Being Tormented by the "C" Word

Chiggers!

At first I thought they were mosquito bites down by my ankles. Then these red, hard welts began to surface and as my agony grew, so did the red hard welts. I lost count on my legs... my arms had quite a few, including my arm pits and other places where it's not polite to scratch, and, as far north as near my eyebrows and top of my head.

I looked them up under google and they are a frightening lot. They are so small, I am relieved I can't see them penetrating my skin and sucking my skin tissue as though sucking through a straw. They say there is no creature alive that can cause more torment for its size than the chigger.

Brenda says she has never seen so many chigger bites on a person before, reminding me she has lived in Texas all of her life.

The other night, I met friends at a fun restaurant called Joe T. Garcia's in Forth Worth. It's this old house with a swimming pool in the backyard and we were seated at a table next to the pool. I took the seat next to the shrubs so I could get a better view of the pool while we sat and ate. I believe that was where the chiggers started their attack.

It is the third day. And they say the itching can continue up to 10 days and longer.

Excuse me... while I excuse myself, to go scratch . . . .

A New Beginning

I LOVE summer vacations. I think everyone should experience some sort of 'get-away' during the summer.

I am in New Symrna Beach, Florida looking out over the Atlantic Ocean this very minute. I see so many walkers on the beach with their arms pumping up and down, they look more like marionettes than human beings. I have been here five days. Later this afternoon, I drive into Orlando to celebrate a friend's birthday and then fly to Dallas in the morning where I will visit more friends for another five days or so.

This is a wonderful break for me. I am not allowing myself to worry what I will do when I return back home.

A couple of days before I left, the start-up company I was working on with two friends ended for me. It really caught me off-guard. It happened so suddenly. Just three weekends ago, we talked of putting me on salary and stock options. And then the business plan suddenly turned on its heals and now going in a different direction. A direction far from my illustrations I was hired to do. They said, "we're going to put you on pause for a year." On pause.

Instead, I am fast-forwarding ahead with my life.

I do not feel afraid. I feel safe. Despite these sudden changes, I still believe I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be in my life right now. That's all I know. I don't know what that means. I can't imagine what my future holds for me. I turned a year older two days ago.

It's a good time for a new beginning.

Karma Fed me Burgers

Topic: Karma for www.illustrationfriday.com

I have always believe in Karma. I haven't always seen it's fruition, but I suppose it's a lot like faith. You sustain from things in the hope that you won't suffer from it later on in life.

I have known people in business who are just contaminated in lies and deceit. Their only purpose is to destroy the little guys so they could get ahead. I keep waiting and watching for Karma to come for them, but so far, all I can see is more lives destroyed and they continue on bulldozing everyone in their path reaching to new heights of success. Perhaps they are suffering in other ways I do not see.

A few years ago, I ordered a kid's meal at a fast food restaurant. When I got to the window to receive my order, the teenager handed me bags and bags of burgers, fries and onion rings and drink containers filled with soft drinks, juices and shakes. I kept handing them over to the passenger in my car, who sat in stunned silence, taking the bags and setting them all on her lap and at her feet on the floor.

As we drove off, (admittedly, I lurched forward with excess speed, as though I was the get-away car in a local robbery). She asked my why I took all that food knowing it wasn't mine.

I shouted, "KARMA!!!"

I truly believed Karma paid me a visit. I said, "It was for all the times I drove off and never received my fries or coke I ordered!!! It's PAY BACK TIME Baby! PAY BACK!!"

We drove in silence some more while she rummaged through all the bags... like looking for the small token in a cracker jack box.

She came up empty-handed and spoke up. "Ya know, maybe if you alerted the kid you didn't order all this awful food, your good karma would have continued on and your reward would have been greater. It seems to me, that you just cashed in.. and all you got were these lousy burgers."

"you just cashed in. YOU JUST CASHED IN. you just cashed in". I heard her words over and over in my head. All my life, I sought out to be a good person and this is my reward to show for it.

We drove in silence for an even longer time.

Lesson learned.

I believe I live a very blessed life and good things happen to me on a daily basis. By taking all that food didn't necessarily set me up for any badness to come my way. But I know that fairness and honesty is always the best choice to make in every situation.

I think I felt Karma in the backseat patting me on the back...

Staying the Night at Nana's

(www.illustrationfriday.com) theme: metropolitan


I remember sleeping over at my grandmother's home in San Francisco with my brother and sister.

I LOVED my grandmother. After dinner, we'd play blackjack betting with nickels and pennies. And, just before bedtime, she would fix us a nightcap of warm milk sprinkled with nutmeg while she made her own adult nightcap.

We'd lay out our sleeping bags on her living room floor and I would place my bag underneath the window and look out to the evening sky and often times the wind would whip the telephone wires so loudly, it would scare me half to death.

My older sister was always the first one to wake up in the morning. And if I woke up before she did, I would lay still and pretend I was asleep until she got up.

We drank our first cups of coffee at Nana's before I reached the third grade. She didn't seem bothered she was stunting our growth. It was delicious drinking it with spoonfuls of sugar and half milk.

I will always remember laying there in my green sleeping bag with the deer pattern inside, looking out the window, while Nana dug in her black purse for a couple of dollars to buy donuts for our breakfast. She would give it to Kelly and I could hear the front door shut and her little shoes slapping down the stairs and out into what I thought was the Big Scary City. I knew if I woke up first, she would ask me to walk down the hill to the bakery, but I was too afraid to do it alone.

I'd lay there on the floor, looking out the window ... praying for her safe return with the donuts.

My Own Feeling of Paralysis

My childhood friend's father is dying of cancer. His cancer has now paralyzed him from the waist down. My sister, a nurse, said she went to visit him yesterday and his eyes looked set in like little bird eyes.

Like ... little bird eyes.

I can't seem to get that description out of my head. She said, "He's scared, Shawn. He doesn't think he has two months to live and he doesn't want to be bitter about it, as he had a good life. You should go see him. He asked all about you... "

I was so touched by that. I DO want to go see him.

He was a barber all his life. Annette was an only child. And every Monday while in elementary school, on his day off, he would bring her a hot hamburger, steaming fries and a coke from a local hamburger place. I was so envious! A typical lunch for me, would have been a bologna sandwich, an orange, cookies and some chips or grapes. We rarely ever had the luxury of eating at a fast food restaurant.

I'd wait with her in front of our school and she would always share her fries with me. Her dad always drove up in his green dodge truck. She now owns that truck. It must have a million miles on it by now. She learned to drive in that truck.. long before she was old enough to get her license. I was a year and a half older, so when I got my drivers license at 16, and her parents went out to dinner, we'd sneak off in that truck to a new neighborhood being built where just the streets were paved and I taught her to drive.

Over the years, we grew up and apart... (I have seen her only a handful of times since high school) ... but I will always treasure the memories we made in our growing up years.

That truck took us everywhere with it's camper shell on top. She and I would lay on top of the bed above the truck's cab and tell stories and listen to her transistor radio playing "Hotel California" and "Cats in the Cradle" on her transistor radio.

That truck took us to South Lake Tahoe, where we slept in that cold camper in the Harvey's Casino parking lot in the snow. I was 12 years old. I remember laying there under blankets with my jacket on for added warmth and her mother said, "we better blow out the kerosine lamp before we get affixiated." It was the first time I heard the word "affixiated". The way it sounded to my ears and the way it felt in my mouth when I said it was just so much fun. I repeated it inside my head the rest of the weekend so I would memorize that word so I could use it sometime. And, I HAVE used it. And, it still makes me smile. Just like when I say "dilapidated". Dilapidated. Dilapidated. -- The way my tongue moves all over my mouth. And the sound of it is just so cute. I must stop. The enjoyment is enormous.

The following morning, I learned to snow ski at Heavenly Valley .... snow-plowing down the hills. Her parents took the tram up to the top of the hill and met us to take pictures. They slipped all over the snow in their tennis shoes. I felt embarrassed and worried everyone would think they were *my* parents. But I loved them. And they would have made nice parents. I still feel a tinge of pain when I remember my embarrassment toward them.

That truck took us to Disneyland for my first time just before the 8th grade. We stayed at the Jolly Rogers Motel in Room 212. I would also vacation with them up north in a seaside town called Anchor Bay.

I watched The Wizard of Oz in color on their TV for the first time. And, when Annette grew out of her Adidas tennis shoes with the blue stripes... she gave them to me, and I wore them proudly.

I will never forget one night, spending the night at her house, and we laid in her big, double bed and watched, endlessly, the Prisoners of War unboarding the airplanes from the end of the Vietnam War. She wore braces and had the neck gear. I remember seeing all these teeny, tiny rubber bands on her pillow.

We'd stare up at the screen searching for their names as they scrolled down while hundreds -- thousands of soldiers limped and walked down the steps in their fresh crewcuts. In case we forgot, we'd stare back down at our oversized, metal POW bracelets dangling on our wrists, hoping their names would appear, ... but ... they never did.

I DO want to visit her dad. I miss his laugh. The way he would throw his head back and grab his stomach to feel it wiggle as he laughed hard and long. I want to thank him for introducing me to so many wonderful adventures.

It hurts that I'm afraid to drive to the hospital. Park my car. Walk into the lobby, take the elevator up a certain floor. Walk down the hall and then turn into his room and say, "remember me? You took me to Disneyland when I was 12-years-old".

I feel immobilized.

I need to get past my own feeling of paralysis. Once I do, I will be happy I did. I feel small and belittled in admitting, it takes a lot of guts for me to drive down to that hospital to visit him. I hope I will be able to tell you that I did visit him. He introduced me to a lot of "first time experiences" as a young child. I would like to extend it to him in visiting him.

Oh, I pray that I can.

The Rings

Today is my first Friday to ever participate in Illustration Friday.

http://illustrationfriday.com

The topic is SPORT.

I drew this, because it's how I'm feeling right now. I have been working from home for 10 months now. The warm days and evenings are inviting me outside to come and play. But I need to sit at the computer and work. Today, I am feeling out of touch with everyone and eveything that brings me joy.

When I was a child, I was never able to swing from Ring to Ring at school. Just weak arms, I suppose. I would leap from the steal bar and grab them and swing to catch the next ring and then the next.. and then I would just hang there, holding on to two rings before I had to let it go.

Today I want to be a good sport. To focus on the goal and not let the rings get in my way.

See the illustration? It's not me letting go. It's me jumping up to reach them and trying again.

Me, Too

"I used to live in Seattle."

"Me, too!" I said excitedly. "Where in Seattle did you live!?"

There was an uncomfortable silence.

"I lived in Tacoma," she finally managed to say in such a quiet, embarrassed voice, I could barely hear her.

A small understanding smile spread over my face as I quietly replied, "Me, too."

Cats Talk

I am convinced cats talk.

They must.

My special calico cat-pal has not been around for a day, because in her place, her little friend, a cute gray-stripped kitty has been lurking about. Yesterday morning, i caught a glimpse of one eye and one ear hiding behind my back fence. It was in the same spot where the calico cat would sit and watch me through my window. At first, I thought it was the calico cat.

I opened up my backdoor and this playful gray young cat leaped down off the fence and ran toward me, butting his head against my hand, my door, my railing. I watered my plants and she jumped two feet into the air, and then attacked my hose. A very cheerful, imaginative, playful cat. Not fearful at all.

A couple of years ago, I pulled into a parking lot. There was a cat laying on the sidewalk in front of me as I parked. The cat looked through the windshield and directly into my eyes. It was such a beautiful moment for me.

It was in that moment, I recognized that cats have a soul. I always believed it, but in that moment, I KNEW.

The cat knew the difference between me and the car. It connected with me in that wonderful moment by looking directly into my eyes. It didn't look at my car's bumper. It didn't look at my chin. The cat looked directly into my eyes. The cat knew I was the only living being in front of him. Not the car, but me inside the car.

That's when I knew. It really made me giddy with excitement.

I will never forget it.

I hope the cats hang around whenever they want to. I am grateful for my new friends.

A Dinner with Bernie

I had dinner with a really old friend tonight.

Not **old**. But a good friend from a long, long time ago.

I called her out of the blue. Seventeen years out of the blue. Because I was thinking of her. And I missed her for some reason.

I had her telephone number still memorized because it is similar to my childhood telephone number. We have a kindred spirit. I decided not to worry that it had been so long ago, and I picked up the phone and dialed before I could think about it. She answered and we chatted for an hour or so and we said "let's get together for dinner some time".

It's one thing to SAY "let's get together" and it's another thing to actually do it. Afterall, it has been 17 years.

WHO has energy to visit someone after 17 years? Heck. If we haven't kept in touch all these years, why start now?

Well. WHY not?

Tonight we did.

It was as if only a week had passed. It was so wonderful. She hadn't aged at all. She talked of her children who have grown into fine adults. Her darling husband called and checked on her as she drove me to my car. We needed so much time to catch up. Three hours had passed but it wasn't enough. I was sad when our get-together was finally over.

I already miss her.


Do me a favor. Friends really are important in one's life.
Never lose touch. If you really have a good friend. Keep in touch. Call them. Arrange for a dinner.

Never pass up a good ole friend, ever.
They are as good as gold.

I Have a New Friend

The night before last, I quickly caught a glimpse of a calico cat standing on the back fence. "Awww.. a kitty on my fence," I thought. I LOVE having kitties in my yard. I never thought any more of it again.

Yesterday, while hanging my humming bird feeder back up on its hook, I caught a quick glimpse of the same calico cat in my backyard near where I saw her the previous night. This time she had jumped down and was on the ground. She just kept staring at me.

"Hiiiii" I said. I kneeled down closer to the ground, and this adorable cat ran up to me. I petted her for probably a half hour or more. She purred the entire time.

Today, I saw her again. Same area in my yard, just staring at my house. I said, "Hiiiiii kitty". She hopped over my grass blades and I petted her again. Then I left to go on errands. I returned nearly three hours later and she was still in my backyard.

I petted her again. She doesn't have any tags. She seems nourished, but her eyes appear sad.

I don't know who her owners are. I don't know her story. I am careful; cautious. I do not want to give more attention than her own family gives her. I do not want to steal her away. But do not want to shoo her away if she is need of a home and love.

I just now went to my kitchen. I opened up my backdoor and looked out. She is not there. I am hoping she is fast asleep on her owner's lap and all is well with the world and with her.

But, if not, and there is no happy home to come home to, then I hope to see her in my backyard tomorrow.

Hocus, Pocus, Please Let Me Focus

The conversation usually always starts off well. I am alert. Excited. I love a good discussion. Especially when the interaction flows back and forth like a good tennis match.

(Or, in my case, I prefer a really good egg toss.)

But sometimes, the ball stays too long in that person's court. Their sentences run into paragraphs and those paragraphs flow into chapters and then into a short book and then it's a novel.

I really do try and keep my focus. I ask a question and if the talker lifts his finger up as if hushing me, and wanting me to save my questions for the end, then it's all over for me.

My eyes start to cross. I shake my head and blink hard. I nod my head a time or two. I know they're losing me, and I succumb.

It begins with my ears first.

The voice takes on a more hallow sound with an echo to it. It's very soothing to me; similar to the ocean waves lapping on the beach.

Then I feel it in my eyes. They start to lose focus and I begin to see this person through a soft-focused lens. Eventually their face turns into one of those Magic Eye images from the 90s, where an entire 3D illusion appears before me.

Seems like then, the only thing that wakes me up out of that blurred coma is one of two things:

They laugh really hard.
Or they say my name.

It's a startling wake-up. Like an unexpected loud siren alarm clock blaring in the middle of the night.

I panic! "What?! Say that again?" as I laugh nervously with them. Unless I have confused their crying with laughter, and nothing ever good comes out of that moment.

----

An old teenage friend calls me out of the blue about once a year. For the past four years, he asks me where I was when the plane hit the World Trade Center Towers on September 11th. Before I have a chance to say, he is telling me his story of hearing it on the radio while driving to work. After two hours of not talking, only listening, my ear feeling flat from the telephone, I stop him to say I need to hang up. He is only at the part of his story when the second tower is being hit.

He forgets I watched it unfold, too, staring at the TV set in the darkness of my bedroom.

Every year now, in three or four different phone conversations, I have heard the same story. It is memorized now. I can recognize when he will pause. When he will change the fluctuations in his voice. And, always around the second hour, just when the plane hits the second tower, I need to let him go, and say "let's finish this conversation another time." Only sadly, it never begins where we have left off. He begins again at the beginning. I've never been able to get past the second building with him.

I know I'm just one of hundreds of people he tells this story to. I try and be polite. I ask him questions but he doesn't hear it. When I make a comment, he ignores it as he recites his story he tells over and over again.

I know this has been traumatizing for him. I should listen through to the end. But I know that story only too well. It isn't just his story. It is all of our story.

He called again tonight. The answering machine picked up before I could find my phone in time, and as I heard his voice, I decided to let him leave a message.

I could tell he just wanted to talk. Not converse.

I sat and listened to it in the dark of my room. He began by saying how the goverment should have given more money to the surviving families from September 11th. My answering machine hung up on him after a couple of minutes.

I went to hit delete. But I couldn't.

The message light is still blinking.

Avoiding Cracks

I opened up the blinds in my living room and noticed a girl about 9-years-old walking up the street in my direction. She had a curious stride. She'd walk ten feet or so and then take a smaller step, walk another ten feet and then lunge into a step.

I instantly knew what she was doing.

Avoiding cracks.

I spent an entire childhood stepping over cracks for the love of my mother.

As the girl approached the front of my window, I smiled at her. She didn't see me. She was too busy stepping over the cracks, taking care of her mother's back.

I wish her and her mother a long, long healthy, painfree life.

I Felt So Sorry For Lost Easter Eggs

Every Easter I cried at least once when I was a little girl.

I couldn't seem to shake the sadness I felt for the easter eggs that were hidden, but were never found. I imagined them all dressed in such beautiful colored patterns feeling so pretty and just giddy with excitement of being sought after. I imagined them feeling so very special. But when they were hidden too well, and night fell and the coldness crept in, I would cry over those eggs lost forever.

I used to put all my stuffed animals and dolls in bed with me and line them all up and down my body so they could all be touching me, so none of them would feel less important.

I felt sorry for the rocks I skipped into the lake that could never feel the warmth of the sun again.

Even now, on an autumn day, I can look at a tree and see one single orange leaf left hanging on for dear life and then... in one small gust of wind, it loses its grip and falls to the ground. And, It tears my heart out everytime.


Why do I feel more sad when I see a red helium balloon get loose from a 4-year old's grip ... and I watch it float up into the air until I can no longer see it, than, when I see a homeless man on a street corner with a sign written "THANK YOU AND GOD BLESS".

I don't know.

Is it because I feel the man has some sort of choice and the balloon and the easter egg and the dolls don't?

Maybe that's it.

But, maybe it's because I saw *me* in that easter egg and in the dolls and the little leaf hanging on for dear life.

Maybe it was easier for me to focus and care for those objects instead of my own feelings.

Yesterday, I saw a woman driving with her long dress hanging out from her closed door. It was bright and just flapping wildly in the wind. I smiled. I didn't feel embarrassed for the woman. I felt sorry for the dress.

I guess there will always be some things I never outgrow.

The Great Escape

I LOVE driving on dark, windy roads late at night all by myself. I love the downshifting and then shifting back up into a curve. I love the grip on my steering wheel as I turn into a curve.

I especially love it when a small flicker of headlights catch my eye in my rear view mirror.

And the game is on.

I press harder onto the accelerator. My eyes scanning for annnnyythiiing that could enter the road ahead of me to cause me to slam on my brakes. I am hyper alert.

I glance back into the mirror. The far-away headlights shine up on trees and hillsides around the curves just far enough away, that they never quite realize that I am in a car just ahead of them.

I drive a bit faster.

I pretend they are searching for me. And I try to lose them. I love it when I drive down the long straight-away and make it into the curve before the headlights catch me. My heart beating fast, I study the road ahead of me. I worry if I can make it into the next curve before they spot me. Their headlights getting larger and more brighter as I press on the gas even harder, making the turn just in time. It is exhilarating.

I'm a safe driver. I would never risk my life driving too fast. But it's a game I've always played since I could drive.

Many times I don't win.

Inevitably, there is a long straight-away and the driver behind me makes the turn and sees my red rearlights ahead of him.

The game is over.

Often times I will slow down and let the car pass. As ironic as it sounds, I don't enjoy driving on dark, curvy mountain roads with bright headlights blinding me, pushing me to drive faster.

Once the car passes by ... I give the driver enough distance so I can no longer see his headlights.

I'm alone once again.

I drive in silence for a while. Watching my rear view mirrow. My heart starts to beat quickly. There is a flicker of headlights shining on some side trees and a hillside.

I grab firmly onto the steering wheel. I press down on the gas.. and the game is back on.

Just me and the road ahead of me and my rear-view mirror.

Joy Riding

It was 1987.

My friend, Joe, and I were going out to eat and to a movie, but his car overheated and his friend said, "No problem! Use my car!" His 1982 Datsun B510 was parked on the 3rd floor ... closest to the elevator. He said the hubcab was missing in the front driver's side and the key would be tucked inside the sunvisor.

"No problem!" we'd find it easily. Especially a car like that in the upscale neighborhood of Walnut Creek.

He said he'd be working until after midnight. To just park it in or near the same spot. Leave the keys up in the sunvisor and he'd find it.

I will never forget that hot afternoon. It was easy to find his Datsun B510. The hubcap was missing, certainly, but just not on the front drivers side. We opened the door and checked for the keys up in the sunvisor. Instead, they were under the mat.

Unbeknownst to Joe, his friend was apparently a chain smoker and kept it well hid from him. The cigarettes were overflowing from the ashtray down into the floor of his car.

The first thing we did was fill the empty tank with gas and then headed to the nearest car wash to clean it.

Afterwards, it didn't leave us much time to eat, so we found a quick in and out burger place and then stood in a long line to see Good Morning Vietnam.

It was a brand new show.

The lines were long but we were excited to get in. At the end of the movie, we returned the car back. It was clean and the tank was filled with gas. We left a quick note on his dash: "THANKS FOR THE CAR! IT WAS A REAL JOY!"

Three days later, we realized it was more of a ... Joy Ride.
Joe and his friend were talking and somewhere in the conversation, his friend asked why we never ended up borrowing his car.

"We did! Didn't you notice how clean we left it and left you with a full tank of gas?"
"Nooooo!"

As it turned out, we had gotten into the WRONG car. We actually were Joy-Riding. We could have been arrested for Grand Theft. I often wonder what would have happened if we were captured.

This innocent evening out.

I also wonder about the car owner who returned to his car only to find it filled with gas and clean with a nice note from the thieves thanking him for the joy ride. Oh to hear his side of the story!

Tonight, I am grateful we never got caught.

Under House Arrest

Lately, I've been feeling as though I'm living under House Arrest.

I never get out anymore.

My electronic tracking device weighing me down is my own hyper conscience of working as hard as I can so people will be glad they hired me. I'm always working and never know when to shut it off.

I don't want to let anyone down.

Lately, I've been feeling I've been letting my *own* self down.

The dishes are staying in the sink longer. Some days, the bed remains unmade the entire day. And, the unread newspapers pile up on the coffee table in my living room for several days at a time. I even skipped a shower the other day. No time to clean or to garden or to read the newspaper or even exercise. Just gotta work, work, work.

On many days, I keep my blinds closed in my living room, just incase someone shows up at my door unexpectedly, can't peek in and see my messy house.

And I would be *** exposed ***.


A few weeks ago, a homeless woman showed up on my front porch and sat there for several hours.

My neighbors and friends ask me, "why did she choose YOUR house?"

I didn't know. I could only wonder. Perhaps my front porch with its yellow chairs was inviting her to sit and rest. Perhaps she knew she was coming to a happy and safe home.

But, my irrational fear was that she was a sign. Like, those people who, on their death beds, see their dead relatives just standing and waiting for them. Ready to welcome them home to the other side.

Was she that to me? Welcoming me to the land of the homeless? Just waiting? Just incase I decided to wash dishes or go out to lunch and neglect work for an hour or two... would that become my fate?

Tonight I'm releasing the electronic monitor tied to my ankle. Now it is called "irrational fears". It is so many things that keeps me glued to my computer and not to the rest of my life.

I cleaned the kitchen and living room and dining area tonight, so when I open the blinds in the morning, and someone peeks in, they will say, "what a fine, clean house".

My sheets are in the dryer and once I place them on my bed, I will sleep so wonderfully, because there is nothing like going to bed between clean sheets.

Tonight is the beginning of a renewed freedom. I have resolved to put more order in my day. To go to bed earlier so I can wake up earlier. To not necessarily work hard, but to work smart. And to learn the difference between the two.

And, I resolve to have more quality in my life. To meet new people and spend more time with those I love. Take mini breaks. Walk around the block. Open the blinds and let the sun shine in.

I really do love my life. I just simply need to remember to enjoy it.

Uprooting and Replanting of Friendships

My dear friends are breaking up.

More than twenty years together.

Their names roll off my lips as easily as saying "Laurel and Hardy". Now, I need to curl my tongue in a different way to add the new name that has been added--and attached--to one of them.

I feel sad. It feels wrong like wearing slippers on the wrong feet.

My mom points to these lovely trees in her yard. The limbs are turning yellow. "See that?" She points out. "That tree is dying. I need to take it down".

I see dead parts of it and it makes me sad. Her home was built in 1850. Our family has lived there since 1970. Those trees have loved and embraced that house she now lives in for many, many years. It saddens me to see it be taken down. I feel it has protected the house. And whenever I see the home, I see the tree. I cannot imagine one without the other.

This relationship of my friends is reminding me of this tree.

If you ask either one, they would say they were very happy together. No red flares. No warning signs. Life with each other was a dream. Just "someone else" gave extra attention to one of them, and then.. "that person" reciprocated.

For awhile, I felt numb. Surely, this is a phase ... I would convince myself. We would still hang out together on warm summer evenings. Still hold on to our inside jokes. We would keep our annual vacation trips to tropical islands or fun, exciting roadtrips.

We'd still laugh and say, "remember when...?" and we would. And we'd laugh as we felt the warmth of our friendship and make plans for our future and growing old together.

I realize people go through this everyday. The uprooting is so common among so many people. I'm not sure why the upheaval feels so fresh and so volatile to me.

But then again, a tree doesn't grow its roots all at once. The roots slowly creep deeper and wider with each passing day. Eventually, their hold onto the earth is so strong, it can withstand the strongest of winds or the soaking of the wettest storms. When, this doesn't happen anymore.. it feels so unsettling. A limb falling here. And there. The leaves turning yellow. It doesn't feel as strong or secure as it once was.

Today I am wearing two signs on my heart. For now, they say: "NO TRESPASSING" and "KEEP OUT". I know, in time, those signs will go down.

I love my friends no-matter-what. My heart will expand and grow with them and the partners they seek after, and, because it's a beating heart and a beating heart must continually pump out life, a new sign will hang in its place.

It will read "ENTER AT OWN RISK".

Only this time, I will turn the sign around toward me.

And the risk will be mine.

Singing Nuns

"When I'm with her I'm confused
Out of focus and bemused
And I never know exactly where I am . . ."


That song could be about my mother. And, come to think of it, it could also be about me.

She and I are so much alike, sometimes I get us confused.

She had just gotten a french manicure and I was distracted by her staring intently at her swaying hands. Finally, I asked her what she was doing.

She lifted her hands for me to see.

As she waved her hands back and forth in opposite directions, it looked just like two rows of nuns singing and swaying in a chorus.

Happy hands. Happy nuns. My happy mom.

I LOVE my mom.

The Waiting Game

"When the light turns green three times, she will be here".

I watch the red light turn green three separate times and I think to myself, "No, wait. I didn't mean that".

I think to myself, " when the second white car passes by, she will come". Eventually, two white cars have passed me by and still I wait.

"When that man jogging by reaches that fire hydrant, I will count down from ten, and she will arrive".

I begin to count slowly. "ten-mississippi, nine-mississippi, eight-mississippi, seven-mississippi, six-mississippi, five-mississippi, four-mississippi, three-mississippi, two-mississippi, one-and-three-fourths-mississippi, one-a-half-mississippi, one-and-a-third-mississippi".

I see her!

I jump up to wave the car down before realizing it's not her.

Without skipping a beat, I pretend to be waving BEHIND the car. I begin walking down the street in a quick pace headed in the direction of my wave... and then turn and look back over my shoulder. When I see that car turn the corner and out of sight, I turn around and return to the spot I had sat down for so long. The grass is bent over and it makes me feel self-conscious how big the area seems to be. I quickly glance down to see if my bottom is really that big. It feels damp. I quickly stare for a wet spot, slapping away dirt, a pebble and a grass blade sticking to it.

I decide to stand and wait.

An older woman passes me by and smiles. I return the smile, wondering if she had seen me mistakenly wave.

As I watch her walk down the street, I look toward the light and it has turned red.

I look back toward the woman and she is waiting for it to turn green to cross the street and head on her way.

I look back for my ride. There are no cars in sight. I decide by the time she crosses the street, my ride will be here.

Telling Stories

This morning I was telling a story. A rrreally good one, I thought. One that would really make a good friend laugh and be entertained. So I began to tell my story and began, "The other day while driving over that narrow bridge . . . " and then I stopped.

In an instant for her, but what seemed like an eternity to me, I stopped talking in mid-sentence as I realized this story actually took place in 1997.

Wondering if she caught my hesitancy, I quickly changed my story to .. "Nooo, it was longer than that" and went on to tell my delightful story.

Now, later in the day, I think about my fabrication. What IF I said, "Eight years ago while driving over that narrow bridge...", would my story still carry the same impact? Was I wrong in fibbing with the time line or was the story in itself the most important?

It's a story I have told many times to so many people before. It's comfortable and fits me well ..like an old worn sweatshirt. The words spill out of my mouth so easily and each time I tell the story, I imply the situation happened recently.

I can only imagine, one of these days, I will repeat this story to someone who has already been entertained by it from me already. They will look at me and say, "Last year you told me that same story!"

(smile)


(sigh)

I want to be more conscious of the words I choose when I talk. To be okay in saying, "Once, long ago, while driving over that narrow bridge" . . . and then begin my story.

It keeps my words and stories in check.

And, that's important for me.

I See Spots

An actual conversation that occured last night over dinner:

P: "Oh my! Did you hear that somone spotted a mountain lion nearby at the park last week?"

ME: (who was totally and completely perplexed by that). "NoOoOoOooOo! Why would ANYONE want to put spots on a mountain lion?!"