Thy Will be Done

I'm one of those cafeteria catholics. The faith is ingrained, the rules, not so much. I'm not just giving lip service to the changes so desperately needed, I'm a bit of an activist, too. But this entry is not about the politics or policies or changes that need to be made. This one is about an other worldly experience I recently had. One that filled me with peace and wonder when all was said and done.


Most catholics I know have stopped going to mass, at least regularly. This is a big transgression, It's one of the rules, dontchaknow.  I'd been pretty good about it for the last twenty years, involved, here and there, with my parish, my community. Then I got 'fed up with the set up.' I got pissed, so I quit going, to that particular church. Money grubbers and for all the wrong reasons. So I shopped. I tried a few new places, and I revisited old favorites. I got discouraged, and I fell off the bandwagon.


I skipped mass for almost two years, prayed for forgiveness, but didn't return. I missed it, though, I've always loved the mass.


Then, after a move, I started researching churches in my new 'hood.' Online, drive-bys, stop ins.  I found one I liked. A LOT. I stepped up my attendance and became familiar and comforted. Now I know why.


I have a friend, a very good friend, and I am close to her entire family. I love these people, I know them well. They too, are Irish catholics and we go way back. They stopped being compliant back when we all did, too many changes. The matriarch, however, missed her church, but was outnumbered and stopped driving years ago, after her husband died.



I had a great relationship with Helen, one of the few people in my life who truly 'got' me. We could talk forever, singing old songs, telling stories, eating chocolate and laughing til we cried. Helen was in her late 80's when we really connected. She was great company. What a wit !


Anyway, Helen thought I was a good catholic, she asked me to take her to mass "sometime." She missed the mass, she loved it too,back when it was sacred to all of us. I never did take her, I was church shopping at the time, but assured her I would come through when I found one I thought she'd like.


 I finally found that church. It is charming, it is small, but regal, it is filled with a congregation of all peoples. A true melting pot in an idyllic setting. A pastor who is a character in and of himself, much like Helen.


After months of keeping this secret to myself (now I know why) I finally invited Helen and her daughter to join me for a noon mass one summer Sunday. They accepted. I was so looking forward to sharing my treasure.


On the day, I was waiting to be picked up by Helen and her daughter, my 'sistah-friend' (Mary) and was mildly surprised when only Mary showed up. Helen (now 92) didn't feel well enough but strongly urged Mary and I to go anyway. We did. Mary was enchanted by the mass, the priest, the setting, the community.


And then, in the middle of mass, she cried. And I knew why.


She cried because she knew that we had found the place that would comfort her mother enough to let go, to let go and join her family in heaven. When I saw her tears, a part of me knew, too, what had just happened.


A week later, Mary took Helen to mass. Helen was duly dazzled, and, evidently, greatly relieved. They joined the parish on the spot.


Two weeks after that, Helen had a stroke, severe enough to get her admitted to the hospital. Then, shortly after that, another one, severe enough to bring in Hospice. 



You know what comes next. Helen did let go, having lived out her life in good health, all faculties and dignity intact. Her children arranged a wonderful funeral, in that perfect setting. I was pushy enough to suggest the music, aprapo and beautiful, if a little schmaltzy. I knew she'd love it and was so tickled when her children went with my suggestions.


So, I never went back. I didn't feel the need , I didn't have the inclination. I know I need to, but I have a myriad of excuses, all valid. It's almost as if  my mission was accomplished. I feel validated, I feel wonderful. I know that God again, has used me in His way.


It's magical, it's mystical and I believe it with all my heart. My God has used me in many ways,and that fills me with happiness.


I've got a lot of energy still left in the ol' chassis, Lord.


Reporting for duty.

and so it goes...

retirement. That's the way God planned it. I never thought I'd be so busy ! Sometimes, I wonder how I ever had time to work.  I lie awake at night, (a bad habit, another column,) and think of the next day's schedule. I cannot believe, that much like when I was working, I long for a down day. But at this stage, early in my retirement, it's not to be - I have a lot of unfinished/new business to attend to.


It's all important, it's all noteworthy, at least in my book. But it runs like a litany ~ it's all timed, fercrissake ! 


Of course, my top priority are my kids. That hasn't changed, but their needs have. They no longer have papers due, they have 'meetings.' So I must be there for child care. My pleasure, no doubt. But I have to plan my own activities accordingly. Mundane things, but vital...Dr's app'ts, license renewal, flu shot, mass, fercrissake (literally!)


But to get back to the way God plans it - a very important person in my life once shared her theory with me. Interesting, because it has to do with God's plan, and she is not in the least bit spiritual. She said that there's a reason for menopause and there's a reason for timelines. I believe her, and I am spiritual. In the 'Word according to Deb,' our children leave for college at exactly the time they are getting on our last nerves. We are annoyed, fed up and heartsick all at the same time, the time to let go. So true !


Another of her reasons for menopause: (I buy into this one, too, big time-) just at the age our grandkids come along, we're too tired to be a full time parent. We can love and adore them and be ready for them to leave, just in time, just when we've expended our energies.


Menopause, as they say, has the prefix 'men' and the root word, 'pause' which is fitting, at our age. I'm too tired and not interested in anything but the occasional cuddle. As a clinician, I know the guys are in the same place we are. You know you're really old when your drug of choice is...Viagra.


                                     "Man plans; God laughs"



 

The Life of Riley; Update

Riley gives new meaning to the term "lucky dog."

She's like Barbie-the bitch has everything !

Until yesterday, she had never seen another dog up close since her litter-mates. Yesterday was probably the greatest stressor of her life so far.(she has yet to be neutered, so until next month, the bar is set pretty low, admittedly.)

Yesterday, she had her first grooming appointment. As with everything in her life so far, she went charging in full throttle. All new faces, up close and personal, all new sounds and smells. I dropped her off with the experts, not without some trepidation. I'm used to lengthy appointments and planned my day accordingly, In ninety minutes I got the call to come and pick her up. I wondered why, what could've gone wrong....but nothing had gone awry, I had a different groomer this time, one who managed time more effectively. I came back to find a full grown dog where a puppy had been. Granted, a ten pound dog is never going to look all that adult, but the change was startling, albeit beautifully done.

She seemed lost, confused,totally without confidence (and without fur, to be sure) she seemed completely indifferent to me and not in the least bit relieved that I was even there.

I had hoped to relieve some of the tension for her by issuing strong orders that my dog was not to be decorated in any way. No bows, bandanas or nail polish. It's a pet peeve of mine (pun intended)

I corralled her into her carrier, a nylon/mesh number she's used to traveling in. I tossed in a treat and spoke soothingly to her on the way home. When we arrived, she wouldn't be coaxed out. It was all I could do not to dump the carrier upside down to get her out. Finally, I reached in to pull her out and my hands landed in Godknowswhat.

I pulled out the darlin' only to rush her to the tub tuit suite. She was so upset, she had puked all the way home. I had paid $35.00 + tip only to take her home & rebathe her in an oatmeal wash.

Not for her, the ubiquitous grooming salon to which her breed is accustomed.. From now on, it's clippers and bath tub and air drying at home.

My little princess has made her personality known to me. She is a tomboy through and through, just like her owner.

I'm so proud ~



Love Hurts

I'll never understand it. I guess I never had it. Oh, I thought I did, too many times, but I was always wrong, sadly mistaken. My relationships always ended by me, there was never any "til death do us part" in my experience.


Which is fine! I was never devastated by these romances, always relieved in the end. Invariably, there were messes to be cleaned up and handled, Drama, to be sure,tears to be shed, but fortunately (for me) I walked away unscathed, for the most part. At least I recovered, pretty quickly, each time.


So now I'm at a point in my life, and have been for years, where I've become too set in my ways to ever compromise with anyone. I'm used to my solitude,I prefer it. I've come to realize I'd rather be alone than wish I were. It's all good.


In my experience, it turned out to be permanent children and temporary marriages.  (a phrase I borrowed from a close friend who was referring to me.) and while I may have been sidetracked while seeking validation, my kids always came first. Sometimes, they were the deal breaker. They were always worth it. The point is, you have to love yourself first. Until you do,you are seeking validation from others. Until you do, you will never reach fulfillment.


Right now, I'm reliving my experiences through a friend who has not yet realized that her priorities are screwed up. Someone, at some point, damaged her so much that she thinks she needs someone to validate her. She can't see that her children do. She's caught up in the day to day annoyances of homework and schedules and bullshit that drive us all nuts at times. She's not looking into those big brown eyes who adore her so much and look to her for everything from safety and meals to fun. Even the dog is a pain in the ass.

I have memorized, and can recite more platitudes than you knew existed, but I'll spare you (you're welcome)

When she sees it for herself, she will be happier than she ever dreamed she could be. I am, platitudes be damned. It was life's experiences that got me here.

"Grow old along with me, the best is yet to be."  How's that for a platitude?

I am growing older and I cherish every moment. I never dreamt it could be so perfect. I'm happier than I ever could imagine.

I get it, God, and it was worth waiting for ~

 

....Annnd..We're Off !

Halloween is over, let the games begin !


The next two months will be a blur. I'm not complaining at all about that.  In fact, I kind of relish the fact that the holidays are so much easier than they used to be, now that I'm almost matriarchal in my family. Everyone else does all the work and I just show up & play with babies. DELISH !


I never liked Halloween, even as a child and especially as a young mom. All the chaos, all the stress of designing costumes and buying candy (twice, usually, in my case, if you get my drift.) The weather, it seems, rarely cooperated. Cold, rainy, windy, awful.  Then there was the year we trudged though puddles and rain and got home only to find the pillowcase my daughter was dragging had torn and there was no candy, at all for my kids. Obviously, I sent them to get out of their wet costumes, turned out our porchlight and dumped our  candy into a bowl for them to share. To this day, I don't think they realize that.


Thanksgiving. Well, of course, I'm grateful every day for such a lush life. God knows this because I thank him everyday, several times a day. But the menu is no big deal. It used to be that turkey was only served two or three times a year. Now, with the all-american health concious diet, it's  become a staple. These days, the pumpkin pie and sweet potatoes are what make the holiday festive.


Then, the jewel in the crown of all these holidays, Christmas !


Ridiculous non stop Christmas music 24/7 on the radio, unbelieveable television commercials starting before Halloween. It sets my teeth on edge. I send  angry emails to radio stations, I boycott products, all to no avail, I'm sure, but it makes me feel better, as if I'm part of the solution.


At some point during the holiday season, I welcome the snow, but just for me. I know I'm in the minority, but I love it. It fills me with peace, and calm and a wonderful sense of well-being. But that's just me.


Then there's New Years. I like this one, too. Now that I'm older, I don't feel the need to celebrate like I did when I was younger. It always seemed like manufactured fun to me, if you didn't have a date, or big plans, you were a loser. Now I think of it as the grand finale. A nice way to tie up all the holidays and begin hibernating until the spring.


I'll never be a Scrooge, and I've never uttered "Bah, Humbug!"  I doubt I ever will. But now, I'm able to sit back and relax and be grateful for the riches God has placed in my life: family and friends and pets and love and laughter. 

"Miracles are to come~"

(ee cummings)



Gray Matter(s)

A few months ago, I blogged that I was planning on becoming a natural beauty. This meant, that with retirement, the need for manicures and colorists had gone by the wayside. I feel strongly about that. I was resolute in my thinking that one should always look the part. I spent my whole life in the appropriate style.


Step into the way back machine with me ~


As a child, I wore school uniforms, and when I was finally allowed to go to public school, an ambition I'd long had, I segued into the the same look my peers worked so hard for. Back then,(the sixties) I had girlfriends who already attended public school groom me into a 'cool' high school coed. (BOYS ! who knew??) with that came teased hair, white lipstick and very short skirts.


Then came motherhood and marriage, and of course, the requisite uniform of the day - painters paints or jeans and a tshirt with formula stains on the shoulders. That lasted a few years and then came, (wait for it)


DISCO!



Designer jeans, silky shirts, platform shoes and dance lessons. Music I hope I never hear again.



Then as my children grew older and busier,and my marriage fell apart, I went back to school. A catholic school, but no uniforms, thankfully, or I would've gone to plan "B"



I went back and graduated as a certified surgical technician. Landing in the operating room, thrilled to be there and had no qualms whatsoever about driving to work in sweats to jump into scrubs and sterile gowns. Life was easy !


I ended up in scrubs for 25 years. Loved it. Eventually I went into private practice: cosmetic surgery and vision correction. Less anguish, more money. There was a lot of front work in that field, it was, basically, retail medicine. Thus, the need for colorists and manicures. I went full circle in my lifetime.


But, now, I get to be grandma, and my little Luca thinks I am the greatest! Grandma is fun to climb on, breaks all the rules and will give him whatever he wants, (within reason) whenever he wants it.  The requisite uniform for this happy task, is, once again, jeans, Uggs, soft shirts and comfort.


So who cares if my hair is gray and I am without make-up or manicures?


Evidently, everyone!


I wish my family and friends would organize their interventions instead of painfully picking me apart on a one on one basis. I have heard from all sides that I must get to a salon and pull myself together. The holidays are coming, parties, plans and we must look our best. I guess the gray hair and the ragged nails make me look older, which is not the gold standard.


I'm very comfortable in my retirement, I like being this age !  Why can't I look it? Better yet, why can't I find the gumption to stand up to these people who love me so much?


(Oops, there it is, I've said "gumption") now, that's enough to drive me to the fountain of  youth ! 


I've made the appointments already.



Once Upon a Time....

 I used to keep a journal. For years, I kept a journal. I still have them, boxes of them and I wish I'd never stopped. A whole lot has happened to me and years went by undocumented. It's because I caught someone (an ex) reading them. He had been at it for hours while I was away. Our relationship was ending and I guess he was trying to understand it. I couldn't understand why he stooped so low as to affirm my decision to part company. He kind of proved my point. But he robbed me, too. I was crushed by that invasion. It felt like rape. When I asked him if he learned anything from reading my innermost thoughts, he stated that he learned I had never lied to him.


I began blogging in April of this year, after reading others blogs online. I have favorites I check in on routinely, and I could spend a whole day perusing new ones.


I find them so interesting, some are funny, while others are sad, documenting illnesses or transitions. Some have scads of followers, others don't list theirs. The cool thing about a writing a blog is that it isn't meant to be private, like a journal. But that's exactly the same reason it isn't so cool. You have to edit yourself for that very reason. I, of course, have no filter, so I try to keep my observations general, names changed to protect the not so innocent.


When I began, it was rewarding. I get emails sometimes from readers. That's nice. Sometimes, people comment after a column, not often,but it's appreciated. The thing is, when I began I had so many subjects to cover, so many ideas. I was resolute in not wanting to come off as whiner, ala Andy Rooney, who made quite a nice career for himself, complaining like the curmudgeon he'd become.


But now, I'll start to write and realize I've already covered the topic at hand. Or I'm just writing to sound off about some real or imagined slight, or some hot topic that would piss people off. I can do that everyday on my Facebook page. And I do. I can't believe any of my republican friends still keep me as their 'friend.'  (Actually, I can't believe I have any friends at all, who are republican!)



The point is, I've tapered way off since the beginning. I've gone from three times a week, to a couple, to maybe twice a month. I still enjoy it, I do not find it theraputic and I get disappointed in myself during my dry spells. Luckily, there's a whole cyberworld out there and this isn't an assignment. I can, and do make entries whenever I have the time and/or the inclination. Hopefully, with the changes of the seasons I'll be inspired. It keeps me busy, this blogging, and out of the bars, so to speak.



I'm glad I don't have to make a living at it, I think I'd be really hungry, because "Easy reading is damn hard writing." 


(Nathaniel Hawthorne)

Loose Lips Sink Ships

Trust no one. Especially me.


I am a keeper of secrets. This is definitely not where my talents lie. I warn people not to tell me things. I can't take the pressure. I know that I am more successful as I get older, but how much longer can I be expected to keep mum ? I know stuff I don't even want to know.


In my world, if I have something even mildly interesting, I've gotta share it. As long as it's about me. When it's not about me, I try to wait patiently until the all clear has been given, or I hear the same scoop I'm guarding from someone else's lips.I have secrets with people myself, where I've confided in someone, after warning them to "keep it in the vault!"  As far as I know, I choose wisely. Nothing has come back to bite me the ass (yet.)


This past week I was a counter-spy, working for my daughter and her husband regarding their fifth anniversary. I was on the phone and at the mall, arranging surprises for each of them, unbeknownst to the other. Fortunatly, I pulled it off. I babysat while they went out to celebrate and was greatly relieved when they returned, giddy with their success in subterfuge. They were giddy, I was exhausted !


As stated earlier, if it's about me, I'm going to spread the word. I never learn. Discretion is the better part of valor, but valiant, I'm not. I once greatly distressed my employer when I told someone in confidence that I had gotten an offer I couldn't refuse. Imagine my chagrin when, after submitting my resignation, and having it declined, he returned to me to say how floored he was that he was the last to find out. At least I had the grace to blush, it was the least I could do, I felt horrible. Still, he counter offered, and one of my biggest regrets, career wise, was not taking it. But that's a whole nutha topic.


The older I get, the better I've become, but rather than taking pride in that, I have to admit that I'm still not all that noble, I'm just forgetful. So, confide in me if you must, but never tell me not to tell. I'll make a mental note, but  I've got a mind like a sieve, so don't hold me to it.

This column is my disclaimer, and with any luck, I'll remember I wrote it.

The Life of Riley

A little over a month ago, I took a giant leap of faith. I adopted a puppy. I wrote about it before it happened, before I truly realized what I was getting into. Make no mistake, I've got no regrets, but I'm mildly surprised by the change in my routine.



We found her on the internet and picked her up in Ohio. I'm in Michigan, so, not really a pilgrimage. I'd named her Maggie, sight unseen, but that proved to be wrong. Just wrong. A friend came up with Riley, and that one stuck. It's a reference to an old tv show and it seems Irish, so we ran with it. Riley Rae, to be exact.


Riley is like a blender without a top. I recently put my old girl, Ms. Georgia, to sleep. I was in a comfortable routine with her, with her personality, her loyalty and the calm that is present in the mature dog. We had it down. No surprises, nothing more than the very comfortable routine that two souls who've spent a lifetine together enjoy.


"Gone, like the wind that swept through Georgia." (apologies to Margaret Mitchell)


In place is a new day dawning. A change has come and has rocked my world.


This little thing is a mistress of mischief !  She is so comical, so full of surprises, neither of us are ever bored. I wish I knew how that tiny brain works. It's best I don't, I could never keep up, I'm sure. I'd forgotten so much after all these years, of the chaos that is puppydom.



Riley gets ideas that are mind boggling., She's such a personality and her antics are so off the wall that it's almost a joy to see what she comes up with next. I know this: I should've named her 'Bandit.'  She's a thief in the night. She has a cache containing such interesting and often, indispensible items including, but not limited to : the stereo remote, car keys, eye drops,laundry...really anything that isn't nailed down or out of sight. I'm learning and her cache is less full, but really, we have a long way to go.


Riley has no schedule. This is crazy. Hard to fix, though, as I haven't got one either. One of my biggest challenges is consistency. We're getting nowhere (fast) in that arena.


She's a jumper. It is hilarious to be engrossed in a book or a tv show and all of a sudden have a dog jump into your line of vision. Literally and repeatedly. bongboingboing!  She's not a chewer of things, thank goodness, but she is rambunctious and loving, quite a cuddler, and I'm full of little puppy bites. We both have a lot to learn.


I'm so glad you're here, Riley, welcome to my world. I'm having a grand time in yours.



September Gave a Party

Today is a perfect day. Not weather wise, it's raining...but it's the end of September and the beginning of fall, the best time there is, as far as I'm concerned.



Today, my plans changed, so I found myself at home, with nothing much to do. Of course, there's always stuff to do, if you're that kind of person, one who has a 'list.'  I have a mental list going, always, but, since I have a mind like a sieve, it's not all that compelling, (lucky for me.)




This time of year may be special to me because of my birthday, which is right around the corner, or because I love the daylight savings schedule, the change in the landscape and in the weather.  Autumn has such great memories for me, kind of delicious and cozy.




It's time to winterize everything. Time to get out the throws and tablecloths and  light candles, turn on lamps before it's even dark and relax with a good read. Time to check out my sweater collection and think about Thanksgiving. I love this time of year.



My birthday is one which is mildly interesting. I cannot believe I'm turning sixty-two. How is this possible?  It's not a milestone,for most people, but it feels like one to me. So much has happened in my life, many things most people never experience, let alone survive. Some good, some, not so good.



But the most baffling thing about being 62 is looking in the mirror, or at pictures. I'm always mildly surprised to see that my blonde hair is gray and that I have laugh lines. I still look like myself, or at least resemble the girl who used to live in here. And I still feel like myself, most days. Then there are the days when arthritis strikes and my knees kill me or my wrist makes me gasp in quick pain.  There are days when my endurance is short-lived and I wonder what happened.

Life happened. I turned around and I live in a condo, my kids are 'grown and flown' and I get to relive those precious years as a mom, but from a better perspective. As a Grandma, I get to see generations of my family and enjoy the moment. I no longer have to worry about homework (mine or theirs) or extracurricular nonsense or schedules. Retirement took away all the stress that caused my gray hair and fine lines.


And it was worth it.

"Life is what happens when you're busy making other plans."

thank you,

John Lennon

No one's said it better.

With friends like those......

There are all kinds of sayings about friends, but the one that's sticking in my head lately is the one about friends who come and go, are in your life for a reason or a season.  I've written about my friends before, about being so fortunate to have so many for so long.


But, you never hear about the ones that got away. The ones you never forget, or in my case, think of frequently. The ones you can't reconnect with, no matter how hard you try. I've got two of those and I miss them both.


The one I've known the longest has, seemingly, dropped off the face of the earth. Even with social networking and several of us trying, we cannot locate this terrific part of our then circle. Naturally, we fear the worst, but hope for the best.


The one I've known the best, the one I've been closer to than anyone else, ever, is gone for good. And I only mean that figuratively. She still walks among us, she just walked away from me, and I know not why.



We never had an argument, never discussed anything that might have gone wrong. We never dreamt we would ever be apart. But, for some reason and in some way, I offended her. Not only did she not confront me, she just left. We went from (at least) four phone calls a day and being together after work (almost every day for twelve years,) to nothing. That was eight years ago. I tried, believe me, I tried, to resolve whatever it was that went wrong. But calls went unanswered. It's as though I never existed.


The thing is, I am not one to hold a grudge, (they're so heavy)  so this kind of treatment is inexplicable to me. I've moved on, I have, but every now and then, very late at night, or stuck in traffic, my pal randomly jumps into my mind and I wonder what happened.


It kills me to think I ever wounded anyone so deeply that they cannot forgive me or worse, consider me dead. I'm on good terms with my exes fercrissake !



Interestingly, years ago, she told me that I let too many people back into my life. I might mention a phone call out of the blue from someone in my past and how tickled I was by it. Oh, the irony ! Now,I would love to let her back into my life, but have exhausted my efforts.



Until I die, I will always wonder what happened between me and my BFF but...

"Love is blind

Friendship tries not to notice"

(I'm glad I am so loved)



Don't let this Happen to You

Just when you think you've heard it all...


You get surprised again.  I've come to realize I wasted my entire career working my ass off in medicine.  I wish it had occurred to me to become a 'Life Coach.'   (whatever that is)


Do these people have credentials? Can they run their own lives, or are we supposed to learn from their mistakes?  When I looked into it, unbelieving, I learned that your coach is available by phone,for one hour sessions as many times a week as you can afford. They throw in complimentary emailing, of course.


You can discuss all aspects of your life. Children, spouses, career, friendships, pets. (you may want to separate your problems with your pet and consult a pet psychic, instead. More on that later)


These life coaches believe that you have all the answers within yourselves. It is their job to guide you into discovering what you already know. (I have friends for that, but hey, that's just me) I guess the difference between that and a psychologist is that insurance will pay for psychology. I would rather pay for lunch with a good friend who's heard it all before, who, for a salad and dessert, will listen again.


What gets me, is that these vultures exploit people overtly by preaching that the answers are within themselves. They exploit those who lack confidence, are timid and have been significantly hurt by events in their lives. They are seeking recovery. What an easy mark. Drives me crazy.



I guess if you have money to burn, no sense of self worth and plenty of time, it might be the path for you. Personally, when I'm in crisis, I get through it with prayer, a little help from my friends and hope.  In serious crisis mode, I turn to my own life coaches, Ben & Jerry.



I figured out all on my own that I have an amazing ability as a pet psychic.
For example, your dog told me that he loves meat and wishes you would stay home more.


That will be $300.00. I'm sorry, but I'm unable to bill your insurance.



Wish I'd Thought of it ~

The new September issue of AARP Bulletin has a fun piece on “dos & don’ts” for people once they turn 50.

I have taken the liberty of tweaking it to fit my needs and some  of the people around me.

Words To Stop Saying:

Panties

Smashed, wasted, or hammered.

Sick!

Whatever

I’m like, he's like, they're like.

Hot. Except when referring to the weather or habaneros.

Kick it
Chill
Chillax


Things To Never Do Again:

Jell-O shots
ANY shots

Karaoke after Jell-O shots or any other time.


Visible tats, no matter what (or who) you escaped, no matter who or what you discovered.

Collecting owls made of shells, frogs made of ceramic or lawn gnomes made of anything.
Smoking. (anything)



What Not To Wear:

Miniskirts, short shorts, anything that’s been deliberately diminished or ripped.

Low-rise pants that showcase low-rise anatomy.

Super-tight skinny jeans, even if you are both.

T-shirts that say “Sexy Grandma,” “Vote for Ozzy” or “I Am the Man from Nantucket.”

Purses with dogs on them. Purses with dogs in them.

Gold chains with your name on them. Gold chains. Chains.
Men should not wear jewelry, except for a watch and/or wedding ring. Gentlemen, less is more.
Ladies, you only need one hole per ear. That ship has sailed.
Any trend that's being repeated. If you wore it then, you sure as hell can't wear it now.



People To No Longer Tolerate.

Those who don’t know you when you’re down and out but just love you when you’re “back.”

People who learned all they ever needed to know in high school—and are still living it.

Gossips

Arrogant doctors, nurses, educators, waiters, legislators,sales associates or anyone who lets a little influence go to their head. They're everywhere and they're drunk with power.

Space invaders. Those who stand too close, consuming space, energy, oxygen and time.



Things To Do At Least Once:

 

 Create a bucket list. Be reasonable.

 Tell the truth, all the time, every day.

 Stand up for what you believe, and do so with dignity.

 Dance outside at night in a foreign land.

 Be able to retire but say, the hell with it, I’m going strong!
 Rediscover something you loved as a kid. A food, a book or an       
 activity. Enjoy.

 Last, but not Least:

WAG MORE, BARK LESS

Old Habits Die Hard

I've been told, and have come to believe, that I have an addictive personality. I wish that meant what it sounds like, that people are drawn to me, but I know better and admit that I'm the one who's drawn to certain behaviors, not all good for me.


Everything I do, I do with a vengence. I cannot get enough of certain things.I behave as though each time I indulge might be my last chance.



When I picked up my new puppy (whose name has been changed, but that's another column) I wanted to bring her sibling with her. When I do anything, I do it BIG. Why not double the fun and keep the newbie from being lonely? Thankfully, I came to my senses. I am impulsive, but not crazy.


I cannot keep chocolate in my house anymore. If I had my way, I'd have the pantry I always wanted when I was six. Candy, ice cream, chips, pop & pizza. I swear I could live on a diet of pure junk and I'm in enough trouble already.



Reading. Nothing wrong with that. Something wrong with joining two bookclubs, however, and I turned down a third! What am I thinking? I do not ever want reading to become a chore, it's my only escape. It's my drug of choice. No sense in putting deadlines on it, creating pressure.



Appointment tv, another guilty pleasure. I am not a tv snob, I readily admit it - I can watch all kinds of tripe and be highly entertained. I can watch reruns of MASH and still be on the floor. I've only recently kept the tv off until my scheduled programs, as opposed to leaving it on all day for 'company.' Albeit, for the dog, but now that she's gone I see that it really is just noise if you're not paying attention. I'm not doing that for my new pup, (she gets NPR.)



But the biggest, the most vacuous, banal , shallow waste of my time is Facebook. And I love it. I call it Facecrack, it's that addicting.  I finally got it off my phone, because it was rude and dangerous. I have a home office, which my daughter has officially dubbed my "Facebook Office." I can and do check it often when I'm home and once signed in, can spend an hour or more online. They've got me with the games app and I LOVE playing Backgammon at all hours of the day and night in several different countries all at once. Scrabble has me hooked too, I have played fifteen games simultaneously (although, not well.) London, England, London, Ontario, India and Japan. How can I resist? They advise you of birthdays you would never have given a thought to, they link you with people you might know, with a privacy option.


I can 'hide' from people (and do,believe me) and they have no idea. What fun !



Things could be worse. There, but for the grace of God,go I...an alcoholic, smoker, junkie on the street. For that reason, I want to say thank you to the internet gods, and I want to say, in closing,

HAPPY BIRTHDAY,

MRS. KALABASH,

wherever you are ~

Onward and Upward

 Obviously, I need to make a change. I am not recovering at all well from the death of my dog. The depression is deep and the solitude is palpable.


Crazy habits are hard to break. For example, I find myself watching tv alone in the dark. I forget to turn on the lights because for twelve years I had them on all day when I was gone. There was always a part of me that worried about getting home late, so I always left out a bowl of dry food and the lights blazing all day with the tv on for company. It gave me assurance that I could work some overtime or go out after work for a drink, if so inclined. (not often,usually, it was the OT.)



I've been single for fifteen years now. Before that, I went through serial relationships. It wasn't until I met my dog that I realized I much preferred her company to any significant others I'd had so far.



It wasn't just her company I needed, she gave me purpose and got me off my lazy ass three or four times each day for runarounds. That much of my schedule was consistent and inflexible. I know I could be walking still, without her, but that doesn't seem to be happening and that can't be good for me.


It's hard, too, not to be in a hurry to get home anymore, not to have someone so excited to see me she waits at the window. Ouch. Tough walking into a dark, empty home.



I'm sure you know where this is going. You're right. I can't go it alone, I don't want to and so, knowing it's impossible to replace Ms. Georgia, I found somebody else to keep me company and help me stay grounded.



She is the same breed, different color and only eight weeks old. Please join me in welcoming 'Maggie' into my world.

I'm up to the challenge, I'd better be, I've already claimed her as my own. Never, never, will she replace Georgie-girl, never, ever could she. But she is here, she is the cutest cure I could imagine and the best, the very best way to begin to heal is puppy breath and a facefull of kisses.

It took Charles Schultz to remind me : "Happiness is a warm puppy."

Welcome home, Maggie May McElroy



you have a tough act to follow

Six Degrees of Separation

Frigyes Karinthy is a name you probably never heard before. I'm betting you know of his theory though.  He was a Hungarian journalist and a translator who lived between 1887-1938.  His theory is that of the above, "Six Degrees of Separation." He is also famous for his translation of A.A. Milne's 'Winnie the Pooh' giving it a cult following in Hungary.  (Some cult, they could do a lot worse.)


According to Karinthy's theory, any two people on earth can be connected by a chain of individuals, giving new meaning to the phrase "a friend of a friend."


I think it's amazing and true. A tiny example would be social networking, like ,of course, Facebook or Twitter. I have both found and been found on Facebook. When you 'friend' someone, the site suggests people you know in common. Of course, there's no need to pursue these little points of interest, and I seldom do, but your privacy is protected, and the possibility of being in touch with someone whom I barely knew a lifetime ago, is mildly interesting.


I've worked with and have many Jewish friends and relatives, close enough to know all about "Jewish Geography."  I envy that. It's fun to do the detective work. Everybody knows somebody who's related to somebody else. Like unraveling a mystery. I've seen this phenominon in action. I just stand there and watch as people become so animated when they discover that their own doctor is married to their cousins ex-wife ! Fascinating !


You can come up with your own examples. Imagine that your father attended a banquet and was introduced to the speaker by a mutual cousin. The speaker once heard and shook the hand of Nelson Mandela. So, in a small way, there's a connection, noteworthy at that.


In many families, mine for one, there is a network among people who have been married, divorced and remarried enough to connect and reconnect people all over again. I attended a backyard reception last week and ran into an ex-sister in law who is still called "Auntie" by my grown kids. Of course she is, she is still their cousin's mother.


Even though the worlds population has grown measurably since Karinthy's theorum, it still applies, and I find it comforting, somehow. Safety in numbers, perhaps. Despite the math, it makes the world seem a smaller place.


We're all in this together, so, reach out and touch someone.



The Final Act

It has come to pass : the end of my little dog's life. I've been dreading it, but not quite believing it, for about three months...Ending her life took more courage than I knew I had, and that's saying something.  She was diagnosed officially with Transitional Tumor Carcinoma, malignant, three weeks ago. Since then her symptoms exacerbated quickly. I gave her codeine, I took comfort measures as long as she would eat and at least, wag her tail.  I thought her quality of life was still good (for the most part) and I delayed the inevitable.


And then, she turned on me, in the only way she knew how. She bit me, hard & viciously, causing a helluva laceration. It was only one of the scars I have left from her. The rest you can't see. But that isn't why I put her down, I can take a bite, if that's what it takes to make me understand she wasn't even in there anymore. It was her way of telling me to let her go and she meant it.


I made the call, I made the appointment, I got ready to go.  Then, she was up in her window seat for the first time in weeks. I canceled the appointment, only to reschedule two days later. It was quick, it was merciful and it hurt me more than it hurt her, fersure.



They left me alone with her after giving her the initial injection to sedate her. I had time to hold her and pet her and repeat some of our nonsense she'd been accustomed to. I cried into her fur, as I've done many times before. That little girl took many secrets to her grave. 



I promised God would kiss her hello and I reminded her I'd be along and she is to wait for me.



That was the hard part.  Now, only one day later, I'm still weepy, I cry spontaneously, in the car, at my desk, on the phone. I've replaced her window seat with a plant, I put her water dish away and I've got her collar around my wrist, for now. It's a hard habit to break, letting go of someone who was omnipresent for twelve years. I find myself holding the door a moment longer than necessary, moving my feet under my chair so she'll have room under my desk, and last night,I slept on her side of the bed.



So, with all the attention to detail, all the acts that make up closure, there is one thing I forgot.



I forgot to say 'Thank You,'   Thank you, girl, for choosing me. For letting me cry into your fur, for listening to secrets I would trust to no one, and for tolerating me. The nights I was way later than I should've been, the times I forgot to pick up your treats or even your food, Thank you for keeping my feet warm and my heart even warmer.

I love you, girl,

Go with God.


GOOD girl !



Fun With Dick and Jane

There’s probably nothing I enjoy more than reading. As soon as I learned to read, I became engrossed in anything I could read. I annoyed my family by reading everything out loud, Road signs, directions on packages, names and addresses. I waited for the mailman so I could read the addressee out loud. I even got busted in the first grade for keeping my reader on the seat next to me at all times. I think I read the whole reader on the day it was distributed. I was fascinated by Dick and Jane and Spot. (Or I was fascinated by being able to read about Dick and Jane and Spot.)
　
As I got older and advanced through grade school and high school, I continued the habit. I was caught with my history book during English, my English book during math and my religion book during history. I’ve always had a voracious appetite, and the one I have for reading is the least harmful.
　
　
The funny thing is, no matter how engrossed I am in any particular book, if you ask me what I’m reading (and people do ask me that, all the time) the chances are, I won’t know. I can rattle off the storyline and the character names, but have no idea about the title or the author. In order to do that, I have to be really impressed, not always the case. Still, I plod through.
　
　
It’s like an escape for me, it’s my ‘drug of choice.’ I can get so lost in the written word, it can be detrimental. I don’t hear the phone ring, or your voice if you’re speaking to me. I’m sure my kids were neglected over time because of my habit. Reading during their practices, on the bleachers, or on road trips when my husband drove. When I was in school for nursing, I didn’t allow myself to read anything but text. All the time, anytime. But that was pure memorization. When I look back through those tomes (Harrelson's Book of Technique and Procedure) and see the highlighted places, all over the page, I’m amazed that I ever got through it. But that’s where my head was then.
　
When I was thirteen, my sister gave me “Gone with the Wind.”  When I was sixteen, my parents took it away from me. I read and reread it so often I think they were worried I’d had a break with reality !
　
　
Well, it is my drug of choice, my obsession. There are far worse things to get caught up in. I’m so grateful that my grandson seems fascinated too…he loves books, gets very excited by new ones, even the presentation, you’d think it was Christmas! He’ll sit with me and follow the words along with his finger, babbling happily, convinced he’s reading to me. Best stories I’ve ever heard.
　
　
Come along with me, Luca, the best is yet to be.
　
　
Love,

Gramma

Dream a Little Dream.....

...of......???


God only knows. I just awakened from another of my epic extravaganzas. No wonder I'm always exhausted.


I wish we could hit rewind when we are awake and cognizant. My dreams are so bizarre, so nonsensical, so full of light, color, sound and emotion. Sometimes I wake up with my heart slamming against my chest wall. Thirty seconds later, I have no idea why.


Often, I dream about work, Sometimes I'm a hero, sometimes, a real loser. I guess after years of working full time, it's not going to be easy to forget about it. I'm glad we don't remember our dreams for long, I would hate to put so much feeling into something without getting paid for it.


Often, I dream about my kids when they were little..since they're quickly approaching forty, that's really about the past, the far past. It was the time of my life, so that must be why I harken back to those (idyllic?) days.  I bet their dreams are a lot different.


I dream about deceased loved ones. That's heavy. Must mean unfinished business, I know there are schools of thought about dream interpretation, but I just can't go there - look what happened to the Virgin Mary, not too mention her betrothed ! YIKES !


Usually I can at least connect the dots. I was just thinking about so-and-so, no wonder I dreamt of her.  I can dream about poker hands, backgammon boards, scrabble. I dream about game shows and animals. These are all things I love.


When my curiosity gets the best of me, I'll cave and look up some of my dreams on the internet or in books, but I ain't buyin' it. They say your dreams are of wishes unfullfilled, or unfinished business or unresolved anger.  I'm pretty sure all my anger is resolved, most of my business is finished and I hate to think I'm so shallow that my biggest wish is for a good poker hand.

All in all, it's at the very least, mildly entertaining...at the very most, exhausting.



Erma Bombeck said : "It takes a lot of courage to show your dreams to someone else."



They don't call me chicken for nuthin'.



Stressed is Just Desserts Spelled Backwards

Everything is relative, right? We all have different takes on the same things.  I'm beginning to think I have a really weird perspective.



I just returned from the grocery store, at the ungodly hour of 8 am. I set my clock because we're in the middle of a heat wave and I can't take it. I got up early to run errands, walk the dog and watch a friend in a tennis tourmament for awhile.  After that I will sequester down, make a pasta salad, read, nap and do laundry in the air conditioning. Life is good.


Except.


I just narrowly averted a full blown panic attack. This was triggered by....(doon-doon...)  the self check out lane at my grocery store.  It was so early, the store hadn't even opened cashier lanes. I was forced to engage in a ritual that would be, for most people, mildly interesting. For me, paralyzing. I get nervous, downright scared and usually fumble my way through with help from the real cashier.



I have other day to day tasks that unnerve me, too. Things you wouldn't even give a second thought. I have anxiety over merging, I have not, nor ever will, stuffed a turkey and each Sunday mass I worry about being asked to take the gifts up to the alter. I've accomplished all of these  things (except the turkey) and beautifully, but in sheer panic mode. 



Here's the conundrum:  I can do things a lot of people cannot/would not without a glimmer of angst.



My life in medicine brought me much joy and satisfaction. I spent years in the operating room, scrubbed in on a myriad of surgeries, right there, ready with instruments, suction, and counting bloody sponges.  I have run and warned the surgeon when I would be shutting down the laser on vision correction. (It's not up to him, really, it's up to the laser)  I catheterized my own young son, for several years, every 4 hours. I accomplished all this with nothing more than satisfaction of a job well done. I was in my comfort zone.



How many other people can lay claim to that kind of accomplishment? Granted, not a lot, but I bet most people do not freeze over daily tasks, like merging or stuffing turkeys. 



I hope retirement does many things, but mostly I hope it gives me new perspective so I can relax and enjoy it.



Malcom Forbes said: "Retirement kills more people than hard work ever did."



He may be right !

If You Love it Let it Go....

if it was meant to be, it'll come back to you. (not so much.)


They say "Write it, don't send it"  (for obvious reasons) I hope I don't regret posting this, but, true to form, I'm goin' for it ! I wish I had the balls to call Oprah and set the record straight, but I'd probably get sued.


It's this: I am part of a miracle. One I never asked for.


In today's world, so many things have been challenged and changed. Some, for the better. In my case, not so much. The grief my miracle brought is starting to outweigh the joy.


Somebody (not me) should write a book about the heartache of adoption reunions. Ours is eleven years old.


I've seen and read a lot about these reunions because I have an avid interest. I'm a "Birth Mother." God, the stigma that goes with that can be an albatross around my neck. Now, adoption numbers are falling because mothers choose to keep their children, no matter what. A good thing? Sure, in many cases.


In my case almost 42 years ago, it didn't seem like a good option. I was married briefly, to someone I'd known, but lost track of for many years. We had no idea what the hell we were doing. Viet Nam was raging. I was completely without direction, just sort of treading water, living in a Godforsaken little town where I knew no one. He was sure to go to Viet Nam, and probably needed to set down roots to come home to. We were eighteen, fercrissakes !


I was horribly homesick and terribly pregnant.  My husband, who is a better friend to me now than he ever was then, could do nothing right, poor kid. I wanted to go home and I wanted to go NOW!. My parents were so confused, they liked this guy so much and could not understand why I wanted to abandon the very plan I'd insisted on carrying out several months earlier.

But you know what? I firmly believe in the "Everything Happens for a Reason" school of thought. Our daughter was meant to be conceived. It was all part of God's plan and it all had to do with DNA. She was meant to be delivered by me and placed in the much-more-capable-hands of her adoptive parents. If things had gone differently, she never would've come to know the wonderful people in her life, and certainly would not have come to know the father of her beautiful children. (Without whom she couldn't enjoy the wonderful life she has now.)


I wouldn't have had my reason for being, either. My twins, who arrived three years after she was born and placed. My husband, her father, would not have known the wife he chose to spend eighteen years with, or served overseas in a noble capacity, the Peace Corp, giving so much more than he got.


It's all good, right?


Not so fast.


When you see the constantly running stories of the tortured souls who spend years looking for each other, you only see the honeymoon phase. You don't get to see that these reunions sometimes wreak havoc in so many lives who didn't deserve it. The 'afterglow' is much more of a furnace. It burns, and in my case, left deeper scars than the original loss.


We reunited after my "birth daughter's" parents were deceased. That was the only way I could've ever agreed to meet. I never wanted to start these wheels turning, lest I hurt the very people to whom I owed so much. Certainly I was curious all those years, thinking of her on her birthdays, Mothers Day, Fathers Day. But thanks to her 'birth father's' diligence, her safety and well being had been established when she was still a toddler.


Now, she's back, she's reunited with her relatives, she's formed strong bonds with some of them and offended many of them, too. Mostly, us. her birth parents.


She can be polite, but distant. She can be fierce, in a covert way. She may share our DNA, but she shares little else. I've met her children, a true gift from God, and I'm satisfied in knowing everything turned out well for her, for all of us. But the emotions she plays with are in danger of triggering some aftershocks, even after these eleven years. Now, there are even bigger issues.


I love this girl, so does her father, we wish her only the best, as we always have. I don't know how to assuage her anger, though, and I thought that once she had kids of her own, she would understand. She says she has no regrets, but I'm saying she has residue. I hope one day she'll really come back to us, but I guess that would be too much of a miracle.


I'm posting this because I'm tired of walking on eggs, I needed to say this, and I'm safe because, she doesn't even know I blog.


DNA: the gift that keeps on giving.