Ma's Birthday

It is our mother's birthday tomorrow. Yep, her birthday. She was born November 1, 1931, which makes her...um...well, you do the math. She wouldn't like it if I put the number up there in black and white anyway. She used to tell me that her father said she was a leftover from Halloween. It sounds like him. But in the church she and I share her birthday comes on All Saints Day. Now I know that my mother is not pure as the driven snow. Because we are both Lutheran we believe that all people are both saint and sinner. But I've come to think of my mother as one of the more saintlier people. Now, I know most people put their mothers on a pedestal and if they don't there's usually a good reason, like she is an ax murderer or something heinous like that. And I also know that we sometimes can't see negative things about our mothers because, well, they are our mothers! But our mom is a pretty good example of what a good person is and does. She prays for people--her prayer list is alike a bajillion people long and she prays for all of them! I can't remember the basic five or six without a cheat sheet. She tries really hard not to speak badly about anyone. Even when you can tell she doesn't want to say something nice about someone, she wiggles around until she comes out with something positive. I just don't have the energy to do this most times. If you're a rat, then you're a rat and no amount of spraying perfume on you is going to make you smell nicer. But Mom does that, at least most of the time. She loves her family: even the extended family that she doesn't see that much, even the family of our dad whom I think she sees something like once or twice a year. And she remembers them and their kids names! It drives me crazy. Our sister can do this, too. I can't remember all these people! I have to concentrate on the ones I see most of the time...I just can't keep those others straight. But she expects me to, 'cause she'll say something about Daisy or "the girls" and I'm supposed to follow along as to who they are and how they are related. It's tiring.

A few years ago I started calling her Ma. The main reason for this is that when I call the house and she answers, even if she can't hear who it is, if I say, MA, she knows it's me. It sort of like a code word between us. I like that. I could use more people in my life who have code words for each other, couldn't you?

So happy birthday MA! Live long and prosper as Spock from Star Trek would say. Have some cake and lots of ice cream. And say an extra prayer that you will be with us for another 100 years. Because I can't imagine an All Saints Day without my favorite Saint. Saint Ma.

I Guess I Don't Understand

Things happen. I haven't lived to be 61 without being aware that things happen. Sometimes they are good things, sometimes they are bad. Sometimes you anticipate them and sometimes there is no way to anticipate things. Recently, in my sphere I have heard and seen some pretty awful things.  Yeah, I live in the bubble, but these things outside the bubble? Well, they pushed into the breathing space here and made some intense and sad conversations happen amongst us. Having said that, I am not personally involved with those awful things. They didn't happen to my immediate circle of family and friends (thank goodness) and so I'm at least one- maybe two steps outside of the impact circle. But of late, I have been surrounded with folks who are in no way entitled  to comment, commenting on what they would do, how they would handle such and such and how the "powers that be" are just going about it all wrong. Really? And these people would know this...how? There are circumstances beyond your ken, people. Things that happen outside of your knowledge base. You cannot proclaim you would do this or make this happen without being privy to those things. So quit pontificating okay? Quit saying, the authorities aren't doing enough or the government isn't doing enough (okay, maybe they aren't), the administration is to blame for not handling this well. Until you are walking in some people's moccasins, you have no right to rant, rail and rave. None. So get a life, you whiners and nay-sayers. Find something else to talk about and complain about. Fix your own lives why don't you. But leave those poor souls struggling with their griefs and despairs out of your "I know better" pontificating. Thanks, I needed to get that off my chest.

A Plethora of Thoughts

Sometimes writing is so easy, it's scary. It flows out of the eyes, the ears, the very pores. You can't seem to stop it up. And sometimes, I'm reminded of having to take certain medications to get the "natural occurrences" of the bodily functions--well--occurring naturally. I've been stopped up for some time now. Writing didn't seem to be something I wanted to do. I would see the icon for my blog and think, "yeah, I'll get to that." But I didn't really want to. It's hard to believe I would ever feel that way, writing feels like a part of my inner self. But there you have it.

The urge is here today, again, for whatever reason. The words are coming out and pouring across the page willy-nilly. I'm spelling things wrong, which usually indicates that I'm concentrating on getting the words down as opposed to correctly. This is also an indication that writing is flowing again. Because when you're in the "zone" you don't care so much that it's spelled right, just that it's there, on the page, well, on the computer, those little black marks filling up the white space.

I think what started the flow today was a series of unrelated events. I woke up at 5--an ungodly hour for me. I sleep as late as I can each day--I just dislike mornings so much, at first. And now, especially, when it's dark out and the crickets don't get how it's almost morning, and the guy delivering the newspaper stops outside at the curb with his radio blasting, I mean, I just wished mornings started later. So I popped out of bed at five, and was downstairs getting ready for work a whole hour earlier than usual. Then in work, although I like to believe I'm somewhat efficient, I was super-efficient. I was on top of phone calls, on top of emails, filing, writing notes, calling and following up. My office mate got caught up in a myriad of dramas that fortunately didn't have anything to do with me! A good day all around. I virtuously walked back to work after going home for lunch, then took the long way home instead of just taking the most direct route. Since stopping the gym, this was a very good thing for me to do. Later, after dinner, my Mom called. She shared some really depressing news, then tried to work around the fact that this was really the only reason she called, to share this bit of morose-ness. I didn't blame her for telling me. But I know how she thinks and I'm sure she felt guilty and tried to make believe she really just wanted to know how my day was. I knew better and so did she. We do this dance frequently, she pretending there are other reasons for calling besides sharing bad, scary or depressing news. It's fine actually that she does this. She keeps in touch with far more people than I do and I would never know half this stuff if she didn't call me. But at the end of the day, it was just a quirky thing, ya know?

So I will be going to bed soon; hopefully to sleep until at least six. I'll probably be more sluggish at work tomorrow and not quite on top of the world. There is a meeting I'm half not wanting to go to tomorrow night which will cap off whatever tomorrow brings. And such is life.

We are full of ups and downs. Highs and lows. We rest our weary heads on our pillows at night, hoping that tomorrow when we wake up (if we wake up--now there's a depressing thought), we will go through the new day meeting whatever challenges we face either by boldly facing them or running away and hiding in our cubicles. And on the days when I want to write, I do. And on the days I don't or can't or need some medicine to help me out, well, then, I write then, too, but not always.