the driving experience

I have noticed a new experience while driving. It may be that it was in existence for a while, but I have seen it more and more lately and its sort of disturbing. It goes like this: you are in a line of traffic that just made it through a light, so everyone is feeling pretty good about themselves. There's probably about 10 to 15 cars who are tooling down the road, when a gap develops between say the third and six cars. It's a wide enough gap that if someone was going to enter the traffic, they could do it, but they would have to gun it to make sure the next guy didn't try to speed up to close the gap. What happens though is this--a car approaching a stop sign from a side street, see the gap and decides, oh, hell why stop? and cruises right into the gap of traffic without missing a beat (or creating an accident). Technically speaking the driver hasn't hurt anyone. They have essentially merged into ongoing traffic. But the stop sign is there for a reason, isn't it? They totally ignore the stop and keep cruising. The one time I saw someone do this, I was sure they didn't even ponder the traffic coming their way in the lane closest to them, they just saw that gap and went for it! I don't know why this disturbs me so much, but it does. I feel like it's going to end badly for someone and I'm hoping that someone isn't me. Part of me wishes I could have flashing lights attached to the car so that when someone does do this, I could scare them enough that they wouldn't do it again. But really, is it possible to scare people that badly? I mean how many drive while talking on the phone or texting. No one is that scared anymore. Fear factor alone keeps me from doing stupid stuff. But that doesn't seem to be a deterrent any more...whine, whine, whine. I'm getting old and I hear myself. Ewww.

how did we ever get along?

It became apparent two days ago that the microwave was broken. It doesn't heat. The light goes on, the turntable goes 'round, but the heat ain't there (does this sound like anyone you know?). Anyway, there are several points to make about this particular piece of machinery.

We installed this one ourselves. Well, sort of. When our daughter was still in residence after college she had a bunch of friends come over frequently and the gender of the friends were male. They would yuck it up on the porch watching TV, trading work stories and getting increasingly louder as the evening wore on. My husband, never one to ignore a gift horse (or a room full of young males who could probably lift more than he alone) enlisted their help in getting the microwave in place. I should point out that this is a "range top model" which means it is anchored above the top of the stove and has a vent fan attached. It was a heavy son-of-a-gun and I knew I wasn't going to lift it. So he and the "boys" got the thing in place and he secured it. It was hilarious and interesting to watch their interactions as they worked together. If we have to get rid of the thing now that it isn't working, I will be sorry to part with the memories.

The second thing occurred to me quite by surprise. I haven't cooked vegetables on the top of a stove for a very long time. How long you may ask? I really can't remember. In our first home we had a microwave. This is where I learned how to cook, mixing this and that, timing this and that. And the humming, ding of the microwave was the barometer of finished vegetables. I got out a pack of frozen corn last night and had to read the directions for how to cook on the top of the stove! Of course, I had to find my glasses first, then write down the salient points because the sieve-like appendage of a brain I have doesn't retain anything for two minutes. I had to find a pen that would write. I had to find a piece of paper that didn't have anything already written on it. I had to put the corn back in the freezer while I searched for all these things. What an ordeal! By the time I figured everything out, it was about 20 minutes later. No wonder the microwave is a time saving device. It probably doesn't cook anything any faster, but you don't have to go through all this crap to just cook stuff.

So a repair man or perhaps woman will come out Wednesday to either fix it or tell us to get a new one. My husband says that we can get a small counter top model for a relatively cheap price. But the monster above the stove-top cooks things so much faster than one of the little models. We have to decide what we want to do. I'm looking to get a new one, personally. Maybe one that will install itself. But I'm not that hopeful. I'll let you know what happens. Just listen for the ding.

The mail as a microcism: Discuss

When I get home from work, especially in the months of November and December I let out the cat and try to grab all the mail from the little red mailbox attached to the wall next to the front door. I say try to grab because during these months the mail box is stuffed with catalogs, flyers, junk mail and more catalogs. 'Tis the season you know. All this stuff. Who buys all this stuff? From weird little photo holders to Hans Solo in Carbonite as a desk. I really can't imagine who buys this stuff. The Sharper Image is always entertaining, but the Orvis catalog? Not so much. The really amusing thing, though is how my husband plunks them on the table to peruse after dinner. He excitedly points out the more bizarre and outlandish items, trying to goad me into either thinking he really is excited about the items or that this is something that we really can't do without. This never really works, but I give him points for sincerity.

There are people who buy this stuff, right? I mean they don't just make these catalogs to peruse. People with money to burn (who are they?) must sometimes purchase stuff out of there, right? I just don't know anybody that does.

Now I'm not talking about the "mainstream" catalogs, like L.L. Bean or even the Current Catalog which has stationery and stamps and even checkbooks for crying out loud. These are what I would call normal things. No, the over-the-top catalogs are the ones I'm talking about. They're entertaining, sure, but really besides Donald Trump, who has the money for this stuff?

Maybe someday when I win the lottery and don't know what to do with all my millions, I'll consent to buy my son that Hans Solo desk, but maybe I'll invest instead in a new larger mailbox and keep myself entertained for the rest of the holiday season.

Gifts

Every once in a while someone gets it right. I don't get another candle, or trinket for the china cabinet. Every now and then I get--tickets to a show. I wanted to see White Christmas last year in the worst way. But it just didn't work out. I love the movie, but the stage show added some Irving Berlin to jazz it up and well, I just love Irving Berlin anything. My husband bought us tickets to see it. For this year. Right after Thanksgiving. He knows I'll be sad this year. The youngest won't be home for either Thanksgiving or Christmas since he's working retail this year. And I get teary eyed just thinking about it. So I got this great gift. It will be just the thing.

But really the best gift was my husband. The man upstairs sleeping right now. He was sort of grouchy when he went to bed. He's tired. He went for a HUGE bike ride with his brother today and he's very tired. But even though he's tired and a little grumpy, he's still the best thing that ever happened to me. He shows me that I'm lovable. He shows me that there are worst things in life than a bad day. He stands with me in our sorrow and grief and mourning over the children moving on, even though that's what they're supposed to do. He likes my cooking--can't figure that out--I'm mediocre at best. He laughs at the same things I do (mostly) and understands those things that made me mad, even though they don't make him mad. He does not show physical affection in public, but once in a while, if I take his hand, he'll squeeze it just to prove he could do it if he wanted to--he just doesn't want to. I'm a better grown-up with him than without him. I'm a better person with him than without him. Yup, he's the best thing I ever got. Thank the good Lord.

When the whole wide world is fast asleep

I used to wonder what it would be like to wander around during the night. I mean I'm basically a chicken, so going for a walk in the dark is not something I do on purpose. When I have to go out to close the garage doors after dark, I find myself hurrying. I live in suburbia for heaven's sake. What's going to get me? But I still think about it every now and then, walking around in the dark. What would it be like to not be afraid or to be so used to it that it didn't bother me any more. What kinds of people are comfortable in the dark? Policemen have to be I guess. And nightwatchmen. Security guards. People who stock shelves in stores are used to it I suppose. If you had to take a walk around your neighborhood in the dark, late at night, would you get freaked out? Some neighborhoods would--Camden for instance. Or some of those small little towns in the middle of the Pines. With the dogs barking in the distance and the rustling of leaves and twigs breaking (the Jersey Devil is out there, I just know it!) I'm going to do it, one night, I think. I'll take my husband along for protection. And a big honking flashlight that will last for a bazillion hours. Maybe over Christmas break. You know look at the decorations, get frostbite, who knows maybe meet a Hadrosaurus in the bargain. You never know what you'll see or hear. But I'll have to work up to it. Maybe next year.

In The Wee Small Hours

I love the above song for so many reasons. But I'm quoting tonight on it because I got to thinking about those hours in the night. The ones where you wake up after being asleep for a short amount of time and you cannot turn off the synapses for whatever reason and you find yourself staring at the tv or computer screen for hours on end without feeling the least bit sleepy. Or the evenings when you know you should be getting sleepy, tired, whatever you want to call it and well, you just aren't. You pick up a book that in the past has put you to sleep within an hour and suddenly it seems pretty interesting. You try playing countless games of computer solitaire and since you're winning so handily so frequently, you suddenly don't feel like stopping. The funny thing is, you know you'll pay for this in the morning. Monday morning rolls around and you're functioning on 2 hours of sleep and you know by noon you're gonna be mush. But you just can't stop, you just can't relax, you just can't stop thinking.

In the middle of the night is when I find I miss people the most. I used to ache for my dad in the middle of the night. I miss my kids then and my brothers. I see my sister with some regularity, so I don't find I miss her much--is that bad? I even dredge up folks that I haven't seen for umpty ump years, wondering where they are, what they are doing and do they ever think of me? And if they do, is it good?

The problem with those wee small hours is you pack a lot of what-ifs, do-overs, and I-can't-believe-I-said/did/thought that. It's not usually good reflections in the middle of the night. It's usually, for me anyway, regrets and remorse. I'm whining aren't I? Well, it is after all, the middle of the night. And no one is up to hear me.

Halloween from the past

I'd like to reminisce for just a moment about the Halloween's of my past. I really don't remember the costumes too much, although I recall quite clearly going out as a "hobo"--a politically incorrect term if ever there was one. I remember the hauls of enormous amounts of candy we would bring home, usually in a pillowcase of all things (because a bag would break and the pillow case was cooler). The mounds of candy on the living room floor staggered the imagination. Because there are 4 siblings in our family, we would spend hours, even days swapping back and forth for our favorite candies. And nary an x-rayed thought crossed our minds (even after the razor-blade-in-the-apple scare).

But what I remember most was the lady with the fountain in her house. You had to make sure you allotted enough time to go to her house, you see, because you didn't get candy, you got to go into her house and look for pennies. That's right! She opened her doors to a few kids at a time, and you rooted through the house for all the pennies you could get. The concept staggers the mind today! You would no more open your house to a bunch of kids you didn't know today than jump out of the third story window (and you wouldn't do that without making sure all the doors were locked first). Picture if you will, scores of children dressed up in made at home costumes from clowns to ballerinas to doctors to "hobos", going from one house to the next down a nice suburban block. They all troop to each house, go up the long sidewalks to the front steps, ring the bell and when the householder opens the door, they all yell, "Trick or Treat!" The adult (and sometimes the older sibling who no longer does this, but eats the candy just the same) brings out the "full size candy bars!!!" for all and the kids say thanks and troop over to the next house. But as you get to this one block you notice the kids are lined up outside of a small bungalow type home. There are enormous boulders set in stone on the facade of the place and a porch that seems dark, yet inviting on the front of the house. The kids are giggling, and excited, not just by the day, but by the fact that they are going to be NEXT! The older woman opens her front door and a bunch of laughing kids clamber down her front steps you think, comparing notes about the amount of money they found in her house. She allows the next few kids inside and they begin their earnest search. Only the ground floor rooms are part of the search--not the bathroom--this was the 60's after all. You wandered around looking shyly at first when she tells you to look under things and around things you become a little bolder. It's about then that you hear the sound of water and you wonder if she has left the water running in the kitchen sink. You're following the noise when you suddenly look up and see a small pond at the back of her house and IT'S INSIDE THE HOUSE. Now this is the sixties, I'll reiterate, so they didn't have those small ponds they have now with little kitschy waterfalls. This was a pond in her house with all these plants around it, so it looked like it was outside! Only it was inside. And there was water flowing down into the pond but it didn't overflow! Unheard of! It was so magical that you forgot to look for any more pennies! You were amazed. And then your time was up and you had to go outside and you were talking with all the kids who had been in her house with you and while the kids in line outside thought you were discussing the money you found, you were actually discussing the amazing waterfall and pond inside this woman's house!

I don't remember much else, but I recall that trip inside vividly. I remember when our parents would drive by the back of her house I would strain to see the jungle growing at the back window which signified the location of the pond. I remember never going back to look for pennies again. But I will always remember that waterfall in her house. And that magical Halloween.

One of those days

I'm having one of those days. Things aren't really wrong, just off kilter. I'm afraid if I get too close to something sharp I could do some serious physical damage to myself, not on purpose mind you, but well, I just wouldn't be able to stop the knife from dropping into my toe or something of that ilk. I put on a striped shirt this morning and decided to wear one of my colorful sweater vests which proclaim the season. But it felt like the striped shirt clashed, so I changed the shirt for my old- reliable-button-down-plain-blouse that goes with everything as it has a non-descript color. I got to work and realized it had a hole in the armpit. That's okay, I'm not raising my hand for anything, but still, it was annoying. Every time I started to try and tame the beast of the data base that requires feeding constantly at work, the phone would ring, the door would buzz, a kid would come in to see the nurse, a teacher would come in and need something right away. I couldn't accomplish anything today. I started getting cranky around lunchtime and stayed that way until the end of the day. I left work, ran to the drug store, ran to the grocery store and ran home thinking I should make this really good dinner. But by the time I got home I didn't have enough time to make it. I know each day is different, so tomorrow will probably be much better. But I'd really like to just try and forget today if possible.

A Liddle Code in the node

I remember getting colds as a child quite frequently. They involved really sore throats and lots and lots of tissues. This was before Puffs, too. You had to be made of stern stuff to wait out a cold. It seemed to last forever (like waiting for Christmas only not as good). And while everyone around you was sniffling and sneezing and wiping their noses on their sleeves, you were vainly trying to not get pink eye to compound the already grotesque stuff coming out of your face. But when I was a child someone cared if I was sick. Someone (read mom) gave me chicken soup, and read to me and allowed me to cuddle up in her lap and even nap in the afternoons. It's no wonder I was always staying home "sick". It was a great place to be. Safe and warm.

But I'm an adult now. I have 120 sick days accumulated because no one takes care of me anymore. I take care of myself and it just isn't as nice and warm as someone doing it for you. Trust me on this. I stayed home today and tried to veg out. But it didn't work. I realized that if I didn't empty the dishwasher, no one would. If I didn't make the bed no one would. And if I took a nap in the afternoon...I would be up until 3:00 in the morning and no better than I was this morning when I decided to make it 119 days. I miss that being tended to. No one does that for adults anymore. What would happen if we instituted the "Rent a mom" program and for a small fee you could have someone...a motherly type (oh, don't get all Gloria Steinham on me...you know what I mean) who would rub your head and feed you chicken soup. How much would you pay. Yeah, I wouldn't pay for that either. It sounds creepy writing it down, but i thought it had potential when I started. Oh, well. I'll just get another hot lemonade and watch some more old movies. Maybe it wasn't such a wasted day after all.

Sunday Shopping redefined

We just got back from the grocery store. Sunday's we usually hit the store before the Eagle's game comes on. It used to be a small thing to go to the grocery store, get stuff for the week and come home, veg out for a while then turn on the game. However, we have a "mega" store now...a Wegmans. For those who are Northern East Coast challenged, this translates to "OHMIGOD look at the fruit/vegetable/prepared foods selection in this place!" This also translates to a major pain for those who want to go to a store, get in and get out. Because Sunday has become the day to gather at Wegman's and see and be seen. There are people collecting in the bread section talking about the previous evening entertainments. There are people in the deli aisle talking about what the kid's schools are doing this week (overheard one conversation in passing, "I think I'll just eat out of the car, it's easier". I do NOT want to know). People in the prepared food aisle were wondering what to eat while watching the game, what to eat while watching the later game, what to have for lunch--before the game. And the people in the fruit and veggie aisle, were just looking self-righteous and smug. It's bewildering and somewhat annoying to have to run the gamut of shopping carts, screaming children, pushy adults and people who seemed to have wandered off the street and are wondering what this place is. I just wanna get my stuff and get out, for crying out loud! The parking lot is huge, and is filled to the gills with everyone in the immediate 15 mile radius. You park in the out reaches of Mongolia, trudge to the store, fight tooth and cart for what you need, come out feeling shell shocked and abused, only to realize you have to trudge back to Outer Mongolia to schlep all your stuff to your car. While you place your beloved "reusable" bags in your car, someone is waiting right behind you to take your space because there are no other spaces.

So maybe my husband and I will have to rethink our Sundays. Perhaps we'll go to the grocery store the evening before. This is a good strategy, except the shelves are not fully stocked because "Sunday's coming", so not only are there ample parking spaces, there is ample shelf with spaces. Flip a coin.

Don't know the answer yet, but let's just say it's a work in progress.

The love of words

So I went to this eyeglass place to get new glasses. There are all sorts of side stories I could give to this: the fact that the glasses weren't really needed as the eyes hadn't changed that much, the fact that the young man trying to help me find frames that weren't the usual huge ovals I've become accustomed to--I've grown accustomed to her frames--, the fact that by the time I'd picked out the frames it was later in the afternoon than I hoped and dinner looked to be a rather slap/dash affair again and to top it off I got a flat tire on the way home...yes, ignoring all these wonderful and enlightening side stories that I might at some time pick up and run with the thing that really made me smile today was the wallpaper at the eyeglass store. I was sitting there waiting for the young man to type/compute and figure out how much these specs were going to run me when I noticed the wallpaper. It was full of words. And not just any words, but words related to seeing, looking, peering...oh, it was amazing! The light blue words marched across the wall with all manner of nuanced meaning from blush (as in the first blush of spring) to gleam to peruse to, well, you get the idea. I wanted that wallpaper in my house! Especially in the living room where I sit and read. In my usual way, I began to peruse if it would come in different colors, then different fonts (hmm, I thought, Courier would look just like a typewriter--wouldn't that be a hoot!). By the time I left the store, I was humming to myself and quite pleased that maybe I could indeed find this somewhere in a wallpaper store and buy it for myself. Unfortunately, all those other things happened and I forgot all about it until just now, at 10:30 at night, when I'm too tired to even look it up on the internet. But tomorrow, well, it is after all, another day (as Scarlet was wont to say).

the past is past

I don't like it when I hear people say, "the past is past" or today is for the living as if those events and people who came before had no say in the present. That's doo-doo. Everyone's past is sculpted, shaped and molded by the past that came before. Would Hitler have become what he was without Germany going through what it did before he even came on the scene? I think not.

Dwelling on the past is probably not the best thing one can do, but seeing it again is not such a bad idea. What is that quote, "those who ignore history, tend to repeat it?". That's probably not the quote exactly but the sentiment is the same. How can I hope to go forward if I cannot respect where I came from? My sense of self was shaped from my parents, my grandparents, other family members, my friends, my not-friends and those quirky satellite-people who I've met over the years.

One thing that I've dragged along with me all those years is my faith. I learned about it from our parents. I learned that you could sleep in church during the sermon, but don't let anyone see you do it. I learned that fidgeting in the pew was not the proper way to behave and that the songs that were in the red book were there probably 500 years ago and sung in probably the same way. But I also learned that Christianity is community. People caring for each other, when maybe you don't even like each other is what faith and belief in a higher power is what life and existence are supposed to be about. Watching my mother do something as charitable as listening to my Aunt Alice tell the same story for the 50th time without interrupting and saying, "Yes, you said that before," was a lesson that I haven't forgotten even now, when I wished I had. Seeing my dad go over to a friends' house and help them build a deck or rebuild a kitchen (while neglecting what needed to be done at our house) may not have been the best example of caring and giving, but it showed me how generous he was for others. Going to committee meetings seems tedious, but I saw both of our parents do that to show their support and concern for the "work of the church". I learned it wasn't just about the offering on Sunday, but the offering of the self in other places at other times.

Sometimes I watch my children and wonder what they have taken from their views of my husband and I. He stayed home while I went to church, every Sunday, went to Sunday School every Sunday, taught Sunday School every Sunday. They don't go to church and don't seem to miss it at all. Is this a lack of communication? A lack of my influence or simply something they don't think they need to drag along with them? I don't know. And I can't make them take it with them. As much as I wish I could.

so the past which helped to shape me, is not necessarily helping to shape my children. But they'll know I am Christian, I hope by my actions like my parents before me. Maybe that's enough.

Just wondering

So here's the thing about getting older...you are are reminded sometimes delicately, sometimes not that you need to get "check ups" on certain things. You need to get mammograms, colonscopys, ears, eyes and well, in general your body checked on a periodic basis when you reach say 50 or so. I just came back from an eye exam. The doctor proclaimed that my eyes were in excellent condition (except for the tri-focals, which seems a contradiction in terms, but I digress). I'm supposed to go ever 2 years. So if I'm not having trouble with my eyes, why do I have to keep going back every two years? I'm sure he has a perfectly valid reason, maybe his kids aren't done college yet. Oh, that was unfair. I happen to know that all of his kids have graduated and are working at various and sundry jobs. But really. If every time I go to the doctor I'm told, everything looks good, why am I going back?

A couple of years ago a mammogram found a cyst in my breast. After much weeping, wailing and wringing of hands I was wheeled into pre-op only to have the junior surgeon poke a hole in said cyst and deflate it. I was extremely appreciative. But for the next two years I went ever 3 months to have my breasts examined. This was outof pocket money, not insurance covered. There was never another cyst, lump or suspicious whatevers. I know I am lucky and I'm not making light, honest. But for crying out loud--every three months, $95 to a doctor to tell me that everything is fine and good? I'm just not sure the preventative visit was worth it. So I stopped going every three months. I make an appointment after having a mammogram, but no follow ups after that. If nothing shows on the mammo, then nothing she does to me in the office is gonna make a difference. Trust me on this.

The eye doctor gave me a new presecription for my glasses. It's a slightly stronger one. Can I read without it? Absolutely! But this is where the doctors get you...if you don't go for a follow up...what if something is wrong? What if just this ONE TIME you don't go, that one disease is there the next time and it could have been taken care of sooner if you hadn't dissed the doctor's office. What if? What if?

So I guess I'll keep going back and getting looked at in the hopes that I'll be able to spit in the doctor's eye when I'm 80.

If an ant, walking along in a forest

...falls over a log, do the rest of the ants just walk over him? The answer is probably yes. Or they may grab and eat him for not keeping in step. Or they may shove him out of the way, thereby making it impossible for him to ever rejoin the colony as if they can't smell the trail they can't get back. And why you may ask am I thinking of ants? They're all over my kitchen counter! Okay, not that many. But I came home to their meandering scurrying and while mashing them into the counter tops before cleaning the trail away with cleanser, I began to think about where they were coming in and how they managed to find the counter and YEE Gods! they were even on the stove top!

I was in a cleaning frenzy no longer thinking of their little antennae waving about trying to find each other. No ant was safe. I even started picking them up and feeding them to the fish! I know it was cruel, but the fish did look hungry and he hadn't eaten since this morning, so I thought, why not?

And so then after all that, I began to think of all the Nature shows I watched about ants and the above leapt into mind. So now you know.

Thinking through Sundays

One of the best/worst things about Sundays is this: when attending church in the morning, if I haven't sent my inner editor off to buy coffee, we listen to the sermon with a jaded eye and critical ear. This Sunday the inner editor didn't want coffee and couldn't be enticed with doughnuts either, so it stayed with me throughout the service. It was a bad service to stay with me. It was critical of the fact that the organist was on vacation again, so the service was accompanied by the guitar-playing pastor, who has a lovely voice and is an accomplished player of the guitar, but when juggling the service around the music, well, it just seems like a bit much.

The real inner complaining came about though during the sermon. The gospel reading on which the sermon stood, had to do with a man who was deaf and Jesus healed him of both his deafness and speech impediment. And see I'm deaf. Okay, if I wasn't wearing the hearing aids I probably could have still heard most of the sermon. But see, I don't like it when the pastor who hears pretty well speaks to the masses about these healings and makes it sound so, well, euphemistic. See, the inner editor wanted to say out loud...the man in the reading wasn't not comprehending what Jesus was doing, he was physically not able to hear. He wasn't stupid or misguided, he COULDN'T HEAR. Preachers twist those words of the gospel so everyone can be included. But not everyone is included in the physically disabled world. Couldn't we have a sermon that says, look there are those in the world who are disabled, who can't hear, or see or speak and Jesus might have healed a very few, but there were and indeed still more others who aren't healed this way. What happens to them? How do we heal them? Do we keep do this interpretation of disability that essentially says we're all disabled when we aren't? I don't want to stand on the soapbox and beat this, but it's true. The man was unable to hear or speak because of his physical inability to do it. NOT because we are all unable to hear, but because HE couldn't hear. Do you see the distinction? Do I want people to see me or understand me only because of this disability? No. Do I want them to understand that it does place me in a different place because of it? I think sometimes the answer is yes. I am not in the same "hearing" place as you are. I believe I perceive things differently because of that disability. Don't encompass all with the blanket, "we all don't hear" because that just isn't true. It glosses over my pain and makes others not aware of it.

Am I wallowing in my inability to hear? Well, maybe sometimes i am. But I think in this case today, I am not. I want people to understand the uniqueness of the position people with disabilities are in. I want them to see that we are yes, all people of God, but we are all not the same. It's nice to encompass all in the love of God, but can we please not say that we are all "blind" or "deaf"? Because in the physical world we all live in, that just isn't true. I almost feel militaristic in my disability right now. I am standing up for my right to be recognized as not being whole in the purest sense. And that's where someone has to reach me. Not in my mind's eye but in my real out of focus vision. Not in my "listening" but in my ability to distinguish a b as in boy to a d as in David. If I were to share this with Pastor, would he feel I was being nit-picky? Maybe. But I do feel somewhat justified in my righteous indignation. I am deaf. Not healed, not yet, anyway. Can you tell me what Jesus is saying to me now, without spitting in my ear?

The past revisited

Okay, so I haven't done this for 7 years. What did I expect? Well, I expected to feel a little more in control (of course I would expect that, given me!). Then I expected to feel like I belonged...so much for that. Then I expected to be needed. These are universal themes for the likes of me. Unfortunately, they should not be employed at all times and in all situations. I didn't totally suck today. But I wasn't exactly on "my game" whatever the hell my game is supposed to be. It will get better. I know it will. However, I'm left to stare at the screen or the mirror and wonder a few things.

How did I get older and why isn't this second nature to me. See above first line.

None of the parents looked even remotely familiar. Again see above first line.

I probably should've/could've taken a refresher...no, make that taken a NEW course in the data base they are using. Never had to do the stuff before I had to do today. See first question three lines up.

Well, as Scarlett used to say, "tomorrow is another day." Or was that the Monkees? Whatever...

Transitions

The "new" job starts on Monday. It's in quotes because really it's my old job only I'm going to be doing it at two locations. But this time as a perk I will have benefits, vacations and representation by the union (Dad would be so pleased).

The biggest problem with going from one job to another though is this: what do you do with all the sh*t you've accumulated while at this location? I'm not a particularly neat person, but I know where stuff is. It probably doesn't look like I do, based on the condition of paperwork, but as God is my witness, if you ask me for something I can usually put my hand on it, if not immediately, then at least within an hour or so.

I was given about a week and a half to empty my desk of all this detritus. A week and a half people. In the course of this time, my own particular boss did little, if any relenting to my duties. I was expected to fit in all the things she was giving me at the same time I was tidying up for the next schmo. Well, guess what? It isn't done. It won't be done. I'm considering coming back into the office on Sunday to try and at least sort out some piles so whomever comes looking for something will have a geographic region to start with. I can't tell you how annoyed this makes me. I was beginning to make some headway at the beginning of the week, but then the meetings my boss was attending were deemed not important for her attendance, so she came back to give me more stuff to do before I left. Stuff that was essentially divvied up to my co-workers on Tuesday. Has anyone asked me how to do any of those things I'm currently taking care of? NOPE. Has anyone offered to help take something off my plate? NOPE. So is this going to get done by tomorrow? NOPE.

It's just this kind of thing that makes me crazy. I want to be able to leave one place in a reasonable semblance of order so no one can come looking for me to ask, "where's this?" or "how did you do so-and-so?" I'm going to be relearning a new job, I don't want to be saddled with having to do someone else's job as well as my own. But I fear that is what will happen. And the two new bosses will think that I'm hopeless as I left so much at loose ends. Except I was trying to tie them up. But couldn't. So now, I'm tied up in knots about these strings and the puppet pulling them is out of town for the weekend! AAARRGGHH!

Summer to Autumn

There is a quality of the light as the summer winds down. When you either go to school or work on the school's schedule you begin to notice the sun's comings and goings. This morning was an autumn morning. It was already 80 degrees outside with the humidity sticking to the air in great globules. But in the air conditioned sanctuary of home, the light coming over the trees told me autumn is on the way. Summer seems to gush out between peeking fingers of houses, trees, clouds. But autumn sort of slides across the horizon and slowly comes up out of the ground, like waking up. Summer is boisterous, noisy, clambering and exuberant. Autumn is contemplative and almost shy. With the job change this year I will go back into the rhythm of an elementary school. The cadence of the days, the children growing before your very eyes like pumpkin vines. They will probably make me yearn for the days when my own children were in school, with the drama and excitement and the new experiences along the way. But Autumn is a time of yearning as well. A time to stop and watch the roses grown brown on the vine instead of smelling them. A time of watching and waiting for winter. I have written about Autumn before, its coming and going. But this year when the light is slower and different, I wonder, what will things be like? What will the year bring? I never really appreciate or even like summer much, it's too, well, too much. But autumn and I get along just fine. Perhaps it's because my birthday is in autumn? I think though that the rhythm of the season is what appeals to me. We slow down and look at things differently in autumn. We understand each other.

The Job

This post is gonna be a pisser to write. The reason is two fold. One, hubby and I didn't sleep well last night and lest you think you're gonna read something juicy and lurid, forget it. We didn't sleep as we kept waking each other up. Because each of us was thinking about my job which is the same "pain in the ass" thing I've had for the last 7 years, 7 months. The boss called me in yesterday to explain that I would now be doing a different job. The new job is similar to the job I left before I had this PIA job. I liked it a lot, but the pay was low and the hours were short. And no benefits. Ya gotta have benefits if your husband doesn't have any. So I left it for a longer hour, better paying, benefit producing job. And my boss is telling me that I will be working essentially at the old job, but at two different locations.

I wish I could say I was thrilled. I'm older now. Nine years older. I don't know/think I'm going to be as good at this as I was before. I'm slower off the starting gate and my stride is more sedate (okay it's an analogy, but it works...ugh, sorry). And I wasn't warned that my current job was in any jeopardy of changing. It was a complete surprise to be told, oh by the way in two weeks you'll be doing a new job which is essentially your old job, at two places.

I don't know why I'm not ecstatic. But I'm not. I'm still feeling kind of put out. I told hubby that if people see me back at my former location, they'll think I did something wrong and got demoted. He says what do you care what people think. Yeah, I think, what do other people have to do with this? Except I will care that they think I screwed up. I will be concerned that the new bosses will be watching me to see what I could possibly have done wrong to get moved to this new set of circumstances. I feel like I'll be under scrutiny for something I didn't do.

I have to clean up my desk, my act and my attitude in two weeks. I'm working on it!

Betwict and Amongst

One of the things I most often DON'T post about is my faith. I guess because I'm ambivalent about how people will perceive what I believe and of course, I don't want to offend. But I made an observation today and I feel the need to write about it.

One of the biggest tenets of Christian faith is that being in "community" is what makes being a follower, truly a follower. You can have faith as small as a mustard seed, but the community of faith is the watering and nurturing needed to get that plant going. Many people may not understand that basic premise. Christianity seems to be for the singular, believing, Bible thumping sinner who will work out his or her salvation through the individual and God. And no one else need apply. But truly Christianity is for the group. This was brought home to me in several ways.

I attend church by myself most Sundays. This is not a "pity me" statement. It is a fact brought about by the moving on of children and the steadfast husband of the "see ya when ya get home" religion. The people at the congregation I attend have developed their own theories of me, I'm sure. It doesn't matter. I am an accepted member of the congregation, having attended there for almost 30 years. They are my brothers and sisters as surely as the siblings I lived with in that small town next to the Delaware. They have watched my skits, my announcements and even a sermon and heard my questions, fears and beliefs sounded loud and clear through all these things.

But they are not in my presence the rest of the week. I do not have them with me when my waspish tongue lashes out at the laziness of a co-worker. When my temper is frayed by the uncaring community of people at my place of business when they trample on someone else's right to do things because it doesn't fit in with their ideas. And they are definitely not with me when I use my sarcasm as a cutting tool for the perceived fools of the public who don't see things my way. I think if my brothers and sisters in Christ saw me during the week they a)would claim they didn't know me and b)disown me from the family of Christ. And therein lies the problem.

Because they aren't with me everyday, I see things differently. I feel cut off and separate from Christ. I allow the world's treasures to obliterate the treasures of heaven. My eye on the prize is one of acceptance of the world and it's jewels. My husband doesn't seem to care how sarcastic I can be (unless it's unleashed on him). My children think my anecdotes about my co-workers are funny especially when I can show them in a darker light than my own.

I come to church the following Sunday filled with self-loathing and with disgust at another week gone by where the teachings of the "Ultimate Teacher" have gone unheeded by me. I grovel at his feet, promise to try and do better and find that by Monday afternoon, I'm going to hell in a hand basket once again.

And yet, I know that the lens of Christ is with me still. I know that if I were to ask for help in all this there are those who would walk beside me. They cannot be with me at home and in the workplace, but they are with me in e-mail. And only a phone call away from being by my side. Yea, though I walk through the valley of self-importance at the cost of all others, they are with me. They are like a rod and a staff, to poke, prod and sometimes drag me off the path I seem determined to follow. My siblings in the Lord are still with me, even though they are not.

This past Sunday I was wallowing in self-pity. I don't like sitting by myself in the pew. I don't like being the only believer in my home. I don't like not being able to discuss things of religious importance with anyone unless I have to go out to find them. After taking communion I was sitting in the pew, when I was tapped on the shoulder by a woman who is suffering mightily with cancer. She is courageous in her battle and even at her age, she is determined to keep going. She smiled at me and grasped my hand as she unsteadily made her way up the pew to take the bread and wine. She smiled at me. Her hands were cool and not terribly strong, but she took my hands in hers and was glad to see me. She was glad to see me. I still get choked up by this. I don't know why she would be glad to see me. I certainly wasn't glad to BE me. But she shared a piece of herself with me on her way to taste and see the Lord our God. We are one in the body, we are one in the blood. That's from a hymn or song I know. If it weren't for the people of the congregation I am part of, I'm not sure I'd be part of anything. There is certainly something more worthwhile in this fellowship than any other committee I might have been on for the PTA!

I don't deserve her smile. I don't deserve the Lord's gift of grace either, but thank the good Lord above it is given to me and all I have to do is reach out and be received amongst. Amen