I won't go home without you...

This very pretty song actually reminds me of one of the most bittersweet experiences of my life.

 I have a friend who has gotten the short end of the stick one too many times.  It is remarkable to me when I consider all she's endured.  You'd never know it.  She is vibrant, witty, sexy and deep.  She lives life with reckless abandon and I have to tell you, that is a hard thing to do when you've been through the sort of dismay she has.  To not be completely disgruntled and instead be willing to live a little recklessly takes a great deal of courage.  

She was way too young to have a stroke, but it happened.  What was more unbelievable to me was that she wanted me to be with her immediately afterward.   I felt like I won the lottery when I understood the magnitude of that request.  To be good enough friends with someone, that I was needed in such a dire hour felt like an honor I couldn't really have earned by just being a friend.  Sick to admit that her suffering made me feel valuable as a human being, but it did and that is a gift I must be sure to thank her for now that I've realized it further.  

I flew across country immediately and got into a rental car in NYC.  The weather was awful and I remember trying to curb my anxiety as I navigated blindly through pouring rain on unfamiliar highways riddled with potholes larger then the Hyundai I'd picked up.   

When I got to her in the ICU, the reality of the situation hit me and it hit me hard.  I'd never felt so much and been less able to deal with my own emotions.   She was in trouble, our girl, there was nothing I could do except sit there and try not to annoy her with my overwhelming need for her to get well before my eyes. 

Helplessness.  

The first night was hell.   "The taste of her breath, I'll never get over".   I could smell the medication and her empty, acidic stomach as she breathed in and out.  "The noises that she made kept me awake".   Her continuous IV drip resonated like a fork dropping over and over again on concrete flooring.   My ears seemed hypersensitive to the pangs and pongs of the machinery attached to her.   The room was cold, but her skin was flushed and warm.  I couldn't get comfortable for 15 seconds.   I never took a deep breath.  I sat upright, stiff, cold, shallowly breathing the metallic air, wanting to hold her hand but afraid that my fear would transfer to her like a closed circuit conveys an electrical current.   I had nothing worth saying and so I said nothing at all.  Only stayed still and quiet, hoping that she could sense the love I had inside me.  "Of all the things I've felt but never really showed, perhaps the worst is that I ever let you go".  I am certain that she couldn't be aware of how much I loved her, because it only became apparent to me then and there, that this person was a gigantic gift in my life and that at this very moment  I was positive that I'd never wanted anything more then I wanted her to be alright.  It would have been impossible for me to feel more love for another human being.  It was really very beautiful to be made aware of my own capacity for love, but it was at her expense that I learned this about myself, which makes it somehow even more painfully beautiful.

   She'd twice survived cancer and now this.  Why her and then inevitably I wondered, why me?  Why does this person love me so much that she wants me here? 

"Every night she cries herself to sleep thinking why does this happen to me?  Why does every moment have to be so hard?"  

There were hours when I didn't know if she'd make it.  She seemed to be slowly slipping downward.   "It's not over tonight.  Give me one more chance to make it right.  I may not make it through the night..." 

In time she pulled herself together and turned the corner and made herself well.  As this happened I remember a different sort of pain.  Different from the pain of watching her close to death,  I'd have to leave her at night in the hospital.   Before long she was truly desperate to be through her ordeal.   As a nurse I can tell you that a hospital is no place for a sick person.   Leaving her was torture.   She'd cry, she'd get angry.  So in time I did what any decent person would do, I lied.  "Tomorrow I'll take you home, I promise". 

 It's nothing short of a miracle that when that particular tomorrow came, my lie was truth.  

"I won't go home without you".

Connect the Dots.............................................................

What would you say if I told that I used to be able to predict the future?   Not kidding, so quit laughing.  I'd have random thoughts that materialized later throughout my entire life.   Sometimes I'd have dreams that manifested into reality.  For example; once not so long ago I dreamt that I broke my left arm.   In the dream and in real life, it was actually quite near to Nursing school Finals time.   Test anxiety followed me right into my subconscious dream state.  I recall calming down over the broken bone understanding that I was a right-handed and I could in fact still manage to take Finals.  The injury wouldn't cause a fuss.
Phew.
When I did in fact wipe-out, cracking the radius and ulna of my left arm only days later while fully awake, my faith in my own psychic ability was solidified.  I'd told enough people about the dream before it became reality for them to be astounded as well.
About that time, I bought a deck of Tarot cards and I'd read them just for fun for friends and family.   Wouldn't you know it,  things I said and saw seemed to come true, or perhaps they were only true enough.  Either way, I've always felt a bit psychic, that is until recent years.
For quite some time I must admit to feeling completely in the dark, clueless and a bit lost.  I ask others, "What do you think this means?  What do you guess will happen for me?'  Their responses leave me unfulfilled, causing me to repeat the same rephrased questions, typically eliciting the identical answer.

Today, for no particular reason at all and without actually looking for it, I found that part of me that has been missing, perhaps only sleeping or maybe just plain ignored.  The part of myself that has the potential answers for those ever mounting questions has resurfaced.   A certainty has curved it's way back through my bloodstream and sits solidly in my gut, where it apparently belongs.
Today those same queries begging to be answered have had something to chew on.  I don't feel remotely psychic, yet I feel somewhat capable of answering my own riddles or at least pointing out the direction in which a solution awaits.
Today I am playing Connect the Dots........ . . .  ....  ..  . . . . . . . . . . . . ..............

As Is

Norman Maclean writes in his tale of brother's and fly fishing, A River Runs Through It, "It is those we live with and love and should know who elude us".  
Nothing is truer in regard to a pair of brother's I'm thinking of.
Recently someone I've known for many, many years passed away.  He was the brother of one of the most important people in my life.

I cannot think of the one who's passed without the other.
How unalike they've been, yet undeniably brothers.

Buddhism tells us to let go of expectation in order to embrace happiness.  Without expectation there is no disappointment.
I'm curious; when, if ever, is too late to release our hold over others, to let go of hopes, exempt them from our own ideas of what they should be and how they should be it?   My guess is that it's never too late to remove our wishes, our imposed dreams, our demands and to set them free.  If we are never disappointed, perhaps we can truly love the people we live with and should know.  Perhaps without our own expectations for others clouding our vision, we can see them as is, for who they truly are and maybe love them that way, perfectly flawed, apart from our assigned aspirations.
Easier said then done.  I know that my own expectations of myself are a heavy burden, but I hope that I can at least try to reduce some of my hopes for others, so that I can love them as I so deeply want to, for just who they are, as is.

To quote Maclean again, "Eventually all things merge into one and a river runs through it".  
What is he saying?  Is he telling us that at some point maybe we'll all be together again?   Maybe we will be and without expectations, but instead with just the love we've felt all along, with a river to wash away all things that made it hard to accept one another when all we really hoped for was happiness and peace.

Looks R everything...

They say that looks aren't everything, but THEY would be wrong.


The way in which a person looks at you, the way someone sees you, well, that IS in fact everything.   It is everything and more...


"Looks" mean everything

I was young; I needed the money...

When I was young I would do most any job.  Clarification; I would do most any job to avoid doing any job.  I had an odd fear of employment, not of working but of the workplace.  I could not-would not 9 to 5 it.  Though I tried it and maintained in that rat race for a little while, I did not get ahead.  It wasn't for me.  I liked to work, but I wanted to do so as I saw fit.  I didn't want to report to an office at nine in the morning.  I wanted to start at say 6:30 a.m. instead and end my day when I was physically exhausted, not when the paper pile was sifted through.  I wanted to show up in Levi's and a t-shirt, with my hair clipped up on top of my head, not too much make up on my face, just a little lipstick and maybe mascara, because I think it's only polite to wear some, but not necessarily a full face-load
Much to the surprise of the people who knew me best, those who raised me, grew beside me and loved me all my life, I didn't conform, didn't find a real job in the real world.  I skirted the issue and spent my days cleaning house for nearly a decade, just me and the dust mites.
I worked in solitude by choice, looking at peoples lives up close and personal, examining them in obscurity and learning quietly as I moved through their homes, sponge in hand.
Things I did to make my days interesting;
Started my mornings with Howard Stern.
Carried as many things at one time as I could to challenge myself always.
 (Pretty much, I played pack mule.)
Listened to over 1100 books on tape all borrowed from the local library.
Never ate lunch, only breakfast and dinner.
Stacked people's change and never rifled their drawers, no matter how tempting.
Pretended I was hard of hearing so that I could avoid conversation.
Only saw people when I absolutely had to.
Made any bed, no matter how uninteresting it was, into something no one could resist climbing into.
Talked to myself and often laughed at what I said.
Mentally wrote novels, several of them.
Daydreamed that I was an Olympic Skater, while I listened to music.

The most unusual, often hysterical, interesting, extraordinary, unexpected, adorable, memorable events seemed to happen to me as I scoured houses top to bottom.  My tiny days were peppered with remarkable occurrences and I often think back on that time.  I should write a book about it.
"Semi-True Tales of an Unlikely Suburban Housekeeper".

I cleaned houses for a living when I was young and needed the money...

what I want

When I feel like I cannot have what I want, I try to figure out if I actually really need it.

When I realize that I really need it and still can't have it, I try to figure out how to live without it.

When I can't figure out how to live without it and be happy, I resort to counting my blessings...

My kids are here, safe and sound.

My dogs are tired and sleeping.

The creek is flowing, it sounds like heaven.

The sheets are freshly changed.

I pulled off a few good powercleans today.

The moon is full and I like looking at it.

My family still loves me despite my faults.

My friends still love me probably because of my faults.

I did a few good powercleans today...

I still want it.

I found good berries at the market.

Tomorrow is 1/2 way through the school week.

There is no rain in the forecast.

I have my health.

The grass doesn't grow much or require frequent mowing in winter.

How do I stop wanting what I can't have?   Maybe it's a blessing too?  Maybe not having what I want is a blessing in disguise?   Doubt it.

My cleaning lady comes this Friday.

Summer is only 5 months away.

Mortgage rates are staying low.

I did a few good powercleans today.

PLEASE APPLAUD

"If you're happy and you know it clap your hands"...
My wish for you; may your life be perpetually backgrounded by the white noise of constant applause over all you do, just for you.

Seeing Stars...

I get a kick out of seeing stars, the kind in the sky and other kinds as well.  I have had some close encounters in my life with celebrities, minor celebrities.   Not huge, kind of obscure, but my interactions were just a little bit meaningful and to me that makes those folks something other then huge.  To me, being in an intimate setting and interfacing with somewhat famous people, well it makes those guys huger then huge.   They become hugest personalities.
Not to name drop, but... I've danced with a dead Kennedy at Studio 54 in my late teens, sold ties in my twenties at a posh department store on a regular basis to a former head of state - lets call him Tricky Dick, shall we?  I've kept house/played nurse-maid for a man who tamed a "Tiger" (story for another time) and removed the all but invisible tub ring from the bath of probably the most decent politician I could name, in my own life's history.
Best celeb encounter was about 17 years ago when I strolled a block in NYC near the U.N. and made eye contact with the dramatically handsome Rob Lowe.  You know the Saint Elmo's Fire brat?    He actually spoke to me and said, "Looking good.  Feeling good too, huh?'  Which I instantly was.  Who wouldn't be after that sort of generosity.  If I wasn't a fan, which I wasn't, I immediately became one and remain so.  There are lots more.  I kissed a talk show host on live television.  Have been winked at, brushed against, exchanged pleasantries with famous people in lots of odd ways.  I know that this sort of stuff doesn't always happen to everyone and yet there are many people who it happens to all the time.   Me, myself, well I am a magnet for it on a very small scale and I've appreciated and been moved by every experience no matter how small or brief and they've mostly been just that.  However, no star sighting, no brush with greatness can give me the goosebumpiness or compare in any way to the incredible feeling I get when I see my most favorite stars of all; the stars of the sea.
This morning, under the soft, warm, winter sun, as I walked along the Pacific, I counted twenty dolphin.  I watched awestruck as they glided past, surfacing and diving, moving swiftly, swimming north.  No matter how many times I encounter wild dolphin and I am blessed to see lots and lots, they never cease to leave me breathless and starstruck.
Oh my stars...

I'm afraid that...

Fear motivates us to stay small and safe, when in fact, we are never safe when we are scared.  There is nothing scarier then doing nothing about the thing that frightens us.
 
Fear keeps us from achieving; achievement eliminates fear.

Odd jobs...

Things I could do...
I like raking leaves.

I could follow Autumn round and sweep up leaves for the rest of my life.  

I can list the ingredients on a BigMac, though I've never eaten one, backwards.  

Bun

seed 

sesame

a

on

onions 

pickles

cheese

lettuce

sauce

special

patties

beef 

all 

two

I've never eaten one forwards either.

Stick a needle in my eye.

When I was in nursing school I had one of those teachers that you never forget.  She was formidable, that's a nice way of saying she was cranky.  She also had an odd habit of altering her hair color drastically on any given day.  Her formidability prevented anyone from remarking on these non subtle changes.  She was likely the only person I'll ever know who could come into a room with two feet (very long) of magenta hair, when the day before she'd been golden blonde and have absolutely no one say a word about this alteration.   She went noticeably unnoticed.   She had other physical attributes that were also the sort no one mentioned, size being one of them, lets say, "not small" and "not tall".   For whatever reason she and I hit it off.  Well, I know the reason.  One time at a slum-like hospital, while we students sat in conference with post clinical rotation, I defended her honor right in front of her to an ex-marine, now fellow nursing student.  He challenged her endlessly and took up valuable time just to annoy her and since she was already perpetually in a state of annoyance, this all just seemed like a big waste of my precious time.  I remember being so tired that I said, "Why don't you just shut the *x^* up?" to this argumentative classmate and to my surprise he did.   She later scolded me for inserting myself into that situation, but it was clear a bond was formed and as so often is the case, when someone is extra cantankerous for no reason, they can become quite the opposite when given just a little reason.  I sure do love becoming a favorite.  Teacher's pet suits me.  But being her pet meant being a shining star in class and being the guinea pig at times as well.
I can be a jokester.  I loved clowning around and entertaining my fellow classmates.  It helps lighten the burden greatly when you are dealing with illness, death, stress and pulling 10 to 12 hour shifts as a novice nurse, doing the worst sort of medical chores for free.
In my last semester of nursing school, I was working nights in an ER.  This same instructor was my clinical mentor.   She seemed to be focussed so intensely on me at that time, I found myself hiding from her every chance I got.   Her scrutiny was great and her attention left me shaky one too many times.   She'd begun to comment on everything I did, she seemed intent on changing me and my jocular manner, kind of like she changed her hair color.  She wanted me caustic and straight laced like she was, or so it felt to me.  Wasn't going to happen.   I loved being warm and involved with patients and I loved making my colleagues laugh.  It was the best part of that job and nursing is a job with a lot of best parts.
So... on one of my last nights in the ER, a twenty-something year old guy came in after having welded for hours without the proper head gear, no goggles.  His burned retinas and blood shot eyes were swollen, bruised and almost impossible for me to look at and not feel ill.  Such an uncomfortable situation.  His pain was enormous and my experience was nil.   An ER doctor had us sedate him a bit, dull his awareness and then it was up to me to systematically flush and rinse his eyes while injecting small needles of antibiotics and numbing solutions to the soft tissue surrounding his eye socket.  Talk about the last thing I wanted to learn how to do by experience alone.
Two other nursing students came for support and to learn from my hopefully few mistakes.  This young patient's lovely mother arrived in time to hold his hand while I began the procedure.   We sectioned off the area where he lay, pulled closed the curtain and just before I began, his mother said something so sweet to him, she said, "Son, if you could only see that you have three beautiful, young nurses here to take care of you, you'd be so happy."   I might have held my tongue, but if I  had, I wouldn't have been me and so I spoke, perhaps too soon and added to this mother's darling commentary, "Yea, and we're all naked".  I said this in a near whisper, soft and sultry, but filled with mild humor.  He laughed, we laughed and I somehow made it through the daunting chore of sticking needles in his eyes and then squirting copious amounts of saline into huge, aching, puffed out, pool-ball sized sockets.
I finished up and brushed hair across his forehead, patted his mother's shoulder, made some comment as to how he'd be just fine, which I was not at all sure he would be, then turned round to see my not small, not tall, then brunette instructor glaring at me.   She waved me out of the tiny booth were my patient lay finally resting after all he'd been through and with my two companion students she repeated the line she'd apparently been present for, un-be-nounced to me, "We're all naked?'
I'm sure I fidgeted, positive I squirmed, searching for some sort of explanation.  None came.  I believe I shrugged, then I recall how she pinched me and walked away shaking her head.
I love that teacher and I mean it.  I swear I do; cross my heart, hope to die, stick a needle in my eye.

Give it away, give it away, give it away now...

Red Hot Chili Peppers, thank you very much for the advice.


I have so much, I can't give it away.  "What?" you ask do I have so much of?
Guess.

No.  Guess again.

Lovin is what I got.
So much - I can't give it away.  But I'll keep trying, because, "charity starts at home".   Phrases like that one are dead on.
I find the more I love - the more I love... and then it comes down to the more love I have to give.
It would appear that the nicer things inside of me rise up to the top when I make room for them to move around, like cream in a vat of ordinary dairy.  Then when I begin to push those nice things out into the world, voila, there they go, replacing themselves tenfold.  The more I love, the more I love.
Give it away, give it away, give it away now...

white stuff

Sought out the white stuff today.
There is something very magical about being out of your element, even in just the simplest way.
I like leaving my home, driving without specific directions to a destination imagined, but not determined.
I took boy and girl, also boy and girl dog and began heading up, up, up. I found the snow and found the fun that seems to coincide automatically when one encounters the fluffy white stuff.
I had fun and I made all four of my companions very happy and very tired.
 

Paper trail

As I spend the day barreling through the massive amounts of crap I have stored in my closets, cabinets and drawers (kind of part of my new years resolution), I am confounded, dumbfounded and awestruck by how much I have that I simply don't need or even recall obtaining.
It's easier then I anticipated, this lightening of the load round here.  There's one thing I still feel perplexed by, that is... paper.
I look at the exploding file cabinets and multiple storage boxes chock full of paper from the past two plus years and wonder how it piled so high and deep.  How much time will it take to sort through and to determine what in fact is needed and what in fact is not?  If I haven't looked at it in two years, wouldn't that make you think it's simply uncalled for?   How many scribbled on pieces of construction paper do I have to memorialize to prove that I love my kids?   Funny thing is, when it comes to paper, I give the stuff way too much authority.  Print it on a sheet and trust me, I'll think twice, maybe three times before discarding it.
So yea, I'm happily making rapid headway in my house and giant garage when it comes to clearing out the excess, but the next big job, once this task is complete is a far more daunting one.
Something as light as a feather - one sliver of paper, will take far more time to be rid of, then a closet full of rarely worn winter coats and rectangle boxes filled with incomplete board games.
I'm afraid that if I began walking across the world, dropping a breadcrumb/paper-trail behind me, I'd always be able to find my way home again, even if I circle the planet twice.

If you want to find me, follow the paper trail, oh and please bring a shredder.

three's company

I wish I could pinpoint the source.  I wish I could find what planted the seed, because if I could, I'd be sure to take note of it so that I would locate it again and again.  Tonight, out of nowhere, I recalled a moment in time that was so precious to me, I was transported right back to that place and eventually began to laugh out loud, to just myself.  

I have two sisters, which means I have two golden gifts in my life.  They are older then me and certainly wiser.  In our youth I drove them nuts with frustration and in our adulthood I've driven them to tears of laughter.  I don't why they bring out the best in me, but they do.  

On a sad night, one of the saddest we'll ever know, we found ourselves once again bunking in one room together.  It was on the eve of our very dear uncle's funeral.  We'd gone home to New Jersey to simultaneously mourn him and celebrate him.  He was incredible and that is an understatement.  

We girls returned to our mother's home in the beautiful woods near a perfect lake in Pennsylvania.  Up in her barn loft guest house, we went to bed that night.  We were spent emotionally, but fed spiritually by the closeness we innately had with one another.   As a child at bedtime I'd bother them no end with my restlessness in sleep and an odd habit I had of kicking my leg while I slept on my stomach, over and over again.  That night I drove then crazy at bedtime in a totally different way; with humor.  

There aren't many people I can be utterly myself with, but with those sisters of mine, I can be not only myself, but every character conceivable.   I think it was the influence from the then popular Austin Powers film series that inspired me to chatter on with a British accent, that and a recent favor I'd done for another uncle of ours.  Some people find my voice somewhat soothing and because of that, an uncle had asked that I record all the voicemail options for his company's phone directory.  Between the Austin Powers British accent I'd been bagging on and the phone directory chore fresh in my mind, I'd begun to dazzle and demolish my sisters to hysterics with this odd banter that became addictive the more I went with it.

In deeply accented English I spurted out phone directory options like, "If you suffer from low self esteem, press zero".  "If you are a pedophile, dial any number from 11 and under".  "If you are Doctor Evil, dial one million".  "If you're a golfer, dial FOUR!".  "If kinky sex is your bag baby, press 69".  "If you suffer from multiple personality disorder, press 2, 3, 4 or 5".  If you're possessed by the devil baby, press 666".  And so it went, until I was way out of control, absolutely rude, beyond the limit and over the top.  I'd stop for a while and we'd approach sleep.  The silence would get me thinking and out would pop another wise crack followed by belly laughs and pleas to stop.  Eventually we all fell asleep, but we woke laughing and in the morning, we sat on my mother's porch with tea and coffee and a repeat performance.  My uncle would have loved us laughing together.  He loved family so much and we adored him for all he brought to us always, even after he was gone, he brought us together. 

Tonight I go to sleep grateful for my uncle Jack, my sisters, and for Austin Powers.  

YEAH Baby!  (insert British accent here)

Four conversations...

I love words; written words, spoken words, whispered words, words sung, even words implied.

Yesterday I had four relatively significant conversations with members of the opposite sex.  That's rare for me, I realize.  One man essentially said that I should ask for things, to say what I want.  Another, my former husband, told me something I'd not understood about myself.  What he said in regard to me was true and obscure.  It startled me.  Another suggested I need to find something he called "clarity".  Easier said then done, but I'll try.  Lastly my son arrived home and informed me that it was, "good to see me".  He's 7 and so hearing that it was good to be seen after he'd been out of sight for under 48 hours practically made me cry, as soon as I stopped laughing over it.

Yesterday's four conversations might seem small, but they're not, because I'm still pondering them, rolling them over in my mind, wondering what it is that I deduced from them?   What actions have manifested for me from those words?  Here's what I think; asking/telling, knowing, seeking, feeling.

I'll say what it is I'd like.   I'll acknowledge something true about myself.  Try to find what I need and be clear, while I feel the sweet emotions that spontaneously rise up in me when someone small says something big... "It's good to see you"....

recoverageness

Ah, Which way did she go?

Still recovering from New Years Eve.


I learned something from New Years Eve 2010/2011.  I cannot drink like I used to.  Well actually, now that I think of it, I never could drink like I used to - and yes, that makes no sense (Ron Burgundy-ism).

Things I recall about bringing in the new year... riding in a cab, talking to strangers from San Diego, making new friends (lovely people), rambling through a strange house in search of bottled water,  strolling to the beach, staring out to the sea and watching a friend brave the cold, waveless ocean (how very polar bear club).  Seeing a pelican as big as a Pongo dive for fish, morning sun feels good on my face, finding a round, speckled stone and putting it in my pocket, cool, wet sand on my bare feet, men disassembling a Christmas tree, Redbull tastes sweet.

Thinking about 2010 and all that occurred, about all who came and all who went and all who came and went.  Hoping that those I love will always come again.