Drama

Drama seems to be utilized to spice up the lives of people.

I like my drama in book or movie form.

Apparently that is not enough for some people who tweak and twist ordinary events into major conflicts of breast beating, hair rending proportions.

Not that there are not horrible things going on in the world, but most of them are not major factors in the everyday drama of people I know.

Viewed from a calm, common sense, staunchly fact based point of view, most problems can be dealt with sanely and quietly if people choose and, in fact, resolving difficulties this way is much healthier and more efficient than otherwise.

Drama often begins when people try to change things from what they are to what they are not. Acceptance, or some form of acquiescence eventually becomes necessary, otherwise it is likely to rebound and destroy the mental and physical health of the manipulator.

Those people who grew up on histrionics and soap operas need to give up on the drama and the sooner the better. Contrary to what many of us learned when we were younger, drama does not make people love us more, or make life better. Learning to cope with reality will bring more balance and happiness into life.

Those dreams you have are much more likely to manifest in calm methodical behaviors and atmospheres. Eliminate the carry over of heavy breathing, crazy striving and irrational behaviors one moment at a time. Does it really matter if you do something immediately, or in one particular way? Does it really matter if someone disappointed you this one time? Can you let this one moment go so you can have a lot more better ones?

Of course you can!

The Tale of a Tail

Annabel must constantly be on alert.

There are monsters outside her door. Monsters with two legs and no whiskers whose lips are long and hard. Monsters who walk on two legs and have long bushy tails. They come to the glass and mock her as she fearlessly guards the apartment.

Inside there is a beast in the bathroom that hisses - even if it is not being threatened. It is an irrational creature with no legs and only one eye in the back of its head. Last night she pushed it off its perch while I was sleeping, but it continues to live. It is immortal!

And worst of all is the shadow. Long, legless, silent, it has no voice at all, but it follows her everywhere. Twitching, teasing, forcing her to make wild leaps in a single bound without coming even a step closer.  And worst of all, the one time she caught it, it shocked her and caused her to yowl with pain.

A cat's life is hard and fraught with difficulties.

A love that spans generations

I just saw a news item about a man who began building a sort of backyard six flags when he heard he was going to be a grandpa.

Both he and his little granddaughter seemed to be enjoying it immensely, but what touched me was the interview at the end where he explained how close he was to his own grandpa and how he hoped to forge that kind of relationship with his granddaughter. Tears ran unashamedly down his face as he talked.

I suspect his granddaughter will be close to him, but not because he built and bought her things.

Versatility vs sanity

My motherboard is aging
And yet it's still precise
Computing, searching, waging
An intelligent device.

It's the hardware that is failing
The keyboard's in a funk
S is on the railing
And A is in the the trunk.

My fingers find it fascinating
It keeps my brain quite sharp
Searching for the vacillating
Keys that never park.

SharpKeys has been a boon
Computers cost a lot
But I can see that soon
This all has got to stop.

Intuition

The difficult part about being an intuitive person is picking up on those little cues other people don't notice.

Irritation registers almost instantly.  Boredom and frustration run right behind that. What other people might attribute to paranoia is seldom true for the intuitive person. Usually, if we sense it, it is really there.

I suppose this is a good thing to some extent, but it kind of interferes with others' attempts to hide their annoyance. It is almost impossible to hide things from me. I may not know why you feel a certain way, but I know when it is directed at me.

On the other hand, everyone makes mistakes, but I know I tend to ramble on sometimes and I know that the more self conscious I am, the more likely it is to happen, so when I feel those vibes reflecting back at me, I am not generally wrong.

The first time

When I was in high school we had tracked classes. In my A track biology class I had to follow  a course of study until I felt I was ready to pass the test. The twist was that I had to pass the test with an A and I had to pass a certain number of tests in order to receive a letter grade at the end. Fewer tests passed meant lower grades. It was basically up to each of us to decide how hard we were willing to work. Most of us in that track couldn't imagine not getting an A, but there were a few students who put things off too long and couldn't manage that. The unfortunate truth was that at the end there was nothing they could do at that point. When time ran out -- it was over.

Life seems to work the same way.
 
We have a certain amount of time during our lives to do things. Grow up, have families, build a career, have adventures, develop hobbies and whatever else seems important to us. Certain ages and conditions and eventually death ends this.

We assume that everything is arbitrary, or discretionary, but what if it's not?

People talk about Karma and what comes around goes around, but what if it turns out that we have to do it until we get it "right?" What if there were no escape? And what, or who, would make these decisions?

And the ramifications! Right and wrong would become absolutes, but if we didn't know those rules how could we know to do things differently? How long would it take us to evolve and change our perspective, or actions?

If we knew this was happening would we be less reactive? If we knew it was true do we have what it takes to be more thoughtful and caring -- and right?

Everyday woman

You never know what you can do until you do it. In my lifetime I have put in a new chandelier, a bathroom hand held shower and a new porch floor. I have assembled many pieces of furniture and various vacuums, grown several unusual plants, cooked some strange, but not always wonderful dishes and reprogrammed a couple of keys on my computer.

I once had a garden that caused many of my neighbors to stop and comment on how pretty it was and how glad they were that someone had finally done something beautiful with that side of the house. (I simply let the weeds grow and inserted tiny sprigs of small fake flowers judiciously among them!) Of course I also grew huge red cannas and had tons of blooming African violets, but I attribute that to the right kind of light.

I made a Santa suit, play clothes and sailor suits for Sound of Music and  a real boned tutu for our local theater. I painted sweatshirts with Winnie the Pooh characters for actors in another play. I was even in two plays, in very small parts.

I made Kleenex houses out of quilted material, Raggedy Anns and Andys that I sold, and matching outfits for my three children for many special occasions.

I wrote a book that I never tried to publish, but friends have read, published a few poems and once worked eighteen months with an editor at Highlights on a story they never published. I have edited books that were published and whose acknowledgment of me made me proud.

I dabble in several musical instruments and played my first flute recital at the age of 52.

I have driven all over the country from Yosemite in California to Virginia Beach in Virginia, flown from coast to coast and on to Hawaii, and gone whale watching in the San Juan Islands.

I was a foster parent and am the mother of three children, grandmother of eight children, and worked for a major insurance company and a private preschool. Now I volunteer in an elementary school library.

I have tried to be true to those things I believe in and change things I don't.

All of this makes me an everyday woman who, by the way, finds life to be generally very satisfying and even happy much of the time.

Those Who Really Know

"Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair."

The people knelt in humble postures chanting, waiting for the most holy moment when the long tresses cascaded from the window above the altar.

The holiest of holies sang to them of climbing up and inspiring the oppressed and it was a haunting song accompanied by guitar with a heavy bass beat to symbolize the staunchness required by those who believed.

The people looked up, reaching for the tiny scissors hanging around their necks, the symbol of suffering and shame, the instrument that left Rapunzel looking like everyone else, the one that shook her out of her ivory tower and out into a world of trial and tribulations.

Of course the real Rapunzel was not imprisoned above the altar, but a strand of her hair was enshrined in a small resin medallion above a saucer of holy tears that everyone touched as they entered the building.

The women stroked their long hair vainly and the men their bare faces with pride. New world Rapunzels and Prince Charmings dedicated to carrying on the tradition of Those Who Really Know, they were reverent and their hearts ached with a love . . .of all things exquisite and rare, of couture prices and youthful creams, Mazeratis and emaciated bodies. One must be someone to attend these services.

And the common folk waited outside hoping for a glance of these special people as they walked down the red carpet said to be woven from the original Rapunzel's hair.

Absolute trust

One of the things I've always loved about Bestest is the lack of drama and complications.

Absolute trust is rare in this world, but when it exists there is nothing better.

Both of us want only the best for the other one. There is no doubt in my mind that whatever he does is never intended to hurt me in any way and he knows the same is true about me.

His happiness only increases mine and vice-a-versa. A lot of people claim to feel this way, but in the end they really don't. It makes a difference.

This kind of trust comes with complete honesty, because without that the rest isn't going to be viable.

It sounds so simple and it is, but it isn't for everyone. It is the kind of freedom that generally ends when we begin to realize the world does not revolve around us.

If you can find it and you can really feel and believe all these things in the very center of your being, there is no better way in the whole world.

Genome

My genes are too tight.

My chromosomes confuse me.

My anxiety is in flight.

My bones are too light.

My tummy is tubby.

My feet are quite flat.

My nails they are nubby.

My face, it is chubby.

I  am always surprised to see the face on my head

Cause it really doesn't jive

With the one in my head.

Which generally matches what I have just read.

Gee no me now cause it's all that I've got

And that is the end of this little thot.

Dance with me

There are no two ways about it. You've got to learn to dance.

The universe provides the music, sets the timing, and even provides the tone, but you have to get in sync.

Otherwise it sends you a waltz and you jitterbug your way through missing all the fine points and nuances just for you.

And that's part of it too.  No one can hear your music better than you can.

Don't second guess it. Don't let anyone else tell you what is right, or weird, or wrong. If you are really listening, you'll know. But know, too, that you can't ignore things without losing some of the beauty and grace and miracles right there in your very own life.

It's a symphony and it's going to build and build and build -- if you allow it to.

So, get out there and hear your music, dance your dance, find your bliss.

Like minds

The universe can be cruelly impartial. Nature does not make all things equal or fair. Someone can pour their heart and soul into something and still fail, or not excel. There are no guarantees.

On the flip side, whatever it is that leans towards success pulls people together until one day some realize a few know people all over the world who know the same people.

It is almost like a magic, or secret society. Drawn together unintentionally, with no other motive than similar interests they seem to gravitate towards each other and slowly discover they have mutual friends.

The conundrum of seemingly massive numbers of people silently slipping into intimate slots, finding their places almost as easily as others don't is fascinating to ponder.

I've heard there is always room at the top, but it seems to be more than that. I think it reflects an honesty and willingness to love yourself enough to find like minds wherever they may be.

Look at it this way

A picture may be worth a thousand words, but oh the stories those words tell!

I usually add a few words explaining those pictures when I post them on Facebook and then the likes and loves tell me a story back!

People see things from their own perspective, so whatever that is to them, they assume it must be the same for me.

Sometimes it is and sometimes it isn't.

Contrary to the popular belief that everyone in the world is dying to pair off and live forever after isolated in their own little roles described and defined two thousand years ago in God's little black book, I am looking for a broader, less constrained way of living.

I like people who are sweet and open. I like them honest without a sense of entitlement. I like them genuinely interested in the world and ready to enjoy what life offers.

But I can tell by the reactions of some people, that they see my pictures as proof (and possibly the hope) that I am falling into a traditional rut so they can heave a huge sigh of relief and -- relax.

Sometimes we stand in the valley and look up. Sometimes we stand on a mountain top and look out. Either way it is up to us to see what we can see.

Happy Easter

The promise of new beginnings often seems to spring from the depths of darkness, but not always.  Lately I have wondered if this idea is more of a youthful leftover than fact, but maybe not.

As a child I craved drama. I thought, from watching movies, that the most important parts of life came with climatic music, great contrasts in light, and much sobbing, arguing, and heart rending situations. Our grocery store had men singing opera and Italian arias as they cut meat, or stocked shelves and that was a start, but at home our life was very quiet and humdrum most of the time.

I thought that meant we lacked passion, so when I went away to college I was on the hunt for passion.  I wanted a world class love affair, flowery poetry, Victorian dresses, Faustian demons to ward off, white horses pulling painted sleds across snowy tundras. Instead I had a Japanese admirer writing me succinct little love poems, Gross Eugene with his hysterically clownish ways and the usual assortment of tall handsome Michaels.

I lived in the prairie state of Illinois, south of Chicago in the second half of the 1900s. But eventually the drama did set in and it was much less wonderful in person.

Now, after all these years I find that real passion is reflected in the cool shadows of a southern evening on a screened in porch, or good friends eating Thai food at a corner table by the windows. It is watching people you love step up and do what they do best in the most amazing ways. It is grandchildren and children and family-of-the-heart, sharing good books, eating good food, sitting together in comfortable silences and marinating in each other's presence.

 And perhaps my appreciation of all this springs from the darkness that once preceded it. Perhaps new beginnings herald a passion that grows from the deep still shadows of the past and blooms in the light of wisdom years later.

Happy Easter, I hope your passion is well aged, rich and mellow with depth.

The scent of promises past.

 At home I crawl out of bed and, because my chair is right in front of a mirror, look at myself. Tousled, wild, hair going every which way, I look tired, worn out  . . .  old.  The windows are closed and the only sound I hear is the white sound of air conditioners running out back. It can be a recipe for depression if I am not careful.

This morning I slid out of bed and, because I'm visiting Bestest, shuffled into the kitchen where he gave me a hug and a cup of coffee. Then we went out on his screened in porch.

The air was redolent with promises of spring and all kinds of unknown but wonderful things to come. Birds were twittering brightly in some unseen tree and a light breeze evoked feelings from all those springs preceding my thirteenth birthday.

I felt happy and free and young, because that is what young means to me -- unlimited possibilities, the freedom to believe anything can happen, the belief that the world lies at my feet and I have only to reach out and pick it up.

So, what do I do with all the beautiful feelings? 

Not much. Just experiencing them is a heady treat, a time machine journey into my youth that leaves me brimming over with joy and hope and promises past still to come.

Part of the family

I'm like that little man who wasn't there when everyone else went up the stairs.

I wasn't there again today, I wish those others would stay away.

I thought their presence diminished me, but then I slowly began to see

I wasn't there like the grandfather clock who's always been there since tick and tock

And like the wallpaper that hugs the walls, I'm part of the family both shorts and talls

So when they don't notice me its like missing your toes, that are always right there just like your nose.

It's if I were gone they would be sad to see that there was no longer old lovable me.

I'm part of the family, part of that stair and not seeing me means I'm always there.

It's the only way to grow

Love and relationships, two of life's most sought after experiences and the ones that seem most often to fail.

Most of us aren't willing to put in the same faith, work, and dedication that we do for our jobs, or outside interests and then we wonder why we seem to be failing.

Better than going to four star hotels, or day spas, is the opportunity to spend time with people who know how to live . . . together.

They may not be perfect, but they realize how far a kind word, a good meal, and even some fresh flowers go towards soothing tired souls and keeping a relationship alive, perhaps even thriving. And they do it realizing that people are not perfect, that we all have our particular needs and that one of those is leaving space between you for love to continue growing.

The time of your life

What a blessing it is to be alive and busy.

I can remember about seven years ago when I had no reason to do anything except walk my dog, read and eat.

Now those are not bad things to do, but they just weren't enough for me, so when I heard of a volunteer program that connected seniors with situations I decided to check it out. It has been a godsend even though I have moved through various different situations from aviation museum to one day volunteer events to helping out at an elementary school, which seems to be my real forte.

After a while that wasn't enough either and I found out about a group called meetups that connected people by giving them the options of different interest groups where they could meet like minded people. I found my niche there in a group of women who want to get together and go out for coffee, or to eat, or talk about books, even go to a movie together. No strings just friends.

And I found a friend I could share everything with, even my weirdest thoughts or flights of fancy who was willing to spend hours talking with me about things we had in common. And the beauty of this friendship is that it feeds into one of my bucket list dreams of publishing a book or books. There are a lot of ways to fill in a life if you're willing to be a bit creative.

It depends on what speaks to you. Don't be afraid to try new things. If they don't work out you can always stop and move on to something else. For me balance is essential. I need to do things that are fun and useful -- and fun, did I a say fun?

Timeless

The house is empty, dark and deep, but I still visit in my sleep.

I hear the clocks chime on the wall in between each soft footfall. 

Men in suits walk regally through using calculators to pursue

A fair and viable price to put upon each item per vertical foot.

The calendar clock out in the hall, the old buffet standing dark and tall.

Dusty books on library shelves, carved cherry fireplaces with marble elves.

If granny were here her heart would break to think that we would let them take

The tiny fingerprints on the glass and precious kisses from times long past

The booster seat and potty chair that once supported a bottom bare.

Homely things long out of date, but priceless parts of this estate.

And the library is still free

A little boy checked out two books about ghosts in the library today and I thought, boy, they sure do write a lot about ghosts . . . and yetis and Lochness monsters, and Dracula and werewolves.

I wonder if they write as much about little boys who like to read as they do about things that only exist in our imaginations?

Of course I like to read about those things too. Dragons and Spider-man, dungeons and castles with moats and secret rooms, if they exist then anything might be possible. Even fairy godmothers and people who come to the rescue just when things get to be unbearable.

If there really are ghosts then Tatianna wouldn't miss her mother so much, the one she found lying in a pool of blood before kindergarten started. And if there really were dragons maybe Jordan could ride one to that town where food rains out of the sky and he wouldn't be hungry anymore.

Maybe it's easier to blame monsters for kids who live in cardboard boxes than it is to blame presidents and senators for taking their food away because they don't get good enough grades.

Maybe we need all these things to distract us when it just hurts too much -- and the library is still free.

A crazy thought

She had been uneasy for some time now. Was it intuition, or paranoia?

Her experience indicated she should pay attention, but the whole thing was really outrageous.

Starting when two cops in an unmarked car pulled up beside her at a stoplight and motioned for her to let them go ahead of her when the light changed. One looked back, nodded and smiled warmly as they pulled out and zipped away.

A few days later it continued in a local discount store. She walked, pushing a cart, waiting for her daughter to do her shopping when she happened to look up and the young man in the camera department several aisles over, looked into her eyes and smiled so warmly.  Fifteen minutes later a woman pushing another cart stopped in front of her and did the same thing.

It was as if they recognized her, as if she were someone they knew and loved very much.

Today a man in the back room of the shoe store looked out and saw her walk towards him. He smiled and called out, hello, using her first name. She wondered if she misheard him. He brought out shoes that fit perfectly and sold them to her for twenty dollars less than usual. When she tried to buy two pairs, he looked sad and said they only had the one.

Later her car had a flat tire and neither the dealership, nor the usual places had one that fit her car. Finally finding one that did, she waited for them to put her tires on and a very thin man came in and sat down in the waiting area with several other people. He was very quiet, just sat there with his hands in his lap until she went to leave. Then he jumped up and ran over to the door and asked about her car, what she thought of it, as if he had been waiting for just that moment. He was suddenly so animated and happy, almost loving.

At home, she felt the same dis-ease, almost like she was going to cry at any moment and that was when the thought came into her head.

It is almost your time and we are coming to get you. Don't be afraid. It isn't what you think at all. There really are angels. A crazy thought, but she was just so tired.

Wondering dreams

I am an acolyte for a very compact church. The priest and the choir stand on a set of wooden risers that cannot accommodate the acolytes. We stand to the left, each of us on a maple captain's chair, like the children we are, but performing adult rituals. Instead of candles, we carry rectangular lanterns because this is the church of light and I know I will need this white light soon and it won't matter who or where the priest and choir are.

I am being sent to Russia where my husband is an American businessman. The people at the airports are very friendly to me. There must be something about me that attracts their attention. I don't know what it is, but I am grateful, because it is a long trip to an unknown place.

I land and he takes me to our home, but we arrive just in time for him to leave for work and so I am left alone to look around.

It is dark outside so the lights are on, mostly bare incandescent yellowish bulbs on shiplap ceilings. The walls are a combination of shiplap and crumbling plaster.  There is a yellowing kitchen at the back and I go out onto the closed-in porch behind it, but I can't see anything in the dark. The middle room is both our bedroom and the living room. It's walls are also crumbling plaster, faded dark crimson this time. There is one small room off of this one and I think there is room for the children there. Then I wonder where they are? Why aren't they here now?

I leave through the front door and find myself on another small porch which is also glassed in. The door here is open and I try to shut and lock it, but it won't stay shut or locked.  I think we are so far north that there are probably bears around here and try once more to lock the door.  Then I am panicked. The glass really won't stop bears anyway. I go back inside and shut the big door. Now I am glad the children are not here. This house won't keep out bears who really want in.

Sitting on the bed. All alone. I try to make sense of all of this.  I try to think good thoughts about it.  But I wonder how I got myself into it and I wake up so depressed.

Annabel and me

Annabel is a black cat. A beautiful shiny plush black cat with vibrant amber eyes who lives with me and I am in awe of her crazy little self.

I brought her home in August and bought her a beautiful black bed to match her fur. It seemed like a good idea at the time. When she sheds you can't see it. The problem is you can't see her in it either. It is like living with the Shadow.

Flashes of darkness flit across my view and I just attribute them all to Annabel. If she didn't have two pointy little ears I wouldn't even know where she was half the time.

Very well behaved and very adaptable, she has agreed to using the same size litter box she had at the pound and the vet's. It is very small and inside a building called a Litter Loo and in my bathroom where I have to clean it every day. I've worked out a system where I dump the whole box into a used grocery bag and refill the litter box with two cups of paper litter. Easy. Clean. Efficient.

There is a tall stool in the bathroom she used to sit on and wait until I turned on the faucet for her, but I noticed she stopped doing that and I'm not sure if it's because the stool tipped over with her on it the other day and she disappeared for so long I thought the apartment ate her. I couldn't find her anywhere. Or, if it's because of the new monster in the bathroom that intermittently spits out a bit of white linen air freshner now and then. Annabel stalks this beast and guards it to protect the apartment.

Of course she has toys, but she entertains herself by opening and closing the closet door where her light up ball in its track sits.. And then there is Annavision, the lower part of the glass patio door that is always available for her to look out of without bothering the blinds. Outside is an ever changing array of ducks, rabbits, birds and leaves that keep her entranced for hours.

At night she is welcome to sleep with me, but she seldom does. However, if she should choose to join me it is almost always directly on top of the blankets covering my feet so I am pinned to the bed. It is surprising how heavy a less than ten pound cat can be.

Her most endearing traits are two fold. If I go into the bathroom she follows, weaving in and out of my legs and expecting to be petted in one long swoop from the top of her head to the tip of her tail. And every time I go into the kitchen she lurks under the bed until I get there, then leaps out right in front of me nearly tripping me so she can get to her food where she purrs as loud as she can while gobbling up cat chow as if the only time she is allowed to eat is when I am there.

It is adorable, but of course she can eat whenever she likes. There is always food in her bowl and there is a sort of skylight night light that comes on when it's the least bit dark on the ceiling right over her food and water.

Sometimes she will sleep on the end of my recliner and three times now, she actually sat on my lap for a minute or two. It is a match made in heaven.

Three score and twelve days ago

Although I still have nightmares about injustice and frustration that are so bad I wake up drenched in sweat, my heart thundering in my ears, I am starting to reach a new level when I'm awake.

I no longer have this feeling that there is unavoidable impending doom. 

I am now at the point where I feel it is only a matter of time until it's over.

How long I don't know.

How much collateral damage I don't know.

Everyone expected damage. In fact, everyone knew there would be damage. They were counting on it! - - - for the other guys.

"Now we are engaged in a great civil (disturbance,) testing whether this nation, or any nation so conceived and so dedicated can long endure" . . . the hatred, the spitefulness, the lies.

But the people voted for it, so now they need to see where it takes them, what it really means, how these things really work - - - so they don't do it again  - - - too soon.

Dreams

I arrive at a vacation lodge in a small motorboat and as we pull into the dock leading to a metal staircase going up, an alligator plops down from above and lands in the water right next to the boat. It is a large creature, probably six feet from nose to tail.

It promptly swims off and I look up to see my ex-husband and my son leaning out the window above us looking down. "It's safe, don't worry." He yells.

I go inside and they show me to my room.  It is simple and plain, but more than adequate and I am surprised at the affection I feel because I was invited here. I give him a hug and ask if it is safe here. He assures me it is, but I notice wooden baby gates across all the doorways and looking down from the landing I think I see an alligator tail disappearing around a corner down there.

I wonder when he started running a vacation lodge and I also wonder where the other people are.

There was an old woman

My great grandmother grew up after Culloden ended the nobility of her family's poor Scottish life style and forced them to come to America; and after the Civil War in America ended her family's wealthy southern life style based on slavery in Charleston, South Carolina.

Great grandmother was raised on the rules of etiquette and the power of manners. She prided herself on being able to polite someone to death without batting an eye. Her daughter, my paternal grandmother, warned me not to touch her when she learned I was going to go meet her for the first time. She said she was very old and gray, but this same woman also walked out of my mother's dining room one day because she "would rather be hungry than improper." The damask napkins did not match.

I was six year's old when all of this came into my life. I had just started first grade and had a gentlemen's agreement with the principal. We shook hands over the decision that I agreed to go to school and high school, but not college -- like my mother. It seemed like a fair deal and in exchange I  got to turn the crank on the huge old fashioned record player in my classroom on the days I was line leader. And that was where I learned my first song in first grade.

I came home from school brimming over with excitement, but my mother had three younger children to take care of, dinner to cook and it seemed my great grandmother had died and I was to accompany my mother to the viewing that evening. She said I could sing her the song then.

It was 1956. My mother drove our old black Buick down to the funeral home and tried to explain death to me in terms I could understand on the way. I got it. Great grandmother was dead like Caruso, our canary, and they were going to bury her tomorrow. I didn't really know her and so this information was of little concern to me.  Of great concern was the new song I had just learned. It was really long and I proudly began singing it to my mother as we walked several blocks from the car to the funeral home.

"There was an old woman who swallowed a fly. I don't know why she swallowed a fly. Perhaps she'll die." I sang loudly and clearly and the song was long, but that was part of why I was so proud. I knew it all.  I got as far as the goat when my mother suggested that I might want to stop before we went inside and sing the rest to her later. I was a little hurt. I thought my grandma would want to hear it too, but my mother was firm. "Not tonight."

As soon as we walked in my grandmother grabbed my hand and whisked me off to look at Great Grandmother. Leaning down, she whispered in my ear, "Look at her, doesn't she look peaceful sleeping there?"

I really wanted to take Grandma outside and sing her my song, but the news that Great Grandmother was sleeping horrified me.  I tried to warn Grandma. "You've got to get her out of here!" I cried, "They're going to bury her tomorrow!"

I was quickly given back to my mother who hustled me out the door and back into the night air where I tried to straighten things out and my mother tried to explain that Great Grandmother really was dead and Grandma did know that and she didn't know why she had said she was sleeping. I found it all very confusing, but it did give me a chance to sing the rest of my new song to my mother as we went home.

Up up and away

There is s perverseness in people that makes them push through and do things whether they want to or not. The idea that we should take care of everyone else before ourselves is built on hubris and it is water soluble. Eventually tears will fall and the whole thing will melt away in one untidy mess.

Kindness is not just an act. It is a foundation that must be built on reality. The kindest people I know are kind to themselves too. They take care of themselves. Nurturing themselves makes them strong enough to persevere when times are tough without falling apart.

Living is not a linear thing. It is a sphere, a wholeness that requires things to connect in real ways. Imagine a balloon filled with molecules of air. Each molecule is a different aspect of your life. Eating the right foods, getting enough sleep, keeping up on the news, sharing things with friends, doing good deeds, exercising, being creative, being clean, indulging in those things that are special to just you, and so forth.

Remove any one of them and the balloon is not as full as it once was.

Keeping that balloon big and bright and translucent requires constant attention to all your needs. It makes you stronger and more capable of being better at everything -- including being kind and taking care of other people in the best way possible.

Daughters of Eve

Once upon a time, in a land far far away, a terrible plague killed the queen, leaving a Daughter of Eve all alone in a world of men. Her father and brothers did what they could, but she was lonely and sad and sought the company of her best friend, a poor woodcutter who lived in the nearby village.

Afraid of everything, the Daughter of Eve would sit in her window and weep until a tiny bird would tell the woodcutter and he would come to save her. At first they only talked. She from her window. He from the cover of the woods below, but her piteous cries that now her mother had died she had no one to hold her close and cherish her finally wore away his sense of decorum and the woodcutter built a ladder. He climbed up and sat for hours holding her as she nuzzled helplessly against him murmuring about how grateful she was and how much she loved him.

And then one day, as you might have guessed, she discovered she was with child and the woodcutter offered to marry her and take her away to his hovel in the village, but this Daughter of Eve was terrified of living in poverty. Who would drive her around when he was out cutting wood? Who would do all the things her father and brothers did? It took a lot of people to care for this little princess of Eve.

No, she could not be expected to live that way, so it was arranged, the woodcutter would send her a fifth of his money every month to help defray the costs of raising another little Daughter of Eve. In the beginning this was enough. Everyone brought lovely gifts for the new baby and her mother felt very loved and special, the center of attention, but eventually that wore off and then life changed.

No one wanted to listen to a crying baby. No one wanted to change a wet and smelly baby and no one wanted to stay up all hours of the day and night caring for an unhappy or sick baby. By the time the child was a toddler this Daughter of Eve was heartily sick of her life, so she devised a plan. She would go off and join the army and when she got out there would be money for school and a way to better herself and everything would be wonderful!

Her brother, who was at university, came back to his dorm one day to find his abandoned niece sitting on his bed with her bottle and teddy bear. There was a note pinned to the bear: Be back soon, gone to join the army! The woodcutter will send money. He was shocked, because she claimed he was afraid to go to the village store in the castle carriage, but he was kind. He hid the child in his dorm and managed to care for the baby until her mother returned several years later.

Upon returning the Daughter of Eve was relieved to find her child potty trained and talking and much easier to care for, but she occasionally still needed time to herself and during those times she would leave the little Daughter on her grandfather's doorstep with a note: Be back soon, gone to (wherever.) The woodcutter will send money.

In between she often sat in her window weeping. Until the same tiny bird told a soldier that a beautiful Daughter of Eve was stranded in her tower, alone and unloved. And he rescued her. Of course he took the child too and soon her daughter was safely tucked in among his own children during the months he had custody of them.

Time passed and the soldier had to go far away to fight a war and the Daughter of Eve did not like living by herself with her daughter so they got on a train and went to visit his mother. It was only a temporary situation she said, until the soldier came home.  The mother took them in quite happily until the time came for her son to come get them. Then the Daughter of Eve asked the mother if she would keep the girl until she graduated from high school so she could go back to be with her husband alone.

The mother said no she did not feel up to that, so the Daughter of Eve rented a house near the mother and moved into it. She wrote her husband and told him to sell their beautiful big house now that she had rented one by his mother. We no longer need it she told him. He was concerned about where his children would stay when they came, but the Daughter of Eve convinced him that he only needed a small place, big enough for him. He would soon finish his time as a soldier and then they would move to a new place.

He did as she suggested before coming home to visit her and his mother. The little daughter stayed at the grandmother's while he was there and when it was time to go back, the Daughter of Eve told her own daughter that they would be leaving her with her real father and grandfather and uncles because there was no room for her in the new place. The girl cried and begged. She did not want to go back there. She said they did not want her there.

And she was right, but the mother convinced her husband that it was the best thing to do, so they dropped her off on the way home. Unfortunately the Daughter of Eve could not convince him not to pick up his own children along the way and so they had to put them down on pallets all over the house during their visit this time.

Meanwhile, back at the castle, the younger Daughter of Eve was right. No one really wanted her there. She sat in her mother's old window weeping until a tiny bird told her best friend from childhood that she was there. And, as you might have guessed, history repeated itself. Except this time neither the king, nor the uncles, nor the girl's father wanted her to stay when they discovered she was pregnant and her mother certainly did not want her living with her and her soldier husband in their tiny love nest, so it was arranged.

The young Daughter of Eve was put on a bus and sent back to the grandmother's town to, supposedly finish high school. She was to live in the rented house the mother had set up before going back to her husband. The grandmother felt sorry for her. She was so young. She had never lived alone before. She had never had a job and she was barely eighteen. All the younger Daughter of Eve knew how to do was fix her hair, put on make up and look pretty. How could the grandmother leave her all alone like that now she was pregnant?

It was arranged that a Grand Duke and Duchess, who had never been able to have children of their own and who loved them dearly, would take the baby when it was born so the young Daughter of Eve and the baby's father could finish growing up and have a chance at a happy life. Then the grandmother and the young Daughter of Eve settled in to live through all this and make the best of it.

But they did not count on the Daughter of Eve! She had wanted a child with her soldier husband, but his vasectomy was not reversible. Here was her chance to have all the joys of an infant with none of the work. She filled her daughter's head with thoughts of pretty pink diaper bags and sparkly clothes. She painted pictures of walks in the park showing off a gorgeous baby girl. She told her that the father must send her money to help take care of the baby. She arranged a baby shower and the young Daughter of Eve, like all children, was tempted by the prospect of this new baby doll she was about to have. They could stay with her mother and soldier step father for one year and then they would be on their own.

A year is forever when you are that young. The Daughter of Eve sat back, sighed and thought how lovely life was. All you needed to do was let people know what you wanted and what you were afraid of and they would take care of everything else. The world lay at your feet if you were lucky and she intended to stay lucky.

Auntie Rene's little lady

My godmother was an awesome woman. Calm, practical, resilient and a lady by all standards. She outlived one husband who died in world war two and married another to have children later in life than most women in her era. She was fifteen years younger than my grandmother, her best friend and thirteen years older than my mother, her other best friend. No one could have had a better best friend or godmother. She called me  Auntie Rene's little lady. Dreaming of flouncy dresses, high highfalutin tea parties and elegant manners, I wanted to be a lady!

That view changed as I grew up. Slowly but surely I noticed that I didn't relate to the airs of many so called ladies. Most of them were not the level headed, kind women my godmother was and I hated the way they feigned weakness.

I found myself drawn towards men. Not as prospective lovers like my friends, but as the kind of people I wanted to be. There was something more genuine about them. a quieter honesty and strength that made them very appealing. There are a thousand ways to misconstrue that and I learned early to keep that particular preference to myself.

When I said, "Look at him," people thought I thought he was cute and sometimes I did, but no more than when I said, Look at her." I am attracted to strong, self confident people who do not need to show off.

I thought confidence. competence, and kindness were the true marks of a gentleman and those were the things I coveted.

The other

I walk slowly up the curving staircase of an almost stereotypical southern mansion.  He is up there, not in a room, but in a capsule, a sort of bathysphere, like an Easter egg, waiting for me.  He knows I am coming. I only have to find him, but his family is going to make it as difficult as possible in their sweet passive aggressive way.

Sometimes I feel like a ghost. Moving through familiar turf that has become unfamiliar while I've been away, but how much could things change? Surely the bond between us will be strong enough.

My search feels futile.  I keep missing him, but just by moments. By the time I reach the bathysphere only a beautiful soft blanket remains. He is gone. Then I hear him laughing and talking to someone as he escorts them down those same steps I just came up, but by the time I return to them he is gone again, far ahead of me down one of the long corridors on the main floor. I have missed him again!

Wandering around in the dim black and white light of late dusk, I hear something upstairs now. It has to be him. This time I run and arrive out of breath, pushing my way into what turns out to be a bathroom. He is in there! But he is helping someone out of a shower bath. It is a woman and she gazes blankly in my direction. There is something very familiar about her.

Not until I look into the wall mirror and see us both, do I realize the woman is me. I know that is impossible and yet I am overwhelmed by a feeling of cold stark terror. This other me cannot not be real can she?

Fear shivers through me followed closely by rage. What if I stabbed her with a hat pin, would I feel the pain too? Are we connected? Is that thought any crazier than what I am seeing?

He looks surprised to see me and looks from one of us to the other, but he never falters in his gentle ministrations of caring for and wrapping the big white terry towel around her. What does this mean?  Does his look mean he is confident that I will understand what he is doing and that it has no bearing on us?

She continues to stare at me, no real emotion showing on her face, but the eyes!  There is something terrifying about her.

And then -- I wake up.