a second chance, maybe

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  I was all set to bid on the house on the date of the auction when suddenly the house was withdrawn.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.

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Field trip

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

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

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)

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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

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

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.

.

Betty is undone

                                                                

 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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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"

 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

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??

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

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.