Up up and away

Today is my brother's birthday. He passed away a while ago and while I didn't see him as much as I might have, I did see him fairly frequently. We would go off in his blue PT Cruiser and drive along the river roads, taking small ferries and eating lunch at some out of the way place where he could get fish and I could get chicken. He liked to drive the car and I liked to ride, so I bought the gas.

I miss him. Especially this time of the year which was when we were most likely to get together, but I feel his presence whenever I come across bald eagles, his favorite animal, and sometimes when I am out walking in the woods.

So, today I am thinking about him and I posted something on Facebook. I expected people to like it or love it, but not to feel sad. Not that it's wrong to feel sad, but these people really didn't spend time with him when he was alive. It makes me wonder. Are they sad because they didn't? Or are they sad because he's gone and they can't make up for it now? Or are they sad because it curries sympathy and attention?

I hope anyone who might feel sad when I'm gone chooses to spend some quality time with me now. It's not that I won't appreciate a big mushy send off into the great beyond -- but I probably won't. I fervently hope to be flying unencumbered by any emotions at all as whole as it is possible to be by then.

If it turns out I am aware? Wow that's a whole different game! Maybe I'll have fun haunting the people who seem to put the most sad faces on any Facebook posts that are about me. That's a warning. (Hee hee,) I want you to be glad I am free from all these worldly problems. Just enjoy any memories of me you have that are good and get on making your own.

Eat, sleep, play

I am a reader, a writer, a former teacher, mother, wife, volunteer and often find myself asking why am I here? It is not that I am suffering from any great identity crisis. It is simply that sometimes I wonder if there might be a bigger picture that I am missing out on where I might be more useful.

Sometimes I envy those peasants whose hovels surrounded the castle. Their purpose in life was to survive! They knew why they did what they did. Of course I don't really envy any of that. Their lives were horrible, sad, painful, etc.

Then there are the people in the castle, the upper crust, whose job appears to be looking good, looking happy, displaying their accomplishments in decorative endeavors. They have more time to indulge in extra curricular activities and that seems to be the point of their existence.

And in between the suffering and showing off are the people who make a difference. At it's highest form the noblesse oblige, martyrs, saints, and social reformers, but also those people who make small personal contributions during their every day lives.

I don't have the energy, or perhaps even the desire, to be a great reformer or saint. I don't have the courage to be a martyr. I don't have the money to be like Carnegie or Gates. But I think I do have some of what it takes to make the world slightly better in small ways.

And that is when I find myself wondering, why am I here? Is there a point where I will have fulfilled my quota of usefulness? What happens then? Or, is there a guilt trip waiting down the road where I find the great aha and realize I should have done this or that?

Or maybe it is all gratuitous.  I should just eat, sleep, play.

Sixteen

He entered a contest for war bond stamps and didn't win. "Jesus saves why don't you." was not a popular poster at his school. But his mother thought it was clever. Embarrassing, but clever.

That was last year.

Now he is far from home. There is a war going on, but he isn't fighting. He is barely sixteen.

The brightest boy in his school last year, he knows no one here at college. The girls are all two or three years older. They seem so sophisticated and the boys do too.

It is a gray night in October 1942 and he looks out the window of his second floor walk up. The butcher across the street has closed up shop, but he can see in through the window. He grinds up meat scraps into a big bowl, then he adds egg shells and leftover vegetable parts and some other old meat scraps too.

When he stops grinding it up, he mixes it with his big beefy hands and the gray mixture looks like brains, or entrails, or some other disgusting stuff.

Until the man adds potassium and suddenly the boy realizes this is tomorrow's hamburger.

He gags.

Girlish memories

It is a dark rainy afternoon in 1960. The wind is blowing the rain into the big eyed faces peering out from hooded raincoats as children go back to school after lunch.

Back then most children went home at lunch time and on rainy days they were like little ducks splashing in the puddles, running, laughing, playing all the way back to school.

One little girl, wearing a speckled rain coat with orange, yellow and red splotches all over it is carrying a wicker basket. She is walking a little more carefully than all the rest because she doesn't want to drop her basket.  It has a domed top that opens in the middle and is held closed by a long stick running through two wicker loops.

Today is show and tell and she is bringing one of her favorite show and tells ever. It belongs to her Daddy who keeps it high on one of his bookshelves beside the skulls of a porpoise, an alligator, a monkey and something else she can't remember.

It is one of two, but this one is the best because it has a jaw that hinges down underneath. Not attached of course, that would require tendons and muscles, but there is a jaw and teeth and you can hold it to show how it would work.

And, best of all, in her opinion, this one is a ten year old boy's skull and she is ten years old too!

Triggers

I am happily divorced and have been for over twenty years, but last night's dinner party triggered all sorts of things.

First of all it was my daughter's housewarming dinner where both sides of the family came to meet and be together. My ex-husband was not there because he lives in a distant state. It should have been a simply wonderful night and it was for the most part.

There were the typical personal quirks that we've all learned to deal with - with a sense of humor if nothing else. Like my daughter's absolute complete and total adoration of one of her daughters who made it home from college. Instead of making room for her at the table when she arrived, my daughter leaped up and gave her her seat. Everyone offered to scoot over, or move or do something until I finally said, "That's okay, Becky will just stand by Brooke." Everyone laughed.

But it was true. That is exactly what she did!

The hard part for me was that I was seated by a couple from my past. I used to play pool on the team he and my husband played on for years. I was the handicap! It brought back a lot of memories of those times. The pool playing was fun. Many other things were not.

Then on top of that, both the man and his wife grew up in the same town I did. They went to one of the junior highs that I attended and both of them graduated from the high school I would have graduated from if my parents had not moved to a small town just before my senior year.

Up front they appeared to be everything I thought I wanted both back then and now. Although I am actually quite happy the way I am, last night I had nightmares all night long. Old nightmares about old problems that no longer exist, but they felt real in the way of nightmares.

Stories to tell

Everyone has a story to tell.

Some people have lots of them and some of those are extraordinary.

But most of our stories are more important for us to tell than they are for others to hear, so we listen and listen and listen to the same stories over and over again.

Not because they are good, but because they need to be told until all the power and garbage and echoes in them fade away.

That's called being a good friend.

And listener.

What about the flamingos

I love our local zoo. It is small, but it has grown over the years and it is as humane as any zoo could ever be. They do some breeding, some rescuing, and some borrowing from other zoos, but the people here care about the animals.

One of my favorites is the white alligator. I wasn't excited when he first arrived because it meant losing the seals we've had for over forty years. I don't know much about him except that he is a male and that he will continue to grow until he is too large to winter in our zoo, so he won't be here forever, but right now I really look forward to seeing him.

October blew into central Illinois and he was gone! Into an indoor pool where I can't see him, but he is more comfortable.

I understand that, but I miss him. I told friends about it and several asked, "Well, what about the flamingos? Are they still there?" They were.

I kept going to the zoo and pretty soon the porcupine was gone, and then the turtles, and tortoises,  and some of the outdoor monkeys. Always someone asked, "What about the flamingos?" They were still there.

Yesterday the flamingos were gone! I guess it is finally too cold for them to be outside and our zoo doesn't have many indoor viewing places except for reptiles and big cats.

I just hope wherever they are stored for the winter they have light and room and feel cozy instead of trapped.

Thinking

I am beginning to think that what I think is more important than what is.

Now in this time and place that is scary because we have a president who evidently feels the same way and that obviously does not work for him, or us.

But for me and most of the people I run into I think it might. Not on everything of course, but on our perspective of our little slice of the world.

I know people who always feel cold, or hot, but lately I've seen them both all bundled up when they are outside. That might make sense if this were a normal October when the weather trips in around 38 degrees, but we've had days where short sleeves are just fine and people are still in jackets zipped up to their chins. It's Fall. They expect to be cold.

The same is true for other feelings. People who once worked two or three jobs while raising children were always tired. Now the children are grown, they work four days a week and they are still always exhausted. Not exhausted enough to retire, but exhausted enough to continue not doing all the things they never did anyway.

Growing up there were foods I abhorred, or thought I did. Now I love most of them, but if I am eating salad and I think about some Facebook blurb that said they found worms in food, I will gag on the shredded cheese.

Anyway, if thinking it makes it so . . . today I choose to be happy.

Raggedy Ann

I am going to a baby shower today and I have been very excited about it for a long time. The mother is my sister's granddaughter who is naming her baby Percy after Percy Jackson of literary fame.

We are supposed to dress in costumes because it is a Halloween themed party and I have a fantastic Raggedy Ann costume I haven't worn in over twenty some years that I made for preschool.

Now I am suddenly not so excited.

Everyone, I mean everyone, has told me to take my costume, not wear it, because: It is a long drive and I might have to stop and other people may decide not to wear costumes.

I honestly do not understand what would be so wrong if people saw me pumping gas, or buying a snack in a Raggedy Ann costume. And if other people decide not to wear costumes, why would I also choose to ruin the mother's excitement?

But I am copping out and taking it. I am not wearing it. And I am no longer super excited. Now I am feeling like there might be other things I'll do wrong, where before I was just thinking how much fun it would be.

I know some of the other people feel she is odd because of her choices. They have never read the Percy Jackson books. They are traditionalists who want this to be a blue and white thing and they aren't very impressed by the mother's lifestyle choices.

She is young, but unlike her siblings and cousins she has been self sufficient and working for quite some time. She pays her rent, buys her food, is making a home for this baby. She has opinions, seems very bright and I think she will make much of her life. If only her family doesn't get in the way.

So I really hope we all dress up and have a rollicking good time at the most promising baby shower I've been invited to in a long time.

On your terms

To the people who will never read this even though they have it sent to their email and/or have a link on their screen.

Did it ever occur to you that other people have things to say besides you?

If you don't read your email or your text messages and you don't give other people a chance to talk when you telephone them, how are they supposed to communicate with you?

The world is large enough to encompass everyone today. I have friends all over the United States that I keep in fairly close contact with, yet I cannot keep in touch with you and you live much closer.

It is not being true to the old world, or funny, or cute, that you won't take the time to learn a few simple new things: Like checking your phone for text messages, or even phone messages, or your computer for emails.

It is simply being stubborn and feeding into the old stereotype that old people can't learn new things.

You and I both know you can learn anything you want to.

So I'm beginning to assume you just don't want anything to do with me except on your terms.

Noticer

I am a noticer.

I notice things other people don't necessarily find interesting.

Maybe it is because I am curious, or nosy, or just like to poke my nose into places it may not belong!

But, the interesting thing about this is how some people think I am really smart, or clairvoyant, or have some kind of esp.

When I am simply a person who pays attention to what is going on around her.

Puzzled

It might be a sign of age, although I experienced similar feelings as a very young child riding in the car with my family at night, but I feel more settled when everyone is in their right place, with the people who love them.

Bestest called me nearly every day he was in Italy. In fact he called me twice a day while I was babysitting Maddie. I counted up 61 phone calls in five weeks! That's a lot of love and caring flying back and forth across the world, but I've slept better and felt better since he got home.

Even though his home is far away from here I know he is where he sleeps best, where he has both people and pets who love him close by, where the food is good and the routines are better.

My world is like a giant puzzle and I like all the pieces locked into their proper places. Otherwise it feels unbalanced.

One good thing

I cannot remember a time after I was in third grade that my body did not betray me in some way.

I lived using a vast array of supports my mother seemed to have on hand in our dining room buffet drawer. There were leather wrist supports that strapped around my wrist and gave it the strength to do whatever needed to be done. There were pigskin arm supports that must have been the forerunner of tennis elbow braces. There were ankle supports, arch supports, knee supports, even things for my neck which would sometimes not be able to turn without pain.

I would reach, or over reach for things and pop my shoulder sockets out, wake up unable to step on my feet or knees or lift things with my forearm.

I assumed all people lived this way and while I have found it painful and inconvenient I think it may have prepared me for old age better than people who were born being able to run, jump, and stand for hours at a time without a thought.

I cannot get out of bed, or stand up without putting my tennis shoes (with orthotics) on. If I do I know I risk being incapacitated for days, maybe weeks. And when I walk there is always pain. It just depends on how much on any given day.

But all these things have been a part of my life for nearly as long as I can remember. My husband blamed it on me being overweight, but his definition of that was far below what even modern medicine uses. It is just that I have some inherited form of weak joints. Everywhere my bones are separated from other bones is an opportunity for a mishap.

And yet I have played tennis, still walk, and function pretty much the same because it IS the same for me now that I am older, while many of my friends and family members are experiencing it for the first time.

They are having to wear special shoes more, get up more carefully, alter their lifestyles in ways that makes them feel old and depressed.

I am slightly more limited now than I was at thirty, but not much.

And that is one good thing!

Whose fault is it

There are people who appear to have an inordinate share of bad luck, but if you look closely it turns out they make many poor decisions.

Trying to please other people might feel good sometimes, but in the long run it won't make you happy.

For example I know a woman who really wanted her oldest daughter to be around more. The girl was off at an out of state college. She had a boyfriend and a job and no car, but the woman tried to reorganize every event around the dates this child might come home. And when she didn't come home there was a mad scramble to change everything at the last minute.

This same woman really enjoyed having her boy friend's teenage son around and also changed her plans to try and include him in everything even when he showed little interest in it.

She had a mother and another daughter who tried to plan things for her and with her, but were constantly relegated to the sidelines.  If it was possible the older daughter, or the boy would be there, these two would be quickly pushed aside.

The woman also idolized her boy friend's mother. She tried to include her in her life too, but the mother was already busy and didn't really have much interest in doing anything more. She was kind, brought the woman small gifts when she traveled and included her in their family outings. She did not really want to participate in anything else, but like the teenage boy and older daughter, the woman kept trying to force the issue and include her.

In the end the woman found herself eating at bad restaurants at odd hours with two people (her own mother and younger daughter) she didn't particularly care about, but who were willing to go wherever she decided to go,  paid for her meals and brought her presents. Her holidays were depressing and she felt it was her mother and daughter's fault, never realizing she was always the one in control and making all the choices.

Drama

Drama seems to go hand in hand with certain people.

People manufacture it to add importance to lives that feel humdrum, or unexciting.

People mistake it for the real experience of adventure.

People use it to manipulate others when they lack the imagination to use something else.

I am starting to tire of drama.

Unless it is on a stage or television I don't really want it anymore.

Those little stories about family members or coworkers that never seem to end get old, like soap operas after a while.

In one morning I went from riding with people to a fun event to driving myself because they "might" not have enough seatbelts, to maybe going later because somebody fell and might need help, to who knows what will be next.

I know I am only being included because I am bringing presents and paying and that is depressing.

The Nightmare in Utopia

In the beginning all animals devoured each other without guilt, but then we discovered agriculture and the future looked brighter.

No longer confined to eating one beast at a time, we could plan a bit for the future.

Thinking that some day there could be enough food to feed everyone and cures for whatever ailed us must have seemed like a utopian dream.

The dream is coming true, but it has turned into a nightmare. The predators are ahead a thousand to one and their god walks among us, a shapeshifter made of gold with deep pockets and short arms.

No food for the poor. No medical treatments for the poor. No safety nets for the poor. No decent housing for the poor. No living wages -- to keep them poor.

But wait!

If we get rid of the poor who will clean our bathrooms and pluck the fruit from our trees?  Who will take care of our children and prepare our meals?

Maybe that is why abortions and birth control are being banned. We need enough poor to make them disposable.

Serving up people without guilt.

Feeding my soul

Live this day as if it were your last. I like the idea of that, but what does it really mean?

As a young woman I thought it meant go out and do something hedonistically wild. Something I would never normally do. Conquer my fears. Sing on street corners. Go on vacation. Act out in crazy or wild ways.

I think many people think that, but would I really?

To be something I am not seems like a waste of my last hours on earth.

In truth, what I would really love to do is cuddle with those people I love the most and talk about our favorite thoughts, hopes, books, and wishes.

Pas à pas

I pretty much only do what I want to anymore. If something is not fun, or doesn't make me feel like it was worth the effort, I avoid it.

That being said, I still manage to injure myself.

My feet and ankles have truly been my Achilles heel all my life. There are all kinds of speculations about why, starting with the fact that my mother, with the best of intentions, had me in high top leather shoes until I went to kindergarten. She had weak ankles and thought she was protecting mine.

Whatever the reason, I am flat footed, wear orthotics,  and still often go to bed feeling fine only to wake up unable to put pressure on my feet or ankles because they are inflamed. It is as if I run marathons in my sleep!

I helped my daughter move a while ago and even though I avoided the stairs, I made many trips carrying heavy boxes. My left foot has still not recovered. The bone on the outside of my instep is very sensitive. It has prevented me from going on the Cemetery Walk with my friends and put a crimp in most of my other activities.

Pas à pas. Step by step.

Be mindful of this moment.

It is as if everything in my world conspires to remind me of this.

Seasons

There is so much talk about seasons, seasoning, seasoned. Whether it is people, or food, or weather, my favorite is always Fall, Autumn, bright, colorful, fresh and crisp.

I am in the Autumn of my life now and trying desperately to find those things in me.

I see the dewy newness of Spring in my sister's great grandchildren and even my friends under thirty. In Springtime things are soft and pliable, filled with hope, open to almost everything.

I see the mature sturdiness of my children in the summer of their lives as they build families and homes, preparing for their or their children's futures. Summer is the time for growth, for fertilizing and nurturing. A time for strength and perseverance.

I am in the Autumn of my life and it is the time to savor the fruits of the last two seasons. Savor the contrasts between passion and stony cold, store up a reserve for the winter to come, but do it knowing this is the last big hurrah, the last season when nearly everything is still possible.

Winter is coming and I want it to be the serenity of white hair and volumes of memories, all filed neatly in easily accessible places. Winter is the time to gently fade into the atmosphere, become one with the world as it really is and eventually disappear into that reality so that I will be a whisper in the wind, a drop of warmth in the light, the soft touch of raindrops falling on the faces of those I love.

Genius in the room?

I don't suppose we can ever really know whether someone else is the genius they appear to be, or think they are.

We can test them, but not everyone tests well and besides there are things you just can't genuinely test for.

But I can tell you this.

There are people who think they are geniuses and spend a lot of time trying to force that idea down other people's throats and then there are people who just go about living their life and let people think what they will.

I have always suspected the latter are the true geniuses in this world. They have nothing to prove to either themselves or anyone else. That is probably the least important thing in their life. They are too busy doing to try to be impressing.

If you  know what you want out of life and you can do that in a kind and productive way, what else matters?

Litter

Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.

Play nice.

Two basic rules we all hear while we are still very young.

Then the fun starts. It seems human beings like to make rules, need to make rules, are driven to try and control every tiny thought and fill the world with enough litter to drive any rat in a maze nuts.

Who we love, how we experience religion, the way we treat our bodies, things that should really not be anyone else's business unless we choose to share them become part of the rules defining right and wrong.

The problem is that many people feel they need to make rules for other people, so they will do things their way and the other problem is that people trying to follow all the rules cannot possibly do so. The rules contradict each other and often make no sense at all.

Rules are just things people make up. Sometimes they are good, like look both ways when you cross the street. Sometimes they are just litter scattered by people with their noses in other people's business.

The best reason to have rules beyond those two at the top is so that people can break them. People love to break rules. It excites them, makes them feel brave and daring and special. Without rules to break there are so many things that would cease to be "fun."

Picture after boring picture of people sticking their tongue out on Facebook.

People sneaking around having sex in airplanes and libraries and other places where they might "get caught." People having secret affairs.  If we just said, "Go to it." The novelty might wear off. Maybe it would even go the opposite direction and people would secretly be faithful to the one they love.

Everyone knows that many people at the top of any chain ignore the rules they don't like, so that means rules are for other people. Right?

Without all the rules what would social media be horrified about?

Maybe just the things that actually hurt people?

And we are right back to those two basic rules. The one we start children out on, play nice. And the one we hope people grow into, do unto others as you would have them do unto you. If you can't abide by those, all the rest are just litter in the cage.