Whirling Betty

another decision

2012-01-11T17:02:00.012-05:00

I have to buy a small elevated bistro table with 2 chairs for my kitchen. The kitchen is not yet finished, but here's how it looks now:

I have narrowed my bistro search down to 2 options. This is option A, available in a local store:

Well, I know it's fairly impossible to tell anything from these photos. I can assure you that being able to see the kitchen and the bistro set in person doesn't help much.

Option B would be ordered off the internet, for 60% of the price of the other set:

Option A can be brought home the day I buy it. Well, almost. The store has only one stool, and it will take 2 weeks to get another one. If I order option B (free shipping) it could take 2 - 4 weeks, I'm estimating. My kitchen should be finished by the end of this week, so it would be nice to have a table and chair. My old table and chairs are NOT going in that kitchen (especially seeing as how they'd no longer fit).

Option A would be easy to return if it doesn't work out. I am willing to bet that option B would be a hassle to return AND it has to be assembled. (How does one return an item which must be assembled?)

I really doubt that option B would have to be returned, though. It's pretty straightforward, and I was ultra careful with my measurements. Option A is a bit more...well.... off-the-beaten-path, shall we say. It looks kind of space-age.

And here is one more option, also available at a local store. Please note that this option, also 40% cheaper than option A, at first glance may seem the obvious choice. The problem is, it is nearly twice the size of option A, and I am squeezing this bistro set into a tight space:

What do you think?

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Bye 2011

2011-12-31T14:25:00.001-05:00

Well, I sure did try to make 2011 the year that I finally moved to the pedestrian neighborhood near downtown where I want to be. 2011 was the best time to make that happen, because when housing prices begin to rise again, the prices there will rise at a much faster rate than the rest of the area. It is really difficult to live in a house which has to be available for showings, but I did it. There was at least one showing per week for several months until July, when activity pretty much stopped.

No offers were made on my house, not even low offers. I came to realize that the house would not sell in this market unless changes were made. So my kitchen is being renovated and the rest of the house is being dealt with as much as I can afford.. I am doing what I can myself, and have become rather adept at plaster repair and interior painting.

Then, in early spring, the house will go back on the market.

Meanwhile, I have a different relationship with this house. I never really liked this house before, and I was always very detached from it. I never made it a home.

Over the past few weeks I have put a lot of effort into carefully choosing paint colors and small upgrades like outlet covers. I really like the new colors I've applied, except for the bathroom which has 2 impossible per-existing tile colors. I ended up having to faux finish the walls of the bathroom, and the resulting wall color is OK.

When the house is placed on the market again, I will have a new attitude. I will know that I have made this house as appealing as it can be within a reasonable budget. The house looks a million times better that it used to. Maybe its "energy" has changed.

Happy new year.

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Renovation

2011-12-19T12:42:00.003-05:00

This is from my final set of photos taken of my kitchen prior to renovation:

And this is what that view looks like now:

A picture is NOT worth a thousand words in this case. It all looks very neat, orderly and acceptable in this photo. It looks as though the renovation is not disrupting any lives; it looks as though the house this room is in is still functional. It does not appear that the homeowner is losing her ever-loving mind.

The horror stories you've heard about kitchen renovations are all true. Guaranteed. I just hope the one thing every survivor claims, about the renovations always taking twice as long as promised, is NOT true.

I suppose that if this were a bigger house, it wouldn't bother me so much to have workers in it 7 days a week. There are only 4 rooms in the house. I can't stand to have this much contact with other people.

I also can't find anything. Now I realize that I used to store a shocking number of non-food items in my kitchen - necessities like scissors, paper, writing utensils, important papers and contact information. (It's a four-room house after all.) I can't find anything now, even though I am the one who hauled everything out of the kitchen. It's a tiny house, which means that accessible and viewable storage of displaced items is not an option.

It goes without saying that it's extremely challenging to live for weeks on end with no kitchen. It's impossible to eat properly with no kitchen. I suppose if we lived near a health food store, it wouldn't be so bad. But we don't.

And then there are situations like this morning. I never get sick, and one of the reasons I don't is because whenever I feel anything coming on, I go straight to the kitchen to take whatever remedies apply. I eat garlic or onions (natural antibiotics), take some echinachea for general malaise or some cherry bark syrup for a sore throat. Well, you know where this is going. I could barely get out of bed when the alarm went off at 6:30 this morning, and I knew I needed echinachea. And yes, you guessed it - I haven't the foggiest idea where it is.

It is notable that the only time I have ever failed to get The Child to school on time occurred last week. My life is so turned upside down that I failed to awaken last Thurday when the alarm went off. The Child was forced to go to detention because of it, even though I wrote a lengthy note to the school administrators explaining that it was entirely my fault. I should have been sent to detention. In fact, I should have been sent to detention for making the decision to renovate.

***********************************************************************

Some time has passed since I began writing this post . Here's what the kitchen looks like now:

It doesn't look much different, even after more than 2 weeks of work, but there's been a lot of electrical work to re-do that doesn't show. The renovator (who usually works alone without helpers) often talks to himself or whistles while he works. I like that. He seems to enjoy what he's doing, even though he gave me such a low price that he's probably not making any money on this job. I also like the fact that he works 7 days a week. How many workers do that? (I can just imagine the outcry if the employees at my workplace were asked to work 7 days without a day off! Heads would roll!)

No matter what the new kitchen ends up looking like, I guarantee that I'm going to be thrilled to have one again.

Meanwhile I have begun painting elsewhere in the house. I painted the master bedroom pale yellow, as Cinderella suggested. I think it looks really good. The room (which is where The Child sleeps) is a wreck, so I'm not posting photos.......well, actually, I will...............

Here's before:

Here's after:

Cinderella obviously has a good eye for color. I am very pleased with the room. Thanks, Cinderella! Next, when I have time to shop, I am getting new carpeting for the room.

Progress is being made.

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calm before the storm

2011-11-28T23:09:00.000-05:00

Peace prevails, but not for long. Next Monday I will be turning my house over to the renovators who are re-doing my kitchen. I have heard horror stories from those who have endured kitchen renovations. I never thought I'd be joining their ranks. Yet here I am, bracing myself for my small house to become engulfed in turmoil for at least a month. And I will have no kitchen during that period. I just hope it doesn't send me over the brink.

I never gave a hoot what my kitchen looked like as long as it functioned. (And it did.) But ohhhhhhh nooooooo. It's not good enough for the people who viewed my house when it was for sale. They found my kitchen unacceptable. I hope they realize that now, after spending a ton of money on renovations, I will have no room to negotiate when the house goes back on the market in the spring.

Of course I'm scared. I just can't figure out what my biggest fear is. I suppose it's that the renovations I'm doing won't be enough. Is it enough to do the kitchen, the floors, and paint the walls? I can't help but notice that once you start making changes to a 50 year old house, everything that isn't changed stands out more than it did before.

I worry that the renovated kitchen will end up being mine, and it isn't being designed for me. It is designed for Jane Doe Homebuyer. The plan is that I am supposed to be able to sell this house after the renovations. But the plan may not work, and I don't need or want a new kitchen.

I am scared.

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Kitchen confusion

2011-11-01T22:10:00.001-04:00

This is my kitchen. Apparently many people who have had showings at my house (which is for sale) have considered this kitchen to be unacceptable, in that it is small and in need of updates (according to them).

Sometimes that assessment feels like an insult, since I personally have no problem with the kitchen (although I'll admit that it's small). How is it that this kitchen is good enough for me but it's not good enough for other people?

My realtor, who really is good at his job, claims that in the current market, my house will not sell unless I have certain renovations done in the kitchen.

Yes, the cabinets look worn. They are 50-year-old high-quality cabinets. They don't look particularly impressive under a microscope but they function perfectly well.

Yes, the oven and stove are dated. But they work perfectly well. (The oven is beside the stove, above it and to the right.)

The refrigerator is not stainless steel Who cares? It works.

The floors are "vintage".

I wonder if flooring sold today will last 50 years. Let me guess.........

The countertops - well, even I don't like the countertops. But....yeah, they work.

Why, I say why do so many people find this peninsula offensive? Seriously.

When I moved into this house, the cupboards above the peninsula had doors on them, making the kitchen tiny and dark (and yet I bought the house!). I removed the cupboard doors, which instantly brightened up the kitchen.

As it is, the peninsula divides the room into a (small) kitchen and a (small) dining area.

The renovation recommended by the realtor calls for demolition of the peninsula. (This was originally my idea, but I have since abandoned it. The realtor has grabbed onto it like a bulldog.)

I think it would be a mistake to open up the area into one room. It will then be about the size of a normal kitchen (although still not a very big one). The realtor wants me to get rid of my current table (rectangular with leaves) and replace it with a small round elevated cafe table with 2 chairs. (Augh! Is he nuts?) I think the proposed plan will look awkward and will draw attention to the fact that the house has no dining room.

These 2 comparative drawings put it all into perspective:

As it is now, I could probably fit 6 people into my dining area if I tried. Maybe. (I have never tried.)

The realtor's (and contractor's) plan includes painting the cabinets white, replacing the countertops with granite, moving the (new stainless steel) refrigerator to the end of what is now the dining area, getting rid of the soffits, removing the wallpaper (I'd do that myself), installing a new stainless steel stove, ceramic floors and of course removing the peninsula.

Here's what I think: I should replace the counters with black granite, install white and black large checkered vinyl flooring, remove the wallpaper, replace the refrigerator and stove with stainless steel, leave the old oven in place (it can be used for storage if it's not needed for baking). Leave the peninsula as is.

I am not a realtor, nor am I a renovator. And I am the type who has a hard time spending money. But tell me. What do you think?

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progress?

2011-10-28T11:29:00.000-04:00

Well, my house is still for sale. No offers. Not many showings. The comments are that they love the location on the park, they love the setting, but the house needs too much work.

I guess it shows that a single mother with no handyman-type skills and no family in the area has lived here for over 10 years, with a young son and dogs. If my father lived nearby, things would be different. He probably would have helped me keep the place up. As it is, he's never even set foot in my house.

Over the years I've doled out thousands of dollars to handymen - it's not as though I've neglected the house. But apparently those thousands of dollars were not enough.

I have listened to the comments. I have already made some changes, slowly and carefully due to my concern about money. I had new oak floors installed in the living room and hallway, and the guest bedroom floors refinished.

That was a good start, but not nearly enough to make the house sell. A generous friend who just bought new furniture gave me her old living room furniture, so now my living room looks like this:

It's a vast improvement, but not enough.

I have touched up the paint on all the walls, and when I have time I'm going to paint the master bedroom. I'm also going to have new carpet installed in the master (after the paint job is finished!). I will also attempt to re-grout the shower myself, despite dire warnings from everyone who knows anything about it.

I'm in the process of deciding how much money I'm willing to spend to renovate the kitchen. It is a tough decision, because I am unlikely to be able to justify expensive renovations with a high selling price. My house is still going to be extremely small, with no backyard (but a lot of landscaping maintenance) AND another house on the park (a house bigger and better than mine) just sold for a very low price ($30,000 lower than my asking price). (That will affect the offers on my house, if I ever receive any.....)

It would make sense for me to wait until the market improves EXCEPT for one problem: the neighborhood I want to move to will never again be as affordable as it is now. When home values begin to rise again, the values in that neighborhood will rise much more dramatically than in this neighborhood.

Sighhhhhhhh.

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dream adjustment

2011-09-16T17:38:00.003-04:00

Over this past summer I have contemplated giving up on my dream of moving to a Victorian house in the downtown pedestrian neighborhood which I am crazy about. I don't want to give it up, but my attempt to sell my current house so that I can buy in the desired neighborhood has not worked out.

I think each individual has to do what it takes to thrive according to his or her unique preferences. Some of us consider marriage, children, living in a certain part of the world, or maybe a certain job or salary level to be preferences necessary for thriving. I did have a goal of finding a job in a field where jobs are scarce, and fortunately that worked out. Ever since then I have focused on the elusive goal of finding a house in a pedestrian neighborhood.

I already know what it's like to live in the neighborhood downtown because I have lived there in the past. I did thrive, since it seems to be in my blood to live in a pedestrian neighborhood. I grew up in that type of neighborhood and never even owned a car until I moved to the city I now live in. Every once in a while someone will ask me why I'm so hell bent on moving to that neighborhood. This is not a casual whim; I have spent an inordinate amount of time trying to figure out what "home" means to me, and the neighborhood near downtown is it. And I really can't think of anything else that I have wanted during recent years.

Maybe most of today's adults did not grow up in a pedestrian neighborhood. I'm glad I did, because it gave me a lifelong standard . I never forgot it.

However, I am now frustrated by it. I don't really have a lot of others dreams or desires. I've always been pretty low maintenance, I think, except for my fussiness about houses. I have never been one to spend a lot of money on things like travel, clothing, furniture, jewelry or cars. The only thing I have really wanted is a Victorian house in the pedestrian neighborhood near downtown.

I do have options, of course. I can lower the price. I can renovate my house. I can just keep waiting (my house has been on the market since March) for that elusive "right buyer" to come along with a purse full of money. Or I can give up.

The Child and I have lived in this house for ten years. I bought it because I thought its location on a park made it the ideal place to raise a child. Well, looking back, I'd say that my particular child didn't give a hoot about growing up on a park. He turned out to be a computer nerd who spends all of his time indoors.

From the beginning it was clear that this house did not suit me at all. A friend came to visit from out of state after we had been living here a few months, and I vividly recall his observation that I was "failing to thrive" in this house. It's very small and poorly laid out. I never found the right spaces in this house to do what I need to do for work. Even the outdoor space was a disappointment, since there is no backyard for me to create the kind of outdoor space, complete with a fish pond. which I want. Its late 50s/early 60s architecture is very unappealing to me. I dislike the low ceilings and wall-to-wall carpeting. It's ranch-style, which means it's one story. The kitchen is so small that two people can't be in it at the same time. Because the lot is small, the house can not be enlarged.

So for the past ten years I've wanted to move. I tried to sell it five years ago, and it was actually in contract. The buyer ended up freaking out and backing out of the contract. No other buyers made an offer, so I gave up after eight months and my realtor took it off the market. During the interim, I have made the best of it.

But that's not thriving.

Yes, I know that I'm being a spoiled brat, and that our true home has nothing to do with a physical structure.

But I still want a Victorian house near downtown.

Just kidding- I don't expect to end up in one this big!!!

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..

Design disaster

2011-08-11T02:10:00.000-04:00

OK, it's not exactly a complete and total disaster, but this is the master bedroom of my house which has been on the market since the end of March with no offers. The house was built in 1962, which happens to be my least favorite era for architecture and interior design. I bought the house because of its prime location on a beautiful and popular park. I thought it would be the ideal place to raise a child. Perhaps it was in some ways at some times, but now The Child and I are over it and ready to take on a more urban lifestyle in, hopefully, a Victorian house (my favorite style).

There is a cute alcove which I used to call the "library". Now that The Child uses this room, it has become more of an office, featuring his elaborate computer and two large monitors.

The bed is covered in 3 of these photos with a red flower print with a light blue background. I think maybe it looks better than the white coverlet in the first 2 photos. What do you think? And what do you think of the multi-colored (yet discreet) curtains I made out of shower curtains?

And here, to the right, you can see the alcove with the patterned bed covering.

Down below, you'll see the hideous photo which appears online with the listing for my house. It's a photo my realtor took 5 years ago when my house was on the market. (It didn't sell, and I couldn't tolerate the constant showings, so after 6 months we took it off the market. It actually was in contract but the buyers backed out.) The reason I'm including the photo below is so that you can see the basic features of the room. How would YOU go about decorating this rather odd master suite? (The wall color is pretty appealing, and the paint is in good condition.)

Help Betty choose a slipcover

2011-07-25T10:06:00.001-04:00

Betty's living room

The red slipcover in the above photo has to go. I suspect that it lends too juvenile a look to my living room. Is that why nobody has yet made an offer on the house? I doubt it, but you never know what might influence a potential buyer.

Here are some possible options I've selected to replace the red slipcover:

update

2011-07-11T17:48:00.000-04:00

My house is still for sale. In fact, the price was lowered a month ago. Prior to that, there had been an average of one showing scheduled each week since the house went on the market in late March. Once the price was lowered, the showing requests stopped completely!! Go figure!!

Actually, the is a reason - it's the time of year. My realtor says that things slow down in July. Not good, since there are 17,000 houses for sale right now in this city. (Mine is the only house fronting a world class rose garden, but that seems to matter not at all.....)

Meanwhile, I keep pouring money into the house. I laid out a good deal of money this past week to fix a clog in the underground drainpipe which drains water from a downspout to the street. The poison ivy has become so prevalent that I have to pay people to help me try to maintain the landscaping. I also had a threshold repaired and a doorknob replaced (after the old one was sawed off!). I also repainted a basement closet.

Now there's nothing in or about this house or property that I'm ashamed of - short of renovation, I have done everything I can. But it remains a house built in 1962 which was never updated. Because I (and previous owners) have always fixed anything that was broken, it is completely functional. But it is not pristine, and it is not new.

Someone named Cinderella commented on one of my posts about the house that I should consider updating the house and making it the house of my dreams. Then maybe someone else would want it! And certainly, in an ideal world (one with unlimited money) I might do that.

The complaints that prospective buyers have relayed to my realtor are that the house is too small, the kitchen is too small and the property is too small. Not much I can do about any of those facts!

So I buried a statue of St. Joseph in the yard next to the real estate sign. With his help, surely it's just a matter of time.

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can't sleep

2011-06-09T04:52:00.000-04:00

It's 4:14 am - the middle of the night. Birds are chirping already - I thought they slept until dawn. I sat outside - it's hot out, even thought it's the middle of the night.

The birds singing in the dark transport me back to my teen years. My first boyfriend had a paper route. (This was back in the days when kids actually delivered newspapers. Nowadays, at least in the city where I live now, newspapers are delivered by adults with cars.)

Joe invited me to join him on his paper route one early morning. It was so early that it was still dark, yet the birds were warming up for their dawn performance. My dog Terry joined me, off leash. We walked several blocks to where we'd meet Joe.

I had never seen the world at that hour before. It was quiet but for the birds. There were no cars, no people. I might have been scared if Terry the dog had not been enthusiastically accompanying me. Terry's protective presence enabled me to enjoy the magic of pre-dawn, when nature awakens.

Joe, who tended to be a quiet boy, was even quieter at that hour. I began to understand why he chose to deliver papers even though it meant that he had to get up 3 or 4 hours earlier than his schoolmates did. There was a sacred aspect to the hour.

Even the air seemed different, as indeed it probably was since the cars and buses had not yet revved up their engines. It was spring, and the air was the perfect temperature and humidity - cool but not cold, and delicious with lilacs.

Joe took his job seriously, and focused on his papers rather than on me. He had developed early-morning relationships with the shop owners who greeted him. I admired that. I could sense the mutual respect. At that sacred hour, nobody said much, yet it was important to greet properly, in the spirit of setting up the day to be a good one.

The paper route was long. Back in those days, kids actually walked places, so it was no big deal. But it really was a long paper route. By the time it was completed, the day had dawned. I was disappointed to end the enchantment, but Joe and I walked to our respective houses to get ready for school, thus ending one of the most cherished memories of my childhood.

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Last spring (2010)

2011-06-01T19:18:00.000-04:00

Today I was searching on YouTube for a certain musical selection. Much to my surprise, a song which I strongly associate with my sister appeared in the sidebar, and I had no choice but to listen to it. I was already having a really rough day, and I would not have consciously chosen to immerse myself in renewed mourning.

Last spring (2010) I found a sitter for The Child and I took off for Boston, where my sister was......well, preparing to die, although none of us really knew that at the time. Her tongue cancer had returned and had taken her voice, the voice which had still sounded high-pitched and childlike even during its last utterances. Her voice, before its decline, had been so animated that during healthier times, she had been asked to record outgoing phone announcements for businesses.

She was a shadow of her former self last spring (2010), but we dared not think of the end. She and I held conversations with her side being written into a notebook, with florid handwriting, impeccable spelling and perfect grammar. My sister was smart. She had skipped 4th grade, which, due to the high standards of education in the state of New York where we grew up, was nearly unheard of.

Over the course of that visit I became reluctantly accustomed to her weak, frail, silent body. She was still herself in spirit, thanks to her unfailing willingness to write.

On the day I returned home from that visit to my sister, The Child and I went to see the movie Shutter Island. It was quite appropriate because it was set in Boston. But the piece de resistance was the song This Bitter Earth which played during the credits at the end of the movie. I was mesmerized by it, and although the child was tugging on my sleeve to leave, I could not budge.

When we returned home after the movie, I found the Shutter Island sound track of This Bitter Earth on YouTube and emailed it to my sister. That was her kind of music.

Now I can rarely bring myself to listen to it. But today it presented itself and demanded another listening. I was transported back to that time, in the spring of 2010, when my sister was still alive.

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!0 a day = 150 so far!

2011-05-29T18:31:00.000-04:00

The dog enjoys resting atop a pile of give-aways.

Yes, indeed, I have stuck with my commitment to get rid of 10 items a day ever since I read about the idea 15 days ago. Since I performed a major purge a year ago, I am not sure that I can continue to get rid of 10 things a day indefinitely. But I do know that I now have 150 fewer items to move when moving day arrives. ( I have not had any offers on my house yet, but eventually it will happen, I would think, and then we'll move, theoretically......)

Today I took The Child to an Asian Festival in 88 degree heat with very little shade to be found anywhere. We had to park a mile from the festival site. I should have anticipated the problem that might cause, since The Child has always had a low tolerance for heat.

He's at an unpredictable age (7th grade going into 8th grade). Since he wants little to do with me these days, I thought I was hearing things when he said yes to my questioning about going to the Asian Festival. So we went, despite the heat and the inevitably huge crowd.

The Child wanted a parasol. Since they were being sold for $6, I saw no harm in that, and I thought it might actually shield him from the hot sun.

I was eager to check out the many food vendors, each of which offered exotic, tantalizing dishes. But no. The Child wanted a Powerade drink, a glance at the Chinese dancers, and a quick trot through the market place to find that parasol. And that was that.

On our way back to the car, with the temperature rising steadily, I had the audacity to stop and take a quick photo of a stunning house we walked past:

Anyone who knows me (or reads my blog) knows that I have a thing for houses, especially old ones. So I didn't think I was committing a crime when I shot this photo. But The unpredictable Child found my action to be utterly intolerable. He raged the rest of the way to the car, much like a two-year-old throwing a tantrum, promising that he would NEVER go anywhere with me EVER again - not even to the Irish Festival.

He hasn't spoken to me since.

10 a day

2011-05-16T11:46:00.000-04:00

It seems like such a reasonable goal - to get rid of 10 items per day. I read about the phenomenon on the blog of a martial arts instructor, and found it rather appealing. Above you can see my first 10 items, which include car wax, expired food and a long dead iPod Touch. I will give away the brand new bird house, the toy and the ball of bath salts. The rest will be tossed in the trash after I gaze at the collection for a while, proud of my new mission and its first day of accomplishment.

This follows a TV show on hoarding which I half watched yesterday. Although I am not a hoarder (I despise shopping) I certainly am the type of housekeeper who easily lets things go. In fact, I'm not a housekeeper. I'm a house neglector.

Yes, even now, with my house for sale, with showings being scheduled on a day's notice, I struggle to keep things in order. Doesn't it make perfect sense that a person with my shortcoming would be better off living the life of a minimalist? The fewer the possessions, the easier the task of keeping them in order.

Besides, I hope to move in the near future. Again, logic dictates that I'm better off moving fewer possessions.

The funny thing is, I've been purging for years. Ask my friend Garnet. He helped me when I first began - I believe the year was 2005. We hauled carloads of stuff to the Volunteers of America and the recycling bins. Carloads. I recall Garnet commenting on the fact that I had carefully saved miniscule scraps of paper to be recycled. He mused that perhaps my time could be better spent......

A year ago I purged in a big way, the biggest yet. I had Salvation Army trucks haul away what looked like roomfuls of stuff. My sister, who was a hoarder in the true sense of the word, cheered me on from Boston. She understood the magnitude of what I was undertaking. I loved sending her photos of my newly sparse rooms.

Yet I still have too much!

We'll see how this new 10-a-day challenge goes. Please wish me luck.

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To the people who did not buy my house yesterday

2011-04-04T10:41:00.000-04:00

You know who you are! You led me on! You started eyeing my property as soon as the For Sale sign went up last Wednesday. You even walked up the driveway and peered in the kitchen windows while I was cleaning on Saturday! One of you parked your car outside of my house at dusk Friday night and gazed at the property for what seemed like hours. A couple of you begged me to disclose the price while I was raking leaves. Some of you showed up here multiple times over the past few days, leading me to believe that you had serious interest in living in my house on the park.

And why wouldn't you want to live here? It's peaceful, tranquil, full of plantlife and wildlife, yet located within city limits. The house is a solid brick structure with low maintenance and utility costs. When you look out of the windows from inside this house, you see nature. Not cars and other people's houses and SUVs and trash cans - you see trees and grass and bushes and flowers and yes, flowering trees which are about to bloom. The backdrop of all of this is woods and a ravine. That's what you see out of my windows.

But that's not good enough for you, is it? Noooooooo. You apparently "need" more space than can be had in a 1350 square foot house. And you "need" an updated house, as if it is somehow unlivable in its current state.

Suggestion: If you want the house updated, then BUY it and UPDATE it!!!

Why did you lead me on? I was SO sure that you all were going to be fighting over it at the open house! I even had my realtor believing that you all were going to do that!

WHAT is wrong with you all??????

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Done

2011-03-31T09:23:00.000-04:00

The day before yesterday my realtor came over to complete the paperwork, and the "For Sale" signs are in place. My house is on the market, with an open house scheduled for Sunday at 1-4pm.

The photo above may look odd. Indeed, my house does not face the street- it faces the park, so what people from the street see is the side of the house, as pictured above.

In spite of all this progress, my mind is still not totally right. I persist in worrying about being able to afford the more expensive house, about moving away from the Child's friend who lives in this neighborhood, about transportation to school, about the post office in the new neighborhood - you name it; I'm worrying about it.

Yet I know that if my mind isn't right, the likelihood exists that I will unwittingly prevent the pieces from falling into place, by sending mixed messages to the universe. I say I want to move, yet I list all the concerns about doing so.

A mind is a difficult thing to control.

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A snag

2011-03-29T09:44:00.000-04:00

I have encountered the snag which is my mind.

Yesterday I called my realtor to set up a time for him to come to my house to photograph it and do the paperwork for putting it on the market. I was explaining how worried I was that this would be yet another failed attempt. I was on the verge of tears.

He said he didn't know what to do, since it sounded as though I didn't want to proceed. I tried to explain that I want to proceed, but I am afraid of more disappointment like the last few times I've tried to do this. And now we're in a lousy housing market to boot! I dread going through the trauma of trying to make the house perfect for showing after showing, with no results. Last time my house was on the market, I pulled many all-nighters getting the house ready for showings.

The realtor said that he's not going to list my house unless I can adjust my attitude. It sounds harsh the way I've worded it, but his wording sounded perfectly reasonable.

What to do? What's blocking me from having a positive attitude about what I say I want to do?

OK, I'm embarrassed to admit that I'm concerned about what the neighbors will think when they take a gander at my latest "For Sale" sign in front of the house.

Before I go any further, let's analyze this. These are the same neighbors who pay absolutely no attention to me when there's a disabling snowstorm or power outage, the same neighbors who said no each time I asked if they could pick up The Child from his school bus stop when I had to be at work and the temperature was 40 below zero.

Yes, it appears that whirlingbetty is ready to abandon her dreams all for the sake of the possible judgment of the above-described neighbors, the neighbors who treat their little white dogs far better than they treat their fellow man.

OK - on to the next hurdle. I am afraid of making a mistake. This may well be a legitimate concern. It's hard to leave a location on a park which contains one of the largest rose gardens in the country. The actual house, while definitely too small, has been inexpensive to maintain and heat. The house I want will be far more expensive, so it is a financial risk. And while located a few steps from a gorgeous urban park, it won't be possible to look out of the windows and see the park like I can now:

The back of the house I hope to buy overlooks a sizable backyard, which is now fairly barren and awaiting my landscaping:

While having a yard which is a blank canvas should be positive, part of me dreads having to go through the expense, hassle and exertion of installing a pond, trees, bushes, etc. Staying in my current house is a hell of a lot easier!!

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Something timely just occurred. One of the above-described neighbors just showed up at my door to let me know that there was a bicycle in front of my house which he was afraid someone would steal. I asked him for an update on the crime in the neighborhood, which has been seriously increasing over the past 2 weeks. Sure enough, there was another series of break-ins last Thursday. I decided to test the waters and tell the neighbor that I'm going to put my house on the market. He barely flinched. And he certainly didn't try to talk me out of it!!

Somehow, that event changed things. I received "permission" to go ahead.

I'll keep you posted.

.

Monday's revelation

2011-03-21T08:53:00.000-04:00

When you talk about what you want and why you want it, there's usually less resistance within you than when you talk about what you want and how you're going to get it. When you pose questions you don't have answers for, like how, where, when, who, it sets up a contradictory vibration that slows everything down.
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That's my spiritual lesson for the day. It makes sense. Talking about what I want and why I want it is easy: I want a fairly big Victorian house near downtown so I can walk or bike everywhere and get by without a car most of the time. I am drawn to that part of town because it's vibrant and full of life. There are people milling about, walking to the nearby groceries, stores and restaurants, at all hours. I like the energy. I'd also enjoy having my own backyard where I can create a garden with a pond. And the luxury of a fenced-in yard is great for any dog owner.

After thinking about today's lesson, I see that it may not be productive to focus on the questions about how it's going to happen. THAT is going to be difficult, since I'm the one who has to take the steps to make it possible. I'm the one who has to get my house ready to sell, and then put it on the market. Rendering a house ready for showing is no small matter!

I think I've had a lifelong tendency to set up conflict within myself. As I obsess over the how and when and where of everything I set out to do, I create stress and turmoil. The original desire becomes lost (or at least secondary to) the stressful situation I end up in.

Since today's lesson is about metal focus, I guess I can see that there's a difference between just doing what you have to do (minus the mental anguish) and obsessing over decisions and details. So my instructions to myself, based upon the above spiritual lesson are, "Just shut up, focus on the desire and why you desire it, and do what's in front of you!" (And stop worrying about whether or not somebody will buy your house, or whether you'll qualify for the mortgage, or when the move would take place and how it won't fit your schedule!)

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Your opinion?

2011-03-20T17:03:00.002-04:00

If you were in my shoes, what would you do?

My longtime obsession has been to live in a Victorian house near downtown. Living there would enable me to live the way I lived before I moved to this city - without a car - walking or biking everywhere, including to work. In the city I live in, cars rule, and there are precious few real pedestrian neighborhoods. But Victorian Village near downtown is a rare exception.

What's stopping me? The houses prices.

Those of you who have read my blog over the years know that I have nearly succeeded on several occasions to sell my current house and buy one in Victorian Village. Each attempt ended in extreme disappointment. I even tried to buy a foreclosed house at the sheriff's auction.

I am unusual. I don't like to shop, travel or spend money in general. The only foolish financial choices I've made recently have been regarding purchases for The Child. He likes electronics, and I've indulged his interest. I've spent more money on The Child than the average family spends on one child, for sure.

The only thing I want to spend money on for myself is a house.

There is a house for sale in Victorian village right now which I am interested in, and I am considering putting my house on the market to try to make it happen. I'd have to have a sales contract in place before I can make an offer on the Victorian. But it won't be an even trade- the Victorian is considerably more expensive than my house. The mortgage broker says he's very confident that I'd qualify for the mortgage I'd need, but that's because I have an outstanding credit score, NOT because the mortgage would be reasonable on my salary!

Yesterday my realtor took me to see the interior of the house. Until then, my desire for the house was based purely upon its prime location rather than any actual knowledge of the house or its interior. My impression of the first floor was positive.

It included original stained glass windows:

I also liked the backyard. I could just imagine it with the trees I'd plant, and the pond I'd install. It seems like such a luxury to have a house with a backyard so close to downtown. Most urban housing is in the form of condos, often situated in high rise buildings.

I was less thrilled with the upstairs, and I was reminded of the fact that I actually don't like antiques!

It seems odd that I'd be drawn to antique houses....what I like about them is the high ceilings, the wood floors, the huge windows (often floor to ceiling) and the often ornate woodwork and features like stained glass windows. The quality of materials and craftsmanship is so superior to that of newly-built houses.

I did like one of the upstairs bedrooms, the one which was currently set up as an office:

This house also has a finished attic, made into 2 bedrooms. The Child has taken a strong interest in this attic, although he hasn't seen it yet. Today there is an open house, and I'm taking The Child so he can see if he approves of this house before I go any further. I already know that children generally don't like old things, including houses, so I am expecting The Child to reject my latest dream. I will continue this post after the open house.

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The open house did not go well. The Child detested the house. He claims to despise wood floors, and he seemed freaked out by the height of the house, especially when looking out of the 3rd story windows down onto the backyard below. It looked like an aerial view from an airplane flying overhead! (I was scared by that also. We currently live in a one-story ranch-style house.)

I was somewhat surprised that the Child could find nothing positive about the house. (I had hoped that he'd admit that the first floor, with its abundance of light and its stained glass, was somewhat appealing, and I was fairly sure he'd stake out the 3rd floor as his territory.)

I was beginning my dreaded descent into depression, knowing that I didn't want to try to push this house onto The Child, when he commented, "I'd be able to have a 'Slip 'n' Slide' in that backyard."

Huh??!

Our current house lacks a backyard. Since it's situated on a park, it was pretty much OK to not have our own yard, or so I had thought......

Afraid to press my luck, I gingerly asked if there was anything else, anything at all, which he found to be remotely acceptable about that house.

It turns out that he had wisely assessed that its kitchen was better than ours. And he mentioned the yard again. Who knew that a yard meant that much to him? Mind you, this is a yard which has been completely neglected by its previous owners, to the point where it's nothing but a barren plot of grass, and you can see above.

Still, The Child would undoubtedly prefer not to move there, and I'd prefer not to force the issue.

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Later in the day a minor incident (which was really just a trigger) propelled me full steam ahead into that funk which I had narrowly escaped earlier. I was driving at the time, and began sobbing uncontrollably. This sorrow emerged from unknown depths. It had to do with life, death, and the joys and sorrows in between. It had to do with my mother who died so long ago, and whose death altered my life. It had to do with the still unprocessed death of my sister. It had to do with all of those long-lost boyfriends and the missing of them, and the lonely difficulties of being a single parent. It had to do with the dreams of a lifetime, and the possibility of letting them go.

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life thoughts

2011-02-06T12:03:00.000-05:00

Each morning I throw peanuts out in front of my house for the squirrels and birds. There are always 9 squirrels waiting at the door when I open it. (The birds are a bit more discreet.) A couple of the squirrels wait around until after I throw the pile of nuts; those squirrels prefer to be singled out and given their nuts individually. I gladly accommodate.

There is one squirrel who takes nuts, one by one, out of the pile and buries them in the snow or mulch around my house. He wants to be sure to get his fair share (or more!), and he has found a very effective way to accomplish that. Another squirrel follows the example of the blue jays; he picks up nuts one by one, "weighing" each one, until finally settling on the biggest prize.

Those squirrels which stand out from the crowd will likely live longer than the average squirrel. I hope to be a human version of those animals.

I often think of my mother, who did all the right things by society's standards. She always shopped at the health food store. I vividly recall the nauseating tofu hot dogs and no-salt, natural peanut butter (which tasted like moistened cardboard) she used to force down my resistant throat when I was a child.

She exercised daily with her aerobics classes and long distance walking, and she never gained an ounce above 120 lbs., a low but reasonable weight for her fairly tall frame. And 20 years ago she died, way too young, of pancreatic cancer.

That may seem baffling, but I think I understand what happened. She took immaculate care of her physical body, but she totally blew off the issue of her state of mind. She was constantly tortured, for many years, by my father's philandering. Rather than resolve the situation, she chose to remain in a broken marriage for fear of financial insecurity and of not being able to make it on her own.

My own resistance to marriage may stem from my observation of her experience. But more importantly, I have some idea how difficult it is to successfully live with another adult, and my adult life has been more about learning how to be independent than how to live well with others.

Living with The Child has been OK, but that's because I've had the chance to mold him from birth. I set my boundaries early on, and he dares not cross them. He lacks the expectations that most adults would have of me, such as that I cook and clean. I am not domestic, and The Child is well aware of that. Once in a blue moon I will cook, but there has to be a darn good reason, like company. Although I can handle the occasional foray into the kitchen, I have a low limit. (The limit is actually life saving, since I have been known to start kitchen fires, even in microwave ovens!)

The Child eats a lot of pizza. I eat strange things like broccoli and blueberries and tofu (not in hot dog form!) and, unfortunately, potato chips. I remain addicted to potato chips even after many attempts to quit.

But I'm not dead yet, and I think it's because of my attention to dental care. I have read that many, many health issues begin in the mouth, of all places. Heart disease, diabetes and cancer have all been traced back to dental issues. I have read books about teeth, believe it or not, and I get my teeth cleaned and examined every 6 months by a dentist I trust. Although I don't like the radiation from X-rays, I do allow my mouth to be x-rayed because of the cavity detection enhancement. I brush my teeth several times per day, floss at least twice a day, and use a water pic.Every time I go to the dentist, I ask for instructions on proper brushing and flossing techniques, and I ask the hygienist to watch me do it to be sure that my technique is correct. I take my teeth very seriously.

At work, I'm covered by a health insurance policy. The health insurance premiums are extremely expensive because an inordinate number of people I work with have profound health issues.

In an incredible twist of irony, my employer is on the verge of dropping our dental insurance to help pay for our 42% increase in health insurance premiums!

So that's what I do for my physical health. I obsess over my teeth, and I balance potato chips with broccoli, ever mindful of my desire to eventually overcome my potato chip addiction.

Learning from my mother's experience, I try not to ignore my state of mind. If I'm troubled, I find a way to deal with it. I am a firm believer in the saying, "You're only as sick as your secrets." For any given problem, there's always somebody I can talk to, even if it's a long distance friend.

The squirrels and birds around my house contribute to my mental well being. My favorite way to start the day is by watching them from my favorite chair by the window.

All is well.

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January blahs

2011-01-15T12:33:00.000-05:00

Well, I assume that's what it is- January blahs. I dislike winter, especially when the roads are too slippery for safe driving (and you live in a city which lacks real mass transit and instead, instead, each man, woman and child owns 2.4 automobiles.). According to an article I just read, lots of people experience the January blahs phenomenon. I am not alone.

Even while experiencing the blahs, I try to teach The Child that his life is a result of his (or MY) choices, and that if he doesn't like what's going on, it's time to make a different choice. Telling a child how to live life and actually practicing what you preach are 2 different things. Yesterday I thought I had accomplished something when I told The Child that I was currently experiencing extreme dissatisfaction with my life, yet I had the option to choose a different attitude. I spoke the words, but I couldn't actually DO it. Instead, I walked out of his bedroom so that he would not witness my choice to continue wallowing in blahhhhhhhhhs..........

This reminds me of my own mother. She used to talk about self esteem - I think she perceived that mine was inadequate. She used to assert, "I have a very high opinion of myself!" Yet her actions belied that proclamation, as she chose to remain married under the same roof with a man who was openly cheating on her. She was miserable!

Once I became a parent, I decided that it was time to live my life in a way which lined up with my beliefs, since that's what The Child was sure to notice. In many ways I succeed. My house, although not located in the downtown neighborhood which I obsess over, IS located on a large park so that I can look out my window and see trees, deer and other wildlife, all well within city limits.

I believe that personal automobiles are a ridiculous luxury destroying the planet. My house is 6 miles from downtown and on the bus line. I take the bus to work frequently. I am aware of indoor toxins, so I make my own household cleaning products out of essential oils, vinegar, baking soda and Dr. Bonner's soap. I don't own a microwave oven, much to The Child's dismay.

I reject society's competitive consumerism; I despise shopping. Yesterday The Child and I went to Sam's Club. We wandered dazedly around for a few minutes; I picked up a pack of AA batteries, and suddenly I said, "I can't stand this place. Let's put the batteries back and leave." He readily agreed. It's even hard for me to go to the grocery store, especially since the 2 natural food stores near my house have both shut down. My car, which I fire up as infrequently as possible, is a tiny 20-year-old Honda Civic which I hope lives forever. For the most part, I do not believe in Western medicine and do not use the expensive medical insurance which I'm required to have.

However, I have allowed The Child to influence me to some extent. He was born loving technology and I'm sure it's because of his influence that I use an iPhone (no landline here!). I must have been born with some of that same inclination because I choose to spend lots of leisure time on the computer and have fixed mine myself several times. The Child built his first computer over a year ago. The technology which exists inside my house seems incongruous with the home made cleaning products and the organic amaranth, perhaps, but I am comfortable embracing both. Besides, iPhone apps can be really helpful with mass transit schedules.

It seems to be time for an adjustment for my life, though. I have been doing something which has become habitual and does NOT really fit in - I eat a lot of potato chips. That may sound silly, but it really is out of control. I am addicted. I believe that the chips are highly symbolic to me, since they figured heavily in my childhood. My parents used to actually have potato chips delivered to our house by Charles Chips! My favorite childhood memories include spending each New Year's Eve with my grandmother, eating Charles Chips and onion dip, watching the ball drop at Times Square on TV.

Boy, do I ever wish that potato chips were healthy. I know full well that they are NOT and I must STOP. Why bother making nontoxic cleaning supplies if I'm going to eat potato chips, one of the most toxic "foods" known to man? OK, so today's the day I go cold turkey.

Right now, instead of ripping open a new bag of chips, I'm going to whip up some of The Child's beloved peanut butter tofu. Yesterday I informed him that very few people would consider eating this, his favorite dish, which I invented. (He seemed very surprised.) I make it by dumping raw tofu into a glass (nontoxic!) pan with some organic garlic, organic peanut butter and organic soy sauce, and heat it for a couple of minutes. It looks as bad as it sounds, yet he eats it with gusto.

Good thing I'm not married, right? How would I have put together such an eccentric life based on my beliefs (and struggles with potato chips) if I had to compromise with a partner? That question was not lost on The Child. He told me yesterday that he would never want to have a life partner whom he had to live with......hmmmmm.

Well, as long as he knows how to live in a way which is true to himself, then I suppose I need not worry.

May he possess the courage to tackle any persistent potato chips infiltrating his otherwise carefully crafted life.

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2010 assessment

2010-12-31T15:05:00.000-05:00

It's a sunny and unseasonably warm day. I thought it would be an inspiring kind of day, perfect for life assessment. But first, I decided to jog outdoors. The weather has been so frigidly cold and icy during recent weeks that I had been using my indoor treadmill. I prefer jogging outdoors, or so I thought. There were hoards of people in the park outside of my house. Since it's winter, the bushes and trees are barren, and there is no way to avoid being seen. I did not want to be looked at today, and I was angry, so much that I shortened my jog considerably.

The main topic which comes to my mind when thinking of the year 2010 is, of course, the death of my sister. In fact, I can hardly think of anything else. When 2010 began, I did not know her days were numbered. She had cancer but it was thought to have been in remission. I was fortunate to have been able to visit her in Boston several times in 2010. I will never forget her gaunt figure standing at the door of her apartment, watching me being driven away from my final visit with her. Standing there, watching people leave, was not something she did. It was out of character. I knew that she "knew", and now I "knew". Would I have done or said anything differently had I known before I left?

Things were pretty dramatic at work as well. In my field, there are many, many more qualified applicants than there are jobs, and the few jobs that exist are disappearing due to economic conditions and changing social priorities. Things definitely went south at my workplace, and I was politically involved making the changes happen, even though it meant severe pay cuts. Over the past few months we've all tried to adjust to the changes, and it has been challenging if not profoundly depressing. I have to remind myself that I'm lucky to have ever been employed at all in this outrageously competitive field.

The Child is 13 and has been very busy distancing himself from me. Over the past year I have mourned our past relationship, including the long ago phase when he begged me to marry him. I have begun preparing myself for the time just around the corner when he will leave home. (Last night, though, I was ready for that to happen. He vomited all over the bathroom and I had to clean it up.)

I had an interesting dream last night. I very rarely remember my dreams, and when I do they seem to be disturbing ones, like the one last month in which my car was broken into and dismantled. But last night's dream was heavenly. I was busy working 2 jobs, both of which are in my field (which is actually going to be true next week) but I was also actively seeking a new house. My realtor played one of the leading roles in this dream; in fact, I was in his house for part of the dream. There were several gorgeous houses in my coveted neighborhood which I was considering buying. It was a very happy dream.

Maybe it was a 2011 premonition, hard though it is to believe.

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Betty is back AGAIN

2010-12-30T12:38:00.001-05:00

I admit that it's harder to blog now because one of my favorite blogging buddies has quit blogging and doesn't read my blog anymore. Bloggers like to have an audience.

Anyway, I've decided to try to post regularly, even if I don't have much to say. Lately I have felt that I don't have enough time to do everything (or anything). My house has become chaotic again and everything seems more or less out of control. It's baffling, because there's no apparent reason.

It's safe to say that whirlingbetty is in a state of lack of clarity.

For now, I will write about my Irish ancestors. An ex-boyfriend is now visiting Ireland, and although we had been out of contact for over a year, I suddenly called him and left a message out of the blue last week. In response, he sent me an email, saying he had just decided that day to call me, and right after that he checked his stateside messages and found out I had just called him. He is now in the land of my ancestors - the exact part of Ireland, the desolate, lonely, hauntingly beautiful northern Atlantic coast, from which my dear Gram emigrated as a teenager.

This is what I wrote to the ex-boyfriend:

You are near where my relatives, the Conways (originally from Normandy) who lived in Co. Sligo, Mayo and Donegal. I believe they owned land in Mayo. My great-grandmother was Mary O'Donnell Conway (born in Co. Mayo and married to John Conway). There is a big tombstone in Carrownteane Cemetary, in the village of the same name, in the township of Dromard, Co. Sligo. My great-grandmother is buried there along with her son Anthony. She died of a broken heart the day after he died of stomach cancer. Let me know if you happen upon their tombstone which my gram helped pay for even though she had emigrated.

Someday I must visit that place. I can see it vividly in my mind; it seems to be part of my nature. I wish Gram had been able to talk about it. Although she was very open about everything else (we even shared Playgirl magazines when I was a teen) she would not talk about Ireland.

Why?

betty is back

2010-12-12T12:16:00.002-05:00

I'm not sure what kind of animal this is, but I think it's cute. This photo accompanied an online article about a woman in Oklahoma who found a squirrel in her toilet and called 911. I've always liked squirrels.

The neighbors and the people who frequent the park in front of my house undoubtedly take note of the fact that I feed squirrels. Since I have the misfortune of living in a very uptight neighborhood, I reckon the neighbors are appalled. One of them actually gathered the courage to confront me a couple of years ago. He wanted to know why I would want to attract rodents to my house. Since they were enjoying their shelled peanuts outdoors, not in my living room, I wasn't sure what he meant. Did he really think that I was responsible for the presence of squirrels in the area? Really? Who knew that I possessed god-like powers to create and distribute wildlife??

I was born liking animals. When I was around 8 years old, my parents came home from an after-dinner walk one evening bearing a dream-come-true for a child of my ilk: a BABY SQUIRREL! I cannot describe the ecstasy I experienced as I researched squirrel nourishment and began mothering the dear animal. I used a medicine dropper to nurse the baby and even managed to get some slow-cooked steel-cut oatmeal into him. Rascal was indescribably cute and nothing pleased me more than contributing to his sustenance.

As is so often the case, ecstasy morphed into devastation. Early one evening the doorbell rang. I was busy feeding Rascal, so I ignored it. A few moments later, my father appeared with a neighbor boy, Phillip, a hapless child who was not particularly favored among local kids. My father spoke some of the most awful words I ever heard: "Phillip says that this squirrel is his. It fell out of the tree in front of his house and it had escaped when I found it. You have to give him back his squirrel."

To this day I remember the look on that squirrel's face as he was taken out of my hands by my father and handed to Phillip. So I never got over squirrels. I will always have a soft spot for them. And if the neighbors don't like it, well....

Last summer I had a major victory. I got one of the squirrels to eat out of my hand. (Those of you who know squirrels at all will realize how unusual that is. Chipmunks are so greedy and bold that they easily approach humans for handouts, but not squirrels.)

You would expect a squirrel to take the treat like an untrained dog- with a quick, grabbing gesture, borderline dangerous. Nope. The squirrel was gentle as could be, once she managed to talk her reluctant body into inching close enough to me. She calmly took the nut in her mouth and settled down to eat it gratefully - ecstasy for both of us.

Over the past couple of weeks I have had enjoyed an augmentation of my at-home wildlife viewing. Five times over the past few days I have seen deer outside of my house. Mind you, I live within city limits of the 15th largest U.S. city. Deer are not expected visitors in my neighborhood, although I do live on a park with a wooded ravine.

This morning it's snowing heavily. I would not have seen the deer running past my window if my dog, perched in his window seat, had not begun barking ferociously. Predictably, a large, very fast dog OFF-LEASH was in hot pursuit.

It bothers me to no end that this city lacks a leash law, unlike every other U.S. city that I know of. The off-leash dogs are a constant presence around my house because I live on a park which is extremely popular among dog fanatics. The dogs have terrorized and bitten my son and killed our beloved Chihuahua. They chase squirrels, birds, chipmunks, ground hogs and now deer.

I still like dogs, as evidenced by the fact that I own one. However, I am less than thrilled with the dog OWNERS around here, who somehow justify owning dogs which they think require acres of free space to run in, at the expense of people and wildlife trying to enjoy the park (or their own residence in my case). I think that those dog owners are out of touch with reality. If they really do own dogs which require that amount of freedom and exercise, then the owners are irresponsible to be harboring the dogs within city limits.

Someday this city might wake up and enact a leash law.   Then what will those dog owners do?! (I can tell you what they'll do. They'll keep on doing what they're now doing, knowing full well that the city's police force is stretched too thin to deal with off-leash dogs!)

Fall without the colors

2010-11-01T08:55:00.000-04:00

The fall colors are disappointing here this year due to lack of rain, apparently. This view outside of my house this morning is about as colorful as it gets this year.

Yesterday I heard a choir singing Brother James' Air. It was a trigger taking me back to my childhood. I was probably around 11 years old when I was chosen to sing in a children's choir with kids from all over New York State. We sang Brother James' Air. I remember that song and all the others in great detail. Unlike most children's choirs, we sang in 4 part harmony rather than all singing the same line, and I can still hear it clearly in my head. (We must have rehearsed a lot!)

However, I was not at all happy about being selected for that choir. I didn't like being told what to do in general and specifically, I didn't like to sing! (I wanted to play a woodwind instrument.) I resented being part of that choir, even though my school music teacher treated it as a huge honor.

I had to travel to a faraway location somewhere in New York State for the ordeal. My mother had packed me a brown bag lunch, and in it she had placed some really great candy from a shop in Manhattan, her favorite shopping destination. The taste of that candy lingers to this day, and it was the highlight of the event. I was a shy child and had nobody to talk to the whole time. There was nobody else from my school.

During the dress rehearsal I was horrified when kids started fainting. I'm not sure if they were nervous or hot from the bright lights, or unstable on the risers we were standing on, but the young singers were dropping like flies. I was terrified that they'd start throwing up. By the end of the dress rehearsal, very few kids were still standing and singing. I am glad to say that I was one of them.

In retrospect, I see that the candy wasn't the only notable aspect. I think it's pretty amazing that the music, every last detail of it including Latin texts, stayed with me all these years.

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Yesterday my iPod Touch was pronounced dead by The Child and myself after repeated attempts at resuscitation.. Anyone who has an iPod Touch knows that they're expensive, and I was not at all happy. I also had a lot of music on it which I used for jogging. The loss of my iPod Touch also meant the cessation of my exercise routine. The whole deal was depressing, since I really don't like being out of shape. I debated with myself as to whether or not I'd be willing to jog using my iPhone to provide musical entertainment. Since I had ruined a previous mp3 player by tripping and falling on a rocky surface while jogging with it, I decided against putting my phone at risk.

This morning I decided to have another go at the iPod Touch. The only reason I have succeeded repeatedly in fixing my various electronic gadgets, including computer, is due to my obsessive persistence. For reasons I cannot explain, my iPod Touch is now happily recharging, having been brought back to life by my persistence.

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There were many 12 and 13 year old boys in my house this weekend. The Child is unlike me in so many ways. He seems to be popular. (I never was and never shall be.) It's hard to tell where that comes from. I guess upbringing may be a part of it. The Child was brought up believing in his own value. I was not.

Most single parents probably feel guilty the way I do for not providing their child(ren) with a 2 parent family. In my case, the problem is exacerbated by the lack of any support system whatsoever. My closest relative lives 600 miles away, and The Child is truly not known by any extended family including grandparents. (My father is his only living grandparent, and my father has shown no interest whatsoever in his only grandson.)

Yet somehow The Child has developed a social ability far surpassing mine. Maybe it's genetic; maybe it's due to the fantastic, carefully selected babysitters I've hired over the years who have taught him how to get along with people. I'm just glad that the child can enjoy the popularity which always eluded me.

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Relevance

2010-10-12T08:20:00.004-04:00

This post goes with my last one which I just wrote a few hours ago. In the last post, I was irrelevant; now I'm relevant. Here's how.

I didn't get much sleep last night- it was just a few short hours ago that I posted (about being irrelevant) before going to bed. When my alarm went off at 6am, I was not amused. I ignored it longer than usual.

The Child has to be on his school bus before 7am, which I think is rather ridiculous, but the school board never consulted with me......The Child is most definitely NOT a morning person, so I have little choice but to drive the lifeless child to his bus stop half a mile from our house to increase my odds of getting him on that bus.

Unbelievably, he sleeps in the car as I drive the half mile to the bus stop and since he's already asleep, I don't awaken him until the bus is actually in sight. (It's pitch black outside at that hour!) This morning was no different from the usual routine up to this point.

I always get out of the car and walk with The Child to the door of the bus. He's in 7th grade now, and it may seem a bit, shall we say, overprotective? The other mothers do not accompany their boys to the bus- they remain seated in their SUVs and mini vans. I have wondered if it bothers The Child that I do that. He never says anything, so I persist, even though last week I found myself wondering why I do it. What do I think I'm protecting him from?

Well, today I found out. As we exited the car and started crossing the street to the bus stop, a car came careening around the corner, heading directly toward The Child who, although upright and walking, was still partially asleep. I miraculously came to life and shoved The Child as hard as I could out of the speeding car's path. Heart racing, I yelled at the driver, "S-L-O-W D-O-W-N !!!!!!" before picking The Child up off the ground and guiding him to the bus.

Everybody who witnessed this event was speechless. Had The Child been unaccompanied by his hovering mother, the result would have been tragic.

As Annie said in her comment on my last post, even though my caring sister is gone, my relevance is not. Lesson learned.

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Irrelevance

2010-10-12T01:48:00.000-04:00

Most likely, balance will always elude me. This month, I'm lucky if I focus on 2 things each day (jogging and work) instead of one (work). And that's seems to be as good as it gets. Somehow, when my sister died last month, my life derailed as far as organization and domestic responsibility. I suppose the unplanned trip to Boston to deliver her eulogy threw things off, and I never recovered.

Most of the time I keep busy, enough that I "forget" she's gone. But it hit last week. There was big news at work, and my reflex was to inform my sister, the only person in my family who had any interest whatsoever in my life. When it hit me that she was no longer there for me to send press releases, news articles and videos to, I broke down.

I have lost relevance.

Dinah Washington & Max Richter-This bitter earth - On the nature of dayl...

2010-09-27T21:25:00.000-04:00

a trying time

2010-09-27T09:39:00.002-04:00

I have not told many people where I live that my sister died. I can't stand constant reminders. I have to remain functional, and if I'm constantly being reminded, functioning may not happen.

I just flew back home after her funeral (if indeed this is home, but that's another post). It is proving difficult for me to return to "normal."

Many people showed up for the wake and funeral. My sister's 2 daughters who live there in Boston are very well supported. And why wouldn't they be? They're young, attractive, smart and successful. One is married to a great guy and the other is in a committed relationship, and beyond that, they have a wide circle of friends, some of whom traveled hundreds of miles to attend the funeral.

Although I didn't really dwell on it much, I was shocked whenever anyone came up to me to say they were sorry for my loss. I am so accustomed to handling everything alone, and besides, I felt that my sister's daughters trumped her sister. I considered myself insignificant, as usual. So when I was acknowledged, I was...well....baffled, thinking that the person speaking to me must be daft.

My sister's third daughter lives in Vertaizon, France with her fantastic French husband and 3 young bilingual children, and they all attended the funeral. Even that daughter had friends attending from other states, even though she's been living all over the globe during her adult life.

My sister is much older than I, and I grew up with her daughters. The way things worked out, I was almost like another daughter of hers, especially once our mother died.

The funeral was unusual, led by nobody in particular since she had not been religious. I spoke about her values, as expressed in her many emails to me, and the significance of hummingbirds for my sister and I over the past summer. I talked about the 2 female hummingbirds which we had referred to as "the sisters" and I described the one last acrobatic air show they performed for me the day my sister died. The people at the funeral seemed very touched by the hummingbirds story.

It was sad on many levels. The experience made me realize how isolated I've been. Boston is fairly close to where we all grew up in New York, so many people drove up from there. I wish I didn't have to live so far away where my job is located. Once The Child came into my life, the friends I thought I had kind of slipped away, since I was no longer foot loose and fancy free. The Child has friends at school, so thank heavens he's not as isolated as I am.

When it came time for me to leave, the niece's husband from France and the niece's husband from Boston fought over who'd drive me to the airport! My sister must have somehow made that happen, because she always knew I felt alone.

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my sister

2010-09-18T10:36:00.001-04:00

I started feeling weird yesterday afternoon, for no apparent reason. It seemed as though my world had changed somehow. The Child had 3 friends for an overnight, so there was plenty of chaos to distract me from this odd feeling. When I went to bed I couldn't read the way I normally do. I just sat there thinking, planning to read but never getting to it, and then finally drifting off.

I was awakened by the phone call, the one I never wanted. My sister has passed away.

It's funny how you're still expected to function. You still have to take the dog out, even though the world you're taking him out in has suddenly transformed. You still have to be the adult in charge of 4 early adolescent boys, even though you're in shock. You still have to drive to Tim Horton's for the promised donuts, even though you no longer have a sister.

A block from my house on the way to Tim Horton's, it started to hit me just how much things had changed. I remembered that one of my sister's first jobs was waitressing at Dunkin' Donuts. I sobbed, unable to see the road I was driving on, as I recalled how much she liked coffee, and how she was such a popular waitress because of her winning personality. I realized that everything I do now is going to remind me of my sister in some way. The very act of driving my car set off the memory of the bond we shared in disliking driving. (She had taken the bold step of quitting driving years ago, which is possible in a city like Boston.)

Why is it that I thought she'd live forever despite the cancer that took her over?

During the last months of her life, we had become closer than we'd ever been before. Even after she became bedridden, I wrote her emails daily which were printed out for her to read.

My last visit to Boston to see her was last month. It was a chaotic visit in which I had to do a lot of busywork like installing software on her computer and scanning old photos for her and tracking down oxicodone from Dana Farber Cancer Hospital. I didn't have any time to just sit there and talk, with her responding by writing since her voice was taken by the cancer. The night before I left, we did the unthinkable: she got herself all dolled up and I took her to a concert. (She hadn't been leaving her apartment at all.) I was scared to death that she was going to fall or faint or something traumatic. But she loved it.

When I left Boston the next morning, she came to her door and stood there, watching me leave. That bothered me a lot, because it wasn't her style, especially in her weakened state. I was afraid that she thought it was the last time she was ever going to see me.

I was told that she asked, by mouthing the words, if I was there shortly before she died. I wish I had been.

"The sisters"

2010-09-15T16:05:00.035-04:00

The hummingbirds are still here, as evidenced by the above photo taken today. But not for long; soon they'll embark on their annual journey to South America for the winter. These days, whenever I see one I am more aware of the fleeting nature of their time here, and of life in general. In fact, I associate them with my sister who also loves hummingbirds.

My sister loves hummingbirds so much that she asked a quilter to make her this quilt, which hangs over her bed:

I wish I could claim that I made that quilt for her, but I lack the talent required for such an endeavor. Since I happen to know several people who collect quilts and one who is an antique quilt dealer, I've seen an inordinate number of quilts in my lifetime. None have impressed me like this one.

This summer, two female hummingbirds have been dominating my feeders. I refer to them as "the sisters." They seem inseparable, and share acrobatic ability. They remind me of the U.S. Navy Blue Angels the way they synchronize their flight patterns. And sometimes they dovetail, as if performing an air ballet. Whenever a third hummer joins them, the two sisters fly in tandem with the third weaving in and out of their pattern.

When my sister was still mobile enough to be able to get to her computer, I sent her photos of "the sisters" regularly. She loved them, and I have used our mutual interest in hummingbirds to try to cheer her up this past summer, as her health declined dramatically. Since the end of August she has been unable to get out of bed, and the person who prints out her emails for her asked me to stop sending photos because they were impractical to print. (I know I still have the option of getting prints made and mailing them to her, but I'm spoiled by the luxury of being able to share the thrill with her instantaneously.)

I still send my sister at least one email each day, which someone prints for her to read. I describe the antics of "the sisters" knowing that she has seen enough photos of them to be able to imagine the sights. I have told her that I don't want them to leave. I am sure the symbolism is not lost on her.

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Was this my business?

2010-09-06T12:48:00.002-04:00

I live in an area where loose dogs are an ever-present problem. I moved into this house on the park when The Child was 4 years old, and one of the first events that occurred here was for a large dog to run onto my property and scare the bejesus out of The Child. Later that summer, The Child, who was bending over to observe a snake in the grass, was bitten on the back of his leg by an off leash dog. Not long after that, our first dog, a loving little Chihuahua named Chiwee, was killed right in front of our house by another dog.

It's no surprise, then, that I have a problem with off-leash dogs who are not being controlled by their owners. It bothers me to no end that this city lacks a leash law, and for a while I tried to fight city hall on that issue. I got nowhere fast, because the dog owners are a very passionate, vocal and well-organized group. (Mind you, I am a dog owner myself, but I believe that dog owners are responsible for controlling their dogs to the extent that other people can freely enjoy the park and their own residential property.)

A few days ago from inside my house I heard a loud ruckus in the park. I heard screaming and barking, and I figured there had been yet another incident involving out of control dogs. I ran outside, and sure enough, I found out that a 4 year old girl had been jumped on by a large Boxer. I know enough about dogs to know that the Boxer is not a vicious breed, but the fact remained that the dog had terrified the girl and her female caretakers. A verbal fight was in progress when I arrived on the scene.

There were 2 adult female dog owners and 3 large off leash dogs. The dog owners were laughing at the upset child and women, which I thought a very strange response. I jumped in to defend the women with the 4-year-old. We were all screaming. I told the women with the child to call the police and asked the owners to stay put until the authorities arrived. Of course they began walking away very quickly.

Fortunately, the 4-year-old was with 3 adult women, so I advised 2 of them to follow the dog owners, and they kept in touch with us by cell phone so that we could guide the police. The police called animal control, and the dog owners were dealt with effectively, which is highly unusual since offending dog owners usually escape before they can be caught. Even though there is no leash law, it is not lawful for dogs to jump on people they don't know, and it turned out that the dogs were unlicensed as well. The dogs remain with their owners, but maybe, just maybe, they'll think of other people next time they venture out to the park.

If the story ended there, I suppose it would be fairly clear that I acted responsibly and reasonably. But it didn't. I made a sign to post at the entrance to the park right outside of my house. The sign refereed to the state revised code which requires that dog owners be in control of their dogs at all times, with the leash being the most effective tool to achieve that end. I listed the offenses which had occurred in the park which were examples of dogs NOT being controlled. The sign was businesslike and unemotional, and looked as if it might have been official, posted by the city or the parks department.

From inside my house I could see people standing in front of the sign of it to read it. The next day, I was sitting on my patio reading the newspaper when 2 women arrived at the park entrance and started setting up obedience training equipment so that they could work with their dogs. I didn't particularly want to hear their conversation, but I did. The women started reading my sign, and then began laughing. One remarked to the other, "Dogs killing other dogs!" while they both had a good laugh.

I sat there fuming, no longer able to focus on my newspaper. Finally I marched over to where the women were rehearsing their dog moves, and said, "Excuse me, but I overheard you laughing at the sign over there. I happen to have owned a dog who was killed by another dog, right here in the park, in front of my house, and I don't understand why you consider that to be funny."

The women obviously were uncomfortable with confrontation and they ignored me as if they couldn't hear me. So I repeated it, louder. They continued to ignore me, while I became more exasperated and ended up telling them that I didn't understand them. (I had already told them that the sign didn't apply to them, since they were clearly taking steps to control their dogs.) It was pointless; I walked away.

It was then that I decided that the dog fight wasn't worth fighting anymore. I didn't feel right about being so aggressive, and even though the dog owners who laughed at the Boxer scaring the heck out of a group of people were caught, there are dozens of dog owners who think nothing of letting their dogs ruin the park experience for other people. I have spent years trying to convince dog owners that they are being inconsiderate. The primary result is nothing but a rise in my own blood pressure. I give up. And I wonder if it was really my business in the first place.

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Birthday week

2010-08-26T11:19:00.003-04:00

Some people spend a week or longer celebrating their birthdays. A friend from work spent the entire month of January celebrating his birthday this year, complete with a party full of out-of-state guests. Well, this is my birthday week and I'm not exactly celebrating.

My sister, whom I visited in Boston earlier this month, is drawing her final breaths. Her cancer seemed to flare up right after I left Boston, and she is not expected to make it through the week.

I still send her a couple of emails each day, but I don't know if she's able to read them. I received what is undoubtedly the last email that I'll ever receive from her on Monday.

She started asking me what I wanted for my birthday weeks ago, and all I could think of was that she had far bigger problems than what to get me for my birthday. I never really answered.

Today a box arrived at my door from Boston, with my niece's return address. My birthday is Saturday, but I couldn't wait to see if there was anything in the box from my sister, so I opened it.

It's not totally clear, but I think there's a card from her. I don't recognize the handwriting on the envelope, but I know she has become very weak. She wouldn't want me to open it until Saturday, so I won't. There are wrapped presents in the box, and I think 2 of them are from my sister.

She sent me a gift for my birthday 2 years ago. She had just been diagnosed with cancer of the tongue, and I couldn't bring myself to open the present for several months. It was too precious. It was from my sister, whose future was now in jeopardy.

Heaven knows when I'll open the gifts which just arrived. I've already opened my last email from her. The thought of opening my last gift from my sister turns my stomach inside out.

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Home again

2010-08-16T22:00:00.000-04:00

Most of the people I know go on vacations, at least once a year. I, on the other hand, go out of town only for stressful reasons, either job-related or illness-or-death-in-the-family-related. No wonder I don't like traveling! If I associated travel with fun and relaxation, things would be different.

I just returned from visiting my sister in Boston. I was surprised to find her much the same as she was during my visit last March. Her latest CT scan brought disappointing news of spreading cancer. But really, I couldn't tell. She seems to be amazingly accepting of her condition of being unable to speak, eat, drink, swallow or breath except through a tracheotomy.

My nieces (her daughters) who also live in Boston were on vacation (a real vacation, in Provincetown) so I was there to take care of my sister. The reason it was stressful is because I was not sure what I'd do in an emergency. I had no car (and didn't want to drive in a strange city, especially one notorious for its traffic) and knew nobody. But at first, it seemed like a piece of cake. Sis was acting fine, albeit sleepy, and I thought I'd have a pleasant visit with her.

Then she dropped the bomb. When she was at Dana Farber, the famous cancer hospital in Boston, for her appointment a few days earlier, she was supposed to get some prescriptions filled. Long story short, her daughter talked her into waiting to get the prescriptions filled some other day, which I can't really explain seeing as how the daughters were preparing to leave town.

Now, Sis wanted me to fill the prescriptions. She was unwilling/unable to leave her apartment, so I'd have to try to do it for her. Having had no experience with this sort of thing, I had no idea what to expect, except for an inexplicable sense of foreboding as I set out on foot for the nearest CVS.

Because Sis normally fills her prescriptions at Dana Farber, CVS had no history with her. I handed over all of her IDs, prescriptions, insurance cards, and even her CVS card, hoping they'd be able to sort through it all and produce the desired results.

And sort they did, for a while, and then 3 of the pharmacy employees huddled, with each in turn shooting a furtive glance my way, as if trying to assess whether I was law-abiding. Eventually the bravest of the trio, the male, strolled back to the counter where I stood.

"Er....this prescription for Oxicodone is the largest amount we've ever seen. We would never carry this amount, and no pharmacy in Massachusetts is going to have this amount in stock. Because it's a narcotic, it's going to be really difficult to obtain this enormous amount."

"Do you have any in stock?"

"We have a small fraction of the amount on the prescription."

I took a break to begin texting my sister to see what she wanted (remember- she can't speak). Did she want me to fill the prescription here, bringing back just a fraction of the full amount of the prescription, thereby forfeiting the rest of the amount? Or did she want me to have them order it? Could she get by until Tuesday? She was indecisive, so I asked the pharmacists to call other pharmacies to see if any had the amount needed, even though they swore that it was futile.

I understand that Oxicodone is addictive, and that's probably why she seemed quite unwilling to take the tiny amount which CVS had in stock. I never did get her to admit just exactly how much Oxicodone she had left.

Fast forward to Tuesday. I called CVS at the agreed upon time to make sure the Oxicodone was in. It wasn't. This was very bad news, since Sis had stretched out her stash to get by until the Tuesday shipment arrived. But CVS assured me that it would be in on Wednesday.

It wasn't! They had no idea when it would be in, since it was "back ordered by the manufacturer, and we did warn you that narcotics are very difficult to obtain...."

By this time my brother had arrived from San Francisco where he lives, and he had a car to use in Boston. We had no choice but to try to drive to Dana Farber to fill the prescription.

I navigated using the GPS on my phone. We made it to the vicinity of Dana Farber without too much trouble, although the traffic was indeed daunting. It was not an easy, direct route, and it was a considerable distance from Sis's apartment. Although we found the vicinity, the hospital itself eluded us and we had to ask for directions several times.

When we finally made it to the main entrance, I convinced the valet attendant that we were in the midst of an emergency,.and that I had to run into the hospital on a critical errand while my brother sat in the car out front. Fortunately, he decided not to argue with me and I ran inside where the information lady directed me to the pharmacy.

The ordeal was far from over. Once I made it to the pharmacy, I waited in the "pick-up" line. When I finally made my way to the window after waiting in line 20 minutes I was told that I should have been in the "drop-off" line. (My frazzled brain had told me that I had already dropped off the *&?^% prescription several days earlier! And in my defense, CVS had called Dana Farber to set this up, so it really was logical for me to be in the "pick-up" line.)

When it was finally my turn at the "drop-off" window, I was told that this prescription would be filled in an hour. AN HOUR???!! I nearly burst into tears as I explained that this was a dire emergency which I had been dealing with during my entire time in Boston, and my sister couldn't wait any longer for her medicine, and my brother from San Francisco was parked illegally waiting for this drug so desperately needed.

The pharmacist said it would be 15 minutes.

Meanwhile, I had begun receiving angry texts from Sis. She wanted to know why I flew halfway across the country to see her and then spent all my time away. She texted, "I don't understand. I thought you were going to Dana Farber. What on earth is taking you so long???!!!"

My phone was overheated from being used as a GPS. It was so hot I could hardly hold it- I half expected to see smoke rising from it. And now I know that using the GPS function uses up a cell phone battery really quickly. By the time I finally exited Dana Farber with the huge bottles of Oxicodone, my battery was so low that my GPS was only partially functional. It took us a really long time to get back to my sister. We nearly ended up in the state of Vermont, which is nowhere near where she lives.

When we finally delivered the goods, Sis disclosed that she had a new problem. While we were gone, she had managed to totally screw up her PC. (She wrote that she was dusting the keyboard when it happened.) Her monitor was completely disabled. Sis presented this information to me because I had spent every waking moment during my visit (when I wasn't dealing with her prescriptions) dealing with her computer. Her daughter (who is close to my age) had set up her computer for her, but had trouble installing Adobe. So I installed Adobe, after lots and lots of fussing and fiddling. Then she had software she wanted installed for scanning. It also proved to be troublesome, but I kept after it until it was installed. Then she wanted me to scan her entire collection of photographs, beginning with unknown ancestors and ending with now. So now Sis wanted me to fix her broken monitor, after the harrowing day in the maze which is Boston.

Had she not been sick, I would have used a few choice words at that point, but under the circumstances, I thought it best to spend my last few moments of my time in Boston fixing her monitor. Those of you who have had the experience know how frustrating it is to try to figure out what to do with a black screen. The owner's manual was no help. I did everything I could think of, including unplugging the entire system a few times, and eventually the monitor came back to life.

I was glad to be able to leave her with a fully functional PC with files backed up and a boatload of Oxicodone. I hope she can get by without me for a while.

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Life lesson

2010-08-06T11:04:00.006-04:00

A long time ago my sister mailed me a card. Crafter that she is, usually she makes her own cards, but this one was store bought. The front featured a print of a painting of two woman sitting across from each other in the outdoor seating area of a European-looking coffee shop or cafe. I really liked that card, and for a long time I had it on display on my living room shelf.

I kept thinking that someday, she and I would be those two women, solving life's problems over coffee in a really cool cafe like the one pictured on the card she sent me.

We always assume people will be always available, especially sister-types, who always are. But life got the better of me, and instead of focusing on making that coffee card scenario come true, I focused on my everyday trivias and worries associated with being a single parent of a rather demanding child, who was demanding because of my spoiling.

The other day I was going through the one last remaining stack of papers that I hadn't tackled when I recently overhauled my house. I found a notebook I had been using as a diary when The Child was a toddler. I read with interest my written rant about how upset I was that my sister had moved to Boston and our phone sessions had been pretty much cut off by her new and inevitable focus on her adult daughter whose house she had just moved into. The lack of privacy meant that even if we did talk, it wasn't like it used to be.

Ever since the child entered my life, it has been at times difficult to find people to talk to. My former (and all single, like me) friends all slipped away, one by one, as they discovered that now lacked the luxury of any time to myself. I had no family within 600 miles, but at least for a while, I did have that phone contact with my sister.

In fact, she had moved to Boston because of me. Over the phone she had told me repeatedly how unhappy she was living in our hometown, and I encouraged her to just leave. I remember how shocked I was when, after she had moved, she told me that she had done it because I had encouraged her to. I do remember giving her explicit instructions on how to make it happen. My life experience, however, has been that people never listen to what I advise. I never really expected her to listen to her much younger sister!

She lived with her daughter for a while, and I had little contact with her. Then one day her daughter called me and said that it was too much for her and her husband to have my sister there, and she was trying to figure out a way to break the news to my sister. Long story short, my sister moved into her own apartment, reluctantly. It was hard for me to talk to her there, because she only had a cell phone, and our conversations were now being cut short by dropped calls.

She had enjoyed living with her daughter, and I knew she was devastated to have to leave. Perhaps she felt rejected.

Then, about a year after the move, I received the news that she had a cancerous tumor on her tongue. Surgery was planned, then canceled, then she received chemo and radiation, and was told that the cancer was gone. Phew.

A few months later she called to say that the tumor had returned. She underwent surgery for 14 hours which included tongue reconstruction and neck lymph node removal. She had to learn to talk again, and she called my on my last birthday.

It was the last time I heard her voice. The tumor grew down her throat into her vocal chords and into her trachea. Unable to breathe, she was airlifted to a surgical hospital in Boston where she received a tracheotomy. She already had a food tube, so since then, she has been unable to talk, eat, drink, swallow, or breathe except through the tracheotomy. This has been her permanent state for months, and it is understood that her condition will never improve. She continued to receive chemo to keep the tumor at bay, but during her recent CT scan it was discovered that her tumor is now growing around the tracheotomy, making breathing ever more challenging and her future precarious.

I'm flying to Boston tomorrow before dawn to see my sister. For some reason, that card with the coffee shop picture has been on my mind today. That coffee date I had imagined for so long with my sister in a little cafe like the one on her card is never going to happen. Let that be a lesson to us all.

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Busybodies

2010-07-20T08:49:00.001-04:00

This is the "after" shot. If only I had a "before" shot so that my upset would be understandable. Simply stated, the "before" shot would have shown nothing but plant life. The vehicles and the street would not have been at all visible in the "before" photo.

This is a view from my property, from the driveway looking towards the street, away from the park. I know that I am a mismatch for my neighbors. This is a very uptight, clean-shaven neighborhood. Each bush is trimmed to utter perfection, along with each blade of grass. (Mercifully, my property hosts no grass, although it did when I moved in.)

My neighbors all happen to be retired. Plant control is apparently an appealing undertaking for them. One day shortly after I moved in, I was surprised, upon glancing out the window, to see an elderly man traipsing through my greenery spraying an unidentified liquid out of a tank.

I ran outside, asking him rather excitedly what he was doing. After recovering from being startled, he stammered that he was spraying the poison ivy. Now, I'm as allergic to poison ivy as the next guy, but I spat,"Well, I don't use toxins on my property, indoors or out!"

The neighbors are still telling that story, with as much sense of awed disbelief as the day it happened nine years ago. At least the squirrels and chipmunks here seem to think highly of me. I've had handymen comment that they've never before seen such friendly wildlife. (Herbicides do not create friendly wildlife!)

Getting back to the photo: it shows the results of many hours of labor by my retired neighbors. The woman next door, who obviously has the proverbial abundance of time on her hands, became obsessed with the notion that plants underneath the lower branches of the blue spruce (which is somewhat visible on the right in the photo) were going to bring about the untimely demise of the tree.

Mind you, the woman is neither a horticulturist nor an arborist, yet she felt somehow qualified to make that determination. Not only that, but she managed to convince a host of neighbors of her theory. She had asked me if I would mind if she pruned the plants behind my house, which were visible from her house (not from mine). Of course I didn't mind. But I should have recalled the saying "Give 'em an inch and they'll take a mile!"

I was distracted. I was preparing to bid on a foreclosed house in the neighborhood I DO belong in (which happens to be outrageously expensive, thus the sheriff's sale was my best option.) I didn't notice the gradual eroding of my plantscape brought about by the efforts of my neighbors.

And by the time I did notice, they had made such a huge dent that finishing was the only option. In fact, in an act of complete and utter selling out, I actually helped them. Last Friday, the day I was supposed to be buying my way into the long-coveted downtown neighborhood, I was home when the neighbors were hacking away my plantlife. (They weren't properly removing the plants by digging out their roots!) I went outside to investigate, and what could I do? I couldn't ask them to stop, because it had become a half-finished excavation site. I had no choice but to help hack, cut and bag.

The Child tore himself away from his computer long enough to come outside and witness the eye-popping event. He pulled me aside and whispered, "Mother! Why are you HELPING these people destroy our landscaping?"

I had no answer. But I did mange to tell them that I wasn't too thrilled about the fact that my house is now visible from the street (whereas before, it was obscured by plantlife). One of the men, the one who exerts the least effort to hide his disapproval of me, shot back, "That house was a prime target for break-ins!!!"

My response was, "The truth of the matter is that this house has never been broken into since the day it was built in 1962. The criminals around here must be incredibly inept!"

He kept hacking in silence.

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Results

2010-07-17T10:08:00.000-04:00

In case anyone is wondering, things did not go my way. "My" house was withdrawn from the sheriff's auction. I'm doing the best I can to recover, but it's not easy.

Thank you for all of the support and positive thoughts.

Think of me on Friday

2010-07-12T23:55:00.002-04:00

Whirlingbetty is back! I have not been blogging lately because I have been spending every waking moment (except when I'm at work) organizing, purging, and cleaning my house. That may not sound like a big deal, but it is for me. I've been a lifelong slob, a fact which was only barely masked by recent (over the past few years) efforts to sweep the mess under the rug.

I've always had a sort of vague dream of getting my act together regarding my physical environment, but I never really believed it would happen. In this dream, I knew what possessions I owned and where they were located. There was no excess- I only owned what I needed. My paperwork was so clearly organized that anyone could come into my house and know everything there is to know about me and my affairs.

Suddenly, without warning, I began.the process. This was 2 months ago, so I'm not exactly sure, but I think the first thing I accomplished was to organize a kitchen drawer (after tossing out most of its contents). From there I moved to a cupboard, and then another. I started to obsess over purging, either by giving things away or tossing junk into the trash or recycling bin.

I was on a roll. Then, seemingly as a reward for my efforts, the Victorian house downtown which I wanted to buy at a foreclosure auction in March suddenly became available again after having been withdrawn from the March sale. The new sale date is this Friday, July 16.

When I learned about my renewed chance to buy the Victorian house, my efforts to get my current house in order took on new meaning. Now I thought of it as preparing to move, to show my house for sale, and for clearing the way for new things in my life.

Here's an example of one room's before and after shots:

Most remarkable, though, is the basement, which used to be my dumping ground for anything I didn't know what to do with but couldn't be bothered to figure out. Every last inch of it is now organized and cleaned:

Every day over the past 2 months I sorted, examined, purged, cleaned. I didn't know if I'd ever finish, but this Friday, July 16 was my goal. It appears that I'm going to reach my goal, since I'm now putting the finishing touches on my organizing. The house looks so different with all of the junk gone. One last batch of give-ways will be picked up by a charity on Thursday.

Each Friday I have attended the sheriff's sales in which houses in foreclosure are auctioned off. I had to learn how to bid by observing how it's done! It's very daunting. But I think I understand how things work and the degree of effort and risk involved in foreclosure purchases.

Yesterday I went to take one last look at the house I'll be bidding on (if I don't faint during the auction). Here's the ultra cool front:

And this is the view through the back gate looking into the backyard, which I find equally charming:

My longtime readers know how many years I've been trying to find a way to live in this downtown pedestrian neighborhood. This time, I've done everything humanly possible to make it happen as far as setting up the right conditions. I'm all ready for moving, for starting a new life, for selling my current house, and I'm prepared to bid on my dream house! Wish me luck on Friday (July 16) at around 9:15am EST!!

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Still in upheaval

2010-06-21T10:54:00.001-04:00

A few weeks ago I suddenly became determined to organize my house and get rid of anything unnecessary. Almost every day since then I have worked on that project. Yesterday, for example, I spent all day organizing those records that everybody has to keep for a certain number of years. The files I ended up with look suspiciously slim. Have I gone overboard?

I had consulted the internet beforehand. Some items, like statements from bank accounts, should be kept "a year or indefinitely" according to the website I ended up on. Correct me if I'm wrong, but there's a big difference between a year and indefinitely. I opted for the year. Why? Because I'm sick of stuff, including paper stuff. And what's the worst thing that's going to happen to me if I'm caught not owning a piece of paper from 10 years ago? Good heavens.

Apparently our society has not gone paperless at all. I have a workplace retirement account which gives big fat quarterly statements (fat with paper, not with money!) which I receive at work, whether I want them or not. On another account which I'm in control of, I went online to see if I could reduce the paper influx. Then I caught myself, remembering I that I might be applying for a mortgage soon, if things go my way. I found a website explaining what's needed to apply, and found out that some mortgage companies will not accept statements printed off the internet- they insist on real, old-fashioned paper statements- the kind I just hauled to the recycling bins yesterday. Uh-oh.

Ironically, this project originally started with pure intentions. I just wanted to be organized and efficient. Then I learned that the last house I tried to buy downtown has been slated for sale again in July at a sheriff's auction. So the project's purpose morphed into "clearing out space to make room for change in my life" (not to mention the practical aspect of making moving easier). And now I may have disposed of the very paperwork I needed to apply for the mortgage! That's no small matter, since mortgage companies are now regarding any applicant with grave suspicion in the wake of the housing/mortgage crisis.

I'm going to keep on purging. The mortgage company can receive up-to-the-minute information about me and my finances on the internet, whether they want to admit that or not. I know they love to see their customers jump through hoops, but I think it's more important for me to jump through my own hoops right now.

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a second chance, maybe

2010-06-11T16:38:00.001-04:00

Those who "know" me are aware of my desire to live in a downtown neighborhood where it is possible to live without driving a car. I believe that oil addiction will soon change life as we know it, and society will reverse its trend of the past century. Instead of spreading out to the suburbs, humanity will scurry back to the city core, giving up the extreme luxury of personal motor vehicles for much more healthy and sustainable mass transit, walking and biking.

I love the idea of walking to the grocery store or farmer's market to buy fresh local produce. I want to walk or bike to work. How nice it would be to be able to attend the many downtown festivals, entertainment options and events without worrying about finding and paying for parking! (How many times have I tried to attend events downtown and given up after not being able to park the car?)

The urban neighborhoods are expensive to live in, but three months ago I was informed of a rare opportunity- a Victorian house near downtown which was in foreclosure and being sold at the Sheriff's auction. I was all set to bid on the house on the date of the auction when suddenly the house was withdrawn.

After getting over the disappointment, I decided to examine myself in the house I am currently living in. Did I appear to be on the verge of moving on to a new lifestyle? No. Instead, I appeared bogged down by accumulation of unnecessary, meaningless items- anchors preventing my ship from sailing.

I set out to change that. I wanted to be light and flexible, ready to move with the flow of whatever opportunity might present itself. I started the purging process, and tried not to be impeded by the nagging sense that my efforts fell short of perfection.

Imagine my shock when 2 days ago I went online to check out the status of upcoming Sheriff's auctions and found that the house I wanted has been added to the list of houses to be auctioned in mid July.

Did this happen because I took the steps of preparing for change? Well, we've all witnessed evidence of the laws of the universe, whether we know it or not.

Field trip

2010-06-05T22:53:00.002-04:00

The last day of school for The Child's 6th grade class was also the day of the highly anticipated field trip to the city zoo. The chaperoning parents, myself included, were instructed to meet the students and teachers at the zoo. I wondered how that would work.....the day before the field trip, I had been in the vicinity of the zoo for a work-related project. I saw hundreds of school buses entering the zoo! How on earth would I be able to find The Child amongst thousands of swarming children???

When I arrived at the zoo on the day of the field trip, I was pleasantly surprised to find that the zoo was prepared. (They had done this before, apparently....) There was a huge tent set up with a sign in front indicating that this was the meeting area for chaperones. I asked the woman in charge how I would find The Child's school, and she said that they announced each incoming school. Wow!

I noticed a huge board listing the schools which were sending students that day. There were around 200 schools on the list. No buses had arrived yet (I showed up early to increase my odds of finding The Child) so I took a seat and watched the goings-on. The woman in charge told an impatient parent that the buses were usually late- very late, and we might have to sit there for an hour and a half waiting for them. I had brought a book, so I started reading.

Glancing up from the book, I saw 2 yellow buses approaching. The woman in charge shouted, "Here we go!" as she started walking toward the buses, which were allowed to pull up to the zoo entrance. She checked with the first adult off the first bus, and walked back to the tent, yelling the name of The Child's middle school. I couldn't believe his was the first school to arrive.

Within moments I was being told by The Child that he and his friends "didn't need to be chaperoned" and he'd see me later. This zoo is the size of a small city, so I wasn't counting on seeing him anytime soon. The school allowed the 6th graders to roam unattended, with the only rule being that they had to be with an adult to enter the gift shops.

I had anticipated this brush-off, so I wasn't terribly devastated as I took off on my own. I had never been to the zoo alone before, and I enjoyed the freedom of deciding how to spend my time there. Had I been with a group of kids, I may not have entered into the conversations with zoo workers that I ended up having.

I spent a couple of hours in the Australia exhibit. The birds were amazing, and their keeper filled me in on some fascinating details. This is the largest pigeon in the world (which doesn't look like any pigeon I've seen before):

Most of my time was spent at the koala exhibit. They were actually awake, which only happens for a couple of hours total per day. They were also being fed eucalyptus, but they couldn't have cared less.

I envied the koala keepers.

I stayed until the koalas were asleep.

This koala encounter made my day. I had never seen koalas with open eyes before!

I recovered from all of this excitement in the food court with my book. The food court was filled with people, many of whom seemed to be screaming for no obvious reason. Suddenly in the midst of the chaos I spied The Child holding court at a table about a tenth of a mile from mine. I waved. I think he was actually glad to see me because his group wanted to enter a gift shop, so I was for once a welcome sight.

We shopped, and most of the kids bought a souvenir. The Child picked a panda mask to match the shirt he was wearing:

It wasn't quite time to leave yet, and I wanted to rush to the polar bear exhibit which was rather far away. The child and his buddies had already been there, but one volunteered to show me the way. We jogged through the North American exhibit, past the rides, and beyond the petting zoo. After a glance at the Arctic foxes, we found a polar bear posing as if he knew we had little time:

Rushing back to the zoo entrance, I stopped to photograph a wayward flamingo strutting his stuff: ( I don't know how he escaped from the flamingo exhibit!)

When we arrived back at the zoo entrance, the 6th graders were gathering to walk to the buses:

I really didn't do any chaperoning to speak of, but I did have a memorable day at the zoo.

Betty is irritable

2010-05-30T17:06:00.003-04:00

Maybe it's the heat. Maybe it's the fact that I'm once again attempting the dreaded deed- getting my house in order. Or maybe it's the combination of the heat and the dreaded deed, with no air conditioning on top of it all.

First, the air conditioning. It seems so extravagant to turn it on during the month of May! Good heavens- I grew up without air conditioning at all! Why should I now need it to survive the month of May? Something seems not quite right about that.

There's more. Two summers ago, my central air went kaput, and the service technician warned me that although he was temporarily able to render it functional, it was on its last legs. So I'm on borrowed time. Having scarcely recovered from my two recent purchases of a washer and a chain saw posing as a hedge trimmer, I am far from ready to take on another major expense. If I don't use the central air, I won't lose it, right?

It seems as though I have spent a good deal of my adult life attempting to get my house in order, literally. I am not a pack rat exactly, and I'm not a hoarder exactly, yet I exhibit traits of each. I tend to accumulate, mostly due to laziness. I don't bother to examine what I'm bringing in, what I'm keeping, what I'm not putting in its proper place, or whether or not each item even has a proper place. The result is a higher degree of chaos than anyone would be comfortable with.

I present this issue as though I think that cleaning a house is a once-in-a-lifetime proposition. I think that once I've cleaned my house, I ought to be off the hook. Forevermore. During my development I somehow failed to grasp the principles of household maintenance.

Whenever I tackle the house problem, I create a bigger mess than what originally existed. Below, for example, I have totally organized the drawers and cupboards of my kitchen/dining area. That's great for the drawers and cupboards:

but bad for the rest of the space:

After several days, many hours and much irritability, I did end up with a better looking house than before:

Yet a nagging issue remains. It's not good enough. It's not perfect. I have kept a few items which I know, deep down inside, that I should have gotten rid of. This, for example, has no place in my life:

What does a grown woman need with a dinosaur habitat key chain? Seriously. It doesn't even have sentimental value, since I have no idea where it came from! Yet I can't part with it. Why?

Those nagging items are ruining any sense of accomplishment. I may as well have left the mess, because I am so disturbed now by the lack of perfection. When chaos prevailed, I had no worries.

Betty remains irritable.

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The flip side of yesterday

2010-05-26T10:38:00.000-04:00

My house is situated on a public park. A hedge forms the boundary between my property and the park- a very healthy, thriving hedge. My next door neighbor had always loaned me a battery powered hedge trimmer to keep the hedges in check. I have never been very domestic, so it was fairly amazing that he was able to teach me how to use the tool to tame the bushes. He was known to occasionally do some of my pruning himself.

Last summer my neighbor died. He was like a father to me, and now that he's gone the neighborhood is a lot less appealing to me. It's hollow and lifeless without my energetic, ever-present, talkative neighbor. His widow still owns the house, but she's been in Florida since September. Before she left, I asked to buy her husband's hedge trimmers. She said no- she thought she might need them. (I have never seen her lift a finger outdoors. She hires a maintenance crew to do her yardwork now that her husband is gone.) I believe that her late husband would have wanted me to have his hedge trimmers, but I had to accept the rejection and move on.

Moving on meant first consulting with online hedge trimmer reviews. I found a Black and Decker tool with high ratings which happened to be 50% off at amazon.com. It arrived 2 days later.

OK. What I sought was a hedge trimmer. What I got was a veritable chain saw. (That could explain why even at 50% off, it was still pricier than I expected.) I was immediately scared of it. This machine was nothing like my neighbor's very tame and manageable tool.

I laid the machine down in the living room and cowered. It took me 2 solid days to muster the courage to even read the owner's manual. When I did, I was horrified. I was warned over and over that the use of my new machine was likely to result in my death unless I followed very specific instructions, and even then I was in grave danger. The battery alone could kill me, which was not surprising considering its appearance:

Why, my neighbor's tool's battery was never even exposed! His entire hedge trimmer fit onto a charging base, and the killer battery was never even visible! WHAT had I gotten myself into?!

The next day I decided that enough was enough. How many people had died from trimming hedges? (I actually searched for the statistics.) I dressed in long pants, long sleeves, gloves, goggles, face mask and the "properly stable footwear" which the owner's manual had insisted upon, and boldly marched into my driveway with The Machine.

By this time I had memorized the 66-page owner's manual. I knew exactly how to start it. It didn't start. I tried again. And again. Nothing. This is the tool which Consumer Reports had recommended, and it wouldn't start. (Yes, I had inserted the Killer Battery, after charging it for 11 hours.)

Truth be known, I was relieved. I was unlikely to be killed by a hedge trimmer/chain saw which would not turn on! Maybe my neighbor was watching over me.....

I tend to be persistent, even when failure works to my advantage. I persisted, and eventually discovered that I had not been pressing hard enough on the "on" switch prior to pressing on the appropriately named "trigger."

When The Machine finally came to life in my hands, I nearly dropped it! The rave reviews had never mentioned how heavy The Machine was, especially for lifting up in the air to cut the 5-6 feet tall hedges I was dealing with!

I had prepared the bushes by attaching a string to ensure straight, even cutting. (This tip was straight out of the 66-page owner's manual.)

Although the experience was indeed traumatic, my hedges are now manicured. This was the view last night as I stood in the park, looking toward my house:

And I lived to tell the tale.

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Fitting in (or not)

2010-05-25T13:35:00.003-04:00

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This week I have been more focused than usual on the landscaping around my house. I generally go for the wild look, much to the consternation of my neighbors. To give perspective on that, here's my next door neighbor's landscaping:
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(I had to crop this photo to cut out my wild branches hanging over their property.)

Now, here's my landscaping:

Voila la difference! I think it's funny, but the neighbors are not quite so light-hearted about it. One of them went so far as to tell me, in a manner which I'm sure he considered polite, that I don't belong here.........

I'm sure they're frustrated that they have no legal recourse. If I had grass, they could report me to the city if it grew beyond a certain length. But the first thing I did when I moved in here was to get rid of the grass so that ground covering ivy could take over.

Ground cover is environmentally friendly, and in my opinion a heck of a lot more aesthetic than fussy old grass.

Obviously I have a lot more going on than mere ground cover- all of the bushes and trees have taken on a certain devil-may-care appearance as well

The only time this is in any way problematic is when pizza is delivered. The house is not visible from the street, so it's necessary to stand out in the middle of the street to flag down the pizza man.

The neighbors did find a way to punish me. Each Christmas Eve, they gather together to set up luminaries lining the streets of the neighborhood. There are no sidewalks here; they line up the candles along the curb.

The luminaries come to a dramatic halt at my property line. The first Christmas Eve I lived here, the neighbors were outside busily setting up the luminaries when I came home from work. I asked them why they were not illuminating my property, and was told that it was because of my ground cover! Seriously! That was a tough one to explain to The Child, who was then 4 years old, since I couldn't make sense of it myself.

If only the neighbors understood that defiance is a favorite indulgence of mine.

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from the NY Times

2010-05-22T11:31:00.000-04:00

Recently I discovered an author, Dominique Browning, whose nonfiction writing I find fascinating. She used to work for Condé Nast but ended up unemployed after the magazine she edited, Home and Garden, suddenly ceased to exist. I remember perusing that classy magazine (not to be confused with the more mainstream Better Homes and Gardens) a few years ago. Browning is also a blogger at SlowLoveLife.com.

Below I have pasted a fun 20 questions type interview of Browning which just appeared in The New York Times. It discloses a lot about Browning as well as the uber cool NY lifestyle (although I never thought about the fact that NY lacks hummingbirds):

Dominique Browning Is Worried She’ll See Something But Be Too Mortified to Say Something

Photo: Cloe Poisson, The Hartford Courant

Name: Dominique Browning
Age: 54
Neighborhood: Upper West Side
Occupation: Author; blogger at SlowLoveLife.com; columnist at the Environmental Defense Fund website, former House & Garden editor. She’ll be reading from and signing her book Slow Love: How I Lost My Job, Put on My Pajamas, & Found Happiness at Borders in Scarsdale at 7 p.m. this evening and and at Barnes & Noble Upper East Side tomorrow.
Who's your favorite New Yorker, living or dead, real or fictional?
Mrs. Manson Mingott in Edith Wharton’s Age of Innocence. She never left her bedroom, but she ruled New York.
What's the best meal you've eaten in New York?
PB&J white-bread sandwiches for breakfast at a Columbus Avenue diner tarted up with shiny metal walls, after 5 a.m. spins through Central Park — this was in the late seventies, before I hung up my roller skates.
In one sentence, what do you actually do all day in your job?
I type, fast.
Would you live here on a $35,000 salary?
Done it before and can do it again. I’m taking down my roller skates. But this time around I have to subsidize myself. Or find a husband.
What's the last thing you saw on Broadway?
Sherri Rene Scott in Everyday Rapture — she is brilliantly, endearingly witty and wise.
Do you give money to panhandlers?
Women and children first.
What's your drink?
I’ve simplified: Jack Daniel's, ice.
How often do you prepare your own meals?
Too often, but I usually eat the ingredients before I get around to the actual recipe.
What's your favorite medication?
I’m reverse-wired; Ambien keeps me up all night and then some. I yearn for general anesthesia.
What's hanging above your sofa?
The music of J.S. Bach. Memories. And empty thought bubbles, like in cartoon strips.
How much is too much to spend on a haircut?
I’m trying to grow my hair long enough to braid, so I can avoid the whole issue.
When's bedtime?
Not soon enough.
Which do you prefer, the old Times Square or the new Times Square?
You mean, before Condé Nast or after Condé Nast? Uh, let me think …
What do you think of Donald Trump?
He should consider spending less money on the haircut …
What do you hate most about living in New York?
No hummingbirds; friends who drop you when you no longer have an editorial budget; the constant anxiety that I will see something about which I will be too mortified to say something.
Who is your mortal enemy?
Please: enemies! They don’t make ’em like they used to. Now they all have the same name: ANONYMOUS.
When's the last time you drove a car?
Yesterday.
How has the Wall Street crash affected you?
I have joined the barter economy.
Times, Post, or Daily News?
First, Joe Romm’s Climate Progress blog. Then the Times.
Where do you go to be alone?
I seem to have developed a knack for finding solitude anywhere.
What makes someone a New Yorker?
Mastering the Art of Ambivalence: endless whining and complaining, but never quite calling it quits.

By: Vanita Salisbury

Closure

2010-05-21T17:02:00.000-04:00

Finally, after hours of trauma, the washing machine situation has been resolved. Repairman #1, who would have charged $19.99 for the service call, regardless of outcome, told me over the phone that the machine was kaput, and he couldn't show up to confirm that until Tuesday. I considered just buying another machine, but decided that I really had to know for sure that the machine (it was only 9 years old!) couldn't be fixed.

I belong to Angie's List, which by now is fairly well known nationwide. Customers pay for access to Angie's reviews of service providers in the customers' area. I decided to seek Repairman #2 who might be able to show up sooner than Tuesday to give me some answers. Sure enough, I found another Repairman, one who showed up a few minutes ago, charging $69.99 for the service call. (I'm just now figuring out that patience pays, or impatience costs.)

Repairman #2 confirmed that the washing machine was indeed dead beyond resuscitation. (Repairs would cost more than the cost of a new washer, which I find shocking and disturbing.) I fought back tears as i wrote out the check for $69.99.

The Child thought that I should physically shop for a new washer. Really???? In this day and age, who actually shows up at a brick and mortar??? I went online, spent an hour, and ended up with what I think is an economical and reliable washing machine. It will be delivered and installed on Wednesday, and the deceased will receive a proper burial, all free of charge.

I hereby put this matter to rest.

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Betty is undone

2010-05-20T20:52:00.002-04:00

Why should I become completely undone over a broken down washing machine? At first I thought I had done something wrong- overloaded it, not shut the door right, made the mistake of using hot water on the previous load. I fussed with it. Nothing. I got out the owner's manual. Nothing. I consulted the internet. Nothing. I called my appliance repairman, and even though it's after houtrs, he called me back. With bad news.

The first bad news is that he's unavailable until 5 days from now! The second bad news is that based upon my description of the problem (it drains but doesn't spin) he thinks the computer is shot. Repairs would cost hundreds and he thinks I need a new washer.

This washer is less than 9 years old!!?? (It's not a Maytag.) Why should it be broken? It's never been abused or mistreated or even moved! A NINE YEAR lifespan?? Really??

But as I sit here drying up my tears, I have to wonder why I am so upset. Granted, I just researched new washer prices and that's enough to make a grown man cry. But there's more to this.....

I am realizing that I don't want to do laundry. I want my mother to do it. I am tired of being the adult all the time. I want someone to do my laundry.

Just now I had a flashback to one of the stressful times during my early parenthood. I had just moved, and the woman who, with her husband and kid, had just moved out of the house I bought, saw how stressed I was from doing everything alone. She offered to do my laundry. I thought it was odd, but I was so moved by the offer of help that eagerly accepted. She took my laundry basket up the street to her brother's house and returned an hour later with clean, folded laundry which was still warm.

So laundry has become symbolic to me. I associate it, when it is problematic, with a kind and rare offer of assistance. Now I am again in laundry crisis, yet nobody is stepping forward with outstretched arms.

I also associate it with my mother. Until she died, I didn't do laundry. She did it. Always. Nurturers do laundry. Bottom line.

With a sense of detached resignation, I began doing my own laundry, with great frequency once The Child entered the picture. I bought the machine best equipped to cover my needs with efficiency, never suspecting that it would serve me for a mere NINE YEARS. During the NINE YEARS since I bought this latest washer I didn't think about it- I accepted my duty and performed it adequately.

Now I have come undone. Where is my mother? Where is the kind-hearted soul who did my laundry after I moved?

I want to be taken care of by someone other than myself. It's been a long time.

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planning a speech

2010-05-19T10:36:00.001-04:00

I am planning a speech. Not a typical speech by any means, but a speech designed to make a point very clearly. I call it a speech because I'm not interested in any response, even though it will only be directed at 2 people. (There will be several other people present who will not be addressed in this speech.)

Two weeks from today I will be forced into a small group to perform a work-related task. My 2 targets are part of this group. The reason I wish to address them is because their behavior over the past few months has been very harmful to the organization we work for, as well as hurtful to me individually. These 2 were the first people I met when I moved here to take this job, and I've had to work closely with them during my entire adult life. They used to be my friends. I can't function in the small group which begins meeting 2 weeks from today while acting as if nothing happened.

These guys should have known better. They've worked in this field for a long time, and their unrealistic insistence upon digging in their heels when changes needed to be made just created animosity and tension. They were thwarting me personally; I was elected to a position of leadership, and they opposed my every move, sometimes openly, sometimes covertly. They spent as much energy trying to undermine me as I did trying to save our workplace from shutting down.

I don't like to be negative but as I said, I can't pretend that what happened didn't happen. I plan to say that I am angry at them for defying me while I bent over backwards to serve my colleagues. I plan to inform them that their behavior was damaging to the whole and to the individual (me). I'll say how difficult it is for me to work closely with them again now that this has happened. I plan to say that their behavior has far-reaching consequences, one of which is the loss of my friendship, trust and respect.

I wish the speech didn't have to happen, but it does.

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Tuesday thoughts

2010-05-18T10:54:00.004-04:00

I never used to think that there was anything negative or undesirable about being emotional, or having an emotional reaction to something. Then last week I read the following post from a spiritual teacher on twitter:

"The more emotional energy you give to situations, the more you stop your spiritual growth."

It took me a few days to take that in and try to process it. I had always thought that emotions were to be honored and expressed, lest they fester and create illness in the body.

During my childhood, my family expressed emotions- negative emotions. Positive or loving emotions were apparently embarrassing or taboo. Anger was equated with power, dominance and even intelligence. It's no wonder that I developed the notion that emotions- negative emotions- were desirable.

Yet my adult observations have shown that emotions can interfere with communication and effectiveness, a concept I found expressed eloquently on Surgit's blog:

It is possible to speak truth in anger.

When so done, people tend to hear the anger and not the truth.

It is possible to speak truth in arrogance.

When so done, people tend to hear the arrogance

and not the truth.

It is possible to speak truth in deceitful ways.

When so done, people tend to sense the deceit

and take the truth for more deceit.

It is possible to speak truth in loving kindness.

When so done, people tend to hear the love and the truth......

-Jesa MacBeth

Clearly, this idea is worthy of my attention. My goal now is to figure out how to regulate the body to remain in a state of peaceful calm no matter what goes on around it, like the eye of a hurricane.

Wish me luck with that!

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Monday thoughts

2010-05-17T11:43:00.002-04:00

So far I have spent the day reading and ordering books and a CD on Amazon, following an early morning jog in the park. It's rainy but not depressingly so. As you might surmise, it's a day off from work. Heaven knows what time I would have arisen this morning if my son didn't have to be driven to the bus stop at 6:55am. I guess I should be grateful for his ridiculously early Middle School starting time, because when I think about it, morning is my favorite time of day, and I really don't want to sleep through it!.

Just now, the red-bellied woodpecker hammered on the gutters above my front door. That is his signal to let me know that he's available to receive a peanut. I toss one up into the air above my front door, and he swoops down to catch the peanut mid-air. People who have witnessed this interaction have been dumbfounded. It took the woodpecker and I several years to perfect this act.

There's more to it. Several other species have figured out our routine. After the woodpecker flies away, I invariably see his shadow, a male cardinal, who is unable to catch peanuts midair but will gladly scoop one off the ground. There is always a chipmunk standing at my front door who I'm sure has been debating whether or not to enter my house in search of my stash. He will accept 4 or 5 nuts at a time which he is able to stash in his chubby cheeks.

And my dear squirrels are always hanging around hoping to catch sight of me. They come running when the woodpecker knocks, knowing that the peanut lady shall appear.

It's nice to be popular.

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another one that got away

2010-05-11T23:42:00.001-04:00

Over the past few months it's been difficult to find time for whirlingbetty, but now that my schedule is less hectic I'm back!

A month ago, my dream nearly came true. Again. I was all set to bid on a really cool Victorian house in my favorite neighborhood which is in the downtown area. That neighborhood is really expensive, but the house in question was in foreclosure and was scheduled to be sold at a sheriff's auction in the county courthouse.

Look at those lions guarding the house of my dreams! It had a huge front porch, with a flat roof on top of it so that it could actually be used as a terrace off the second floor:

This house was in a great location- right across the street from a really great urban park, a block away from a grocery and drug store, and walking distance to work. Perfect!

I know how it is with foreclosures. It's risky to try to buy one, for many reasons. You must brace yourself for a roller coaster ride, even if things go your way.

Things did not go my way. The house which should have been mine was withdrawn from the sheriff's sale the day before it was to be auctioned off. And there goes another house which was almost mine.

My therapists

2010-03-29T09:03:00.000-04:00

I've gone to various types of counselors throughout my adult life. I've picked up helpful life skills from each one, and not a day goes by that I don't remember (and often apply) the words of at least one of them. For the past few months, I've been trying something different: daily squirrel therapy.

My therapists show up at my front door early each morning- usually at dawn. They expect payment up front. To the casual observer, it may seem that I spend a lot of money on peanuts. The most I've ever paid has been about $12 for a week's worth. That's the cheapest therapy I've ever had.

These therapists have provided much-needed stability in my life. They show up each day, come hell or high water. They don't throw me any curves; they don't jerk me around. They prove the theory that we teach others how to treat us. If I'm careless and accidentally let my Chihuahua run out the door, that scares the bejesus out of the therapists and they may not return for a few days. But if I'm considerate and cautious, I am rewarded with near trust.

Some mornings I have to rush off to work, but on the best of days I can sit in my chair and watch my therapists through the window. There are normally six of them. Winter is the best season for this activity, since the squirrels don't have to compete with the semi-hibernating chipmunks for the nuts.

The blue jays, however, are another story. On many days they snatch up the nuts, always weighing them by lifting various ones in their beaks to see how the weight compares to the other nuts. Fortunately, the jays sleep later than the squirrels, proving that if you snooze, you lose. I admit that I have developed a resentment toward the jays. My therapists, however, prove unfazed by the jays, as they show me by example that my resentment is out of place. These therapists apparently believe in and live by the concept of abundance.

On the best of days, my therapists accept payment in complete harmony with one another, with each therapist calmly and gratefully accepting his or her share. I enjoy the sight of all six therapists munching contentedly at once. They know how to give each other space. Each therapist seems to be surrounded by an invisible boundary of a three foot radius. How many therapists can teach boundary setting so clearly?

The therapists are not jealous of each other's nuts. They mind their own darned business. I've never seen a therapist grab more than one nut at a time, although I know they're capable of it. They show themselves to be grateful for what life has given them, and willing to share their bounty, even with other species.

And how many therapists make house calls?

Must be nice

2010-03-28T21:04:00.001-04:00

This afternoon I attended a concert at a church. I saw a young man whom I recognized. He works at the library near my house, and I've seen him taking walks nearby. At today's concert he was with an older woman (who must have been his mother) and a couple of other people. It appeared to me that he was with family members.

Why is this significant to me? I've always been a loner, yet I remember what it was like growing up near extended family. And my parents had lived in that town their entire lives, so they knew a lot of people.

When I moved to the city I now live in, I didn't know anyone here. I have no relatives within a 600 mile radius. I've never been married, but I have a child. To be a single parent with no relatives in the picture is rough. I have never known the experience of having anyone watch my child whom I did not have to pay to do so.

When I go back to my hometown to visit, which is rare these days, I am struck by the apparent fact that people know each other. My best friend from my hometown runs into people she knows wherever we go. (She has lived there her entire life.)

Such solid, reliable familiarity must be nice. I should like to experience it sometime.

Goodbye, Dear Friend

2010-03-24T21:12:00.000-04:00

I am in shock. A longtime friend, one whom I spoke with on the phone last week, is gone. I was calling him today to ask him when I could bring to him the treats from the store he had asked me for last week. He sounded odd on the phone that day- not himself. He was asking for things he normally wouldn't ask for.

He had just gotten out of the hospital and was in a facility in the same complex as his apartment. I told him I'd bring his things in a few days. But something seemed very odd.

Today when I called the last number he had called me from, a stranger answered. When I called his home phone, the number had been disconnected. That's when I reluctantly googled his name, hoping I wouldn't find anything.

But google produced a sight that numbed me- an obituary entry.

The man who was like a dear father to me had died and was buried, unbeknownst to me.

I saw him a couple of weeks ago, just before I left to see my dying sister in Boston. I will never forget sitting with him there in his apartment that day. I did not know it was the last time I'd see him, but it was a sad day. I had brought him food which he tried to eat, but his heart wasn't in it. I actually started crying as I sat there facing my friend, even though I didn't know it was our last meeting. We had talked about my sister, and he was very concerned, but his own health was not good either. He told me he was going to die.

I told him I wished he wouldn't.

Best use of "now"

2010-02-06T11:58:00.001-05:00

The following is a quote from the daily spiritual guidance I receive via email:

People say. "If I'm always setting goals and reaching for the future, then am I not squandering my now?" And we say if in your now you're using a future event to make you feel good, you are still feeling good in your now. And that's the best use of now that you could ever find.

The guidance I've received from this source has always been sound. And the above paragraph makes perfect sense to me. When I read it, I thought of my recent house-hunting escapades (which are not that recent- my last one took place nearly 2 years ago).

During the times I was totally wrapped up in finding a Victorian house in the downtown neighborhood, friends criticized me. They said I was "distracting myself." Distracting myself from what? From an unpleasant current reality? What's wrong with that?

I remember how I felt when I thought I was getting the house of my dreams. It was a high! It was energizing. It caused me to tackle my lifelong problem with housekeeping (because my current house had to be in showing condition). I think that anyone who is setting out to live according to his/her beliefs is going to experience an improved state of mind. By living near downtown, I would be adhering to my belief in getting around without the almighty automobile. I wanted to walk to work, walk to run errands, walk everywhere. Europeans and New Yorkers who live that way are measurably healthier than the rest of us.

There were several Victorian houses which I pursued leading up to the last and best one 2 years ago. The last one was so perfect for me and The Child that I gave up after that. The price of that house was unrealistically low- I had waited 3 years to make my offer, watching the price gradually reduce because that house was not suited for the average buyer (it lacked a garage to house the almighty automobile!):

Since then I have become "distracted" by other things, but nothing has had the powerful effect on me that the house dream did. Yesterday, when I had no choice but to drive down dangerously icy roads to get to and from work downtown, I thought wistfully of that house which was almost mine. Had I lived in the dream house, I could have walked or bussed to work. (Or I could have driven a few short blocks!)

The older I become, the more convinced I am that we live life in our heads. How else can we explain why 2 people going through the same experience have 2 completely different responses? If our head happens to be distracted by the possibility of a dream come true, then so much the better.

Box it, label it and put it way

2010-01-31T11:50:00.000-05:00

Unfortunately, I am now my own counselor. I am struggling with a problem which has lasted longer than most of my problems. Often, my problems seem to magically disappear within a fairly short period of time- sometimes overnight.

I have had to construct a plan for dealing with the current problem, since it is not going away and it puts me in a bad mood. The plan is to label it, box it and put it away. It is going to remain, but I don't want it to affect me anymore.

I am embarrassed to admit that the problem has to do with money. Before The Child entered my life, I made a pact with myself that I was never going to let money make any of my decisions having to do with The Child. That as back before my huge salary cut which resulted from the reorganization of my workplace.

And for years, I stuck to that rule- I paid a king's ransom for organic cloth diapers after carefully researching the topic, I paid for a very pricey private preschool, I paid thousands each year for the very best babysitters. From a very early age, the Child loved electronics and I indulged his every whim, more or less. When The Father sued me for custody of The Child, I spent thousands on a lawyer to prevent the troubled, abusive man from ruining The Child's life.

Then a couple of years ago my workplace shut down for a few months and then miraculously resurrected, but with radically lower pay for all employees. There are precious few jobs in this field (no openings in the entire country right now) so job seeking was never a viable option.

Here's the problem: The Child was born with problematic teeth. He's missing 10 adult teeth- they'll never come in because they're not there. Three years ago the Child and I started seeing an orthodontist. I paid $2500, thinking that that was it- I was finished paying for orthodontia- and I thought that was quite a lot of money!

Imagine my shock when, during last week's orthodontist appointment, I was handed a bill for over $5,000!!! After they scraped me up off the floor, they explained that the $2500 was for phase 1. The $5,000+ was for phase 2, and phase 3 would follow! (Mind you, The Child doesn't even have braces on his teeth yet!)

So that's it- that's my problem. In my current state of finances, that $5,000+ is prohibitive and I'm having a hard time accepting it.

I am putting it in a box labeled "An unexpected, unwelcome expense which could be higher and could be related to something far more unpleasant then The Child's orthodontia. As far as problems go, this is not a very bad one. The people who jumped out of windows during the 1929 stock market crash did not have their priorities straight."

Hopefully the box will now collect dust in some remote, neglected corner of my mind.

Happy New Year??

2010-01-11T12:51:00.001-05:00

I was invited to a New Year's Eve party. It's an annual get-together; I've attended for the past few years. The attendees are interesting although I usually end up in a tension-ridden conversation before the night is over. I don't drink; I'm the only one there who doesn't. By now I'm accustomed to being the oddball in social situations, The One Who Doesn't Drink. But that wasn't the problem.

I felt a bit strange that evening. Something in the atmosphere made me uneasy. The hostess is a good friend of mine. I didn't dare not show up or leave early, because she is easliy offended. But that wasn't the problem.

The hostess and her husband are serious art collectors. I tried to relieve my uneasiness by looking around at their museum pieces.

I left before midnight, claiming that I'd turn into a pumpkin otherwise.

Then, in the wee hours of January 2nd, it started. I am not the sickly type; I've not even suffered from as much as the sniffles during the past several years. And I don't vomit. It's just not in my repertoire.

But in the wee hours of January 2nd, I was out of bed, pacing the floors, feeling horrible. In an act I'd later regret, I made a glass of warm water laced with the juice of half a lemon to try to settle my stomach.

It didn't help. I glanced in the mirror and saw that I did not look well- I was as pale as could be.

Before I knew it, the unthinkable was occurring. I was vomiting. I was projectile vomiting, over and over, for hours. The acidic lemon juice nearly caused me to aspirate on vomit. I became so weakened that I could barely make it from the bed to the toilet. Between onslaughts, I was in agony, moaning and groaning. I told The Child that I could not take care of him until I was better (secretly, I wondered if I was dying). I told him which drawer the money was in so that he could pay the pizza delivery man. I was so sick that I called out for my mother, who has been deceased for many years.

Remember, I am not the sickly type. Whenever I do have the slightest thing wrong with me, I am able to figure out what caused it. This time I was stumped. What could have caused my life to turn upside down like this?

Well, I found out the answer last night. It turns out that the hostess of the New Year's Eve party had the stomach flu the night of the party. The woman who rents a room in her house, also at the party and preparing food, was just recovering from stomach flu!

I think that I experienced a sense of foreboding on the night of that party. I am very careful about avoiding germs, and maybe I had a 6th sense about the germs present in the house that night.

My social life is nearly nonexistent, and then when I finally do go out, this happens!

My opinion is that it is the responsibility of the host to present a germ-free environment to the greatest extent possible. That party should have been canceled! At the very least, guests should have been informed of the presense of illness beforehand so that they could decide whether they wanted to risk being exposed. I would have chosen to stay home!!!!

end of a decade

2010-01-01T13:48:00.005-05:00

I didn't even realize until yesterday that we are beginning a new decade, not just a new year. So much happened in my life over the past 10 years.

10 years ago I was living in a beautiful Victorian house in the downtown neighborhood I loved. Above is a photo of the side of the house. (Interestingly, I just had a dream about this house last night. In the dream, I was attempting to buy this house back!) But during the 18 months we lived in this house, I wasn't the same person I am now. I was insecure and easily influenced by outside opinions and events. Long story short- I sold the house and moved to the one we're in now:

I have been frustrated with living in this more suburban neighborhood. We have to drive everywhere, and that's not in line with my beliefs and desires.

But it's located on a park, which I thought The Child would enjoy:

One of the positive results of moving here is that I enrolled The Child in a terrific private preschool located nearby. He loved going to school there. It was all about playing creatively and learning how to effectively interact with other people. The social skills The Child learned there will serve him for the rest of his life.

My work schedule was such a challenge for a single parent. I worked very odd hours and one of the toughest things I ever did was to seek babysitters to cover my schedule.

One angel in the form of a babysitter came to us through an ad in a suburban newspaper. She was 12 years old and lived a few blocks away. I still remember the day I first showed up at her door with the Child. The connection between the 12 year old girl and The Child, then age 5, was palpable. I could almost see electricity shooting between them. They loved all of the same things, and she was the best sitter we ever had. As an interesting aside, she ended up choosing the same career path as mine, which happens to be a very unusual one!

She couldn't cover all of my work hours, of course, but I was fortunate to be able to hire the mother of a co-worker who frequently came to our house. She became like a mother to me, but unfortunately we lost her to complications from diabetes.

I also lost a dear friend from work due to breast cancer. She was as sweet as could be, and things haven't been the same without her presence. She and her husband used to take The Child and me out to eat regularly, and they were as close to grandparents as The Child ever had.

And then there was Mr. D, our next door neighbor. When he died a few months ago, I was so upset that I vowed to move out of this neighborhood as soon as possible. His personality was so large that its absence created a huge void in the neighborhood, all the more noticeable to me because his house was the only one near ours. His widow still owns the house but spends most of her time in Florida.

When we first moved here, The Child did spend time outdoors, often enjoying the park. More recently, though, he has become the indoor type, content to spend every waking moment with his computer, especially the one he just built by himself:

Public school, especially after having had such an extraordinary preschool experience, has not been impressive! It's drudgery to be endured.......

We went through some challenges with The Child's father. Three years ago there was a horrible scene, followed by a lengthy court battle which pretty much ran my life for over a year. The Father ended up with no parental rights. (He never paid child support either, but to me it was worth it to have no ties.) Over the past couple of weeks, The Child did see his father a couple of times, but I am proceeding with much caution. Thanks to the court outcome, I call the shots.

Career-wise, I completed a major project last year which I never thought would be possible. After that I took on a couple of extra responsibilities at work which don't increase my income, but which do increase my variety of experiences. I never could have accepted those duties in my younger days; I didn't have the confidence until now.

Houses have figured prominently in my life over the past years since The Child was born. Two years ago I was broken-hearted over losing out on a house back in the downtown neighborhood:

The house had been sitting on the market for 3 years, so the price was sinking to a ridiculously low level. On the day I finally made my offer, someone else bought the house. This is "the one that got away."

I almost forgot to mention that last year I had the experience of unemployment when my workplace shut down. Luckily, it re-opened after a few months, but I didn't know that it would! I'd say that the most upsetting and depressing aspect of unemployment was trying to buy health insurance. I ended up paying $230/month for catastrophic insurance for myself and The Child. That's a lot of money when you have no income.

Another downer of the decade was that my sister was diagnosed with tongue cancer. At one point , following chemo and radiation, she was told that she was cured. A few months later, the cancer returned with a vengeance. Surgeons removed much of her tongue. She is receiving speech therapy, but has to be fed through a food tube.

Those are a few of the facts punctuating my past decade. I will always remember it as the decade during which The Child grew from a toddler to a Middle Schooler.

Happy New Year.

Preparing for the new year using Twitter

2009-12-26T12:15:00.004-05:00

The following is a "tweet" posted this morning:

marwilliamson

For 2010: Have a talk with your Higher Self; what 1 thing do you know in your heart you should give up, and what 1 thing should you do?

Do you use Twitter? I have a mild interest (or curiosity) regarding social media. Pasted above is am intriguing tweet I just received from internationally acclaimed spiritual teacher Marianne Williamson

I instantly knew what the one thing I should give up is. My eating habits have been appalling. I really don't wish to try to get away with it any longer. I could go on and on about the issue of getting away with it, about how I am and how I'm not, but that's irrelevant. What is relevant is that I'm not OK with my eating habits. I want to change. I've indulged long enough.

The answer to the other question, the one about what I should do, was also on the tip of my tongue. The Child is now in Middle School. He won't be with me much longer. People have warned me since he was born that he'd grow up fast.

In truth, the days are long but the years fly by.

In my talk with my Higher Self, I will have to admit that I've spoiled The Child pretty seriously. It was not what I planned; I planned to be The Perfect Parent. I read all of the parenting books which were in line with my philosophy. I took parenting classes before he was even born. I hired, at great expense, the best babysitters available in the area. Daycare was unacceptable; The Child had to have one-on-one interaction with creative and intelligent sitters.

I have been engrossed in my job throughout his life. I felt guilty about focusing so much on work. When The Child was 2, I asked The Child's father to move out of my house. I did not feel guilty about that, but I felt competitive. Durings visits, the father plied the child with hitherto denied candy and toys. I had to compete. I broke my parenting rules; I became indulgent. It was also at this time that I started hiring sitters because the father was no longer babysitting. The guilt over hiring others to be with The Child coupled with the competition with Disney Dad caused me to become The Over-Indulging Parent.

I had abandoned my own Parenting Plan.

The Child will be with me for a few more years. The days will be long, but the years will fly by. During those long days, I owe it to the Child to be mindful of my words and actions. I am molding a human being. I can do it consciously and responsibly, or I can instead respond to the guilt and competition.

How about you? Do you know what your answers would be?

A very happy holiday

2009-12-25T15:45:00.002-05:00

The Child wanted a new computer for Christmas this year. I said yes......under one condition: you build it yourself.

He's in 6th grade. Most parents don't require children of that age to build computers. But I know this child. He needs a challenge and he's motivated.

So I asked him to choose the components for his computer online. He did, and I sent his list to a friend who is an engineer. He's built a few computers himself. He approved the list, surprised that it had originated from a child.

The parts arrived early. The Child wasted no time.

There were a few moments of frustration. I kept telling him to read the manuals which had come with each component. (He learned to read in Kindergarden on such technical manuals.) By golly, he did read them, and before long, the fan was running.

The monitor wasn't getting a signal, though, and he seemed truly stuck. I told him to load the computer into the car, and I drove him to the local computer repair store. The geek/owner seemed shocked by The Child building a computer , especially such a powerful one, and after getting over his shock he seemed glad to offer his expertise. He saw a disconnected cable which solved the problem when connected. That was easy!

Within minutes the computer was up and running, and The Child was installing Windows 7. Now he's happliy playing games on it, just like any other child his age.

Merry Christmas! May you take the steps to make your dreams come true.

So much for lightening up......

2009-12-10T22:13:00.005-05:00

Censorship is the suppression of speech or deletion of communicative material which may be considered objectionable, harmful, sensitive, or inconvenient. Mention the word "censorship" and you're likely to encounter an automatic reaction of self-righteous indignation.

There are many types of censorship, with the main categories being moral, military, political, religious and corporate. But many of us automatically associate the word "censorship" with unthinkable control such as by a Communist regime. Here is a photographic example of censorship in Russia in the year 1940::

Nikolai Yezhov, the young man strolling with Stalin was shot in 1940. He was edited out from a photo by Soviet censors. Such retouching was a common occurrence during Stalin's reign.

I think it's time for us all to update our understanding of censorship. In reality, censorship is part of everyday life. It's just that usually it's self-administered. How many times have you felt like saying something cruel but instead you chose to bite your tongue? Did you ever become so enraged that you felt like throwing something or hitting a person, barely stopping short? That's censorship. Those of us who don't exercise censorship usually end up in prison, real or virtual.

Sometimes censorship is absolutely called for at the workplace. Sometimes it's in the best interests of the organization as a whole for individuals to exercise self-restraint, which is a euphemism for censorship.

Why does this seem to be such a foreign concept? A little self-restraint of pen and tongue can make the world a better place. Whoops- that would be censorship, wouldn't it? Heaven forbid.

Whirlingbetty lightens up for the holidays

2009-12-10T21:39:00.004-05:00

A friend sent me this via email. I laughed so much that I wanted to share it with my blog readers!

Hugs,
Betty

Be sure and read story at bottom.

"Good news is that I truly outdid myself this year with my Christmas decorations. The bad news is that I had to take my fake man down after 2 days. I had more people come screaming up to my house than ever. Great stories. But two things made me take it down.

First, the cops advised me that it would cause traffic accidents as they almost wrecked when they drove by.

Second, a 55-year-old lady grabbed the 75-pound ladder, almost killed herself putting it against my house, and didn't realize it was fake until she climbed to the top (she was not happy). By the way, she was only one of many people who attempted to do that. My yard couldn't take it either. I have more than a few tire tracks where people literally drove up my yard."

Transitional Thanksgiving

2009-11-29T13:54:00.001-05:00

Surely on some level, I feared that the Child had outgrown the one tradition, the only tradition that our two-member family ever had, the one time each year when I could say to myself that I was an OK mother. The parenting books all seem to agree that traditions are the key ingredients to a successful family; those traditions create fond memories for decades to come.

It was challenging for me to come up with a family tradition in the first place. My imagination just couldn't wrap itself around the concept. The family from which I emerged was not a good model, to say the least. The only tradition I recall from that family was the one where I end up alone in my room, crying, for hours on end.

The Child always liked to be in water, so eventually, after seeing numerous ads for waterparks on the Disney channel, a light bulb went off in my head. I don't like being out in the sun, and several new indoor waterparks were springing up across the U.S. Hmmmm....maybe a trip to an indoor waterpark might be a good idea.....

In my usual style, I spent several days researching indoor waterparks. I read thousands of reviews, both professional and parent-generated. The city we live in has a couple of indoor waterparks, but for anyone willing to drive for an hour, one of the biggest and best in the country beckons.

Three Thanksgivings ago, The Child and I experienced our very first tradition with a trip to the huge indoor waterpark an hour away. We were both very impressed- awestruck, really. The enormous lobby, several stories high, was decorated to the nines with the waterpark theme and Christmas lights to boot. The gift shop was the size of Walmart, with clothing, toys, books, food, movies, you name it. When I spied the Starbucks, I thought I'd died and gone to heaven.

Our room was just as impressive as the lodge itself- it was spacious, clean (practically brand new), tastefully decorated and even had a microwave and refrigerator. (The Child is impressed by microwaves since I believe the raditation is dangerous and don't own one myself.)

The waterpark itself, located inside the enormous lodge, was stunning. The Child happily entertained himself there for hours while I spent most of my time listening to my iPod and reading. When he felt like drying off for a while, there was a captivating magical quest which required participants to run throughout the lodge searching for clues. The game arcade was the icing on the cake.

The only disappointment was that time passed too quickly. Check-in was 4pm, followed by check-out at 11am - a time schedule typical of most lodging these days. We frequently talked about our next visit throughout the year, and our second visit was highly anticipated and enjoyed.

This year, I could tell that the Child's level of anticipation was not the same, but I attributed that change to the fact that he's now in Middle School (6th grade). Middle School tends to change people. But he didn't even want to swim this year. He half-heartedly played a few games in the arcade, and then just wanted to watch a movie and play a little Nintendo in our room. Time passed slowly. I fought back tears on the long drive home.

reality check

2009-10-24T16:08:00.002-04:00

I am curious about something. I want to know if it's typical for adults to become profoundly sad when reminded of their childhood.

Today I heard a hymn that I used to hear in the Episcopal church of my childhood. (Religion was not a big part of my life either then or now, but I attended church often enough to be able to identify music I heard there.) My eyes filled with tears- I couldn't function for a few minutes. (Luckily I wasn't driving- I probably would have crashed the car.)

Is this normal behavior? Of course, everyone's story is different. The characteristics of my story which may be causing this are many. For one thing, I haven't lived in or near my hometown since I was 17. The family I knew as a child has disintegrated- most of the key people have died, except for my brother and sister who both live far from home. Only my father remains in my hometown, yet he married into a new family and barely acknowledges his "old" family.

My childhood was not a particularly happy one, although I was an idealistic child and somehow I knew how to make the best of things, and I always knew I'd leave after high school. I was shy and lonely, reading books all the time. My family never did fun things- my parents were unhappily married, and my brother and sister, who were teens by the time I was born, resented me. What's to miss about that childhood?!

Well, as always, I have a theory. The family may not have been outstanding, but it was the only security I've ever known. We lived in the same house for all of those years. My parents got up at the same time every morning and went to bed the same time each night. There were no surprises. I always knew what to expect when I came home from school- if my mother was at work, then Gram would be there. Dinner (we called it "supper") was at 5pm each night come hell or high water. My mother's cooking sucked, but at least it was consistently bad. And no matter what she served for the meal, whether I ate it or not, there was always dessert- usually ice cream. Every Sunday I was given a McDonald's Happy Meal for dinner.

We didn't have a huge extended family, but I knew a few relatives who lived nearby. Gram was my favorite person of all time, but I was also fond of another older relative, Marion, from my mother's side. I never knew what appealed to me about Marion, because we had nothing in common, but I just liked her. I was terribly quiet, even around relatives, so I was sure she didn't know. I was thrilled when one day my mother told me that she had told Marion that I liked her, and Marion had said, "Yes, I know she does." How did she know?

It was not Family of the Year, but it was stable- as I said, it was the only stability I've ever known. I work in a very unstable field, and my schedule is erratic. I can't even have a regular bedtime schedule, because I sometimes work late at night and sometimes early in the morning. I can't sign up for anything regular, like classes or clubs, because of my work schedule.

Besides being stable, my childhood was the only time of my life during which I was surrounded by people who had to care about me no matter what. That's what "family" is, right? Now, I do have a child, but he'd happily throw me to the wolves if I so much as tell him he has to go to bed!

My child will not look back at his childhood the way I do mine. He has no family- he only has a mother- that's all. The only stability I've been able to offer is the constant knowledge that he's cared about, and that he has a house and food and electronics. Maybe he'll be able to look back and remember the house on the park with views like the one above, the ill-behaved Chihuahua who constantly wanted to fetch, and the fretting mother who did the best she could. I'm not sure if his eyes will fill with tears when he hears a song from childhood......

The goal of the week

2009-10-13T10:16:00.001-04:00

I'm thrilled to have a relatively light work week. I'm working on organizing the house. Why does it seem that, despite the countless hours I've devoted to organizing, I'm never finished? I suspect that my method is flawed. Part of the problem is that I'm organizing for two- myself and the Child. And I am unable to identify many of his possessions. How can I organize what I can't identify? (I'm talking about vaious assorted power chords, computer-related items, parts to game systems- enough electronic paraphenalia that I could open a Radio Shack.) I've told him he has to participate, but it's like pulling teeth.....

I dislike going through old things. I define "old" as anything unused during the past year or longer. Unfortunately, I'm finding some things that I've never even looked at since we moved here 8 years ago. Old things depress me; therefore, I have a hard time dealing with them. I remember one time when a friend of mine came over and just walked into my closet and started telling me what to get rid of. She ever loaded the rejects into her SUV and took them to the Salvation Army. The funny thing is, I think she herself is a hoarder. She couldn't help herself, but she was phenomenal at helping me.

Oprah has had hoarders on her show recently. I used to think I was a hoarder, but now I realize I'm just a bad housekeeper. I really don't want to keep things, and I'm not an avid shopper like most hoarders are. And my house doesn't look as bad as the disaster zones hoarders live in.

My problem is twofold. First, I have no help- any cleaning or straightening up is done by me alone. Secondly, I seem to have an ususual ability to block out the mess, to narrow my focus to whatever I'm doing, totally oblivious to my surroundings. I guess bad housekeepers have to have that ability- otherwise, they'd get their act together.

My mother used to have her own mother and my father helping her keep the house in order. Gram was obsessive- she'd get down on her hands and knees and straighten out each tassel on the rug with a clothespin. Oh, I'd LOVE to have her around! My dishes would always be clean, the sofa cover would always be in place, the food would be put away, the laundry would be done, she'd prepare meals, take out the trash, vacuum, sweep, dust and provide psychological counseling and babysitting.

It doesn't seem fair. My mother had 2 other adults helping her on a daily basis, and she did not work outside the home during most of her adult life. I work fulltime and have no help whatsoever- no relatives within 600 miles (not that they'd necessarily help!). Is this a sign of the times or am I just unlucky in this regard?

I really want to reach the point where I can honestly say that my house is organized. I wonder if that's doable. If it is, then the next hurdle will be maintenance.......well, that's another story.

tough times

2009-09-27T12:21:00.001-04:00

This is the view from my living room window. A year ago, a senior citizen's rec center would have been visible in the upper left quadrant. I had mixed feelings about the city closing and demolishing the building; I think it made me feel less lonely Monday through Friday during business hours if I happened to be home. I had gotten to know the people who worked and attended classes there. But the building was unsightly and its demise improved the scenery.

The big news in bettyworld is that The Child has what presents itself as H1N1; I couldn't get him in to see the doctor because everybody who sneezes now rushes in to be checked, making slots unavailable for those who really do have swine flu. His fever has been 102.6. He has all the flu symptoms- the medical pros say that it's too early in the season for seasonal flu- it's undoubtedly H1N1.

It sucks to be a single parent at a time like this. The stress level is through the roof- I have to decide on a minute to minute basis whether or not to call 911. And sometimes my thinking lacks clarity. What bothered me most, especially during the interminable day yesterday, is that nobody even knows when I'm going through a crisis. (Most of the time, I'm mercifully unaware of this phenomenon since I'm not in crisis.)

I've been around long enough to know that if the chips were really down- if I really needed help from another human being- there would surely be somebody there to help. I don't know this from experience; I know it from logic.

Part of this is timing. If this happened many years ago, I could have called my mother, and she would have taken the next flight to come here. I was always OK when she was alive.

And maybe, if this had happened during the 2 month window between my mother's death and my father's marriage to his mistress, he would have cared, although that's dicey. And maybe if this had happened before my sister's cancer diagnosis, she would have helped, if only via phone from Boston.

But during the years since The Child came into my life, it's been at times lonely. Usually I don't think about it- I don't have time to! The friends from my previous life slipped away, understandably.

Of course, everyone has nagging issues. I used to be the type who would lay out my problems to anyone who would bid me the time of day. Maybe that was healthy in a way, but I came to believe that there was a better way to deal with my problems. So I pretty much stopped talking after The Child entered my life, and it wasn't just because I wanted to. It was because the people were no longer around. Now, on the rare occasions when I actually get to spend time with another adult, I don't dare talk about my problems! I can't risk being branded as one who dumps problems. Back in the olden days, pre-child, I could get away with it.

Now I cannot.

Changes

2009-09-19T16:08:00.006-04:00

It has been a time of change, not just from summer to fall but from elementary school to middle school for The Child and me. He left a wonderful, unusual school where students respected individuality and bullying was nearly nonexistent.

So it's obvious where I'm going with this already, I suppose. The Child has accepted The New School fairly well, but- here goes- I CAN'T STAND IT!

The New School represents everything I balk at! It represents conventional, unexamined thinking. It represents the herd mentality- everybody is the same and should therefore think/act/dress/drive/desire the same. The teachers and administrators are so uptight that I can barely stand to be in the building with them. The students are NOT allowed to speak during lunch!!! WHAT, please explain this to me, WHAT is the POINT of squelching middle school aged students to that extent?

Now normally, I would just figure out a way to accept the new situation. I have a bit more difficulty in this case because I'm the one who brought this about! The Child could have stayed at the Old School, which is a K-8. But noooooooooo. He wanted to go to The New School, even after I explained the differences and took him to see the school during teaching hours.

Bullying. Now we know what bullying is. It happens when The Child gets off his school bus! The foul-intentioned kids sitting at the back of the bus have bullied The Child and me every single time he has gotten off that bus. I automatically shut down when I'm in a situation like that, but it seems to me that they are criticizing The Child's hair. And once, when I followed the bus in my car, a nasty boy in the back gestured in a way that sickened me (largely because he attends the same school as my son).

Yesterday I couldn't take it anymore. As the bus driver pulled away, I ran after the bus to tell him about those kids in the back bullying my son. The driver listened and said he was aware of the problem, and then as I walked away, the bus sat there for a long time. Then it moved a few yards and stopped again, for an even longer time.

I fear that the kids who were obviously being reprimanded will punish The Child at school, where I won't be around to protect him.

There's more. The Child is smart- he's in the Gifted and Talented program and he has skipped a grade in math. There is a course at this God-forsaken school called "College Prep." Well, The Child's grade in College Prep is D-!!!!! He has never had a grade anywhere near that level before, so of course I questioned him about it. He said the teacher, who is intimidating, did not clearly explain what papers he wanted turned in. The Child failed to turn in all the papers he wanted even though he had all of them right there in the room, and that's why he was given a D-. Infuriated, I wrote an email to the teacher, carefully expressing my dismay that such an appalling grade was given as a result of a problem with paper shuffling! The teacher never responded to my email.

My blood boils as I write this, and I cry every time I think of the Old School. This is the price I pay for allowing The Child to make his own choices.

another birthday

2009-08-29T12:04:00.007-04:00

Yesterday was my birthday. For some elusive reason, I decided to have a party, which in retrospect seems highly egotistical. Well, my stab at self-glorification certainly backfired.

First, some background. I was never one of the popular girls. I was no cheerleader. I was the dunce of gym class, wanted for nobody's team. Other than gym class, I was a geek, but fortunately, nobody made fun of me because I was ever aware of my goal of behaving in an innocuous fashion so as to fail to draw attention.

More accurately, I was innocuous until I discovered the wonders of alcohol. Liquored up, I could be the star of any party. That went on until I realized that I had a problem with alcohol and I stopped drinking. Rewind to innocuous.

Ever since my mother died, my birthdays have fallen by the wayside, unnoticed. My father, who has immersed himself in the family of his current wife, doesn't even mail a card or spring for a long distance phone call. Doesn't it make sense for someone in my situation to plan a birthday bash? It sure beats wallowing in misery for the 24 hours marking the date of my birth.

I spent every free moment during the past week cleaning my house for the party. I was on my hands and knees scrubbing forgotten corners with a toothbrush. I even cleaned the walls and ceiling, wondering how it is that dust can collect in such places. Seriously- where does it come from?

Then, the day before the party, I started cooking. Mind you, I'm no chef. I need a detailed map to find my way around the kitchen. I attempted to produce homemade gnocchi (delicate Italian potato dumplings). Something went terribly wrong, and the dough totally stuck to my hands, and eventually to my arms, face, hair and clothing. I stood there in my kitchen in tears, not knowing how to proceed, not wanting to even think about any plan B, never wanting to cook again for the rest of my god-forsaken life.

I looked like the Pillsbury dough boy, covered with a gooey potatoey mess (which I still haven't managed to completely remove from my hair). I was afraid to shower it off, for fear of clogging the plumbing. I went outdoors and hosed myself, to the amusement of the neighbors and passersby.

Hours later, I had finally put together a concoction defying recognition. This is why I had to start cooking the day before. I know myself well enough to be able to anticipate kitchen disasters. It turned out to be a casserole-looking thing, so I shoved it into my refrigerator intending to cook it just before the party.

Over the past couple of weeks I had spent a good deal of time analyzing this upcoming party. I had no wine glasses, so I bought a set. In case some people wanted water or soft drinks, I bought one of those colorful plastic beverage tubs to be filled with a large bag of ice from the gas station the next day. My house is small- too small for comfortable partying, so I decided to hold the party outdoors, and made arrangements to borrow extra lawn furniture. I neither cook nor eat meat, so I found a gourmet grocery where I could purchase high quality pre-made meatballs to add to the concoction.

Just in case the concoction proved to be inedible, I added tortellini to the menu- a double batch to ensure that I wouldn't run out of food. Everybody except me seems to eat bread with Italian food, so I found frozen garlic bread that looked somewhat appropriate. I had to write out an hour by hour timeline for the day of the party so that I would have a fighting chance of pulling off this party. Oh, and did I mention that I baked my own birthday cake? Not wanting anyone to feel obligated to bring a birthday gift, I didn't tell any of the guests that it was my birthday, and I made sure the cake didn't look birthday-ish.

The big day arrived, with rain. The interior of my small, ill-designed house would be the setting whether I liked it or not. The phone rang, and while I tried to untangle myself from tortellini, my favorite party guest left a phone message stating that he had been called out of town and couldn't attend. I still had some tears left even after the previous day's events, and I indulged in another crying spell.

The first guest arrived 3 minutes early, and I was not amused. My kitchen is the worst feature of my ill-designed house- it lacks space for more than one person at a time. I shooed her out of the kitchen and into the ill-designed living room, explaining that cooking required more concentration than I was in possession of.

But it was too late- things had started to fall apart, as I lost track of what had to be in the oven for how long. I managed to start a fire on the stove. I asked my early arrival to take over the kitchen before I ruined the entire production, and I just stood near the door, dazed, as people showed up.

After a few minutes I regained consciousness and took over the kitchen again. While everyone was eating, I cut the cake and started the dishes. I was too overwhelmed to think about eating myself.

Not one person took a bottle of water or a can of soft drink of the huge plastic tub with the 33 pound bag of ice in it. They all drank wine. I had told people that we'd go for a walk in the park or play Pictionary after eating; we did neither, with thunderstorms raging and Pictionary forgotten. When I finally went into the living room to attempt to converse with guests after the meal, I was too exhausted to be conscious of what I was saying, and I said things I later regretted- gossipy things having to do with work.

The guests left as soon as the lightening let up enough so that they could run to their cars, arms laden with leftovers which I begged them to take. As I entered the kitchen to resume the endless task of cleaning up, I noticed that the floor was flooded. (I noticed because I slipped and fell.) The huge plastic tub which was intended to hold ice and drinks during parties apparently had a hole in it. All 33 pounds of ice, now in liquid form, seeped into the floorboards of the ill-designed kitchen.

I'm not sure what line of thinking led me to believe that throwing myself a secret birthday party would be in any way enjoyable by me. It was a lot of work and even more stress. It consumed the day completely, not to mention the preceding days. That's what I mean when I say it backfired. Ironic, eh?

climbing mountains

2009-08-27T09:31:00.002-04:00

I know people who do things like mountain climbing and hang gliding for adventure. I know people who have jumped out of airplanes. I know people with pilot's licenses. I know people who move overseas, having mastered 8 languages. I know people who have started businesses, thereby creating their own livelihoods. I know people who have adopted troubled children whom nobody else wanted. And when I think of these things, I feel limited. I feel as though I haven't really lived my life- I've just sat on the edge, dipping my toe in now and then, admiring all the swimmers and divers.

This morning I sat outside with my pen and notebook. I wrote about this and came to realize that I did climb mountains. One of them was named "be the first in your family to attend college." One was "make a conscious decision to become a single parent." One was "choose a career in a highly competitive field, where the financial rewards will never match the sacrifices, dedication and training required." One was named "against all odds, get yourself out of the small town and dysfunctional family you were born into." And there's one which I keep on climbing periodically: "Establish yourself as an independent, self-supporting, capable individual."

It's not important for others to know of my mountain climbing prowess. But it's critical that I know.

can't let go of blogging

2009-08-07T11:08:00.003-04:00

I have toyed with the idea of quitting blogging. I've been at it since 2005, and lately it has seemed as though my blogging phase has run its course. For some reason, though, I am not ready to let it go.

It has been disappointing to me that some of my former readers have dropped away. Blogging has at times reminded me of high school, when I fretted over not being popular. My blog has never been popular; however, I have enjoyed a small loyal following.

One of my favorite bloggers has quit. Certainly I have been influenced by her decision- for one thing, it's depressing to have her not be a part of my "small loyal following."

Another favorite blogger of mine quit a couple of years ago. I never fully recovered from losing her virtual friendship. It's amazing how attached I have become to my blogging community. Like neighbors, you can't bank on them being there forever.

Which reminds me- my next door neighbor died last week. He was more of a father to me than my bio dad. He cared about me, he worried about me, he cut my bushes, he loaned me tools, he fixed my bike, he gave me tomatoes, he tried to be a father figure to The Child, he went to court after The Child's father pushed him in my driveway (making it easier for me to prevail in the custody battle), he took care of the fallen tree in my front yard, he rushed my dying dog to the animal hospital.

How do you sat goodbye? I remember the day 2 weeks ago when he stood in his driveway, holding onto his garbage container because the bone cancer had made him so weak, while we talked. I remember saying goodbye to him that day, not knowing it would be the last time.

Every time my doorbell rings, I think it's him. He was always checking on me.

2009-08-06T12:49:00.003-04:00

My sister was told a few short months ago that her tongue cancer was gone. The radiation and chemo had worked, apparently.

Then, a couple of weeks ago came the devastating news that it had returned, and the tumor on her tongue was so fast-growing that surgery was scheduled immediately.

This would be no ordinary surgery- it was scheduled to last 12 hours! It took place Tuesday.

A few days prior, my sister had noticed a suspicious lump on the other side of her tongue. At the outset of her surgery, that new lump was biopsied, and found to be cancerous.

The team of surgeons had to adjust their plan. Instead of removing one tumor, they'd be removing two. Instead of taking a skin graft from her arm, they'd have to take tissue and fat from her thigh, for the purpose of tongue re-construction.

The surgery lasted an unbelievable 14 hours. I was unable to travel across the country to be there, so I rely on reports from my brother.

He describes how shocking it is to see the incision circling her neck like a choker necklace. They did that to remove lymph nodes.

Her face is swollen and there are tubes- 24, he says, sticking out of her, connecting her to various machines. She has a tracheotomy and a food tube.

The staff warned the family members that if she got out of bed at all, she would be unable to walk. Yet the morning after surgery, she reportedly walked up and down the hallway, hauling the machinery with her.

Who knew that my sister had that sort of determination? She has never been challenged like this before, of course- nothing compares to this.

She can't speak, but apparently she is writing with amazing eloquence. Surpassing all expectations, she is the superstar of the cancer ward.

She is displaying a strength hitherto unknown, which we never would have known she had, which she would have never known she had.

betty is not whirlin' right now

2009-07-05T19:48:00.002-04:00

I'd like to be, but I'm not. It seems that there's no pleasing me. When I have a lot going on at work, I just want relief- the more, the better. Yet when I actually do have a lighter schedule, I seem lost. Currently my workload is temporarily lighter than usual, yet I deeply resent each extra burden, such as a dentist's appointment, that makes its way into my sparse schedule. Today I came undone over the prospect of attending a 4th of July party, to the point where I ended up not going. What sense does that make?

During the springtime this year, I was enthusiastic about pruning and getting things in order outdoors. I was glad to live here, despite my strong preference for a walkable urban neighborhood. Now, early in the summer season, I am pretty much over this place. The weeds have had their way, and by now the poison ivy to which I am so allergic has popped up all over the place so that it is no longer safe for me to do any yard work. I resent the fact that the roof needs repair and rain now leaks into the living room. This property is small, and there's no place to go to escape the ennui. The weather is increasingly hot and humid. With my central air on its last legs, I barely use it, not wanting to face the bill for replacement, and have had resultant sleepless nights.

My former discipline, flimsy though it was, has gone out the window. Some days I do force an early, half-hearted jog just because I feel even worse if I don't. Other than that, though, I'm just lost, trudging through the hot, unbearable ghost town of my days, hardly even glancing back at the heyday in the rearview mirror.

Are you guilty of this?

2009-06-21T20:32:00.004-04:00

Today I read an article on the onion.com about a young man who admits to a surprising policy during visits with his family:

95 Percent Of Opinions Withheld On Visit To Family

KALAMAZOO, MI–A full 95 percent of the opinions held by Justin Wilmot, 26, were kept to himself Sunday during a Father's Day visit with his family.

Wilmot holds his tongue while his sister and mother discuss their mutual excitement about Legally Blonde 2.

"No one in my family really gets my worldview, so I find it easier just to smile and nod and agree with everything," Wilmot said Monday. "When I'm with them, I tend to be a lot quieter than when I'm hanging out with friends."

Wilmot, who grew up in Kalamazoo and now lives in Chicago, described the visit as "seven hours of self-censorship."

"We're totally not on the same wavelength at all," Wilmot said. "I'm not just talking about dangerous subjects like politics or religion, but pretty much everything they bring up–the shows they watch, the things they buy, the people they know. So if someone says Daddy Day Care was hilarious, I may be thinking, 'I can't believe Eddie Murphy was once respected as a subversive comic genius,' but I sure as hell don't say it."

Among the subjects Wilmot declined to weigh in on during the weekend get-together: new Tropical Sprite, Survivor, the selfishness of childless couples, Iraq, golf, AM talk radio, and his brother-in-law's fantastic idea for a calling-card side business.

Wilmot said he used to voice his opinions, but has long since given up.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Does that seem shocking to you? Not to me, and you can imagine why. Yes, whirling betty is guilty of the same. I am not particularly proud of it, but I learned several years ago that being true to myself is not worth it during family visits.

When my mother was alive, I was quite assertive. She always deferred to me. After she died, everything changed.

The family dissipated. My father married his longtime mistress and she was the complete opposite of my mother. She deferred to no one- least of all me!

When I went to visit my father in the house I was raised in, the presence of his new wife turned the house into a prison for me, even though I had lived there a lot longer than she had. I was only allowed to enter the bedroom I was assigned to (which, of course, was NOT the bedroom which had always been mine- it was my brother's and I had never liked it) and the downstairs.

HOWEVER, I was only allowed to be in the downstairs portion of the house WITH supervision! I kid you not. The bitch whom my father married was convinced that I was going to rob them if left unattended- yes, ROB them- even though my criminal history is nonexistent- nope, not even a speeding ticket can be attributed to whirlingbetty.

I had to make a decision. Either I had to eliminate my father from my life or I had to figure out a way to tolerate the insanity which he married. I decided that my visits would be infrequent and short. I would visit once every 3 years, and for only two days. They never visit me.

For two days every three years, I can squelch myself. I do not share their views on politics or gun control or homosexuality or race discrimination. I do not care to hear about how superior my father's wife and her adult children are to me and my siblings and my deceased mother. But I made the decision that I will spend two days every three years biting my tongue and visiting.

I'm glad I'm not the only one.

End of an Era

2009-06-05T20:46:00.004-04:00

Today The Child graduated from 5th grade and elementary school. Many thoughts swirled through my head as I reminisced about his school career and then dredged up ancient memories of my own schooling.

We were lucky that The Child was able to attend this particular elementary school. A gem within a huge urban school district, this highly sought-after school is populated by students who have won the citywide lottery. It's an alternative school, which basically means that the individual is honored. Because acceptance is paramount, there is no such thing as bullying here.

Before he started Kindergarten, I was a wreck, thoroughly convinced that there was no way that my son would survive even a day of Kindergarten. I wrote a letter to the principal of this school, expressing my concerns. To my shock, she called me and invited me to bring The Child in a few days before school started to meet with her and his teacher. This was the beginning of the support and acceptance that was offered to me by this school. As a single mother with no family or support, this meant the world to me.

It was still traumatic for The Child to start school, even after the generous preparation from the principal and teacher. All-day Kindergarten was too much for him. But thank heavens he was in that particular school, where his lessons could be learned in a caring and conscious environment.

One morning I dropped him off in his Kindergarten classroom, and just before I rushed off to work, I became aware of a problem brewing. One of his classmates, one who indulged in the alteration of facts to suit his agenda, was becoming enraged because The Child was in after-school latchkey and he wasn't. The Troublemaker was telling the teacher that The Child had been taunting him and telling him lies about latchkey, of all things. (Hard though it is to imagine, The Troublemaker was actually upset that he wasn't in latchkey.)

I knew what had been going on between the two boys because The Child had been diligent about telling me EVERYTHING. When I arrived at work, I called the principal of the school to tell her what was going on, and I was so worked up that I was shaking as I informed her that the teacher was preparing to send The Child to detention over a problem that had been fabricated by The Troublemaker.

In any other school The Child would have been sent to detention and been reprimanded, whether he deserved it or not. At this school, the principal made a beeline to the Kindergarten room, where she intervened and took the two boys to her office. Using top-notch problem-solving techniques, she heard each boy's version of events. In a fit of brilliance, she called The Troublemaker's big brother into her office to check out the facts as presented by The Troublemaker, and sure enough, Big Brother exposed the fabrication.

One of the things I loved about this school was its bookstore. Families and teachers donated their used books, and the books were then sold to students at prices ranging from a penny to a dollar, and the proceeds were used for school projects. I volunteered at the bookstore, and really enjoyed being in charge one afternoon each week. I met lots of students that way, and enjoyed watching the children embark upon a lifelong love affair with books.

Today I was much more distraught than the Child was over the end of our relationship with this school. I console myself with the reminder that the relationship may be over, but the lessons learned, by both The Child and his mother, are everlasting.

from Dorothy Parker

2009-05-30T16:28:00.001-04:00

Indian Summer
by Dorothy Parker

In youth, it was a way I had
To do my best to please,
And change, with every passing lad,
To suit his theories.

But now I know the things I know,
And do the things I do;
And if you do not like me so,
To hell, my love, with you!

I recently happened upon this poem by Dorothy Parker. I suppose it's sad to say that it resonated with me, even though I certainly hope that I haven't yet entered the Indian Summer of my life.

Beginning in high school, I was definitely guilty of that chameleon-like behavior which Dorothy describes so laconically. I kept it up until The Child came along, and at that point I seem to have taken on Ms. Parker's Indian Summer attitude.

I have a theory which resulted from my awareness of that phenomenon: maybe my former "lad-pleasing" behavior was actually inspired, unbeknownst to me, by a biological urge to reproduce. Once that happened, I was allowed to be myself and let the chips (or lads) fall as they may.

I have always preferred to do my own thing, although, admittedly, there are those rare occasions when it would be nice to have a companion. When the Child grows up and flies the coop, there will be a void.

Maybe then I'll have to revert to my youthful ways.

Meanwhile, here are a couple of shots from my walk in the park today:

What would YOU have done?

2009-05-20T12:19:00.002-04:00

Can you see that white flower in the middle of the above photo? It's an iris- one of the star bloomers at this time of year. Until a few minutes ago, that single iris was surrounded by many others.

Here's what happened: I happened to be looking out of my living room window into the park on which my house is situated. That's when I saw a woman walk up to the flower bed of irises and bend down. I thought she was just getting a closer look, until I realized that she was actually picking the flowers! There were no people around, and she certainly didn't know that I was watching from inside my house.

As she walked toward the parking lot with her booty, I debated whether I should let it go or confront her. The decision was made as I found myself standing a few feet from her car, saying (in a voice loud enough to be heard but not yelling), "I think that what you just did is illegal."

She mumbled a dismissive "yeah" without looking at me and proceeded to enter her car.

Not quite ready to let it go, I added, "Not only that, but it's not fair to your fellow man."

No response, and she drove off.

I've been around long enough to usually have a sense of whether I've done the right thing or not. In this case, I'm unsure. As the sole witness to this woman's indiscretion, was I morally obligated to let her know that she was seen and judged? Or was it none of my business? Was I standing up for the taxpayers of this city whose money paid for those flowers? Was I upholding the law? Was I speaking on behalf of the many people who enjoy this park and its flowers? Or was I just using her weak moment to try to boost myself into a morally superior position?

Thank you, mother

2009-05-09T22:08:00.003-04:00

for all the "square" meals you prepared
for the huge roast you made just for me when you found out I was anemic
for taking me to see the New York City Ballet
for the treats you put in my bag lunches
for all of the term papers you typed (and re-typed)
for making it possible for me to explore my interests
for the horse-drawn carriage rides around Central Park
for teaching me how to "mother" on the day my puppy was bitten by a bee
for doing the best you could to show a defiant daughter how to snare a boy
for making lime slush for every holiday meal because it was my favorite
for providing a good example of "moderation in all things"
for not being jealous those times when I preferred to spend time with your mother
for providing a constant example of the saying "you catch more bees with honey"
for allowing me to be myself, even though "myself" was foreign to you in many ways
for inadvertently teaching me by example to not let a man run my life
for the fresh baked cookies you mailed to me at summer camp
for taking me to Saratoga for that concert I just had to attend
for planning all those picnic lunches for the two of us
for allowing me more freedom than most parents would have
for believing in me beyond reason

parenting

2009-05-04T09:59:00.004-04:00

Today I realized that good parenting requires a fertile imagination. It's so easy to be bogged down with the challenges of everyday life, especially for single parents, and especially in today's economy.

Yesterday, for example, I kept asking The Child all day long what he'd like to do. I was hoping for the art museum, zoo or science museum. He had other ideas- he wanted to spend the day on the computer. I had things to do, so I waited. And waited.

Finally sometime late in the afternoon he that he wanted to go to Cinnabon for a cinnamon roll. By this time, I was tired, hungry, frustrated and upset about something that was going on at work. I drove him across town to Cinnabon, griping the whole way. By the time we arrived, he was miserable and I was guilty.

I tried to apologize and smooth things over, explaining the things that were bothering me so that he'd know it wasn't about him. I asked if he wanted to go anywhere else, but he just wanted to return home.

This morning he cried before we left for his school bus stop. He strongly dislikes school, and didn't want to go. I tried to be on my best behavior, asking if there was anything I could do to brighten his morning- short of letting him stay home, that is.

When I returned home after his bus roared off, I sat on the patio feeding peanuts to the squirrels and chipmunks. I wished The Child could have been there with me, because I wanted to talk to him about the reason I do this.

Then something very rare happened: I had a good idea. I ran into the house to get a pen and paper, and I wrote The Child a letter, saying what I would have said had he been there.

This accomplished two things: I communicated my beliefs to him, and I provided him with a writing example. Although The Child is an excellent reader, he has never really enjoyed writing- a common problem among boys.

I am curious about any parenting breakthroughs or pearls of wisdom you all may have to offer- on any aspect of parenting at all- not related specifically to the incident described here. I just want to hear about any examples you have of parenting successes! Those of you who don't have a child are invited to weigh in- you certainly don't have to be a parent to have parenting ideas or theories.

spring day musings

2009-04-19T13:39:00.006-04:00

It occurred to me that I may not be that much different from my "tween-aged" son. I am always accusing him of not talking enough- of not disclosing his every innermost thought.

Then I remembered that annoying tendency we all have of ourselves possessing the traits for which we criticize others.

Well, I used to talk. When my mother was alive I spoke to her often, with full disclosure of every last aspect of my life, pretty much. And I saw a counselor until a year ago- obviously I talked to her.

I think I've done enough talking during my life. Even though I haven't talked much lately about anything more serious than the next cold front, I seem to be about as mentally healthy as I've ever been.

Is it possible that talking is over-rated?

Yesterday I nearly crashed the car when The Child started telling me, from the back seat, about a book his 5th grade class has been reading. First of all, he was actually initiating conversation, and secondly, this is a child who has done nothing but whine and complain about school since his first day of kindergarten. With complete sincerity, he told me he can't wait to read this book's sequel. (Mind you, this was no super hero book or anything like that- it was historic, written about the Civil War era.) This is the same child who has consistently resisted any and all attempts by me to get him to read books at home. (He couldn't even be bribed with rewards of video games!)

It's always been a mystery how he even learned to read. He resisted my efforts to teach him at home, and I know beyond doubt that he has rarely paid attention to his teachers in school. His kindergarten teacher had told me that he showed up at school one day suddenly and inexplicably knowing how to read at a fairly advanced level. He was soon thereafter placed in the Gifted and Talented program, where he remains to this day.

Unlike his mother, The Child has definitely not fulfilled his talking quota for his age. Yesterday's sudden bout of talking may have been an isolated and historic event.

There was much yardwork to be done this weekend. See the clippings on the ground? This city has stopped free collection of yard waste. I refuse to pay for it- I am already paying very high property taxes and I file city income taxes as well. I just found out that not all city residents file city taxes! Why? Seriously, why? Well, I'll be damned if I'm turning over yet more of my heard-earned money to this city which is constantly cutting back services to its residents.

So I have to figure out what to do with my massive amounts of yard waste. I've been hauling it into the woods near my house at night. Of course, I have to come up with an explanation of my clandestine activities for The Child.

"Why do you do this in the middle of the night if there's nothing wrong with it?"

Good question. I've always quoted football great Woody Hayes, "Nothin' good ever happens after 10 pm." So of course The Child, who grew up hearing that, wants to know why I haul yard waste into the city-owned woods after 10pm.

Some things are hard to explain gracefully and effectively, especially when the explainer feels inexplicable guilt. In nature, "yard waste" is naturally recycled. No city-owned trucks are required for nature's cycle of life. My yard waste is helping the city's woods grow, right?

So why do I insist on doing it in the dark of night, glancing back furtively over my shoulder for possible witnesses to my indescretion, while The Child, shaking his head in disbelief, acts as my lookout?

blink

2009-04-13T17:29:00.006-04:00

In the blink of an eye, everything changes.

Some background is necessary. The Child used to spend time with his father whenever the father wanted to see him. I allowed this to keep the peace and to allow The Child to know his father. I was under no legal obligation to allow visitation, and to this day the father has never paid me a dime of child support.

Two and a half years ago the father's behavior finally became so outrageous as to be unlawful. I told the father he'd have to go to court to get permission to see The Child again. After a drawn out court battle, the father's lawsuit against me was dropped. This was one year ago.

The ensuing year has been the most peaceful since The Child was born. Gone was the unbearable stress of dealing with a controlling bully (the father).

This morning I was sitting at my computer desk, gazing out my window. I blinked, thinking my eyes were deceiving me. Who should appear in front of my house but the father. However, he was not presenting himself as a bully- he was crying and gesturing through the window.

I stepped outside into the chilly drizzle, afraid to let him into my house. He held a folded newspaper, and pointed to an obituary. I glanced at it and recognized the name of his other son.

I asked what happened, and he said his estranged son had been a college student. He died of an overdose. Of what? Heroin.

"I can't let this happen to The Child," he sobbed. "I can't let him grow up not knowing me." His other son had not seen the father since he was 2 years old.

"I'm a changed man."

I didn't have time to stay and talk further, but I said maybe he could meet The Child and me for dinner this week at a restaurant. He said his live-in girlfriend would come too.

************************************************************************************

What am I thinking right now? Well, for starters, I wish I had wallowed in my past year of freedom, really relishing it. I was aware of my wonderful freedom, but did I enjoy it enough?--- because it's gone now. Too bad I was experiencing a period of absolute hell at work over the past year, including a lengthy period of unemployment.

Who am I to question whether or not the father is truly a changed man? I am my child's advocate, that's who.

Everything changes in the blink of an eye.

Easter scenes

2009-04-12T14:09:00.010-04:00

Last night the Easter Bunny, a.k.a. whirlingbetty, prepared the basket and hid it behind the sofa the way her own mother had done many years ago.

Shortly after dawn on this Easter morning, The Child attempts to suppress his enthusiasm, embarrassed by his continuing belief in the Easter Bunny. Children his age are easily embarrassed.

This is the view today looking out of my front door into the park. To most people, today was still quite chilly, but to me, it's been such a nasty winter that I thought the day was great. I even sat outside reading the newspaper and feeding the squirrels and chipmunks. They deserve to celebrate Easter too.

The daffodils are still going strong. This is my favorite variety.

Later, an unconventional Easter meal of pasta was being prepared at a friend's house. Don't you love the house decor?

Happy Easter to all, and to all a good night.

from Dorothy Parker

2009-04-04T20:31:00.004-04:00

Strength and Healing for Binghamton NY

2009-04-03T23:30:00.007-04:00

My brother called me from San Francisco midday today to inform me that our hometown of Binghamton, NY was dominating CNN. Since the call I've been riveted to CNN, watching the horrific scenes from "home".

How unbelievable that the latest episode in our country's spate of senseless shootings has placed Binghamton NY on the map for the first time ever. The American Civic Association in Binghamton helps immigrants in the area with citizenship, resettlement and family reunification. The shootings took place in a neighborhood of homes and small businesses in downtown Binghamton, a city of about 47,000 residents.

The Binghamton area was the home to Endicott-Johnson shoe company and the birthplace of IBM, which between them employed tens of thousands of workers before the shoe company closed a decade ago and IBM downsized in recent years. My father worked at IBM; my aunt and uncle worked at the shoes factory. Early news reports stated that the gunman had recently been fired from IBM, although the investigation is still in its early stages. The gunman's house was in Johnson City, the village adjacent to Binghamton. Johnson City is where I grew up. The high school under lockdown which CNN kept referring to was Binghamton Central, where as a teen I rehearsed with the Binghamton Youth Symphony. The 4 critically wounded victims are being treated at Lourdes Hospital, where my mother worked, and at Wilson Medical Center which is 2 blocks from the house I grew up in.

Under different circumstances, I would have been delighted to see familiar sights from home being broadcast over the media. I have been homesick for a long time- I miss the rolling hills which CNN showed in the background today. I miss the ethnic flavor of the place. I miss the diversity. I miss the east coast feel. I miss the accent- mine is fading.

But most of all, I'm shocked. CNN just announced that until today, Binghamton had only one homicide during the past year! It had been rated one of the safest places in the U.S. Can you imagine how the city is reeling!?

April showers

2009-04-03T11:40:00.006-04:00

This is what the park outside of my house looks like today. The drizzle is not offensive as a downpour might be; it's a very light April shower- the kind that brings May flowers.

It's been a very pleasant spring, in stark contrast to the brutal ice-filled winter we just endured. It was so bad that my next door neighbors made the decision to sell their house and move to Florida. There were quite a few days this past winter when driving was outrageously dangerous. I have a problem with that, although I'm basically a tolerant individual.

Spring's renewal has inspired me to take inventory of my life. I happened to spy a copy of a book that I found really helpful a few years ago: Life Strategies by Phil McGraw. The book spelled out the importance of looking at each aspect of one's life and determining where the shortfalls lie. I made major changes after reading that book- hopefully they were wise ones.

Using the technique outlined in the book, I re-evaluated my life. Most areas are OK, with 2 areas standing out as needing improvement. One is clutter control. I'm so much better than I used to be, but I still have the problem of being too quick to let things go. And the other has to do with eating.

This photo illustrates my primary problem right now. Ever since leaving home for college, I've developed a habit of improper use of food. Instead of nourishment, its use in my life seems to be distraction, comfort, pleasure and numbing.

It seems like an addiction- the drug is food. Sometimes I control it to one degree or another- sometimes the best I can do is starve myself for a few days between binges. And I actually do experience an occasional period of "normal" eating, usually not for long.

I can't explain why the problem didn't surface until I moved away from home. I remember once when I was about 8 years old, I was alone in the house and I took a package of Chips Ahoy cookies into my bedroom to eat while I was reading a book. That was my first binge. At age 8, I was revolted afterwords, disgusted by my gluttony. I did not want to be fat- I vowed never to do it again.

And I didn't- not until college. That's where I was at my worst. I used to buy huge bags of candy to eat while I was studying. I'd scarf down ice cream by the half gallon. I'd eat entire cheesecakes. I didn't become obese because I also ran everyday, as I still do.

I have been to various types of counselors, ranging from a psychiatrist (who thought I was fine) to a social worker most recently. None of them focused on the eating thing, and when I brought it up, they offered no insight as to why it was going on or how it might be dealt with. I guess I do it to escape from life, which I apparently find scary. Lots of people escape in one way or another- it's not exactly uncommon.

Right now I am thinking of a friend of mine who had a hard time quitting smoking. When he finally did quit, he replaced the habit with long-distance running. I suppose I too would benefit from finding a replacement habit. An exercise addiction is not in the cards for me, in fact it's fairly amazing that I've been able to keep jogging for all these years, so I'm going to have to come up with something which would be suitable for me which is healthy or at least not damaging.

Maybe I should become a workaholic.

Do you have any suggestions? I really don't want to live on Peanut Butter Eggs and potato chips.

Urban Planning 101

2009-03-30T09:13:00.002-04:00

This is what it looks like from the outside, as viewed from a pedestrian bridge over the street. It's a humongous shopping mall, smack dab in the center of downtown.

When it first opened 20 years ago, it delighted locals as well as out-of-towners who traveled great distances to shop here. Upscale stores such as Marshall Fields, Jacobson's and Macy's were among the hundreds of retailers. There was no shortage of food and entertainment, thanks to the many restaurants, the amphitheater in the center and the connected concert hall/movie theater. It was the place to be, no question.

What went wrong, then?

This grand shopping destination officially closed permanently on March 5, 2009, a mere 20 years after its auspicious opening.

Well, whirlingbetty is no city planner, but it doesn't take one to figure out what went wrong. Surely a 1,200,000 square foot 3 level shopping center in the center of a major U.S. city's downtown was intended to last longer than 20 years!

This mall opened in 1989. It was innovative, being an urban mall in contrast to the far more common suburban variety. It was upscale and exciting.

Here's the problem: in 1997, a brand new mall opened on the northwest side of this same city, unbelievably by the SAME developers who had built the downtown mall! Even an amateur urban planner sees what's coming.

Another suburban mall was opened on the northeast side of the city two years later. The impact on the downtown mall was dramatic by this time.

The fatal blow came in 2001 when when yet another mall opened on the north end of the city. This trifecta of brand new mega malls on the outskirts of town made it impossible for shoppers to justify driving all the way downtown to shop, especially knowing they'd have to pay to park there! Besides, most of the population lives in the suburbs anyway, as this city grows to look more and more like a giant, ever-expanding doughnut with a gaping, empty hole in its center.

City Planning 101: If you want to draw people downtown, the first rule is to exercise restraint on development in the suburbs! There was nothing inherently wrong with the downtown mall; it was a gem. What was wrong was the uncontrolled, unchecked competition allowed to spring up in the ever-expanding suburbs.

The city government did nothing to discourage re-location of residents, businesses, services and retail to the suburbs. We are left with a declining, decaying downtown. What good is a city with a rotten core?

These two shoppers, made of cement, are the last to grace the halls of the former downtown shopping mecca. What a loss; what a waste.

Monet's garden

2009-03-28T16:20:00.011-04:00

I spied this image of a Monet painting while perusing blogs today. This is one that I'm not familiar with, but I find it most appealing.
I've always wanted to have my own garden like Monet's at Giverny. I suppose it's no wonder, then, that I ended up living on a park which features views like this one:

The similarities are remarkable, don't you think? Granted, the park isn't my own personal paradise like Monet's garden was for him, but I also don't have to tend the garden or pay the gardeners, except through with same tax dollars that every city resident pays.

I regularly see artists set up here in the park with easels like Monet's. They seem to be using "en plain air" techniques which Monet advocated.

Very early in the morning and after sunset, the garden is devoid of visitors, and I pretend it's mine.

A perspective

2009-03-26T11:12:00.002-04:00

Here's a thought to ponder: Life is supposed to be fun. Imagine the possibility that before you were born, you said, "I'll go forth and choose. I'll look at the data, and I'll say, yes to this, and yes to this, and yes to this, and I'll paint a picture of the things that I want, and I'll vibrate about them, because that's what I'm giving my attention to. And the Universe will respond to my vibration. And then I'll stand in a new place where a whole new batch of yeses are available, and I'll say yes to this, and yes to this, and yes to this." You did not say, "I'll go forth and struggle into joy", because from your Nonphysical Perspective you know it is vibrationally not possible. You cannot struggle to joy. Struggle and joy are not on the same channel. You joy your way to joy. You laugh your way to success. It is through your joy that good things come.

spring is here

2009-03-24T21:27:00.009-04:00

Can you detect the faint hint of green in the bushes on the left, and red in the bushes on the right? The subtleties of spring are becoming bolder by the minute. The closeup below shows promising buds and new growth.

Over the past couple of months I've allowed the house to fall into a state of alarming disarray. Something had to be done! I wouldn't go so far as to say I've been "spring cleaning", but at least I've been straightening up the house to the point where I can invite people inside again.

The crocus is the quintessential harbinger of spring. Crocuses abound around my house.

Below is a miniature daffodil, about 1/4 the size of a regular daffodil. (The regular ones bloom later, in April.) Each spring I am reminded of my dear friend Wini who died of breast cancer several years ago when the daffodils were in full bloom.

I have not been spending any money lately. Last summer was rough; my employer had shut down the business for several months, and during that time my car broke down 5 times and the plumbing in my house went bad. Repairs for those unfortunate events cost thousands of dollars. Financial recovery will take a long time.

However, I was perusing the ad from Target in Sunday's newspaper and I spied a fun, whirlingbetty-looking welcome mat for $9.99. Here it is:

Now that my schedule has lightened up a bit, I am heaving a huge sigh of relief and getting back to the things I've neglected, like blogging. I have resumed my fair weather practice of sitting outside on the patio in front of my house, feeding the animals and reading.

Happy Spring!

Happy Valentine's Day

2009-02-14T10:41:00.004-05:00

Happy Valentine's Day! This is what I gave The Child today in hopes that he will be my Valentine. Yesterday was ridiculously busy- I didn't have time to go shopping for candy, heaven knows, but I wanted to uphold a tradition of my late mother's. She always gave me a very special Valentine's Day treat- usually from a world class chocolatier in Manhattan. Even during my ridiculously self-absorbed teenage years I was aware of (and possibly even appreciative of, as much as a teen can be) the effort she went through to make me feel special on this day of romance.

On Valentine's Days it's my mother whom I remember, rather than any of the various boyfriends who have paraded through my life. I suspect that my mother knew a thing or two about finding ways to feel validated without a partner. Even though she was married, my father cheated on her throughout her marriage, which infuriated me since the age of 8. (My mother was beautiful, smart and caring- why on earth did he have to do that????) So my mother, perhaps unwittingly, taught me to find alternatives to the validation that often comes from a partner.

During my college years, I joined 2 female friends in a Lonely Heart's Club which only existed on February 14 of each year. We Lonely Hearts celebrated Valentine's Day by snarfing down hot fudge sundaes at a cute little ice cream parlor, where, appropriately, we were always the only customers. Somehow, I think this club was a nod to my mother, who, as I said, taught me alternatives.

Just now, as I was writing this post, the doorbell rang. Much to my shock, these flowers were delivered to me from my favorite florist, sent by my friend Garnet, who managed to find flowers in all of my favorite colors. With friends like this, who needs a boyfriend?

So tonight, all the people in town who are lucky enough to A) have a partner and B) have reservations will enjoy dinner at one of the city's many fine restaurants. I will most likely be indulging in Papa John's thin crust, cheese only, with The Child while watching a murder mystery on TV. On top of the TV will be my bouquet from Garnet.

And I'm not complaining.

our hero

2009-02-09T10:40:00.003-05:00

For the first time in 50 years of commercial jet flight, the pilot of US Air Flight 1549 successfully executed one of the most technically challenging maneuvers, landing a jetliner on water without fatalities. The pilot, Captain Chesley B. "Sully" Sullenberger, is an inspirational modern day hero.

His opportunity to be a hero dropped into his lap unexpectedly- he certainly never sought the situation. But he spent his life unwittingly preparing for his heroic role by doing what common, everyday heroes do- by realizing what his life's purpose was, or as some would say, by following his calling. And he did that with complete abandon.

Sulley was no ordinary pilot- his wife referred to him as "the consummate pilot" whose life revolved around his career. He was a US Air Force Academy graduate who flew F4 fighter planes. He was a renowned airline safety expert- an international speaker- who had been used by NASA as a consultant.

His cool, calm and collected style has been honed by decades of flight experience and research on safety. His actions on January 15, 2009 were exemplary, from the moment he heard the geese hitting his plane until he was the last person to evacuate the wreckage after having checked twice for any remaining passengers.

Prior to executing the unthinkable task of ditching his aircraft into the Hudson River, he matter-of-factly instructed his 155 passengers to "brace for impact." Let's hope that the impact of Captain Sullenberger reverberates for a long time, as his story inspire us to ponder the value of complete dedication to one's calling.

dig deep

2009-01-26T11:17:00.002-05:00

We each live our lives at a certain general level of depth. It's entirely possible to go through an entire lifetime operating on automatic pilot, just as it's possible to be so sensitive, so reactive, so introspective that life becomes unbearable.

Last night, at the end of a long, eventful day and week, I found myself wondering if I was satisfied with my level of living. Was I living too much on the surface, just facing each crisis as it occurred, and not daring to go beyond that? Was I ignoring parenting issues that exist due to the absence of another parent? Was I doing a good enough job of taking care of myself? Was I making flawed decisions?

I had just watched Desperate Housewives on TV. It was a particularly moving episode, to me at least, featuring the significance of the handyman on Wisteria Lane. I bawled my eyes out, wishing desperately for such a handyman in my own life. He wasn't a "handyman", he was a "handy man", one who happened to be there at the times when each housewife needed a soft place to fall.

I rarely feel sorry for myself about being alone, but that TV show awakened memories of times in the past when I've experienced the phenomenon of having people around me to help out with life's hurdles. Usually it's my long lost mother I think of wistfully, but last night I remembered the various guys who visited my life, each helping in his own way. One built me a garage; one helped me through the trauma of losing my grandmother; one showed up at my door when I found out about my mother's pancreatic cancer diagnosis; one loaned me a very expensive piece of equipment for me to use at work.

In that frame of mind, I began asking myself if I really wanted to be alone, and if my life was really on the path I had intended. Am I in the right field of work? Are my parenting policies sound, and am I adhering to them? Am I just going through the motions of executing each day's tasks, unaware of my life's purpose and desires?

I come from a family which operated totally on that level. Questioning or deep thinking were simply not on the agenda. Not ever. I rarely see any of my family members these days because they live hundreds of miles away, but when I do, I marvel, unsure of whether the surface-level lifestyle is good or bad.

My father, for example, has his daily routine, which is never broken as far as I can tell. Tending his wife's many cats seems to be the focus of his life (and hers). They are retired, and everything is either about the cats or any impending doctor's or dentist's appointments. For social interaction they go to church and Bible study. Each night they watch TV, commenting loudly while watching, eating butter brickle ice cream.

When I visit (they won't visit me) I usually inadvertently stir up some type of trouble with my intensity. (I have been kicked out of their house more than once.) I tend to want to analyze things, face the past, and discuss any unresolved issues.

But now that I think about it, the past couple of times I visited, I had changed. I had dropped my former ways, and just hung out, trying to be like them. I can do that for brief periods.

Over the past couple of years, though, I think I've become generally more "automatic pilot" than I used to be, even when I'm not visiting them. Oh, I still react to things now and then, but it's not the same.

That change may seem positive, but as I've said, I question whether I'm missing the boat. Always the extremist, I swing dramatically one way or the other. I either spend every waking moment analyzing every thought that comes into my head, or I ignore all of it.

And I'm not sure which is preferable.

location, location, location......

2009-01-19T10:06:00.004-05:00

During warm weather I like to sit outside, feeding the birds, squirrels and chipmunks while I read. At this time of year I still try to attract birds and squirrels with seeds and peanuts, but viewing them through a window isn't quite the same. I'm addicted, though- I can't go through a day without seeing if I can draw wildlife onto my property. I wish I had a huge picture window to make the view more accessible, and if I thought I'd spend many years in this house, I'd be thinking about saving money to make that change.

But......I have a few complaints about my current house. Even though I have stopped talking about moving and have accepted staying here for the time being, I still don't feel as if I've found the place I'm supposed to be. (I know there are books written on this topic- "home" is an inside job, etc., but I am talking about a more superficial "home".)

Things are changing here. There used to be a vibrant senior rec center next to my house, and I had gotten to know many of its members. Last October the city tore down that rec center, and of course, that changed everything. Now I live at the end of a dead end street (the senior center had been placed at the end).

The energy has diminished- now, only an occasional dog owner drives to the end of the street to release his/her dogs into the park outside of my house. The lack of leash laws in this city has been a source of much controversy, and I have given up fighting. The dog owners clearly believe that their dogs' freedom is more important than the safety of other dogs and people in this city park. Three years ago, my dog was killed in this park by another dog, and my son was bitten by an offleash dog. An elderly man with whom I had shared many conversations used to walk in the park regularly, and one day he was terrified out of his wits by a dog attack which I witnessed through my window. He never returned.

Another change- my next door neighbor is dying of bone cancer. He has been a true neighbor to me, in the old-fashioned sense. He and his wife have cared about my well-being. Formerly a man so energetic that I had to wonder if he had ADD, the cancer has rendered him suddenly immobile. Unable to walk over to my house, he calls me nearly every day to check in, with a hoarse voice sounding like a ghost's. He usually passes out after a few sentences. I know he's not long for this world. His wife will sell the house and move to their home in Florida.

I understand why feng shui rules dictate that a house should not be located at the end of a dead end street. It's because of the lack of energy flowing around the house. The senior center brought in energy even to this dead end, but now it feels isolated and lonely, which is the last thing I need.

It's great to be so surrounded by nature, though, in the midst of a major U.S. city. I don't have to breathe air pollution when I sit outside or when I jog, because of the park on which my house is situated.

On the downside, it's not a pedestrian part of the city. It's suburban even though it's within city limits. You have to drive everywhere, which I dislike strongly. Everyone says, "Can't you walk in the park?" and of course I can, but that's not what I'm talking about. Until I moved to this city, I got by without a car. I walked or biked everywhere. That's how I grew up- it's in my blood.

The changes that are occurring here are sad ones, and this is certainly a difficult time of year, with ice storms and dangerously frigid temperatures. I rarely allow myself to even think about any dissatisfaction- I'm just lucky that I don't have a foreclosure sign out front.