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.

Shopping

 

I did something yesterday that I have not done in a very long time.

I went to the grocery store.

Now that may seem like a normal thing to most of you, but for me it has been an unattainable feat for over two years.

Both Kroger and Walmart are set up to make you walk blocks and blocks just to buy groceries, but both also have a pick up policy so that if you spend over a certain amount you can simply pick up your groceries in the car.

This requires a lot of planning in order to get the products I need. I have to make sure I have enough to reach the amount necessary and I have to wait until I do and go without until then.

Lately I have lost some more weight and have been able to cut my diabetes medicine down to a quarter of what it was. I have been forcing myself to walk, really amble, for fifteen minutes after every meal. And I have received a handicap card for my car. All these things made my short fifteen minute trip yesterday possible.

I only bought an onion and some celery and I checked out at the first register, because these things were close to the door, but it was a big step. I almost didn't get the onion because four employees working in produce were all very slowly stocking things and visiting with each other. Oblivious to me and another woman who were blocked from the yellow onions. But just before we gave up, they finally dispersed.

Then an elderly woman in an electric cart was ahead of me at checkout and the whole process took forever, but I made it! On my way out an employee made a special request that I put that basket right back where I got it, which I intended to do anyway.

 Part of me wanted to complain about inconsiderate employees, but another part of me thought how bleak their lives must be if all they do all day is corral carts, or sort vegetables for what is probably minimum wage. Instead I simply celebrated my first freedom to shop in a long time.

Kumbaya

 

I have been taught to always put my best foot forward. 

As a first child my only examples were the grown-ups around me and of course everything they did was much better than I could ever hope to do or be at that early age. I don't remember any explicit directions to do better, but I think my inborn intuition was to succeed.I wanted affirmation that I was okay, doing it right, a good person.

As an adult I often find myself doing something and then stepping back to see if it is done "right." Is there a wrinkle or line out of place? What if I have company and they see this. Will they think I am doing it right? Is it perfect?

Then I have to ask myself if I am doing it for me or them. Why do I make the bed? Why does it have to be perfect? Am I really teaching those I love to do the right things or am I teaching them to be neurotic and obsessive?

As a preschool teacher I sometimes made a "mistake" just to let a student know that was okay. That the world didn't end if I did. 

Having the perfect house, dust free, wrinkle free, in a well designed space should not be the goal unless I am in a contest for house beautiful in some magazine. I need to cut myself some slack and allow the people I love the freedom to be at ease. Let them know that if they are not here I don't necessarily keep every spot of water off the faucet, or speck of dust off the glass.

My daughter-in-law once said, after the birth of their first child, "He thought when you came everything would be kumbaya, perfect." 

That has stuck with me, but it is still a challenge for me not to try to be perfect. Knowing there is a fine line between wanting that and obsession.

Someone

 

My sister did not want to continue living retired in my building. She felt that it made her no one and she wanted to go back to being what she considered someone.

Now she is back working part time and living in a house with a yard, she feels as if she is someone again.

I feel she was someone from the day she was born, but that she just didn't understand it. I suppose it depends on how you define someone and how you evaluated who they are.

For me it is important that I am as self sufficient as possible and to that end I have eliminated, or modified, most of  the things that require me to ask for help. I feel that being empathetic enough to realize other people are already very busy and do not need to be at my beck and call is a kindness I can offer. I enjoy their company, but they don't have to be doing something for me to see them. I want them to come because we have things to talk about, dreams to share, ideas to create -- not furniture to put together, or things to repair.

It is nice to be needed and loved, but that shouldn't become an obligation.

Being someone I am proud of is more about ethics and empathy than titles and possessions. 

Happiness

 

It seems every person has that one something that keeps them going. Then they have the thing that makes them feel put upon enough to feel useful.

My sister likes to buy things. Other than that she like to push things, a mower, a vacuum, a rag for getting rid of spots.

My sister-in-law likes to collect things and cook. Her penance is dusting all those things she collects.

My brother likes to garden and ride his stand alone bike.. He does anything else his wife doesn't want to do.

One of my friends likes to travel to meet friends. He walks his dog several times a day.

Another writes homilies that he shares with the world. He cooks because he likes to eat.

I like to paint pictures. I also like to write. I enjoy reading. None of these things are suffering in any way, but the closest I come to a need for suffering is keeping my apartment and clothing moderately clean.

People no longer have to toil from morn til night just to live and yet we still need that carrot that gets us out of our chair and doing something. Our puritan heritage in this country tells us we must also suffer some if we want to be considered good people.

We are moving closer and closer to a sane world where suffering is not our reason for being. It doesn't make us lazy. It makes us happier and there is nothing wrong with that.

Here, there, and gone!

 

It is given so many names.

Some people call it an attachment disorder.

Others call it being footloose.

I've heard it described as the wanderlust.

And sometimes it is just seen as restless, but whatever it is, it is me.

I'm not quite sure why, but I suspect I was raised to be it, by whatever name you give it.

As children we only know what we live and I lived with my mother, father and siblings. We had extended family of course, but the core was simple and solid.

My first friends outside this unit appeared when I was almost five years old. Julie and Paul, I still remember their names. They lived across the street and sometimes we were allowed to cross that street and play together. They were called friends and I took them for granted like I did my family.

Then we moved and I never saw them again. I didn't make new friends until after we moved again to Springfield and I started kindergarten. Billy Pearson and Shawn Patrick were near me alphabetically and they became my new friends. Strangely enough one or the other appeared, or reappeared for the next twenty years, including first dates and coming out parties. I even ran into Bill on Facebook and discovered he told his children about me when they went home to Springfield, which was many many years behind us.

In the middle of sixth grade we moved again. Just across town, but I lost contact with all my elementary school friends, including Kathy Thomas my best friend. We didn't have a way to travel back and forth across town back then, but I made a new friend. Sandy Kirkpatrick a red headed girl who liked to roller skate and was a patrol girl like me. One day in seventh grade the bus was too full to let me on and Sandy's dad drove me all the way out to my junior high. Sandy and I usually walked home together in the afternoon.

Of course right after seventh grade we moved again. This time to a small town called Chatham where my dad taught school. I went to eight grade at a school out in the middle of the country and made one friend there. I can't remember her name now, but she was a new girl like me, We ate lunch together and played on the old playground equipment after lunch.

Halfway through that school year we moved back to our old house in Springfield where I went to six years of elementary school. I just assumed I would pick up with my old friends, but it didn't really happen. Life is awkward when you are 13. By then I had long stopped missing old friends when we moved. I just knew they were out of my life and accepted it. I did reconnect with Kathy and we remained friends through our junior year in high school when I moved again.

This time to a town where my mother was born and raised. To her it was going home and I had aunts, uncles, great aunts and a grandma there. I had cousins too. They were almost like my siblings. We were close, but I didn't really make any super close girl friends here. I did date some boys who were in band with me and I went to Homecoming and Prom, but it was a strange experience. I felt like I was going through the motions and doing what I was supposed to be doing in a book or something. I didn't really feel like I was a part of it in any deep emotional way.

I had a very difficult time when my mother died, but other than that I just sort of know I will have to let go of anyone and everyone I like or love. 

I am divorced and my children are scattered all over the country in Washington, Arizona, and North Carolina. I expected that. They were brought up in a town where most children went somewhere else after they were out of school. I am very close to all of them.

Most of the other people in my life are like faces in a long parade that just keeps getting farther and farther away. I remember them fondly, but feel no real emotional attachment to most of them. I knew from the start that our relationship was what it was and that one day it would change and we would drift apart. Unlike my siblings who live here I don't really have any local friends. I do have lots of acquaintances and people I can talk to when we run into each other. 

It's not exactly out of sight out of mind, but it is very similar. I am unlikely to move from this apartment because it is so nice and so affordable, but I haven't met anyone yet that I want a deeper relationship with. It seems my life revolves around whoever is here and now and a few people who are so close they are really my family of the heart and as close or closer than my siblings.

Curiosity

 

I walked into my second story living room this morning and there, right in the middle of my screen was a huge locust.

It was just sitting there. Not moving. Not even one leg flittering around and it carried me away.

Whatever could have brought it to such a place and caused it to stay so long without moving?

It's a great veiw, but that creature's eyes were not seeing what I see with my two eyes. First of all it has five eyes and none of them are quite like mine.

Then I began to wonder other more interesting things. Like why my window and not the others on the front of our building. Then, maybe God is not the all omnipotent father figure the men who wrote the Bible believed. Perhaps God is a variant on a three year old loose in the universe!

This morning it was playing with bugs and decided to put one on my window to see what both it and I would do.

It blew gently to see if it moved. It focused the sun on it to warm it up and then, swoosh, it flew away.

Distracted, it moved on to play with the other stuff in the sandbox, using its creativity to sort the molecules into multi-verses. 

A cosmic child unfettered by the restraints of mortal children.

Walk!

 

It seems as if I have spent my entire adult life worrying about eating too much.

Back in my twenties Twiggy was the one we all wanted to emulate and I managed it between 102 and 115 pounds for years. That's not a lot since I am nearly five foot seven.

Later after my pregnancy I hit 140 and thought I was immensely obese, which my husband concurred with.

And after years of crazy yo yo dieting, often losing as much as 90 pounds and gaining it all back I found myself as a type two diabetic with stage four kidney disease.

A1C is the blood sugar standard I use to see how I'm doing and at first I thought 150 was obscenely high, but then last year I started hitting 189, which is truly high

Recovering from my stint going back to work and catching COVID then moving down here left me chair bound for over a year. I am just starting to recover.

One of the most amazing things I am discovering is that walking for fifteen minutes after every meal drastically reduces my blood sugar! Now this sounds simple, but doing that is incredibly difficult for me. My feet, my hips, my breath and sometimes even my heart hurt even though I am barely ambling a long.

But the results are so amazing I keep on struggling to do it. Last night I gorged on an entire pizza. Yes, I am still an out of control eater, but my blood sugar this morning was 120 and I am keeping the weight below two hundred. Not amazing, but in the right direction.

Take two

 

I was at a potluck a few days ago and the main course was fried chicken.

I wondered how that worked out for a large group. Think about forty people.

I personally prefer the breast. I like white meat with a minimum of fiddling with bones.

I couldn't hear if there were any specific instructions for how much chicken each person could choose. There may not have been any, but everyone in front of me seemed to be taking two pieces. 

I took one chicken breast, pleased that I got my favorite piece and a little surprised.

Then I looked up and saw the woman who took the largest breast she could find and dug through the rest of the chicken before taking another huge breast. She was not a large woman, nor was she someone who looked malnourished.

I thought maybe she was short on money for the rest of the month and needed to save this for another meal. Or perhaps she was very hungry and would actually eat all that chicken in one sitting, but neither of these felt right.

She looked like the kind of woman who lacked either a conscience, or social grace. She was lean and muscular with a short gray haircut and no nonsense clothing. Not tailored, or sophisticated, simply down to business, a woman who was used to getting her way.

She was a woman I would not want to cross and I wondered what made me have all these thoughts of her. It had to say something about me.

Did I secretly want to take an extra portion of the best chicken? Was I envious of her almost arrogant strength? Did I somehow feel so threatened by her I needed to denigrate her actions?

I honestly don't think so. 

I think she was just a greedy, thoughtless person, possibly a narcissist, who took advantage of anything put in front of her.

Now that's a lot of thoughts about a woman I barely know.

Being noticed

 

Being noticed has both good and bad connotations.

It raises a million questions about why.

Am I unique, a puzzle, an anomaly?

What drew me to their attention?

What is it about me that is worthy, or cringe worthy, of being noticed?

And why did they look away the moment I noticed!

What's the point

 

Everyone has their own idea of what life should be. It's that infamous word, should.

People write volumes about what things should be. Usually to validate their own lives. To an athlete it is winning. To a minister it is saving souls. To a doctor saving lives. To many people it is making money.

I suppose we think we are unique among the creations on this earth. Most things in nature live to grow, reproduce and die. They come. They are. They transition back into the earth. Humans seem to feel we must be more and better than.

Better than what and how is the question. Other manifestations in nature help each other or facilitate other things, but they generally don't go overboard doing it. It seems to be a natural give and take.

Many people seem to need to over do things that have no real point in making their quality of life better. If they simply enjoy it then that is the point. But I see them doing it to impress each other and that is pretty fruitless in the long scheme of things. Impressing others lasts relatively short times. In the long run most people will not even recall it down the road.

I see people who go back to working their old jobs in their seventies because they want to buy things. Buying seems to become their main joy and focus. Most of these things are to impress those around them with their taste, or affluence, or whatever, but it doesn't seem to make them content. It simply drives them to overdo in other areas of their lives. If one flower is pretty, wouldn't a hundred be prettier? If one can of bug spray works, wouldn't two be better? 

It's the old give a mouse a cookie thing. If you give a senior a house, she's going to want flowers for the yard and the flowers will need a hose to water them and then the grass will grow and she will need a lawn mower to cut the grass and that lawn mower will need batteries to run and that means she will have less time to do other things, so the hose never makes it out of the car, so she needs buckets of water for the flowers and that means she needs to buy a bucket. (true story.)

Maybe we should focus more on what makes us content and stop looking for more extravagant reasons to be.

Bad news

 

Bad news swoops in like bats over a full moon.

It might not mean anything, but the implication is there.

Darkness blotting out the light.

I struggle to live in this moment, a moment when all is well.

The theory is good. I can't be anywhere else.

And yet a part of me wants to dwell in those dark spots up ahead.

What ifs that may amount to nothing,

But could be the pivotal point of everything.

At least everything I know now.

Lifestyles of the old and diabetic

 

I don't know how I would be able to do what I am doing if I worked. It takes almost all of my time and energy to stay healthy.

I have to count carbs carefully which means eating certain foods at a certain time of the day. For me that is around 12 to 1 and 5 to 6 and after each meal I have to walk 15 minutes. Not fast. I can't do that, but stay on my feet and keep moving. Afterwards I am usually exhausted.

I meditate 30 minutes after walking at noon.

And around all this I do my laundry, vacuuming, cleaning and shopping online.

I can do it all comfortably, but I don't have tons of energy left over.

I go to bed around midnight and fall right to sleep.

I wake up between 8 and 9.

For fun I play word games on my phone with different friends early in the day and read for an hour before bed. I also love to watch shows about decorating and re-imagining houses. And when the spirit moves me I paint or plan paintings, or do a bit of writing.

I am fortunate to keep in touch with some of my children and grandchildren on a daily basis too, by phone or text. Throw in the occasional family get together, or dinner and my life is full. 

I really can't imagine my life being any different at this stage.

Luxury

 

I don't think I knew the real meaning of luxury until this year.

I've had nice homes, even ones with huge swimming pools. I've had two cars in the family and sometimes three. Once that felt like a luxury. I even have very expensive high quality sheets for my bed, but it doesn't compare to what I have now.

A year ago my feet were in such bad shape I could barely make it from my bed to my chair, or even to the bathroom. Taking a shower was an agony even with a shower chair because I had to step in and out of the tub. I couldn't take my trash down the hall to the chute even using a walker, and doing my laundry was almost impossible.

Last night I walked into my bedroom and the curtain had blown up out of place. I was able to walk over and fix that without a second thought. That is a luxury!

Being able to navigate around my home, to be able to go to an event without being in pain, to walk down and get in my car. All of these things are luxuries. 

Real luxuries.

Health is priceless.

Success

 

How I define success creates a road map to my life.

If it is a collection of status symbols I become a slave to my desires.

If it requires measuring up to the expectations of other people or the world, it is the road to dissatisfaction.

Madly running around, or looking busy creates chaos.

Striving to be something I am not is pointless in the end.

Success is personal.

Taking my cues from nature might help. Mountains stand for eons. Mount Aetna is not Mount Fugi. Plants grow from their own seeds and bulbs. Daffodils are daffodils. Water flows. The Mississippi flows into the Gulf which flows into the ocean. Animals live and die never owning anything.

This doesn't mean I need to copy any of these things, but they demonstrate that in the grand scheme of things life was never meant to be something it isn't. I am given a certain amount of time to live and how I choose to do it makes all the difference -- to me.

Every moment is a blip of my eternity.

If I can look around me and say, "The air is sweet. This moment is peaceful. I am content." I am light years ahead of the person scrabbling to out do nature.

The Domino Effect

All of life is connected. 

Everything is important in its own way. Of course we have priorities, but it can be surprising how one little thing affects everything else.

For example: Mad Millie wants the old falling down decrepit shed next to the alley and promises to take it away before the end of the week.

The end of the week comes and the shed is still there. You talk to the guys putting in the fence and they agree to cart off all the shed pieces and burn them for you when they put up the fence.

Mad Millie really wants the shed and promises she will take care of it so you can put up your fence, build a new outbuilding and add an awning for your car.

The fence goes up. The new outbuilding arrives in big boxes that you stack in the living room. The shed is still there. You have lost your chance to have the fence men haul it away for you.

You begin doing things inside, but the boxes for the outbuilding remain in the living room. You finally decide Mad Millie is not going to take the shed. Your son has to tear it down and now he also has to figure out a way to dispose of all the boards and lumber and dig out the base before he can build the outbuilding.

The nails are a hazard in the boards for people moving them. The shed remains, making putting in anything new impossible. You want to finish moving in and set up your living room, but thanks to Mad Millie not doing what she promised you cannot, because the boxes for the new outbuilding are still in there.

Of course Mad Millie visits when the spirit moves her and makes token acts of helping, but four, maybe five people are caught up in the chaos she created.

Your son, who has a home, a wife, a full time job, and an ailing father to care for spends his free time working on your house so you and Mad Millie can be friends.

This scenario is not limited to the shed situation. There is always one person who pays the price for anything and everything you cannot do. Someone who buys your television for you, sets it up, tries to teach you to use a remote, puts together furniture that comes un-assembled, mounts doors and closet rods you want or feel you need. Taking care of you becomes a full time job just so you can be friends with Mad Millie.

You make token attempts to help. A few swipes with a lawn mower before someone has to find new batteries for you. Taking out a few nails in the pile of boards from the shed, because it is easier than unpacking all the stuff you could not get rid of and now have no room for. You get a part time job and count on your son to pull your life together. Over and over and over. And you are angry with your sister because she promised to help you arrange the tiny living room with the over-sized furniture you and Mad Millie chose for it and she won't do it until you remove the boxes for the outbuilding.

You have now impacted at least three maybe four separate families.

The domino effect.

Aging

 

Aging is one of the consequences of living. Good, bad, or indifferent it happens to each one of us.

In the beginning we applaud every little change. That first smile, first tooth, first step.

But we seldom view the last step or last tooth, or last smile with the same vigor.

And that is how it should be, I suppose. We are creatures born to live.

Dying is a fearful thing for many people. Going into the unknown is frightening.

And yet, it is unavoidable.

All things cease to be in their current form, but if we look at nature it becomes obvious that things don't disappear completely. They transition into something else and whatever that is usually is an integral part of what we call life around it.

Consciousness is another story. Who knows where consciousness goes to. Or where it comes from, really. It is possible that all things have some form of consciousness that we are simply unaware of. 

There is certainly energy, or power, all around us from the sunlight, the moon, the wind, or even things like gravity. This whole universe is a powerhouse of wonder.

Perhaps the secret to not fearing death comes from understanding that it is as natural to our being as birth and the mysteries of what it is may be ineffably wonderful too.

Freedom

 

Freedom is another one of those words like love. It means entirely different things in different contexts. 

Beyond the freedom to live in a place where you are respected and allowed to have a voice is the freedom of your personal life.

For some people that seems to be the freedom to make yourself the center of attention, or monetarily rich, or house proud, or a million other things that require someone or something else to conform to some expectation.

For others it is a personal thing. I am one of those.

My sense of freedom comes from having a space where I can be absolutely me. Naked and unafraid of any kind of criticism or judgement or even company if I choose. That does not mean I run around without clothes on or hide away from people at all. 

I love company. Invited company.

It means that I have a space where I feel safe from unexpected interruptions of any sort for as much time as I can manage. 

Imagine a three year old rambling around the house. Reading, writing, painting, re-arranging the furniture, napping, cleaning when the spirit moves me, or as it becomes necessary, wearing only those clothes that feel soft and comfortable. Happy. Creative. Free!

Now I suppose you can have that with people running freely throughout your house, but I have yet to find a grown-up who can resist having an opinion about me and I just don't want to even think about that in my own space if I can avoid it.

Some people may call me a loner, but I love company. Good interesting company. A person, occasionally two maybe, who want to get into deep lovely conversations over a cup of coffee or tea. But it is the space between us that allows us to have these conversations.

That is freedom to me.

Love

 

Love.

Touted as the be all and end all of everything, love is so over used it is an almost meaningless word.

According to many romance novels, television shows and movies, love is all you need to do anything. 

But love really is a simple thing.

You don't have to be president of the United States to be loved. You don't have to be beautiful to be loved. You don't have to clean your house, wash your windows, paint your friend's house, or do anything else to be loved.

You are lovable. 

Someone, somewhere loves you for exactly who you are with all your failures, all your shortcomings, all your problems, because that is what real love is. Nothing can change that.

Being loved will not make you anything you aren't already. It will not guarantee you will live happily ever after.

It can give you that warm fuzzy feeling that makes you feel happy, but remember happiness is an extreme, not a constant, and it can give your self confidence a boost, but you have to realize two things first.

1. You have to love yourself for who you are.

2. You have to recognize that you are loved and worthy.

So, I guess the secret to love is just to live honestly and fully. Drop the pretense. Lose the need to impress. Don't try to be what you are not, but be the best that you are.

A beautiful life

I think I can. I think I can. I think I can.

Words from one of my favorite stories as a child about a little engine who thought he could and so he did!

There are other cute stories with the same premise. All good things to hear and learn.

So why do so many adults do just the opposite?

They come up with a million excuses and reasons not to do something. It is honestly counterproductive in every way.

In my life I have discovered I can do almost anything if I want to badly enough. I may have to be extra creative. I may have to make careful plans. I may even have to force myself to start, but that is the kicker.

Once you start something it is often not as difficult or awful as you imagined it to be while putting it off.

They old athletic rah rah thing, "Just do it!" is good advice. 

Then? "Just keep going." Make that your mantra.

Make a plan. Have priorities. Get to work.

Don't let anyone, or anything get in between you and good choices and you will be amazed at how much better life can be.

Living in disarray and clutter is hard on the nervous system and if you've never tried to live without clutter and mess you should test this theory for yourself.

Peace reigns. Depression lessens or disappears altogether. Life gets easier without things looming over you. You think you don't notice these things, but your brain registers them. Your eyes see them. Your hands and feet work around them. It's sunshine of the mind in real life.

Second hand Rose

 

Second hand Rose. A song. A movie. All kinds of things come to mind.

But the first thing I think of is a woman who I think of as second hand Rose or the widow maker.

This person has gone through husbands and boyfriends like most people go through paper cups. She doesn't outright kill them, but she would drive me insane and my blood pressure would do the rest.

She collects "stuff." 

From the alley. From the side of the road. From moving sales. From any place where something can be picked up for free. 

She "plans" things. Without much thought. Haphazardly. Cheaply. (Made and done.)

She makes promises that she has no notion of keeping in this lifetime.

She is needy and will say, do, or promise anything to make someone "love" her in the moment.

She is an enabler of lost dreams that never really materialize.

She is not poor financially, but mentally? Something is not right.

We've all probably met someone similar to her, but if she were your best friend you would be in a world of hurt.

Waiting

  

Forty years ago today at this very moment I was sitting in a waiting room at a hospital in St.Louis. My mother had collapsed the day before and been flown in, not in a helicopter, but in a small plane in a sling because there were no helicopters available in Springfield. There were also no available cardiologists because one was in surgery and the others were at a convention. St.Louis was our closest hope.

I sat there all night with my grandmother, father, Aunt, Uncle, brothers and sisters and our spouses, waiting. It gave new meaning to the name, waiting room. We waited in silence mostly. Each of us channeling our best prayers, wishes and hopes, for a good outcome. I nodded off now and then, but almost immediately woke up. Once I thought I heard my aunt say, "Corrine!" That was my mother's name and they were best friends, but it was a dream. My aunt was as silent as the rest of us. We just waited in the waiting room.

In the morning we each got five minutes to see her in pairs and I remember trying to say something hopeful. I said, "It's all downhill from here." I meant the hard part, the worry, the waiting, was over, but when I said it she looked startled and said, "What?" I barely had time to explain before my aunt said to kiss her, our time was up. It was someone else's turn. Little did I know that this was the last time I would kiss my mother or see her alive again.

We all lined the hallway as they took her down to surgery, so the last thing she saw was a sea of loving faces, all wishing her the best.

And then the hard waiting began. We drifted in and out of the waiting room, getting something to eat, or coffee to drink. I had the notion that maybe I should go to the chapel, but when I got there it was under construction and closed. My father had the same idea he told me later.

After hours of waiting a woman took us all into a tiny room to tell us the surgery went well. A whole team of surgeon's had done their best and they just had to take her off the machines.

Not that long afterwards the same woman took us back into the little room to tell us they had not been able to do that. My mother was dead. I will never forget the piercing cry my grandmother made hearing that. She keened, "Nooooooooo. Corrine." They said we could go see her if we wanted to, that they would cover her up so we could look at her face and my grandmother wanted to go, but my aunt talked her out of it.

We left the hospital. Right outside the door my father stopped and hugged me. He said, "Your mother is dead." I will never forget that. He was not a hugger, but he was thinking of me.

What followed is another long story, but today I remember sitting in that waiting room the day my mother died.

Attics or addicts

Don't be an attic junkie, or a basement hoarder, or a closet stuffer. Spread that joy around!

Holding on to things that are stored away is not frugal. A junk room is not cool, it's an addiction to another way of life.

People used to keep everything, old string, old dishes, old clothes, even old cars. But those people used those things. They didn't go out shopping, they went to the attic or chest and remade clothing for themselves and their children, They scavenged parts of whatever they had to fix, or make new appliances for themselves. They gave the mismatched dishes to the newlyweds who didn't have used stuff to scavenge from yet. Buying stuff was not a realistic option.

This is not today's world. Newlyweds want new things. Kids prefer second hand stores to patched old clothes and many of us don't sew. We throw appliances away and buy new ones because most of us don't know how to tinker in any useful way. It is easier to buy another spool of string or thread than to take the time to unravel an old garment. Some people even use paper plates and cups or paper diapers now.

Good or bad, we live in a throw away culture, only some people haven't figured that out. 

Some people continue to save things they no longer want or need. If you don't want it you can give it to a second hand store, or a neighbor, or your kids, but if none of them want it? Throw it away! I suppose you can put it up for sale and if you can sit on it until the right buyer comes along, sell it, but you will probably be shocked at what it is not worth.

Saving things with the idea that some day some one will need or want it is just an excuse. If no one wants it now what makes you think they will want it later? And the same thing is true of collections. All that hype about the future value of most collections is truly only hype. It's only worth something if you can sit on it until it sells. If you truly love it enough that you keep it out and look at it and thank yourself for buying it, maybe it is a good thing, but don't count on other people sharing that love. It will simply be something to dust, clean, and fret over, or God forbid, store!

Storing stuff takes up space. It costs to heat and cool that space which still collects dust and mold and bugs.

If you absolutely love something, buy it, keep it, use it. Chances are the things you truly love will fit into your life for a very long time. People tend to keep many of the same color preferences and ethnic preferences most of their lives. When something you adore no longer fits your lifestyle, it can often be altered to fit in some other way. Paint it, restructure it, reimagine in some other way and if you can't? Do not keep it. Find someone else who will appreciate it, but get it out of your house!

Change

 

"I don't like change." That is a phrase I have heard many times, usually from older people who are being honest.

I, personally, do not like change that makes my life unavoidably more difficult, but otherwise I find change fun, stimulating and good.

I have been thinking about what people really mean when they say they don't like change. Some people prefer to act out of habit, or routine, but I believe that is dangerous because there is always the possibility of something unexpected happening, leaving me vulnerable, if I am not paying attention. Change surrounds me. It is three, maybe four dimensional.

Change requires me to rethink my thoughts and actions. 

It is natural to fear what I do not understand, so instead of dealing with that fear, I can refuse to accept that it exists, or blame it on someone or something that turns fear into anger. Anger becomes the shield that stands between me and fear (a.k.a.change.)

There is the possibility that I simply cannot, or choose not, to think. Reasoning out a solution might be simple if I gave it a chance. Many changes are positive experiences, like learning to look at the weather app on a cell phone before I go outside in order to know how to dress. That requires learning how to use my tools, remembering to use them and then actually doing it before making a decision, a three step process that most of us can adapt to by the time we are three or four years old.

I think conquering a dislike of change has more to do with choosing to take control of my own life. I can confront myself on whether I don't like change, or just refuse to believe it is a reality. 

I don't have to like change to know that if it is a reality, I cannot avoid dealing with it and be successful, so why not yield and just accept that change is part of living? Focusing on whether or not I like it is an unnecessary stressor.

Unkind hedges

 

People have learned to say things that don't mean exactly what they mean.

When I was a teenager I asked my Dad what he thought of how I looked. He said, "Healthy." 

When my sister talks about her house she says people say it is, "Homey."

I have always thought these two statements define how we avoid uncomfortable topics.

I wanted my Dad to say I was pretty, or beautiful. He said healthy. I felt plain, un-pretty, not attractive. He reinforced that.

When I look at my sister's living spaces I think cluttered, messy, uncoordinated, not unclean, but unattractive. I don't want to say that, so I go with what others have supposedly told her. Homey.

I wonder if we are really doing anyone a favor by being so evasive? Surely they think about what is said the way I always have. Instead of giving constructive criticism, or helpful knowledge, we hedge. 

That may be much more unkind than we believe.

Deception

 

People are deceptive.

Someone can look put together and happy or wealthy or healthy and be none of those things.

I know a person I think of as dandelion head. Partly because what she perceives as beautiful glossy curls looks like a dandelion about to have its seeds blown across the lawn. There is nothing glossy or curly about it, simply gray fuzz.

Dandy smiles in tight controlled ways that resemble happiness, but declares self consciousness. She knows what is expected, but has no way of conceptualizing it.

She has more than enough money to live well, but chooses to use that money on superficial things that she believes shows other people how she lives. Her bed is eightteen years old. Her shoes don't fit well and she eats mostly cheap fast food.

She still believes that silly behavior shows she is having fun and agreeing with everyone makes her agreeable. Both may be true to some extent, but she needs medicine to keep her from being extremely depressed. She doesn't understand that going through the motions is not the same thing as living well.

Her outdated belief that women can't do this or that, wear this or that, be this or that, or must be a certain way cause her constant conflict.

She cannot use her expensive new hearing aids comfortably and efficiently, so she often does not wear them at all. She does not know how to use her smart phone for anything except answering calls and sometimes she cannot even get that to work right. She barely understands how her microwave works. She chooses not to take the time to deal with or learn more about any of these things.

And yet to the casual observer Dandy is happy, healthy, well adjusted and content.

Decisions

 

People don't seem to understand that life is less about luck and more about decisions. 

Almost everything a person does requires some kind of decision and sometimes what seems like small ones make the biggest difference.

For instance, I know a person who wears mostly hand me down shoes, or buys shoes on sale depending on their price or style rather than how well they fit. This person has bunions and clubbed toes. Eventually this is going to effect their walking. They choose quantity, style, and price, over fit. Bad choice in the long run.

Single mothers must often work to support their families, but how they use their time off of work decides their health, the health of their children and the actual quality of their children's lives. Good priorities pay off.

Diet is another important choice. Choose only processed foods, foods high in sugar and no vegetables and eventually your health will show it. A body is built and maintained by the things that are fed to it.

Buying things that make you look wealthier or more prosperous can be the thing that keeps you from legitimately being wealthier and prosperous.

Dying your hair may make you a beautiful blonde in your youth, but after thirty years of dying, your hair may start to dry out and thin. Choices!

My sister and I both sunbathed as young women. I quit early on. She did not. If you lay her hand and arm next to mine, hers looks twenty years older.

We want to feel good so we lie to ourselves about so many things, but the human body does not thrive on lies. Like any other living thing it depends on the care it gets.

Don't make your old age any harsher than it already will be. 

Drama Queen

 

A drama queen turns everything, even things that aren't things, into a situation.

If she makes any kind of mistake it is someone else's fault and not just their fault, but something they did on purpose to upset her! 

She is so narcissistic that she truly believes the world revolves around her, because, of course, her world does.

She milks the drama from simple things like taking her medicine. First she must make sure people know that she takes medicine and then she must make sure people think it is because she has been horrendously hurt.

Nothing the people around her do is just routine. It is either fantastic, earth shatteringly wonderful, or abysmal and done with evil intentions.

Her childhood was abusive. Her life was terrible. Her road to success filled with unmentionable road blocks. But she? She overcame it all! Even her counselor told her she was so healthy she didn't need counseling!

 Counseling is for the people who have to live around her.

In the end she is a sad little girl in an aging woman's body still seeking love in all the wrong ways.

Who you are

 

Buying things seems to be the favorite sport of many people. They enjoy the hunt or the feeling that they just got a great deal.

I love what I call window shopping. I like to look on my computer at things that are unique, beautiful, or just cute. I love looking at other people's houses and the way businesses decorate. I just don't buy all the things I see.

Buying requires that I love it! Not like it, or think it is a good deal, but love it! That usually requires me going back to look at it several times or more.

Another requirement for me is if I can use it in more than one way or in more than one place. There is a call for those one of a kind things that can only enhance one particular place, but then it needs to be adored, not just loved.

Life is long and the ability to collect things can leave people burdened with stuff they have no place to store or use. I don't put these things in the basement. I am not running a second hand store, or boutique for unloved stuff. If you love it that much find it a good home, or use it, but don't store it.

The exception may be holiday decorations that only come out once a year.

If you only buy what you dearly love it will still feel good to have around for years and years to come. Nothing lasts like quality and good design. It will usually fit into your preferences for style and color too. You may move it from room to room, but you will always want it around.

Favorite colors and particular styles may vary over the years, but if you look closely you will notice that many of your favorite things coordinate with those things you have always loved. This is the key to who you are.

Embrace it!

Retirement

  

People think when they retire life will be easier.

I've got news for you! Life will be pretty much the same in the long run, except for possibly income. It is what we make it.

Some of us make it harried and crazy. Others roll with the punches. Some just do what needs doing and some are bored.

People who retire volunteer to help others, or take up writing, or learn a new game, The most successful people continue to do something and how hard they pursue that something determines how their life goes.

If you are an over achiever you will continue to find ways to be that. You may obsess over lawn work, or house cleaning, or your volunteer job, or some hobby like golf or piano playing.

If you are someone who prefers plodding along doing only what is required of you, you will probably continue to plod.

If you are just a run of the mill ordinary person you will eventually find your place among the nonsalaried folks and discover there is a whole world out there that needs you. In rustic societies people did not retire, they simply switched over to different jobs. They rocked the babies, peeled the potatoes, knit more socks, cut more wood, repaired more creaks in the floor or called the cows home.

Most of us find our own level if we just give ourselves a little time and are honestly seeking it. You will most likely be just as successful at retirement as you are at other things.

Get off the treadmill

 

Change is one of the fundamentals of living. We live in a state of constant flux. Everything changes.

Change comes with the hope that things will be better, or easier, but that is not a given. 

In the old old days, when I was a child, I picked up the phone and asked to speak to Jenny Smith. Now my phone is a mini-computer. It not only calls people, it takes messages. It tells me what the weather is like and lets me play games that keep my mind active and engaged. I can look up anything I can think of on today's phone.

This is just an example of how things change. Almost everything is more complex now. Banks have credit cards and debit cards, bill paying forms and online banking. Utilities are often influenced by computerized set ups. Paying bills and taking care of business in person is less common and more complicated. Everything gets physically easier and mentally more complex as time goes by.

People must learn to roll with these changes, keep themselves alert and willing to learn. Otherwise life can become a depressing trap. Trying to live in the last century puts people at a disadvantage and it will only get worse as time goes on. 

I see older folks who are dealing with the reality of all of this quite nicely and I see others who spend their time trying to do things the old way -- because that is how they have always done it. That is like walking on a treadmill whose power is slowly dying. They keep exerting more and more effort with less and less success.

It is not really a choice. If you are living in the twenty first century you need to use twenty first century tools and knowledge. Otherwise it is like speaking Latin. It may be an old and honored language, but no one understands it much anymore.

The more limitations we put on ourselves, the harder life is. Simply changing your address will not change the world.

Well, not unless you are institutionalized. Then someone else will make all the changes and do all the learning and you will be at the mercy of their limitations.

After thoughts on my life

These are just some thoughts I've had while writing about my life.

Looking back I realize it is true that when one door closes another one really does open. Life is a series of learning experiences and the meaning of those experiences changes as you grow older. 

After thinking about my ex for so many years and seeing how his second marriage went and how he is now, I think he confuses sexual excitement with love. Fulfillment will always be an elusive mystery for him

In 2002 all of my children, my ex and his wife, and I, all gathered at Ash Park for a farewell picnic. Jim and Jenny were moving to Colorado, Bobby was heading back to North Carolina and I was moving to Taylorville. It was the last time we would all be together for a long time. One of my favorite pictures of my children and me was taken that day.

Thinking of some of the people who have greatly influenced my life:

Bill, my ex-husband taught me that loving someone can be the most painful thing in the world, but he also left me financially capable of surviving on my own after our divorce. 

Becky, my oldest child and only daughter, helped me learn that with patience, creativity and perseverance a child labeled learning disabled or slow can function just like everyone else given the time and proper skills. She is amazing!

Jim, my older son, often made me wonder if I was smart enough to be his mom, He taught me that even the most intelligent and talented people can find life difficult. He is brilliant!

Bobby, my youngest child is often a mirror of me. He makes me see myself in a kinder light.

Judy, my oldest friend. has always been the voice of reason in my life. In some ways she has been a surrogate mother, teaching me so many practical things.

Eman8tions, my first healthy and lasting adult relationship after my divorce, brought my spirituality into full bloom at a time when I was floundering. He gave me the confidence to go on and live my life my way.

Andy is my Bestest, we are the same people thirty years apart. He allowed me to explore my inner child and learn to love and cherish her. He also allowed me to embrace my intellectual side by showing me he trusted me to edit his work and do research with him.

Caroline, my sister, the person I shared a room and life with for the first twenty years has shown me who my family is and was with all our differences and similarities. You love your family because they are family, in spite of your differences.

Brooke and Tiffany, my first grandchildren, have shown me how people can grow up under incredibly difficult situations and still thrive. They are an inspiration.

Lennon, Corra and Sam, my younger grandchildren are still very young, but their lust for life and innate sweetness make me realize that my descendants will be good people.

I'm sure I will have other thoughts as I live through the remaining years of my life, but if there is one thing I am sure of, it is that adaptability is one of life's greatest strengths. Learning to make the most of who you are,  where you are and the moment you are in, is the difference between despair and joy in the long run.

Park Glen, Webster St., Taylorville, Illinois

 

Park Glen was an unexpected find. I had checked into subsidized housing in Bloomington and they had it at the old high school building downtown, but parking was not good there and it was kind of a dismal building. Here I am near members of my family even though my children live in Arizona, Washington, and North Carolina.

My sister lives here in Taylorville and so does her son, Todd, and his wife Lakeisha. One of my nephew's, Eric, can fix anything that goes wrong with my tires and My brother Henry and his wife, Pam are the people who are designated to make decisions about my health if something happens and I cannot. Of course they would consult my kids if it was anything major.

Park Glen is not your average subsidized living facility for older adults. It is sparkling clean, extremely well managed and gives me the opportunity to socialize once or twice a month if I choose. They have a potluck and often another brunch or coffee type thing for special days.There are Bingo nights and movie nights and a guy who brings in music once a month. There is a patio with a gazebo and grill beside lovely round tables and chairs. There is a laundry for residents only on the tenth floor and there is a community room with a small library and closet full of games and puzzles. 

It is right next door to a middle school and elementary school on one side and the Springfield clinic and hospital on the other. Kroger is one long block away and CVS where I get my prescriptions is closer than a mile. Actually nothing I need is much more than a mile or two away.

Moving in was difficult even though my nephew and his family actually did all the work. My brother, Henry helped too, but I had injured my back just before the move and spent the next year suffering intense spasms that even prescription medicine didn't completely help. I also needed new diabetic orthotics and my new doctor thought I was just trying to get free shoes I guess. He never would refer me to a podiatrist so I could get a prescription for them. 

Since I had to change doctors when I moved down here I ended up being referred by my new physician to an artery specialist, heart specialist, blood specialist, dermatologist and of course my new kidney doctor. Without the new orthotics my feet, ankles and knees were always so messed up that I was lucky if I could get to the bathroom using a walker. I finally got into a podiatrist on my own almost a year later and he was shocked at my feet. A month later I had new orthotics, but it has taken until just recently for everything to go back to normal. In the meantime I had seven iron infusions and my hematologist still wasn't happy. But the heart doctor said I had a congenital murmur and the heart of a twenty year old! My kidney doctor is very happy with the progress I have made, but my general practitioner is the problem. Sometimes I think he just likes to run tests and he never lets me get the tests when I have other blood tests scheduled. He always says he doesn't need them, then orders them the following week. I'd change, but I think he is the only doctor at the clinic right now. They do have nurse practitioners though.

My apartment is lovely! It has a kitchen and two other rooms and a bathroom, all connected by a foyer. The floors are wood grained vinyl everywhere but the living room and bedroom. Originally I used the smaller room as a bedroom. It has a very large walk in closet that I put a mirror and chair in and use it for both storage and as a dressing room. There is a coat closet in the foyer where I store painting equipment, canes, and my vacuums. I have a stick vacuum that sucks up every speck of dust instantly and a brush vacuum with some tools that I use on the carpet or hard to reach places. The kitchen has a refrigerator and stove and I bought a microwave that also is a convection oven and air fryer. I also bought a small counter top dishwasher that I absolutely love. It says it is for two people, but it is really for one if you want to put in cups, glasses and small skillets and utensils. They sparkle when they come out!

The place is heated and cooled with a window unit that is vented into the smaller room. It is always warm enough, but the smaller room does not get the air conditioning as much as the larger room does, so I switched the bedroom into what would have been the original living room. This works for me. It gives me a cozy little den where I put my books, secretary, Turkish lamp, and my unique "couch," which is really three folding chair beds stacked on top of each other with a California King bolster for a back. Add cushions and it really works as a couch.

Tiffany and Tyler have come down both of the years I have been here for Christmas dinner and opening presents. That makes Christmas really special for me. 

I go to my nephews about once a month for a family brunch and Lakeisha makes wonderful food, plus she often buys my favorite Caramel long johns filled with custard! Sometimes Todd grills out and his hamburgers are delicious. They have a great Dane called Eros who weighs 170 pounds! He is a good dog, but he is still a puppy and although he is well trained, he is boisterous.

I have painted two large canvasses here. One is a heron family and the other is a big blue house. They both hang in my living room. I've scattered my favorite art pieces, the stallion, the Quan Yin and Green Tara around along with some artificial calla lilies that look real and two very tall mirrors strategically placed around the apartment. My keyboard sits in the bedroom as well as my corner shelf and second TV. I like to watch the Zen channel as I go to sleep.

I am on the second floor looking out at a very large evergreen tree and if the windows are open at night I hear the courthouse clock chime the hour and half hour, or I hear the trains that run through the far south side of town. If you consider it by Feng Shui standards, having a north facing front door is very auspicious. 

For the past year I have had all my groceries delivered by Walmart, or do the occasional pick up at Krogers. I have not gone into any stores to shop. If I shop, it is online. Just last week I changed Walmart from delivery to pick up because I am able to walk out to my car.  You never realize what a blessing being able to walk is until you spend months where it is so painful you avoid it at all costs. And now I have a handicap parking tag, I often get prime parking here, but it is first come first serve. On good days I could walk to anyplace in the parking lot, but on not so good days it is nice to have this tag.

My son, Bobby, and grandson, Lennon, spent a few days with me and drove me to and from Becky and Bryan's wedding. Their wedding was so perfect! They were married at the Funk's Grove Church and had their reception in Bloomington. I got to go to both, but I had to leave before the dinner and cake at the reception because my back was spasming. The next morning we all met at Denny's for breakfast before going home and I was able to get a picture of most of my family together. It hangs over my bed.

For the past ten months my sister, Caroline, has lived right above me in 312. That turned out to be bad for both of us. She got bedbugs from her neighbors and gave them to me. That was a nightmare. It took me nearly six weeks to be sure they were gone and I wouldn't let anyone visit while I had them. It took her seven months! This has been a difficult year for her. She had two accidents. First she hit the poles at a drive through and then while driving the loaner while her car was being fixed, she was hit broadside on the highway in the loaner. She has gotten lost several times trying to find her way here and has come charging into my apartment with her dog thinking it was her apartment several times. She can't hear and her new hearing aid hurts her ears, so she seldom wears it. She can't figure out how to use her phone so her voice mail has been full for weeks now. Sometimes she can't even figure out how to get calls on it, or texts, or anything else. You can call her for days without any response or way to leave a message. One night she was in my apartment until after midnight because she had lost her phone. It turned up in her bathroom, but she got so flustered looking for it she went there and didn't see it, so she went out to her car and around the building while I called, hoping she'd hear it if it was ringing. Afterwards she said she probably would have heard it in her apartment if she had had her hearing aid on! We are hoping moving into a house again and having Olivia living there will help her cope better.  Both she and Olivia are clutter bugs. They would drive me crazy to live with, but I think they will do fine together.

She and I have almost nothing in common. She thinks more is better and even more is even better. I think less is more. I am concerned about the environment and do not use bottled water, or paper plates or straws. She lives on fast food and bottled water and prides herself on using paper plates so all she has to wash is a mug and a spoon if she eats oatmeal. Still we try to socialize some and we both enjoy the occasional ride around town or out to the cemetery.

My newest thing is making cards for family. I enjoy painting them, or using my new brush pens Todd and Lakeisha gave me. Sometimes I can come up with something that moves or is three dimensional, but mostly they are just pictures. I also enjoy reading and Todd and I have bonded some over that. He has given me a couple of books he loved that I enjoyed too.

This is life when you are 76 years old and are making the very best of the money you have! It is actually very rich and full. My most immediate goal is to keep my blood sugar below 120 or even 100 and try to walk around our building once after lunch and again after supper. It sounds simple.

It's not.

Yotzonot, Bloomington, Illinois

 

I was excited to move into the apartment on Yotzonot. It was in the coveted east side of Bloomington and just blocks from where my children grew up on Nicki Drive. Yotzonot comes from the Mayan word meaning place of well being or prosperity and it was certainly that for me.

The apartment had nine foot ceilings which makes a place feel much more spacious to begin with. It really only had a living room with a galley kitchen off the end of it, a bedroom and a bathroom, but the closets were big and spacious and there was an abundance of cabinets in the kitchen and bathroom. I was on the first floor of a tan brick building that had apartments built around it and back to back with a sidewalk running three fourths of the way around and a large parking lot right beside it. There was a concrete patio area in front of every apartment. I put my little blue bistro table and chairs and a blooming plant on mine.

I experimented with beds here, trying first my queen size one, then several day bed styles with mattresses that didn't work for me. I finally decided on a twin memory foam bed on a twelve inch metal frame and later bought a XL twin bed on a sixteen inch frame. Since they served as both couches and beds I put one in each room.

The kitchen was very convenient with a dishwasher, stacked washer/dryer, and a very large peninsula that I could use for so many different things. 

I still volunteered at the elementary school library. I began painting with the acrylics Andy gave me for Christmas. He gave me a keyboard another year that I could play with headphones any time of the day or night. I continued writing My Thots and spent quite a bit of time with the people from Women Wine and Words. 

I also began working with miniature doll furniture with a passion here, trying out different ways of displaying it in dollhouses. I had quite a collection of antique replica furniture that was so beautiful. If I had had a house I would have decorated it like I did those dollhouses  with Victorian beds and dressers and even a tiny roll top desk. At Christmas I had a tiny tree with lights and little bitty presents wrapped underneath it.

I began my adventures with aging here. Starting out with Bromenn medical and ending up with Bloomington Primary Care, who I thought were very good and easily accessed. I have type two diabetes and stage four kidney disease so I also had to have a kidney doctor. Mine was Dr. Sultan, a tall very distinguished looking young Indian doctor who was easy to talk to. I liked him.

Becky was dating Bryan and they, along with his son, helped me move in. Bryan played men's baseball and he also played in several old fashioned and old tyme baseball leagues that I enjoyed watching with Becky when he played in town. I was sad to see Becky and Bryan move, but happy that they would have better futures in the Phoenix area. Becky had lived in Bloomington all her life so it was a big step to move so far away into such a large city, but I was proud of the way she dealt with it and it has worked out great for them.

Bobby came and stayed with me when his class had their reunion and that was fun too. He played his guitar and sang for me. We went around to all the places where we lived while he was growing up and visited Miller Park where his friend, Joel, has a huge art piece on display.

I began having Christmas dinners with Brooke and Tiffany and Tyler which was fun too. 

I was able to get all the vaccines for Covid and survived that, but that was the end of volunteering in the school library. Schools were closed for a while and even after they opened we couldn't allow them to share books. I mostly stayed in my apartment during the quarantine.  Becky would come over and we would sit on the patio ten feet apart and talk, or a couple of times we took picnics to Fairview Park and ate at different ends of one of the picnic tables.

My life here was busy and settled and then I made a comment on Facebook on a page claiming to be Simon Baker, an actor I am very fond of. At first it was just casual back and forth stuff like you might expect from an actor being nice to a fan. Later we began to talk about more things and he asked if I wanted to switch to Telegram which would be more private. I guess I should have known better and Bobby tried to warn me, but this is when things started to go wrong.

I mean they didn't feel wrong. They felt very right! He would text me on Australian time at night and little by little our conversations became more personal. We talked about our families and his work and sometimes his life. It seemed genuine and I truly enjoyed it. When it started to become more personal I got leery and blocked him, but I missed him so much. I became ill and my doctor couldn't figure out what was wrong. We did blood tests, and ekgs. We even did a cat scan. Finally it dawned on me that I was just heart sick and missing his conversations so much, so I reconnected. When that first happened he video called me out of the blue and I could see him, but the sound kept cutting out  and it was a garbled mess. Yet I really believed I had talked to him. 

Finally he began saying that since his divorce was final we should get together and that he was coming to the states and we should meet. We set a date. That day I had a manicure and pedicure in anticipation. I bought a lovely outfit and waited for his car to come get me, but that never happened. Hours later he texted that they had arrived in Los Angeles and his assistant had been picked up by immigration for some kind of passport violation. He claimed he was trying to work things out, but his money was tied up because it was in Australia. Again I should have known better. Simon Baker basically raised his children here in the US, but I ended up sending this person money and that was the start of all kinds of promises and plans that cost me a fortune. He sent me beautiful flowers and a cute teddy bear. He sent me candy and pictures of the house we would live in when he finally got things situated. He made plans for us  to spend the weekend together at a nearby place that he claimed had to be kept secret because of security concerns. We had "our" song, which was Ed Sheeran's Perfect. There was always something wonderful coming up and lots of loving words and promises, but something always happened. By the time I came to my senses I had given him my entire 401k! My bank dropped my account of twenty five years when I began depositing such large amounts in my checking account and then withdrawing them. Of course I had a certified check for over two hundred thousand dollars we were going to deposit the moment his plane landed here, but when my new bank checked it out, it was worthless! I had been scammed. 

It was the most glorious five months of my life followed by a broken heart because I had really believed we were in love. I was in love, but with an idea not the real man and now I had no money for emergencies and no longer got dividends from my money every month to live on. When my bank dropped me they gave me a check for twenty five hundred dollars that closed my account and wouldn't let me cash it at their bank! I went to another bank who accepted the check, but wouldn't let me touch it for three weeks. My direct deposit bills began bouncing even though I had the money. It was a mess!

I didn't even have enough money to open an account somewhere else until my sister loaned me $150 so I could go to Morton Hometown Clock Tower Bank. They were the ones who really helped me. They made copies of all the money I had wired or Bitcoin interactions I had made and helped me go to the police to file a report. I even filed with the FBI online and talked to the Illinois Department that handles scams. The truth was I would never see that money again.

I did actually text with the real Simon Baker and he put a paragraph on his Instagram account warning people about people using his name to get money. He said he would never ask anyone for money for any reason. He didn't need to. He asked his people to see if they could help me, but in the end they couldn't help me either. We texted a few more times politely and that was the end. 

Without my extra money every month and with my rent going up I knew I could not stay in this apartment. My daughter suggested I go back to work. I looked around for jobs that I thought I could do. I was walking five miles a day and I was at my lowest weight in forty years, but I was still almost 74 years old. I probably would never have tried going back to work, but there was an opening at Katie's Kids Learning Center and their philosophy was basically the same as mine. I applied and got the job as a part time teacher's assistant. It was perfect! The kids ate two meals a day there and it was all real food that was carefully chosen from reputable places and cooked on site. They used real plates and glasses and silverware and ate at small round tables of about five with an adult at each table. The ratio of adults to kid was four or less per teacher when I started and could not go over 18 children with 4 adults in our room. They had a fantastic play yard with climbing equipment, swings and even a porch swing for the 3-5 year olds and another one geared for infants and toddlers next to it. Behind this playground was a pond with geese and swans!  Inside, our rooms had a trampoline, a cozy couch thinking and reading corner, a floor area for movement or building with different kinds of blocks, or any open play actually, and tables for puzzles, coloring, drawing, whatever else there was. The children were encouraged to follow their interests and we supported them. We had two bathrooms with Dutch doors so the children were always visible to us and the staff was amazing. In my room there was me, a fourth year elementary education major, a two year early childhood teacher and a fully accredited and experienced full time teacher at all times.

The only problem for me turned out to be my difficulty getting up and down off the floor. I could sit in the tiny chairs and hold three children on my lap or next to me on the couch and help set the tables at mealtime, or clear them, but it turned out to be really hard on my back. Then one of our students caught Covid and we didn't know he was sick until nap time. Two days later I came down with Covid on Christmas Eve in spite of all the vaccines.

For weeks all I could do was move from my bed to my chair and blow my nose. I was very very sick and because of my kidneys I could not take the medicine that was supposed to make it easier. I missed weeks of work and ultimately had to quit. 

Now I was right back where I had started nine months ago. My rent would go up again in July. Significantly. I was weak, fragile and at a loss. 

My sister and her daughter-in-law, Lakeisha, found an apartment building in Taylorville, near where they lived. It was for people over 52 with limited incomes. Basically you paid a portion of your total income to live there. I applied and got my name on the waiting list. The problem was money. I couldn't pay their rent and down payment while still paying rent in Bloomington, so the dates had to connect just right. And they did!

That along with a very generous check from my friends, John (Eman8tions) and Connie, made it possible for me to move one more time. I had lived on Yotzonot for seven years, the longest time I have ever lived anywhere except Nicki Drive. Moving was a necessity, but it was hard. I had to give up everything I loved in Bloomington-Normal after living there for nearly fifty years. The things I miss the most are my Women Wine and Word friends, our coffees, our games, and our walks. I also miss the good places to eat out in that area, but there is a reason for every move.