Mid Summer Mumbles

Now that a certain someone has been permitted to let it out of the bag, that means certain other someones, like myself, are okay to comment on the about-to-be get-together on the shore of some big lake.

I hope you all have a weekend you’ll never forget, but in the good memories sort of way.

Two things keep me from writing more here on WP.  One, and probably the most important of those two, is that I just feel very outclassed here.  Everyone here could be or is a professional writer in some capacity.  I love to write, but like many things I love to do - such as sing - I am not in the least prepared to be in the company of those who really can.  So I am reticent about writing here, that my gaping lack of talent will be much more obvious than it is in “the other place.”

My second reason is summer time constraints.  My days are just not long enough to get to everything I need to do, and certainly not to all I’d like to do.

I’m making a commitment to come back and enjoy those people I’ve enjoyed for nearly three years, now.  Even if I don’t write much about my own life, I can always comment on your writing.

Again, here’s to having a great weekend.  I wish I could be a mouse in the corner!

Catching Up

The tulips are punching through the ground, the squirrels are caring for their babies, the birdhouses are hung and potential new occupants are checking them out. Some people are irritated when sparrows nest in their birdhouses, but I see the sparrow as the “every man” of the bird world. They’re not flashy nor do they possess the song of a meadowlark or the colors of the finch, but they are dedicated parents. We have several houses with entrances big enough only for wrens. I like to watch wrens court. The male builds three nests in three different locations. The female then chooses one of the nests. Her perusal of her future home choice may take several days. Finally, she chooses the home of her dreams and she and the male go about taking care of the eggs, then feeding and tending their new little brood. Wrens do have a delightful song, and their small bodies cause them to seem especially cute to watch.

Two years ago a robin family built a nest in our maple tree. The tree is just across the driveway from our front porch where we sit every morning in warm weather with our coffee. We brought the binoculars to the porch and checked on the little family every day. At first it was so sweet to watch the parents hunting and then feeding the babies. Then one day a baby bird walked around the very edge of the nest, teetering on uncertain legs. We held our breaths and passed the binoculars back and forth. If he’d fallen he’d surely have been a dead little birdy. The next morning several of the nest of six were walking the very rim of the nest. It made me so anxious I could hardly watch. One by one they disappeared. We enjoyed getting to watch a few of them get flying and hunting lessons from their parents. I hope they all made it to adulthood. I read in a bird book that often a robin will come back to the same tree where it was born and raise a family there, but we’ve seen no other robin nests in our maple. My fingers are crossed for this year.

I can’t imagine having that much interest in birds and their habits thirty years ago. Now little sagas of nature intrigue me. I could sit on the edge of a pond and watch the poliwogs and tiny, almost transparent minnows for hours. Spider webs are now works of art to me and I love to look at the patterns. I drag home rocks from almost every foray into the woods. I’m glad this is part of me being middle aged. I do indeed stop to smell the roses now. I’m happy I slowed down and began noticing things before it was too late.

Round and Round

Ah, what light through yonder window breaks?

I don’t know, but I’m betting it’s not the sun.

This is the last day of February.  February, the shortest yet longest of all months.  Maybe the cruelest of all months.  Certainly my last favorite of all months.  This year February has wrung me out like a worn denim shirt through a ringer washer.

In February, Christmas is too long passed.  Forget it, it was a long time ago.  February is too early to think about which perennials to put down in that corner of the fence.  I could but it would be a work of frustration, knowing it will be literally months until thoughts can become fact.

Eight years until my husband retires, and then we’ll spend our winters here:

Las Cruces, New Mexico.  I dream of it, by both day and night.  I have been there in February.  One might need a sweater or a hoodie.  If the sun is shining bright, outerwear might not be necessary at all.

Maybe one winter there will be enough for us.  Maybe the next year we’ll try Florida or Mexico or southern Texas.  I’d love to visit San Diego for a good long time.  I want to walk in the desert or on the beach hand in hand with my husband, breathing fresh, warm air and not feeling chill winds or hear the crunch of ice beneath our steps.

Something went awry when I was conceived.  My DNA is not set up to ever love cold weather, snow, ice or gray, sunless days.  My DNA cries out for a warm climate with tropical winds and flowers that bloom all year round.

Thank God tomorrow is March first.  It may be a little dim, but I can see a light at the end of the cold, miserable tunnel.

Concrete is Cold and Hard

About three minutes after I walked into the building where we have our AA meetings every night, a woman came in and said there was a man lying face down on the sidewalk outside.  Several of the men went outside, and it was one of “ours,”  about as drunk as a human being can get and still be conscious.  They brought him in and he had trouble sitting in a folding chair without support on both sides.  He was raving incomprehensible words.  He started to cry when no one could understand him.  Someone brought him a cup of coffee and as it got to his lips he started to gag loudly.  The men decided to take him to the detox center here.

After that, our meeting tonight was centered around a story in the AA Big Book that told the tale of a man whose Mother had been murdered when he was a boy.  No matter where the family moved, someone always found out the family history.  When the boy started high school he began drinking on a daily basis.  By the time he’d spent two years in the Marine Corps, he was an alcoholic that had to drink or he’d suffer withdrawal symptoms.   In spite of that, he did hold down and job, got married and had three children.  But he finally got to the point that he couldn’t make it to work every day, lost his job and his wife divorced him.  He ended up homeless, sleeping over heat grates with plastic over the top of him to stay warm.  He moved around from city to city, down to 130 pounds,  spending all his money on alcohol and occasionally getting a handout of food.

I know an alcoholic is an alcoholic.  We’re all the same under the skin.  But I’m so glad my “bottom” wasn’t what the man  in the story had to go through, or what the man tonight at the meeting was going through.

I was a secret drinker.  I’ve never been in a bar in this town.  I think the last time I was in a bar was about 1987 when we used to go play pool sometimes with a couple of friends.   I either drank here at home or I drank sitting in convenience store parking lots.  I’d choose a different store every day so I wouldn’t get the cops called on me for loitering.  I’d sit in my car, listening to Dr. Laura on talk radio (she makes more sense when you’re drunk), and guzzle Margaritas right out of the bottle.  I bought the bottles that already had the mix and liquor combined.

After about a year of doing this, and driving drunk, I got busted for DUI.  I got put on probation, had to pay a big fine, lost my license for six months, had to attend a state run driving school for six weekends, and that’s when I decided to go to AA.  I got busted for DUI at 9 a.m.  That’s definitely a sign that something is very wrong.

Seeing that man from our group fall so hard off the wagon tonight, and then reading the story we did from the Big Book make me very thankful that my life didn’t bottom out before I got help.  For me, I did feel like I was about as low as I could go, but really I had a lot farther to fall.  I’m just lucky I found a lifeline before I went on down that road.

Sometimes It’s Tough

My sister Nancy called me Saturday night.  She is seven years older than me and she is my only sibling.  Despite the age difference, we’ve always been very close.

In 2001 she was diagnosed with breast cancer and had a partial mastectomy along with several lymph nodes removed.  She went through a full course of chemo and radiation.  Her health has steadily declined since she was diagnosed.  Two years ago a tumor was discovered in her brain.  It was metastasized breast cancer.  She had brain surgery.  Not all the tumor could be removed.  It didn’t grow for a year, then started to get larger.  She had gamma knife surgery.  She is left-handed and the surgery was on the right side of her brain.  The gamma knife surgery left her with a very weakened left side.  She falls several times a week, despite using a walker now.  She is on a steroid medication that has caused her to develop diabetes and she’s now on four insulin shots a day.  The steroid is also taking the calcium from her bones and she has four compression fractures in her spine.  Last fall her brain swelled and the doctors increased her steroid medication.  Now,  either the medicine or the tumor is causing her to have memory problems.

When she called Saturday night, she didn’t remember talking to me at all since Christmas.  Actually, we’ve talked on  the phone eight or ten times since Christmas.  She tells me she thought she’d call and check on me and Mom because she hasn’t heard from me in so long,  a little bit of a hurt tone in her voice.  This has happened every time I’ve talked to her since Christmas.  I try to tell her that yes, we have talked, several times, but I can tell by her tone of voice that she doesn’t believe me.

Saturday night when she called, she wanted to say hello to Mom for a bit, too.  She brought it up to our Mom that we haven’t talked since Christmas.  This confused my Mom, who’s talked to her half a dozen times since Christmas.  I’ve been trying to hide what bad physical and mental shape my sister is in from my Mom.  My Mom is almost 82, worries like all Moms do, and there’s nothing she can do to help the situation, so I thought it best not to tell her how bad it is with my sister.  I’ve told her about the surgeries and that they were successful.  I’ve told her Nancy is diabetic now and uses a walker.  I am terrified that my sister is going to pass away and I will have to tell my Mom.  What a nightmare.  I know I’m being selfish, but a blow like that to my Mom would take what little health she has left.  It’s very likely that if I lose my sister, I’ll lose my Mom soon after.

There’s that bumper sticker about old age ain’t for sissies.  Middle age ain’t for sissies, either.

Now I Have To Make A Decision

My choice for the Democratic nominee for President was John Edwards. I liked John Edwards when he was Kerry’s running mate and wished at that time that he was at the top of that ticket, not second. I like his ideas, his record, his background and his family life. I saw a frank interview with his wife when she discussed the death of their child in a car accident and the affect it had on Edwards. I even liked the aspect of his career that the Republicans find so repugnant - that as a trial lawyer he sued big businesses on behalf of people that they’d harmed.

So now I need to get over it and make a decision about who is going to get my vote on Super Tuesday.

I just watched the Dem Debate in L.A. It was no help. I like each of them just about equally.  I like Clinton’s exit strategy for Iraq.  Obama has the advantage in that he never voted to go into Iraq, while Clinton did, although all who voted did so with false information on which to base their vote.

Health care is a big issue to me and I need to study what each has to say about getting more Americans insured.

One thing is for sure, no matter who is elected, we need to make sure it’s a Democrat and that things begin to change immediately.

Personally, I’d love to see a female President in my lifetime.  But I’d also like to see an African-American hold the job.  But are either of them electable over a mainstream Republican?  There is still so much racism and sexism in this country that the whole thing may backfire and we get McCain for President.  I shudder at the thought.

I’ve got to do my homework on these two and make my vote count on Super Tuesday.

Internet Friends

The past few days, I’ve been doing lots of thinking about internet friends.  I’ve been on the internet since 1993 or 1994, so say at least 14 years.  I did message boards, chat rooms on AOL, a long time on IRC, yahoo groups, instant messengers, myspace, just about everything social that’s available.  Before this past year I’d made many friends on a yahoo mystery readers’ group I’m subscribed to called 4MA, or For Mystery Addicts.  Some of us exchanged gifts and cards and books.  Some met each other at book conventions all over the world.  I never got to do that.  I have several people in the group I really care about.  But for some reason, no one has touched me like the people who moved here from that other site, and some that are still only at the other site.  I’m trying to understand what’s different.

I look forward every morning to spending my morning with “my people,” both here and there.  Sometimes I wake and could easily go back to sleep, but a little nagging voice in my head says, “Get up and see what so-and-so is saying today.”  Then I’m up, bleary eyed, hair on end, with my first cuppa joe in hand, checking up on what these special people have been thinking about.

My internet friends have saved me from having many bad days.  Caring for my Mom, being home almost all the time with little outside interaction causes me to be lonely sometimes.  I even did something last week I’d never done in 14 years on the internet - I talked to an internet friend on the phone, and now I want to make plans to meet two of them in person somewhere midway between where we all live.  I feel like I’ve found soul sisters.

I don’t know where to go with this, other than to say, all of you have bettered my life.  I’m not always up to making a comment, but I read just about everything my friends write.  Reaching out and you reaching back has made a big difference in this time of my life.  Thanks!

It’s a Good Thing

Like most people, I’m very quick to recognize a day gone crappy.  Sometimes it just takes one or two disappointments or unpleasant surprises to ruin an otherwise perfectly smooth day.  I have my share of bad days, just like everyone else.  This winter, in an effort to stave off the blues brought on by cold weather and limited recreation, I’m making a concerted effort to give the good days the nod and smile that they deserve.

I woke up this morning after a good night’s sleep.  My cock-a-poo, Daisy, was nose to nose and eyeball to eyeball with me when I opened my eyes.  There are worse ways to start the day than staring into a pair of eyes that adore you.

With fresh-brewed coffee and the house warming up, I had two hours of peace and quiet to read posts by my friends, and it seemed everyone had something interesting or funny to say today.  My Husband got up at 10 and was in a good mood.  He is always in a better mood on Fridays than on Mondays.

The mail arrived and it was almost like Christmas.  Two hardback books came for me, The Nature of Monsters by Clare Clark and Dexter in the Dark by Jeff Lindsay.  In another box were adult coloring books for me from Dover Publications.  One is of Victorian houses, another is of plantation homes, and the last is baby animals.

At another site I wrote a piece about my Grandmothers and how differently they treated me.  Some of the feelings dredged up during the writing were painful, but were offset by others that were loving and positive.

We are going away for the night tomorrow, so about noon I made a very big tuna casserole to keep those here fed, and it turned out great.

The steroids the doctor prescribed for my Mom two days ago have begun to work and she seemed to feel pretty good this afternoon.  We had a good talk.  I cooked her a rib eye steak and mixed vegetables for dinner, her favorite meal, and she seems happy this evening.

I’m about to take a hot bath with my favorite lavender bath oil.  My dogs will watch every move I make intently, making me laugh.

Nothing important happened today.  It was just a good day.  Or as Martha would say, “It’s a good thing.”

Anticipation…

This will be our weekend for our getaway. We decided in October that once a month through the winter, that we’d go somewhere and stay in a hotel or motel for one or two nights one weekend a month. In summer we have camping as a getaway, plus the opportunity to get outside and do gardening, reading on the porch, all those great summer things. But winter can really get me down emotionally, so this will be our third getaway weekend.

I reserved a room in a town about one and a half hours south of us. It’s got a hot tub out in the main room. It has a microwave and refrigerator. We’re going to take some yummy munchies, like stuffed mushrooms that we can just zap in the microwave, and expensive bubble bath.

I started to gather the stuff together we’ll take tonight. You’d think we were going on a week long trip to Florida or something, I am so excited. Tonight at Wal Green’s I bought a package of six kinds of massage oils, some tingle, some get warm, some get hot when you blow on them. I bought a gardenia scented candle for the hot tub. I have Al Green and James Taylor cds ready to go. My silk pajamas are going.

Both of the other weekends we’ve done this have been so good it was almost unbelievable. Complete privacy, no baby monitors, nothing to worry about but the two of us, it’s better than good. I don’t know how to describe it. The last time when we got home, I realized my cheeks were hurting from smiling so much all weekend. Or maybe it was from all the talking. We talked like two people starved for each other.

Still Hungry, Sweetheart?

I don’t want WP to become my “bitch, moan and piss” zone, and looking back over my last few posts, that’s what I’m letting it become.  So I’ll lighten things up a bit with this story.  This is the most I ever embarrassed my husband, well, on purpose, anyway.

We were eating in a Dairy Queen in Georgia.  We had our food on little gray plastic trays.  As always in fast food joints, we bussed our own trash after eating.  My Husband had laid his set of car keys on his little gray tray, rather than putting them immediately back into his pocket, like his anal wife-love, me, would’ve done.

We finished eating and first I dumped my leavings into the trash can by the door, and then he did.  A second later I heard him say in a low tone, “Oh, shit.”

The trash can was pretty full, our leavings were in sight on top of the rest of the junk.  He sort of glanced around and very casually put his hand into the trash can to see if he could feel his keys among the top trash.  Of course, being heavy, they were going to the bottom.  Little by little he finally got almost his entire arm into the trash can.  That’s when I said, in a nice clear, carrying voice, “Sweetheart, if you want another hamburger, just buy one!”  Then I left and went out to the car, unlocked it with my own set of keys and waited for him.

We still laugh about that.  For years when it was mentioned, I was the only one laughing.  Now he sort of joins in.