MUSINGS OF THE DAY

Some days I just feel as though I’m invisible. After thinking about that statement, I have decided it’s my own paranoia. And, wherever did that trait come from? The reality is that people have their own lives, and they don’t have to pay attention to, or even respond to me; and maybe that’s a good thing.

I’m also considering that today is a bit gloomy. We’ve just had a decent rain, for which I should be very grateful. The hibiscuses love it. The little yellow roses that I potted the other day are really responding well to the rain. It’s still cloudy and humid. The temp is a moderate 76 degrees, and it really looks like it could rain again. Hank is pacing, because he wants me to get up and do something to entertain him. He wants to play. At his age, it’s a miracle he can still retrieve the little toy that he so dearly loves. Other than that, it’s eerily quiet.

Quiet doesn’t bother me. I do not have to have background noises or loud music to fill in the blanks. On these days, I still feel that I’m either dead or invisible. Music helps me go somewhere else. I love it when my family of hawks are on the hunt in the “alley-way” between houses. I know they are signaling each other that there is something to be gained. But today, it just helps drown out the tinnitus.

I think that the quiet and the invisible status are leading me somewhere. This could be a big benefit to me. Being as spiritual as I am (and not in the “religious” sense), I could just say anything I want and move anywhere I want without being noticed. This could make it easy to take a walk on the wild side….mentally. There could be some surprises there; and maybe they’d be welcomed.

On the balmier side, I’m just in a funk. I feel as though no one hears me unless I fart. That’s a Baby-boomer term for “Things just aren’t quite right” (to put it mildly). This will be rectified later in the day, when my dog, (who loves me regardless) will acknowledge me as his best friend, and my very being will let me know that I am worthy of all the good that comes my way. Still later, my love will saunter in the door, and make my day “on the dark side” go away. I’ll be all good again. Why can’t I see that for myself from the beginning of these episodes? I know everyone has these days. How I wish someone would join me, so that we could laugh at our “Grand Funk”. After all … I’m not the only one, and only human at that. This too shall pass.

We Baby-Boomers have been through a number diagnoses and surgeries; not the least of which, have been major. This one was major. I’m pretty sure that most of my Baby-Boomer peers have been through this at least once or twice. However, I must put this down to see if any of them had similar experiences.

The days that led up to this surgery were crammed with several appointments for x-rays, blood labs, MRIs. CT scans, PET scans, and not to mention, arrangements for payment. These things accomplished there was nothing left but the pre-surgery exam by the anesthesiologist before the actual surgery.

So, moments before this major surgery, I was in a sort of stall, or for lack of a better description, an assembly line holding pen. Naked, with the exception of a print hospital gown and a poofy paper hat, designed to keep a patient’s hair covered for the surgery, and a pair of footies to keep the feet warm. According to previous hospital itemized statements, these items are very expensive.

There were patients on either side of me, and we were divided by mere curtains, giving the faintest illusion that there was privacy for the pre-surgery necessities and the meeting of our anesthesiologists. I heard conversations from both sides. On the left, the doctor asked someone, “How much do you weigh?” A woman’s voice answered, “Last night I weighed 250 lbs., but I’m sure I’ve lost some since then.” On the right a man asked a nurse for a bed pan to sit on, and something to ease the pain of his hemorrhoids. So much for pre-surgery privacy.

Nurses buzzed in and out, hooking me up to pre-surgery drugs, and offering pleasant conversation to put the patient at ease.

“Hi! I’m Nancy. I’ll be your nurse while you’re here in prep. Are you in any pain? Can you show me on this chart how bad your pain is?”

Okay…..Where is my clicker, so that I can click Nurse Nancy off?   Instead of hurting her feelings about her monologue, I say: “I don’t have pain, but I do have anxiety about having a tracheotomy and then being flipped over to have half a lung removed.” Nurse Nancy looks at me questioningly. “Can you show me on this chart just how bad your anxiety is?” Well, if this is just taking it to the Nth. She’s really taking it to the hilt trying to take care of me. “Yes, it’s number 3….the worst. What are you going to do about it?” Nurse Nancy smiled, and said….. “That’s coming right up! Here, we’ll just inject this into your drip, and open up this valve! There! Feel better?” Just then the anesthesiologist popped in. “Any questions for me?” He asked. “I don’t know. Who are you?” He sobered up his smiling routine enough to answer, “I’m the anesthesiologist!”   I said,  “Well in that case, I guess not."   I was gone!……….ZONK!!!!!!!

The next thing I remember, about an hour later, I was sitting up on a gurney, and a nurse was removing my hospital gown, and hooking me up to a lot of monitors. I looked around and saw that I must have been the star attraction in a surgery theater. There was a balcony, of sorts, and there had to have been about eight or ten doctors and nurses staring down at my nakedness. The anesthesiologist appeared and reintroduced himself. “In just a few seconds, you’ll be in ‘Happy Land’.” I Looked him straight in the eye and was armed and ready with a really smart-ass reply, which, for the moment, I had forgotten. He grinned and said, “Ready?” I said, “Well…if you must……uhhhhhh!” Dang! I really had a monumental statement to make, and all of it went away……. And that’s all I remember until about 7.5 hours later. I was again sitting on the gurney, naked.   Nurses and doctors were removing all the monitors from various parts of my body. I started helping. “Here! You missed one!” I heard one male voice say, “Hey! She’s supposed to be out!” A female voice countered, “She won’t remember a thing! Try to keep her from grabbing stuff.”

Well, in spite of the “Milk of Amnesia” that I had been given, I do remember a heck of a lot. There was much to follow that surgery, and I ‘m sure I’m not alone in that either. It just seems to go with the age; that age where your parts start to wear out like a beloved car you’ve had for so many years. You know you can’t really buy a new one, and so you just make the old faithful one work a little longer. She’s serviced me well, and they don’t make ‘em the way they used to. I'm going to keep her around for a lot longer!

THINGS I SAW TODAY

Being aware that I see hundreds of “things” every day, and knowing to check my rear view and side view mirrors for safety’s sake isn’t enough.  We see things such as animals and people and personal dramas taking place.  But, do we really see them?  Are we so busy, and/or mentally absorbed in our daily missions that we don’t really see what’s actually taking place?  I’ve made it my mission to really pay attention to things I see during the course of a single day.

I saw things today that made me sad, that made me wonder, that made me angry, that made my heart sing, that made me laugh, that made me feel happy and glad to be me.

Today, while driving out of our subdivision, I saw a hawk swoop across the road and perch at the top of a dead pine tree to hunt for field mice.  I saw a coyote patiently waiting to cross the road. She was actually looking both ways and eying the subdivision on the other side. I wondered if she was going to shop in garbage cans for food for her pups.  More likely, she was headed for the field across the road to hunt with the hawk.

Today while driving towards a main road, I signaled to change lanes.  The car coming up in the lane I wanted to get in then sped up to make it impossible for me to change lanes.  What’s up with that?  It really pisses me off that when you signal; someone is going to, in effect say, NO!  NO ONE gets in front of ME!  I think it’s a genetic flaw for me to want to scream obscenities at discourteous drivers, and even flip them off.  Fortunately, I never really took that up, though many times I’ve been tempted.  Down here, though, it could get you run off the road, or even shot.

Today, while driving to the gym, I saw a man standing on a median with a sign.  He had but one leg, and his sign read, “Can’t find work.  Please help!”   I wondered what happened to that man's leg as I got out of my truck to go work out in the gym.  I counted myself fortunate to have both of my legs.

Today, while standing in line at the grocery store, I saw a cashier near tears; yet still being friendly to customers.  I felt as if I known her personally for years.  So, when my turn came to check out, I asked her what was wrong.  She said that her son is in the Marines, and was supposed to come home this week on leave.  She just got a call from him.  He told her that he just got new orders and that he would not get to come from the Middle East for another six months to a year.  I know if I was in her spot, I probably wouldn't be so brave.  My heart broke for her.

Today, while shopping for landscape supplies at the local Garden Center, I was standing in front of 40 lb. bags of pea-gravel wondering how I was going to load it on a dolly by myself.  Ten years ago, I wouldn't even have wondered.  I would have just done it.  A young employee walked up and asked me which gravel I was considering, and how many bags; and did I need some help? I told him which one and how many (12 bags).  He didn't bat an eye, but loaded the 12 bags of gravel on the dolly; and before I could ask if he'd help me get it to the register, he started pulling the dolly.  He not only stayed with me through the line, but took it out to my truck and loaded it.  I thanked him profusely, and he said, “That’s what I’m here for, ma’am.”  I smiled at the young whipper-snapper as he opened my truck door for me.  That just made my heart sing.

Today, while I was loading my groceries into my truck, I saw a grocery store employee replacing trash can liners in the trash receptacles out in the parking lot.  She appeared to be a woman around 35 or 40 years old, of ethnic origin, and possibly a newly immigrated to this country.  Much to my horror, she fished a McDonald’s bag out of a trash can and found a half eaten hamburger.  The woman sat down and started eating it as if it was a prime rib dinner.  I thought about the groceries that I'd just bought and counted myself lucky once more.

Today, while picking up a prescription at the local CVS store, I saw a little girl about 4 years old clutching her hands together.  Her hands were dripping with what appeared to be lotion.  Her mother was further down the aisle.  I asked the little girl if she just got too much lotion.  She timidly nodded, and I asked her if she would share some of the lotion with me.  She held out her little hands to share the lotion.  As I was slathering my own hands with the wonderful smelling lotion, her mother came up and said, "Oh! No!  That's not lotion!  It's liquid soap!" Thank goodness for the new canister of wipes in my basket.  I cleaned as much of the soap off both our hands as I could while her mother and I laughed.  Good thing I was close to home.  I'd tried to do a good deed, and it back-fired ..... a little.  But I got a great deal of humor out of it, and I laughed all the way home.

While driving home today, I saw two female Mallard ducks waddling down the sidewalk on Cypresswood Drive.  They were headed for the creek.  They had about12 yellow spotted babies in tow.   I wanted to stop to look and take pictures, but there was too much traffic, and nowhere to park.  How fortunate for me to see things like this in our suburban area.

On the way home I thought of all the things I had seen, and felt happy that I could see, that I could walk, that I have food, clothing and shelter and a vehicle to drive.  Grateful that I can make decisions for myself, and that my loved ones are all on this continent.  My own limitations are not severe.  My pain is not monumental, just a minor uncomfortable inconvenience.  It was then that I realized that all of this could change in an instant, and was even more grateful for the life I have today.  I’ll be watching again tomorrow to really see what’s going on in my every day world on any given day.  What did you see today?

QUEEN OF THE BINGO PARLOR

 

We were driving down 1960 East, towards Humble, as we do sometimes to go visit friends or meet them for dinner.  I always look to see if the old bingo place is still there, and it is and probably will always be.  I’m not an avid bingo player, but at one time, a friend of ours talked us into playing a few times.  The Royster went with us once.  We bought our daubers and cards and took our places at the table with our friend.

It’s huge!  And, they are very serious bingo players.  As you walk in, and to the left is where you buy your bingo cards and daubers.  As we stood in line, I observed several very serious bingo players in line ahead of us.  They were buying several cards to play at one time.  Some had their big tote bags of bingo equipment.  This means their daubers, their snacks and whatever else they would need to endure a grueling day at the bingo parlor.  These are the serious ones.  They were from all walks of life…men and women, young and old.  I did happen to see some stereotypical bingo players; the kind one imagines when the term bingo parlor is uttered.  There truly were a couple of those, and I would hesitate to stand in their way or cross them in any way.  You’d want to wait until they find their seat before sitting down.  No, you wouldn’t want to take their usual seat, and probably not even close enough to get smacked with a dauber in a frenzy of bingo card daubing.

I will attempt to describe one lady that I encountered.  She was of large stature, wearing a red, green and yellow floral Mu’u Mu’u with red flip-flops to match.  She wore red horn-rimmed glasses.   Her fresh make-up was well done.  Eye shadow was a beautiful bright blue, with lipstick to match her red horn-rims.  She had just had her roots done, and her bleached blond tresses were in a Texas size mass of individual curls, in a doo on top of her head.  She had just had her nails painted bright red, with a pedicure to match.  Her tote bag matched her dress exactly, and I’d bet dollars to donuts that she had at least six other Mu’u Mu’us at home with totes to match; along with matching flip-flops.   She wore big red hoop earrings, and a set of red, yellow and green bangle bracelets to set everything else off.

I stepped back and waited for her to take her seat.  I noticed that no one took a seat directly across from her or on either side.  She gingerly took her seat, and carefully sat her tote in the chair to her right.  I was surprised when an adorable miniature poodle popped its head out of the tote.  She arranged 20 bingo cards just so on the table in front of her and fished in the bag until she came up with two daubers, one pink and one blue.  She took out a gold lame cigarette case and fished out a long cigarette and lit it. She put the cigarette case in place, just so, on her right next to the ash tray.  The little poodle hopped out of her tote and sat expectantly in her lap.  She was ready.  She had to be the Bingo Queen of North East Houston.   I was in awe and could not take my eyes off of her.

The Bingo Caller announced 5 minutes until game time.   Bingo Queen took an icy cold Pibb out of her tote, opened it and took three dainty gulps while she watched the clock.  We sat just a table away and in front of her.  My friend, Veronica nudged me, and told me that I’d better get my three cards and dauber ready.  I complied by putting the cards side by side and getting my blue dauber situated just so on my right.

 

The big clock above the stage read exactly 7 o’clock, and the Bingo Caller called out, “Let’s play BINGO!”  The first ball rolled out.   “I-16!” she called.  There was loud smattering of daubers hitting bingo cards.  By that time I’d found one I-16, I was ecstatic, and started looking for another.  Everyone else was finished daubing.  There were no more on any of my three cards.  The next ball rolled out, and the Caller hollered, “G-47!”   Thwap! Smack! Pow!   Daubers were flying!  I looked, and didn’t have one.  This went on until I saw that I actually just needed one more number to Bingo!  There was hope.  The ball rolled down and …”N-42!”   I did a double take.  I actually had it!  I smacked my blue dauber on my G-47 and before I could raise my hand and yell out “Bingo”, I heard it from  Bingo Queen.  It was a loud, but casual, raspy cigarette voice … “BINGO”  Her little poodle seemed to know, and yapped an acknowledgement.  So went the first round. 

I bought three more cards and returned to my seat next to Veronica, who had already gotten her fresh bingo cards in order.  I needed to be faster.  Bingo Queen was all set and munching on a king size Snicker’s Bar.  She saw me and nodded with a wry smile.  I must have been staring.  So went my night at the Bingo Parlor; almost winning with each game, but not quite.  Bingo Queen won three times.  How could that happen?

 

I will have to say that I had never encountered quite an event before in my life.  It was really a lot of fun.  My friend, Veronica asked me if I’d go with her again.  Of course I would.  She goes three nights a week, but I only committed to two more times.   I dare say that the next two Bingo nights were almost exactly like the first one … almost winning, but not quite … or I wasn’t fast enough.  Veronica won twice, and one of them was the grand prize of the night.  


We went out to celebrate at Sonic.  As we sat there eating cheeseburgers that dripped down our arms, we talked.  She wanted to know if I’d go again the next week.  I sighed and told her that, alas, Bingo just isn’t in my blood.  I did save my daubers for a few years, just in case I wanted to go back.  Later, I tossed them, fairly new, into a donation bag.

Yup!  I’d play again, but I just couldn’t be a regular … not with competition like The Bingo Queen of North East Houston.

HAIR, AND OTHER RITES OF SPRING

Spring is a big deal for all of us.  It marks the occasion of coming out of a winter confinement of dark, cold, cloudy, rainy, snowy days.  No matter where you live, winter is brutal to all of us in one way or another.  So, we are all ready for warmer weather, and the fun that accompanies it.

My first spring awakening this year was when I looked in the mirror and decided that I had actually been giving my hair one last hoorah.  It was actually past my shoulders, and starting to give me the creeps.  I can truly say that I was doing this (growing it out) for myself as much as for the Royster, who would love me to have that big mass of hair that I had when we met 20+ years ago.  He loved the Farrah tresses or the (Dare I go that far back?) Annette Funicello big hair.  I wanted to see how my black and silver hair would look long.  Every time I looked in the mirror, I was hearing this song:

Gimme head with hair
Long beautiful hair
Shining, gleaming,
Streaming, flaxen, waxen

Give me down to there hair
Shoulder length or longer
Here baby, there mama
Everywhere daddy daddy

Hair, hair, hair, hair, hair, hair, hair
Flow it, show it
Long as God can grow it
My haaaaiiiiirrrrr!

I just needed a trim, and right now!  Later, as it warms up, I’ll decide if I can stand it any longer or not.  It probably depends on if I feel as though down here in the Houston area I can keep the humidity and heat and the threat of fungus at bay.  Pony tail?  Oh, come on!  Clip?  I don’t know how to do it so it stays.  Besides, I want it all up there.  No trailers allowed. I just don’t know what to do with all of this.  So far, I’ve controlled it with hair bands, but lately the hair bands aren’t strong enough.  I guess you’d call it heavy hair.  Why didn’t it bother me in my younger years?  I’m sure that when I go visit my daughter and her entourage, the girls will show me what to do with it.  In the meantime, I had two inches cut off, and it’s still brushing my shoulders. 

We’ll see.  If I can’t stand it when it starts to heat up, I’ll go get my hair cut before it just drives me insane; maybe just to the jaw line.  That’s usually a safe length. I’m good with that unless I’ve waited too long.  Then I go tearing into the hair salon screaming, “Just take it all off!”  To tell you the truth, I really liked being bald.  Chemo left me without a single hair on my body.   I drew on eyebrows and wore a wig to work, but doffed it before the end of each day.  I was very tempted to just drop it in the trash can.  It was hot, and made my whole head itch.  After a while, I just wore a baseball cap or a fashionably wrapped scarf.  The baseball cap was always my first choice.  I got used to it, and actually considered keeping it that way.  The Royster was a bit nervous about that, and wanted to know how long I had to have it that way.  Sigh……. That’s when I quit shaving it.  I still have the wig....but I'm not sure exactly why.

The next spring inclination would be getting the old spring wardrobe back into shape.  New shoes come to mind first, along with some appropriate clothes to match.  We go to an annual party to kick off the spring.  It’s a little fancy schmancy, but I really enjoy dressing for this occasion.  It’s a lot of fun. It's a big switch from my jeans and tee's that I wear every day.  

I went to my favorite department store to shop for something new to wear to this event.  Usually, regardless of department (Jr. or Misses), the shirts are cropped short, to show some belly, and possibly a pierced belly button.  Those blouses usually to go with very hip-slung pants.  Honestly, the zipper in those can’t be more than an inch long.  They must have 25 year old bone heads to design clothes for mature women.  That kind of stuff is just a night mare for me, and I’m sure to other women my age, unless your 62 and still support the same body you had at 20 or 30.  I mean, what am I supposed to do with those?  Just hang all of my stuff over the top?  I’m sure you've seen more than a few overweight women / girls wearing (abusing) hip-slung pants with the crop tops, exposing a huge muffin top, a piercing and / or a tattoo or two. I mean...It's just not right...It's just totally wrong!   I actually put together two different outfits, and since it was so hard to decide, I bought both outfits so that the Royster could help me decide. 

On the way home, I popped in to my favorite nail salon.  I needed  a really thorough mani-pedi.  I rolled up my jeans a dropped my flip flops next to the chair.  The girls that were attending my needs were chatting back and forth in Viet Namese, and I am sure, deciding how much extra to charge me for all the extra work they would have to do.  It was then that I became painfully aware that I had forgotten to shave my legs, for I don’t know how long.  I sat back and relaxed.  Just let them do their magic, and enjoy it.

Yesterday, I went back to my favorite place, Kohl’s, to look for shoes.  There were a couple of other women my age there.  We chatted like magpies and compared and encouraged each other.  That makes shopping enjoyable…to have someone with you.  Since I was alone, as I usually am, these two made my day.  We had some pretty good laughs.  I found two pairs of sandles that I liked, and they were very reasonably priced.  Again, since I couldn’t decide, I got both pair, and then headed over to the check out.  

The line was very long, so I headed over to the other side of the store for the other check out.  It was less crowded.  On my way, I wandered through the Jr. Dept., thinking that was a safe maneuver because I can no longer find anything over there that fits, let alone fashion for my acquired maturity.  HARK!  I spotted some really cool cotton shirt/blouses.  They were various colors of plaid…roll up sleeves.  One of the things that drew me over was the fact that they were long enough.   They were really beautiful, and marked down from $40 to $14.  I had to have two….one in the turquoise and black, and one in pink and black.  I needed a couple of blouses to wear next week to Arizona.   Well?!   They were on sale!  And, I do consider that shopping trip very successful, considering the fact that I just don’t like to shop.  Guess I didn’t inherit that shopping gene.

Everything seems to be falling into place.  Our yard is groomed and trying to recover from the freezes we had.  I’m all but dressed for the spring event for this Saturday.  My trip to Arizona is planned and airfare ready to go.  All I have to do is pack.  Its all looking good!  Poor ol’ Hank needs to be deloused and have a canine pedicure.  He’s been rolling in the mulch that we had put out last week-end.  I don’t suppose I’ll ever get used to that smell (the mulch) or the smell that an old wet dog brings….But it’s all part of the beginning of spring and the season for getting out and having some fun.  I'm ready!  BRING IT ON!  

IN THE DEPTHS OF MY KNOW-IT-ALL

Everyone has a know-it-all. It's something very deep down in our psyches.  The psyche is the totality of the human mind, conscious and unconscious.

I had decided to read a little after lunch, and found the warm spot by the window very comforting and inviting.  So, I put my book down and closed my eyes.   I was being called into the depths to discover something new. In this instance, I simply drifted off into some level of sleep that allowed me to … well, for lack of a better description, dream-walk. This is where there is a very vivid dream, though you are aware that you are in a very personal mental state. A very curious state of sleep, I might add.

This is the place where I go to think deeply, to meditate; in the place that holds all that I need to know, as well as the place that mends all sorrow. I rarely get to go there, because it takes so damn long to get there. I have to have complete silence, with the exception of natural quiet sounds of nature, or just the right soft music playing in the background. Actually, these conditional sounds in the background help to stimulate ideas and answers as well as good feeling and mirth. Unless proper conditions prevail, I only get to the day-dream stage. But, something shook me from the depths of my Know-It-All.

It was actually snowing! Snowflakes were making a rare appearance in our semi tropical to tropical zone. The sound was truly deafening, because it is simply such a magical sound that it’s almost thunderous. And, people who have never experienced snow have no idea what I’m talking about.

Though I was born in New York, and lived in St. Louis when I was very young, the first time I truly remember seeing and hearing snow fall was in Fort Worth, Texas. I ran straight out into the back yard and sat quietly in the middle of the falling snow, listening, getting enrapt in the enormous quietness and peace. I felt no cold at all, and almost instantly, I descended into my place of meditation, understanding and enlightenment.

People in northern climates experience the magic of snow at Christmas time, until delight becomes drudgery with days of shoveling snow, digging out cars, trudging through mud and muck, and being house-bound for days on end. For them, the magic is more than likely gone, and I truly understand how they can tire of the snow. There is indeed reason to celebrate spring. Still, I welcome the magic that snow falling brings at any time. I will also say that more poetry has been written romantically about snow than you can imagine.

There are many roads that will take me to the place I call my Know-it All, where I find the answers and inspiration for living, learning, loving and creating. To many people this is called meditation, and rightly so. Meditation to me is listening to God, or powers of a much higher dimension. Sometimes, I can get there by toiling in the yard, digging, weeding, raking, bagging, dragging and sweeping. I simply go off somewhere else and leave my physical self to the task. I’m in good company way off … somewhere else.

But, I’ve wandered away from the basis for this little dissertation. It’s all about moments of clarity. This is complicated, simply because for me, it’s hard to really understand exactly how these moments of clarity come about. What makes them clear to me? These moments of clarity are times when I can get a brief glimpse of the truth. The kind of truth that a person gets when they are least expecting it. It’s suddenly there for you, and you have to grab hold of it right then and there, because it might not ever pass through your Know-It-All again.

I suppose an example is required here. Sometimes, my Know-It-All surfaces in a waking moment. Someone close emotionally is talking to me, and I know they are sad and upset. Suddenly, I know exactly why they are sad, even if they don’t really know the real reason yet themselves. It’s not because I am any smarter or wiser, but simply because it’s just there for me to see, and to understand. No need to say anything at all, just understand. I’m also guessing that other people will see things in me that I don’t see yet, because I’m too busy in the feeling itself, and not into the true reasoning.

Sometimes, when you just have a feeling about something, or squint your eyes and really see something for the first time, though you’ve seen it every day; those are also moments of clarity. Sometimes it’s just hearing a subtle word or phrase; and sometimes, it’s something someone (maybe a perfect stranger) says to you that hits you in the face like an iron skillet. Now, that’s a moment of clarity.

I’ve asked several friends about this, and they have convinced me that I’m not just blowing sun-shine up anyone’s skirt. Every one of them they had said with conviction that they absolutely have these fleeting glimpses of truth. Having just a glimpse of this always makes me want to dive back into my Know-It-All for more.

Today, I will go out to start clearing out plants damaged in the winter freezes and trim up and try to save the damaged plants, making room for new growth. If left to my own resources for any length of time, I will go into my Know-It-All for more glimpses of truth and enlightenment. Before I know it, the tasks I set out to do will have been completed, and I will have been off to visit my Know-It-All once again to emerge with a clarity I didn’t know I could have. This is going to be great!

BOYS AND THEIR CHRISTMAS TOYS

All of the Christmas adornments are taken down and moved up stairs to await their placement in the “Christmas Closet”. This will take the better part of another month to sort through. But I don’t want to talk about that right now, since it’s something I’m procrastinating about….again.

What’s on my mind right now is how wonderfully successful a particular gift was for our Christmas of 2009. I have always known that whenever I’m in doubt as to what to get The Royster for Christmas, I can always go to Sears and pick out some kind of woodworking tool that I know he doesn’t have, and I am very familiar with all the woodworking tools in the garage, because that’s what I’ve been getting him over the past 20 years. I learned right off the bat that Sears is always a safe bet.

This year, I was in a bit of a quandary as to what to get The Royster, even though I was standing in Sears looking at all the wonderful plug-in, buzzing, whirring and grinding Roy Candy, just to get some idea as to what to put under the Christmas tree for him. As my eyes darted around the store they came to rest on a scroll saw; and it dawned on me that a few years ago The Royster would walk over to this particular item and touch it, caress it longingly and drool a little. That was the year that I had already purchased a drill press to put under the tree, so I just forgot about the loving gazes he was bestowing on the scroll saw. When I saw it this year, actually calling to me to have a look, I knew that was the item I would purchase for my hero The Royster, “… while visions of power tools danced in his head...” Try, to imagine the delight on a 58 year old little boy’s face when he opened his new toys on Christmas morning.

I was on target with this gift. The Royster almost hopped up and down clapping his hands with glee, and whooping, “Oh! Goody goody! A scroll saw! A scroll saw!” After a couple of days passed, he had it all set up out in the garage. I could hear the gears turning in his head; ideas of what he was going to make with his new garage toy. As the days passed, there were all kinds of trips to Home Depot and Sears, and lots of noises emanating from the garage; all happy noises. Whirrrrrrrrrr! Buzzzzzzzzzz! Zingggggggg! Grrrrrrrrind, grrrrrrrrind, grrrrrrrrrrrrind! And, sand, sand, sand! There would possibly be refrigerator art and endless show ‘n’ tells forthcoming.

The man-boy has a gift, a real talent for making things out of wood, and furthermore, he loves to do it. I do enjoy seeing him have so much fun out in the garage. He’s made me so many cool things, from a gardening workbench to a recipe book holder for the kitchen counter. He never ceases to amaze me, and he always surprises me.
For his first endeavors with his new scroll saw, he created a number of small, trial things.

The stained glass peace sign was his first deliberate work of art. With the others, he just started zipping away at pieces of wood to get a feel of his new toy. It was sort of like when you see things in the clouds, a cat, dog, etc. He would come in and proudly show me what he’d made.


If he didn’t know what he was trying to make at the time, it somehow took shape ….If it looked like a duck, he called it a duck. We still don’t know what to call the little guy that looks like he’s holding something over his head. Maybe we’ll just call him Atlas. He did photo puzzles with photos on either side, one in color, the other in black and white. Unfortunately he did not take pictures of those before he gave them as gifts to friends, with their very own photos on them.


Last week, he showed me a picture of a 1930 Chevy pickup truck, and disappeared into the depths of his Man Cave. Over the week-end he spent every waking hour in there making something really special. Late on Sunday afternoon, I could smell the distinct odor of wood stain, and I knew that soon there would be a finished product that he would proudly present to me, possibly to display, on the kitchen table or better, in the window of the kitchen for all to see. Finally, on Sunday evening, he emerged with the finished product. He had out-done himself again!


Who knows what lurks in the Man Cave depths that won’t some day be uncovered as a monumental work of art.

RITUALS OF THE DAY

Coming out of R.E.M., my waking mind is racing before I open my eyes for the day. It’s Thursday…..and thank you for this day and for the life I have today. I crack my eyes open enough to see the clock. It says 4:58 a.m., and I close my eyes once more to see if there is any sleep left. Guess not. Better get up. Roy has gotten up about an hour before me. He goes to the kitchen to get a cup of coffee and out to the patio for a smoke, with Hank following to do his “biddness” far out into the dark yard. After his smoke, he and the dog go upstairs to read the news on his computer until he hears me stir. He goes out to get the newspaper, with Hank following to make sure he gets his morning reward for following Roy out to get the paper.

I find my slippers and plod noiselessly into the kitchen. I have always had a reverence for the early mornings. The coffee is made, so I empty the hot water out of the big old Stanley thermos and pour most of the pot into the already hot thermos, and then pour the rest of the pot into the waiting coffee cup on the counter. I make another half pot of coffee, and pad my way quietly back into the bedroom with the old thermos and my hot cup of coffee. I turn on the news to watch until the Royster and Hank bring the newspaper in.

We divide up the paper in sections to share, with the news on the television droning in the background. Hank nervously paces from one side of the bed to the other, asking and awaiting permission to come aboard. He is 15 years old and has lost his hearing, so with simple hand motions, we invite him up to join us, and he hops up onto the bed. He’s not quite as agile and graceful as he once was, so it isn’t as easy for him as it used to be.

We listen to the news on the television while skimming through the newspaper to find things we are most accustomed to reading. I start my crossword puzzle, an exercise I’ve done faithfully for the past 30 + years. We discuss plans and possibilities for the day; a trip to the bank, a doctor’s appointment, his mom and/or other planned projects for the day. Soon it’s time for Roy to get ready to go to the office. He wishes he could retire, but I know he’s grateful for the work. He had planned to retire a long time ago, but it just didn’t happen that way. At least he’s doing something he likes to do.

The Royster finishes his shower,dresses and makes his way to the coffee pot for a short roadie. It's not a long drive to the office. Hank and I see him off, and are left with the house to ourselves.

I go into the kitchen and turn on my computer and fix some breakfast for me, and get Hank’s old dog medicine ready to give him with his breakfast. In warmer weather we would sit on the deck quietly watching the world wake up; mourning doves waking, and squirrels fussing and rustling in the highway of tree limbs overhead. But it’s much too cold and wet this morning. So, I make the oatmeal, medicate and feed the dog and carry my breakfast back to finish watching the news and my crossword puzzle. Our day has begun. Again, Thank you for this day and the life I have been given.

The day moves as planned, going to the bank, and running other odd errands until lunch time. By then it’s time to start one of many projects that need doing; not to mention the daily routine upkeep of the house. Today, I worked on a problem closet in the big guest room. Hank got exhausted watching, and laid down for a nap.

Before I am aware of the time its 3:00 o’clock. I know its 3:00 o’clock because Hank told me so. He starts herding me to the stairs. This can only mean that he wants me to open the bedroom blinds so that he can watch for the big white thing that comes here carrying his litter mate. I open the blinds, and he watches and waits. He sits there for another 30 minutes before wanting to play our “ritual game” of “Try to get this squeaky toy from me.” Then it’s back to the window to watch and wait.

Finally he’s doing the doggie dance of joy and barking distinctly ; “He’s home! He’s home!” This is when he races to the back door to greet the Royster. He herds both of us to the bedroom where he makes it impossible to be heard over his barks of joy and his playful nudging. The Royster tries to read the mail through all of this. If one of us leaves the room for anything, Hank is right there to herd us back into one room again.

Dinner as usual on trays in front of the TV; feed and medicate Hank, shower, get the coffee pot loaded and read a bit. Set the timer on the TV and lights out. I find myself floating away into the abyss of sleep that readies me for another chance for another day. My mind still chanting, Thank you for the day, and the life I have today.

And, then, before I am aware, Coming out of R.E.M., my waking mind is racing before I open my eyes for the day. It’s Friday … and thank you for this day and for the life I have today. I crack my eyes open enough to see the clock………

I’M WORKING ON IT! And Other Lame Excuses

I’ve told everyone that I didn’t make any New Year’s resolutions this year. All the while my mind was a-whirl with what I wanted to accomplish this year. Like most people who announce, or secretly vow, making a New Year’s resolution, I’ve never kept any of them for more than three months. By the time the end of March rolls around, I’m done, toast and back sliding all the way to the next New Year’s Day … with nothing completed and nothing really accomplished. I need discipline!

As I said, my mind was a-whirl with all I wanted to accomplish for this year 2010.

#1. For most women my age, it usually starts by promising to practice a little weight management, become more health conscious, get more exercise. You need to keep this resolution if you can even entertain the notion of asking, “Does my ass make these jeans look fat?”

It would be far better to say that I’m going to try to get into better shape, possibly getting back into my smaller jeans by the spring time. I’m safe with that. There’s no real commitment there. This is not an impossible goal. In fact, it’s really an attainable goal. It involves managing better the food brought into this house, and controlling exactly how much gets into my mouth. Also, required is to start ignoring the “diet saboteurs”. I’ll mention no names. You know who you are. Included in this should be a change of activities. This includes getting off my ass and doing something physical. One can only sit in front of the computer and/or the T.V. This requires discipline!

#2. Read a book every two weeks. This, I would love to do, and it actually requires that I sit on my ass. But then, this would also require that I have an absolutely quiet atmosphere with nothing to distract me. No T.V., pleasant chatter, phone, computer or dog pacing about. This has always been a pitfall with me. I’ll start to read, and then think of something that, I need to do, I should do, or should have done. It’s hard for me to sit through an hour long T.V. show, let alone a movie, and I’m always popping up to do something. Once I finally get focused, I’m good with it for at least an hour.

The last time I actually sat down to read was in a cabin in Utah, with no T.V., telephone (except for our cell phones which didn’t ring), and no computer. I actually read a book and enjoyed it. The time before that, five years ago, I ran through book after book while sitting at the kitchen table with my nebulizer for the required 45 minutes. I had to do that four times a day. I actually couldn’t tear myself away from the book, so I would keep the nebulizer going an extra 20 to 30 minutes just to get through to the next chapter. I know I went through about 20 books during that time. I’m not under treatment of the nebulizer anymore, so, reading a book every two weeks would also require discipline.

#3. Better organization of my money, hoarding it and saving it. This has been a lifelong fight with myself. It doesn’t do any good to have anyone watching it for me. It’s mine! I’ll take care of it! I am an adult, and if someone else was holding my purse strings and told me I couldn't dig in to it, I would simply respond in the adult manner and yell, cry and stuff beans up my nose.

Again, I do alright with it until the middle of April comes around. Then by some magic, I feel free again. Maybe that April 15th date has something to do with it. I start to tell myself things like, “There are no pockets in the shroud.” And, “You can’t take it with you!” But what about the rainy days, and the 6 months salary saved up for emergencies? Yup! This is really going to require some discipline!

#4. I want to get started on a major fix up of the master bathroom. Yeah, this is a biggie. It’s more like a re-model. It still has all the same bathroom counter with the knee space for a vanity stool, sinks, light fixtures, faucets, and a sunken shower that was originally built into this house 30 years ago. I might as well go on to #5 because it’s far more doable than #4.

#5. Clean up the finish on the kitchen cabinets and put a clean coat of varnish on them. Hmmm … I was going to buy all new knobs and drawer pulls, but I figure, to save a lot of money, I can take them all off, clean and prime them; then spray paint them a nice brushed antique bronze … or something. What the heck! There are only 50 of knobs and drawer pulls. I would be saving a lot of money, and I can do a two of cabinets every week. I’d actually clean out the contents of each cabinet, getting rid of things we don’t need or use. That’s a two-fold accomplishment. I already have a lot of the discipline for this.

#6. Number 5 would lead me dangerously close to the infamous “Paper Closet” in the kitchen. This closet also contains small appliances, including a copper chafing dish, and a wok, neither of which have been used in 20 years. There’s a filing cabinet, a big butane burner for the big cast iron chili pot, a small vacuum cleaner, toaster oven, which I’d actually like to keep, bread maker, a toaster, and an avocado green Crock Pot. Bet you can guess how old that is. And I’d probably be correct in saying around 40 years old. Anyway….Harvest Gold appliances and shag carpet were also popular at the same time. Those are the items I can see right off the bat. Oh, and there are stacks of paper, files and binders that need to be sorted. The rest could just be a cover up for the Twilight Zone. A person could get sucked right into somewhere else really fast.

Here is my lamest excuse so far. I can’t do any of these projects until I get the “Christmas Closet” cleaned out. There is a Christmas light collection from the past twenty years. When I suggested to the Royster that we should probably get rid of some of them, he immediately went out and bought more lights. He couldn’t resist the blue LED, indoor/outdoor lights that were on sale at Sears. It’s not just the Christmas closet, it’s the closet that has off season clothes, and thing that no one has worn in years. I took down all of the Christmas decor and put it upstairs in the big guest room. The closet has to be sorted through and cleaned up before I can put Christmas away for the year. I will need the Royster to help me get rid of some of that stuff. But on the other hand … maybe some of that stuff will just go away.

And, I’m working on it!

RIGHT BEFORE YOUR EYES

It‘s a miracle that they grow up at all. Really! I don’t care how much babysitting experience we claim to have had as a teen, it’s totally different when it’s our own. We give birth to these wonderful little people expecting to know just what to do with them, and then when they arrive we just don’t have a clue. And, we have vowed that we will do it differently than our parents did. They also vowed that they would do it their own way, and not the way their parents did. They (our parents) did what they considered to be the right thing to do. How utterly miserable! How in the world did we make it? What we don’t take into consideration, is that we arrived at this point in our lives in spite of how we were raised. And, we’re okay because of them and in spite of them … believe it or not.

These babies don’t come with an owner’s manual, a “sell by date”, or an “expiration date”. We are totally green on this, learning as we go. We have fallen in love with these little people, and we try hard to protect them from all ills and evils. Your mom tries to give advice, but it is ultimately our own call, and it doesn’t take long to realize that Mom can only make suggestions from her own experiences, and we probably just don’t want Mom’s advice anyway. Remember? It’s going to be our own way. Anyway, she’s on par with Dr. Spock, who can only offer advice.

But, grow up they do. The miracle is the actual unfolding … the actual forming of the individual child. We hear things like; she’s just like her mother. Or He’ll be a doctor…just like his dad. If we only knew then what a crock that is. Men like to name their sons after them “in their own image” to carry on the family name. But that doesn’t guarantee that the boy will be anything like his dad; just that he will carry on the family name. As a matter of fact, Dad is likely to be disappointed that his prodigal son has taken a much different path. How could he?!

I’ve always thought that children are different and separate entities, and they are. We watch to see what gifts these children have. Granted, we have more in common with our siblings than we have with our parents (individually), but we are still separate souls and spirits with separate agendas. Right before our eyes, these babies start forming into real people. They are on their very own path of learning and development. It is our job to protect them and guide them, impart our wisdom and hope they use their own best judgment as they grow older. We try to mold them, but their very own mold has already been designated and formed.

My own mother decided that I would be an artist, and I guess I am … in a way, but not as she had envisioned. In the first grade, I had painted a picture of a horse in a barn; just the head sticking out of its stall. Several renderings were chosen from various first grade students to go on exhibit in a local gallery. Actually, it was at a bank. Mine was among those, and apparently, Mom regarded me as art prodigy material. She and my Aunt Ollie took me to visit their favorite local artist, Josephine Mahaffey, who talked to me about art education, practice and dedication.

I truly wanted to please these people, but I felt that I disappointed them horribly. And, though I did a few pieces during my junior high and high school days that seemed promising, it just wasn’t my bailiwick. It wasn’t in my heart, though I still wasn’t aware of what exactly was in my heart at that junction of my life. I also took some classes at the art museum, and some of those pieces were admirable, but not exceptional, and again, my heart wasn’t in it. Even some of those were promising.

I ended up modeling for the artists. Barbara Goldstein was among those artists, and she and I became friends. I modeled for her first attempt at a portrait. Still, there was no calling for me to put anything on canvas or to throw a pot. Alas.
I suppose that art talent manifests itself in other ways. After all, I have become very creative. I love to write, sketch and make playful stuffed toys for the children and adults in my life. I putter in my garden and cook. There is art in all of that.

Still, I consider my best endeavors are my daughters. Let it be said that I did not have anything to do with who they are. I cannot pat myself on the back for any of that. Actually, I more than likely contributed to the hell they regarded as their up-bringing, as I regarded my own up-bringing. Who they have become was determined well before they were born. These two girls are as different as night and day, and they have made me very proud of both of them. I’ve donated half of their genes as did their father, and they have come into their own because of us and in spite of us. They are my Snow White and Rose Red. They will raise their children their own way. Not like their parents did. And, that’s not a bad thing.

We don’t see our own lives unfolding or opening up. It just happens. It’s in our paths, but we don’t even see it that way. We’re just moving in a direction to something we’re supposed to do. As my path was fraught with thorns and detours so were their paths. When it’s our own children, it’s different. We see early in their lives what potential they have, but we can’t guess what they will ultimately do. We do see, however, the unfolding and opening up of the lives of our children and our grandchildren. And, it’s a awesome thing to observe.

At what point do we start giving them the reins? When do we start to trust that they will be alright? When do we actually feel that they will take the ball and run? We don’t let go easily, and I don’t think we ever quit giving them advice. There is one constant here that I won’t deny. We don’t ever stop being a mother.

I was at the hospital for the birth of my first grandchild, Savannah; a fresh, new mind to bend. My youngest daughter, Leslie, then about 20, was with us as well. Barb had a particularly hard labor. Leslie and I were in and out of the labor room to sit with Barb. Later, Leslie announced to one and all that she would not have any children. “I’ll just have a dog.” She said. Leslie now has 8 year old twins. See how they can change their minds. On the other end of the spectrum, her older sister went through two more C-sections to have two more beautiful daughters.

See? It all plays out the way it’s supposed to, because of us and in spite of us. There are no cookie-cutter kids, and what an awesome miracle of God that is!

SISTERS AND SISTAS

I am referring to girlfriends as well as my genetic sisters, because I have a lot sisters who are also girlfriends. Mostly, I am talking about loyal friends (genetic sisters and cousins included) that are with you through thick and thin, no matter how long you’ve known them. There are some that I just don’t get to see very often, that have stayed connected over the years. I know they are there, and that they have my back if I need them. I also watch their backs, and I am there for them. There are sisters that I have known for less time, but non-the-less, are sisters of the same caliber. Sistas are Sistas, no matter how long you have known them.

We start learning the value of a friend when we are very young. It starts as soon as we start to trust, and I do believe that begins with our parents. We go to M.D.O. (Mother’s Day Out), which they didn’t have when my girls were babies. It’s just three hours or so at a church nursery or a day care facility. It’s enough to get you started, especially if you don’t have siblings by then. Then there’s pre-school, pre-K and kindergarten. This is where you learn to play with your peers. You also learn to share. Sharing includes bringing home any communicable diseases that happen to be going around. Under this heading, you start developing immunities to certain diseases. You can thank your newly forming friends for this. After all you are drooling, gumming and gnawing anything you can get into your mouths, and so are they.

By the time we reach the first grade, we’ve decided that there are some friends that are better than others….OR that you like some better than others. You play with them at recess and you sometimes have “play dates”. That’s another thing we didn’t have then…or we didn’t call it that. This is where your friend’s mom brings your friend over to play at your house for a few hours, or you go over to their house. This whole scenario is part of the growing friendship that flourishes as we grow older. We share secrets, toys and play games, take sides and sometimes argue with these B.F.F.E.s. That just means you’ve had enough, and it’s time to part company for the day.

As we grow older still, our friendships grow more intense. We know that our Sistas are there for us, and that they would scratch the eyes out of anyone that would hurt or use any disparaging language or actions towards us. And, we would do the same for them.

I will say right here, that there are also male B.F.F.E.s, even if they are a bit like Lenny and Squiggy. They are also close confidants and loyal friends. They were Bob, Jim, Jerry, Chuck, Mike, and Terry, to name a few. They were the big brothers that would entertain, advise and protect us from all others. They were there to help, and hang around with you at the house and at the local Diary Queen. Woe be it to anyone who steps on your toes in front of them.


Secretly, these guys hoped that if they could be this for you, then you would eventually raise their status to the boyfriend Level. I was never aware of that fact until recent years, until one of you slipped that choice piece of information to me in a casual conversation. Hey! I know you guy will understand, and accept a compliment as it is intended. A male B.F.F.E. level was the highest level, and a friend for life. To tell the truth, we couldn’t have grown up without you guys, and I mean that from my heart.

Then, there were the C.Y.O. guys (clowns) that hung around in the sweltering summer days, and rainy, cold Saturdays, playing double Solitaire and Anaconda with us in the living room, or cooking pancakes at midnight in our kitchen after a dance or party. Pat, Art, Joe, Harry, David, and Robert. There were more, but these were the constants. What a colorful bunch. I wish I knew where they all are, and how they are doing. They were such a huge part of my formative years, and yes, they were among my very best friends. I recently re-connected with one of them, and it was like a reunion with a long lost brother. It just made me very happy to know that he was happy and busy in life. The same life-long friend award goes to these guys...from the heart.

Our C.Y.O. group was a close knit bunch. Kathy, is my Sista who has had my back since we were in junior high school. We went to separate schools, but we sure went through a bunch together. Adolescence was hard on both of us, and we were best friends through the whole thing. We double dated a lot, and I think Kathy had more of a conscience than I did, therefore being more of a conscience for me. After all, she went to a Catholic girls school. With a simple question, she could bring me back to reality. “Missy! Aren’t you afraid of going to Hell?” I only considered for very brief second that she was out to wreck my fun before taking her words seriously. Kathy has always brought me back to my ground, and my reality. To this day, her words of foreboding echo in my ears. She was the matron of honor at my wedding. I truly miss hearing from her when there is a lapse in our communications.

Since we went to public schools, there was a separate set of lifetime sisters. This was harder, since there were different “cliques”. It was hard to know who to hang out with. These girls were all friends, and we all contributed to the same cause of our class … to have fun, grow up and graduate. There are the constants like Ginger, Ann, Susan, Suzie, Brenda, Lyna, Jackie; just to name a few. There were many, many more, but we all parted ways after graduation. Crossing paths occasionally, over the years we remain friends and of the highest caliber. Thanks to modern technology, we can keep in touch at the touch of a key board. We get together again at class reunions to acknowledge similarities and differences that we’ve been through growing up, and living as adults … college, marriage, children and grandchildren; and still growing, comparing what our lives have been like, where we’ve been and where we all are now.

There are friends that we’ve made in our life through spouses and or other friends. Madolyn is my dear friend that I met at least 33 years ago. Our husbands worked together and were eventually partners in their own venture. When she and her husband and children moved here from Beaumont, she and I started car-sharing every morning for about 5 years. Whoever didn’t drive was the one to read the newspaper and/or find a decent radio station to listen to. Thursday was Cajun music day, and that was a real hoot. We concluded that these hour-long rides to and from work were our therapy sessions. We laughed and cried together. We were like magpies. There was seldom a moment of silence, and there still isn't ... a moment of silence.

While driving to and from work, menopause was the main topic, since we were both in the throes of the big “M”. We were always comparing notes as to what would and would not work, concluding that the only thing to do was to get on some kind of HRT that would allow us to continue to work without beheading our bosses or co-workers. We were both deprived of sleep, as we had not found an over the counter cure for the night sweats and mood swings.

I don’t mind saying that our rides were pretty exciting. I know you might not think so, but being chased to work by a tornado is pretty exciting. It was pitch black out, and we had no idea there was a tornado on our heels until we heard it on the car radio. My boss had no sympathy for us. He just expected that we’d make it in. Then there was the time when Madolyn’s car finally gave up. I think it was a 16 year old Pontiac that just expired at the toll booth on the way to work one day. Madolyn got very emotional, and I’m not sure it was just that she was scared, but that her old car was finally going to its just reward to the junk yard in the sky. Later, it dawned on her that she would get a new car out of this incident. We ended up coasting to just the other side of the toll booth. We ran, hand in hand, across 6 lanes of traffic to the building where we would find a phone to call her husband to come take care of the dead car … which he did, and very gallantly, I might add. We had no cell phones. Cell phones were in their infant stages. I don’t’ think they were even called cell phones yet … more like “car phones” At any rate, those phones were as big as a combat boot back then, and neither of us had one.

I can always keep my cool through something traumatic. However when all is said and done, and everything has been taken care of; the catastrophe is over, my adrenalin is still so pumped that there is no place for it to go, so I sit down on the curb to cry. My friend Madolyn is always there with her nerves finally gathered up to soothe me…sitting on the curb with me helping me cry the adrenalin away.

We have a circle of friends that we go to dinner with on Friday nights. My Sistas, Donna, Becky and Karin unite in getting us together for dinner at whatever restaurant we haven’t been to in a while. The guys put in their bids, but ultimately, we decide. We always meet at the chosen restaurant at 6:45 p.m. We are truly sisters in the closest sense. They have my back and I have theirs … when ever and whatever they want or need. We argue like sisters and take care of each other in the same breath of the arguement. We love our Friday night ritual, and we love eachother.

I have recently become reunited with old friends from 40+ years ago. A special teacher has joined our ranks of Sistas. It had dawned on me that my Sistas have no age barrier. I’m everybody’s age … and they are mine; Sistas in life through feast and famine, thick and thin. New sistas in the fold, and all is well and good. Sistas are forever.

SCATTERED RESOLVE

The New Year 2010 is looming, and I’ve been thinking. People who know me know just how dangerous this can be, and they get out of my way to miss the flying debris.

As I do daily, I wake to a new determination and declaration of an old new sense of values that inevitably wanes as the day, month and/or year progresses, as I get side tracked with the tedium of daily living. I remind myself that there are no big deals in life except for the miracle of life itself. No strife for me, as I remind myself that I can regroup and start my day over at any time of day I choose, with a new determination and declaration of an old sense of…

Sometimes, that’s how my day goes; derailing and getting back on track. That’s hardly a large accomplishment by some standards. But it is for me, by virtue of the fact that I get back on at all. There some days when I just shrug, and forget that I’ve wandered off course and need to get back to what I’ve set out to do. A number of things can distract me; a phone call, having a light bulb come on in my head for a new story, and rushing to my computer to get a tag on it. Or it might have just been to get something out to thaw for the evening meal, or simply taking a break. If I don’t get back on track, I will follow the stray course aimlessly, and feel at the end of the day that I had failed. Nothing was accomplished. What an awful feeling to end the day with. I needed to get my main objective back in my sights. It might have been something with a long term goal…something to aim for. Whatever the case, I constantly get off course, and at one point, I didn’t seem to care. However, it makes a big difference to me at this point in my life.

I do the very same thing in the yard. The yard itself is an overwhelmingly huge, and a daunting task that is constantly demanding attention. If I don’t have a plan, I will get sidetracked by something in the outer parameters that needs attention. If a flowerbed needs cleaning out, I will see something close by that needs trimming, and before you know it, I’ve moved down the entire side of the yard trimming, but not getting the flowerbed cleaned out. Before I am aware of it, I’ve started yet another huge project that one cannot possibly finish in one day and I did not achieve what I had set out to do. Therefore, my main goal has been thwarted. I suppose I need to wear blinders and carry a list on a string around my neck.

On a good day…that is, when there are no interruptions, I will forge through my self assigned task with the determination of an ant readying for the winter. Upon finishing the project, I pat myself on the back, shower, eat and fall into bed feeling the satisfaction of having completed the task. It’s a good feeling, and I almost always wake the next morning with that same good feeling of accomplishment. I’m then free to map out another project. These days just don’t happen very often. It’s an occasion to celebrate …out to eat and all.

House cleaning is a different matter. On “scattered” days, I will jump into a task with that same determination that I need to get started on a yard project…no plan at hand. As I wade into the middle of a mired mess I get totally overwhelmed and start picking through the debris to be moved, tossed or given away. Groan! What am I supposed to do with all this crap? If it’s mine, I can usually make a decision to toss or give away. If it’s not mine it's a different story. Thus; I have devised my “wandering figure eight” method of placing or redistributing the items that don’t belong. Lately, I’ve added a small laundry basket to toss things in that belong elsewhere. I simply start in a room that I’d planned to clean, tossing items in the basket that need to be elsewhere. When the basket is full, I move to the next room, placing items from the basket where they belong in that room and placing other items in the basket that need to be in other rooms; then move on to the next room mapped out in my figure eight. And so on through out the house until I’m back in the room where I started. After that, say, I need to dust or vacuum. That’s an easy one. There’s only one thing at a time to drag around with me in my figure eight. Dusting comes first, then starting over with vacuuming. Bathrooms are all together a different matter. That requires that I carry a small bucket with bathroom cleaning items in it, from one bathroom at a time. In the bucket are paper towels, rags, bathroom cleaner, toilet bowl cleaner and a scrubbing broom for the sunken shower. By the way, I’ve vowed never to even consider a house with a sunken tub again.

Cooking is also a different matter, but I’ve devised a plan that will eliminate the problem of leaving out a vital ingredient. I simply do what they do on cooking shows, lining everything up that I could possibly need to use, as well as a page magnifier for the directions on putting the ingredients together. I have been known to put the horse before the cart a number of times. For some reason, though, the cooking seems much more logical, and comes much easier than cleaning house. Perhaps it’s because I get to taste as I move along from step to step.

It’s the big stuff that really throws me off; you know, like big closets full of old clothes, Christmas decorations not used in 20 years, and those horrible drawers in the kitchen and other rooms that are designated as “valuable shit” drawers. Sorry if the term is as offensive as the drawers are. I cannot think of a more apt description. There are things like old booklets and warranties for things we no longer own, twisties, rubber bands, tack hammers, loose screws, dried up Super Glue and single shoe laces. These drawers literally bulge with “valuable shit”.

Here is where the logic comes in. Using such things as a reward is sometimes futile. So, I’ve decided that I would truly feel much more like completing a task in a timely fashion if I go ahead and take the reward beforehand. This will require a great deal of concentration and resolve on my part. I’ll have to have a plan. As a pre project incentive, I can pick something out that I’ve wanted to do, like go get a pedicure, or go have lunch with a friend. The logic in this is that it’s really an incentive, and the real reward comes after the completion of the task. It’s the wonderful feeling of having completed something that has always been so daunting. Get my drift?

So, the plan is in place to begin immediately after ringing in the New Year. This is going to be The Year of Completing Projects. 2010, here I come!

As I do daily, I wake to a new determination and declaration of an old new sense of values that inevitably wanes as the day, month and/or year progresses, as I get side tracked with the tedium of daily living. I remind myself that there are no big deals in life except for the miracle of life itself. No strife for me, as I remind myself that I can regroup and start my day over at any time of day I choose, with a new determination and declaration of an old sense of…

MY VERY OWN GRINCH

Actually, he’s a very sweet Roy-Grinch, and I can see his frustration with this season, but I don’t know why he can’t just suck it up! I guess that, combined with our advancing age, ills and temperaments it causes this frustration that comes with the Christmas season, particularly the commercialism that has taken over. After all, it’s only once a year thing, and we’ve honed this gift giving thing down to a fine art. Besides, don’t we give these things because we want to share good cheer and good will of the season with the people we love? Have we lost the message in the madness?

Try to see this season in a positive light. The older we get, the more we can get away with. I, myself, will be first to tell a clerk, “Merry CHRISTMAS!” in advance of their “Happy Holidays” offering. This throws them off. I can be a bit of a bully at times. I just look them straight in the eye and say it very clearly; at which time some of them cast their eyes down, and glancing side to side, saying under their breath, “You too.” We don’t have to guess that their store managers have instructed them to say “Happy Holidays” instead of making any reference at all to CHRISTMAS, as it could possibly offend customers that do not observe our Christmas celebration. Bah! And Humbug! to them if they can’t take the heat. I’ve never seen anyone go off on a clerk for saying “Merry Christmas” to a customer. Most, though, do reply back with a hearty “Merry Christmas to you, too!”

Over they years, I seem to have developed the Little Red Hen attitude, I have been giving myself first billing on all cards and gifts, as my special Roy-Grinch is not the one who wraps, decorates, bakes, mails gifts to all the grands and cleans the house in preparation of the upcoming Christmas celebration. He usually takes one big shopping trip with me to buy gifts. The rest of his shopping is done piece meal, and none of my business. Granted, he did get the tree out of the rafters in the garage, and he generously contributes his share of $$’s to the Christmas cause. He has actually wrapped gifts to me to stick under the tree in the living room. He points them out and dares me to touch or, God forbid, damage any of the wrapping. “NO PEEKING!!!!!” He says. "And stay out of my closet!" Geeeeeeezzzzze what-a-Grinch!

The grandkids are getting a little harder to buy for, as their interests change with every inch of growth. But, it so much fun to go to the toy department and actually play with some of the toys, and see what new fangled contraptions toy companies have come up with to entertain these smart kids. I’ve finished baking cookies and other homemade libations to mail to our grandchildren. Actually, I got it all mailed today! I’m nearly done with the shopping. Just a few more items to pick up, and I’m waiting for the arrival of a special order. There are stocking stuffers and some birthday items that I need to pick up, as my special Roy-Grinch is having a birthday just before Christmas. What a bummer! But, he doesn’t even carp or fuss about it being so close to Christmas. In fact, he just doesn’t mention it. For that he gets extra points.

Yesterday, I finally dragged the “pre-lit-tree-with-no-lights-on-it” out of the garage and assembled it in the living room. Last year I gave up on trying to keep the lights working on it and ripped them all off. I didn’t like the “Retro-multicolored lights” that were on it anyway. The Grinch bought two boxes of 300 white mini-lites for it without even batting an eye. Give the Roy-Grinch some good points. It’s actually going to be a pretty tree. He also built a wooden stand to put it on, so it would be even taller and we could fit more presents under it.

While I was fluffing out the branches of the un-pre-lit tree, our dog Hank started pacing and drooling. For some reason, the tree made him nervous. I guess old farts just don’t like change. After a bit, he started walking under the branches and actually scratching his back on them. The tree teetered dangerously, so I removed the tree from the wooden stand. Hey! It looks better that way, and Hank quit passing under it to scratch his back. He actually settled down to watch me finish assembling it. I left it that way for Roy-Grinch to see before putting lights on it. Again, he didn’t bat an eye at my decision to not use the wooden box stand. More points in his favor.

I know that I’m going to be decorating this tree myself, as it is the Roy-Grinche’s own tradition to just watch. When I’m done, he will put a single ornament in place on the tree, and we will turn on the tree lights and turn off the living room lights. We will sit on the couch, holding hands, to admire our beautiful little Christmas tree … my hero, our dog and me. He really is my hero, even if he’s a bit of a Grinch once a year. We are ready for Christmas and whatever it brings. There will be Peace on Earth and good will to spread with my hero the Good-Grinch, our good dog, Hank and me.
BRING IT!