Re-Visit, Re-Vise

As you may recall your plucky (plucky?) Middle Girl began a quest at the beginning of last year. If you're interested in that journey, click: here. That post links to the related posts along the way. Also that post notes plans for moving forward.

Well, this post is here to tell you, shit happened. Oh, I was doing fine and dandy. Eating my sensibly put together meals, getting some exercise, and shedding a pound here and there. . . moving right along.

Then, blam. slam. flim. flam. winter. And what I feared would happen, happened. I stopped moving (so much) and starting eating more (and less sensibly). Spending more time inside has had a direct affect on my waist-line.

Of course, I can't blame it all on winter and being indoors (there were other issues, but still...) I saw it coming and should have been able to build the reserve, strengthen the resolve to solider onward. But alas, I didn't. It's on me, quite literally.

So, here I sit at the exact weight I was when I started the quest last January. And I'm here to tell you, 1. I'm annoyed and 2. I'm beginning again (The Quest 2010). Effective immediately.


Much like the 2009 Quest, the 2010 version will feature sensibly sized portions of figure friendly foods and beverages, as much physical activity as the heart and knees can muster, and an attention to stress triggers and a concentration on relief that doesn't involve food or other less than constructive acts. I enter Quest 2010 with a fierce, ferocious, nearly feral attitude. I'll need it to 1. begin immediately, what with the still 20 degree morning / overnight temps and 2. sustainability. I have to keep this motor running well through December, at least.

I'm planning to schedule my annual physical for later in the year. I'm hoping the desire to visit the doc many, many pounds lighter, with bp well in check, and cholesterol readings well under warning levels will provide enough incentive to power through November.

I have a proven track record and I'm not concerned about the ability to lose the weight once I focus, but sustaining that through the long, cold, dark, power sucking winter . . . well, that's proven the challenge.

Well, here I go. . .

. . . and the survey says

I've been guaging things on by scales lately. It's probably an offshoot of all the surveys I've been participating in lately. Or maybe it's a by-product of all the new juggling, rationalizing, and prioritizing I have to do at work now-a-days. Or maybe it is the result of the extra home stuff due to the extra person and re-adjusting to having a six foot tall man who was once my little boy, with his pizza and chocolate frosted doughnut penchants tormenting me every other day.

Whatever . . . every question, every issue, every thought is run through a numbered meter. On a scale of 1 to 10, how . . . etc. I probably always did, think in (& make decisions based on) scales, or degrees. But for some reason lately, it seems louder, or more obvious, or . . . something.

So, I thought I'd make it a feature, a device. Features are fun, yes? Yes. A weekly feature. this week's theme, annoyances.

On a scale of 1 to 10: (1 being, "heh, I'm oblivious to your stuff, doesn't annoy me a'tall" and 10 being, "oh for the love of Ivy! Please STOP NOW!!")

How annoying is / was:

1. the lady on the train who cracked her gum so hard and so loud that I thought she was breaking walnuts. 10

2. forgetting my ip*d shuffle at work twice in one week, leaving me more vulnerable to events like (see #1) 7

3. my downstairs neighbor who came home inebriated (again) and couldn't talk his front door into just opening for him (again). 8

4. the vendor who called to ask why we / (I) short paid an invoice (again) and I had to explain (again) that we / (I) deducted for a product not received. 6

5. my brother(s) especially, the younger. 9

Feel free to play along, share, vent, or whatever. I'm all ears, or rather, eyes.

My Hands, Our Hands

I haven't been wearing gloves a lot lately. As I was leaving mom's the other day she asked, "do you have gloves?" I do, several pair in fact, but I haven't been wearing them. I find I don't need them as frequently. My tolerance to the cold, how my hands feel in gloves, how having gloves on make it difficult to retrieve my bus card, so and and so on, being among the reasons I generally pass on donning my gloves, lately.

The downside is the effect the wind and cold have on bare skin. Can we say dry? I'm prone to dry anyway and with the eczema (though these days it is looking more like psoriasis) adds kindling to the fire. I must stay moisturized. Even more now that I haven't donned gloves much lately.

Anyhoo...I was looking down at my hands during one of my commutes in recent days and I saw an unfamiliar, un-settling sight, my mother's hands hanging beyond the cuffs of my coat. My mother's nearly seventy year old hands. Though, admittedly, if you were to look at her hands, heck, look at her, you likely wouldn't peg her to be nearly seventy, but I know what lies beneath the surface. I know the pain (physically and emotionally) she endures each day. I know the frustration she suffers as she works to maintain her independence. I know that each crack and crevice invading her once smooth skin is the result of decades long battles.

I know.

And now, I see those hands on me. Mind you, they only surface when over-dry and exposed to the elements. But still, they are there.

My hands are strong, still. My mom's are weak. My fingers are straight and relatively nimble (practice, practice, practice). Some of mom's are curved due to arthritis and not as sure as they once were, "please excuse the errors" she types at the end of all her notes. I can't think of mom's hands without picturing dad's. I know he has at least one curved finger also. His due to a gunshot wound suffered many, many years ago.

I think about our hands. I look at the long, strong fingers of my son and of my daughter. I wonder what shape their hands will take over the years. How different they are even today. I wonder how their eventful lives will reflect in their hands. Will they one day see my hands hanging out of the cuffs of their coats?

Thinking about my hands, my mom's and subsequently, dad's hands, and those of my son and daughter, put me in mind of my grand-mother's hands. My maternal grand-mother as she is foremost in my memory, and closer to my heart. I think about her hands, folded over and under one another as she surveyed whatever issue brought before her. Those hands, they were very, very strong nearly to the very end. I remember as her hand was placed under the sheet in the final moments of her final day.

I remember being able to take her hand in mine to say good-bye, one last time.

The flash of memory and the thoughts that tumbled forth, puts me in the mind to be mindful of my hands, and to treat them, well, better.



*image

A Beautiful Day

It’s a good thing I don’t have a window in my office / work space. The sun shone (or at least it was shining every time I got up to pe… well, got up) all day today. I could tell by the temperatures in the office (and the weather gadget on the home page) that it was very warm as well as sunshiny outside. It would have been even harder to concentrate on work today.

Today will likely wind up being the best day over the next several, but by mid-to-late February standards, the next several will still be pretty good days, provided the current forecast holds true.

Good news, which brings me to my point, being outdoors.

I am not outdoorsy in that hiking, camping, wind-surfing into your life, kind of way. I’m an urban girl, a pounding the pavement, walking, running (not for awhile now, but at one time), and biking (on solid ground) kind of girl. I like being outdoors in that way. Over the last few years I have even enjoyed rooting around in the little piece of earth in the front of our building. I won’t go so far as to say I’m a gardener by any stretch, but I have had some success and have enjoyed the fruits (though technically, I haven’t planted any consumable items—yet) of my labors. Neighbors have approached with praise for the effort.

I smile, nod, and thank them kindly.

It is still a long way from great, but as someone told me recently, your garden is never done or something to that effect. I’m looking forward to getting back into the mix. So with that, I’m eagerly anticipating many more sunshiny, warmer temps, melting snow, and getting out in the yard weather.

Whip It

Where O Where does a three day weekend go?

Two words: LUNCH NAP

In either order, but usually it wound up, lunch and then, nap on Saturday, Sunday, and Monday. It was marvelous.

Hi-ever, after lunch on this Mon Tuesday, I am craving a nap. Point of fact, I needed a nap even before lunch, but now....yaaaaaawwwwwwwnnnnnnnn.

In other news . . .

I'll have to get back to you on that.

Meandering (2)

The two only because I've post titled Meandering and oddly enough it started out being about Pete, too.

Pete is going to be 4 in a few weeks. I was looking through my photo files and 1. there are a lot of photos of Pete, Buttah, and Diamond. 2. there are a lot of photos of Dani and to a lesser degree, Michael, unless it is them together. 3. I wondered if somewhere along the blog way I mis-stated Pete's age. Per the photo labels, tags, it looks like I made him three in 2008. But no, I checked the posts and each correctly reports his age, two and then three, respectively. In a few weeks he'll be four. We'll talk more about him, then.

For now, I'm struck. I have to write a short bio for something I'll talk more about later. Whenever faced (which isn't all that often, but still . . .) when such a request I'm always struck, well, stuck by what and / or perhaps more importantly, what not to say. Or perhaps even more, how to say whatever this is to say.

I have been meandering around this assignment much of the day, stuck in neutral.

Ideas?

forty-eight, twenty-eight, and three

The seventh of February is my younger brother's birthday. This year he celebrated birthday number forty-eight. I saw "Up In The Air" recently and there is a line (or situation) where George Clooney's character is confronted by one of his sisters and she says something like, you've been gone so long, so much, that you are of no consequence. That sums up the relationship with my younger brother (both brothers in fact). The younger brother's existence is more often a subject of conversation because he's closer geographically and he has children with whom I interact. But, mostly, in my mind, he is of little to no consequence.

The eighth of February is Michael's birthday. This year he celebrates birthday number twenty-eight. He, of course, is of great consequence. As you know, if you read the previous post, he moved back home recently. He became a casualty of the economic downturn. But, while it is very crowded, all is not dire. He's is working, he is acting (or rather, right now understudying) with the prestigious Steppenwolf, he is continuing to audition, network, and make all the right moves. Raising a class to my first born: Cheers! As fate would have it, Michael shares a birth date with his favorite cat, Buttah. Mr. Puss n Boots celebrates his third birthday on the eigth. I kid about he and Michael being best buds. Michael is not a cat person, and most decidedly not a Buttah person. Buttah though, LOVES Michael. Of course, Buttah loves everybody, especially if they are eating. Which come to think of it explains why he angles to be all over Michael. Many days have been bracketed by the phrase, "too many pets here" and most now and again, "I like that cat" (referring to Pete) "he's cool, he's laid back, he doesn't even make that much noise, but that one, he's a pain."

Hi-ever, I think Buttah is wending his way into Michael's...well, maybe not his heart, but certainly being seen as less of a pain as days go by.

Happy birthday boys, play nice.

It's Been One of Those

First off, it's been a year. And for the most part, I am better. Not necessarily happier, but better. We do talk on occasion and we declare our undying friendship. In reality it doesn't feel alive, like it's thriving, but it is there.

Second, there is no new love in the midst. I've met some wonderful women (the best, already in committed relationships) and have had some good times. I have some budding friendships and that is good. To be fair I haven't felt much like dating in that sense, well, until recently. Now, all there is to do is to find her, woo her, and . . . vice versa.

Third, when I say no new love in the midst, I should add . . . anymore. Well, it really hadn't gotten to that point yet but seemingly some potential for something more than friends. But whatever was, might have been seems to have fizzled, faded, moved on-ward to other endeavors.

Fourth, it's probably just as well.

Fifth, it's been a year and then some.

Sixth, hey, did I mention my son moved back home? It is temporary. It is crowded. It is hectic.

Seventh, diva dog is in an E-Collar . She has a thing (yes, medical term) very near her eye that is somewhat inflamed. She's on meds to bring the inflammation under control. After two weeks of meds she will have the thing removed.

Eighth, it's been quite somber. She is . . . sad.

Ninth, I inadvertently locked my son inside the apartment. He felt so strongly about behing late to rehearsal that he jumped (ok, climbed) out of the window.

Tenth, this one day after leaving rehearsal on a gurney on the way to an ER after having thrown his back out.

Eleventh, Lumbago diagnosis and a handful of prescriptions followed him home.

Twelfth, We (or rather, Daughter) is fostering a shelter cat. His name is Chaplin and NO, NO MORE PETS!! He's sick and wouldn't eat at the shelter. The hope is that he'll eat in more comfortable surroundings. Apparently we will, has. I feel for the little bugger, but NO!

And speaking of NO...the New Orleans Saints are IN the SUPERBOWL. And yes, I'm rootin' for them. I don't have a personal stake per se, but some friends do and, well . . . GO SAINTS, MARCH ALL OVER THE COLTS!!!

Finally, it's been a year. . . talking, laughing, loving, breathing, fighting, fucking, crying, drinking, writing winning, losing, cheating, kissing, thinking . . . dreaming.*

Being. Evermore.

*portion of "The L Word" theme.

I'd Blame It On the Rain

. . . if there had been rain. But no, only snow. Well, not even snow until today, just cold. Tomorrow is my second meeting of the Queer Writing group. I'm to come prepared to write, or with anything I've been working on, or . . .

And I'm blank. I haven't been working on anything, I can't seem to string together more than two coherent thoughts on any subject let alone stitch together any kind of creativity. The organizer offered up a prompt for those (like myself) who might need an umpf. Write about your favorite cartoon character. Create a scenario with them, a dialog between you and them.

Nothing.

Comes.

To.

Mind.

NaDa.

There was a nugget of an idea weaving around Betty Rubble , Wilma Flintstone and their coming out party in the party room of the yOni Spa.

. . . and then nothing. The thread just lies there, resisting any effort to work itself into the fabric of a tale.

So far.

Maybe something will materialize by 7:15 p.m. Wednesday, February 3, 2010.

And Oh, BTW

1. Just to clarify, I wasn't riding my bike when I wrote of the traffic scare. I don't ride in the winter, into fall maybe as long as the conditions are favorable, but not winter. Biting winds, snow, and ice aside, I just don't have the gumption to fight those elements and a-hole drivers. Being a pedestrian is trying enough.

2. I think I must have Spidey sense when it comes to cat puke. I hardly ever step in it, which of course means I've just sealed my fate and I will suddenly start finding all the puke with my feet first.

3. Buttah is the more prolific puker. Just thought you'd like to know.

4. The here-to-fore missing partner to the other pair of leg warmers has been located. I wasn't overly concerned as I had a pretty good idea where it was hiding, it was more a matter of getting down to the bottom of the hampered laundry. Still, happy dance ensues.

5. Mom asked, "how's your social life . . . going?"

6. I do not recall ever, ever before hearing that question from her before. And speaking of, it's going . . . slow. Which is fine as there is other stuff going on now filling up the days. By night, I'm pretty spent. Still, I'm doing the meet-ups, have had some pretty dandy ones of late and a few prospective dandy ones on tap.

7. I signed on to a number of groups, only a few of which have fairly regular activities planned. Schedule, dollars, and location dictate which activity I can manage participation. None (so far) have netted any dating prospects, but then I'm avoiding the singles meet-ups, or rather I have avoided them. I may be ready for those sooner rather than too much later.

8. And speaking of, I'm not much for the what are you looking for? conversation, revelation. I mean, I know in terms of qualities in a woman that appeal to me and I know the conversation must be had, but . . .

9. Anyhoo . . . Buttah puked on my bed a couple weeks ago. That was a first and hopefully a last, though I won't bet on it. And yes, I saw the puke before I felt the puke. And speaking of Buttah, my wake-up call was mister bumble buns knocking over the remnants of the night-capping beverage.

10. End of random update.

And oh, by the way, the pic of my leg feels like a first, but I don't think it is. Maybe.

A Thought

Losing one glove

is certainly painful,

but nothing

compared to the pain,

of losing one,

throwing away the other,

and finding

the first one again.

Piet Hein, poet and scientist (1905-1996)

Which is one of the reasons I have so many single socks. Oh, I know the other part of the pair is gone, I just don't believe the sock partner departed. But, I also know that I must come to terms with that and either do away with the remaining sock or find something useful for it to do.

Which brings me to leg warmers. My leg warmers to be more precise. I have two pair. I've had them for some time now. One pair has gone and gotten itself separated from her partner. I'm fairly certain the separation is on a trial basis. Or at least I hope so, I rather like them together. I think they make a perfect pair.


The second pair is a quandary. One of the two is perfectly fine. She stays in the up position through-out the day, requiring very little in the way of adjustment. She is stoic, that one. The other is not. Somehow, somewhere along the way she's lost her elasticity. Or rather, some of her elasticity. I pull her up over the knee and before I know it she's puddling down around the ankle. Outside of that little quirk she's perfectly fine.

What to do with the one leg and one (now) ankle warmer? I've grown quite fond of them as a pair and I like them well enough individually as well. Quandary.

One thing I do know for sure, no decision will be made until I am sure, absolutely certain that the other pair will come back together, or rather has come back together.

One other thing I know for sure, the one warm(er) and one cold(er) leg sensation is rather odd.

Special, Special Day*

Mostly I like my job. Not like as in it fulfills any burning desires (except of course earning bux to pay bills). But it is an ok job, usually. If I had to put a finger on what I like most it would be that there is variety. I am charged with a number of different tasks for the (now) two (soon to be three) companies owned by Mister Eff.

The various responsibilities make for full, sometimes hectic, and frustrating days.

If I had to put a finger on what I like least, that would be people. Not all the people, but those who do things that defy logic, my logic anyway. Like the person who received a fax from me had a question or concern about the data in said fax. Instead of call ME like the cover letter asked, he called my colleague in NY who hadn't seen the fax, knew nothing of the fax, nor any of the information outlined in said fax. The fax was to correct a Soc. Sec. number for one of the employees. I had the employee print the WRONG number and the CORRECT number as ask that the records be adjusted to reflect same. I'd asked for a new W-2 for this employee. I got a call from my colleague, who reported that payroll service rep didn't SEE any difference. When I called him he repeated that to me . . "I don't SEE any difference."

He read the number to me: 355-xx-xxxx (wrong number) 335-xx-xxxx (correct number) and said, "maybe it's me, but I don't see any difference."

Yes, I told him it was him...3 5 5 versus 3 3 5. Oh, he says.

Or the people (vendors) who call seeking payment on an outstanding / past due invoice. I ask for the invoice number in question and they say, "oh, wait, hold on, let me look. that. up." Look it UP? You called me, and you don't have it there IN FRONT OF YOU???? I have to WAIT while you fumble and bumble around your computer (which is always moving "sooooooo slow today for some reason") of course to find an invoice you called me about? Oh, joy.

Most days stuff like that doesn't bother me overmuch. After so many years I've grown accustomed to certain . . . types. But, today . . . on this most special day, I got a bit miffed.

A little late, I know . . . but go appreciate a squirrel. Then again, it's never too late to appreciate a squirrel.

*according to them.

DAGNABBIT

Driver A was in the right lane of a two lane roadway, travel in both lanes, west-bound. Driver B was in the left lane 1/4 car length behind driver A. *I* was standing on the median between the service drive and the 2 lane west-bound traffic, waiting for traffic to clear so I could continue crossing the street(s).

It is just beyond 5:00 p.m. so traffic is heavy and near the intersection where I'm waiting to cross the street stands a Montess*rri school, parents and care-givers double parked retrieving youngsters, buckling in youngsters, admonishing youngsters, bribing youngsters to get in the freakin' car. It is a rather congested intersection at just past 5:00 p.m. I know better than to come this way, but I was taking this different route home and had forgotten.

Driver A and driver B ride along (I pick them up two blocks away) nearly side-by-side, with driver B fading behind ever so often. As they get closer to the intersection where I am waiting to cross the street(s) and where all the double-parked, blinkin' flippin' youngster activity is going on, something strikes me. I don't know what but before I could could think about what I see driver A veer to her left, prepping to make a left turn from the RIGHT lane. She nearly clipped driver B who veered to her left, right toward where I was standing on the median between the service drive and two lanes of west-bound traffic they were traveling.

AAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH FUUUUUUUUUUUCK!!! That would be me.

Horns blaring, middle fingers raised, traffic stalled, Montess*rri youngsters, parents, and caregivers paused to take note of possible horror.

I've been hit before, it hurt like a sum-bitch. And like THAT time, I was holding food in my hand, well, in a bag. Though, unlike that time it wasn't fried chicken from the colonel. It was 3 lbs. of ground beef and six cans of cat food.

My life didn't flash before my eyes. What flashed was that I was likely going to lose the ground beef and maybe a couple of the cans. Not to mention being laid up for a while. Shit. Fuck. Damn.

Hi-ever, I didn't get hit this time. Thankfully, driver b had just enough distance between her and A and possessed enough skill and instinct to avoid being hit and hitting someone namely, ME.

Thanks much to driver B and her skills.

Driver A can go suck it.

image cred

BLAST

Judging from my hair, it had to be the 80s. It had to be after Michael and might have been before Danielle, but it was definitely the 80s. I wish I could tell you I'd gotten caught in the rain that day and that's why my hair appears a big, poufy, matty mess. Buuut, that might not necessarily be the case. My hair was often a big, poufy matty looking mess. Unless I was braiding it, I had not a clue about my hair. I toyed with the idea of cutting it all off then, and in fact, I did, once. My husband had a conniption.

The more I think about it, this HAD to be before Danielle.

A woman I worked with back in those days was always taking pictures. Problem was, she was usually very slow to get them developed. As a result, many of the pics she snapped were rarely seen by the subjects.

We haven't seen each other in over twenty years and haven't (until recently) spoken in nearly as long. She contacted me some weeks ago and we played catch-up. She said then she was working on a project related to the photos from that time. Today is my first look at many of the photos. Today is my first look at the photo shown above.

Looking at some of the photos, it's amazing how many of the names came fluttering back to my mind, folks I hadn't thought about in years; Donald, Pat, Beverly, Earlene, Wanda, John, Mac, Ted, James, Suporn, Allena, Ann, Georgette, even Paulette H. Paulette's nickname was Hard n Nasty, which was a play on her last name and a description of her personality (mean, yes I know) and of course Nora, the photographer.

Even more amazing than how my mind called up most of the names and attached them to the right faces was THAT waist, THOSE hips. Oh Mah Goodness...

PEACE

he was killed April 4, 1968. he was 39 and if he were alive today, he would have just celebrated his 81st birthday.

most of what i know about martin luther king, jr. i read or saw on television after his death. i was seven when he was killed. i hadn't heard much about him prior to that fateful day in april. he was busy leading his crusades and while news of some of that filtered through via adult conversations, i was much too young to take much notice. that day in april changed what i heard, saw and my relationship with the information.

the whole of 1968 was hot. my parents were in the midst of making up to break up moves only to break up for good in 1968/9. after dr. king's death parts of chicago went up in flames and more, the outside volatility surpassing the inside for a time.

my most vivid memory of that time, outside the images of the burned out buildings, debris strewn about the streets, and the televised images of police beating back the rioters is that of my older brother standing side-by-side with me, facing a full-length mirror we had in our foyer.

i remember him taunting me, "i can go outside because i'm white and you're black!" i remember my mother slapping the taste out of his mouth and telling him, "fool, you just as black as she is!"

it feels weird to say happy mlk day, when here in 2010 there are still debates as to whether or not the election of our current president signals a post-racial america, where the race of our current president is even a topic of conversation or more disturbingly, a point of contention. it is my belief that we won't be beyond race (gender, or class) issues in this country, at least not in my lifetime. i cling to some hope that i'm proven wrong.

i am happy that he lived, that he dedicated and gave his life for the advancement of people, for equality, for . . . peace. i am sad that after all his words and work, and the words and works of so many others (before and after) that we are still fighting for the ideals on which this country reportedly built. . .

. . . liberty and justice for ALL

Six Points

Weekend Wordsmiths prompt from a couple of weeks ago. Any resemblance to any creatures large or small is purely coincidental.

Six points. That's all that separated my sweety, Grace from victory. Six lousy points. That Grace wound up on the wrong side of the six points is surprising in and of itself, but more to the point is that Grace being on the wrong side of six points doesn't bode well for me and the evening's plans. Well, my plans. Instead of the victory dance (read: sex) I was tuning up for, there will be angry recitations of the flow of the game gone wrong. Grace will review each move, each strategy. She will obsess over the loss, she will gnaw and pick like a dog with a bone. She will not be cajoled, she will not be wooed. There will be heat, but not in the way I desired.

Six. Lousy. Points.

Grace hardly ever loses, for this I am grateful. She is the most competitive person I know, the most competitive person I've ever met. Grace accepts challenges to play a game she'd never played. Upon accepting a challenge to play a game formerly foreign to her games repertoire, she studies and practices until she acquires (in her view) the skills of a seasoned veteran. It seems to work for as I say, she hardly every loses. Grace expects to win every game played and her sore losing is nothing compared to her boisterous winning. And while her public victory lap is a bit embarrassing, the private one is most welcomed.

I don't know what happened tonight, but I will. I will hear over and over, ad nauseum just where the tide turned. Grace will refuse to let it go, she will keep me awake with her, she will ask me to quiz her, practice with her, she will complain that her opponent cheated, she will deride herself for being too tentative, for playing it safe. She'll continue deep into the night until she is too exhausted to keep her mouth shut or her eyes open.

When I think of the night I could have, should have just scream . . .

SIX LOUSY POINTS!!!

Best Laid Plans

There was an event last weekend that I really want to talk about, and I will. Buuuut, my head has been mush much of the week. What with temperatures well below freezing (except for today) long, tedious days of proofing our annual catalog, along with my usual tasks, putting out some teeny fires, and so on and so on and so on . . . it has been an early to bed, too early to wake, thrash around for an hour or two, slam back to sleep, only to slog myself awake with just enough time to shower, dress to make it to work on time kind of week. Holding to the one drink minimum has been a test. Truly. I passed but I'm wondering, if I forego any drinks for the next couple days, could I double up on Saturday?

This evening I thought would be the evening. I thought tonight I'd be able to put into words the event, the fun, the, the . . . well, words are failing me because while searching for energy and inspiration I fumbled upon this little home decor idea . . . And it's giving me the heebie jeebies, the willy nillys, the itchy witchies . . . gotta go.

Could Be Worse

No amount of cat crack could entice either of my boys to take up the cause, but prehaps it was just as well, given the work-out factor and all. Shoveling snow first thing, as a before work activity is not my favored way to ring in the day, but it had to be done. It is, as they say, what it is.



Still, it could have been worse, they were predicted upwards closer to 12 inches, I think we wound up with half that, if that. We're not out of the woods yet, more snow is on the way as well as colder temperatures . . . nothing like the Dakotas though. Damn, that's beyond cold.

If it has to snow, I hope it does so overnight. I'd rather shovel in the morning than during the day, or later in the evening. Except of course, I'd rather it not snow over this night as 1. my shoulders are still a tad sore over this morning's shoveling and 2. I have an early morning appointment to braid some hair.

Speaking of which, I should be in bed and as soon as I finish my (one drink) wink eb, I'll be off.

Toodles.

Writing

Happy 2010! I'm curious, are you saying, twenty-ten, two-thousand ten, or something else? Are you still writing (or typing) 2009? I've slipped once, oh ok, maybe twice. I have to write (or type) the date multiple times during the course of an average work-day (especially at the beginning of the year when I am one of a few charged with proofing the catalog we publish annually) so it doesn't take too long to get acclimated. I'm pretty much well into two-thousand ten.

As for resolutions, know that I'm still endeavoring to shrink (more). I am in need of some motivational brio if you were, in that regard as I dumped the walking group (at least for a now) having nothing at all to do with the cold weather, though admittedly, that does factor into my work-out attitude. There are other areas of my life that were / are in need of re-shaping and some of that began last year as well. Those starts remain active, some of which I may have talked about here (or was that only in my head)? At any rate, know that I'm resolved to keep on keepin' on. I am, as noted in my bio a "work in progress." Process, progress.

Part of that work is to focus on writing and other artistic endeavors. Beyond this blog and my personal (actual pen / paper) journal, I'm feeling a drive to not only create, but to share said creations. To that end, I participated in a writing workshop in November with these amazing folks. (If you have time, money, books--give, 'tis a worthy cause). I also joined a couple of writing focused groups and a local visual arts group. One of said writing groups will meet-up tonight. We were given 3 prompts* and we could choose to write about one or all to share, get feedback. I'm anxious and nervous. This is my offering for tonight:

The First Time


Though not planned, it wasn’t a complete surprise. IT was the culmination of weeks, days, hours, minutes, and seconds of flirty conversation, highly charged innuendo and in-between some real getting-to-know-you chatter. Some weeks after we met on-line, hundreds of email, text message, and telephonic exchanges later we decided it was time to meet in real life, real time, face-to-face.


Some small talk crackled with nervous energy peppered the ride from the airport back to her home. Stopping at a convenience store for chewing gum was a maneuver to mask the nervousness that had filled the car to the point of near suffocation, I am sure. Some of the tension was indeed relieved with that stop, allowing that time and space for each of us to breathe, to settle.


A short time later, we arrive at her home where she had prepared a snack and wine chilled. We sat, ate and drank a bit, and engaged in more conversation. Talking, not a problem from day one. However, there was no flirting, no innuendo, but real talking. Real, getting-to-know-you exchange of ideas, thoughts, and even some dreams . . . still, it was clear there was a little bit of fear, a bit of apprehension.


Her query couched as a challenge of sorts, "you’ve never even kissed a woman" said it all.
Though not planned, it wasn’t a complete surprise. ‘Well, there isn’t any time like the present’, was my reply. Despite the spark of excitement, the initial move in was tentative; the merest melding of lips, the softest of touches, lightest of tastes . . . kind of a test.


She leaned into me and I into her in a way to suggest we’d been moving together for a long time. Our verbal compatibility translated almost immediately to our non-verbal engagement. Still, there was a slow build, a constant checking in, a need to know that all was well, all systems go. But once status clarified, the kiss, or rather a series of deep-to-light and back to deep again, kisses resumed.


We touched, hands to hands, hands to face, lips to lips, lips to nose, ears, and fingers. Not to mention, tongue-to-tongue, a tasting that exceeded all expectations. Damn the wine! Damn the chips and dip! Bring on more of that vanilla, tinged with a hint of cinnamon spicy sweetness, that are the flavors I associated with her. She was the richest dessert, the most coveted treat.


Though not planned, it wasn’t a complete surprise that on that first time meeting, we would kiss, touch; hand to hand, lips-to-lips, and before all was said and done, heart-to-heart.

*The prompts: 1.Sit in a public place and listen to the sounds. What feelings do they elicit?
2. Describe your first kiss. 3. Talk about some weird/strange family member

At least two of us wrote about first kisses and oddly enough, not first kisses, but first woman-to-woman kisses. But given the name of the group is Queer Writing Group, not odd at all, I guess.

Five Hundred and Seventy

In lieu of looking back or ahead, let's just look at now, shall we? Or in other words, random shit.

• I was soooo wrong about the point of the "anxious to talk" lunch with mom.
• Odd, when I mentioned it to daughter (welcome back to her, btw) she hit the nail squarely on the head.
• The question, "are you particular about dating preferences?" came after the soup, before the chips.
• My daughter went on a trip for a week, giving me (a little) taste of what it will feel like to live alone--with two cats and a dog, except that when I am the only human, there won't be so many pets. Maybe.
• When it is soooo cold, cold(er) doesn't feel colder, it just feels cold.
• I like love chitlins, but I won't buy or prepare them, ever again. Thankfully, a co-worker shared his with me this year (well, last).
• I'll be 50 years old this year. 1. WoW And 2. I've decided (among other things) I'm done fuddin around with my hair, except of course for keeping it closely cropped.

At least, that is how I feel today.

PaJamas

I am tired. But it is much too early* to turn in. Going to bed now means that I'll be awake at the very wrong side of dawn, unable to get back to sleep until it is too close to time to get up, which will make me very cranky. I'm having lunch date with mom on Thursday (I get released from work at 12:30 woo hoo) who is "anxious to talk with me" about something. What? I don't know, I'll find out. If I had to guess, I'd say another diagnosis and / or new med 'scrip and she'll be wondering if I think it is a good idea to . . .

Anyhoo, point being, 'tis best to avoid crankiness, especially when lunch with mom is on the docket. Moving on . . .

Pajamas. I like them well enough, the concept of them anyway. But, I wouldn't categorize myself as a pajama kinda girl. I mean I am usually attired in something, that something having been designed and produced for use beyond the purpose of sleeping. That is to say, I usually sleep in a tee shirt and lounge pants or boxers if it is very warm. If I buy a pajama type product it is almost always just the bottoms and almost always from the men's department.

Four, maybe five times over the past 3 years I've been gifted with pajamas. Tops and bottoms, women's, 3 of the pairs flannel (long sleeves, long pants) and all printed with . . . something. three of the four (or five) were most memorable for their . . .design. One was dotted with horses. And cowboys. The field was mostly blue and the horses & 'boys, brown. I donated them to Goodwill (or someplace like that). Another was dotted with skillets and fried eggs. The eggs were not in the skillets, each element was floating about a sea of yellow flannel. After a hearty laugh, I donated them to Goodwill (or someplace like that). The most recent were dotted with . . . well, look
Now, don't get me wrong, I'm not judging if something like this is exactly your style. If this is for you, then fantastic. But, this outfit is definitely not for me. At all. Not only is it printed all over with . . .well, you see, but the pants are too short, and well, for me, just butt ugly. Not quite as ugly as the cowboys and horses or the fried eggs and skillets (and yes, I'm regretting not having taken photos of those) but ugly none-the-less. To me, for me. Just not me.

As you may have guessed the same person is gifting me with these treasures. Her intentions are swell and I appreciate that, but . . . major fail otherwise. This time I asked, "why do you keep getting me pajamas? (I'd mentioned the previous times that I'm not really into pajamas and further, all-over patterned wear . . . ick. However, plaid is barely ok). Her response, "well, I figured they'd be warm."

Well yeah, except I have not complained about being cold when I'm inside and I don't sleep outside. And if I did, not even these very action-packed, flannel things will offer much comfort. Unless of course, they were but one of many layers. This time I said, "I appreciate the pajamas, but they are not really my style and I really prefer other sleepwear. Please . . . "

We shared a laugh over her having forgotten the previous conversations along with me offering, yet again, a definition and description of lounge pants and yes, I know that sometimes they are called sleep (or even pajama) pants, but in my view the pants I prefer can, in a pinch, be worn outside. I would not, even on a dare, wear pajamas (especially those butt ugly ones) outside, not even to empty the garbage.

It would be nice if my request was heeded. But, in all likelihood, it won't

Thankfully, there is Goodwill (and places like that) who will gladly accept these treasures.

*when I started it was barely 9 pm. I have in the meantime, had a martini, two conversations with son and one with mom (to solidify the lunch plans, still no clue about what is on the "agenda") it is now 11 and after a shower, sleeeeeeep.

What's Your Sign?

I forgot my book this morning (that really irritates me) meaning that I didn't have anything to read on the train, so I picked up a RedEye, a local freebie rag. The paper is thin, this morning's edition only 36 pages. It is full of thumbnail sketches of local, national, and international news, entertainment tid-bits, morsels of restaurant, music, and movie reviews, a smattering of sports related spots, puzzles, and horoscopes.

Even if I were to read the paper end-to-end it'd take, well, the ride in to work. Most of the "news" stories are re-hashes of stories I've seen / read elsewhere, so I skip those. Now and again I catch sight of something I didn't know and I'll read that. Usually, I just work the puzzles and every once in a blue moon, I'll check out the horoscope.

This was a blue moon day.

My horoscope read: A lunar eclipse in increasing your libido. Your partner won't know what got into you. You'll demand sexual attention morning, noon, and night. Just realize that your honey might think you're falling in love with (him) or her, so play nice.

Note to self: Don't forget book, again.

And, speaking of partner, mom is still (continuously) in question mode. Peep a recent installment:

Mom: Sooo (she begins most conversations, all inquisitions with soooo) when are you going to Texas again?

Me: I don't know, when I'm invited again? I don' know when that could be, they travel a lot.

Mom: Sooo, yeah? yeah? What do they do?

Me: (I tell her what they do)

Mom: Sooo, is this like the Net(ta) situation? (she has always mis-pronounced her name. For those who are not aware, mom new of Neta, she just didn't know Neta was my girlfriend until a month ago. Or maybe she knew but we didn't discuss it).

Me: No. N(ee)ta was my girlfriend. The Texas women are my friends.

Mom: Sooo, do you have another girlfriend?

Me: No, not yet.

Mom: Sooo, are you working on that?

Me: Well, kinda. But more, I'm working on me. The girlfriend thing will take care of itself in due time.

Mom: :::laughter::: Sooo, okay.

End scene.

Cheers

Two, three, four, no...three martinis later Christmas holiday dinner circa 2009 came to a close. This one wasn't too bad at all, granted my perspective was colored by the buzz, but still, I think it went fairly well.

I came away from the meal (as usual) with some observations / reflections. This year's version:

1. We don't play games. I played games with my children (though Danielle was / is the bigger fan) but I realized, growing up and since, my mother never played with us and doesn't to this day, won't even entertain the suggestion.

2. I never had gin before a couple days ago. Gin martinis are as tasty as vodka martinis. More potent, though. It is possible I haven't established a tolerance, yet. Or my mixing hand just a tad heavy.

3. We don't sing as a family. Each of us sing on our own (along to the radio, music player, whatever) but not together. I think only Michael feels he has a passable singing voice.

4. More than half of the various conversations during dinner were a re-hash or actual verbatim repeats of previous conversations, dominated by mom's church family and siblings (from decades ago).

5. Telling stories...oral history, folklore...is an important (the primary) activity during these family dinners.

6. My mom does not do well with change, or even the suggestion of change.

7. I'd really rather not receive another pair of heavy material, heavily patterned pajamas. Really. Not.

8. Still, I'm sure the next owner of the lovely garments will be rightly enamored with them.

9, You know that line in "The Christmas Story" Aunt Clara had for years labored under the delusion that I was not only four years old . . . well, we got some of that goin' on around here.

10. Pete must have had a reaction to the scent of the butter on the table. I can't think of any other reason why he'd be so adamant about getting on the table, which is quite odd for him when people are around. Buttah is the people cat, Pete's the loner. Had to be the butter luring him.

And oh, know that the antlers on the diva was not my idea. She didn't like them but was, for the most part, a good sport about them. She didn't have to suffer the indignity too long. And she was awarded a treat for her trouble.

Cheers!

Fa-La-La-La

The bus operator on this morning's ride into work was in a jovial mood. He greeted each passenger with, "good morning" and "merry Christmas" when they boarded the bus and another "merry Christmas" upon the exit of each passenger.

For the most part his greetings were well received and returned in-kind. Even folks who weren't particularly happy about being on the bus at 7:30 a.m. on this icy Thursday morning garbled out a "merry Christmas" to the operator.

Cheeriness can be infectious.

We were rolling relatively merrily along until HE boarded the bus. HE is a loud-mouthed, opinionated, gas-bag. He works for some government entity and often boards the same bus, thankfully, well into my ride. There is usually only one, at most three (he boards at different locations) stops between his boarding and my exit.

HE was on the phone when he got on this morning, loudly offering his opinion to whomever was on the other end of the call. It was only after he ended his call and moved forward to pay his fare when the bus operator offered his cheery day before Christmas greeting. Before the final tone of the bus operator's greeting tinged, HE vaulted into a tirade about how December 25th ISN'T Jesus' real birth date, and how celebrating on this date is a sham, a lie. And on and on.

HE can believe what he wants and HE can even voice these beliefs to whomever, whenever, I suppose. I just wish he hadn't disrupted what was proving to be a mostly enjoyable ride in to the four hour sentence work this icy Thursday morning.

Whatever your leanings, however and whenever you choose to celebrate...whatever, may your celebrations be happy, gay and full of glee!

'Tis the season to be jolly. . . Try.

Sh-Boom

The title was going to be, "Sorry, No Pictures" and while I don't have pictures of the trip I like the koi, so heeeerrrrre's koi.

It is not entire accurate to say I don't have pictures of my trip to H-town. I do, there are just not in a format that I can visibly or physically share, at least not in the most traditional sense. Over the course of some time, I suspect that as I reflect, images will be revealed thus telling the tale.

For now, know that I had a blast! I haven't talked, laughed, or eaten so much (and so well) in the span of 2 point however many hours into days in a long, long time.

And yes, there was wine (and more) and even a chance meeting.

Now I must sleep for work-a-day Tuesday looms.


h/t

Review, Renew

I spent two of the past three years falling and and then actively being in love. I found myself wrapped with it's warmth and thrilled by the euphoria that resides in that fascinating state.



This year I've been sinking out of love of that love. The warmth and euphoria ebbing bit by bit every one of these 300 plus days.



Some of the 300 days have been incredibly cold and low. Some, however have been somewhat closer to fine.



It has been an experience I'd just soon not repeat, but one I suppose I needed to have. Into each life a little love must fall? I don't know, what I do know is that I'm ready to put this year behind me. The sinking out of love, the trials experienced by my son, daughter, and mother have well worn me.


Before kicking the dust of 2009 off my heals, I be going on a trip. A small sojourn to the land of Texas. Houston to be more precise. I am being welcomed to eat, drink (wine, more than likely) and be merry by and with some lovely ladies.

To paraphrase the ladies Pointer, I'm so excited, it has been hard to hide it, I'm about to lose control and I've given up fighting it. After one more work day and the office holiday party, I'm out. For all intents and purposes, I am already. Focus. Hard.

I'll be back before Christmas, and here to put the rest of 2009 to bed and to get a leg up on 2010.

I'm so excited!!

Imagine

Imagine there wasn’t a history between you and me. Imagine we were not connected by years of disconnectedness. Imagine we were strangers except for the shared DNA. Imagine.

Do you imagine we could have come together after 50 years of our own separate lives with no memory of a history of birth, laughter mingled with tears, hurts, and haunts?

Imagine us meeting today. You just barely in your 70s and me a stone’s throw from 50, imagine us meeting in a busy restaurant, straining to hear each other’s silences. Imagine you wanting coffee and me not knowing coffee was one of your obsessions.

Do you imagine we’d stumble for the words to say? Would you be interested to hear about all or only some of the past 50 years? Do you imagine you’d share your tales of travels, where the world and life took you since my conception? Would you ask about my mom? Imagine there’d be pictures?

Imagine neither of us coming to this pre-arranged meeting alone, afraid of what we’d find or rather, what we wouldn’t. Sharing no previous history we didn’t have hope nor despair on which to hang our hats. You meet my daughter, I meet your son. We’re polite as are they. Imagine the look in their eyes when they realize they’re nearly the same age.

Do you imagine we’d work through the awkwardness? Would we find enough common ground on which to tread? Would we progress beyond talking about the weather or the economy? Imagine you’d tell me in 100 words or less how, why you found me? Imagine it would be more?

Imagine us meeting today. You just barely in your 70s and me a stone’s throw from 50, imagine us meeting in this busy restaurant, you nearly shouting about the clanking and clattering china, that you were my dad and how you so very much wish you’d thought to do this sooner, before you got sick.

Do you imagine I’d come away from this meeting with love, or . . ?

Imagine there wasn't a history between you and me, imagine.

SPBB*

I work in a three-story office building that is virtually empty. In addition to the business that employs me there are two others and the office of the building’s owner/manager. Our offices and warehouse is on the third floor as are one of the two other businesses and the owner/manager’s office.

The third floor suite of offices share public bathrooms, one for the men and another for the women. Note: Our space has a bathroom but only the 7 (or more) guys use that. I avoid it. The public bathrooms are public in that they are entered via the common areas. They are locked and only lease holders hold keys for each. I don't know about the men's room, but the women's is quite spacious, four stalls and two sinks. And well stocked (of late).

The three businesses / offices on the third floor now employ three women, one in each business / office. And the woman in the owner / building manager's office is a part-timer. All that to say that more often than not, yours truly has the bathroom all to herself. The janitor's closet is inside the women's room, so upon entering I do always check that he isn't there, or that the closet door isn't open. I always lock the door behind me. And while I am a tad weirded out but the tilted ceiling tile, I don't seriously think there is a camera hiding in the crevice of that tilted tile.

So, more often than not I'm alone in the bathroom. Which is good. I like being alone in the bathroom, especially public (or even, semi-public) bathrooms. And I'll admit here and now to engaging in Secrect Public Bathroom Behavior*.

A meet n greet site I'm using poses the challenge, "the most private thing you're willing to admit here" i didn't reveal my SPBB there, but I will reveal it here.

Jumping Jacks. When I'm in the bathroom, after taking care of bathroom-y business and washing hands, I do 5, 10, maybe 15 jumping jacks.

and sometimes squats, though mostly I find that, redundant.

When I'm in the public bathroom alone, with no chance of anyone seeing . . .

Can We Talk?

Late in the workday afternoon my desk phone chimes. I pick up the receiver prepared to spill my usual workday spiel in my, "I am a professional at work" voice: Good Afternoon, this is Deborah. How may I help you? or something very similar.

My daughter, who usually halts me at the beginning of the spiel, let me spiel out, at the end of which she said, "hey, what's up with the phone sex voice? Who are you trying to seduce?"

Laughter ensues.

We finish our conversation, her observation timely considering that earlier that day an office mate received a call from a vendor who commented on the "voice" of our automated attendant. My voice is the voice. The office mate said that his caller thought the voice was sexy, and asked if it were a real person. We both got quite the chuckle out of that...anyway, daughter and I finish our conversation and I move on with my afternoon.

About an hour later my mom calls. I pick up the receiver prepared to spill my usual workday spiel in my, "I am a professional at work" voice: Good Afternoon, this is Deborah. May I help you? My mom, who never stops me mid-spiel, had a very different reaction, "are you ill?"

Sexy or ill. Hit or miss.

Honest Scrap: Thanksgiving Edition

This is an award. An award posing as a meme with all the meme attachments. As is my usual custom, I will pass on the some of the special conditions. Though I do consider all the blogs I read award worthy. I will comply with the special condition of listing 10 facts . My twist as the title indicates, these facts as are related to Thanksgiving 2009 at Deborah's Place.
1. "This place is a zoo!" When son moved out three years ago there weren't any pets. He spent Thursday and Friday nights (the first sleep-over since his move) and while he wasn't surprised by the presence of the fur-babies, he was surprised by their (primarily Buttah's)attachment to him. My son, we've discovered, is not a cat person. He was relatively good-natured about it though. Still, the second night Buttah had to have his nocturnal roaming curtailed, just a bit.

2. Maneuvering about the (small) kitchen with a grey dog and orange cat constantly under-foot hoping for accidental drops added a layer of challenge to the day.

3. Speaking of challenge: My Mother vs. My Daughter. ::sigh::

4. However, 2 glasses of wine, 2 vodka martinis, and a tequila/rum margarita did not hamper my peacekeeper/maker capabilities. In fact, may have even helped.

5. A "Happy Thanksgiving" call from a new acquaintance was a rather nice surprise.

6. And "Happy Thanksgiving" (and more) text messages from a dear, dear friend resulted in warm fuzzy feelings.

7. I forgot the mashed taters and gravy. Hi-ever, no one seemed to notice (or care).

8. Though not quite my kryptonite, homemade mac n cheese is most def, da bomb!

9. 'Tis a fact, mom mis-remembers events from my childhood. It was older brother not younger who crashed into a parked car with his bike, suffering an injury that required stitches to his left ear.

10. In addition "remember when . . ." talk, dinner convo included my revelation. I answered the question she hasn't (or refused) to ask. Due to the emotions of the day (see mom vs daughter note above) she was not up to discussing it much then and because of a visit from that Aunt (& the cramps she rode in on) a surprise after many, many (ok, maybe just one many, but still, a while) months, I have not up to discussing it much since. But, more talk will ensue, of this I am sure.

Still, the news (good, all good) is out and so (step-by-step) am I.

The Eyes Had It

Diva dog isn't wild about the grooming process. And as a result the process is usually managed over several days. Depending on where she is in the process (or where Danielle started) you might see the right side shaved but the left relatively shaggy.

Or to see her body hair sheared to a respectable length while her legs look like she's wearing furry boots. Diva dog is particularly antsy about her legs being touched, for even more that the clippers and scissors she. does. not. like. her. nails. cut.

Many months ago, on the bad advice of someone of little consequence now, Danielle sheared Diamond the Diva dog nearly bald. That looked horrible. Much of the Diva's character was being swept into a trash bag.

Shameful. Even Diamond seemed to know how badly she'd fared that time. Perhaps why she puts up a bit more of a fuss when the shears come out. I think she was in day 3 of a recent progressive grooming cycle when this pic was snapped.

Her face, especially around the eyes, is usually the last round.

Every few weeks when it's time for the grooming cycle to begin and we try to push D-dog through too many cycles in a single day I think about Truvy's comment about "nobody wanting a full day of beauty".

Certainly not our little Diamond in the ruff.

Spread Out

Photo Via

For a variety of reasons, I had a fleeting notion of not hosting a Thanksgiving feast this year. But then I changed my mind. The spread kinda sorta planned won't be anything terribly elaborate and the guest list will be short; only be mom, son, me, and possibly daughter (& her boyfriend). She mentioned wanted to experience the day with the boyfriend and his family. Apparently, fried fish is in the mix. She fears however, that if she isn't there to stake her claim to my fixins' she'll be s.o.l. as Michael will eat his fill then be offered to-go tubs as is the usual tradition. Of course, she needn't worry.

I haven't been feeling particularly festive lately, which I guess is part of why I decided to host the gathering. We have each faced some piercing and far-reaching challenges this year and in recent weeks, particularly. And I suppose, all the more reason to gather together. I've been feeling like we are each on the verge of some major changes and not all of them positive, necessarily.

For a variety of reasons, I have been feeling like we won't have too many more all-together festive gatherings. And I suppose, all the more reason to gather together this time, as often as we can and make (and take) the best of each experience.

Odd, But Not

On the work voice-mail this week: Deb? this is Joanie . Hey, did you change your e-mail address again? You haven't responded to my e-mail. Stella and I are getting worried about you. CALL ME at xxx-xxx-xxxx, right away. Let me know you're OKAY.

WDDD?

I don't know what possessed me to pick up the land line at home. I so very rarely do anything quite so risky. But, I did and on the other end, a sales/tele-marketing person? Nooooo, a ghost from the past. A former supervisor. And while he made all the hey, how are you, the kids, and all noises, the real purpose for the call was to find another of our group. They apparently had kept in better touch since the business dealings forced our separation. but recently seemed to have lost touch. He wondered if I knew anything, had heard anything. I didn't. I don't. I hadn't.

She and I hadn't been in contact for quite awhile now as she never seemed interested in any real cultivation of friendship. She had become one of those kind of e-mailers and has long since fallen off my radar. Obviously, I don't wish her any ill will and I told our former boss that I'd see what I could find out. I checked a few data-bases to no avail.

This has been a week for calls from past lives. Another former co-worker, going back much further than the decade or so the former boss represents, called my office line. She and I were friends and we'd kept in touch for a time after she left the company in '86? '87? Anyhoo, she said, "guess who this is?" And while I nearly said her name, I reacted as if I had no clue. The voice had a familiar ring but was tinged with time, leaving it slightly altered from that which I'd stored in memory.

We talked, laughed back and forth as if no time at all had elapsed. Fun, that. Continuing on this path will fill me with much glee.

So, this week worth of calls has been a mixed bag. To have heard from each of this entities in the span of 5 days after having not heard from them (Joanie's emails aside) in years, decades is the kind of thing my mom would have looked up in her numerology book toward finding lottery numbers to play, when she was into that sort of thing.

Any hidden meanings in the confluence of events? I don't know, but they certainly added some additional twists to an already twisty week. For all the calls I did get there are a few I didn't.

Dear friends, please know you're on my mind and in my heart. ♥

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

Wrap Up

It was not my plan to go to Navy Pier . I got a later start for my journey to the downtown theatre showing Precious as the result, I missed the 2:00 pm showing. The pier being only a few blocks further east presented as an obvious (inexpensive) choice to burn some time before the next showing.

I eased into the morning, day with a light breakfast and a couple of cups of coffee after which I got myself together to go do a load of laundry. The laundry mat I use is a bit over a mile away. I decided to take advantage of the pleasant start to the day and bike it on down there.

About a third of the way I experience some sinking feeling. I pat my pockets for my keys.

No keys. Gone. Shit!

Every single time I wear one of several pair of cargo shorts, I forget to put the keys in the cargo pockets. I use the slant pockets, which aren't very deep. I hear the clang as they hit the ground, but I don't register the clang, as the clang of my keys. Until I'm several blocks away and that sinking feeling prompts me to pat the pockets.

Backtrack. Heart racing, hoping they are on the ground, still. Not much time as passed, so hope is high. But, still. I detest losing keys. AND there isn't anyone home but the fur babies. They can't retrieve the spares and throw them down to me. AND there weren't any open windows even if any one of them COULD locate and collect the spare keys.

I miss them on the first pass while I was on the bike. I park the bike, backtrack again on foot, and whew . . . success! I have to admit, a bit of cream was burned off the joy that is a beautiful November day and certainly, I'm beyond wanting to continue to the laundry. But, washing today? A must.

An hour or so later I'm still going back and forth in my mind about trekking downtown to the movie theatre. I want to see the flick, I don't know when I might get another chance, and so . . that plus the gorgeous weather helped convince me to venture out.

Still, I dilly-dallied long enough that catching the 2:00 p.m. showing would require quite a bit of luck and a rocket propelled train. Well, as you know, I missed the 2:00 p.m. showing. That gave me the opportunity to take in what is usually one of my least favorite destinations.

Today however, thanks to the gorgeous weather, some of the businesses being closed for the season resulting and the Bears playing a home game, resulting in a lighter crowd, the pier was quite pleasant. the pier wasn't terribly crowded. The weather and lack of overwhelming crowd made for a nice, pleasant way to spend part of an afternoon.

The movie, as you can probably tell from the trailer, is bleak. The subject matter is not at all up-beat. But, it was good. There were some decent performances and some only so-so. The filming and story-telling styles felt herky-jerky to me, taking away a bit of the power and punch the film should have delivered. But over-all, good. Having witnessed some of what Precious experienced, made the film that much harder to watch.

Still, I'm glad I got our for more than chores today. I'm glad circumstances had me in the later showing (I think the 2:oo was sold out anyway) for coming home in the clear, crisp evening was as enjoyable as the the early part of day had been.

All-in-all, a good day wrapping up a good weekend.

??????? 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.

Definition

Laid Back Halloween Party: A dinner of Chinese food (a promise of the best egg foo young, ever), dessert of taffy apples, beverage of choice, candy, (bonus: passing out to trick-or-treaters) and of back-to-back Dexter episodes.

2. Four women. Good food. Good time.