have you ever

at the zoo 

Have you ever been streaming music when something unfamiliar yet striking comes on? So struck by this tune, you jot down the title with expectations of queuing it up some time later, to give it a good listen, to perhaps add it to a playlist or two. 

Then you misplace your note and promptly forget the note, the title, the song and whatever mood it evoked for many, many days. 

Until you stumble upon the note again. 

So, you queue up the song, give it a good listen and think, "What the heck! What was I thinking?" 

It isn't, mind you that the song was suddenly horrible. It just wasn't striking. Or rather, as striking. It is an okay song. It is (or was) a popular song. It has been covered by many artists, I have discovered. 

Maybe it was just the day, or time of day, or . . . I don't know. Whatever it was to me at that first listen it is no longer. 

Perhaps it will be again.  

Sunday Kind of Love

Or not.  

Middle

middle of the month.  

middle of a road. 

middle of life. 

I have aunts on both sides of the family tree who are over 90. Both are in fact a stone's throw from the century mark. So I may very well be very well in the midst of a middle passage. The thought of being of this earth for the next 30 or more years is a tad . . . daunting.   

To say the least. 

Still, there are many things I want to do, many more I want to see, hear, feel, and taste. The world awaits. Or whatever portion of the world I shall choose to take by storm, awaits. Storm may be a bit strong. 

To say the least.  

I am a year, six and a half months away from my sixtieth birthday. And while I am at present devoid of energy, motivation, inspiration or hope beyond getting into and through the next twenty-four hours, twenty-four hours at a time, I know this too, shall pass. I know, I know. . . I have work to do to get from here

to there. 

To say the least.

sixty... 561 days and counting 

Welcome to Friday

"We have to live together."

Fun Day

Pete may or may not have been having fun. Buttah, though seemed 

to be enjoying himself. 

Feeling more like Pete these days. 

#MicroblogMonday~ go check 'em out. 

Looking Back

#Microblog Monday

If you'll recall, his time tlast year I was struggling to get through the Mandala prompts. And as recent posts relay, I'm still working to complete the 31 prompts. Number 24 (Desire here I come.) I was also frustrated over the sounds of silence from a particular person. Later in the year I lamented over the loss of a friend.. The friend and a particular person, same.

Silence, still.

Going back to January two years ago, my dad had died the previous September, it was cold and well, There is much going around these parts, most of which I have yet to truly wrap around my head and wear it brightly. I'm worried about a some friends. I'm distressed over job, work issues. I'm fearful for my mom. I am harried, heckled, haunted, and hounded much.

I ended post on a positive tip, trying to walk toward the very faint flow at the end of the tunnel.

Well, that light was doused when my mother died within a month of that post.

And now, looking back over 2013 and 2014 combined there were certainly more low points than high Despite my determination to find that silver lining around every single dark cloud; I tried to keep my spirits high, the creativity flowing, and life moving forward.

More than anything I tried mighty hard not to wallow.

Some days I wallowed. Some days I wallow, still. .

Yet, I look back to look forward; to finish what I start, to create opportunities to c-r-e-a-t-e to embrace my memories, to be present and to rev the engine as needed.

June Re-Boot

Memorial Day heralds in the unofficial start to summer.

I can't buy into such folly. It is still offically spring and still

officially . . . well, not 100%.

That said,  daughter and I spent a lovely afternoon at a very cool art fair


in the very cool Chicago neighborhood of Hyde Park. So enthused were we, she very easily convinced me

to purchase  a piece for her. She's very proud of her first original (outside of mine, of course) piece of

artwork.

The first full week of June has been lackluster, at best--change and designs on summertime, aside. I am

erasing the downs and embrasing the ups from the first week and entering week two with sunshine on

my shoulders; metaphorically speaking as the forecast for the next few days is temperatues in the mid-

sixties, mostly cloudy with slightly higher than 50% chance of rain.

Officially, it is still spring.

a new dawn

good morning. 

a confession to make: 

feeling awful, doing nothing 

BUT 

confident 

that 

a 

change 

is 

afoot. 

sunshine does wonders for 

a body 

and by body 

i mean 

knees. 

not to mention 

doing wonders for 

a mind.  

Dear Miss Flo,

You will have to forgive me for not using the more familiar “Auntie” title, but I’m not feeling all that charitable toward you these days. Let me say right from the giddy-up that it isn’t anything personal, it’s just that, well, WHY ARE YOU HERE?? Again? So Soon? And more stridently, STILL? What, did Frances in Kansas fete you with tainted beef?

I don’t understand. Last year you were sparse, nearly to the point of being rare. I was giddily hoping (again, nothing personal, mind you) that I’d seen the last of you. It HAS been a long, long time. Still, I remember your first visit as though it were yesterday. THAT was a day filled with mixed emotions. Boy/Girl, Girl/Woman, what the fuck, who the fuck? Mom seemed thrilled until it truly dawned on her what your visits really meant for me, “her little girl.” Her trying to watch me like a hawk kicked into overdrive that first summer.

I was barely eleven. All I wanted was to jump rope, play ball, and ride my bike around the world.

Now understand, there were some reckless days in my very late teens, early twenties when I wanted nothing more than to see you EVERY MONTH, like clockwork. I welcomed you with open arms, prepared a nice comfy spot to stay. You were kinder, gentler then. Hanging out for 2, 3 days tops and then on to the next assignment. It was, to my mind, the way it should be.

But ever since I hit forty-five, you’ve been on some kind of rampaging tear. I don’t remember who recorded that song, “Heavy Fallin’ Out” but that’s exactly what I feel like many of months. And yes, you have eased up the throttle a bit, and even disappear for months at a time. And then slam, bam, ma’am, DAMN, there you are again, not like clockwork and not at all welcome.

Flo, I’m a stone’s throw from 50 years old. FIFTY! And while some women my age may be holding on with clenched fists to their woman-hood, still feeling the want, desire to re-produce, please HEAR THIS: I AM NOT ONE OF THEM Don’t get me wrong, I love being a woman and I loved being able to give birth (well, maybe not the actual child birthing part, that shit hurt—but the idea, and certainly the reality of the actual child) not once, but twice…and for all those who want, but can’t, my heart goes out to them, but I am not that woman. The factory is closed, out of business. Or if you prefer, closed for re-tooling.

I know it is nature and I confess, I should grin and bear; that when the time comes to cease, you will. But, I just don’t feel that charitable. I want you gone. Today. And if not today, make this visit the last. I beseech you. Don’t make me call Frances!

Regards,

Deborah

Meno Mean ?

Probably should have just said yes to something, anything. But offer after offer, all I could say was, "no thank you." Mom offers me things; food, ugly (and a size too large) clothing, a variety of household goods she's gotten from others, and more. At one time I accepted these things to be nice. Most of the items got donated elsewhere, while a good faith effort was made to eat the food.

But some time ago I stopped accepting the items. Much of the food my mom prepares these days don't fit my own dietary requirements or tastes. As for the other items, I have enough of my own (and daughter's) accumulated shit overflow goods that I just don't have the room to store more prior to the haul (or rather series of hauls) to various donation outlets.

So, I turned down her flurry of offers in what I thought was a kindly and courteous manner. Mom sighed, "well, I don't know what I can offer you." To which I replied, "you don't have to offer me anything." To which she queried, "is it the menopause that makes you mean?"

Well, gee as I don't think I am mean I'd have to say no, me + meno doesn't = mean. But hey, maybe I'm coming off in a way I don't intend.

I shall be commissioning a study. I shall keep you posted as to the results.

Photo Credit

??????? And Then Some

Hey Debbie: How come I have not heard from you in such a long time???? What is going on???? Are things okay with you, Michael and Danielle and your mom????


My old friend is at it again.

She goes on to say she was mentioning to Stella (another former co-worker) that she hadn't heard from me in ages and ages, hope all is well, yadda yadda... Stella relayed to Joan (as reported by Joan) that she hadn't heard from me either. Note: Stella was burned out of her apartment nearly two years ago and I've yet to receive notice of her re-location address and I never had her phone number. Even before the fire, Stella didn't respond to my letters. Yes, actual letters. Any Stella news came from Joan.

After a couple of letters and no reply, I stopped writing.


Joan finishes, Please write soon and let me know that you are alright. I am getting very concerned.

Her message arrives at a time when I do not have the time, patience, or nary a hint of desire to massage her . . . whatever. Her, let me know that you are alright. I am getting very concerned sounds too much like someone much nearer and dearer to me and quite frankly I have enough on my hands and heart dealing with her various physical, emotional, and housing issues.

So Joan, I will not be writing soon. In fact, I will not be writing at all. If you call the office I may be available to speak with you, however, please know that I am very busy these days.

Never-the-less, I wish you well and when to talk with Stella, pass on my hellos.

bubbled over

I'm a fan of love stories in reel life as well as real life. No wonder then that upon learning of the screening dates for "Hannah Free" I immediately marked my calendar, determined to attend at least one of the screenings.

Very soon after I began making my plans e-mail from one of my newer meet-up groups announced a meet-up to the 9/25 screening.

Hot Dog. I rsvp'd!

The night of the 25th I found myself in the famed Gene Siskel Film Center, ticket in hand, domestic beer on the table talking with Linda. She relayed to being new to the area, finding herself suddenly and surprisingly single after 14 years with, "the love of her life." She accepted a job in Chicago, packed up and moved. She joined a couple meet-up groups, signed on to attend this screening and here we are, trading tales.

I confessed to lacking confidence in these kinds of situations, but was determined to force myself out, expand my zones of comfort. Linda thought I was doing very well, engaging, making eye-contact. She thought I seemed at-ease, quite comfortable.

A few sips of a domestic beer and being in a roomful of amiable lesbians might have factored in my level of comfort. Or not.

Me, Linda and others (it's not clear if we were there to meet the same meet-up group or if we were parts of two groups) found seats and chatted a bit more before the movie began. Just prior to lights out a group of women (and a couple of guys) walked toward the stage to address the audience. Sharon Gless was one of the group. AND she spoke!

Be still my ♥ !

The evening, already a pleasure leaped to sheer joy. The only downer, not on the evening specifically but for the past couple of weeks, and especially the last couple of days, my emotions have been in hyper-drive. I cry at the drop of a pin these days.

That is buggin' me out and driving me to distraction.

Wet

My feet are wet. I get crabby when my feet are wet.

I normally have a spare pair in my desk drawer.

I also have spare shoes, and now and again a spare shirt and spare pants. But, usually it’s (just) socks and most definitely shoes, for I can’t stand for my feet to be wet.

But, my feet are wet now. And I’m crabby, because I get crabby when my feet are wet.

Upon arriving to work with the wet feet, I realized I’d forgotten to replace the last spare pair.

I get crabby when I forget.

I suppose I could take off my wet shoes and my wet socks, put on my dry shoes until the wet ones dry.

But I can’t. I can’t stand wearing shoes without socks.

I get crabby without socks.

Though, not quite as crabby as when I have socks and they are wet.

So maybe I can stand sock-less shoes on my towel dried feet.

Maybe I'll just have lunch.

It's Spring ! ! ! !

Forecast from National Weather Service As of 12:03 PM CDT on March 20, 2008
Rest of Today... Partly sunny. Temperatures nearly steady around 40. Northeast winds around 10 mph. Tonight... Mostly cloudy. Snow after midnight. Snow may be heavy at times after midnight. Snow accumulation of 1 to 2 inches. Lows in the upper 20s. East winds 10 to 20 mph. Chance of precipitation 90 percent. Friday... Snow. Snow may be heavy at times. Snow accumulation of 3 to 5 inches. Blustery. Highs in the mid 30s. East winds 15 to 25 mph. Chance of precipitation near 100 percent.

I don't care. It's spring and I got it. The fever. And it's burning a whole in my... oh never mind. Happy Spring!

Heavy Artillery

Boots. Thick rubber soles.
Socks. 2 pair
Leggings & Leg Warmers
Jeans
1 Cotton and 1 Knit turtleneck
Windbreaker Jacket
Parka
2 Wool-like acrylic scarves or mufflers
Wool-like acrylic hat (nylon cap underneath)
Gloves


More important than any single article or the multiple layers is a-t-t-i-t-u-d-e. This, I know and try as I might I can't help but feel a little testy. I am cold. I am tired. I am tired of being cold. But I’m sure it will all be over soon. I have to believe this.

On another front, I gloated mentioned to someone about being passed over for the Aunty F’s January visit. Well, lucky ducky me, she arrived this month packed for the long haul. Eight days and counting. But I’m sure it will all be over soon. I have to believe this.

Happy Always Happy

Wishes for a happy birthday, anniversary, Friday or really most any happy wishing generally fills one with glee. Always, the flexi-wing maxi and mini pad folks, are wishing women and girls happy periods.

The glee over this happy wish is fleeting

Not, mind you, that I’m un-happy with beinggirl, I’m perfectly happy with beinggirl, it’s just that at 46, I’m not all that happy to still be having a period, as periodic as they may be these days. I’ve been meeen-oooo-paws-ahl for nearly two years. The cycle has feted me to periods of lost focus and concentration, anxiousness, insomnia leading to fatigue, weight gain, diminished libido, surging libido, overwhelming menses, scant menses and missing menses. Oh, it’s been a happy, happy time in Middle Girl world. Really.

In all seriousness, happy does live here, not happy periods, but happy, generally and genuinely.

If Aunty Flo were to take a sudden and permanent powder, I would be even happier.

Happy…Days!

Sprung? No! Spring.

It is my daughter's not so humble opinion that her 46, knocking on the door to 47 year-old mother, is sprung. She believes she has, again, in her not so humble opinion, several facts in evidence to support her position.

Not quite ready to concede her point, I will admit to feeling a buzz, a certain breeziness, the feeling of having some air in my oh so short hair. I offer however, several factors which may account for such a condition.

For instance, I have resolved to not get too totally tweaked about the work situation. In the not so immortal words of my oh so befuddled boss, 'it is what it is.' I believe it was Maya Angelou who said, if you don't like something, change it, if you can't change it, change your attitude. Don't complain. Well, I can't change it and I can't leave it, at least not now, so, I will do my best to maintain my decorum, professionalism, and personal standards. (That doesn't mean that I won't try to change it..because IT is pretty stupid and needs to change.)

I was able to get some of the owners of the condo association to agree, at least in principle, to donate some garden supplies, plants, mulch and such to aid in my continuing efforts to beautify out little piece of earth. This news and the possible confluence of events is certainly worthy of a buzz or two.

My mother, though still believing she is under surveillance, is much less anxious over the sight of taxicabs parked on her street that in years past. She has also had some resolution to some long standing health issues. Others remain, but getting some answers where there were only questions and confusions is comforting, to some degree.

There are other little triumphs, like losing nearly 8 lbs since mid-January, causing some pep to my steps, some glides to my strides, prompting my daughter to assign the sprung label to my general state of breeziness. I could make my case with any one of the reasons already stated. I'll offer another. One could chalk my buzz, the breeziness, up to the onset of Spring. Warm weather alone is cause enough for a buzz, a breeziness of steps and spirit.

I do not buy her contention that the buzz has anything at all to do with the cards, letters, emails, hours of telephone conversations, some past and the prospect of future kissing and...more, that a certain someone and I have shared over these past several weeks. No, I do not buy that, at all.

This buzz has nothing at all to do with correspondence, soft conversations and more. Not any of that, no. This buzz, my daughter, is not your sprung mother.

It's Spring! Darn it!

Week 52

One, I feel fat. I am bigger, heavier, I believe, than I was going into this week. In fact, I'm sure. The resolve is still there, but the effort has been lagging. I've not been feeling tip-top, emotionally or physically, thus, maintaining disciplined consistency has been difficult, to say the least.

Good thing. This week is a throw-away. It exists for one purpose and one purpose only. To look. Looking back on the year that was and looking ahead to the year to come. No serious work is attempted, let alone accomploshed. Some companies are closed. Those not closed are most likely, half-staffed. I scheduled myself for half-days this week. I will be leaving the office by 12:30 each of the remaining days this week. To do what? The hope is to get some work done towards some long over-due projects, but-looking will be in the equation, I am sure.

This past year has been full of good, some of which has been documented here. Mostly, I've used this place to explore. Explore feelings I have about my past. Explore emotions concerning my present. Explore prospects for the kind of future I'm endeavoring to build. There is a woman out there for me. Yes? Perhaps. Yes!

Working in progress.

Two, beets. You may recall what I had to say on the subject. I had every intention of moving forwad and finding my way to a beet dish. I haven't, at least, not intentionally. I found out today that one of the desserts at the potluck on Thursday, provided by the sig other of one of the office guys, contained beets. If was a chocolate cake. The cake was good on Thursday. Today, now that I know about the beets? Yuck!

Three, cycles. To paraphrase a JFK quote, a mystery, wrapped in a riddle, inside an enigma. Cycles. For many months I've been slogging through a variety of peri-menopausal symptoms. Now, apparently, a cycle has twisted and I find myself in the throes of that drive..and no place for it to land. Watching videos, reading books and...ahem...and.

Finally, a cold. This cold has settled in my eyes. I am clearing phlegm from my eyes, often. This phlegm is affecting no only the mood, but, more importatntly, the eyesight, which, as my may remember, bothers me, to a great degree.

Week 52 is about looking. It would be nice, much nicer, if I could see, better.

Frizzy to the Rescue

This is Frizzy. Frizzy was presented to Middle Girl Deborah’s household about this time last year. Frizzy was a gift from Grandma F, who frequently re-gifts freebies gleaned from the many senior functions she attends.

Frizzy was not well received last year. Frizzy is not fuzzy, he is more fleecy. The fuzzes in residence were not trusting of the fleecy, rosy-cheeked fellow. Plus, Frizzy has shoes. Shoes are persona non grata in the fuzzy set.

Frizzy stood, mainly ignored last season, out of respect to Grandma F. He was stored away protected by plastic along with other holiday adornments for the same reason.

Rumor had it that Frizzy had seen his last holiday.

This season, moody grayness has been the rule rather than the exception in Middle Girl Deborah’s household. She’s been thrown by recent events and continuing frustrations. The effort of keeping her head up, putting on a happy face and the best foot forward, has been exhausting and grayness inducing.

Enter Frizzy and his boxed holiday co-conspirators. Frizzy has taken the lead this year because the situation is deemed dire. The usual remedies for the formerly temporary and fleeting periods of gray are proving short-lived and unreliable, resulting in longer cycles of glum.

Frizzy is not at all sure he can help Middle Girl Deborah shake the glum, sustain cheer for any longer terms, leading to better concentration and productivity. That is indeed a tall order to fill. He will use all the powers at his disposal, stomping in with his two big plastic feet to give it his best shot.

Wish him luck and cheers.