The REAL story

 

Imagine giving a dinner party where the guests are invited to come as people in the game Clue.

The hostess goes to great lengths to cook delicious food that will accommodate all the guests she expects to come. It is quite a spread!

Two of the people simply don't show up.

Three of the people are her parents and me. We are there to make this party a success! We realize the work, money and time she has put into her very first dinner party.

Two of her grandmothers show up. Both are clueless and not really dressed for their parts, but they seem willing to try.

Then her grandmother's friend shows up dressed perfectly for her part. She has also invited her boyfriend that both she and one of the grandmothers think is a brilliant man. It soon becomes obvious that he agrees with them. 

These two people try to take over the party. They pull up pictures of their protesting and their trips and how wonderful and unique the two of them are on all their worldly adventures. They tell inappropriate, racist stories of Halloweens past. They claim they have never played board games (which this is only based on. We are not playing on a board, but in real time) They refuse to learn the game, or the rules, they ruin it by flaunting their weapons, which should be hidden so people can try to solve the mystery of who did it with what. She plays on her phone and soon the two grandmothers are pulled in by this spirit of mockery and days of planning go down the tubes.

I should have seen it coming when even sitting down to dinner was a fiasco. One grandmother was wandering around looking lost and trying to help but getting in the way. The other was standing there looking confused about where to sit and trying to stay out of the way. The obnoxious couple was too busy talking about themselves to even notice it was dinner time at a dinner party.

The hostess never faltered. She was unfailingly kind and patient as she watched all her hard work, money and time being dissolved in a showcase for two people who should know better but are so full of themselves they haven't got a clue to why they are even there.

I was the dead body developing a headache born out of frustration and annoyance. Eventually, at the end, I am resurrected and the kindest thing I can say is, OMG this is like watching someone with a hockey stick trying to play chess!

The clueless couple still doesn't get it. They laugh uproariously and look around to make sure they are the center of attention.

Happy Halloween

 

Being invited to a Clue Dinner party was exciting.

I arrived dressed in black silk and wearing ivory Geisha earrings along with an antique cameo that belonged to my mother. In the way of older ladies I wore rings on as many fingers as I could fit.

The others arrived too. In shades of mustard and plum, scarlet and greens, a motley mix of professors and officers and other esteemable gentry.

We sat down to a dinner of beefly stew and mixed up wines with which I toasted our health.

Little did I know that I, Mrs. Body, was soon to be in the poorest of health!

We ate our dinner and repaired to the parlor where lively conversation was rudely halted by total darkness and during that brief respite I threw myself into the role of "The BODY!"

They discovered me and covered me with a white sheet befitting my corpse as I watched them flit around the house blaming each other and making accusations. It was quite amusing to watch from my lofty place above them.

Then, finally, someone said, it was Miss Scarlet, with the poison! 

And I watched in horror as the ambulance arrived and hauled my body out. 

Followed by the police who hauled out everyone else.

Leaving me stranded in an empty house!

Anxiety

If I needed a barometer of my feelings it is my blood pressure.

Better than litmus paper or thermometers, or scales, or mood rings, my blood pressure tells the story of my real feelings in real time.

I can control my breath. I can do exercises that make me look and sound completely at ease, but take my blood pressure and get the real picture.

Years of meditation and breathing have allowed me to go to sleep relatively quickly when I go to bed, My dreams are even lightning up lately. I have been dreaming that I'm laughing and having a wonderful time here and there. There have been fewer dreams of being lost in a dark city, or in a confusing maze that keeps me from going home to my family.

But when there is anxiety during my waking hours it is harder to deal with. For example: I transferred the amount from my only credit card to a zero percentage one if I pay it off in fifteen months. That means I have to pay off a small amount of the old credit card after the transfer before I can relax and just pay off the new one. I know this should all work out just fine, but waiting for the transfer and the first payment has been dragging on for over two weeks and it is taking its toll. 

If I needed proof that I do not have my anxiety totally under control, this is it. One thought about it creeping in when I take my blood pressure and it can soar from a top number of 108 to 156! Everything I am doing should make my life simpler and healthier in the long run, but getting there has been tough.

Goals

 

Everyone talks about goals and goal setting as if the right carrot will solve all our problems and it might!

Or it might not.

As a young woman I was expected to make myself trim, slim, beautiful and perfect wife material. Then I was supposed to be the perfect mother raising well rounded children.

Later I was encouraged to walk some abysmal number of steps measured by a deceivingly small rubber bracelet attached to my wrist. Get fit they said!

I loved playing tennis, but most other athletic activity bored me to tears, so when I couldn't play tennis anymore I tended to stop worrying about being fit.

Now I have discovered the absolute carrot. The goal to beat all other goals.

Staying alive.

At my age I have to balance failing muscles, an immune system that hates me, lousy feet and a digestive system that views iron supplements as necessary as air. My kidneys are at stage four, one step before dialysis. I am anemic no matter what. My heart murmur is hanging in there and all my allergies to the world and most medicines crop up like mosquitoes on a stagnant pond.

I eat almost the same nothings day after day. Walk my tiny fifteen minutes walks. Try for a good night's sleep and try to perfect the balancing act that is required to give my life quality,

My goal? Keep on living!

Read the instructions

 

We often take our own brains for granted.

How we learn. How we process events. The amount of creativity we show. All these things are not the same for everyone.

I have a tendency to think everyone thinks like I do. My first way of coping with something new, something I must put together, or something I need to orchestrate in order to get the results I want, is to read about it in an instruction booklet, or watch a you tube video, or simply sit down and try to organize how I think it should logically go.

These coping mechanisms get me through 99% of the things I encounter in my life. But what about the people who cannot make sense of the instructions? Whether it is because they have trouble reading, or comprehending what they see or just choose not to take the time to do so makes a difference to me.

I understand that some people do not process the written word and some cannot maintain the focus it requires to watch a video and use it. They cannot help how their brain does or does not work.

Choosing not to try is laziness. To me that is the worst type of dysfunction. The lack of self esteem it takes to just let others do things for us that we could do for ourselves.

Wearing body parts

 

I am guilty of saving baby's first curls in my children's baby books. I even got a kick out of seeing my mother's curls that were saved by my grandmother.

I know it was fashionable to wear locks of hair from loved ones during the civil war and since photos were rare I understand that.

I'm just not quite sure how I feel about wearing jewelry filled with the ashes of dead relatives.

I know people have cherished pieces of saints bones for centuries. I think they view them as good luck pieces that might grant miracles to the lucky few. Whether or not I believe that is up for grabs.

I loved my brother's funeral where we were all encouraged to take handfuls of his ashes and scatter them around his farm. It seemed fitting to put him back on the land he loved.

Yet I never wanted to wear his ashes in a locket, bracelet or pin as a memento. It feels almost wrong to me, as if I am keeping a tiny bit of him from returning to the nature he loved so much. I know that is crazy too.

It just feels macabre to me to wear someone's body on my body. I think part of that is the story of the mother whose child died and who couldn't stop crying afterwards. Finally she had a dream that her child was struggling to carry buckets of tears over and over and over. Just another story or superstition perhaps, but it touched me deeply.

Wherever my loved ones go after this life I want them to be as free as possible to be what they are supposed to be.

Whatever that is.

Connecting

 

I have been trying to be more sociable lately.

I have always been friendly, but now I am making the effort to actually get to know some people in my building a bit better. 

Don't get me wrong, I'm not looking for walking buddies. I don't want people dropping by for tea or coffee. I just want to connect with them when we are both out in communal spaces, so I am joining in briefly here and there.

I am truly enjoying our little chats and getting to know more about who they are. I try to share some about myself too. They seem amenable to this and it is both fun and nice to have them call out encouragement when they see me walking, or I show up at some community event like a potluck or concert.

Last night I went to my first DJ Jukebox event. A local resident in our building has quite a collection of music, microphones, speakers etc. and he shares it in an event he organizes each month. He sings along with the music he features and he is really quite good! There was only a small group of people there last night. Ten at the most but people came and went. They brought snacks to share and seemed to be familiar with each other as if they do this regularly. 

I enjoyed the music, the singer, the feeling of joining in, but mostly I enjoyed watching the people. Two of them occasionally got up and slow danced to some of the songs. Others clapped or swayed with the beat. A couple pretended to direct and some even seemed to be reenacting old pop hand actions from the past. It was a charming, passionate group of people that was so varied and yet so accepting. There were people dressed in their best and people wearing pajama bottoms and sweatshirts.

It was surely a motley crew, but sometimes it brought tears to my eyes. This kind of community is rare in my opinion and I am so glad I discovered it.

Simplifying

 

I have been making many conscious and major life changes lately.

Some of them began when I first moved in here like lowering my Visa credit card. Little by little I have been paying as much as I can possibly squeak out of my meager income. Sometimes $600 a month, which requires a lot of planning on my part. Now I have been able to transfer the entire amount to a 0% interest card that I should be able to pay off in the time allotted. However it will require even more belt tightening when it comes to gifts and any unnecessary spending of money.

About seven months ago I began walking again. At first I only walked about five minutes a day. Now I have worked up to 15-17 minutes three times a day, or between 45 and 54 minutes a day! I can't do it all at one time, but they tell me the cumulative amount is what counts.

All my life I have tried dieting and eating in different ways to lower my weight (and my blood pressure and my blood glucose.) I have been eating two meals a day, fasting for 17 hours in between for many years now, but only lately have I found foods that I truly enjoy, that fill me up, and keep me healthy all at the same time.

I am finally getting the help I need for my feet which require toe spacers, orthotics, and gout medicine. I have been able to lower my blood sugar as low as 78 using only minimal amounts of Glipizide. I have eliminated some of my blood pressure medicine and still lowered my blood pressure more than it was when I played tennis years ago. I am still anemic, but I can keep my iron at a minimum level with medicine if I take it at exactly 11 PM and with four ounces of orange juice every other day.

These things all put together have required my current doctor to work with me as my body does not respond to medicine the way most people's do. He finally understands this. I still have stage four kidney disease, but hope to keep on maintaining my kidneys enough to stay off dialysis.

All this requires me to stick to a pretty rigid schedule of walking, eating and medicine, but I think it's worth it to make my final years enjoyable.

Roommates

When two adults decide to become roommates they first need to sit down together and express their needs to each other.

They need to define what it will take for them to live together if they have pets. How often must the cat litter be cleaned, Who picks up the feces in the yard. Who cleans the fur or hair from the floors and when.

What are the plans for dirty dishes? Who loads and unloads the dishwasher and when. Are dirty dishes allowed to just sit in the sink or on the counter tops?

How long can clean laundry be left in the washer or dryer.

Who mows the lawn when.

It is not fair to assume different people will feel the same way about these things. They need to be discussed.

If they continue to be taken care of by both people in a manner agreeable to them then all is well, but what happens when one of the roommates stops adulting or begins enabling?

Mature people can deal with these things, but they do need to be dealt with. Possible consequences for consistently not doing them could be as simple as finding the cat a new home if one can't take care of it in a hygienic way, or paying someone to mow the lawn when its your turn if you don't want to do it yourself. Simple things like who uses a dust mop when can be divided up even and odd days or marked on a calendar.

Both people are responsible for holding up their part of the living agreement. Neither one has the right to infringe on the other. Two adults should be able to coexist in a hygienic home. Make a chart or write these things down on a calendar so there is no question of what is expected.

Did I work

During the course of my nearly 77 years on this earth I have done a huge variety of jobs.

Of course, like all kids, I started out babysitting and mowing lawns with a push lawn mower.

Later I did laundry at my grandmother's nursing home and also helped out in the kitchen on occasion.

I worked for two major insurance companies off and on as a clerk secretary and library assistant. 

I taught three year old preschool for many years and later worked part time at a kids learning center with three and four year olds.

I pumped gas on an army post and later as a bumper bunny in a local gas station in Kansas.

I sold Mary Kay at parties.

I worked in the front room of a florist's shop doing everything from taking orders to fluffing the flowers in my spare time.

These are the jobs I got paid to do, but I also edited books for a college professor and helped do research at libraries around the country. Those were just fun jobs that allowed me to hob knob with some fascinating people.

I painted and sold character sweatshirts for local theater as well as worked making costumes they used for Community Players and Miller Park Theater. 

And for a while I made and sold handmade Raggedy Ann and Andy dolls with hand tied hair and embroidered faces. I even taught piano lessons to a neighborhood child.

In between I was a corporate wife and the mother of three active beautiful children who participated in gymnastics, dancing, soccer, baseball, wrestling, tennis, golf, local theater, music lessons, piano and band.

I volunteered at their schools in the library, nurses office, cafeteria, and later at an aviation museum doing tours and parties. I ended my years as a retired senior volunteer person with the YWCA where I once made the cover of a local magazine.

Looking back I am quite satisfied with it all. I wouldn't change a thing!

Time machine

 

Sometimes music becomes a time machine for me. 

I never hear songs like Yankee Doodle or The Big Rock Candy Mountain without remembering my crib and nap time. Memories of a very large house with huge double doors and lots of windows and my mother playing little plastic yellow records to try to get me to sleep. 

Later came Arthur Godfrey on the radio and songs like Que Sera Sera, or The Wayward Wind. Music from Champaign, Illinois that I heard on my mother's radio as we ironed together in the kitchen. Me on my tiny ironing board ironing Daddy's handkerchiefs at three and four.

Then there are the old folk songs like Swanee River, or my Old Kentucky home that cause pictures of a music room with a grand piano on a platform upfront of rows of wooden chairs lined up for my elementary music class with Miss Gewee. I was fascinated by her gadget that held five pieces of chalk for drawing staffs on the blackboard.

The lonely years when I was a twelve year old playing old records I inherited from my grandpop's new wife. Songs like The Green Door that  I played over and over while writing for long hours in my upstairs bedroom.

Brief memories of wanting to be a nun because of a sister who played guitar for Candys stripers intrigued me with her Blowing in the Wind at the Franciscan convent.

And again my freshman year of college going to folk masses where Blowing in the Wind figured heavily into my life as I searched for meaning and belonging.

The Green leaves of summer still creates a longing I had while pregnant, a desire to be loved completely that was never quite felt.

Later I would be seduced by many of John Denver's songs that held over even as I played them for my own children on vacations in and around the mountains and lakes of our vacations.

And memories of my father brought on by Placido Domingo and John Denver singing Perhaps Love led directly into my love affair with Pavarotti that endured for years.

Louis Armstrong's Beautiful  World ties me to my young grandson and the times we spent together while he was less than five. It is still one of my very favorites.

Respond or react

 

I am discovering that the people who annoy me the most are the ones who simply react to the world around them.

They take all the news at face value, never considering its source.

They fly off the handle over trivial things that could easily be altered.

They talk more than they listen.

They rush around without regard for the consequences of their actions.

These are people who have problems the rest of us don't simply because they don't take the time to think things through. They believe the world is full of unsolvable problems they have no control over.

And they aren't shy about complaining. For one reason or another they never accept that they have more control over things than they use. 

Life is not about complaining. It is about figuring things out and making logical changes.

Attention

 

Almost everyone likes attention whether they will admit it or not. We may not all want the same kind, but it feels good when we are appreciated for who we are or something we have done.

Whether it is a musical accomplishment, a creative endeavor, or conquering a milestone like losing weight, or having a birthday, it's generally affirming to hear other people notice.

However the need for this varies greatly among different people.

Some need constant assurance for every single aspect of their life. Others are happy to share only the moments that feel larger or more important to them.

And then there are the exhibitionists! Those people who will go above and beyond to be noticed. The ones willing to do almost anything as long as it gets attention. Good or bad. These include chronic liars, acting out for shock effects, choosing weird when nothing else works.

These people annoy me, but I try to understand what makes them this way. What is so lacking in their lives that they need to make fools of themselves? 

Some comedians turn this into an act that puts food in their mouths. Some politicians use it to replace authentic credentials. But there are people who are loved, well fed, and monetarily comfortable that resort to it too.  Why?

Compassion

 

I am trying to be more understanding and compassionate of those people who make me uncomfortable.

I have been working on myself most of my life, but that does not seem to be something everyone tries to do. 

They want to be more beautiful, richer, happier, but they base all of that on popular opinion. Other people's opinions.

As a young person that is understandable, but as I age I find myself wanting something deeper, richer, more satisfying to me since I live with myself.

I guess I am fortunate. I've had periods in my life where money was not much of an issue, but health has always been one in some way.

Imagine people who believe all their lives that if they just had enough money they would be happy. Then they have enough, actually more than enough, although they don't believe it, but they discover they are still not happy.

They seem to believe that if they can just buy the right things their lives will come together. And of course they could, but they require more than a life cluttered with stuff. That stuff has to mean something to them and more importantly, they must believe in themselves.

Feeling content, or satisfied is an amazing feeling. Feeling blessed is even better! 

You may be able to purchase masses to get you into heaven, but the road will be full of potholes dug by your own psychie. Only you can fill those holes.

I feel sorry for them.

The addiction

 

It began with my after dinner walk. I try to walk for a while whenever I can. It helps me keep my blood sugar down because I am a type two diabetic. Counting carbs is a significant part of my life and when I'm good at it I even lose weight.

Lately I have been able to eat two meals a day with no snacks and I'm fine. Not hungry. Fine.

Tonight I got off the elevator in the lobby of my apartment building and someone had left a box of donuts on the sharing table! 

I eyed those donuts and told myself I should not eat one. I especially should not take the rest of the box back to my apartment. For so many reasons!

But I wanted one!

I told myself if I walked to the end of the hall and back someone would have come along and taken them away and I would have avoided the temptation. I walked, but they were still there when I got back!

I actually stood there contemplating all the "reasons" I could eat at least one. I've been doing good lately. I haven't raised my blood sugar in almost a week. I ate some bread yesterday and it didn't hurt me. etc etc  etc.

I quickly turned and went outside. I thought if I walked around the building maybe when I got back in those donuts would be gone! I thought I might even be able to walk around the building twice since I had my walker with me.

On my way around the building I ran into two people and we stood chatting for about fifteen minutes. I completely forgot about the donuts. Then I finished my walk and as I was reentering the front foyer of my building I remembered them! Maybe I would take just one it they were still there. Maybe I would only eat half of it!

I walked into the lobby and there were those four donuts calling to me! 

At the same time two women in the elevator called out asking if I wanted them to hold the door for me!

I nearly ran to get in that elevator and go back to my apartment.

Temptation averted! 

I think I am a food addict.

A truly holy woman

 

I lost a dear friend yesterday and I am torn between feelings of sadness and wonder.

We met when our children were barely toddlers and we camped together as families for a while when they were growing up. She was an elementary school teacher at their school and so we were involved in many things throughout our lives. We even both volunteered at an aviation museum for a while, giving tours and doing birthday parties for children.

Many of my friends are wonderful people who are constantly giving back to the community, but she went above and beyond. I remember her going through the stacks of trash that lined the middle of the halls of our junior high at the end of the year. All the lockers were cleaned out and their contents dumped in long piles waiting to be scooped up and disposed of. She carefully went through it all, taking out anything that was salvageable to be given to students who were needy. That was just one of her unknown selfless deeds.

She was sweet, funny and always upbeat, but honest. You could count on her for the right words at the right time. One example was when we were talking about Jehovah witnesses who come door to door. She answered her door with a bright and cheery smile and said, "Quick, you have thirty seconds to tell me your favorite Bible verse, then I have to go!"

I didn't go to her church, but I know she was a devout Catholic who was once a postulate intending to become a nun before she met her husband of 56 years. He died last year. They say she sometimes spoke in tongues while praying.

She married, had two children, became a teacher and lived a life of love and service until the day she died.

That was yesterday. It was quick, unexpected and I know she expected to be reunited with Jesus and her husband. She was at peace with herself and her life and she was an inspiration to everyone who knew her.

Ineffable

 

We bandy the word love around like snowflakes falling on a mountain.

It can mean everything from survival of the species to a simple preference for some banal thing like chewing gum.

It is a noun, a verb a concept.

And yet, at its very core it is something that connects us to something else.

An invisible something that comes from within us and reaches out like water for the soul. Sprinkling over seemingly inconsequential things. Drifting over vague views. Flooding between hearts that beat with a passion impossible to match with anything else.

It is the attraction between things that may surpass the four fundamental forces of nature. 

An ineffable word that defines a feeling, a power, a force that cannot be measured. 

Kindred spirits

 

What is it that attracts people to each other?

Sometimes it is as mundane as beauty. The evenness of their features, the color of their hair or eyes, or even the shape of their body.

At other times it is deeper. The way their intellect connects with ours, or their emotional reactions match what we are familiar with. It can even be their mastery of some talent that draws us in.

But sometimes there is an unreasonable attraction that goes beyond understanding.

I have experienced this a few times in my life. I meet a person who draws me in for some inexplicable reason I cannot figure out. No amount of rationalizing or remembering can attach whatever it is to something in my life.

That is when I wonder if the idea that we are all souls here on earth for some reason or other and that eventually we will go "home" to whatever is greater than us, could be possible. Maybe those people whose faces mean nothing to us, but who call us to them are simply from that time before and after our manifestation in a body.

These could be the kindred spirits that have been close to us, or part of us for all eternity.

Why

 

Why am I so invested in my sister's personality?

Other people don't affect me that way. I am quite content to live and let live, but she tweaks all sorts of feelings in me.

After I talk to her on the phone I often feel unsettled. I even have a stomach ache! It makes no sense.

She and I are polar opposites. 

Thinking is not her strong suit. She likes moving. Mowing the yard, doing repetitive chores like cleaning spots off of floors and windows. She has a job basically helping older people with showering and dressing. Her hobby is shopping. She really does not seem to focus on anything else. She appears to be content.

She also does not seem to understand things I say to her. She says she was going to buy ice cream and bring it to me, but was afraid I'd have a doctor's appointment or be mad at her!. I am a type two diabetic who is trying to extend and control my diabetes and stage four kidney disease with diet. I seldom have medical appointments more than once every other month. I suggested she just call and ask me, that I wouldn't be mad, but it would make my life more difficult to avoid the temptation of ice cream in my freezer.

She does not need to justify what she buys, yet she does with reasons that don't hold water. I don't remember her being this way most of our lives and yet we seldom lived in the same city and I have to admit that shopping has always been her go to. She has no other hobbies. It has always been about buying or collecting.

I tell myself that there are millions of people like her in the world and there is really nothing inherently wrong with them. They just don't have the same values I have, but for some reason I don't deal with her well.

Etiquette

 

So many of the things we do are things that were simply invented to control us or make money for someone else. 

Undergarments may help us extend the life of clothing between washing, but bras, and girdles were invented to make us look a certain way. The idea that certain clothes are only for sleeping in and others are considered dressed is another one of those dubious ideas someone invented.

Even the idea of being dressed up is based on someone's desire to sell us clothes in order to impress someone.Dressed up differs in different ages and places and it goes far beyond survival.

Which fork to eat what with, when to put a napkin in our lap, how to curtsy or bow or genuflect, are ideas invented by people.

We are creatures constantly trying to create reasons for being when, beyond nature's biological idea that we should live and reproduce, all we really need to do is be. 

It is okay to simply exist.

It may make us feel better to contribute something for the common good, or believe we are better people if we have lots of money and possessions, but those are just ideas someone put in our heads. They were created by other people wanting to use us to make their lives easier. It's not necessarily wrong, just not vital to being.

Most of the other living organisms in the world don't need those external pressures to exist. Nature is not a game of one upmanship. It is a game of survival.

The idea that we must constantly strive to change ourselves has been taken to extremes.

Intention

I know people who seem to do everything right, but they are still not happy.

What you do is important, but it is not everything.

If caring for others brings in that extra money you need to buy things, that is not the same thing as caring for people with loving intentions and finding joy in the moment of doing it.

If mowing the grass is simply a job to be done that allows you to have a pretty lawn and fill in time, that is not the same thing as appreciating each step you take while moving.

If buying things becomes a hobby aimed at making you happier by acquiring more possessions it will be only a momentary bit of happiness that will soon pass when you find the need to acquire even more.

Happiness comes from within.

It is being present in the moment and noticing all the beauty surrounding you in all its fullness. 

Focusing on a loved one for who they are not what they do. Noticing the comfort and safety of your favorite chair. Seeing the glory of the sunrise or the sublime peace of white cumulus clouds. These tiny bits and pieces of intense appreciation are much more likely to lead us, one miniscule moment at a time to realize happiness.

Happiness is an art cultivated by intention.

In and Out

I have spent time painting for a long time now. 

I am known for painting over old paintings that I am no longer happy with, but lately I have developed a new and somewhat strange habit.

I've been painting out parts of paintings.

Kind of like those photo apps that let you put your finger on someone or something and delete it, I have been  making parts of my painting disappear. 

It is creating negative space in a creative way that I am finding very satisfying.

The anomaly

 

Once in a while a family really does have an ugly duckling.  A child like none of the others.

It may not grow up to be a swan though. It might become a serial killer, or a prodigy, or just an artist of some kind. It may even become an addict if all else fails, soothing itself with drugs or food or hedonistic behavior.

This child will have all the skills of the others, but with a greater intensity. It could also be extremely sensitive to everything from temperature, to foods and textures, even medicines.

It will be a difficult child to raise and the mother may be disappointed that the beautiful perfect angel she gave birth to turned out to be something she could never understand.

No one ever said these children would turn out successful, or otherwise. Nurturing goes a long way in developing a child's character. So does conflict.

But basic personality is strong! They know they are different and they either embrace it or try to hide it.

They are the anomaly.

Grandpop

My Grandpop, not to be confused with my other grandfather who I don't remember, was my Dad's dad and he saw himself as the self made man. The story is that his father took out the trash one day when Grandpop was very young and never returned. Grandpop, his mother and two younger sisters were on their own. He sold pencils in order to get the money to go to first grade and sold peanuts and newspapers after that.

In high school, when he was sixteen, the principal was so aggravating that my Grandpop threw him off the school stage and broke his arm. That ended his high school years and left him working as a grease monkey until Ford saw fit to hire him and bring him up to Detroit.

There he worked on the line until he had enough money to buy half a dealership, but, according to him, he struck gold when he insisted that it include a clause that if either he or Ford came up with a reasonable offer, he could buy the dealership fair and square.

Evidently during the great Depression Ford made him an obscene offer thinking it was a good way to get their dealership back in whole, but my Grandpop was able to come up with the money and they had to sell!

Grandpop was not an easy man. He fought Ford, the unions, and anyone else who got in his way making money. My grandmother often found him unconscious and bleeding on the front porch and it was seldom undeserved. I've heard he crossed picket lines by revving his motor and closing his eyes. I never heard he killed anyone though.

He had a strange sixth sense that seemed to serve him well. One day he took my father with him to Detroit to meet one of the bigwigs from Ford. Along the way he suddenly stopped, turned back and pulled into a gas station. A few minutes later the man he was going to meet pulled in beside him to buy gas! This was way before the days of car phones. 

He had a scholarship fund for worthy students where he paid for a new suit and a year's tuition. My Dad, his son, went to Washington University in St. Louis when he was sixteen as a pre-med major. He joined the navy when he was seventeen and Grandpop figured he was on his own after that. Dad managed to finish his Masters and work towards his doctorate without his father's help.

When I was almost five my Grandpop surprised his wife, my grandmother with a six week European vacation. He did not include their adult daughter living at home with her son, so my grandmother refused to go and he took my dad instead. Dad had a great time. 

Over the years Grandpop had many lucrative businesses and sold many others. He was never reluctant to ask for my father's help and always made sure to pay him if everyone else was paid and there was money left over. My father was a loving son who also worked teaching school, selling cars, and tutoring, so the work for Grandpop was all considered extracurricular even when it meant cutting meat for a restaurant, keeping the books, managing employees or working on taxes.

As he grew older Grandpop got a little more sentimental. He did not help with my senior trip, but he did pay me twenty dollars to answer his phone while he was in Washington D.C. with Dirksen and Goldwater. I did not go on my senior trip to Washington D.C., but Grandpop took my brother with him to run with the pages. Grandpop and I were always on friendly terms. I used him when I needed a place to stay after we moved away and I was dating a boy in Springfield.and he used us in whatever ways he could.

One year he decided he wanted to get in touch with all those people he had given scholarships to, so he asked me to contact them. I did not. He died in 1986 close to my youngest son's seventh birthday and my children met several of our family members at the wake for the first time.

I have always had a problem with funerals and weddings. In my mind they are both places where our family gets together and eats lots of food while reconnecting. Sometimes it is hard to know the difference which I find mildly disturbing.

Yet the experiences are generally both memorable.

Courting disaster

 

I have had two strange experiences lately. Each around 1:30 AM when I am awakened from a deep sleep. The first was the circle of women I saw with toddlers standing out by the lamp in the driveway.

The other was last Friday when I was awakened by flashing lights in the window near my bed. I've seen lights like that before when an ambulance was called, so I got up to look closer.

There was a fire truck backed up to the east side of the front door and five or six firemen in fire hats and coats hustling around. 

I remember I thought it was strange because one fireman was lying on the sidewalk in a fetal position and I wondered if this was some sort of re-enactment like they do at airports practicing for disasters. Another fireman dropped to one knee near this man and pointed out towards the fire truck.

I really needed to go to the bathroom so I left and when I got back they were all gone!

Now there was a huge thunder and lightning storm going on.

I don't remember seeing any ambulance or hearing any sirens and I am truly doubting what was as clear as day to me at the time.

Have I become such a sound sleeper that I can be aware of walking around, but actually dreaming? I really don't understand.

The inheritance

 

My grandmother had a terrible experience with her first husband at an age where she was very vulnerable and also very pliable. She learned early on that men could not be counted on and, in her experience, were unreliable sources of support. She became a very independent woman after that and no one ever breached her boundaries again.

Unfortunately for my mother that meant even her father, my grandmother's second husband, was considered less than by my grandmother. No amount of kindness and no attempts at pleasing her were really considered important. She did not need him beyond a home for her children and some financial support. Her love was fractured and it influenced those generations of women who came after her.

My mother loved my father. Their marriage was an amazing one.Until my father, in an attempt to please her even more decided they could move back to my mother's hometown so she could work in the family business with her mother. That was really the beginning of the end for their marriage as they had always known it.

My mother, who was always well intentioned, but also limited by her intense desire to please her mother, soon became part of the girl's club that found men flawed and simply things to be tolerated. My father continued to bend over backwards to please her, but it was pointless. My grandmother, mother, sister and even my aunt were part of an impenetrable clique that could never be breached. 

Anyone who was not one of them was less than and in the way of women who believe they are protecting themselves and their children, they cleaved to that idea like religious fanatics.

I never realized this for most of my adult life. I had moved away and only saw the slow disintegration of my father and their marriage from a distance. And that distance was filled with my mother's point of view that reinforced what she and my grandmother believed was true.

I am older now and having moved back to the same small town I am once more involved in family dynamics that people who have always lived here accept as gospel. It is only from an outsider's view that I see the damage that was done and that is faithfully carried on by my sister who spent most of her life trying to emulate the gods she believed my grandmother and mother were. Men are to be at the beck and call of the women they love. They are tolerated so there can be children.

It is a prime example of incestuous living that occurs with the best of intentions when children do not leave home and develop their own set of values. 

soul glitter

I've been working on a painting for a while now. 

This seems to be my gold period. Meaning I bought some gold paint and now I have it I want to use it. 

Of course I have over done it and painted over it several times. Who knows if I will even keep this painting when I am finished working on it, but it has given me hours of meditation during the process.

I sit starring at it with the intention of coming up with better ideas and choices, but then my mind wanders off into that great grey mist as it is wont to do.

I envision a soul leaving the body, evaporating into that great mystery I do not understand.

And then I see tiny flakes of that glittering soul gently settle onto and into everything.

And we are reborn, minuscule pieces of soul become part of flowers and trees and carrots and people and every breath taken. It glitters in the wind and sparkles in the snow. It is the twinkle of an eye, and the reflection in ice.

All the mythis are true to some extent. Each one hindered only by the mind of the imaginer.

Meditation on painting

 

I like to paint. I make no claims about my painting except that it gives me satisfaction to feel the paint slide onto my canvas and sometimes to watch it daub on in interesting patterns. I love the colors I use and the way they go together, 

I just like to paint.

I also like to look at other's paintings. I wonder what those people felt as they made them. I think about why they used certain colors and wonder if it gave them pleasure to look at them. 

I do the same things with my own painting, sometimes feeling as if someone else made them. I can't tell you where the actual ideas come from. I know where they start. That is usually a very conscious decision that soon gets lost once I actually begin, but I don't know why I pick the shapes or colors that end up there. That''s one reason it takes me so long to paint a picture. I can only paint until it feels like I am finished for that day. Then I have to wait until I am called to paint more.

I don't always see what the great art critics say is there. I think colors are personal and shapes even more so. What pleases one person bores another, or even offends some. 

It seems to me that good art is art that makes me want to look at it. It calls to some part of me that is so deep I don't even understand it. Like tendrils of fog it escapes my consciousness and wraps around those things it needs from some primal place.

Circle of mothers

 

I live in a building for people over fifty. That is the first thing I need to make clear..

Last night I woke up about 1:30 AM and looked out the window by my bed. I could see people down at the edge of the grass by the light.

They appeared to be women, maybe five or six or them and each one had a small toddler standing in front of them. A child young enough to be holding onto a parent's finger or hands while standing there.

I watched them for a few minutes. I couldn't see details or faces, just silhouettes in the dark, but they appeared animated like they were talking to each other and the children were fidgety.

I couldn't understand why they would be there at this time of night or what they could all be doing with such young children with them. I tried to imagine some kind of meeting just ending, but it made no sense. After a few minutes they began to disperse.

One of the infants picked up his legs and looked like he was making a fuss about going.

I wanted to stay and see what happened next. Did they all get in separate cars? What did they do? But I had to go to the bathroom and I was afraid to wait. When I got back there was no sign of them.

I tried to look at the scene through tree branches and light and see if I could reinvent them, to see if maybe I was imagining all this, but I could not.

The truth

 

Looking back on life I think two of the most important traits people can have is empathy and flexibility.

Empathy because if you don't understand how others feel, you will make lots and lots of mistakes.

Flexibility because life is in a constant state of change and the inability to roll with the punches is a great handicap. 

You can be kind and even gentle, but if you don't really understand the person you are with you are likely to hurt or annoy them more than ever. No one wants to be a stereotype or charity case.

You can be a genius or a fool, but an inability to change to accommodate the facts is lethal.

Truth is often in the eyes of the beholder, but a mind capable of assessing the facts without bias is an art.