I wish you lived…
10 Oct 2011 Leave a Comment
I was thinking, after the words flowed out of me, that I might title this piece “Dear Mom” because it seemed like a letter to her in a way, but really it’s not something I would share with her , it is merely me wishing for a different relationship.
A little history is in order. My mother moved out of state when I was 25 years old. Chronologically I was 25, but emotionally I was probably, maybe, 21. I was a single mother; working during the day and attending school at night. I really had no idea what I was doing as a mother, I disciplined and loved quite fiercefully trying to make up for whatever I felt was lacking in my childhood. I cried everyday for months before and after she left. I didn’t want her to go even though emotionally she had been gone for many many years. I knew this was it, I would never have a “real” mother/daughter relationship with her. For several years after she moved, every summer I would drive the 11 hours to visit her, but at some point I just decided I couldn’t put myself through it anymore. I had other reasons that made it easy to give up the trips too. I gave up hoping she would change her mind and move back home to be with people who loved her instead of staying with a husband who was cruel to her. It’s very difficult to love a person that does not love themselves nor sees the healthy relationships as more valuable over those that are destructive.
Nevertheless, I always hold hope in my heart she will come home and let her children, the only ones who truly love her, take care of her in these years of twilight.
I wish you lived.
I wish you lived closer.
I wish you lived here.
Today is a beautiful day. A true Indian Summer kind of day. I rode my bike to the beach. I watched people play with their dogs. I rode down to another beach and just watched the people. This day is perfect. Not a cloud in the sky. 80 degrees with a slight breeze coming in off the lake. The leaves on the trees are flecking burnt edges. People are smiling. They are so happy to enjoy a taste of summer once more. Picnics are spread out with your stomach’s delight. Boaters allow the water to drown all their anxieties. People pass. Languages speak. Hands reach out. Souls are nourished.
I want you here.
Sitting near to me on this bench is a woman with her mother (I’m guessing).
Her mother is in a wheel chair.
The woman sits on the bench and kicks off her flip flops. We are barefoot and we love it.
The old woman sits wearing a straw hat and staring at the lake. Her saggy elbows curl around the arm rest. The women do not speak. A day this beautiful needs no words.
I want you here.
I want you parked in a wheelchair next to my bare feet enjoying the breeze.
I want you here so we can giggle at the white transparent man who walks by with his freshly bald head, too tight white shirt and jean shorts. Oh wait, did you notice the white socks and white Reeboks? But he has a woman holding his hand and we would conclude that she loves him in spite of his poor fashion decisions. Lucky man.
I know if you were here you’d “tsk tsk” and remark about all the gay men walking by us. It is par for your generation I think. I know you’d have a laugh about their tight shorts. I think it looks funny too. Oh so what we’d conclude, they are happy with their dogs and each other. The world needs more happy.
Here comes the mom with the obnoxiously large stroller. You would have been able to put all 4 kids in that thing. Thinking about raising children would jog a 50 year old memory and then you would tell a story about a day at the beach. You would remember sandwiches wrapped in wax paper and thermoses filled with lemonade. Crying over broken shovels and a ball lost to a stray dog. A loose tooth gone missing. It was probably thrown away in the wax paper. All the beautiful memories of a day like today that made up the moments of your life.
If you were here, letting me push you along in your wheelchair, you couldn’t walk away…you’d stay and we would create a memory.
No Pain, No Gain
31 Aug 2011 1 Comment
in Uncategorized Tags: ball shape, fingers and toes, hearty sandwiches, little fishes, Marine, pumpkin pie
If he doesn’t visit then I won’t have to miss him when he leaves.
Of course I miss him every day, but the feelings, the emotions, are tempered down into a manageable space tucked just underneath my heart and above my stomach. It’s like a ball of paper that has been crumpled, reopened and spread out and then crumpled again and repeat until there is a smooth paper ball. So smooth you could wipe your ass with it and not get cut. It’s the best paper ball ever made. These feelings are not allowed to leave that place 99.9% of the time. If they leak out I am a wet, drippy mess of ache and salt trying to get it all back together into a ball shape.
But if he comes then I have to hug him, look into his lovely blue eyes, watch the corner of his mouth curl as he smiles and the apple in his throat rise and fall with the laughter. I have to hear his brother’s high pitched voice stutter through an excited explanation of his latest Lego battle. I have to cook a pumpkin pie, his favorite, and hope he eats most of it so I don’t.
If he comes I have to size him up. I think I came up to his armpit last time, I need a reminder. Maybe I shrunk, maybe he grew. I need to notice if he has more blonde strands of beard struggling to appear on that smooth as a baby’s bum chin that has (probably) barely suffered through 10 shavings.
Just as on the day he was born, if he visits, I will examine his fingers and toes. They looked a little beat up last time. He had jagged cuticles and the square nail bed of his father’s people. Poor kid has his father’s ugly toes and the way he’s been beating them up they should look like Autumn’s fallen branches by the time he’s 25.
If he comes we have to enjoy a quite day at the beach. I will take pictures of sand bodies and cold splashes. His brother’s excited voice will guide the hunt for little fishes and shells. We will make hearty sandwiches that crunch with sand (the secret ingredient). We will play until the sun is setting and although we never want to leave we know we must. We will share small spaces and fill our bellies with love, laughter and pizza before giving in to exhaustion. We will dream it was a perfect day and it was.
If he comes we will chat. About this and that. It may be simple or complex, we bounce around so much we never know. But we always laugh. We find the humor in it all because the tragedy desperately begs for attention and our time is short; we have better ways to complete this mission.
If he visits we will observe the cool night air. The sounds of the city as she pulses along making hearts clang till the fire is out. We will feel the solid thunder of her veins as we explore. We will ache in our hearts and in our bodies because we are exhausted from cramming it all in and we love it.
If he comes there will be pancakes and eggs and bacon and cheese and potatoes and fresh fruit and sautéed vegetables and cake and salt from streaming tears. We will taste it all and love it.
If he visits there will be pride and brotherly bonding. There will be tinkering with toys and lazy moments in front of a screen. A hermit crab will meet a Marine. If he comes we may play baseball at the park or bike along the lake. We will play and love it.
But if he doesn’t come then I don’t have to say goodbye. Again. And remember all the memories that are written on the tattered edges of my paper ball, tucked up under my heart.
NOW hear THIS
20 Aug 2011 Leave a Comment
I don’t own an I-pod. I never have and I’m not sure I will anytime in the near future. This is not an attempt by an (old) person digging her heels into the terra firma and refusing to move into the future, I just have never owned one nor had the desire.
Now that I live in a complex urban city I see people with the little buds plugged into their ears all over the place. I suppose it would be nice to drown out the honking with a little Fleet Foxes or Louis Armstrong, but I’m not totally convinced it’s for me.
I’m very sensitive to my environment. I want to drink it up with all my senses. I’m a toucher, a sniffer and my eyes soak up information faster than my brain can process it sometimes. A normal bus ride is like sensory overload as I want to jump out at each corner to further investigate something I’ve just noticed. It’s lovely and maddening at the same time. I find myself nervously reciting the names of places in my head along with the shape of the sign or the color of their letters….it’s like my mind has to imprint the memory exactly as it was seen as soon as possible or or or I don’t know what…but my mind has always been that way. It’s like I need quality time caressing the sight with my ocular lobes; it kinda gives a sense of calm over my environment.
From the looks of me you’d think my sense of taste was the most important to me, but vision & hearing working in tandum outweigh the bennies of a perfect cheese (fill in the blank) any day. If I didn’t have one of these or both I think I would go mad. I would miss random excursions into art studios just to look around or the sounds of Pachelbel being played by a street violinist.
If I were walking around wearing ear buds every day I might miss the pleasant exchange of “hello” from a passerby or the roil of a cicada about to shed it’s exoskeleton. I would miss the sounds of sparrows sparing over a crust and children giggling over chalk. I know I would certainly miss my stop on the “L” and I’d never hear the screeching of tires or sirens that permeate the urban life.
Nope. No desire to bud up my ears and block my senses from all the wonderful “noise” of an urban life.
Shadow boxing with myself
21 Jul 2011 1 Comment
Every person leaves a paper trail. I find particular delight in linking events in my life and unfolding memories like a tattered birthday banner. Once a year I dust off the filing cabinet or an old book shelf and dive into my history. I’m certainly not extraordinary nor any more fascinating than most women my age. I never share my discoveries and if I’m smart I usually rip up or burn a few. I always always shed a tear.
That’s a lie.
I always have a gut wrenching cry. It may last a moment; fierce and sudden like a spring storm or it comes on slowly anticipated by the gray clouds lingering on every whisp of past thought glazing over my eyes.
Today was a real trip. I might be a country song.
The Memory Lane Menu consisted of: old journals lamenting about men I’ve loved & how they done me wrong, financial records that make the national debt less scary, crappy jokes someone typed on a type writer (old alert), some really sad words I used as weapons upon someone I love and lastly a death certificate.
I made three piles. Keep. Burn. Throw away. I’m keeping the journals and some financial records and the death certificate. I’m burning some financial records and the sad word weapons. I’m throwing away the crappy jokes that fill in the cracks between death & life.
With all my mistakes cluttering up my life in black and white before me, I took a long hard look at how I ended up here. In this spot. At this time. In these circumstances. Even though it feels incredibly wrong I know it must be right for me for some reason.
Reading one’s history is humbling. I’m not a stupid person. I’ve made some really stupid mistakes. Going over my life this way is brutal. I’ve done it this way for years. I’ve parented myself through all the bad decisions by recapping what went wrong last decade and pledging not to make that mistake again. I give myself a mental spanking. Oh the sting is beautifully familiar and wretched at the same time. But here I am again with a pile of papers ready to burn and expecting that to cure the issue. Even warts grow back after being burned off.
My memory is not what it used to be. I could blame teen choices. I could blame age. I really think it’s a survival mechanism installed at a very young age. If I can’t remember then it didn’t happen. But the paper trail always comes back to haunt me and put me on my feet again. Today I’m balancing on marbles.
I can tell that my decisions made out of fear were not choices at all. They were survival. They were a way to get from one undesirable situation to a perceived desirable spot. For once it would be nice to have a plan that aligns with my ideas and not the crazy circumstances that befall me once a decade. This could be the decade to get IT right though.
I also found an empty shadow box. I dusted it off. I know exactly what paper I will line it with and I know I should reserve a spot for…for…I don’t know. I guess I will make a plan and figure out what IT is I want to see before me…make a plan out of love and hope, not out of fear and regret.
Cheers.
A pop in the nose will go a long way…
12 Jul 2011 2 Comments
I’m feeling a little bitchy and angry today. It started yesterday. I helped my son catch a “friend” stealing toys from him. In our home! Right under our nose! The same home where said “friend” has been warmly welcomed for months; where he’s enjoyed countless hours of fun and swimming. Mi casa su casa and all that crap.
The Punk Ass wouldn’t even look me in the eye and was shaking during questioning. He knew he was caught. I was speaking so calm and slow my own kid asked “mom, why are you so quiet?”
Because my son, that’s how a Lioness catches Punk Ass that thinks it’s gonna feed on the sweet nature of my Cub.
Once the “mystery” was solved and he realized he wouldn’t get away with it due to this meddling mother he sulked towards the door. I asked him why he would do that, but he had no answer. I told him to find someone else to play with from now on.
It’s one thing as an adult to be let down by “friends” but to watch your child go through the harsh lesson I like to call “people suck” is a whole other ball game.
Ironically we went to a ball game last night. I couldn’t take my mind off the incident that happened 30 minutes before we were to leave. It’s a real delicate balance teaching your naïve 8 year old how to smell a rat while still trying to keep him sweet and friendly. Interspersed with game talk we chatted about how to recognize unfriendly behavior and how to deal with it when it creeps up.
“How many outs?”
“Two.”
“Does a friend always ask you to give him your stuff?”
“No.”
“Why do you think he did that?”
“I don’t know? He always wanted the toys I had!”
“Why do you think he wouldn’t empty his pockets when you asked him the first time?”
“Because he was hiding the Legos in there.”
“Foul ball.”
“I forgot my mitt. Can I try to catch it in this hat?”
“You can try. Be careful.”
“One time he wouldn’t let me have a turn in the Lego battle.”
“Hmm, that doesn’t sound fair. Everyone should have a turn.”
“Three outs. We’re up!”
“We’re winning.”
“Yep.”
“Do you think a friend should always be trying to compete with you?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well when everything is a contest. Who has the better Lego guy, who can make the biggest splash, things like that… it kinda seemed like he was always trying to beat you.”
“Yea, I don’t really like that.”
“Yeah, me neither. It’s fun to have races sometimes, but not all the time.”
“Oh it’s a double!”
“Woo hoo! Run!”
“When I played at his house he told me to get off his bed or he’d give me a spider pinch!”
“What?! Why? Were you jumping on the bed?”
“No. I don’t know why he said that.”
“Was that nice?”
“No.”
“Aww, did you see that slide? Out at third.”
“Aww.”
“So if someone isn’t being nice most of the time are they your friend?”
“No. Probably not.”
“Yea, friends should usually have fun together, share, take turns and not always try to win.”
“O.k.”
“In the future, if a kid is not being nice they are probably not your friend.”
“O.k.”
“Did I ever tell you about how your brother handled a kid like that in the fourth grade?”
“Nope.”
“Well, there was this kid who called him names, wasn’t fair and cheated when they would play football. Every day he came home upset by this kid’s behavior.”
“What did he do?”
“One day at recess he’d had enough so he punched the kid in the nose. Blood all over his face. And he got in trouble from school.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah, but we didn’t ground him cuz that kid never bothered him again. Sometimes the only way to stop a jerk in his tracks is to give him a good pop in the nose.”
Top of the ninth, three strikes and we win! Fire works!! That was a well played game.
I knew this day would come in my boy’s life. Here I was advocating fight over flight. Yes, I teach my boys how to punch and how to stick up for themselves. If words could solve problems there would be no wars. Bullies don’t follow rules and they don’t relent easily. A good pop in the nose usually does the trick.
Choice
11 Jul 2011 4 Comments
I’ve been thinking a lot about choice lately. In particular I think about the choices I’ve made in the past that have lead me to the place I am now. I know that in order to move forward one must not spend too much time looking back, but in order to grow one must be reflective. I can only hope this is a sign of great maturity!
There are many choices in life I have never felt like I’ve had control over and other areas where I was sure it was all of my creation. In reality, many choices are not that specific and ultimately come down to circumstance. Certainly there are times when I think if I had been faced with different circumstances I probably would have made different choices, we all would, at least we’d like to believe that about our mistakes.
“If only, then….” “Yeah, but…” How many times have you heard yourself or someone else uttering these sentiments regarding a “choice”. I cringe when I hear those words. I’d like to eradicate them entirely from mine and my child’s vocabulary.
When I was 16 I really wanted to colour my hair pink and pierce my nose. I thought I’d look so cool. Notice the British spelling. I thought that was cool too. Why did I want to alter my appearance? Probably because I saw it in a magazine or on someone else, not because I woke up one morning and it just popped into my head and felt like a good idea. “Yeah, but I’d look cool with a diamond on my face.” I never followed through only because my mom would have “killed” me; a tongue lashing is equal to killing right? To an approval seeking teen it sure was!
As time went on I did make a lot of “bad choices” as a teen/young adult that I’m not necessarily proud of, but I don’t necessarily regret either because they’ve helped shape this person. In many ways my wild years helped me realize the value of becoming a more mindful parent. I have two really awesome kids to show for it too. In many ways my “bad choices” led me into circumstances whereby I needed to make “good choices”.
In my adult life I’ve had circumstances that have pushed me into a pit of despair and depression. Whether I got there of my own volition or was pushed there by someone else doesn’t matter. Sometimes it was a combination. Deep sadness makes it difficult for one to navigate choice. In those moments the only decisions I could contemplate were: Do I get dressed today or not? Do I blow my nose on my shirt or get up and find the box of tissue? Maybe I can practice a better fake smile after another nap…
How do I know I can trust again…
The list of seemingly simple choices goes on and on, yet they are not always that simple.
- Yes I got dressed; every day I made that choice even though I didn’t “feel” like it because I knew I would “feel” better later on. And I did.
- If my nose required a good blow I most certainly found the box of tissue or at the very least a dried up crusty one in the cushions. Hey we’re not picky in the pit and a little drip drip on the sleeve is ok in my book.
- I’ve done a lot of sleeping and a lot of reading…I certainly hope I can trust again and I’m not too concerned with my smile any more. If I like you, you’ll know it. If you don’t like my face maybe it’s because you have a black soul.
Recently circumstances have led me to make a much weightier choice about my life. This choice makes blowing my nose on my shirt seem pretty appealing. I am filing for divorce. Ewww, that felt kinda nasty to write. I think I have to draw a line through it just to feel a little better. Fuck it feels like the losing team dragging their bats in the sand off towards the dugout. But just like the losing team I didn’t show up to fail. The circumstances just weren’t right and despite the trying there is still an upset. Trust me I will NOT be walking away with a mildly bruised ego and a medal for good effort. This shit stings for life. I would have to say mine is more like the team that had to forfeit the championship game because we were short a player. Whatever, it just sucks and it’s not the choice I wanted to make. This circumstance will surely alter all my future choices.
I don’t want to blah blah blah all over the place about “my divorce”….it’s dreary enough just to think about let alone share it with the world. Oops, I guess I just did! And according to one recent article it may also be “contagious”. Stand back people….this will be the 8th divorce on my block…no joke….there is a rampant virus on the west side of town. Hide Yo Husbands! Hide Yo Wife!
Let’s go back to the pink hair and the nose ring. I can’t change the choice I made to please my mother instead of myself. I will never know if those alterations would have made me happy. I can use that pattern of pleasing others as a catalyst for a new kind of choice voice. Let’s see if I can make some sense of what it means to actually make a choice instead of being forced into a choice base on what others expect or create.
C- create opportunities; being an active participant in one’s life opens up opportunities for greater decision making. This will require stepping out of your comfort zone. Surprises await and you may be offered choices you never thought were possible.
H-heart; do what you love. This is an old piece of great advice that has been repeated quite a lot lately. I heart it.
O-over; as in Do Over. Life is full of them. Embrace the Do Over. I know someone who routinely laments “well what can I do about it. I made my bed and now I will have to lie in it.” Bleck!! I would rather burn that bed than to feel suffocated by a choice that didn’t work out so great for me. 
I-think about you. Yes it’s ok to be selfish sometimes. At the end of the day if the choice you are about to make doesn’t work for you then how is it the right choice? You have to factor yourself in the decision making equation. How will this choice affect me now or later?
C-calm. Try to make decisions when you are calm. Making choices through emotional times can be irrational at best, destructive at worst. May I strongly recommend never getting married within a year of your parent’s death? I mean, D’uh!
E-excuses. Don’t make them for yourself or anyone involved in how you make decisions. Making excuses causes us to be dishonest about what we truly want or what is truly best.
Ok this looks and sounds pretty good. Let’s hope I can follow my own acrostic, if not I may just buy a Magic 8 ball!
Confession: I just ate a whole sleeve of Thin Mints while writing this. Bad choice. It was not a calm or rational decision. I have no excuse. I heart chocolate. I will use the do over. I hear a grapefruit calling my name….
Do you have a system for making choices? What has worked for you and what has not?
Good Morning
07 Jul 2011 3 Comments
I would not describe myself as a morning person. As a matter of fact I’m not sure that anyone in my family is particularly fond of waking with the sun. I do remember my dad being an early riser, but that may have been due to sleep interruptions, I’m not entirely sure. Certainly I can rise and shine to hunt the worm, but it has not typically been of my nature.
I am beginning to see the value to starting the day with the sun or even slightly before he undresses his majesty. There is a quiet calm, a sweet peace, such a rare slice of the day that the birds sing their best songs to praise it. Trains in the distance herald in the morning with gentle lowing. Workers shuffle onto the roads and rails determined to create a fresh start.
But the best part about waking up early is that my child does not.
He is a very light sleeper with an aversion to bedtime so the whole process of getting him into bed to sleep for the night expends what little energy I may have left in the evening. Being the primary caretaker of a small child is an energy zapper, to put it mildly. I hardly feel qualified to complain since I only have one small child at home, while I know many parents that have two or more. The truth is that many parents loath bedtime and like me there may be a few that muddle through. We pray every night for that moment of serenity when we can finish ____in peace. And like me many fall asleep in the middle of finishing ____ in peace.
So here I sit, plucking away at the keys and enjoying the sound of his snoring. He is not asking me ridiculous questions or demanding food. He is not whining about boredom or itchy mosquito bites. There isn’t the constant ping of a video game followed by an aggravated “awww!” No Lego “town” needing my immediate inspection. He is simply restoring his body for another full day’s adventure on the crazy train. And I am sitting here musing on his malcontentedness? Get a grip girl!
Refocus! Surely there are other things I could be doing with this lovely time! It is just so new to me and I’m unaccustomed to her possibilities. Think, think, think…
I shun morning exercise similarly to my boy’s resistance to bedtime. But maybe that could change; I wouldn’t mind a brisk morning walk. Small steps are in order. This idea will be revisited when this early riser gig becomes a permanent act.
Right now I am enjoying some coffee and I do have a new book I could probably plow through in an hour. (Excited giggle) There is always cleaning or organizing to tackle. (Jaded drone) I suppose the possibilities are endless. (Sigh)
Or maybe I could just enjoy this time for what it is, a gift. I have here a moment to listen to my own thoughts without the noise of the world interjecting all her babble! How brilliant!
Peace
Are you an early riser? What do you do for yourself with that precious time?
Tongue Lashing
03 Jul 2011 Leave a Comment
7-2-11
Yesterday was horribly off for me. Not so horrible in the way of flat tires and dead dogs, but just little things kept going askew. I even felt horrible inside. I felt unsettled. Here is a list of the few things that went wrong…
- I ran over a toad with the lawn mower. Not only was it gross I truly felt bad because I don’t like to kill defenseless animals.
- My dog chased a Morning Dove off her nest and down the street. She probably wouldn’t have taken it so far if I hadn’t said “See the birdie in there” to her as she sniffed around the low nest. I really felt horrible when I noticed her sickly looking chick. The mother came back later.
- While picking up the dog doo before mowing I discovered a pile full of maggots. It totally turned my stomach. Then the poop kept falling out of the scooper and the bag. It was a high anxiety moment for me.
- After painting my toe nails my son touched my big toe (on accident) and I had to start over. We were preparing to leave for a movie so this minor interruption just jagged my flow.
- Spilled half a bucket of popcorn on the theater floor before the movie even started.
- And lastly, in the evening I received information that someone (who shall remain unnamed) was trash talking me. I have no idea what was said or if any of it was true. It’s just not nice.
Oh big deal, you’re probably thinking. It’s not like your car broke down or you lost your wallet. True. Those events would have been horrible for sure. But sometimes we don’t need to have those huge disturbances show up in our lives to rattle us, sometimes it’s the small things that shake our core and make us wonder what gives? I started to wonder if my unsettled feeling had something to do with the small amount of guilt I felt for having trashed Dog Lady in a most public forum.
Yes, I actually felt a little bad about it all. Not enormously bad, but a little bad. I guess I felt bad because I was raised with the Golden Rule and “If you can’t say something nice…” theory. I want to be a nice person, but sometimes it’s so easy to be nasty. Sometimes I have emotions and frustrations brewing inside me that I’m not quite sure how to handle and they come out on an unsuspecting, innocent victim.
So what to do about it all?
Sometimes I like to go to the Bible for answers. Settle down, settle down, yes I did say THE BIBLE.
It IS the oldest book and many, many generations of people have used it as a guide for right living so why not me? Oh I can hear the wailings going on…
I have an old student Bible that was given to me by my brother when I graduated High School. At the time I did not appreciate it. I was a punk who just wanted to party. I was NOT going to be reading a Bible.
Guess what. I did. I have. And I still do from time to time. I really like this Bible because it has a subject guide in the back where I can go to look up a topic of interest. For instance, if I wanted to look up the topic of Loneliness it directs me to Psalm 22. How about the subject of my Tongue? This student Bible gives lessons or “Insight” on various topics. On page 573 it talks about “Verbal Dynamite” and guides the reader through the Proverbs. It says, “What could be wrong with just talking, as long as you don’t actually lie? Proverbs sees plenty of danger.” Uh oh…I knew it!
I have always been plagued by my own foot in my mouth syndrome. I swear sometimes I actually see the words flying out of my mouth before my brain has time to process their weight and/or the damage they may cause. I have often considered getting a tattoo on my fingers or wrists that say “shut up”, but that would not be fun to explain to people. I have resorted to literally biting my lips or tongue to control my impulse to comment. It is a difficult impulse to control and more often than not I am not in control. My lips get to flapping and before you know it I’m in some sort of trouble for something I’ve said. The speed at which the words come out is 50 times faster than my brain takes to process through the meaning of it all. Needless to say I’ve become better at apologizing over the years; I’m not great at it, but better. It is a very humbling experience to admit you did something wrong and ask for forgiveness. Obviously in this case it was not a verbal attack and I did have time to “think” about what I was saying. I’m not planning on apologizing, I’m just looking for guidance on how to deal with her antics in the future.
Since I can’t or won’t get a tattoo that says “shut up” I have turned to Proverbs today to see if there is help for me. I might just have to write a few of these down and carry them in my pocket. That would be much classier than a tat on my middle finger, right?
These are a few of my faves for today…
“When words are many, sin is not absent, but he who holds his tongue is wise.” Proverbs 10:19
(Holding my tongue between my teeth!)
“A man who lacks judgment derides his neighbor, but a man of understanding holds his tongue.” Proverbs 11:12
(Well I don’t understand her but I suppose I can try not to judge her and hold my tongue.)
“A fool shows his annoyance at once, but a prudent man overlooks an insult.” Proverbs 12:16
(Ahhh, my favorite! I shall work to temper my annoyance and overlook her insulting behavior.)
Update: I wrote the above before the start of my day. I did not write the lovely words of wisdom down, nor did I heed their advice. I caved to my impulses and derided her once again! Out loud! I suppose it’s back to the good book to find out how do deal with these types of temptations. She makes it so damn easy!
I am tempted to call her out on her behavior, ask her what exactly IS her motivation so that I can better understand her, but I think I will bite my tongue instead and enjoy the blessings of a beautiful day.
Wish me luck!
Hello Crazy!
01 Jul 2011 Leave a Comment
in Uncategorized Tags: crazy, Relationships, suburban living, swimming
I don’t make these people up. I suspect I have a magnet inside my body that draws these whack-a-doo’s into my life. They scare me. They make me wonder why anything from space would concern themselves with life on this planet.
My most recent actual encounter is “Dog Lady”. She is a neighbor who works with animals and in her free time participates in dog shows with her pit bulls. I have nothing against animals, dogs or the dog show arena. As a matter of fact I love dogs and have a kinda crazy one who lives with me. I do, however, have a problem with anyone who can not find a discussion topic outside their hobby. And I admit I am not a fan of her favorite breed. There, I said it, I don’t like pit bulls. In my opinion they are the crazy of the dog world.
Upon first meeting her I knew we would probably not be friends due to lack of similar interests and that was that. She is a renter, younger, single and without children. She works with dogs. Dogs are her life. I work with children, but they are not my life. I hang out with other moms. She hangs out with other dog people. I don’t see the connection. I’m certainly kind and give the required friendly neighbor wave or hello in passing, but we don’t “hang out”.
Can we agree that there is a difference between being friendly and being friends? Wonderful!
We have an above ground pool in our back yard. My husband has meticulously taken great care to make it the focal point of our back yard. He has built a beautiful patio walkway up to the stairs that lead to the wood deck. It is a really nice place to hang out on a hot day. I like to spend time there alone, with family or friends. Unfortunately the pool is ten feet to the fence that separates hers and mine. On a few occasions she has stood outside at her back door, with her dog, and stared at us while we swim. Did you get that creepy shiver too? Twenty feet is about what separates her crazy stare from mine.
I don’t particularly like to hang out in my swim suit with strangers. Especially strange strangers. Even at a public pool strangers keep to themselves and their respective lounge chairs. No one stares down another patron until they share their lunch or the latest copy of People magazine. Although, I admit I sometimes stare at the cute lifeguard from behind my Jackie O’s. I never expect him to invite me into the big chair, that would just be crazy!
Apparently, after a lengthy awkward staring session peppered with a little dog conversation she asked my husband if she could come swim with him; I was in the house cleaning. He said he felt awkward, but said yes. How sweet. Just fucking great. Now the door has been opened and I will become the bitch bouncer sending crazy to the back of the line. We now have eight Arborvitae freshly planted along the fence to hopefully deter her Wilsonistic behavior. 
Today I was enjoying a relaxing afternoon in the pool with a friend and her two children. After the kids decided they were finished swimming we remained on the deck to chat and “hang out” as friends do. Precisely at beer-thirty Dog Lady appeared. Miller Lite and Pit Bull in hand she stood smoking on her back stoop; she was staring. I gave the appropriate faint wave and hello. The staring got more intense. She actually had her whole body turned towards myself and my friend even though her dog was wandering in the other direction. Never did she attempt to engage in conversation. Just a continued pat down with her eyeballs. I believe this is when the stink eye began and we jumped in the pool to avoid laser beams burning our souls. I’m not sure that awkward accurately describes how we felt. It was becoming embarrassing, like the badly timed boner. It’s there, everyone knows it’s there, but eye contact is diverted and prayers are said for it to disappear. “I think she wants to be my sister wife”, I told my friend.
She disappeared for a moment only to return wearing her bathing suit. Then she set up her sprinkler. I wouldn’t look. I could play hard core crazy too. I didn’t care if she advertised from a blimp how badly she wanted me to notice her, it wasn’t going to happen. My friend reported the activities.
“I think she’s jumping in her sprinkler!”
“No, I think she’s watering her grass”
“Wait, I think she’s washing her dog!”
She probably was doing all three. I really didn’t care. I wanted her to respect my right to privacy in my own back yard so I was sure as hell going to ignore her sprinkler dance. This crazy won’t submit to the imposed suburbanly standards of friendliness. That would just be crazy!
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29 Jun 2011 Leave a Comment
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