Y'll be awright

Here are a couple of photos taken today of the first roses of spring in the public rose garden outside of my house. There was a cold snap this spring which damaged a lot of the wild roses, but this harbinger clearly prevailed. I am being tested. The peaceful life my child and I have been enjoying was broken with a phone call at 10:30am. To my shock, it was Bruce, my child's father, with whom I have not spoken during the past 4 months. I had been advised by my lawyer to inform Bruce that he would have to go to court to try to obtain visitation rights. Nobody really expected that Bruce would follow through, and a new found peace prevailed, as if a huge burden had been lifted. I hadn't realized how both my child and I had been squelched, controlled and bullied by him!


Well, he's back. He's officially fighting for child custody and said I should be receiving my subpoena very soon. The court date is June 13, when I was supposed to have been out of town for an important work-related conference. Bruce assured me that he will use it against me if I try to postpone the court date because of my work. After taunting me with this, he proceeded with his trademark tirade about how I had ruined the child's life, etc., etc.


Finally I hung up on him after having tried my best, as always, to remain civil and tolerant. I had to leave for an appointment with my counselor.


Well, as luck would have it, my car broke down on the way. I could tell that the problem was major (and it will cost $1,000 to fix the car- I was right!). By the time the tow truck arrived, I was shaking from the blows of the day. The easy-going tow truck driver smiled, assuming, I'm sure, that my disabled car was my main problem, and said slowly, very reassuringly, "Y'll be awright."


He did what he could to reduce my stress by not charging me for the extra distance he towed beyond my AAA allowance. But it was his convincing mantra, "Y'll be awright" that saved me yesterday. It still reverberates, as it will many times over the coming weeks.

betty does photos, part 1

This is the view out of the window in the "eating area" of my house. The "eating area" is too small to be called a dining room, having space only for a small table and two chairs. Here you can see the public park, featuring one of the world's largest rose gardens, just beyond the privacy hedges. It's nice to have no vehicular traffic in front of our house. The only "traffic" we see consists of joggers, walkers, dogs, squirrels, chipmunks, a ground hog and even a fox.

This is the view from outside of the house, looking in at the "eating area." The Chihuahua is on top of the table, keeping watch over the "traffic." Take note of the orange trim on the windows which was just applied last week by yours truly.

Here is the Chihuahua perched on his table in the "eating area." He is forever grateful for the views of the rose garden, and he considers himself quite the watchdog.

Below is the newly painted garage, complete with a whirlingbetty color scheme. I can just imagine what my realtor would have to say about that if my house was still on the market. The next installment of "betty does photos" will feature the downtown neighborhood.

Sunday with Whirling Betty

Even the weather has been creepy lately, much like the huge Victorian house I dragged the child through today as part of our Sunday afternoon open house tour. The house had sky-high ceilings throughout, and the most enormous windows I've ever seen, yet the house was dark. I know that Victorians were notoriously dark, as if they were built as eventual haunted houses. Well, this house gave me the creeps; I seemed to be channeling frustrated old spirits who insisted on remaining attached to this house.

So much the better- heaven knows I don't need another Victorian house to obsess over! I thanked my lucky stars as I exited the house emotionless. The Child, on the other hand, danced up and down, squealing, "BUY the house! BUY the house! That secret room on the 2ND floor will be mine! Mama, you could jog around that brick circle in the backyard every morning! You wouldn't have to leave home to do your jogging!" He had just demonstrated how to jog on that circular garden path by running around it as fast as he could several times until he noticed I was gone.

There wasn't much danger of obsession anyway- this house was not in my target neighborhood. It was near downtown, but on the east side, not north, and there were no groceries, shops or art galleries to walk to here. It was affordable because the neighborhood was unsafe.

Our next stop was in my target neighborhood. I never had much interest in condos- the condo fee alone is enough to turn me off- but facing the reality of what I can afford has forced me to give up my standards. This one was a condo- it appeared to be 1/3 of a former mansion. From the outside it was somewhat attractive, featuring a turret and a brick exterior, but there was no yard.

We tentatively entered. Well, actually, I tentatively entered while the child bounced happily over to the realtor and engaged her in lively conversation. That was fine with me, since I preferred to avoid her. I could see immediately that there was no way I could consider this house, or, more accurately, this 1/3 house. It was so narrow! I'd have to lose weight to fit the house! The woodwork was dark, ugly actually, and plain- nothing like the wonderfully ornate woodwork of the haunted house. The walls were white. All white. What on earth could anyone find appealing about this place? I just wanted to get out of there, but the child had engaged the realtor. I stood at the door, waiting to bolt.

The realtor was not about to let me off the hook, so I told her that regrettably, I simply didn't like the condo. Undefeated, she insisted on dragging us down the street to another one, also 1/3 of a house. This one was even worse than the first- just as dull, but with only one floor instead of two, and still no backyard, not even a tiny cement slab. Its only positive feature was its price.

I told the desperate realtor that we had to hurry on to our next house, and as we fled I dishonestly promised to give her a call to see more of her dazzling array of condos. We drove on to the next and last house which was farther from my target area......and we kept on driving....we weren't even on the dartboard anymore. It was too far away! I assessed the surrounding area when we finally got there, then decided not to bother getting out of the car. I want to be able to walk to the grocery store, drugstore, video store, bank, post office, coffee shop, library, etc. I realized that there was no point in looking anywhere but in my target zone. Yet within my target, only the unappealing condos are affordable.

I already knew all of this. But I am a stubborn woman who doesn't quit easily.

what it's like

Things have been weird in bettyland lately. There's been too much work, too little pay, too many responsibilities, too many distractions, too many disappointments.

When I was a child I complained a lot. I learned it (well) from my mother, who held a national title in constant complaining. I never realized that I complained until age 15, when I went away to summer camp. My cabinmates were all too happy to point out my character defect.

I was very bothered by that. I didn't know how to change something I wasn't even aware of. It was the language of my family and had become second nature.

There were obviously people who tolerated it. I was not banished from society- in fact, I seemed to enjoy a fair number of social contacts. Being shy, I was never popular, but I was lucky. In a recent post I described a very cool high school boyfriend who had chosen me based on my appearance.

I can't say exactly when I became convinced that I should try to change and become consciously positive rather than negative, but I think it was fairly recently. You see, my luck ran out once the child came into my life. People do not gravitate toward single mothers, especially the clearly overwhelmed types. Friends became few and far between. Even the friend whom I used to identify as my "emergency contact" abandoned me shortly after the baby was born.

My best guess is that my unwanted solitude forced me to change my habitual way of thinking and speaking. My most recent friend played a definite part- he showed that he could not tolerate any negativity from me. I think I changed, but it didn't save that friendship. A few months ago he took in a female roommate who has more than taken my place in his life. I rarely speak to him now. (But when I do, it's damned positive.)

I do still have someone to talk to. In fact, I have a date with her today. Unfortunately, I'll have to talk fast because I'm only allowed 50 minutes a week with her. And I'd better enjoy it while it lasts, because my insurance will only cover 19 sessions per year.

Over the past couple of weeks I've been spending a lot of time with numbers- numbers relevant to my ability to afford to move to the pricier neighborhood as planned. As long as I was already working on my tax returns, I thought it made sense to go all the way and figure out exactly where I stand financially.

The result stopped me in my tracks. In fact, it stopped my heart from beating. The ugly truth uncovered this week is that I can't even afford the house I'm already living in!

How could this have happened? Well, I hate to be money-obsessed, so I pay little attention to it. Some people call that "denial". I make sure I have extra padding in my checking account, and I have all my bills paid by automatic withdrawal from that account. No problem ever presented itself. Why worry? I had a vague awareness that during some months, I had unusual expenses and had to rely on savings, but that's why I kept extra money in my checking account.

I had used every online calculator available to figure out how much house I could afford. I'm sure that, on some level, I knew that the resulting numbers would be somewhat askew in my case because those calculators don't take into consideration things like babysitting costs, video games, repairs for 16-year -old Hondas, or beginning orthodontics. I score well on the calculators because I have no debt. (A mortgage is not considered a debt for some mysterious reason!)

But I grabbed those numbers and ran with them, all the way to my realtor's office. And, as some of you know, I spent the past 7 months attempting to attain my dream of living in a Victorian house near downtown. My current house has been for sale all that time. It was actually in contract last August, but the buyers backed out after changing their minds. I did insist on selling first before buying- at least I had that much sense.

So the ugly truth revealed during my recent financial fact-finding mission is that I've been spending more money than I earn since my child was born. (I guess I should be thanking my lucky stars that I had savings before he came along!) I had ought that was happening sometimes, some months, but I never realized the extent of it until now.

The Law of Attraction states that we should NOT face reality unless reality is exactly what we want it to be! I'd love to flamboyantly embrace that declaration and use it as my motto, thereby justifying continuing to try to sell my house. But I can't. The new neighborhood is more expensive. I'm already overextended financially in this cheaper house. My choice has been taken away.

When I called my realtor to tell him this, his response was unexpectedly gracious, considering the amount of money he would have gained from my move. He mysteriously said something about having a feeling that something would work out, and said he'd just remove my house temporarily from the market. He was probably just trying to ease my pain, or maybe he was trying to hook up my dream to life support.

Since then, I've experienced many different reactions, from utter despair to gratitude, then back to despair again, then to imaginary bargaining with the universe. Then I'll go back to those online calculators and run the numbers again. And again. I can't bear to visit the desired neighborhood anymore.

We Meet Again

It's not everyday that you have the chance to meet up with an old high school flame(!) so I was understandably nervous. (And remember- I have shunned men since my child was born, so this was truly a BIG DEAL.) John had sent me an e-mail out of the blue, then we talked on the phone, then made plans to get together. He's still living in NYC, and his accent sounded just as I remembered it, although I had forgotten how fast he talked. Sometimes my brain had trouble keeping up, although I don't remember having had that problem back when we were "an item". He is now a successful attorney; all I could envision was the handsome, endearing teenager I had known so well for one memorable summer.

I was extremely surprised to hear from him because of the ways things ended. Everything was great when we were together at summer camp in upstate NY- couldn't have been better. We never even argued, which is unusual for me. In fact, that brief relationship may well have been the best one I ever had.....

But when he came to visit me at college, I had stupidly moved on. I was well ensconced in my new one-sided love affair with a guy who turned out to be gay. I blew John off, totally incapable of giving up even one precious moment with my new love interest. I did feel kind of lousy about it, but I was young, inconsiderate and unwise.

I tried to make amends with John later, but he wouldn't respond. I'm sure he was crushed by my unexpected turnabout during his college visit.

Imagine my surprise when he contacted me recently. Forgiveness takes time, depending upon the people involved and the nature of the offense.

Once he e-mailed me, I began obsessively indulging in the sweet memories of that summer. He had picked me out on the first night of camp, when we all sat around a huge circle and introduced ourselves. Good thing he didn't waste any time (he came over to me immediately and made his intentions known) because we got right to it, and thoroughly enjoyed the entire duration of camp, from the first day to the last. Everything is more fun when you have a boyfriend, as I vividly recall.

I remember one day toward the end of camp, when we were just hanging out in a grassy field. He was a dreamy kind of guy, with a James Dean look about him. He said,"Let's get a motorcycle and ride off into the sunset, just you and me against the world!" (Do teenage boys often say things like that?) Maybe he knew it was the last time we'd be together, and maybe we should have ridden off into that sunset.

But not to worry- last night we actually DID meet again! Thanks to John's effort to reconnect, we were able to arrange a reunion while he was here on a business trip. (I told him I wasn't likely to make a child-free trip to NYC for a few years!) When I saw him for the first time, my heart stopped- he looked remarkably the same- very good looking, very sexy, with slightly wavy dark brown hair and that knowing smile that says, "I know what what's going on with you, and I like it." I was speechless.

But not John- in fact it was his smooth personality that had always made him utterly disarming. He was quick witted, fast talking, intense, charming, totally at ease in the world, just as I remembered.

Both of us descended from Irish immigrants who settled in NYC and Long Island, so it was appropriate that we decided to check out a St. Patrick's Day festival. Like a breathless teenager on a date, I tried to focus on the sights, but had to keep glancing at him to see if this was really happening. It was as if the years between now and our summer together had vanished. Last night was simply the next night after our last. We had aged but a day. We did attempt to catch up on what we'd each been doing during the interim years, but the past had a powerful hold on us, and that was just fine. It was an incredible dream come true.

As we walked together, smiling, sometimes holding hands, I wondered why I had let this one slip away. No other boy or man suited me so perfectly. When we stopped walking, he put his arms around me and kissed me just as he had done in the stairwell of our camp dormitory so long ago. The re-living of the precious memory brought tears to my eyes.

When my alarm went off, I was stunned, absolutely crushed with disappointment. The tears eventually dried as I absorbed the harsh fact that John had not really been with me. He really was my boyfriend long ago, and he really did contact me recently, but the rest.....

But I keep thinking: Who's to say it didn't happen? Why couldn't it have been a striking example of time travel? It was so realistic, and we seemed to be 17, despite the awkward talk about our current lives. How is this different from reality? I have a clear memory of it. I have emotions associated with it. The only thing I don't have is the ability to stoke this rekindled romance. And I might not have had that anyway.

on a mission

Leafing through one of my many notebooks this morning I came across a certain prescription for joyous living which I had jotted down a few months ago. It's from the trendy Law of Attraction movement. What it boils down to is the suggestion that all we have to do is simply look for things to appreciate. It's that simple.

For starters, I appreciate the simplicity of that suggestion. Looking for things to appreciate is doable, is it not? Granted, the retraining of focus from chronic fault-finding to constant scanning for good is a major shift, but the directions are easy!

One glance out the window provides plenty of fodder. It's a spring-like day with pleasantly cool, moist air. My partly Irish origin is very comfortable with the overcast sky. The birds are revving up for their spring flings- hints of new beginnings float in the air. I admire my handiwork of the weekend: extensive pruning of the bushes which had hidden my house from the world.

Even the Chihuahua conspires to make this day work. Instead of his usual yapping, he is playing contentedly with a stuffed lamb, seemingly sensing that I'm on a mission. A call comes in from the real estate office- they want to show my house the day after tomorrow. Yippee! I have 2 1/2 days to prepare for this showing, and all the active "chi" of the bustling birds and animals around my house might just sell it. And if not, I get to stay here and enjoy it. It's a win-win situation.

Later I have business down in the neighborhood I wish to move to. I'll take a little time while I'm there to walk around, enjoying the urban energy of the large city park in front of the house I want. I haven't spent much time there lately, so I'll relish the reminder of why I like it there.

Today I'll make time to visit a friend who's back in the hospital. He says I bring the outside world in to him when I visit. I appreciate being appreciated. While I'm there I'll be glad for modern medicine which can save the lives of the profoundly ill. And I'll thank my lucky stars for my own good health, which I'm sure I'll be perpetuating with my positivity.

car-free at last

Not wanting to wait too long between posts, I'm attempting this one without having a clear idea what to write about. It's not that everything's great- it's that everything's in limbo. My house is not sold. My child's father still hasn't filed for custody or visitation rights, so the possible impending court case remains to be seen. Big question marks loom large.

That must be disturbing, because when one of my best friends called last night, I snapped and snarled, then explained that I have way too much going on- too much work, too many extra demands, and on top of that my 16-year-old Honda is making noises that sound like a wheel is ready to pop off. Just thinking about how on earth I'm going to manage to take in my car to the shop and still manage to get the child to school and myself to work is completely overwhelming. This is the perfect example of how our isolated society doesn't work. In a more ideal society, I'd be living amongst family, and "my people" would be there to help me out with the car problem.

That concept makes me think of my mother. She always used to fret that I lived so far away from home, with "no support system," as she lamented. I used to just blow her off, which is easy to do when you're 21 and have a brand new Toyota which you haven't yet totalled with your youthful driving habits.

For a long time now I've been stating that I want to move close to downtown, where reliance on the automobile is minimized. It's amazing how last night I came to realize that although I certainly do have a full plate, ripe with things I could worry about, it was the issue with my car that finally sent me over the edge. That's how significant THE CAR is, even in the life of a person who detests IT!

I show my opinion of THE CAR by refusing to give in to society's dictates regarding what type (and age) of car I should be associated with. I refuse to funnel my money into THE CAR (although, make no mistake: old cars are not cheap to maintain).

Yet THE CAR is now ruining my life. How did that happen? Well, let's take a look at where I live. Although located within this city's freeway outerbelt, my house is maybe 10 miles from downtown, and 4 miles from the child's school. The absence of sidewalks in my neighborhood shows the mentality of its developers: THE CAR rules. If, heaven forbid, something happens to your car, you'd better have another one standing by in your 3-car garage. THE CAR is mandatory, a veritable sine qua non.

The fact that the child's school is 4 miles away is another indicator of the times. I grew up in a bygone age when most kids actually walked to school. Children automatically exercised daily, just by doing what they had to do, and obesity was rare. But THE CAR changed all that.

Tomorrow I will rise at the crack of dawn, drive the old Honda to the shop (unless a wheel falls off en route), walk 2 miles back home on still-ice-covered streets, then use my superhuman powers to somehow maneuver the child onto a city bus on which I will transport him to the vicinity of his school. Then we'll traverse the tundra until, God willing, we reach his classroom.

Tomorrow we'll discover what it's like to be car-free.

clarity at last?

In order to clear my mind about what it is that I DESIRE and wish to ATTRACT into my life, it seems to be necessary to spell out exactly what I do like about my current living situation.

Today it's snowing again. That's annoying as far as driving goes. (And driving is one of my ISSUES.) But the positive aspect of the snow in my current location is that I get to be a hero and offer peanuts to the waiting wildlife. The bird feeders are filled, of course, but peanuts are highly sought after by many birds and mammals. As soon as I took out a load of peanuts this morning, I saw blue jays dive bombing for them immediately. Then a red-bellied woodpecker, who had been observing from afar, began a full-fledged campaign to ward off all other birds. He swooped repeatedly in as menacing a fashion as he could. That particular woodpecker has struck up a deal with me. If he knows I'm home, he hammers on the gutters of my house to signal his desire for peanuts, and I rush outside to deliver. (If I could only learn about desire and its manifestation from the woodpecker...) And of course the squirrels and chipmunks here eat peanuts out of my hand. (As I write this, I wonder why it is that I think I want to move...)

Then there's the fox. One morning last week a dog was barking ferociously outside of my house as I was trying to usher the child into the car. (People constantly allow their dogs to run free here because my house is on a public park which allows unleashed dogs. I have reluctantly become accustomed to this.)

I asked the dog's owner to control her dog which was illegally on my property. As usual, she didn't have a clue how to go about doing that. But before I could get upset with her, a mad chase began. Her large retriever was chasing a thin red animal out from underneath my Amish shed. The child screamed, "IT'S A FOX!!!" (Had he not done that, it would not have registered in my shocked mind that this was indeed a fox. I have never before seen a fox in the wild, or in the urban, as the case may be.)

And one of my favorite visitors to this house has been a rather portly groundhog. He lumbers about in search of treats, seemingly oblivious to any and all threats to his well-being. Yet considering the high number of dogs running amok, he must have something figured out. As you can see, this setting lacks only hedgehogs to be the perfect location for a Beatrix Potter story.

The older I become, the more I look back to my childhood for clues as to who I really am. I was 8 when I chose (wisely) my career. At that age I saw the outrageous dishonesty and tragedy that pervaded my parents' marriage, and dismissed, possibly forever, the notion of marriage for myself. That's been an OK decision which has certainly taught me independence. And being a voracious reader, I was an incredibly idealistic child. That characteristic remains. And it's no surprise that I loved nature and animals.

There's something else which I just remembered. I have always been fascinated with houses and landscaping. At age 7, I relentlessly (and fruitlessly) begged my parents for a backyard pond which was advertised in the Sunday newspaper. I was always thrilled by the view of our backyard from my bedroom window. To this day, when I'm looking at houses, the one thing I must have is a good view of the backyard (which will feature a pond out of the Sunday paper).

I always wished my parents would move to a different house. I guess a new (to us) house offered infinite new possibilities. My much older sister sometimes took me on house searches when she and her husband were looking for one to buy. I loved looking at houses. Why? I don't know. Do we ever really know why we're drawn to the things we're drawn to? Maybe my active imagination simply enjoyed the various settings to play around in. And maybe it still does, to this day.

One more important feature of my young self is that I walked and biked everywhere, and cared nothing about the motor vehicle. I had no desire to learn to drive. (Do you think my parents realized how lucky they were?) My Irish grandmother was my hero, and she never drove a car!

So what I am is an unmarried, idealistic, house-obsessed nature lover who dislikes driving. My confusion over moving boils down to the fact that I want to live in nature (which, unfortunately, would be in the suburbs, where the car rules) AND I want to live close to downtown, where I work, so I can walk everywhere. And on top of all that, I derive pleasure from SEARCHING for houses- not from deciding on or settling into a house. How does a person like me go about sending a clear desire into the universe? No wonder I've been confused.

exploration

The weather is revolting. The air has been frigid and cruel for far too many days. Everyone's optimism and enthusiasm is icing over.

Yet yesterday, my realtor showed my house to a prospective buyer. Who would buy a house now? As I joked to a friend, no house looks enticing in this weather. That really seems true for me. As I drove through the frozen neighborhood I want to move to, I felt nothing.

Is it also true that in good weather, everything is equally appealing? I expect a buyer to be drawn to my house when spring sets in. Heck, I'll be drawn to my house when spring sets in. And of course I'll also be appreciating the downtown neighborhood........

This leads me to be suspicious of my desire to move. Does the grass become greener when the grass literally becomes greener?

Hope erupts in springtime with the seedlings, perhaps. Even those of us who are appreciative of and satisfied with our lives can hope for even better, right? That seems to be human nature. "Better" doesn't have to mean a different house, but in my case there seems to be a deep-seating yearning for a pedestrian neighborhood reminiscent of the one I grew up in.

Or is this just my way of justifying my attempt to move? Those of us who intellectualize by habit can find ways to rationalize just about anything. I constantly question my decision to move because:

A) I'm insecure.

B) The place we live is pretty darn good by most people's standards, being situated on a gorgeous public rose garden (yet we have to wonder why nobody has bought the place during the 6 months it's been on the market).

C) I'm afraid of making a mistake. I have made past real estate blunders. For example, 6 years ago the child and I DID live in that downtown neighborhood in a beautiful Italianate Victorian. I freaked out over the possibility that gutter repair on that particular house in that historic neighborhood was going to cost $20,000, so I bailed out and moved to where we are now. Had I realized how the value of that house was going to skyrocket, I would've stayed put and gotten a few more gutter estimates. (It wasn't just the gutters. I gave in to criticism from my child's father regarding my insanity for trying to raise a child in an urban neighborhood.)

I keep saying that I am unsure because I don't spend enough time meditating, getting in touch with my True Self. So I'm off to the meditation corner.....

If I could change the world...

...this is what I'd do: I'd make its cities car-free.

In my last post I wrote about wanting to move close to downtown to a pedestrian neighborhood. Then a few days ago, the results of a California study were published which showed that kids growing up near congested urban corridors ended up having compromised lung capacity for the rest of their lives, causing asthma, other respiratory illnesses, and low resistance to pneumonia.

Of course this revelation stopped me in my tracks, and I've been spending a lot of time researching this topic on the internet. That's how I found J.H. Crawford, author of the book "Carfree."

Crawford loves to describe Venice, Italy- a busy, thriving example of a car-free city. Italians call it "Il Serenissima", the serene one. It is an amazingly stress-free urban environment.

Vancouver, B.C. is a city well-appreciated by visitors from all over the world. Its Director of Central Area Planning, Larry Beasley, offers this famous observation, "If you design an environment for children, it will work for everyone." If we in the U.S. had measured cars against this yardstick before adopting them as the default method of transportation in urban areas, we would have decided to avoid cars at any cost.

Accidents involving cars is the leading cause of death for children in the U.S. It is unsafe for children to walk, bike, or ride in cars. The pollution resulting from cars has resulted in rampant respiratory disease and cancer. (The cancer rates from car exhaust is increased sixfold in high traffic areas.)

Areas that have been cleared to make endless roadways for cars have resulted in obvious blight. The car culture has taken people off the streets, changing the social landscape. We fight wars to protect our oil supplies. Global warming is a now undeniable phenomenon.

Cities really could be designed around public transit, biking and walking, with ALL cars parked in large garages at the city's edge. Subways and streetcars could efficiently shuttle people around. For freight transportation, standard sea containers along with small, low impact freight bikes and battery-powered carts are perfect.

I am frustrated. I wish I could DO something to bring about carfree cities, and I feel powerless. How many people really care about this? Am I alone? Any suggestions?

I had a dream

The holding pattern of my current life is, surely, the calm before the storm of child custody. One of these days I'll somehow be summoned to court, once my child's father saves up enough cash to pay his lawyer's retainer. (I say "somehow" because I don't know how it happens. Will the police show up at my door, or worse, at my workplace? I doubt that it will be as casual as a letter appearing in my mailbox.)

Those of you who have been following my blog (thank you, thank you) know that my house has been for sale since last summer in an attempt to follow my dream of moving back to the downtown neighborhood where things are more happening and active and pedestrian.

Those who know me in person don't think I should continue the pursuit of my dream at this time. And although I have been doing my best to set aside some time for meditation each day, I seem to lack my own clarity on the issue.

There's certainly one factor which saddens me, to the point where I don't usually allow myself to think about it. It's the financial factor. It's going to cost me a small fortune to hire a lawyer, and that unfortunate fact has rocked my dream boat. The downtown neighborhood, being very trendy, is more expensive. My ability to afford it is definitely questionable.

I know that a reasonable home buyer would take into account that emergencies must be planned for. And I have. The problem is, my savings could easily be depleted by a combination of attorney's fees, the child's future orthodontics, and the costly maintenance of older houses.

On the other hand, I have always said that I don't want to let money rule my life. There is some chance that I would be OK financially after moving. But moving would be risky, maybe even careless.

Right now, the thought of giving it up depresses me. Somehow, the dream was keeping me alive, not in the technical sense but in the inspired sense. When I think of giving it up, I realize how dismal my life is otherwise. I am very alone, with my main social contacts being the people I interact with briefly at work, and the child, of course, whose main interests are bicycles, video games and Mythbusters. I work, I clean the house, and I deal with the child, and barely manage at that. No wonder I took on this "moving" project. I suppose I hoped I'd be moving out of this life and into a new one.

The Happy House

After school today I heard the child mutter something under his breath about a happy house. I asked what he was talking about, and he explained that in a few hours, our house would be very happy, filled with excited little boys experiencing their first sleepover.

Our house has not been very happy lately, I suppose. It's been staged for real estate showings. No house enjoys that. Houses are not meant to be museums. Houses crave people, the more the merrier, and the laughter those people might bring.

Our house has been a showpiece for 6 months now, and the house has started to complain. It burns out its light bulbs with lightening speed, as if to punish the uptight homeowner. It has started showing never before seen wrinkles- the marble in front of the fireplace features an unsightly crack, just like the slate in the entry and the kitchen linoleum (referred to euphemistically as "vintage"). I can't help noticing smudges and fingerprints on the living room walls which I was sure I had cleaned to perfection. Even the marble window sills around those Anderson windows are showing signs of discoloration, aging and shifting.

Each time I hear the furnace kick on I say a silent prayer, because I know it's on its last legs. I didn't have it serviced this fall because I keep thinking I'll be out of here soon- why bother? Its humming sound is louder than it used to be- in fact, it's working itself up to a disconcerting roar.

Even the electrical system has started to act up. I can no longer fire up the Dyson HEPA vac without tripping the circuit breaker. Now I accept that if I want to vacuum, I have to turn off every light in the house first, shut down the computer and unplug the refrigerator.

The tree in front of the house sees to it that my roof looks unsightly at all times. An hour after the gutter cleaners left last month, that tree dropped 6 enormous warbled branches onto my roof, where they remain as testimony to my neglect.

But tonight the house is happy, as it literally shakes with the rhythm of the delirious boys. It resonates to their manic shouting, acting as a conspiring megaphone. The boys rush through the house, searching not for its flaws but for its magic. They marvel at its secret door hiding the card table cabinet. They climb up through the coat closet leading up to the attic with no floor, awestruck. They shriek for joy in the usually ignored basement as they sort through all the stored treasures. The house thrives tonight, doing what it was put on this earth to do.

I bet it would let me vacuum tonight, with the lights on.

a shaky start

This new year is beginning whether I'm ready or not. In light of what happened on December 26, I'm not so sure that I am.

Bruce, my child's father, took the child out for a few hours that day. When he brought the child back, he stated that he wanted him overnight next Saturday. I said, "Ask C. He's sitting right there."

C said no, very meekly- it was the first time he'd had the courage to stand up to his controlling father.

Bruce: "WHY?"

C: "I don't want to."

Then the tantrum began- Bruce's, not the child's. He ransacked my house, grabbing everything he'd given the child, all the while yelling about what an horrible person and mother I am, how he doesn't even like the child, how he's never going to see the child again, and other such ranting.

He took the flat-screen TV he had given C this Christmas, and tore its speakers off the walls. He wheeled C's bike out of my garage. He took C's favorite possession, his laptop, while yelling for C to give him his iPod and clothing. He tore the shirt off the child's back, and when C re-appeared a few minutes later wearing a different shirt, he took that one as well. Because I had been running through the house trying to hide C's favorite things from Bruce, this took quite a long time. I was trying to calm Bruce down and get him to stop, but it was futile.

Midway through the tirade, I ordered Bruce off my property and threatened to call the police. I can't even imagine why I didn't follow through. It was as if I was paralyzed with shock and fear.

Shortly before he left, Bruce actually demanded that I "put the child in the truck." At least I had enough sense to refuse! What mother would send her child off with a raging madman?

Finally, Bruce threw C's new TV out of his truck into the street and drove over it, in front of the sobbing child who was naked from the waist up on a chilly winter day.

Our lives changed that day. It would be absolutely irresponsible of me to have it any other way. I did call the police after Bruce fled, and filed a report. The next day I contacted a highly regarded domestic attorney. On Wednesday I'm taking C out of school to see a child psychologist.

Until now, I had allowed Bruce to see the child whenever he wanted to even though we had never been married and had no legal arrangement. He paid no child support. That deal could have worked if Bruce had been capable of behaving with integrity.

Acting upon the advice of my lawyer, I informed Bruce (in a public place) that he could either get counseling for himself to learn how to be a loving and caring father, or he could go downtown and file for custody. He scoffed at the counseling, which I totally expected, and he said he'd be contacting an attorney. "It'll be a while, (he'll need time to save up the money for the lawyer's retainer) but I'm gonna do it."

So now I wait. Someday, probably in a few weeks, or sooner if he can get somebody to loan him money, I'll be summoned to court to determine custody of my child. I did everything I could to prevent this, because court-ordered visitation would undoubtedly have meant that my reluctant child would have had to spend MORE time with Bruce than he already was, but now I have no choice. Hopefully now, the judge will see that Bruce has a maturity problem, and visitation will be non-existent or supervised.

Oddly enough, I have felt relieved since this happened- nervous, apprehensive, yet relieved. Bruce had been bullying and controlling me, and to a lesser extent the child, for years. I put up with it, and the lack of child support payments, all for the sake of avoiding a standard visitation schedule. C was usually unhappy with Bruce, especially during his rare overnight visits, and I was willing to pay a dear price to keep it out of court.

Now, for the time being, Bruce is out of our lives. The albatross is lifted. Much to my surprise, I feel like a completely different mother, one who is more responsible, involved, and effective than ever. I never realized how my spirit was being stifled before this happened.

So, Happy New Year. Here's to positive life changes and new beginnings.

The Effect of C

My first memories of C were of him hanging around after work with my co-worker, W. He was her doting husband, and he was always speaking with great enthusiasm about issues having to do with W's work or about their condo on the Hawaiian Island of Molokai. He seemed like a most pleasant chap, very engaging, always smiling, frequently laughing.

Eventually W and I became close friends. We used to go on double dates: W and C with Betty and Child. Who else would think of arranging regular outings with a single mother and her young son? They were Jehovah's Witnesses, and I came to find out that Jehovah's Witnesses were known to be totally non-judgemental. They never spoke of their religion to me, but they lived it, by taking me, a woman who chose to have a child out of wedlock, under their wings, without question or comment. W and C didn't need us, for sure; they had 8 kids and a multitude of grandchildren of their own, most of whom live right here in town.

C had just retired from his highly successful career as a chemist. His fascinating tales of chemistry are probably the reason why my child now prefers science over any other topic or subject. I'll never forget the child's delight when C presented him with his first microscope.

When C found out that I enjoyed trading stocks as a hobby, he set out to share with me his decades of stock market success. Over a period of several months, he imparted his considerable knowledge to me. Then, after all that, his bottom line still rings in my head, loud and clear, "We can sum up everything there is to know about investing in 4 words, just 4 words: Buy cheap; sell dear. That's all you'll ever need to know. Buy cheap; sell dear."

We so missed W and C during those winter months when they escaped to their Molokai retreat. But they were good about staying in touch, calling us regularly, and they came back with unbelievable stories of life on the island, along with Hawaiian outfits, books and toys for my child.

W had breast cancer, and C used his medical and scientific knowledge and resources to help her. As a result, she lived way beyond expectation, stretching out her 6-month prediction to 10 years.

I asked C why he hadn't become a doctor after graduating from medical school. That's when he explained to me that it was an ethical issue. During medical school he had become painfully aware of the power of money, and the pharmaceutical industry, in medicine. He could not devote himself to such a profession. That's the kind of man C was.

During his career as a chemist, he had quit a lucrative job after being asked to participate in a dishonest scheme. He quit on the spot, that day. C was not the kind of man who had to go home and think about what was right. Integrity was his way of life.

W succumbed to cancer two and a half years ago. Everyone who knows C is shocked that he has lasted this long without his childhood sweetheart. He insisted on remaining in the house he had shared with W, taking good care of W's beloved cocker spaniel, Chandler.

I wondered what my relationship with C would be like once W died, but he took care of that. He wanted to set up a schedule for phone calls, so we talked every Monday, without fail, and sometimes on other days too. At first I considered those phone calls to be my opportunity to check on C, to make sure he was OK. Gradually I came to see that C was checking on me as well. We both benefited from knowing that somebody cared, all the time, not just when it was convenient.

C wanted us to try going out on the town as a trio instead of a quartet. Although we did try it once, our vivid memories of W's sweet presence made us unbearably sad.

C had been a great lover and supporter of classical music. He was absolutely outraged that tickets to the thriving local sports events were so much more expensive than symphony tickets, while the struggling symphony so desperately needed the community's financial support. Nearly every time we talked over the past few months he brought this up with renewed passion, and he was always thinking of ideas to help bring in more money to the symphony.

He often spoke of his wish to go to a concert with me. We set up several dates, but he ended up backing out, undoubtedly heartbroken remembering the many concerts he had attended with his dear W. But last summer we finally made it to an outdoor symphony concert.

Interestingly, the concert took place in a venue which C himself had set up many years ago. It was the huge, multi-acre lawn of the chemical company which had been his last employer. C loved to tell the story of how one day he had looked out the window of his office onto the huge green expanse below, and declared, "This is the perfect setting for outdoor symphony concerts!"

Since then, the symphony has been holding concerts there every summer weekend, with thousands of people showing up to enjoy picnic fare while listening to live classical music. C's boss ended up receiving the credit for the idea, but C didn't mind, as long as his beloved symphony was playing there.

After the concert that night I noticed how weak C was, barely able to get out of my car even with my help. He was shaking from the effort, yet he thanked me profusely for taking him, with tears in his eyes.

We continued talking every Monday, and sometimes on other days too, and even though I constantly asked if he needed anything, he always declined. Just once, on an icy, snowy day, he sheepishly asked if I could take his trash container up to his house. After I did it, he thanked me as if I'd saved his very life. So accustomed was he to putting others first, it was unspeakably difficult for him to ask for help.

A few days ago he called me from the hospital. He'd fallen at home and couldn't get up; he'd eventually pulled himself to a phone to call an ambulance. I went to visit him with a stuffed bear wearing a shirt that said, "Get well." He looked terribly ill. He clutched that bear for dear life, again with tears in his eyes.

Today is Monday, my day to talk to C. He didn't answer his phone at the hospital, nor his phone at home. I started to feel sick. I called the home of one of Charles' sons, and the son's wife answered. "C is not well," she said. "He has a living will, so he has to be taken off his respirator today at 2pm. Then, after that, there can be only one more attempt to resuscitate."

C, I wish I could have seen you one more time. I wanted to tell you how much I appreciated knowing you, how important you are to me and how much I'm going to miss you. May your ethical standards, your passion for the arts, your incredible intellect and your loving, giving nature live on in me and in the countless others whose lives were touched by you.

The Effect of Dr.V.

Would you cry if your dentist died? You probably would if your dentist had been Dr.V.

A few years ago I decided that I was fed up with my dentist. His fancy office in a downtown high-rise surely was being subsidized in part by my outrageous bills, which my insurance company labeled "excessive". Everybody who worked in his toxic office flashed huge, blinding white smiles as if to advertise their product.

So I asked around. Surely one of my alternative-type acquaintances would know of a good dentist.

And my babysitter suggested Dr.V. He was a holistic, non-toxic dentist who sounded too good to be true.

His office was modest. His appearance was disarming- he could have been a model. During my first visit, Dr.V. himself cleaned my teeth, very painstakingly, I might add. Has your dentist ever cleaned your teeth? I don't know why he did it. Was that just his procedure for first-time patients?

Unlike Dr. Toxic, Dr. V. did not believe in excessive dental X-rays. He did not spin stories of how "you get more radiation from a day of sunlight than from one measly dental X-ray." He simply did not X-ray unless there was a clear reason.

The last time I saw Dr.V., he took a long time to explain the fine points of brushing and flossing. Afterwards, as if to not want to have been offensive, he said, "I told you all that because you seemed interested."

Soon afterwards I received a letter in the mail from Dr.V. He reported that he had decided to sell his practice because he really wanted to teach dentistry at the local university. I was devastated.

Yesterday I received a letter from my current dentist who had bought the practice from Dr.V. It relayed the very sad news that Dr.V had died suddenly.

Immediately I thought of a fact I had come across about dentists having a very high suicide rate. Certainly Dr.V. had seemed unusual......but suicidal? Hard to imagine.

The internet provided many missing pieces to the puzzle of Dr.V. The only obituary I could find was in a Catholic Church newsletter which explained that the 48-year-old athletic Dr.V had collapsed during his weekly raquetball game. Apparently his heart gave out, and attempts to revive him were futile. He left behind a wife and 5 children, and there was a request for contributions to a charity which he had devoted himself to- a Catholic agency which helped people living in inner city neighborhoods.

I found it interesting that this alternative, holistic dentist who didn't believe in casual X-rays had also been Catholic, and that shortly before his death he had made a major life change, switching from practicing dentistry to teaching, his true calling. I was lucky to have encountered him before that switch. In reality, he was already teaching when he was a dentist, I realize as I recall his very lengthy, detailed explanation of proper brushing and flossing technique.

Our automatic reaction to such a death is horror that such a good man died so young. But after thinking about it, I have instead been able to focus on the probability that here's a man who was able to die without regrets, having aligned his life with his beliefs and passions, with his true nature and purpose.

Life with Legos

What an optimistic title: Life WITH Legos. Maybe it should be Life vs. Legos. At any rate, I am decidedly Lego-challenged today.

We've had an unusual relationship with Legos. When the child was a tiny toddler, I had more interest in Legos than did he. I used to buy outrageously expensive sets (designed for age 10-adult) which featured 3-wheeled cycles, various workers with interchangeable hairdos, and elaborate service stations apparently intended to keep the tricycles up and running. I'm the one who assembled these sets, and became quite adept at it, I might add, since Legos were tragically absent from my own childhood toychest.

The child never did participate; he watched me with polite amusement. At one point I distinctly recall feeling a sense of relief that I would not have to take out a second mortgage to support the Lego Corporation. We lived in peace for a while, with the Legos shelved.

Then one day last month everything changed. His bedroom was transformed in one afternoon from a pleasant boy's bedroom kept very tidy for real estate showings into a massive mound of Lego pieces concealing the bed and furnishings. Although I always said I wanted him to have wholesome interests, I was highly dismayed by this turn of events, and expressed it loudly.

Besides, the child's very character was affected. A hitherto unknown level of frustration began to rear its ugly head whenever a Lego creation fell apart, as they inevitably do. The child began to rage so vehemently that I feared he'd pop a blood vessel. Now, every time he calls me in to view a finished project, I grab my phone in case I have to dial 911, since the collapse of the creation usually occurs within seconds of completion.

The child, being known for his expensive high tech taste in gifts, had the good sense to present me with his Christmas wish list last October. I ordered as much as I could reasonably afford, glad to have that task out of the way. Then, just yesterday I was informed by said child that he wanted nothing but Legos for Christmas this year. Mind you, Legos were not included to any extent on his fall Christmas list. The Lego sets he wants are measured in hundreds, not tens, of dollars. I have no idea what I'm going to do about this bit of unpleasantness.

Then this morning the child exhibited an abnormally delayed response to my urgings to get ready to leave for school. I should have known that Legos were to blame. When it became too late to walk to the bus stop, I yelled for him to get into the car. With horror, I watched him march to the car with his latest Lego invention in tow, another new behavior for the child who had up until this point confined the Lego world to his bedroom. When the bus pulled up, he shrieked bloody murder as yet another structure bit the dust. He had apparently intended to take that creation to school, as far as I could determine from his wailing as he boarded the bus. Even the bus driver looked shocked at the extreme display of emotion. His red, tear-streaked face mouthed desperate, indecipherable words at me as the bus pulled away.

What's a mother to do? Well, a stable, sane one would have gone on with her day, knowing the child would be OK, and that maybe even he'd learn to put Legos into their proper perspective. This one drove to the child's school to deliver the fallen Lego pieces to her son, lest he fall apart like they had.

Where do YOU live?

Urban planning is one of my all-time favorite topics. My guess is that it will become much more relevant now that we are driving less, according to recent reports.

New Urbanism is a trend which began 25 years ago. New Urbanist developments feature houses with large front porches, garages in the back on allies (not facing the street), sidewalks, and modest backyards. Various building types are integrated into the neighborhood: apartments, condos and free-standing houses, workplaces, schools, post offices and stores. There is a defined neighborhood center which includes formal civic spaces and squares. It sounds like a too-good-to-be-true fantasy to me.

How can you tell if a neighborhood is truly an example of New Urbanism? See if it passes the "popsicle test." An 8-year-old should be able to safely bike from home to a store for a popsicle without risking life and limb on highway-sized streets with freeway-speed traffic. (This, to me, is unfathomable, but I do hope it really exists somewhere.)

Real neighborhoods with a true sense of community are few and far between these days. The problem is, most of us don't realize what we're missing, having never experienced it. I did experience it during my first 5 years of life- my fondest early memory is of the candy store on the corner which actually sold penny candy. By the time I was 5, my neighborhood had caught up with the rest of the country, and the little bakeries, shops and grocery stores had surrendered to the mega retailers.

What a loss. That's why I now crave urban living, in my case involving an actual downtown neighborhood as opposed to New Urbanism. I crave the option of walking rather than firing up the Honda. I want a sidewalk in front of my house, dammit.

Is New Urbanism a successful attempt to bring back the neighborhood of bygone years, or is it a contrived, forced imitation? I can't say, because I've never had the pleasure of actually seeing a New Urbanist example. I've seen half-assed versions, in which each condo features a front porch overlooking a sidewalk, but all the other elements, such as destinations to walk to on those pristine sidewalks, are noticeably absent.

As far as I know, New Urbanist neighborhoods exist in the suburbs. This makes sense, unfortunately, since the downtowns of many cities are in decay. In essense, a new (albeit fake) downtown has to be built within each New Urbanist development. I say, why not use the blighted urban downtowns which already exist, and try to create viable, vibrant neighborhoods there again?

So where do YOU live? Does your neighborhood pass the popsicle test?

Peace

I used to think, not so long ago, that it was somehow virtuous to oppose others. My defiance was energizing. It was how I knew I was alive.

I was secretly proud whenever I heard myself referred to as a hothead. Having been painfully shy throughout childhood (and adulthood in certain situations), it was taken as a supreme compliment.

There was one problem. Several years ago I read somewhere the nagging question: "Would you rather be right, or would you rather be spiritual?" Try as I might, I couldn't get that nagging question out of my mind, especially following my trademark explosions.

At work, I am a member of a committee in which I strongly disagree with the other members on a current issue. My serenity has been ruined for weeks over this. It's the kind of upset which pervades nearly every waking moment- it's unshakeable.

Finally I've accepted that it's my choice to suffer over this. I spoke my mind; therefore my individual job was finished. The mistake I made was in pushing against the others afterwards, as if I could convince them that I was right. That's NOT my job. My job is to express my opinion when appropriate, even tweaking it when my perception changes. Beyond that, I am a member of a group, and my opinion hopefully melds with that of the others.

At home, I have certainly been guilty of pushing myself against the child and the Chihuahua. For example, I used to become livid whenever the dog behaved in a manner I deemed inappropriate. I yelled at the cowering animal as if he had wrecked my very life. But then, during the few days leading up to his castration, I softened, remembering that Paris Hilton's Chihuahua died during the same surgery. He survived the surgery, and I've been treating him like royalty ever since.

Has his behavior changed? Not really- only mine has, but my life is better. The dog bounces off the ceiling when he sees me, crying and even howling with joy. When things like that happen, with nothing but joy going on, I know I'm living the life I was meant to live. I'm being true to my nature.

a morning of contrast

Ever since re-committing to a more spiritually oriented life I've been receiving email inspiration each morning from the teachings of Abraham. Today's was, as usual, simple yet potent. Its topic was following one's bliss, and it stated that if you feel joy and speak of joy, then you're following your bliss,and therefore your life's purpose. Abraham is always reminding us that our emotions guide us if we let them, and that's how we know when we're on or off course. I'm trying to learn this lesson. I know that, regarding my #1 dilemma of the year, whenever I drive through the urban neighborhood which I think I want to move to, I feel energized, glad to be there, and generally stirred. Where I live now I feel dull, isolated, lonely, wistful.

A few short minutes after reading today's Abraham message, my child, who had been leafing through a catalog from Plow & Hearth, exclaimed, "Mama! Listen to this! They're selling a tool to get you out of a car when you're trapped inside!.......How do people get trapped inside their cars???!!"

This was a rude awakening from my Abraham-induced wonder. I took the catalog from the incredulous child and examined the ad for the "Lifehammer" tool. Like the child, I couldn't imagine how people became trapped inside cars. We laughed about the silly notion at first, until I read the explanation. This tool is intended for people trapped inside a wrecked vehicle. The LifeHammer will slice through a locked seatbelt with its protected razor, then smash out the window with the precision steel, double headed hammer. There is also a key chain version of this tool which you can carry with you at all times to ward of any and all unforseen disasters.

All I can say is, I'm glad that I'm not fear-based enough to be a candidate for the Lifehammer. Good heavens. Every choice we make determines the course and quality of our lives. What kind of message do the buyers of LifeHammer send to the universe? I choose to recycle the catalog and head out to the college art museum, throwing caution to the wind, inviting joy, not tragedy.

a spiritual question

No doubt, some of us are more spiritually oriented than others. I, for one, used to harbor some mighty lofty ideals until my child came onto the scene. Then real life set in. Navigating through each day became my loftiest goal. The spiritual life would have to wait.

Then, a few days ago, I decided that one of the things which could improve my life right now might be a little dose of spirituality. On Monday, I set out to re-establish daily meditation, for starters. Next I signed up to receive daily inspirational quotes via internet from a favorite "guru." I hauled out my top ten spiritual books and started reading.

On a roll, I realized that there was one particular book I must have. I knew exactly where to find it: there's a very eclectic bookstore situated in a large 80-year-old house nearby. Something memorable usually happens to me when I go there, and today was no exception.

First of all, miraculously, when I opened the creaky old door and walked in, the first thing I saw upon entering was the very book I had desired. As I paid for it, the cashier and I wandered into a discussion of the power of intent, a popular topic these days and appropriate considering the magical positioning of that book. I told her I had no problem believing in our ability to determine the course of our lives with our thoughts and spoken words, but I said I was stuck on one aspect. She wanted me to elaborate, and I said I wasn't sure what I really wanted. I do believe I have power to materialize my desires, yet I can't figure out what they are!

I explained my dilemma regarding whether or not I should move to the urban neighborhood (which I've already blogged about ad nauseum). Is it really best for myself and my child to move there? I can't tell!

This bookstore is no Barnes and Noble- it's more like a library, where a tacit call for reverence prevails. So I whispered to her, bending over closer to her ear, "I DESPISE suburbs!" in the most emphatic whisper that I thought the store could tolerate.

She looked at me for several seconds, stunned. "I thought you said you lacked clarity!? You just spoke to me loud and clear about your desire. It couldn't be more clear to me.........now I'm getting goosebumps....this happens to me whenever I'm involved in a profound spiritual interaction...oh, my, now I'm starting feel really hot....this is very significant..."

I left the store wondering, like the dutiful doubting betty that I am, whether I had finally been given a sign. Should I just shut up and go with it, and set out to visualize my Victorian house downtown, or was this a trick, played out by two bumbling seekers trying desperately to make sense out of the universe?

Experimental Meditation

It's time to put my money where my mouth is. For as long as I can remember I've been repeating this mantra: "Oh, I know exactly what I need. I don't need a book or a guru or a counselor to tell me this. The only thing that's going to slow down the whirling is meditation."

I am tired of seeming so unsure of myself. Decisions are agonizing torture, calling for advice from anybody who'll bid me the time of day. It's quite amazing, come to think of it, that I actually went into action last summer and put my house up for sale. I can only explain it by assuming that enough people told me to do it. Granted, they were all sick of hearing me debate with myself, ad infinitum, as to whether I should move to the urban neighborhood I coveted, where I could walk (instead of drive) to my life's destinations.

I even used you, my blog readers. Many of you indulged me with encouragement and suggestions regarding what is becoming my theme of the year : to move or not to move.

Now, my house still sits on the market, with showings (for potential buyers) fewer and farther between, as winter approaches. The ever-active whirling dervish of my mind wonders: "Hmmmmm....this must mean that I wasn't meant to move......this house IS in a great location, after all, on this incredible rose garden....if these people can't appreciate my house, then I'll just STAY here- I'll show 'em...although I do hate living in the suburbs....yet as time passes and my savings seem to be dwindling, I see that I can't really afford the more expensive, trendy urban neighborhood- that's the reality of the situation...why can't I live in the area I want to, in the house I want?....is there any way I can make it happen?........should I get a new realtor?.......maybe if I could find a man to hook up with, together we could afford what I want....etc., etc." This is what it's like inside my head.

It's nothing that a little meditation can't fix, right? We'll see. Instead of agonizing over neighborhoods, (or any of the other more fleeting issues like whether or not I was dissed at work) the theme of this week is going to be MEDITATION, and my objective is to slow down, and to empty, my mind. Its chatter is driving me crazy.

The Effect of James Carden, Part II

Exactly one year ago I published a post about my 10th grade history teacher, James Carden. He was one of those inspiring zealots who leave lasting impressions on the people they encounter.

I voted today. I might have voted even if I hadn't known James Carden, but it would have happened with more detachment, I'm sure. James Carden taught me, a very non-political person, to care, and to act accordingly. And if the truth be known, during a frighteningly apathetic time of my life, I didn't bother to vote, and didn't give a rat's ass about it, either. Then I remembered James Carden.

He was intense, by golly. He didn't speak; he bellowed. If it wasn't important, then he didn't bother to say it. His words were punctuated by fists pounding and face reddening. His body paid the price- his heart condition required him to pop glycerin pills upon each outburst.

I don't favorably recall many events from my school years, but I do fondly remember our political debates in James Carden's class. That's how he taught us to care, even though it was very uncool for teenagers to do so. In the safety of his classroom, away from our peers who wouldn't get it, he ignited our fires, built to burn for a lifetime.

I voted today, and I cared about and had researched each of my choices. I thought of James Carden as I was handed my "I voted today" sticker. James Carden's fire has surely been snuffed out by now, but the many others he lit burn steadily.