortitude?
March 15, 2010
Monday, 7:01 P.M.
Home
I'm not sure, I just don't know if I have the fortitude to be a good companion to a dying friend. You like to think ,when you aren't faced with the reality of it, that you would stand by them for months at a time, going shopping, cooking up little meals, tidying up the house, doing laundry, lending a shoulder on which to cry, encouraging them to go through tortuous treatments, and pretending this is nothing more than a ripple in a stream. I have a thing about not judging someone until I have walked a mile in his or her shoes and most often, I can pull off a reasonable facsimile of the mile. Not this one, try as I might, I can't possibly imagine what this girl is going through as she holds strands of her hair in her hand and lays her head down on a lonely pillow every night. Wearing a mask of good cheer and concern every time I go over there, I feel so inadequate. The conversations are stilted and the cheer is fake. Carol Ann is very depressed and that breaks through the protective barrier I build around myself and I feel the sadness creeping in on me like a mist on the ocean. I am ashamed to say that when I leave, I sigh with relief to be away from what is becoming a suffocating atmosphere. All this being said, I am spending the night with her tomorrow. I hope it helps. We are going to watch American Idol together. It's something we used to do long distance in the days BC. We would call each other on the phone back and forth during commercials and compare notes. Our taste in music really differs, so we don't usually agree on the better singer, but it's fun anyway. If it can just take her out of herself for an hour, it will be worth the trip...
Monday, 7:01 P.M.
Home
I'm not sure, I just don't know if I have the fortitude to be a good companion to a dying friend. You like to think ,when you aren't faced with the reality of it, that you would stand by them for months at a time, going shopping, cooking up little meals, tidying up the house, doing laundry, lending a shoulder on which to cry, encouraging them to go through tortuous treatments, and pretending this is nothing more than a ripple in a stream. I have a thing about not judging someone until I have walked a mile in his or her shoes and most often, I can pull off a reasonable facsimile of the mile. Not this one, try as I might, I can't possibly imagine what this girl is going through as she holds strands of her hair in her hand and lays her head down on a lonely pillow every night. Wearing a mask of good cheer and concern every time I go over there, I feel so inadequate. The conversations are stilted and the cheer is fake. Carol Ann is very depressed and that breaks through the protective barrier I build around myself and I feel the sadness creeping in on me like a mist on the ocean. I am ashamed to say that when I leave, I sigh with relief to be away from what is becoming a suffocating atmosphere. All this being said, I am spending the night with her tomorrow. I hope it helps. We are going to watch American Idol together. It's something we used to do long distance in the days BC. We would call each other on the phone back and forth during commercials and compare notes. Our taste in music really differs, so we don't usually agree on the better singer, but it's fun anyway. If it can just take her out of herself for an hour, it will be worth the trip...
Sunday, March 14, 2010
THINK!!!
March 14, 2010
Sunday, 11:50 A.M.
Home
Last week, in my English 101 class, we had a spirited political discussion spurred on by "Zeit Geist", the movie. One of the issues brought up was the interference of the federal government in our lives. My own essay involved the government, in the guise of protector, promoting laws alien to our Constitution and easily slipping them by an unsophisticated, apathetic population. Listening to commercials over the past two or three weeks and hearing the subject brought up on one of the Sunday morning political discussion programs this morning, I am compelled to comment on the proposed soda tax the powers that be profess is in the interest of our "children" and their health. I am so sick of them and their balderdash! They are clearly stepping into our homes again, where they do not belong. Using our children has always been a key weapon in their arsenal because people are so malleable when it comes to their kids. They stop thinking and buy into the worst case scenarios being fed them. If soda and sweetened juices are going to affect the children's health, then parents, take note. Wise up and start feeding your children a healthier diet. Have we become so blindly dependent on the government to take care of us that we can't possibly come up with these solutions by ourselves?! Damn! It does NOT take a village to raise a child. It takes sensible, thinking, loving parents. That village quote comes from some African proverb, folks. They are starving in Africa. If my child is starving, I don't wait for the government and the village. I strap my baby on my back and I head out of there to find sustenance for my darling child. I will not stand by with the village watching him starve to death with all the other village children! I beg you to see, to listen, to investigate, to understand, to THINK!!
Sunday, 11:50 A.M.
Home
Last week, in my English 101 class, we had a spirited political discussion spurred on by "Zeit Geist", the movie. One of the issues brought up was the interference of the federal government in our lives. My own essay involved the government, in the guise of protector, promoting laws alien to our Constitution and easily slipping them by an unsophisticated, apathetic population. Listening to commercials over the past two or three weeks and hearing the subject brought up on one of the Sunday morning political discussion programs this morning, I am compelled to comment on the proposed soda tax the powers that be profess is in the interest of our "children" and their health. I am so sick of them and their balderdash! They are clearly stepping into our homes again, where they do not belong. Using our children has always been a key weapon in their arsenal because people are so malleable when it comes to their kids. They stop thinking and buy into the worst case scenarios being fed them. If soda and sweetened juices are going to affect the children's health, then parents, take note. Wise up and start feeding your children a healthier diet. Have we become so blindly dependent on the government to take care of us that we can't possibly come up with these solutions by ourselves?! Damn! It does NOT take a village to raise a child. It takes sensible, thinking, loving parents. That village quote comes from some African proverb, folks. They are starving in Africa. If my child is starving, I don't wait for the government and the village. I strap my baby on my back and I head out of there to find sustenance for my darling child. I will not stand by with the village watching him starve to death with all the other village children! I beg you to see, to listen, to investigate, to understand, to THINK!!
Saturday, March 13, 2010
Mundane Entry
March 13, 2010
Saturday, 7:10 P.M.
Home
It's a miserable, rainy night following a dank, grey miserable rainy day. As my mom would say, "Can't think, brain's numb, inspiration won't come". For the record, I have typed three different things and erased all three of them because they were stupid. So here it is, ten minutes later and I have gone around in a circle to end up exactly where I was when I began. My plan for the evening is to make myself a nice vodka and orange juice, do some needlework and reading with one ear tuned to the TV, drink the nice vodka and orange juice, feel a little sorry for myself in my lonely state, (which will pass in short order or when the sun shines), and relieve my reader of this mundane entry. Bye, now.
Saturday, 7:10 P.M.
Home
It's a miserable, rainy night following a dank, grey miserable rainy day. As my mom would say, "Can't think, brain's numb, inspiration won't come". For the record, I have typed three different things and erased all three of them because they were stupid. So here it is, ten minutes later and I have gone around in a circle to end up exactly where I was when I began. My plan for the evening is to make myself a nice vodka and orange juice, do some needlework and reading with one ear tuned to the TV, drink the nice vodka and orange juice, feel a little sorry for myself in my lonely state, (which will pass in short order or when the sun shines), and relieve my reader of this mundane entry. Bye, now.
Friday, March 12, 2010
Happy Dance
March 12, 2010
Friday, 3:24 P.M.
Home
I'm doing a tentative happy dance for the moment. Carol Ann has changed her mind about the chemo. She is going to start the treatments again next Wednesday. Believe it or not, it's because she can't leave her cats. Know what? I don't care what the reason is as long as she has one, that reason to live, to fight on, to look toward a future. As long as she has the reason, then we can let the future take care of itself. She has two cats left. Cats have played an important part in Carol Ann's life for a very long time, long before I met her, which was fifteen years ago. The older one, Madam, is quite old with arthritis and stomach problems. Carol Ann is far more conscientious of her cats' health than she is of her own and she's dropped, not a few, bucks on their medical treatments. The younger one, Andy, is very reticent around other people. She will never come out of her hidey hole when anyone other than Carol Ann is around. So, naturally, these two are not prime candidates for finding a home if their mistress is gone. Hence, Carol Ann's decision. She is perfectly comfortable putting herself down, so to speak, but not with having the cat's put to sleep on her passing. None of us knows what the future holds. Hell, I could be in a car accident on the way to her house tomorrow and predecede her by ages! The point is we DON'T know, so shouldn't each day be lived to its fullest? We should be finding wonder in every moment we are here because the next moment, we may not be. Age has granted me a little more wisdom and I know that I don't want to waste a moment of the sunshine or bother about frivolous, unimportant matters that mean nothing in the big picture. There is nothing I need that I don't have. My friend is not giving up the fight and so I have all the reason in the world to do the happy dance.
Friday, 3:24 P.M.
Home
I'm doing a tentative happy dance for the moment. Carol Ann has changed her mind about the chemo. She is going to start the treatments again next Wednesday. Believe it or not, it's because she can't leave her cats. Know what? I don't care what the reason is as long as she has one, that reason to live, to fight on, to look toward a future. As long as she has the reason, then we can let the future take care of itself. She has two cats left. Cats have played an important part in Carol Ann's life for a very long time, long before I met her, which was fifteen years ago. The older one, Madam, is quite old with arthritis and stomach problems. Carol Ann is far more conscientious of her cats' health than she is of her own and she's dropped, not a few, bucks on their medical treatments. The younger one, Andy, is very reticent around other people. She will never come out of her hidey hole when anyone other than Carol Ann is around. So, naturally, these two are not prime candidates for finding a home if their mistress is gone. Hence, Carol Ann's decision. She is perfectly comfortable putting herself down, so to speak, but not with having the cat's put to sleep on her passing. None of us knows what the future holds. Hell, I could be in a car accident on the way to her house tomorrow and predecede her by ages! The point is we DON'T know, so shouldn't each day be lived to its fullest? We should be finding wonder in every moment we are here because the next moment, we may not be. Age has granted me a little more wisdom and I know that I don't want to waste a moment of the sunshine or bother about frivolous, unimportant matters that mean nothing in the big picture. There is nothing I need that I don't have. My friend is not giving up the fight and so I have all the reason in the world to do the happy dance.
Argentina Water
March 12, 2010
Friday, 8:08 A.M.
Home
Ah, this is nice. It's FRIDAY morning and I am at my home computer, enjoying the start of a sorely needed day off from work. How fortunate I am to have a day job that allows for vacation and personal days! Already, this morning, I have done my bookkeeping work and read my e-mail. I was hoping for some sunshine today and I'm hearing my hopes will be dashed for the entire weekend. As a matter of fact, I may have to take a rowboat to class tomorrow!
A friend of mine, a very talented piano bar entertainer, is currently contracted for six months on a cruise ship in South America. He has had the good fortune of seeing many amazing things, including Antarctica and the Christ the Redeemer statue, the icon of Rio, a 130-foot structure standing on top of 2300-foot Corcovado mountain in Rio de Janeiro harbor. He maintains a blog keeping all of his friends abreast of his travels. Occasionally he lucks out and an excursion falls into his time constraints. Such was the case when he booked what he hoped would be the excursion of a lifetime, flying over the Iguazu Falls deep inside Argentina. *("This Natural Wonder of the World had been described by the Port Lecturer as “Niagara Falls on Steroids”. A four-hour pilgrimage of bus - then airplane - then train was required to reach this place, an all-day affair that would put me back on the ship at 8PM, in time for the night’s work.") I've spoken to him often of his travels and this is probably the most excited he has ever been. Long story short, it didn't work out and the excursion was cancelled.
I found myself feeling badly for him. Then I found myself shaking my head. Carol Ann is dying, I am struggling with crushing loneliness, earthquakes are devastating the hemisphere, people are without work and in fear for their families' futures and I'm feeling badly for someone, who is cruising around the world, because he didn't get to see some stupid water in Argentina. Ain't life a bitch?
Friday, 8:08 A.M.
Home
Ah, this is nice. It's FRIDAY morning and I am at my home computer, enjoying the start of a sorely needed day off from work. How fortunate I am to have a day job that allows for vacation and personal days! Already, this morning, I have done my bookkeeping work and read my e-mail. I was hoping for some sunshine today and I'm hearing my hopes will be dashed for the entire weekend. As a matter of fact, I may have to take a rowboat to class tomorrow!
A friend of mine, a very talented piano bar entertainer, is currently contracted for six months on a cruise ship in South America. He has had the good fortune of seeing many amazing things, including Antarctica and the Christ the Redeemer statue, the icon of Rio, a 130-foot structure standing on top of 2300-foot Corcovado mountain in Rio de Janeiro harbor. He maintains a blog keeping all of his friends abreast of his travels. Occasionally he lucks out and an excursion falls into his time constraints. Such was the case when he booked what he hoped would be the excursion of a lifetime, flying over the Iguazu Falls deep inside Argentina. *("This Natural Wonder of the World had been described by the Port Lecturer as “Niagara Falls on Steroids”. A four-hour pilgrimage of bus - then airplane - then train was required to reach this place, an all-day affair that would put me back on the ship at 8PM, in time for the night’s work.") I've spoken to him often of his travels and this is probably the most excited he has ever been. Long story short, it didn't work out and the excursion was cancelled.
I found myself feeling badly for him. Then I found myself shaking my head. Carol Ann is dying, I am struggling with crushing loneliness, earthquakes are devastating the hemisphere, people are without work and in fear for their families' futures and I'm feeling badly for someone, who is cruising around the world, because he didn't get to see some stupid water in Argentina. Ain't life a bitch?
Thursday, March 11, 2010
Wisdom of the Words
March 11, 2010
Thursday, 6:58 P.M.
Home
"My definition of Hell? Loneliness for all eternity...", words spoken to a teenage girl by her mom another lifetime ago. At the time, I didn't have a clue as to what that meant. I was the oldest of nine kids in a single, alcoholic parent, welfare supported home and the thought of a moment alone was but an unrequited fantasy. Flash forward to this lifetime and appreciate the wisdom of the words. Loneliness, not aloneness, but empty loneliness is hell. Daily routine brings with it associations with people, your children; coworkers; shop keepers; gas station attendants; counter people; etc. with whom you spend snippets of time. These associations keep you from being alone, but they do little to ease the gnawing loneliness that comes with no significant other in your life. You know, the one who shares so many of the same interests, concerns, hopes, dreams; the one who you matter to more than any other; the one who will feel the void if you should go away; the one who leaves a void if they go away. It doesn't have to be that romantic, passionate man woman thing (though I'd never rule that out!). It is just that person, that best friend, that one other that replaces the gnawing with purpose. Carol Ann, now facing the end of her days, is lonely. She speaks of going through this disease by herself every night with noone there to stroke her brow or brush back her hair, noone to lay beside her and hold her in a comforting embrace. I know of what she speaks. I feel for her and I fear for me...
Thursday, 6:58 P.M.
Home
"My definition of Hell? Loneliness for all eternity...", words spoken to a teenage girl by her mom another lifetime ago. At the time, I didn't have a clue as to what that meant. I was the oldest of nine kids in a single, alcoholic parent, welfare supported home and the thought of a moment alone was but an unrequited fantasy. Flash forward to this lifetime and appreciate the wisdom of the words. Loneliness, not aloneness, but empty loneliness is hell. Daily routine brings with it associations with people, your children; coworkers; shop keepers; gas station attendants; counter people; etc. with whom you spend snippets of time. These associations keep you from being alone, but they do little to ease the gnawing loneliness that comes with no significant other in your life. You know, the one who shares so many of the same interests, concerns, hopes, dreams; the one who you matter to more than any other; the one who will feel the void if you should go away; the one who leaves a void if they go away. It doesn't have to be that romantic, passionate man woman thing (though I'd never rule that out!). It is just that person, that best friend, that one other that replaces the gnawing with purpose. Carol Ann, now facing the end of her days, is lonely. She speaks of going through this disease by herself every night with noone there to stroke her brow or brush back her hair, noone to lay beside her and hold her in a comforting embrace. I know of what she speaks. I feel for her and I fear for me...
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
Piece of Paper
March 9, 2010
Tuesday, 8:02 P.M.
Home
My baby is getting married on the 21st. Tommy is about 6'1 and 250 pounds, but at 26 years old, he remains my baby. I have mixed emotions about him becoming a husband and more than likely, a father. Even though they are both in their late 20s, I'm afraid that neither one of these children is ready for all that being spouses and parents entails. They have lived together for five years and are convinced that being married won't be any different. They aren't taking into consideration all the responsibility that suddenly comes with that "piece of paper". They are dealing with issues within themselves that should be worked out before they take this giant step, but as we all know, I'm just Mom, what do I know? On the other hand, maybe this will bring on the epiphany I have always longed for for my son. Maybe he will realize what a brilliant, talented, artistic, bright, funny, wonderful man he is and will treat himself that way. Maybe he will be the supportive, loving husband and father I have always known he can be and feared he wouldn't. Maybe Mom is wrong. Wouldn't that be great?
Tuesday, 8:02 P.M.
Home
My baby is getting married on the 21st. Tommy is about 6'1 and 250 pounds, but at 26 years old, he remains my baby. I have mixed emotions about him becoming a husband and more than likely, a father. Even though they are both in their late 20s, I'm afraid that neither one of these children is ready for all that being spouses and parents entails. They have lived together for five years and are convinced that being married won't be any different. They aren't taking into consideration all the responsibility that suddenly comes with that "piece of paper". They are dealing with issues within themselves that should be worked out before they take this giant step, but as we all know, I'm just Mom, what do I know? On the other hand, maybe this will bring on the epiphany I have always longed for for my son. Maybe he will realize what a brilliant, talented, artistic, bright, funny, wonderful man he is and will treat himself that way. Maybe he will be the supportive, loving husband and father I have always known he can be and feared he wouldn't. Maybe Mom is wrong. Wouldn't that be great?
Monday, March 8, 2010
Career Change?
March 8, 2010
Monday, 8:05 P.M.
Home
Oh boy, this is going to be one of those nights when I sit here wondering what to write about. Having just spoken with Carol Ann, there is very little new to report. She is extremely tired tonight because she had to go out in the fresh air today to get some documents notarized. There has to be an easier way to get the benefits sick people are entitled to than forcing them to stand in front of a notary and sign a paper. She is weak, she is tired, and she is nauseous. Seems to me there is a market out there for a notary who is aware of the red tape involved in these kinds of things to start a patient advocate business. They could meet with the client at their homes, collect all the information at one shot, then proceed to contact all the powers that be on their behalf. A person like this would be worth their weight in gold to Carol Ann right now. Maybe I have just come up with a new career idea for myself. I'll have to check into what it takes to become a notary.
Well, this is short and sweet, but my mind is numb to blog ideas. I am reading the essay Professor Kinsley assigned tonight, so maybe there will be more to discuss on the morrow.
Monday, 8:05 P.M.
Home
Oh boy, this is going to be one of those nights when I sit here wondering what to write about. Having just spoken with Carol Ann, there is very little new to report. She is extremely tired tonight because she had to go out in the fresh air today to get some documents notarized. There has to be an easier way to get the benefits sick people are entitled to than forcing them to stand in front of a notary and sign a paper. She is weak, she is tired, and she is nauseous. Seems to me there is a market out there for a notary who is aware of the red tape involved in these kinds of things to start a patient advocate business. They could meet with the client at their homes, collect all the information at one shot, then proceed to contact all the powers that be on their behalf. A person like this would be worth their weight in gold to Carol Ann right now. Maybe I have just come up with a new career idea for myself. I'll have to check into what it takes to become a notary.
Well, this is short and sweet, but my mind is numb to blog ideas. I am reading the essay Professor Kinsley assigned tonight, so maybe there will be more to discuss on the morrow.
Saturday, March 6, 2010
Don't Go...
March 6, 2010
Saturday, 7:41 P.M.
Home
Funny how things happen. Had it not been for Professor Kinsley's requirement to earn a better grade in this course, I would never have started this blog. Now I am finding it is working as an outlet for the doubts and sadness I am feeling, especially about my buddy, Carol Ann. There is no other place for me to go or person to speak to about these things. I wondered at first what I could possibly write that would be of interest in a blog. Remembering that what I write doesn't really matter much at all makes it easier to pick topics to discuss with myself which is the purpose for which I will now use it. I will now come here to reflect on my own thoughts, no matter how fragmented or scattered. I can lay them out in black and white (or purple and white), pour my confusion and conflicting feelings all over the page where I can sit back, sort them out, and handle them one by one. I am the keeper of my own happiness.
The visit with Carol Ann today was a little emotionally difficult. The girl is sitting there telling me she wants me to have her new TV when she's gone. Then she's asking me if I like this lamp, do I like her porcelain dolls, good God, I don't want to have these kinds of conversations. "I want to have you, Carol Ann!" I want to scream at her! But I don't. I do say, "I don't want to have this conversation, but know that I will treasure whatever you may leave me and I am honored that you feel this way. But I don't want stuff, I don't want anything but to know that this summer I will sit in Carol Ann's backyard, watching the birds at the feeders she always keeps stocked for them, enjoying the beauty of the plants she has lovingly nurtured and enjoy the barbecue she will have going for us when I get there. I want to listen to her go on and on about herself and how good the food is, a quality I used to find very annoying. I want to argue about global warming and her newly found expertise in politics (she now a staunch liberal and I, a pretty strong life long conservative with liberal tendencies). I want to know that we will share music and singing together for a long time to come (she a jazz lover, me more a show tune, ballad kind of girl). I want to cry out, "Don't go Carol Ann, please don't leave me.", but I won't. I won't add that burden to her host of burdens, but my heart and soul will scream it over and over before this is done and my soul will ache for my loss...
Saturday, 7:41 P.M.
Home
Funny how things happen. Had it not been for Professor Kinsley's requirement to earn a better grade in this course, I would never have started this blog. Now I am finding it is working as an outlet for the doubts and sadness I am feeling, especially about my buddy, Carol Ann. There is no other place for me to go or person to speak to about these things. I wondered at first what I could possibly write that would be of interest in a blog. Remembering that what I write doesn't really matter much at all makes it easier to pick topics to discuss with myself which is the purpose for which I will now use it. I will now come here to reflect on my own thoughts, no matter how fragmented or scattered. I can lay them out in black and white (or purple and white), pour my confusion and conflicting feelings all over the page where I can sit back, sort them out, and handle them one by one. I am the keeper of my own happiness.
The visit with Carol Ann today was a little emotionally difficult. The girl is sitting there telling me she wants me to have her new TV when she's gone. Then she's asking me if I like this lamp, do I like her porcelain dolls, good God, I don't want to have these kinds of conversations. "I want to have you, Carol Ann!" I want to scream at her! But I don't. I do say, "I don't want to have this conversation, but know that I will treasure whatever you may leave me and I am honored that you feel this way. But I don't want stuff, I don't want anything but to know that this summer I will sit in Carol Ann's backyard, watching the birds at the feeders she always keeps stocked for them, enjoying the beauty of the plants she has lovingly nurtured and enjoy the barbecue she will have going for us when I get there. I want to listen to her go on and on about herself and how good the food is, a quality I used to find very annoying. I want to argue about global warming and her newly found expertise in politics (she now a staunch liberal and I, a pretty strong life long conservative with liberal tendencies). I want to know that we will share music and singing together for a long time to come (she a jazz lover, me more a show tune, ballad kind of girl). I want to cry out, "Don't go Carol Ann, please don't leave me.", but I won't. I won't add that burden to her host of burdens, but my heart and soul will scream it over and over before this is done and my soul will ache for my loss...
Friday, March 5, 2010
Easy Way Out
March 5, 2010
Friday, 7:51 P.M.
Home
At the first viewing of Zeitgeist, I sat at my computer and, even though I came to it with what I thought was an open mind, my initial reactions were , no, no, no. I took notes, wrote down statements to research, and then got caught up in what they were saying. The thought, to any native born American, that our own government could be involved in such a heinous plot against its own people is just so alien as to be beyond the realm of rationality. Flashbacks of my own words were coming back to me. Never in my mind, back then, did even I think our leaders could be so cold, so calculating, so far reaching in their greed. I had but an nth of an idea.
Not being a stranger to the treacheries of our government, I watched the movie a second time and there were some simple things about it that were the ones that hit home the hardest. I found myself listening and watching, wondering where my brain had gone over those horrific hours, days, weeks, and months as varied reports were released after 9/11/01.
Friday, 7:51 P.M.
Home
At the first viewing of Zeitgeist, I sat at my computer and, even though I came to it with what I thought was an open mind, my initial reactions were , no, no, no. I took notes, wrote down statements to research, and then got caught up in what they were saying. The thought, to any native born American, that our own government could be involved in such a heinous plot against its own people is just so alien as to be beyond the realm of rationality. Flashbacks of my own words were coming back to me. Never in my mind, back then, did even I think our leaders could be so cold, so calculating, so far reaching in their greed. I had but an nth of an idea.
Not being a stranger to the treacheries of our government, I watched the movie a second time and there were some simple things about it that were the ones that hit home the hardest. I found myself listening and watching, wondering where my brain had gone over those horrific hours, days, weeks, and months as varied reports were released after 9/11/01.
Thursday, March 4, 2010
Angel
March 4, 2010
Thursday, 10:30 P.M.
Home
Here I was, all set to shut down the computer after four hours of bookkeeping work and eight hours at the day job when I remembered I have a blog to enter! To be honest, for a split second, I considered just letting it go for one night, but this little angel on my shoulder gave the little devil on my shoulder a shove and he fell off. Angel wins.
I had a dog named Angel. She was a shepherd collie mix, we think. Running down the street we lived on, on a beautiful summer evening, she was stopping by every house with people outside it, sweet and friendly and just so damned cute! She was lapping up all the oohs and aahs, relishing in the scratching and petting. Not wearing any collar or tags, it was fairly safe to assume she was a stray with no particular place to go so our neighbors across the street said they would take her in. I would have loved to bring her in to our family, but my husband was adamantly against the idea. Within a half hour, she had escaped the house across the street and made her way back to us. While petting her, I noticed a lot of little bumps on her skin which my sister Gail, who had stopped by, confirmed were ticks. She and I brought this sweetie of a dog into the house and as I held her, Gail removed every tick from her body. Not once did this dog growl or try to break away or nip. As my sister worked I whispered to the dog, "You are such an angel". For the next fifteen years, she remained my Angel. I lost her six years ago and as I sit and write about her all this time later, I miss her snuggling up at my feet.
Thursday, 10:30 P.M.
Home
Here I was, all set to shut down the computer after four hours of bookkeeping work and eight hours at the day job when I remembered I have a blog to enter! To be honest, for a split second, I considered just letting it go for one night, but this little angel on my shoulder gave the little devil on my shoulder a shove and he fell off. Angel wins.
I had a dog named Angel. She was a shepherd collie mix, we think. Running down the street we lived on, on a beautiful summer evening, she was stopping by every house with people outside it, sweet and friendly and just so damned cute! She was lapping up all the oohs and aahs, relishing in the scratching and petting. Not wearing any collar or tags, it was fairly safe to assume she was a stray with no particular place to go so our neighbors across the street said they would take her in. I would have loved to bring her in to our family, but my husband was adamantly against the idea. Within a half hour, she had escaped the house across the street and made her way back to us. While petting her, I noticed a lot of little bumps on her skin which my sister Gail, who had stopped by, confirmed were ticks. She and I brought this sweetie of a dog into the house and as I held her, Gail removed every tick from her body. Not once did this dog growl or try to break away or nip. As my sister worked I whispered to the dog, "You are such an angel". For the next fifteen years, she remained my Angel. I lost her six years ago and as I sit and write about her all this time later, I miss her snuggling up at my feet.
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
Truth In Advertising
March 3, 2010
Wednesday, 9:30 P.M.
Home
Tomorrow, I am loathe to say, my daughter in law will be forty years old. You can not let a birthday like that go by as if it is like all the others, so I just spent two and a half hours on line trying to find THE perfect bouquet of flowers to send to her at THE most reasonable price. Well I scored on half of it, anyway. The flowers are gorgeous, the 12.99 additional vase is pretty, the price at the end of it all could buy my meals for a month! They lure you in at the beginning with a promise of a rebate for your delivery charge, to be claimed after you place your order. Yeah, nice, I place the order, get my confirmation, click on my rebate button, and get informed that I can get my NEXT order delivered for free! That, my friends, is not my idea of a rebate or truth in advertising and I don't think I'll rush to these people again any time soon. Actually, I think I'll do it the old fashioned way and go to an actual florist shop. My heart really goes out to those romantic guys who so sweetly and thoughtfully send their sweethearts flowers these days. It costs an arm and a leg. As for me, I never turn my nose up at a bouquet from King Kullen!
Carol Ann has not answered her phone today. I called from work this afternoon and when I got no answer, I took heart thinking she may have changed her mind and headed to her chemo session. I left a message telling her I would call later, which I did when I came home from school at around 7 and she still didn't pick up. Here it is two hours later, she hasn't called back and I can't help but be concerned. Maybe she was just so tired after the session that she's sacked out totally oblivious to the fact that I am sitting here so concerned. I hope that's what it is, you know?
Wednesday, 9:30 P.M.
Home
Tomorrow, I am loathe to say, my daughter in law will be forty years old. You can not let a birthday like that go by as if it is like all the others, so I just spent two and a half hours on line trying to find THE perfect bouquet of flowers to send to her at THE most reasonable price. Well I scored on half of it, anyway. The flowers are gorgeous, the 12.99 additional vase is pretty, the price at the end of it all could buy my meals for a month! They lure you in at the beginning with a promise of a rebate for your delivery charge, to be claimed after you place your order. Yeah, nice, I place the order, get my confirmation, click on my rebate button, and get informed that I can get my NEXT order delivered for free! That, my friends, is not my idea of a rebate or truth in advertising and I don't think I'll rush to these people again any time soon. Actually, I think I'll do it the old fashioned way and go to an actual florist shop. My heart really goes out to those romantic guys who so sweetly and thoughtfully send their sweethearts flowers these days. It costs an arm and a leg. As for me, I never turn my nose up at a bouquet from King Kullen!
Carol Ann has not answered her phone today. I called from work this afternoon and when I got no answer, I took heart thinking she may have changed her mind and headed to her chemo session. I left a message telling her I would call later, which I did when I came home from school at around 7 and she still didn't pick up. Here it is two hours later, she hasn't called back and I can't help but be concerned. Maybe she was just so tired after the session that she's sacked out totally oblivious to the fact that I am sitting here so concerned. I hope that's what it is, you know?
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
Beckoning Couch
March 2, 2010
Tuesday, 10:25 P.M.
Home
There are times, like tonight, when one of the last things I want to do is sit down and write in a blog. My couch is beckoning me like a petulant lover and in it's sweet, comforting embrace is where I long to be. Being the responsible student, though, my beckoning couch will wait for ten more minutes. I guess it isn't going anywhere, very like this entry, now that I think of it!
It's tax time and I spent the evening with my per diem boss putting a rather heavy stack of returns together. I use the term per diem boss on purpose. See it gives me a small sense of power, referring to this part-time arrangement, if I put the boss instead of myself in the role of per diem. That means I can fire him as a boss just as easily as he could fire me as the assistant bookkeeper. I wouldn't do it though. He is a beyond fair guy and it's a pleasure to work for him. If all goes according to plan, and I get this Accounting degree, he will play a large part in the security of my old age, guaranteeing that he can provide me with all the work I will ever need to succeed in my own home based business, affording me the opportunity to say goodbye to the daily grind I have found myself in for the past forty years. Aside from the beckoning couch, what more could a girl want?
Tuesday, 10:25 P.M.
Home
There are times, like tonight, when one of the last things I want to do is sit down and write in a blog. My couch is beckoning me like a petulant lover and in it's sweet, comforting embrace is where I long to be. Being the responsible student, though, my beckoning couch will wait for ten more minutes. I guess it isn't going anywhere, very like this entry, now that I think of it!
It's tax time and I spent the evening with my per diem boss putting a rather heavy stack of returns together. I use the term per diem boss on purpose. See it gives me a small sense of power, referring to this part-time arrangement, if I put the boss instead of myself in the role of per diem. That means I can fire him as a boss just as easily as he could fire me as the assistant bookkeeper. I wouldn't do it though. He is a beyond fair guy and it's a pleasure to work for him. If all goes according to plan, and I get this Accounting degree, he will play a large part in the security of my old age, guaranteeing that he can provide me with all the work I will ever need to succeed in my own home based business, affording me the opportunity to say goodbye to the daily grind I have found myself in for the past forty years. Aside from the beckoning couch, what more could a girl want?
Monday, March 1, 2010
The Perfect Shower
March 1, 2010
Monday, 7:02 P.M.
Home
Living in a basement apartment for the past five and a half years, I'd about given up on ever having a great shower again. No sooner would I get the water pressure and temperature just right than my landpeople upstairs would rinse out a pan, run the dishwasher, do the laundry, flush the toilet, water the lawn, wash the car, or any of a host of other water using activities they find to do from day to day. If, on the slim chance that it was only a few seconds of discomfort, then my phone would ring, it would be important and I would have to cut my evening ministrations short.
Then came tonight and all seems to have been right with the world because I stepped into that shower, set the water pressure and toasty warm temperature and there they stayed! My hair got thoroughly rinsed, all the shaving got done with not a nick, and I basked in the glory of standing under a perfect shower until I was ready, really ready to get out. Aaaah, heaven.
Monday, 7:02 P.M.
Home
Living in a basement apartment for the past five and a half years, I'd about given up on ever having a great shower again. No sooner would I get the water pressure and temperature just right than my landpeople upstairs would rinse out a pan, run the dishwasher, do the laundry, flush the toilet, water the lawn, wash the car, or any of a host of other water using activities they find to do from day to day. If, on the slim chance that it was only a few seconds of discomfort, then my phone would ring, it would be important and I would have to cut my evening ministrations short.
Then came tonight and all seems to have been right with the world because I stepped into that shower, set the water pressure and toasty warm temperature and there they stayed! My hair got thoroughly rinsed, all the shaving got done with not a nick, and I basked in the glory of standing under a perfect shower until I was ready, really ready to get out. Aaaah, heaven.
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