At the Shore

We are on vacation, the family and I. The immediate family is here, day in and day out, laughing, arguing, laughing some more. It's a good and marvelous thing. One I've missed for a while. But isn't vacation supposed to be a balm to the soul?

Anyway, the place we rented, and if you don't know this about renting at the shore--you go down in the depths of winter looking for a place you might like in the swelter of summer--doesn't have central air conditioning and we are in the midst of one of the hottest summers on record. We thought the place looked original and quaint. And it did and it is. But on those 100+ days, a little better than window units would have been helpful. The breeze is jumping today,though, and the humidity is low, so it's a good place. Yesterday at the sandy gateway to the ocean, the breezes blew, the sun, when it peeked out of the clouds was hot and the water was cool enough to make you suck in your stomach, not to impress anyone, but because the initial shock felt great if surprising. I sat on my beach chair and opening my senses to what I could smell and hear and these are my observations. The smell of sunscreen is no longer fruit scented. When did that happen? But the ocean still smells salty, of course. The sounds though, well, it's different now with hearing aids. I leaned my head back on the chair, closed my eyes and really listened. The roar of the ocean waves rumbles through everything. The laughing gulls pierce the air with their insolent cries. I can't distinguish conversations anymore, just register the fact that people are talking around me. Which doesn't bother me all that much. I don't need to hear the family drama or teen angst taking place next to me. But oh, the joy to hear the casual conversation between the brother and sister in our family who are separated by a continent, that would be wonderful. As well as the funny observations from the daughter's boyfriend or hubby. I really don't miss being able to submerge myself under the waves, I never was one much for that, but I have to be careful how wet I get or decide simply to cool off and leave the "ears" back on the blanket, swathed in cotton and plastic, lest they got sand in their mechanisms. It's just not worth it, so getting wet from the waist down it is, so I can hear calls to me to turn around to get my picture taken or listen as the lady next to me tells of the visit of the dolphins on the one day I didn't go to the beach.

It's a different experience this year. One I'm grateful for and dubious of at the same time. But all the same, we are here, at the shore.

Pictures and Rainy days

I had a great time with my sister today. We shopped and ate our lunch out and laughed and talked. Over lunch she brought out an old photo album she found in the back of her closet. It was an amusing bunch of pictures, some of our parents, some of her husband's parents, some of my wedding shower and rehearsal dinner. Were we really that young looking! And my son has an uncanny resemblance to our younger brother. And my youngest nephew looks amazingly like his father from all those years ago. We were laughing and remembering and suddenly I turned the page and there was a picture of my sister in law with our nephew, my husband's and mine. He was only one year old the year we got married. He light blond hair cut close to his head, he was peering up warily at the photographer.

That nephew passed away this past September. In a senseless way. I don't think of him everyday anymore as I did when it first happened. And my sister felt bad when I saw the picture and got all teary eyed. But suddenly all the little thoughts of him rushed back at me, how it wasn't fair that he wasn't here anymore. That his parents shouldn't have to feel this awful all the time. That his brother and sister shouldn't have to wish he was here for her baby or his engagement.

the world still turns every day. Some wise woman recently said, "the sun comes up and it doesn't care whether I acknowledge it or not." One day moves into the next with either blessed consistency or callow disregard depending on your perspective. Our milestones come and go whether we acknowledge them or not. Maybe its the melancholy of the rainy day, but it seems harsh that he isn't here to see the sun or the rain, the dew on the grass or the moonlight through the trees. It seems like he should have those days and someone older, much older who has seen his share of sunsets and rainbows can have those taken away. But who am I to decide I guess. So I reflect on the pictures and his life, while the rain patters on the leaves outside. Remembering.

Militant Pedestrians

I can't remember if I've posted on this previously or not. But if I have, it bears repeating. I understand pedestrians have the right of way at all times. Truly I do. I know what it's like to wait and wait and wait on the curb while the hustle and bustle of lines of traffic backed up to kingdom come traverse in front of a person. I don't like it either. When the light finally changes, I'm almost euphoric getting to my destination. However, I know what it's like driving trying to get from point A to point B, especially in New Jersey. Especially around 4:30, 5:00 pm. I know how annoying it is for three light changes to take place before you even get to the intersection. So in light of those opposite considerations, can we take a moment here to be rational? If you step off a curb in front of someone who has waited two or three light changes to simply get to the line of traffic which waits on the other side, could you please do it with the green with you? Preferably when that nice flashing neutered person gives you the example of being able to walk at that time? The people who simply step off the curb knowing full well, you will have to jam on the brakes and sit in the middle of an intersection while they stroll, amble and converse with themselves (or perhaps it's on headphones and I just can't tell?) make me crazy. Nine times out of ten they look smug. They look like they want you to hit them so then can sue you for everything you've got and your mother besides. Why? What does this get you? I really want to understand as it makes no sense to me. The ones that really make my eyebrows jump to my hairline are the moms with strollers! Really? Are you really gonna put your precious child to the test of whether the next guys brakes work or not? You're gonna walk out boldly with your child in your probably collapsible mechanism and play chicken with the next driver? I don't understand them even more. I've seen jogging moms with strollers dart out from the curb, looking at the driver as if to say, "Hey, I have a right!" And of course, they are right, they do have the "right" to get rolled over but hey, think about the kids, okay? New Jersey drivers have enough attitude for half the East Coast, are you sure you want to challenge one with your offspring? It's just mystifying to me. Most times it's moms, occasionally dads try it, but they never look militant. Almost always they look apologetic. For them I'm willing to shrug and remember when my children were small and I needed to get home quickly. But the moms that just step out? Well, let's just say I hope in my current frame of mind, I certainly hope they're wearing lots of padding.

Exercising My Weather Options

So, I needed to make sure I got more exercise. I had read the obits recently and a guy who was a local barber died and he was my age. I have no idea whether he was more active than I was, but I was willing to bet he was. Most people are more active than I am. Even pandas seem more active, but I digress.

I drove home from work during lunch and thought, I know I'll walk back to work. Then after work I can walk home and get two bouts of activity in one day! I should be able to reward myself with some chocolate for that, or something. I ate a nutritious lunch and locked the house and car and began my walk back. It started out sunny. The weather wasn't too hot, nor too cold. I set a brisk pace and was back to work in no time. I noticed however, after getting back to work, that the sun was no longer shining as brightly. I got busy doing what I do and when it became evident that it was time to leave, I logged off the ol' computer and looked out the window. It looked dark. And it wasn't because I had stayed later. It looked like it was going to rain. Of course, the day I decided I need the exercise, it decides to rain. Well, I thought, there's no use putting it off, I better get started.

It's a curious thing about me as I age. There were things I did as a younger person that seemed fun and exhilarating. But when I contemplate doing them now, they don't seem so carefree. In fact, they sound downright unappealing. Walking in the rain was probably fun and even romantic in my younger years. But now? Not so much. I packed an umbrella in my back pack and began the relatively short walk home. It was still very cloudy and looked like the rain would begin any minute. I started walking faster. My walk home is through a residential area, full of mature trees which would keep light pattering rain off me. Of course, in my current frame of mind, all I could think was that those mature trees also beckoned lightening. Why I would think of this while trekking through the neighborhood, I have no idea, but it took root in my brain and would not leave. I began to walk faster, except I was running out of breath and I didn't want to have a heart attack on the way home. Of course, then that thought took root in my brain and as the palpitations began I decided I needed to slow down and enjoy the scenery and forget worrying so much. It did indeed begin to rain, just a few drops here and there. I opened the umbrella and looked slightly ridiculous I'm sure as the sidewalk wasn't even wet from the drops yet. I put it back in the backpack and soldiered on. It was about a block from the house I began to hear thunder. Now I have to admit that I don't usually hear thunder too much. With my hearing, the rumbling is just too low and it isn't until the storm is right on top of me that I can hear it (but really by then I'm feeling the tremors and seeing the flashes of light). So I began to pick up the pace a little more. After all, if Mother Nature decides to flick her wrist in my direction, I'm under all these trees and they would probably tumble down on top of me. By the time I reached the street I live on, I was running, umbrella tucked under my armpit, backpack slapping my back. I got home before the deluge--which didn't happen by the way. It sort of rumbled it's way off and that was the end of it. But I was safe and sound. I intend to have a large bowl of ice cream this evening to congratulate me for my new exercise regime!

Is That the Only Thing Wrong?

I noticed something today of which I'm not particularly proud. Because of my hearing disability I don't seem to be particularly kind to others with disabilities. I've been in close proximity lately with a young lady with Down's syndrome. She is eager to help out in the office and is generally congenial. But, I cannot for the life of me understand what she is saying. It doesn't matter if my hearing aids are turned up or re-tuned or anything. I simply cannot understand what she is saying. So therefore, I appear rude to her, I'm sure. I'm brusque when she asks me a simple question (of course, I assume it's simple--she could be asking me the square root of something--I have no idea). I avoid running into her if I can help it. I can't tell if this is because I don't want the aggravation of asking her multiple times to repeat what she just said, or if it's because I really don't know if it would embarrass her more than me. I just don't want the hassle. Eww! Did you hear that? See what I mean? I wouldn't begin to know how to explain this to her. And I'm not sure she would "get it" anyway. So instead, I cower behind my desk or rush out of the room if I know she is coming in, so I don't have to deal with it. Not too sensitive, hunh?

I really don't know what the answer to this is, do I have to explain to her that I cannot hear her and would she shout from then on, obliterating any hope of understanding her? Do I keep doing what I'm doing? She will not be working during the summer I don't think, which I believe is a blessing for me as I will be in the office alone with her and I don't think I could manage. Ah, phooey. I guess I'm supposed to learn something from this, but the message is all garbled anyway.

To Denny

People come and go in our lives all the time. Some people spend a lot of time in our face and we wish they didn't. Some people spend very little time with us and it never feels like it's enough. There are people who are blessings without so much as a religious icon in their vicinity. They are spiritual beings, they bring light and smiles. They bring soft comfort and warm companionship. They bring a feeling of peace and understanding. They don't say the benediction out loud, but whisper it in your ear through their words of encouragement and thoughtfulness. And when they leave us, we are grateful that we knew them and feel privileged to have been part of their circle. They don't necessarily profess to be Christians or Muslims or Jews. But their profound example of love shared with others is all you need to be aware of their spirituality, their connection with something bigger than them or you. It is always, always a pleasure to be with them and you walk away saying to yourself, I want to be more like that.

The biggest problem with knowing someone like this, is that usually you think there is plenty of time to tell them how special they are, how nice it is to be with them, how grateful you are for their presence. And then they are gone and you never did get to tell them. And so not only do you mourn the loss of this person, you mourn the missed chance to make sure they knew just how good they were, how important they were to others and how much you will miss seeing them.

Short Story, Long

I got my wedding ring cut off my finger today. That's the short version. And here's the longer version.

About a year ago I went to an area jewelry store to look at their beautiful collection of "sparklies". Sparklies are their gemstones set in earrings, necklaces and especially rings. I never realized what a fan of rings I was until I could afford to buy one or two (or even have them given to me!). Now I peruse their jewelry cases and marvel at the gems set in all kinds of gold, platinum and other precious metals and think, "gee, can I afford that?" There was a ring which caught my eye then but I put off even thinking about it because it was very expensive--at least to my standards. I looked in other jewelry stores and chain stores for something similar, but could never find one that made my eyes sparkle the way that one did. And so when I sauntered in recently to that local store, I had decided to pay for the ring over time because, well, I could afford to do that. I felt somewhat guilty. You know, that nagging feeling in the back of your mind that you could use the money for something pedestrian, like some new gadget for the kitchen or something philanthropic like sending a donation to the starving people of--well-wherever people are starving. But I overcame that sense of guilt and picked out my ring. Over the next few weeks I would stroll downtown and put money down on this marvelous piece of jewelry and anticipated when I would actually be able to size it and wear it. It was something to look forward to, like a vacation without the packing.

And so the day came when I put down the final amount. The owner came over to size the ring and lo and behold! it was the right size! It was fated to be mine, I thought. We chatted about this and that, jewelry and things when he noticed my engagement and wedding rings. Asking me where I purchased them, I relayed the info and he looked at the rings consideringly. Hmmm, I thought. What's he looking at? So, not one to be coy, especially with a person to whom I just paid a lot of money, I asked. He asked in return, how long had I been wearing the rings? Thirty-three years I replied proudly. He then informed me that the diamond of the engagement ring was still beautiful, but the prongs holding it were not going to last forever and probably needed to be tipped. Next time you're downtown, he suggested, I should come in, take the ring off and have him work on it for me. He could tip and re-size it all at once. I guess I never thought about my engagement ring that much. It occasionally slides around on my finger in cold weather or when I've spent too much time on the computer and my fingers lose their circulation (hey, it happens). But on the whole it doesn't really come off my finger much. But to tell the truth now that I was thinking about it, it was a little snug. He suggested I dip my finger in cold water and put dish-washing liquid on it make the removal easier. Okay, I thought, I can do that. But then he asked when the last time I took off my wedding band. My wedding band? I never take off my wedding band. Hmm, he said. I looked at it for a while and realized, if I wanted to take it off, I wouldn't be able to. My pudgy finger wouldn't allow it. No amount of dish detergent was gonna get that sucker off. I frowned. He looked at me.

"So what if I don't take it off? How bad could it be?" I told him in my best defensive manner. He indicated some ominous warning about how I'd be sorry if I wasn't able to get it off. I thanked him, took my new purchase and left the store thinking. At home later that night, I told hubby about the conversation. He thought the guy at the jewelry store had a point. "You'll probably have to get it cut off" he said. CUT OFF!
My ring?? But that is indeed what had to happen. I went back to the jewelry store, but they directed me to the firehouse. The EMT on duty wasn't surprised by my request. I guess he's seen a lot of stuff and this was pretty mundane to him. He took me into a resting ambulance, asked me to sit down and brought out the "ring cutter." The handy little device hooks under the band and the little screw cutter thingee essentially saws through the band. It took some prying and pulling to get it off, but eventually it was there in the palm of my hand instead of my third finger left hand where it had been placed 32 years, 9 months and change ago. I thanked the young man and left the firehouse.

On the way back to the car I began to get all teary. Which was ridiculous of course. I was still married to my marvelous hubby. The only thing different was the fact that the ring wasn't on my finger any more, it was in my pocket. But I began to think of all the things that that little piece of jewelry means to me: the years of little side jokes and remarks, the years of little children and grown up children, the laughter, the anger, the bad backs, bad hair and bad breath of all those years. All wrapped up in a little band of gold. And I realized, no amount of sparklies could replace that simple little band and all it has meant to me. What a revelation. Especially after spending all that money on the other ring!

So, am I taking the new ring back? Nope. I still love how it sparkles and shines. But I will be taking my wedding band and engagement ring to the jeweler who will re-size them for me. And then I will put them back on the finger they belong from the hubby I belong with as well.

She's Here With Me

The swish of the brown (reddish highlights?) curls
And the plop on the sofa
She announces herself
As if she needed to.
She is there always with me.

Her calls cap off the laughter
Or the drama we no longer have
At mealtimes or even between times
Until she enters calling for the cat
And perching on the radiator.

She culls the latest video
For the laugh of the week
The most bizarre download
The most dazzling spectacle
And brings us into her light
As she calls us from our computers
And books.

She is with me always,
In the mornings, in the evenings
in the long afternoon hours
No longer waiting for the crunch of
the car on the stones in the driveway
Heralding the swish of the brown hair (with reddish highlights?)
And the plop on the sofa.

Tulips on the Windowsill

There are two bunches of them
Tulips, I mean
Swaying in the afternoon breeze.
They came to let me know
He is thinking of me
Across the miles
Across the years.
They were tightly closed when they arrived.
Buffered against the elements by cardboard
And careful packing.
But today they are gradually opening
Letting in the light
Letting in the warm breeze.

They make me think of him,
The tulips, I mean.
As a baby he was tightly wrapped
And as he grew he opened
His thoughts, emotions, and yes, tantrums.
And then he began to close slightly,
Like the tulips at night
Closing their petals against the evening air
And the dark.
He would close those glimpses into
His emotions and thoughts,
Making his own night.
Protecting him from the elements
Toughening him to the outside.

But now, as the years pass
He opens slightly again.
In passing glimpses, in slow head nods
In small smiles.
It takes a week to see him again as he
Was before and
Then he is gone again
As the petals fall off the tulips
And lay on the windowsill.
Reminding me still of him.

Pets or Something Like Them

I don't know what it is about pets. Why do we have them? What Neanderthal thought up the idea of bringing the dog in the cave first? Or who thought of the idea first to bring the cat into the home or decided to have a bunny for a friend rather than Sunday dinner?

Pets get in the way almost always. They shed. They make pulls in your sweaters. They leave trails of water and food all over the place. You have to clean up after them in one way or another. Depending on the type, they either love you, tolerate you or cower from you except when you feed them. They almost always take up space, time and energy and when a person gets older none of these are things are easily given up. So why exactly do so many people have pets? When pets eventually get old, you have to decide their quality of life for them as they are unable to articulate this for themselves. And you end up feeling guilty and horrid if you have to put them to sleep because it's such a burden to take care of them anymore. They cost money, too. Veterinarian bills are not cheap. And if you don't register your pet, at least in our town, and the powers that be find out about it, you can be fined. And if their shots aren't up to date, you can be fined for that as well. I'm just not sure I understand why pets are so important.

Growing up in our house we always had a dog of some kind. I don't recall particularly caring for them much. I fed them once in a while. I played with them occasionally. But they were on the periphery of my life, not the center piece. We had cats, too. They were amusing, but again, not something I remember taking responsibility for very much.

When I grew up and married and moved away from home, my husband, a true lover of cats convinced me that having a cat was a good thing. And two cats would keep each other company. Until they got old. And someone had to take care of their messes and their bad health. And eventually someone (how did I get nominated?) had to take them to the vet to be put to sleep. I cried over them, but my husband was much more sad than I. And then, we got two more cats because we had kids and they needed to learn how to take care of pets, right? And now we are down to one cat. And she is old and making messes and you can see where this is going, can't you? Especially since the children are grown and living away from home. And it becomes hard to do this. And I don't really want to anymore.

And so, gazing out the window on the back yard at the old cat laying on the stone driveway, I wonder. Why do we have pets? And I still don't have an answer.

Spring is here

I always appreciate when Spring arrives. The problem in our "neck of the woods" with it is that Spring seems to blast through in a week or so and the hot furnace of summer blows in before you're ready. Here you are walking down the street marveling at the daffodils nodding their heads in greeting, smelling the heavy perfume of the hyacinths, appreciating the pink cherry blossoms when "BLAMO" the next day is eighty degrees and you haven't put away your sweaters and have no idea where your short sleeves shirts are hiding. I could ask for a few weeks just to appreciate the fact that the snow is finally gone and that I don't actually have to hunt up a pair of gloves just to go out to close the garage door. Just a little time to savor the light jacket wearing, the fresh breeze in your face, the pungent smell of the Bradford pears (okay, I'd be fine without that particular harbinger of Spring-but you get the idea).

So whom do you petition? I have no idea. But it's a lovely dream.

Birds of the air

I've been contemplating birds lately. When my hubby placed a bird feeder outside of our kitchen window where we eat, I at first thought it was a bad idea. Because there are a bank of windows, I thought our movements would keep the birds away. But apparently we aren't as frightening as I supposed and the brown sparrows, black-capped chick-a-dees and garden variety finches that frequent the columnar breakfast bar seem undeterred by our paper reading or breakfast eating. The startling red of the cardinal surprises me sometimes. And the raucous blue jays who really are too big for the feeder, but muscle their way in anyway, are the ones that start the precarious thing swaying in the breeze. A few weeks ago the feeder was suddenly empty and we wondered what happened. It was then we saw a hawk on the branches outside the other window. He was rather large, but beautiful in his plumage as he looked left and right for the feast that had been there not five minutes before. He flew off, looking I'm sure for easier prey, but it was astonishing to see him so close to the window as we observed him.

We had a visit from 3 wild turkeys the other Saturday. They strutted through the ivy in the back of our yard and flew over the fences which separate one domain from another. I was so excited I ran out the back door with a camera only to discover they were directly in the line of the sun and all my pictures showed lots of washed out something or others. I loved them as well, watching them pump their neck and heads as they grandly walked from place to place. They didn't gobble. At least I didn't hear them. The only sound was their feathers rustling and their feet shuffling through the underbrush. I really hadn't realized how big they were until one, trying to decide whether to fly over the fence or simply walk back where it came from came right towards me. I think my squeal startled him as much as me and he bustled off in a flurry of wings and ungainly feet.

But the birds that, for some reason have had the most impact for me were the pelicans. I really never analyzed why these birds get to me the way they do. They are ungainly on land, waddling about with their overlarge bills clacking. But in flight and on the water they are graceful and elegant. When I watched the movie, Jurassic Park, at the end as the helicopter swept away the survivors, Dr. Grant looks over the ocean and sees a flock of pelicans majestically flying over the water and John Williams music sweeps to a crescendo reminding us that birds are the dinosaurs of our time. They look almost reptilian when observed close up. But that beautiful music swept me away with their flight as I watched (and subsequent times thereafter). I saw pelicans for the first time in person when I was in California during a writer's conference. We went to a small place in Malibu for dinner one night and crossed the Pacific Coastal Highway to get to the ocean. As we stood there, watching the waves meander in, watching the light mellow over the Pacific, a flock flew low over the water. It was just breath-taking. They soared so effortlessly. They are large birds, but in flight they dance on the wind as if they weighed no more than one of their feathers.

Just recently I was in South Carolina. I was there on vacation, but initially it was hard to relax. My siblings and I went to the beach on the second day we were there. I am not a beach person and probably never will be. But the wind was blowing gently, it was warm and I was with people who love me no matter what (a comfort I don't always have). As we walked along the sand, two of us dressed for the warm weather, two of us looking as though we belonged in the cooler regions, I looked over to the horizon. I could see two pelicans bobbing gently along on the tide. Later we watched as they dove headlong into the waves to catch their lunch. I was so filled with the wonder of the place then, of the love for my family, of the good graces of the world around me, I cried. Not great sobbing gulps, but tears nonetheless. I think the tears were of the joy at being in the world, of being able to be away from the things that so often make me tired and sad, of being able to thank God for the amazing blessing I have in my life.

And all because of some birds.

The Spring Inside

Inside of me there is Spring.
The wind is howling and threatening
To wipe the new buds off the trees.
But inside, the daffodils are blooming
And the hyacinths are nodding their
Many bloomed bodies
And the dogwoods are unfurling
While soaking up the sun.

It's supposed to snow and rain tomorrow
In late March no less, snow.
But inside of me the sun is warming
My innards like a lizard n a rock
And the perennials are poking up
Through the moist soil for a peek at the world
They haven't seen since last Spring.

My family has brought Spring to me.
By being there and listening and laughing
And not judging or criticizing or berating.
But just being there to feed the soul like
The Spring sun, which is residing inside me
This day.

In Love

It's the first day of Spring today. Time when a young man's fancy turns to thoughts of...baseball or March Madness. But it is during Spring that I most think of romantic love and all that it encompasses. I don't know why this is. Something about the sap running through the trees probably (and yes, I meant the pun). But always, always I think of love and it's permutations. What it is and what it can be. What the real and the imagined is like.

I have always thought that there must be something to the stuff of movies. How could that wonderful thing of love portrayed in endless movies, only exist there? It must be real, right? The Rosie O'Donnell movie line I most remember from Sleepless in Seattle is, when speaking to Meg Ryan about what love means to Meg she says: "you want to be in love in a movie." Which I thought a priceless line as that is exactly what was going on in the movie. But it's true, also. I've always wanted to be in love, like in the movies. And fortunately or unfortunately, I've wished this for my daughter as well. I want her to have fireworks and excitement, but I also want her to have something truer than a Saturday night, too. Something stable and lasting but romantic, too. The fairy tale. But with her responsible for her end of the bargain too. Not just something that falls into her lap and she has no input. But something to hold onto in the dark watches of the night.

And so love and Spring are on my mind today. And it's raining. I wonder what that means?

Hurry Up, I'm Waiting

I’m impatient
For the world to be going on
For the phone to ring when they say it should
For the clock to move, when it seems to stall

I’m impatient for the doctor in the waiting room
The dentist in the waiting room
And the little Asian lady
To be done with the nails in front of me
“How long could it possibly take?”

The computer is so slow
The laptop even slower
The cell phone takes forever
To dial and texting
Is as bad as mailing.

I’m impatient for the week to start
For the week to end
For the theater tickets to be made real
The nice dinner to be seated
The conversation to flow

And when those things don’t happen
According to plan
I’m impatient to be done with them
And moving on to the next thing on the calendar
Marked in red, sometimes underlined.

Hurry up, I’m waiting, used to be the refrain
For a children’s card game we played.
But now the reality of life intrudes
And it’s the refrain of a life spent rushing
And waiting, in toe tapping angst.

I’m impatient.

The Rythym of Life

I had the opportunity to walk around the burb today about the time the students got out of school. They were walking in lumps and clumps along the sidewalks, laughing, poking each other, and some were seriously considering some post or tweet or whatever was on one of their high-tech phones. I looked at my watch and realized that with my being away from my desk today, I had lost track of the time. And then I thought of something else. There was a time when I made sure I was home, in the house at this time of day. I did this for something like 12 years, give or take a day. I was home when the kids came home. The cycle of their days were the same every school day of the year. I thought, when I was in this cycle, that these days would never end. Some days it was tedious, when I knew I had other things to do and couldn't do them until someone got home. Some days I knew it would be interesting, I knew that one of the kids would tell me how their project was received, their report was graded or just the latest news of the school. But those days are a long way away now. And the end of the school day passes by with hardly a blink. I know school day is over when I have to pay more attention to the hordes of children trying to cross the same street I am trying to cross in my car. I notice suddenly, it seems there is more noise outside the window of my living room as they chatter and scream and yell on their travels back to the house.

And suddenly the silence of the house muffles all the outside noises. And the cat and I are alone again, contemplating the quiet.

The Everyday-ness of Everyday

There is a song by Sondheim which talks about all the people coming off a train and mingling with all the hundreds of other people so that they are indistinguishable from all the people that were there before them...and even after them. Sometimes the days are like that. Each day is the same as the day before that and the day that comes after is the same. The weather changes somewhat, sunny, cloudy, rainy, snowy. But the days progress one after another in a straight line on into the future. When you have reached a level of some proficiency in your job and your job is essentially the same every day, then the sameness bleeds into the hours and the days and the weeks and oh-my-heavens the years before you even know it.

I went to pick up the hubby at the train station today and I realized that the previous days had seemed to be like a carbon copy of the previous week and the same of the week before.

The plants need to be watered, the cat needs to be fed, the dishes are fed dirtily into the dishwasher only to be revived again after they are cleaned to be put on the shelf to be made dirty again. Cycle after cycle after cycle. The sun unfolds sleepily in the morning and droops back into the horizon at evening. And it was morning and it was evening...that's from Genesis.

I'm not going to talk about the surprise of each new day in this post. Because I didn't feel it today. I do some days. Some days I am astonished at the variety of life and experiences all around me. But not today. Today I'm looking forward to falling into bed to be awakened by the grudging grayness of another morning. And another hundred people just got off of the train, and the plane and the bus.

Room at the top

I remember the slanted ceilings of the old house. The house wasn't a "dutch colonial", but it had those ceilings anyway. Why didn't I put more posters on them? Why didn't I decorate them more? I have no idea. I can't remember my thought processes from those times. Except, once in a while, I get a glimpse of what I was thinking. I'll see the light bend a certain way, or the leaves on a tree through a window and remember how it was to see that every morning when I woke up. To look out the narrow window out front and see the maple trees, see the way the light shone through the branches in the winter or the leaves in the summer. And the slanted ceilings, sliding away to the small walls where the beds reside. In the back bedroom, the beds were put so that the head was perpendicular to the slant, but in the front bedroom, they were parallel, so the ceiling gave you a sense of enclosing you. In the front bedroom you couldn't look out the windows, but the back bedroom you could. The front bedroom had the fan, that if you talked into while it was running, your voice would get all wavery. The air almost never circulated all the way to the back bedroom. No one ever heard of air conditioning back then. It was sleep and sweat all the way.

I don't know what made me think of that upstairs, but I did. Slanted ceilings, twin beds, four children, so long ago.

Feline Posting

For those that know about the animal I'm about to speak of, I'll let you know that she is fine. Probably better than fine. She is eating all her wet cat food, peeing and pooping in all the designated areas (more or less) and still sleeping at least 19 hours a day. What could be wrong? Life is good. If you are the cat.

I was wondering just today what it is about this animal that vexes me so. I hear her little collar bell tinkle, tinkle, tinkle and I grit my teeth. I hear the clicking of her nails on the floor (which tells me she needs them clipped again) and I find myself either counting to 10 before going into the next room or getting on the computer and playing 700 rounds of solitaire. So I decided to just stop being annoyed by her existence for a few minutes and become a rational human and think this through.

When we first brought her home, she was an affectionate thing. Always wanted to be in your lap, purring constantly, following you around from room to room. She began to glom onto my husband shortly thereafter. If he sat down on the couch to watch TV, she would jump up on his lap and settle herself there. My husband is a cat lover from way back, so he just let her. It's seventeen years later and she still jumps in his lap, but now she can't seem to get comfortable for at least 20 minutes, turning, stretching, readjusting her position, licking (oh, let's not forget the licking) and not just herself is she bathing, she bathes whatever is in proximity to her nose, my husband's shirt, his chin, the couch and occasionally herself. Twenty minutes! Someone, usually me, can't take it after five, and she is removed from the couch. She wanders around the house for a few minutes, forgets that someone removed her and jumps back up to start the cycle all over again. Now, because she is 17, I am assuming that she forgets. But in all the time we have had her, she has a habit of repeating behavior that is obviously annoying to me. Maybe I'm reading too much into this, but really, she has been like this since we had her, so I'm not sure senility is the problem.

She used to jump up on the counters to see what was in the garbage bag. Nothing would deter her; balloons, aluminum foil, nothing. The only deterrent which seemed to work for a while was me losing my temper out of all proportion and screaming at her and smacking her tail end. She was sufficiently terrorized for a while to stop jumping up. But suddenly I would come home one afternoon from work and there she would be again--on the counter and looking like a deer in the headlights because--OH GOD that crazy lady caught me again. We solved the problem somewhat by putting the garbage bag in the microwave, but then that began to smell and well, anyway, I should be able to leave the bag out without having to protect it like some rare gem.

Her favorite ploy is to sit or lay somewhere in the middle of things and when a person, almost always me, begins to move around, she either jumps up and tangles herself in my legs or I step on her, because I didn't see her. I really don't like hurting animals in any way, but that screech she gives out makes my blood run cold. I feel like I've just tortured her and am more careful until the next time. And there is always a next time.

Today I am home taking care of a few things and battling the sniffles. She has run back and forth from room to room several times, that damn tinkling bell accompanying her jaunts. It's driving me crazy!

So I'm trying to devise a reason to go out. Any reason. So I don't have to listen to that sound or the screech when she sits under my legs and I move. I'm developing bad nerves. And I think she knows it. Senility my eye!

I've Never Visited Tuscon

But I visited Arizona with my sister a few years ago. It was a breathtaking experience, not because of her driving...honest. But because Arizona is beautiful. It's purple mountains are indeed majestic and the numerous plains were inspiring as well, with waving fields of green and golden grasses and birds dipping down to sample some juicy bug buffet. It was a wonderful trip because of our being together and talking and laughing. But I remember the grand vistas of Sedona and Phoenix, begging her to stop so I could get out and take more pictures. My mind is filled with these pictures even now, scrolling through the blue expansive sky as it turned golden and honey-hued at sunset, the rolling hills, like waves of the ocean undulating into the horizon. I thought dessert was dry, dusty, arid, lifeless. It turns out that the Arizona countryside is alive and living and full of flower, prose and poetry in it's grandeur. And I didn't even get to the Grand Canyon!