To the people who did not buy my house yesterday

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Done

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

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

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

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

A mind is a difficult thing to control.


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A snag

I have encountered the snag which is my mind. 


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I'll keep you posted.


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Monday's revelation

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

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

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

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


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Your opinion?

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

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

What's stopping me?  The houses prices. 

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

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

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

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

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

It included original stained glass windows:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Huh??!

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

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

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

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

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

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life thoughts

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

All is well.

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January blahs

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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2010 assessment

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Betty is back AGAIN

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

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

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

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

This is what I wrote to the ex-boyfriend:

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

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

Why?

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betty is back

I

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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


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


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


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

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

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Fall without the colors

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Relevance

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Irrelevance

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

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

I have lost relevance.

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

a trying time

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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my sister

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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"The sisters"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Was this my business?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Birthday week

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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Home again

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Do you have any in stock?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The pharmacist said it would be 15 minutes.

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

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

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

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

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


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