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.