Momma B Proud

“Teamwork is dream work” my girl D chants to her team of animal care techs. A softball, basketball, volleyball and soccer player throughout her school years D is well acquainted with the concept of team and what it takes to make a team successful.

After 5 weeks in her new job with the local animal shelter, D earned a promotion to shift supervisor. From day one she let her experience guide her and she made her thoughts known. She pointed out flaws in some systems and worked out reasonable and executable solutions.

In spite of her skittishness towards cats, she embraced the challenge of “cat intake” and though still not totally at ease, is much less afraid. Today she can be amused by a cat soiling the freshly cleaned cage and then proceeded to sit in the mess….”oh mom, she shat and sat!”

It goes without saying that she wants to bring home at least half of the mid-sized dogs that appear at the shelter. And while she won’t be eligible to adopt for several weeks, I would not be surprised to find a mid-sized canine at my front door, welcoming me home, sooner rather than later.

That’s my girl.

A Rare Dream Memory

Neta and I were in a lumber store. I can’t tell you why we were there beyond the obvious getting lumber. I don’t know why we were getting lumber. While I have assembled furniture, I’ve never built any. The only building I’ve witnessed at Neta’s is that of the fantastic omelets and…momentum.

We are in separate parts of the store. I am waiting in a line, I think to the saw. I’m not holding any wood so I’m not sure what’s going to get sawed once I get to the front. There are people milling about the store and soon I start to see people I know from my former church. Maureen, Kelly and Alice come as one and say hello. While we are talking my mother joins the group. The other ladies say their good-byes, leaving my mother and me alone.

We are talking for only a few minutes before I mention that my friend, Neta is in the store and ask mom if she would like to meet her. Mom blurts out a no, bids me a hasty farewell, stating she doesn’t want the van to leave without her, all while vanishing through the double-swinging doors.

I wake abruptly and permanently, starting this day two hours earlier than planned.

Odd Decades

Ten years ago my marriage was disintegrating. The destruction, due mostly (according to him) to my failure as a teacher; "you were supposed to teach me to be a man, father." In the midst of that miasma was my 37th birthday, barely a blip in the whole scheme of things.

I as a hard-working mother of two, 20 years ago. My five year old son was looking forward to starting kindergarten. My nearly two year old daughter was busy doing what toddlers do. We had been thrown out asked to leave our apartment because the man and the landlord got into a fight. Between working a full-time job, school orientations, chasing a toddler and looking for an apartment, the only thing I can tell you about my 27th birday was that it came and went.

My graduation from high school was 30 years ago. Much of the time immediately following was spent preparing for college and my eventual move to on-campus housing. My mother decided to rescind her permission, forcing me to cancel the move, my life as I had envisioned. I could write volumes about this decision and the subsequent affects, but I won't, today. Needless to say, my 17th birthday was met with very little fanfare.

Forty years ago my parents split. My father's erratic behavior and cruelty leading up to the split gave me cause to celebrate. Little did I understand the devastation this event would cause and how the precarious house of cards mother had formed would come tumbling down. In all likelihood there was some sort of cake for birthday number seven. Maybe.
Ten years from now when I think of my 47th birthday I'll recall having a pre-birthday cake and celebration with my lady love. I'll remember my mom taking me to lunch the Saturday before, asking me at the end, "so...what is on your agenda, for the rest of your life?" Saturday evening I met a blogger and others for dinner and had fantastic time. Hanging out with my son and having the honor of feeding him, again, graced a good part of Sunday afternoon. Sunday evening my daughter and I cheered as the Chicago Sky trounced the Houston Comets. D met Ma and Pa Berenstain, certainly a most memorable moment in her book.
Monday found me playing hooky from work to spend the day communing with nature and seals, lions, tigers, bears, birds, kids, moms, dads, nannies, tourists and...more. Neta called me early Monday morning and serenaded me. She called again late Monday night for final happy, happy wishes and to get a round-up of my day. This birthday season will be recorded as one of the happiest of the odd year birthdays due to the happiness surrounding me most days, these days.

Cheers!

for eb (and other inquiring minds)

Or...more about the trip south. Have any idea what you get when you take (2) 46 y.o. lesbians (ebony/ivory combo optional), toss in 2 cups of long distance relationship, add another 1/4 cup of mis-construed comments and mix that all together with 2 1/2 cups of emotional baggage? What you get dear friends is tears. Put me in the mind of that old O'Jays tune. To borrow a phrase, jeezie creezie!
The girlfriend and I spent some parts of our precious time together recently crying over one thing or another. The tears appearing fast and ending just as quickly. Still, we laughed more. In addition to the crying and laughing we spent the bulk of our days and nights eating, drinking, watching movies and just being together.

We took in the Nashville Zoo on probably the hottest of the hot days. Afro dude here was a big hit. I was in heat heaven. Neta, not nearly as tolerant to high heat and humidity grinned (barely) and withstood it for me. We did finish the trip with some ice cold beers and other tasty treats.

Much about this trip was the same as the previous ones. (I'll never tire of the loaded omelets or uhm..other perks, honey) and there was much that was different (Popsicle play was reeeally cool & thanks again for the b-day cake, sugar!) Neta gets a charge out of being on hand to help me experience my firsts. In the world of many things lesbian that encompasses quite a bit. How surprised was I to learn there were firsts to share on both sides? Very. How pleased? Very, very. What I've enjoyed most about my trips so far though, is the rest. I sleep like a baby when I'm with my baby.

This trip also included meet and greets; another friend, co-workers and do dee do dee do dee do deeeeeee THE PARENTS. Mom had been nagging Neta nutty about meeting me. Of course I was nervous but not worried. The meeting(s) went off without a hitch. They were both gracious, friendly and pleasant. Dad offered an explanation as to why there were two TVs running (as did Mom) and Mom talked a mile a minute. She is full of energetic verve. I enjoyed meeting them both and look forward to getting to know them better.

This trip, the longest of the three to date was also the most fun, emotionally charged, sweet and exciting. We spent every moment together, except for that last un-planned partial day and we tried very hard to keep the eventual "so long" (we don't say good-bye) out of our heads.

The first week back was always the hardest. This time was no exception. Adding to the pangs this time is the knowledge that in all likelihood we won't see each other again until December. We plan on spending the end of the year together, we will celebrate someones birthday (shhhh she's ignoring it), the anniversary of our meeting and bring in the New Year wrapped in each other's arms. We might even be awake at the stroke of midnight, doubtful, but it could happen.

In the meantime, we will try to avoid thinking about December being 5 long months away while burning up the phone lines talking each other giddy.

So.......

The plan was to fly back into Chicago on Wednesday evening, un-pack, de-compress, re-connect with D, talk with Neta, turn in for the night and prepare for work on Thursday. Talking with Neta and turning in for the night were the only un-changed parts of the plan. My flight was delayed and likely cancelled Wednesday due to weather in the Chicago area. I didn’t stay around longer than 9 p.m. to find out the ultimate disposition of flight number 4337 scheduled to depart at 6:30 p.m. After numerous delays and very little hope, I re-scheduled for Thursday afternoon. I made 3 phone calls, home, my boss and Neta. She came back to the airport some 4 hours after dropping me off, kissing me good-bye. We returned to her place, relaxed a bit and turned in for the night.

As happy as I was to spend more time with Neta it was under less than ideal conditions, I was frustrated and tired; she was tired and had to be at work early the next morning. I don’t present well in this part, so you’ll forgive me for glossing over. We talked, kissed and made nicer.

****I miss you lover girl****

Thursday morning came, after bagels and coffee, Neta went to work. I stayed “home” to keep checking the flight info. She returned at her lunch-time to take me to the airport for a 1:30 flight. We said our good-byes again and I went to check in. Thursday’s flight 4484 was delayed an hour because the Prez and Air Force One were in Nashville and at our scheduled 1:30 departure, still on the ground. Planes can’t land when Air Force One is on the ground, preparing for take-off. The plan I was scheduled to take to Chicago (and a few others) circled Nashville for nearly an hour, waiting for the Prez to split. Finally AFO took off, planes landed. My plane was emptied, cleaned and prepped. We boarded and took off towards Chicago. I called my daughter with an expected arrival time of around 4:00. Well, at 3:30 we were circling, no clearance to approach because of the weather. We were ultimately diverted to Arkansas for re-fueling and a new flight plan.

Thirty minutes later and all gassed up, the new plan was finally in place and announced. We were going to go around the weather, come into Chicago from the back-door, so to speak. We landed at 7:15 p.m. One hour and 30 minutes later, I was home. The bit more than one hour flight took 24 frustrating, tiring hours. I don’t however, want that to over-shadow the absolute joys and pleasures I had while visiting with the lovely, charming Neta and her kitties, “Kamikaze” Bobo, (up top) so named because he preys on feet and “Tail-i-tude” Lulu, who looks like she dipped her face in ink, is somewhat aloof and makes her feelings known via her tail.

I will be back honey as soon as I can. No diggity, no doubt. Thanks for the two-week early birthday celebration. You are sweeter than that ice cream mud cake. Yummy!

Say You, Say Meme

Some days eons ago, Lori tagged me to play the *8 Things We Don’t Know About You* meme game. With this game, as with others, there are rules, something about listing the rules, tagging others and telling them they’ve been tagged.
The 8 I’ll do. There must be things you don’t know about me, there are things I don’t know about me as I am still evolving. I’ll pass on the tagging. If anyone would like to play, by all means play on.

1. I am a reformed thumbsucker. My own thumbs. I sucked my thumbs from the ages of zero through 6 or 7 I made a daily meal of mostly my left thumb. Twas comforting, the sucking of the thumb especially combined with...

2. The twisty twirling of my hair. I wound my hair around my finger, usually the right index finger. I would twirl, twist, around and around until I had curlicues all over my head. My mom, not the greatest little girl hair stylist, never said a word about the twirling my hair. She didn’t like me sucking my thumb and employed many tricks and tactics to get me to stop. I did stop, in public, when I started school at four. I did continue both the thumbsucking and hair twisting in private, as private as a room shared with two brothers can be.

3. I began life as a left-hander. It didn’t come into play until it was time to learn to write. I was already by then, wielding eating utensils and the like with my left hand. When I got hold of a ball and someone commanded me to throw it, I did so with my left hand. My earliest teachers worked on me, some gently, most not, trying to convince me that life would be easier if I used my right hand. I did so, in school. Everywhere else, I was left-handed. Still today, I do most everything left-handed. I use my right when I want to write fast and in cursive. I continue to practice writing with my left. I can print very well, cursive so-so. Recently I have come to truly appreciate having near equal dexterity and strength in both the left and right hands.

4. My first name has seven letters, the middle name six and my last name five. The middle name repeats a letter and this letter appears in each name. I played with variations of the letter count and positioning when trying to decide how to sign my artwork, when I was routinely producing artwork. I wound up settling on a version that utilized letters from my middle and last name, dese ge.

5. When I was pregnant with my daughter I ate fried mushrooms from a little hole-in-the-wall sandwich shop near my job, every single day. They were made to order and thus served piping hot! They were not at all mushy from the heat lamps. I really do detest mushy mushrooms. This place served up a spicy little jalapeno dip that was just fabulous. I eat mushrooms still, though not often fried and certainly not every day.

6. There were no particular food passions while pregnant the first time. The passion was simply for food, most any food would serve. I did however, gain more weight the second time.

7. I attended seven different elementary schools; Ryerson (headstart), Morse (kindergarten, part of 1st), Biedler (the rest of 1st & 2nd), Ryder (3rd & part of 4th), Dvorak (the rest of 4th & 5th), Suder (6th and part of 8th), Skinner (rest of 8th). I remember only liking Ryerson and Skinner. Ryerson because my older brother wasn’t there and my teacher, Mrs. Stomper was really sweet. Skinner because neither brother went there and the school, with a very diverse student body which included developmentally and physically challenged kids, offered workshops in ASL.

8. I am as annoyed as this guy that my library misspelled my name on my card. I am THIS annoyed that it has taken me over a year to notice. And I am THIS annoyed that I probably won’t change it until closer to the 2008 expiration date.

Bonus: I get to see my lover girl in two days. The waiting is painful but the reward will be sweeeet!!

He says, "I just need to get back in the Bible."

“Your brother didn’t go home again Friday night and he’s taken his name and number off of the work van. What do you think that means?”

It means my brother is back to his old tricks; he is drugging, drinking, gambling, breaking & entering.

It means quite possibly inside of three months he will be in county lock-up, waiting for trial, which will result in his being sentenced to hard time-again.

It means his children, in all likihood, for better or worse, will complete their ascent to adult-hood without him.

It means I have reason to believe that it was my brother who broke into my apartment. It means that I am very reluctant to contact the detective for an update. It means that I’m hoping that when I do, he tells me the prints weren’t viable enough to run or that they didn’t match any in the system.

It means my seldom voiced predictions for his fall off the wagon were right on.

It means that I'd been hoping otherwise.

Finally, it means my mother knew all this when she asked the question, understanding that, it means the call was to spill her sadness and my role was simply to sop up the mess.

photo: (younger) brother age 13 & his dog "Queenie"

Nothing, I Got Nothing

The Wordsmiths group is back in business and I had every intention of trying my hand at the challenge for June. My story began: Hester, now hopelessly lost, has begun to question the wisdom of getting directions from the family of sea crabs she stumbled upon several miles back. She figured she didn’t have much to lose as she was already lost, just not hopelessly so. Now, of course, she no longer hopes to find her way. She’s been floating and scooting forever and a day.

The thought sprung that she might get back in the water. The traveling would go much smoother and faster in the water. She could get …nowhere, faster. No, better to stay on the sand, thinking is easier on the sand. Thinking is what Hester needs. And food, Hester needs food.

And then…blank. Poof. Every thought vanished in the wind. I haven’t been able to think, really. What with the concern mixed with glee for my newly independent son, worry over the break-in and my daughter’s reaction and recovery, frustrations following the break-in with the police, insurance agents and adjusters, and installers of locks and alarms, sorrow over the loss of a computer, joyfulness over the subsequent computer replacement, impatience with modems, noisy lines and slow arriving filters, what with all that, I haven’t been able to think, clearly.

It is quite possible though that the inability to, uhm..think may have nothing at all to do with any of those things and everything to do with visions of the South and the days and nights I will be spending there with the lovely Neta. Soon baby, soon. Boarding the plane in 10 days, whoopeee!!!!

Then again, it may not be that either. It may just be anything and every little thing these days is twisting my very short hair into itty bitty knots. Luckily, my head has left the building so I don’t have to think about what my hair looks like.

Mission: Size-Mic

One of my co-workers, I call him Mr. Arkansas, thought that I might be a good messenger to deliver the following message to my? over-weight sistahs: that they should refrain from wearing little girl panties when wearing their summer-time favorite white pants.

He would be wrong and since I am not an appropriate messenger, I thought these folks might be a better choice to talk to and about sistahs clad in, well, anything or...nothing as the case may be.

The FGF opening near our office has been the topic of choice for most of the guys in my office, Mr. Arkansas included.

And since I must included in all these conversations I thought it natural to turn Mr. Arkansas' mission for me over to FGF.

My mission was to get Mr. Arkansas (& the rest of the guys) out of my office. Mission: accomplished. For the time being.

G Rated

Picked this up from Brutal Women, who as you can see has a different rating.






Which got me to thinking; is this G good? bad? Do I live a G life? Have G experiences?

The explanation for my G rating was that lesbian was mentioned 1 x. (I'm sure the absence of a few fucks, shits and damns were a factor too.) But, lesbian only once? Really? Hmmm. This got me to thinking even more.

Is it clear to the casual reader that I'm a lesbian? Those of you who know me, have been around awhile, purged the archives know the deal. You also probably know that it was just about a year ago that I made this announcement to you (the world) and to my son and daughter. You may also know that only two other people who know me, the living, breathing me, know; my oldest friend, DB and my girlfriend.

A year ago, brand new lesbian was sans girlfriend. Hell, this brand new lesbian was sans a clue. As the (now) girlfriend stated on our first face to face meet in March, "you haven't even kissed a woman before." True that. She was understandably concerned of my "stated" lesbian status. She had run across posers and experimenters before.

After two visits and plans for at least two more before year-end, all questions have been answered, all evidence posted.

I am a lesbian. Lesbian, I am and that's all G. G for GOOD!

And oh, by the way, I am also Black. Apparently, there had been some question about that as well. Say it Loud! I am Proud!

note to Neta--Only 17 more days baby. Yowzah!!

Summer in the City

No, they don’t mean pause. Nor do then mean that one should give the illusion of ceasing the movement of one’s vehicle. The meaning of that line, eight-sided sign and the bright red light atop the pole of three (4 or 5 if turning arrows) is STOP. The vehicle must cease to move.

Period. Exclamation Point!

I, along with thousands of pedestrians* suffer near misses every day as the result of drivers who are impatient, irrational, ignorant, inconsiderate, and / or just idiotic. Walking in the city, especially in spring and summer is indeed a chore. In fact, walking can be down- right hazardous to your health unless you become expert at navigating vehicles at cross walks. You have to be near psychic at times.

Given the state of traffic in this city (& surrounding areas) I have been asked how I can feel comfortable riding my bicycle. Truth of the matter is I feel safer on my bike than I do on foot. I’ve been riding a bike nearly as long as I’ve been walking and feel very safe on one. I’ve never fallen off the bike, once I learned to ride. I’ve fallen off my feet a few times, but that’s another story. Though not much more considerate, operators of motor vehicles do tend to pay more attention to cyclists than pedestrians.

Whatever the reason I appreciate that grace. During the warmer months I ride more often. I’ve ridden my bike the 7.32 miles to work twice already this season. I expect to do that several more times before the weather turns on me again. I bought a brand new helmet, pulled out riding gloves and other essentials. I awake each morning hoping for a forecast of clear weather.

Away I go, carefully, considerately hoping the same goes for operators of motorized vehicles.



*not standing up for those who cross against lights/signs, outside of marked cross-walks or otherwise make a nuisance of themselves seeming to dare vehicles to hit them.

Lil Bit 'O Change

“Mom, are your breasts getting bigger?”

Why, no they are not. In fact, my breasts are exactly the same size they were when I graduated from high school 30 years ago. My breasts and feet are about the only (physical) parts of me that haven’t changed during that time.

I’d like to think that the rest of me is getting so much smaller, so much faster that by comparison, my breasts look bigger. But uh, no, that wouldn’t be it. What IT is, my daughter correctly points out, it has been warm and I’m wearing tank tops. She has rarely seen me in a tank top.

Tank tops have not been a staple in my summer wardrobe for many reasons. Primary among them though is that I’m more often cold, not warm. I wear sweaters, jackets, long sleeves and mock turtlenecks year round.

Or rather, I should say, I did, until a couple of years ago.

I started noticing the change. It was very subtle at first. In the winter I found that I could get by with only one pair of socks on the coldest of days. I didn’t panic when I couldn’t find my gloves. In the summer, air conditioned rooms didn’t annoy and freeze me nearly as much as they once did. I am not quite as comfortable with the sauna-like conditions of my rooms anymore.

While I don’t experiences the flashes of heat typical of my age and stage and still prefer the very warm over the even moderately cold, I find I’m becoming more tolerant of the cold and less of the heat. Thus, the tank tops. Still, though, I wear my button down shirts over the tank tops. Open to the abdomen. Some of the shirts are short sleeved.

Going, Gone

Falling victim to dreaded Dutch Elm Disease our two stately shade trees will be but a memory by the time I get home this evening.

Bummer.

"Mom, Where is the Computer?"

What do you mean WHERE is the computer?

All too quickly we ascertained that the computer had been stolen.

Sometime after I left for work and before D awoke to find a big assed gaping hole where our desktop computer used to sit last Thursday morning, some sniveling, slimy, scum sucking excuse for a human broke through our back door, walked through the kitchen, dining room and into the living room. They (maybe just a he or a she) disconnected monitor, tower, keyboard, mouse and printer and carried them back out of the living room, through the dining room and kitchen, out the back door they'd broken into. Also, to add insult to further injury, the sub-species took a sterling silver necklace. And even more insulting, a bottle of vodka from the freezer and a can of ginger ale from the refrigerator.

“Mom, I’m scared.” I would like to go the whole rest of my life without hearing those three words.Thank you very much. The words, coupled with the tears stopped my heart for just an instant. “Call the police, honey, I’ll be there as soon as I can” was all I could muster. I dropped everything at work and rushed home, that place that used to be a safe place for us. Home. It will be safe again, but in the meantime...I hear the fear in her voice, feel the tears from miles away.

I will abhor their act for as long as I live. I do, however, remain forever grateful that they only took the computer (& the other small items). I remain forever grateful that they didn’t rummage and ransack. I remain forever grateful that my young D loves to sleep behind her closed door, with air conditioner and television going. I remain forever grateful that she didn’t awake any sooner.

One of these days I’ll be able to forget the helplessness I felt at the sound of the trembling dread in her voice. One day, perhaps. Not.

Still, I remain forever grateful that she was safe and was able to make the call.

D Smiles

That smile, along with other fine attributes, has brightened many a day for me. My daughter’s smile and the soon to follow laugh morphing into a snort, if she is truly tickled, energizes rooms. My rooms, anyway.

That smile aside, D can be formidable. Her at times bold, brash and full of fiery bravado personality tends to have her leaping first and asking questions, or rather, suffering the consequences later. She is also fiercely loyal and passionate. She can also be very heart-warming, gushy. Many of our days together have been a roller-coaster of events and the ever present emotions. She has been known to thrill, entertain and supremely frustrate me multiple times in a single day, her favorite parlor trick since even before she was born.

D and I went to a batting cage recently. She found it hard to believe that I hit the ball better (at first) than she. I was pretty shocked too. I haven’t swung a bat at a ball in...I don’t know how many years and she is the better athlete, generally. Better, I did, but she wasn’t bitter. We were having a very good time, as we do so very often.

There are waves, swells even. I can be over-protective and enthusiastic about control. She can be impulsive and stubborn. Surprised? It shall be interesting to see how we will further relate now that the male ballast has vacated estrogen central.

The last few months have been somewhat trying for daughter D and mom D. Although very supportive of the later in life lesbianism in a theoretical sense, D has struggled with the reality of the actual girlfriend. D likes Neta, as much as she can given what she knows of her. And she does trust my judgment and that I love Neta, but D wonders how my burgeoning relationship will affect her, or rather me and her. "You will change mom" she asserts. Well, of course I will, for the better. I will be (have been) even happier, even more fulfilled, for starters. For D it is complicated, yet simple. She doesn’t want to lose me.

Of course, she never will. Never could.

My daughter has dreams that will likely take west, to California or Nevada. These dreams won’t become reality for some time to come, in the meantime, I continue to assure her. Continue to be a passenger, sometimes associate driver in the ride that is D. Being her mother is the adventure of a lifetime. Being her friend is a treasure and a privilege that I cherish every day.
Keep on smiling baby girl D. Mom D thinks you are da bomb!

Sound of Silence

I’ve cleaned what was his room, the room is now empty. Devoid of stereo, television, books, bed, him, it echos. The emptiness so prevalent the echos stretch to the kitchen, his room’s nearest neighbor. The echos making work in the kitchen now an eerie, if not sad experience. He’s not on the other side of that wall, there isn’t anything on the other side except another wall, full of empty.

He moved on Saturday morning. Three of his friends came by to lend their hands, backs and humor to the movement of a lifetime’s worth of him. He’d been preparing for this for some time, ready to tackle his next role, adventure. Inside of two hours, he was done, going. Left in his space were some trash, dust, loose coins and Shawshank Redemption and Michael Jordan posters. I guess they didn’t make the cut. M also left the echos.

When he was done, I hugged my tall boy, the man he had become. I kissed him on the cheek. I congratulated his progress, success. I bid him farewell. And then I cried.

My girlfriend called with calm and supportive words. She said just the right things at just the right time, she made me laugh. My daughter suggested we get out and have fun. Our afternoon at the batting cage was just that, fun.

M has moved out and he has called me twice. "Mom, I’m lying on my floor and it is so great!" He further reports having gone shopping for groceries; he bought among other things steak, broccoli and brandy which he planned on having for his Sunday dinner. He went on to say he’d started putting things away and thinking about how to further decorate. He talks about the neighborhood and the changes it is experiencing. His excitement is infectious.

The room he occupied may be empty of his things and certainly his presence among them will be missed. But I’d be hard pressed to deny my full out joy for his sense of accomplishment, success. I am looking forward to more calls, emails and as soon as he scores a couple of more chairs, he’ll invite his dear old mom to dinner.

In the empty room however, filling the silence are a handful of projects that will result in a room, with a bed, for me. That sound you hear is the th-th-thudding of my anticipation for future trips to lands of hard and house wares.

C-C-C ommute

You know what irritates me more than anything? Well, maybe not more than anything, but certainly it ranks in the top 10 of irritants. Missing a bus. No, scratch that, make that missing two buses. Two buses in the span of about 30 seconds. The buses I usually take are scheduled to run every 8-10 minutes. When they are so off schedule that they are clumped and one, two and sometimes three whiz by before I make it to the sign, I go red with ire.

If it is a lucky day-yes, I know, how could it be a lucky day if I've just missed multiple buses? A lucky day would be that the next bus arrives in only a few minutes, 10 tops and it isn't raining.

Usually, it isn't a lucky day.

Sharing the irritant spotlight with missing buses is runaway buses. Gentle men and woman operating these very large vehicles seem to be of the opinion that these big ole buses can stop on a dime. After having witnessed several failed attempts, I'm here to tell you that this is a feat these very large vehicles will never, ever accomplish. Never. Furthermore, careening down the street at breakneck speeds attempting this stopping on a dime maneuver is not only wrong and dangerous, it is also, I think, not at all conducive to accomplishing what I think is the approved task, the safe loading and un-loading of passengers.

Tossing passengers around the as if they were the balls in a rousing round of pinball wizardry might be sport for the drivers, but again, I can tell you as one of the tossed around, we the passengers are not nearly as enamoured.

Driver might try slowing down, obeying traffic laws, practicing the safe and efficient loading and un-loading of passengers. Perhaps then the clumping might diminish.

Perhaps.

The Play's The Thing

The Incredibly Famous Willie Rivers

This is the propulsive story of a rock star who, after surviving a deranged fan's assassination attempt, is courted by corporate star-maker machinery to stage a long-awaited comeback. With the horror of returning to the spotlight ever present, Willy takes the audience on a wild ride through the relationships of his life on his quest to recover his family, his artistic voice, and the connection to his Heartland roots. A harrowing vision of our culture's need for that proverbial "15 minutes of fame," the ensemble of characters grapples with their own feelings of jealousy, fear, hurt, and awe of the "incredible fame" they see bestowed on Willy. This is an energetic, violent, hilarious and heartbreaking rock and roll story of one man's journey through fame, as he struggles to decide what is most important to him and what he must sacrifice.

Fine and strong performances marked Friday’s show, unfortunately, by all but the lead actor. His character, Willie Rivers is on stage 95% of the time and as he didn’t ‘own’ the stage or take charge of his scenes, it was not surprising that the pacing was ‘off’ and at times seem stilted. The actor, instead of filling the stage with the character’s rage, conflict, pain and despair, seemed apologetic, lost and confused. The supporting cast, my son included did all they could to provide the spark the lead actor couldn’t seem to muster.

M gets an opportunity to sing in this production and he is having much fun with the song. He did have some frustrating moments with the production company during rehearsals. Not being a trained musician, he sought support that they were not able to offer for some reason. Never-the-less he worked out his issues and was still able to perform his song with all the verve and gusto required for the scene. In my humble opinion, anyway.

I expect to see the show at least twice more before the end of the run, perhaps in that time the lead actor will have found a way to energize his performance. In any case, I get to see my actor man in one of his happiest places, the live theater stage. With moving day scheduled for Saturday, June 2, these might be my only sightings for the immediate future. I shall savor them, all the more.

If You Can't Beat'em

Join’em is what I did. Last year I joined a gym and earlier this year I joined Weight Watchers, all towards improving my health and decreasing my girth. There were some measurable successes and I was quite pleased with the progress being made. I had resolve.

Correction, I have resolve! I don’t however, have memberships.

Priorities have shifted. Demands to divert dollars down other avenues have been made and must be met. So, memberships have been cancelled. But the resolve remains. I remain cognizant of caloric and fat in-take. I remain diligent to walking, stair climbing and / or bike riding, daily.

I remain committed to the continual improvement of my health and decreased girth. I don’t have the support that came with the memberships, but I do still have a cheerleader. She is as committed as I am to my goal, to be as healthy as possible, forever.

Not Grazing in the Grasses

Several weeks after my call for donations I’ve gotten 6 bags of garden soil and about 4 feet of fencing. I’m not surprised, this is about what I expected, still, I hope for more. I graffiti my own sign with a green Sharpie…ITS NOT TOO LATE TO DONATE! D laughs at lauds my efforts: “Mom, you are so funny.”

The work in the yard has begun in fits and starts, due mainly to my schedule, the weather, my sinuses, the weather, my back, the weather, my mood, the weather, my travel and of course, the weather.

I weeded and planted some on Saturday completing about one quarter of the yard in just over three hours. I’ll go out at least one day this week, after work, to do a bit more, as I don’t know if I’ll have time and / or energy for any of it over the weekend, long it may be. There is a play to attend, a birthday to celebrate and a girlfriend to have phone sex with talk with.

Can you dig it?

Running the Numbers

A natural? With numbers? Me? No. Not me. I do, as it happens, make my living working, naturally, with numbers. I keep the books for the company. I do serve in three or four other capacities as well, but keeping the finances in order is chief among them.

I came by this role quite by accident, or rather, by default. Certainly not anything I planned. Then again, I didn't plan on being here, working with numbers, 27 plus years after my hire as an entry level clerk typist.

True, while not part of the over-all plan, loosely formed as it was, I found myself somewhat prepared to assume the position. Turns out the three years of math I'd taken in high school to avoid having to deal with Krabec, the science guy, worked in my favor. As did the 100 level Accounting course taken during brief, paused, continuing expectations to continue, complete college experiences.

The best preparation I've found are all the brain teaser type exercises that filled many youthful (and beyond) hours. Working problems, figuring solutions provide a special kind of entertainment. And though not naturally inclined, I find them fun and hard to pass, even when I know the trick. Adding chocolate to the mix, an extra added bonus.

Figuring Your Age by Chocolate

1. Determine how many times a week you eat (or want) chocolate. it must be a number between one and ten, including either one or ten.
2. Multiply that number by two.
3. Add five to the previous result.
4. Multiply that by fifty.
5. Add 1757 if you've had a birthday this year. if you haven't had a birthday this year, add 1756.
6. Subtract your birth year.
7. You'll end up with a 3 digit number, the first digit (in the hundreds place) is how many times a week you eat (or want) chocolate. The next two digits are your age!

I've just had my chocolate allowance for this week. I'm not telling how many times I want chocolate.

City Scrape

I don't have anything against sidewalk cafes. Really, I don't. Personally, I'm not a big fan of eating outdoors, particularly in the path of what are supposed to be public walkways, but hey, to each his/her own.

What I do have a very specific problem with is when my path, on what is supposed to be a public walkway, is impeded by an outdoor cafe. I'm already thwarted, time and time again, in my desire to get from here to there by motorists who don't obey signs, lights, lines in the streets, cyclists, particularly messengers, who don't obey...anything, and competition for the sidewalk from joggers, roller-bladers and of course, other pedestrians. Having to, on top of all the other impediments, dodge wait and bus persons, diners, tables and chairs, taxes my mobility, naturally diminished by my super-natural clumsiness to the hilt.

If you are dining outdoors in one of those cafes that has exploded all over a city sidewalk and you should happen to see me coming, do not be surprised, or too angry, please, if your table is bumped, causing your lemon water to spill over over the linen tablecloth, your lap and shoes (or feet if you are wearing flip-flops). It couldn't be helped. Really.

Frequency

My head has been full, my heart even more so with images of the past, thoughts of the future and pangs of the present. Paramount to my getting through these, in fact, most days, is access to my music. Depending on the mood I can and do, repeat a single song or a single set of songs, over and over. This pattern, habit following me right out of childhood. I recall my mom wearing out the grooves of many 45's. Warped records littered our trash.

The music filling the days is often chosen based on an existing mood. Sometimes I let the fates decide, select random thus rocking and rolling to whatever spins. For the most part, lately, I’ve been happy, giddy even. There have been some down hours on some downer days, over all happiness has ruled the day. The music in the heaviest rotation has reflected this mood. The falling in love has been a sonorously seismic slide down a corridor line with anticipation, promise and life. A life different from that led previously.

The corridor is also lined with heat, of course.

I was tagged to name songs, seven of them that I am into right now and why. As you may have guessed the songs, of late, have to do with love in all forms, but specifically of the romantic sort and of course, heat. I’ll preface the list by stating that at any given moment, of any given day, I could be into dozens of song, conversely there could be only one, repeating, looping throughout any given day.

These first two, really are not part of any of my personal play lists. They appear because the first I hear often, through no choice of my own and the second because it was recently introduced to me and I can’t seem to dismiss. Shout! You know you make we wanna (Shout!) Throw my head back and (Shout!) My son plays this...loudly whenever he is about to go out dancing. It is a foot stomping, rump thumping good time song. No matter what I find it impossible not to join in the foot stomping, rump thumping party, if only for a few moments.

I heard Barbie Girl by Aqua for the first time while on a long drive across the Tennessee country-side with Neta. She’d mentioned it during one of our many phone conversations, I returned how I’d not heard it–she found this statement a bit hard to believe. I haven’t been quite the same since hearing, I’m a Barbie Girl, in the Barbie world, Life in plastic, it’s fantastic! You can brush my hair, undress me everywhere. Imagination, life is your creation. Come on Barbie, let’s go party! Aside from cracking me waaaaaaaaaay up, it reminds me of Neta, our ride, time, happy together. Might this become "our song"?

You’ve got a smile so bright... never fails to bring a smile to my face. I’m reminded of a long, long time ago of happy days and lazy nights. Parents, aunts, uncles and cousins all grooving to the same beat. Thinking of the love I felt once for the kid’s dad, the love I feel for M and D, the love I’m feeling for the woman who epitomizes the lyrics; you’ve made my life so rich, you know you could’ve been some money. And Baby you’re so sweet, you know you could’ve been some honey. Well, you could’ve been anything that you wanted to. And I could tell, the way you do the things you do. This grand old tune speaks to me on so many levels it remains at the top of my charts.

Roberta Flack sings of being in a restaurant holdin’ hands by candlelight. And about touching and wanting them with all her might and how that is the time she feels like making love to them. How that is the time she feels like making dreams come true. Ahhh, yes. And then there is..oh Baby what you’ve done to me. You make me feel so good inside. And I just want to be close to you. You make me feel so alive. Cause you make me feel, you make me feel like...A Natural Woman. Aretha, Roberta and a few others often provide the juice for some inspired emails.

Speaking of inspirational juice, Body Heat kicks it up a notch. The sparks and resulting thoughts, feelings are better left to voice to voice transmission. Some call it soul fire, I call it love’s desire...When we meet, ain’t it sweet. And when we greet, feel that Body Heat. Ahh...oh, yes!

A sucker for a sappy love song, Finally Found Someone, one of the sap sappiest, a guilty pleasure, sucks me in every single time. I get down right weepy when I hear the beginning strains of the syrupy orchestration. Years ago the tears signaled being totally devoid of hope of ever experiencing the in love charge. The weepiness now signal just that...This time it’s different, it’s all because of you. It’s better than it’s ever been, ‘cause we can talk it through....ooohhh, my favorite line was "Can I call you sometime?" It’s all you had to say to take my breath away.... in love charge.

When Neta and I met and first began to talk via emails I didn’t know, though soon there were hopes it would grow. When the emails turned to computer chatting, I didn’t know, though soon there were hopes it would grow. When she suggested talking voice to voice, person to person, the thought, the hope, literally took my breath away and now that it has and continues to grow, it makes me want to Shout! Throw my hands up and Shout!

Awareness

Unspeakable pain of unknown origin coupled with chronic fatigue, baffled medical professionals for years. With frustration and anxiety steadily mounting, downing tablets to relieve pain, depression and anxiety, mom soon finds these insufficient remedies. She turns to alcohol to soothe the constant physical aches made more intense by the emotional stress constant in her world.

Mom suffered and continues to suffer a number of chronic ailments. The greatest struggle for the past twenty plus years has been with the fibromyalgia. When the symptoms first started appearing there wasn’t much in the way of information. The suffering went on for years before a name was even attached. Naming the condition, initially didn’t do much to help relieve any of the pressures or pain, but knowing what helped pave a path towards finding how best to deal.

Today, no longer drinking but still barely managing pain, depression, anxiety and stress with a variety of drugs, physical and emotional therapies, mom continues to battle the effects of this disease. Fibromyalgia has more exposure today than it did twenty some years ago. More is known, yet so much is still a mystery.

Our work continues.

T Time

I could tell you that from the moment I landed at Nashville International Airport, via American Eagle flight 4044 and into her sparkling eyes and open arms, we spent the next ninety-one hours (give or take) giving each other mind-blowing, earth shattering, limb weakening orgasms.

But I won’t.

What I will tell you is that from the moment I landed at Nashville International Airport, via American eagle flight 4044 and into her sparkling eyes and open arms, we spent the next ninety-one hours (give or take) taking great comfort in our common ground, exploring even further our differences, having great laughs, food and drinks.

We went for a long drive, giving me the opportunity to see more of the Tennessee landscape, much of it quite beautiful. I met some family, friends and learned more about what makes Neta tick and tock.We talked about everything and nothing, about the real and the absurd, about the here, now and more.

When it was all said and done, at the end of the day, we relaxed, rested and had a very good time. We became more real to one another and we can’t wait to do it again, over and over and over again.

Tennessee Two

Neta and I talk everyday. I may have mentioned this once or twice before. Our conversations for weeks now have traveled in mostly the getting to know you lanes. Now and again we veer off onto other ramps and into other lands still making discoveries about one another even without direct admissions of facts or figures.

Sometime, one day, we talked about states, as in the United of America and capitals. Like many of our travels of talk I'm not quite sure how we took that turn, what brought us to that place, but there we were. Do you remember being in school and having to learn all the state capitals and other facts and trivia about the states? Do you know them still, the capitals? State birds? Motto? Song?

I discovered that I knew or could remember, with some concentration, facts about some states. There were some that I couldn't call up, or perhaps, never even knew. I've been thinking much about facts and trivia related to states, as in the United of America generally and Tennessee in particular.

My not too extensive research un-earthed the following: Tennessee won the nickname as "The Volunteer State" during the war of 1812 when volunteer soldiers from Tennessee displayed marked valor in the Battle of New Orleans. The city of Murfreesboro lies in the exact geographical center of the state. Shelby County boasts more horses per capita than any other county in the US. Tennessee has more than 3,800 documented caves.

In 1933 the Mockingbird was decreed the state bird and the Iris, the state flower. Boarded by eight states, Tennessee ties with Missouri as the most neighborly state in the union. The city of Kingston served as Tennessee's state capital for a single day in September 1807. Andrew Johnson held every elective office at the local, state, and federal level, including President of the United States following the assassination of Abe Lincoln.

I am fascinated by facts and trivia. Having only skimmed the surface, my interest as been piqued, my curiosity sparked. Particularly fetching was the fun fact regarding how "Tennessee" was so named. The name originates from the old Yuchi Indian word, "Tana-see," which means "The Meeting Place". Fitting, since a conference being held in Tennessee was the catalyst that led to the first meeting between me and the ladies from Texas. Moreover, as mentioned, Tennessee is the current home of my very own Lady Vol. We will be meeting face to face, hand in hand, for the second time later tonight.

We didn't have much in the way of time for sight-seeing or the pursuit of trivia when I visited in March. Maybe this time we will. Or, maybe not.

We will, however, be meeting at some place, again and again. That's a fact.

Buzzzzz

I wasn't going to, not this soon. It's been a bit over six weeks since the last trim. It had been the plan to let Neta see the slightly longer version of my 'do. That plan has been quashed. I needed a trip to the barber and I need it before the trip on Thursday.

Since going with the closely cropped look last fall, I've noticed a few things about the shorter locks. One plus is when my hair is wet it takes on a seductively curly appearance. The tight curls leave an impression of having an even shorter cut. Mom is not particularly happy with the cut, so the hopeful "your hair is growing" comment on Saturday edged me closer to the decision to cut sooner rather than later.

However on the other side, D notes how, at the longer length my hair takes on a pouf, spongy, top of a microphone look. She further notes that this look is definitely un-cool. Beyond the pouf, sponge, top of microphone look, my hair is lopsided. Very. It seems the right side grows at a much slower pace than the left and the left slower than the top. Lopsided hair is not an option.

So a trip for a trim, before my trip to TN is booked and executed. The new barber was efficient , did exactly what I wanted, didn't bend my ear about his baby's momma drama and was even less expensive that the previous barber.

There is other stuff to do before I leave for the airport on Thursday, but thanks to Jaime's replacement, the hair-do is done. I think she'll like the results.

Whew

The warmer temperatures, partial purges of the storage cages, lunch with mom and a recovering sweety conjure up a weekend of sneezes, sweat, brood and cheers. The work in the rear storage room and an emptying of the cages and surrounding walk way proved to be dustier and heavier than imagined. A small dent was made in the mess that is that room. As I would have predicted, had anyone asked, not all of the cages were properly labeled by the deadline. I proceeded with the clearing of the walk way. I found stacked, old molding, pipes, joint compound and floor tiles along with some other items of little or no interest. In the trash it all went. Sweeping ensued. Much sweeping, hence, the sneezing

Old paint cans, a bathroom vanity, an artificial Christmas tree later I was sweating something fierce. I decided to call it a day, or rather an evening. Due to lunch with mom, I wasn’t able to start the work until late in the day on Saturday.

Me: What happened with the hearing test?
Mom: Essentially normal. What the hell does essentially normal mean?
Me: I think it means your hearing is fine, you hear sounds well enough.

Further testing is warranted, for while mom can hear, she does have some trouble discerning some words, for example, "crop" may sound like "crap" too many times for comfort. This added to other issues tend to layer the frustration and anxiety, hence the brood.

In other news, I did tell my mom that I’m going to Tennessee again. "You are sure traveling a lot, you moving to Tennessee?" No, I don’t think so. Later, after lunch, during shopping for arch support insoles, my cell phone chimes. Mom asks, "is that a text message thingy?" Yes. "You must be courting, you get a lot of those." Hmmm. I didn’t tell, this one said simply, "I Love You." Stepping away while mom re-ties her shoes, I send a message back conveying the sentiment in kind, smiling wide.

Neta, recovering from her illness started feeling much better yesterday, as evidenced by the most recent telephone dates, hence the cheers!

I know, I know, I will have to come clean to my mother, perhaps, someday soon.

This, however, was not that day.

Today is the Day

A few weeks ago, I posted two notices in our building. One, seeking donations of yard and garden supplies and goods. Anything, soil, mulch, flowers, plants, seeds, anything, really. I made that point abundantly clear. To date, of course, no donations have been received. I haven’t given up the expectation that any will ultimately come, but I must move ahead in either case.

The second notice had to do with the Spring Cleaning of our storage area. We have a room, accessed from the outside, off the court-yard, in the rear. The room has cages, 10 to the 9 units in the building. Each of the cages is filled with presumably goods belonging to current owners. Not all of the cages are labeled, not all of the cages have locks. I’ve believed for some time now that many of the cages are filled with goods belonging to past owners. Having talked with a few of the current owners, one or two, who didn’t even know the room existed, solidifies the opinion that the room must be filled with a plethora of goods representing past lives and ownership. A purge is in order.

Additionally, there is un-tended property in the walk way of this very small room, a lawn mower, for the non-existent lawn, for instance. There are also lamps, baby toys, parts of exercise equipment and tools, in short, debris. The notice asked owners who have commandeered a cage to so label this cage. Today is the day, any un-labeled cage will be marked for emptying, the contents given or thrown away. Today is the day, any property remaining in the walk way will be removed, to be given or thrown away.

Today is the day. I’ll give one more warning before any locks are cut. That time will be used to go on a tool hunt. The thought of wielding the tool to snap those locks is giving me quite the thrill. The idea of going on a tool hunt, is giving me a feeling, thrilling doesn't come close to describing.

Where O Where

A couple of weeks ago I received this notice:

March 23, 2007 (received 4/10—go ahead, count the days…I did)

Dear Patient:

This is to advise you that, effective March 23, 2007, Dr. MBO will not longer be affiliated with The WHC.

If you would like to continue as a patient of Dr. O’s you are free to do so, and WHC will transfer your medical records to Dr. O.

If you wish to remain a patient of WHC and to be treated by one of our other physicians, you may also do that.

Please let us know what your decision is by signing the enclosed form and either returning it to us in the enclosed envelope, or faxing it to us at 111-111-1111. You may also call us at 222-222-2222.

If you have any questions, please fee free to contact us.

Very truly yours,

SRH, MD
Medical Director

Enclosure

You bet your bananas *I* have QUESTIONS!!!! Who the hell said my doctor could SPLIT. And WHY have *I* not heard from HER!!??!!!

I let the dust and my emotions settle before actually calling. When I did call I asked very calmly as to the whereabouts of Dr. MBO. The response was not at all encouraging. Basically, it was…uhm…well…uhm…mmmm..hmmm…”we don’t know.”

It seemed prudent to let that news settle for a day or two or three. Several days later I call back to ask if there were a forwarding number for Dr. MBO. The response, once again, was a muttering, sputtering….”we don’t know, er, no.”

One more call to inquire as to the status of one missing doc. And once again no sightings and no news regarding the good doctor MBO. Shit. I have had an appointment for Friday. I have conditions there were being monitored. Shit. I have no intention of staying with WHC and seeing one of the other docs. The only reason I was there in the first place was my doctor.

Now, in addition to still needing to find a dentist, I must also find a new doctor.

spillage

Some days ago, I quit my job, she hers. I sold the condo, she sold her home as well. With the proceeds we bought and RV, set out on the open road, enjoying the scenery and the company. We decided to settle on the California coast because she is, as you know, partial to water and we both wanted warm weather. We’ve decided to rent a store front and open a surf and skate board shop. (Did you know she surfed at one time? ooh whee!) D came along because she was again, between jobs and hey! Free trip to California! She’s trying to convince us to get her a video camera so she can make a tape to send in to Road Rules or one of the other reality type shows so she can be a STAR, out shining her brother. The cats (BoBo and LuLu) and the pup (Scamp) that we picked up from a shelter in Oklahoma are getting along famously.

Noooooooooooooooo… none of that is true, you’ll have to forgive me I’ve been suffering mad crazy hay fever type symptoms, itchy and then watery eyes and aaaaaahhhhhhhcccchhhhoooo!
Excuse me, periodic attacks of the sneezes. I’ve been sluggish, tired. My sweety hasn’t been feeling well lately either. Our respective ailments and other issues have cut into our phone snuggle time, which is making me above all else, cranky and perhaps somewhat delirious.

But the news…the real news, is about my actor fellow. M had two auditions last week. The first for a role with Steppenwolf, which, to many, is the Big Kahuna of Chicago theatre. He hasn’t heard yet, but got an email to say he was still in the running. Hopefully, a decision will be made by early next week. The second audition was for a film company. A movie staring Dennis Quaid is going to start production soon. M auditioned for these folks before (for a different role). He was not right for that role (he told me at the time that he thought he was too young and too slight of build). But, they’ve come back. In fact they spent a week trying to find him, his contact information. When he auditioned previously he was with an agency. M is currently representing himself, looking for an agent who is more in concert with his goals.

I asked him how each went, he replied ‘plonk—knocked them out the park!’ He felt encouraged and excited. Even if he isn’t cast this time around, he’s confident that he’s made enough of an impression that will lead to future opportunities.

He is currently in rehearsals for a play that opens late May. He plays a Rastafarian and must…gasp…sing. He hasn't had to sing in a show really, since his freshman year in college. He’s pretty over the moon about the role and the chance to work with one of his former professors, who is directing the production.

And…on Monday he looked at an apartment. Serendipity had him run into an acquaintance he hadn’t seen in several months. He mentioned looking for a place in the city, the guy said, "hey, I’m moving to New York at the beginning of May, you should look at my place.” And so he did. If the building manager approves, my young actor fellow will be in his own apartment by this time next month. Gasp!

All this good, positive news and energy flow is tempered by my wonky health, my daughter’s continuing boyfriend and workplace issues, worry over my girlfriend and missing the sound of her usually bubbly voice.

However, in two short weeks, I’ll be on a plane heading towards her. I’ll be able to wrap my arms around her, kiss her gently upon her soft, supple lips and hold her hand as we head for the car. An order of fried pickles, an ice cold beer and serious snuggling and more lie ahead.

I’ll keep you in the loop, re: the actor fellow. If you can’t tell, my buttons, they are a’bustin’.

Message for April

Data being collected, clearances obtained. Spill, I will, promise. In the meantime, my second favorite omelet chef produces a newsletter. In April's issue she offers the following messages, food for thought, if you will.

Life is short
Break the rules
Forgive quickly
Kiss slowly
Love truly
Laugh uncontrollably

And never regret anything that makes you smile.

I've had occasion to think about my overall state of happiness recently. While generally happy, even sometimes quite giddy with glee, I do find myself blanketed with sadness from time-to-time. These sad states, of late are mostly brought on by situations and issues related to my mom, daughter and other family. Memories and regrets are also contributing factors. I'm working on 'letting the past go' and being kinder to myself. I am trying to relinquish the enthusiasm for control over that which clearly I have no control.

My favorite omelet chef is assisting in the re-discovery of parts left dormant for a very long time. New awakenings, horizons, and memories are combining to build a new happiness tier. The infusion is a welcomed addition and the slow kissing wasn't bad either.

Friday, April 13th

There is news, possibly. Some of it good, maybe. I am not at liberty to discuss any of it, for fear I may apply a jinx. Apparently I have that power, to jinx. I....oh, I may have said too much already. Pretend I was never here.

Swimming

I’ve referred to periods of my childhood often in this past year of posting. Reading back over some of the posts it occurs to me that the happier moments expressed were all pre break-up. The other times were post break-up. This apparently is how I’ve categorized my memories. My parents’ marriage dissipated the year I was seven going on eight. My world changed, for better or worse we’ll never really know. Immediately though, it was worse and there weren't many happy times that followed that event.

Throughout the entire sum of my childhood there were pockets of pleasures. While basically a shy and reserved kid, I did manage, in spite of the periodic brutality and dismissals of my father and later my brothers, mom’s debilitating illnesses and eventual “checking out”, general economic, emotional and social struggles, to make some friends, engage in some joyful activities and carve out some good times and pleasant memories, pockets of pleasures.

Which brings me, oddly enough, to swimming. Sober asked yesterday if I ever learned how to swim.

As noted, pre break-up I went to day camps for a few summers. Swimming lessons and other pool activities were in the menu of daily activities during these camps. I was not required to participate in any pool activities. I made use of pool time by crafting more stuff out of popsicle sticks. I was satisfied with this arrangement.

Post break-up I was for at least one summer forced strongly encouraged to take swimming lessons at the local boys (and girls) club. I wouldn’t characterize what I learned as swimming. I’d say I learned not to drown while crabbing my way across the waters.

Since that tenth year of my life, I’ve spent very little time in large pools of water. My high school didn’t have a pool so there was so swimming component to my physical education. I did some wading in the waters of Lake Michigan, very little wading in very shallow waters. I did not enter another pool until my son was three years old. I sat my five, six and seventh month pregnant self in the local kiddie pool to watch him frolic under the sprays.

He graduated to the big pool only after his sister started to explore by her own third birthday. He, like me, was not a fan of large bodies of water. She, the daughter, took to the water like it was a calling. She dove from the high board by the time she was five. The son, not wanting to be outdone by little sis, followed her over. I watched from the deck, sure that my heart would stop any second.

They were able to convince me to join in games, which involved getting IN the water, during family swim times. I was even able to quiet my horror dislike of large bodies of water long and often enough to visit a few water parks during their childhood years.

I am not a fan of pools water and in no stretch of the imagination would I be considered a swimmer. This didn’t stop me from buying a bathing suit last year for the trip to Vegas. I haven’t worn it yet. I might have cause to pull it out this summer, as it appears someone I've come to know and love is a fan of pools, beaches and such. Swimming or any facsimile thereof however, won’t be on the menu, of this I can be sure.

Season of the Sun

It’s that time of year. The time where thoughts of summer take over many corners of the brain. What to do, when to do, where to do dot many to do lists. If children are in the mix, even more to dos must be considered. Brochures, flyers, catalogs from the local park district, various sports programs, academic outlets, day and sleep away camps and others hoping to get your attention, registration and fees begin to crowd the mailboxes, litter counter-tops and desks.

In my children’s experiences most of the summer-time activities revolved around summer school, reading and sports camps. It took some doing to coordinate activities for the entire summer for a boy and a girl with a 3 ½ age gap, wide ranging interests and limited transportation options.

My own childhood summers were mostly un-constructed affairs. My brothers and I were more often than not, left to our own devices. For me that meant mostly keeping to myself, reading. Some summers particularly, pre break-up, found us entrenched in our local park’s day camp program. We were out-fitted with logo t-shirts, shorts, sneakers and duffle bags. Along with many neighborhood kids we walked to the park to play, learn to swim (not me, mind you), sing songs, make stuff out of popsicle sticks, rag strips, clay and pipe cleaners. There were also field trips.

We went to the Aquarium, Planetarium, amusement parks, zoos and more. The highlight of any trip being the outcry of the kid who discovered her previously frozen can soda had burst and soaked their bologna sandwich through and through. The pain went deep because soda was a treat given only on trip days.

I was spared the trauma of soaked bologna because I never got soda, previously frozen or otherwise. I had allergies and milk products followed me everywhere.

Every weekday, on my way to and from work, I pass the park where I spent a couple of summers in the sixties and remember. I remember a couple of friends sharing the experience of the crafts and games. I remember spending hours in happy association with kids who were not my brothers or cousins. I remember the day we moved away and realizing that I would never see my friends or participate in any of the day camp activities again.

Riding past the park has put the thoughts of summer in my head, especially as the grass greens, the trees bud and the geese squawk. I think about the songs dedicated to and depicting the madness of the season, the hot fun times to be had. I think about what my son and daughter might be doing this summer, what memories will be constructed.

Of course I think about what summer will hold for me, what songs will tell my summer story. I think about how much I'm looking forward to another season of the sun.

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!