Hurry New Year

Well, it's almost time to put up a new calendar and in my opinion, it can't come soon enough. This has been a long, painful year for me and I'm ready to begin again with a positive attitude, a mended heart, and a healthy body.

As I sprint to the finish line of 2010 I see good things ahead for myself and my family and friends. By going back to my five day work week, I've found the time and energy to get back into a regular exercise routine. Because of my renewed strength, I foresee weekend trips with my bike stashed in the back of my car just as soon as the snow begins to melt.

MG has graduated nursing school, John has received his Masters Degree after four long years and Sarah continues to aim for her Bachelors degree, while she excels as a surgical nurse . Their futures look bright even in a failing economy. The new governor has set up a task force to release a number of long term, fully rehabilitated inmates and he has put Steve on the top of his list. I cannot even begin to imagine how Steve feels after twenty six years of incarceration, seeing freedom in the next ten to eighteen months. I am attending a retirement seminar in May which means my freedom is also on the horizon at long last.

Yes, it's been a long hard year, but it's almost over. And as my blog states, I'm going to rise above all the BS and find a field of flowers to play in. That's what Flutterbys do.

Promise Me ?

I have learned that there are three kinds of love pledged between a woman and a man.

The one says, " I will love you now and forever and only death will part us. I may disappoint you but I will never stop loving you or leave you for another."

The second says, "I love you now and will love you until I am tempted to stray. When that happens, I promise to not deceive you, but rather to come to you, admit my weakness, beg your forgiveness, and leave with tears in my eyes."

The third says, "I will love you for this moment but cannot promise you anything else. I may deceive you, and will probably break both your trust and your heart."

The next time love is pledged to me I will ask, "Which love do you promise me?" Then I can choose the amount of risk and pain I am willing to take.

Friendship Vs. Solitude

I shared "MY" park with Kelly this past Saturday. I agreed to meet her at one pm at the Western Reserve where I introduced her to Parma's best kept secret park which lies hidden within the cities boundaries. She brought her pup, Lilly and we set out on my usual route. It was pretty cool how she ooh'd and ahh'd at the appropriate time, just as we entered that glorious wooded area of peace and seclusion. But what really struck me was the kindred spirit in which she treasured walking with a friend, while still seeking absolute serenity in silence. We admitted that walking together muted the pleasures of listening to the intimate sounds of natures creatures. A squirrel rustling the leaves, the high pitched screech of a bird, the literal babbling of the brook. All missed while walking and talking in tandem. Thank goodness we can all have the best of both worlds, friendship and solitude. Unfortunately we often make the foolish assumption that the two are mutually exclusive. Not so! Yesterday I enjoyed the company of a good friend. Today I will go back to "MY" park and quietly worship the peaceful sounds of it's natural beauty.

Why Do I Love Pink

I am a self proclaimed pacifist, one who chooses flight rather than fight, and sickens at the sight of violence or the scream of an angry raised voice. To back up this self image I surround myself with the obvious choices in music; country, folk, opera, and Broadway musicals. No heavy metal or angry rap for this woman. I admit, however, that I do allow Pink to slip into my earphones on a regular basis. I never really thought much about this until someone challenged me this past weekend with the question: "If you don't like angry people, why do you love Pink?" The truth is Pink is one angry violent woman and it shows in her music!

I had no immediate answer to this challenge, but I continued throughout the day to reflect on the apparent chink in my pacifist armor. I believe I have come up with a slightly disturbing realization. I love Pink because she is the woman I cannot be. The one who pushes back when she is assaulted and in fact fells her opponent to the ground. The one who screams" Fuck You" when she is sworn at or rudely attacked. The one who dares to answer her ex lover with "You're a tool and I don't need you tonight" instead of standing by mutely accepting the painful loss. In other words, she defends herself.

I continue to cling to the belief that anger is a dangerous emotion that harms no one so much as the person who holds on to it. I know that peace is the better way. But now I wonder. Am I truly a pacifist or simply a coward?

A Perfect Day!

While Ohio weather can often be fickle, today she was kind. This morning was the perfect fall day to take my bike out on the tow path. I arrived at the Cuyahoga Railroad Station on Riverview Road at 9 am with my bike neatly tucked into the back of my little Sunfire. It had been months since I'd been on the tow path and I was determined to get back in the saddle again. How could I have imagined how much I'd missed this summer by allowing my bike to hang in my locker instead of riding it? The picture above says it all! What a glorious day.

After an hour and a half riding between Brecksville and Boston Mills, I convinced myself that my legs still had enough in them to enjoy the Brecksville Gorge Trail. So I drove along Riverview road to the park entrance and laced up my hiking boots in anticipation of a slightly muddy trek. I'd forgotten how hilly and how long the trail was, but once the endorphins kicked in I was loving every minute of it. What I remembered to be a forty five minute hike was in truth an hour and fifteen minutes, culminating in an uphill marathon to the parking lot. But it was worth every second. I reached my car thinking how much I'd missed this kind of weekend activity; just myself and the trail ahead of me.

Why did I let this all slip away from me this past year? This is what life is all about; enjoying every moment, even if it is spent alone. No one should give up what they love in order to satisfy their need for companionship. Life is too short to settle for less than what makes you truly happy.

Finding Joy in Change

After two years in a relationship with a man whom I consider perfect for me, I find myself once again alone. It's been a month since Rudy and I said our goodbyes, agreeing it was best to move on with our lives as individuals. While I should be sad, I somehow find myself basking in the sweet guilty pleasures of spending all my time, energy, and emotion on myself. I don't know why it is that when I enter a relationship I use every ounce of my strength nurturing that bond, forgetting about my own needs. It takes it's toll every time.

To begin with I hated working the four ten hour days so that Rudy and I could have full weekends to devote to each other. I dreaded getting out of bed every morning knowing I faced an endless day. Too tired to exercise or enjoy the summer weather, I simply ate, slept and worked until the weekend. While I had Monday off, I found myself spending those precious hours catching up on all the things I was either too tired to do while working or too busy to do on weekends. There was never any real "Me time".

Without a relationship to tend to, I've switched back to a regular work week. Now I rise at 4:45 with plenty of energy to do a thirty minute work out. The work day races by and when I leave at three I still have time to enjoy the fall weather and take a walk in the nearby woods. The weight which I put on while spending weekends in Akron visiting Rudy's family members, drinking with neighbors or simply sitting in front of the television, is coming off, adding to my sense of well being.

I plan my weekends now around my, bike, nearby hiking trails and activities that keep me active and happy. I still plan long weekends with Scott and Michelle visiting wineries and laughing over silly board games. While Scott misses having a guy to hang with, he tolerates us women and manages to enjoy himself. I've mapped out road trips for next spring and well into the summer which will include kayaking, sight seeing, biking and hiking. All those things I loved to do and gave up this past year in order to be with a man who's life changed drastically when his daughter was diagnosed with terminal cancer.

I'm happy. I'm at peace. There is no anger or chaos to worry about, just complete freedom of movement in my life. I wish life hadn't thrown such a sucker punch at Rudy, knocking him out of the joyful life we had together, but it did. We chose to walk away from each other and I know now that it was the right thing to do. Change is a fearful thing and often painful but in the end it brings the sweetest rewards. Life is so good!

Brilliant Narcissism

Sarah and I went to see the movie Social Network last night. It's about the college kid that created the multi billion dollar Facebook site. Great movie. Great acting. It was disturbing, however to see the portrayal of the young genius who was behind the actual hands on creation of the web pages. He was not simply a nerd, but a truly obnoxious, egotistical ass. Unable to make friends he poured his life into the cold hard plastic of computers. In a dialog with a girl who tried to see beyond his freakish personality, it was painful to watch him slice and dice her with little or no thought to his cruel words. She finally said she didn't want to be his friend anymore because having a relationship with him was like having a relationship with a StairMaster. Ouch. It was apparent to everyone that his brilliance caused him to see the rest of us as less than human, substandard beings not worthy of his time or attention. He's the youngest billionaire on the planet and he's an absolute jerk.

As I think about this young mans life and career I can't help but parallel it with the gifted basketball player Labron James. A similar genius, gifted in a different genre but equally unable to blend his special abilities with a normal personality. He carries his title of King James around looking down on the rest of the world as if we were all less than equals. And now that hes' acted like an ass and turned his back on his friends and supporters from his home town who helped him become who he is, he pulls the race card. Instead of admitting he's been an arrogant jerk, he claims people don't like what he's done because he's black.

Both of these young men turned their backs on the only real friends they had in search of power, fame and money. Neither takes responsibility for the terrible shortcomings of their own personalities. Their mean spirited, back stabbing, ruthless drive to win overshadows any personal commitments they might have. While I can appreciate true genius, I cannot tolerate narcissism or cruelty. Whether you are Mensa material or simple minded, physically gifted or handicapped, black or white, an asshole is still an asshole in my book.

A Different Kind of Holiday

Thanksgiving approaches, and with it comes all the anxiety of choosing who to share it with. With families as diverse as ours the choice is not always easy and seldom pleasant. I've had enough pain and chaos in my 60 years of life to switch my fight or flight mode into a permanent flight pattern. The bickering between my married daughter and her husband, and literally all of his family members, sets my teeth on edge. And yet I want to be with my family for the holidays.

Rudy and I are no longer a couple so at least the problem of having to spend the holidays with his family is not an issue. I love his family, but his daughter is coming home again for Thanksgiving and she carries an overweight suitcase stuffed with drama. All the joy of the season is sucked into the black hole of her suffering. Yes, she does suffer from a serious illness, but its been over a year now and it's still all about her instead of the actual joy of living. And yet I miss being with Rudy for the holidays.

Scott and Michelle have a fun time with her parents and I could easily invite myself for dinner. But I will be vacationing in Cancun with them the week after Thanksgiving and it seems a bit much to include the holidays in our togetherness this year. Sarah and Jim both either work or are on call most holidays. That's the sacrifice nurses and police officers make for the rest of us.

MG and my sister live too far away to share a simple turkey dinner with them. I really really miss my big sister.

In all of this, Sarah has come up with a perfect plan. One that for once meets my need and hers for family time minus all the chaos and drama. Since she is on call and Jim will be working, we plan to cook a full Thanksgiving meal together. Just the two of us. We will begin with a sleep over the night before and then spend Thanksgiving sitting in our PJs watching the parades on TV while the turkey cooks. She's a vegetarian so it may seem pointless, but it's the tradition that matters not the leftovers. And there will be lots of leftovers. I will probably be spending all of Friday making pot pies. After we eat, I will make the trip to Wendy's home where most of the chaos should be winding down due to the overstuffed relatives. I will share a dessert with them, hug my grand kids, help Wendy do up the dishes,( since no one else ever does) and then head home for a quiet evening.

Of course it could all go wrong. All it would take is one car accident or heart attack to force Sarah to head to the hospital, leaving me alone with my holiday plans. So all of you out there stay off the roads and stay well so that I can enjoy Thanksgiving this year.

Collateral Damage II

Here we are, just as I predicted we would be one short year ago. Destroyed, not by our own doing, but as collateral damage in the war against cancer. Nothing I can do or say would be the right thing. All time and energy has been sucked from our relationship, given over to the higher priority of fighting this losing battle. The pain and chaos magnified by the half truths of one who would cry wolf over and over again. And how are we to know when the wolf is really at the door? Since we have no crystal ball, we put our lives, our love, our relationship on hold. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting. There are no good guys, no bad guys, just two people who chose to struggle separately rather than together. Because when all strength is gone we foolishly let go rather than hold on. The only difference between us is that, had our roles been reversed in this tragedy, I would probably have given up long before you did.

Opulence!

We spent a fun day this past weekend in Southern Ohio at some friends of ours who are not rich but very well off. Their source of income has been earned the hard way, through sweat and sacrifice. They own a summer home which sits on about one hundred acres of beautiful reclaimed strip mining territory. Their four wheeler toys cost more than my car, and they share them generously with their friends whom we count our selves lucky to be among.

I've often thought how wonderful it would be to have that kind of money. Until now. During our conversation this weekend our hostess, Sharon, told us about a once in a lifetime adventure which she had taken this summer. At the expense of one of her own generous friends she was able to cruise the Bahamas for two glorious weeks in a way few people are able to do.

Sharon's friend is a Widow who's husband was a brilliant inventor and good business man. At the time of his death, he held countless patents for which he was paid handsomely. He left his wife wealthy beyond anything you or I could imagine. Sharon brought out a computer slide show which literally took our breath away. The pictures of this woman's home in all its opulence were mind blowing, but the real shocker was the 80 foot yacht, with a crew of three, which she owned and used to take friends on countless cruises. The yacht had five , yes, five bedrooms and five bathrooms. Everything was done in marble, and etched glass, and decorated exquisitely. As we gaped at the photos Rudy said "Wow! That must be a million dollar boat." To which Sharon quickly replied, "Six million." We literally gasped at the thought of such opulence. There was a picture that had been taken of the back of the yacht which displayed its christened name SCOOTER. The letters were inlaid gold!

For two weeks Sharon and six others were treated to unlimited cruising pleasures in the Bahamas. An experience which Sharon will never forget and be forever grateful. I cannot even begin to imagine such a lifestyle.

Days have passed since I viewed the slide show and I still can't wrap my head around the chasm which divides the truly wealthy from the rest of us. I do not begrudge their fortunes as they have earned it by their own merit and not through the blood or sweat of others. But a part of me says, "How much is too much?" How can there be so much wealth for so few and such staggering poverty for so many, and how long can you and I remain in the middle precariously separating the two.

So This Is Racial Prejudice?

I hate to admit it, but I actually shopped at Walmart yesterday. They had a replacement window blind in the exact size that I needed. None of the other discount stores carried the larger sizes. Now that I've confessed my indiscretion, I must tell you what happened when I tried to go through the check out line.

A young African American couple were in line just ahead of me and were purchasing some kind of boxed furniture item. It was big and bulky and set them back $143.00. The woman took out her charge card and handed it to the clerk who asked her simply to provide her drivers license along with the charge card. She complied, and the transaction was completed simply and quickly. At last, it became my turn to place my three items on the belt.

My total came to $14.00 and I handed the clerk my charge card. She processed my card and I began to head toward the exit where I discovered the young couple stood glaring at me. As I began to approach the exit the woman went ballistic. She said to me and to the clerk, "Oh Hell no!." I thought what the heck did I do and watched her launch into a public tirade that would have put a blush on any ones face.

Marching back to the clerk she screamed. " You aksed me for my drivers license when I used a charge, but this white lady, she get off not havin' to show you hers." Now I'm thinking yeah, that's true, but the store probably has a $100 limit on charges before they demand an extra ID. Now in my book that's not discrimination, that's good business, but what do I know.

The woman continued to rant, explaining that she was a teacher and "Can't no black teacher have a credit card?" When she finally took a breath the clerk meekly explained the stores credit card policy, which was exactly as I suspected, limited by a certain cash amount for which an ID was required. But when one's head is filled with racial discrimination, one tends to find it behind every single transaction in life. So the woman continued to scream prejudice all the way to the exit. The last words I heard as she blew past the poor woman at the door who was suppose to be checking every ones receipts was, "You gotta watch these white folks. They put you down every chance they gets."

I showed my receipts to the checker at the exit and we both smiled and shook our heads and said nothing. I thought to myself that in this particular case no one needed to put that woman down, she was doing a great job of making an ass of herself all by herself.

Visiting Steve

This weekend was our every- other- month visit to Rudy's brother Steve who is incarcerated in the Grafton Correctional Facility. Recently visitation has been cut back to Saturdays only, and those inmates with even numbers are allowed to have visitation on the even numbered Saturdays of the month. No more Sundays means half the visits allowed. To maintain crowd control they have also gone to a reservations only system for these sessions. This means that the Sunday before a visit one must call the institution between 5 pm and 5:30 and make reservations. Like a popular Broadway production, these reservations "sell out" in the blink of an eye. We try to beat the system by having two or sometimes three of us dialing out on our cell phones at the stroke of five to try to get through to the reservations officer. We were successful in our phone marathon last Sunday and were able to secure a visitation reservation for yesterday from 8 am until noon.

Saturday promised to bless us once again with 90 plus temps and the Grafton facility has no air conditioning. Steve often works in 120 degree temps in the green houses he maintains there. Fortunately the visitation hall is now air conditioned, for which we were eternally thankful. Steve arrived with his usual bouncing step and dazzling smile. His ability to maintain a positive attitude after twenty six years of incarceration, never fails to amaze me. Because we came early enough, we got first dibs on the vending machines and Steve's Dad was able to purchase a variety of burgers, snack foods and pop for the session. He was miticulous about the microwave cooking of these items, so much so, that it seemed comical. But, in reality,I guess its his small way of being able to cook for his wayward son. I'm not sure Steve even wants the junk food, but he accepts Cal's efforts with grace and a show of appreciation.

For the first time, we saw an inmate escorted to a visitation table in full body chains. His family of six awaited his arrival and I noted the horror on their faces when they first saw him approach. Steve explained that the inmate had already had this visit reserved and apparently had broken a prison rule with either contraband or bad behavior. Because of this, he was spending the week in total lock down. The warden was allowing the visit only because he realized most of us come from great distances and at great sacrifice to see our loved ones.

Other than that, the room was filled with the usual sounds of boisterous conversation and children's laughter. If you bring a $2.00 money order ( Actual cash is forbidden. Even the vending machines required pre purchased debit cards) you can have your picture taken standing in front of a variety of colorful photo backgrounds. The photographer was busier than usual this past Saturday.

Since Steve was refused early release this past year, he plans to take more college classes this fall in the anticipation of having to finish his entire sentence of thirty years. His cell mate is an eighty five year old ex mafia man who has been incarcerated for thirty five years with no chance of ever being paroled. With Rudy's constant financial help, they have living quarters better than most. From a TV, to wristwatches, tennis shoes, and sun protective hats, Rudy gives his little brother the opportunity to purchase from prison catalogs all the little extras that make his incarceration more bearable.

I learned from Steve that inmates have been given the right to vote in national elections. Shocked, I asked when this had happened and he admitted he didn't know. We all, including Steve, agree that this is a miscarriage of justice. I can't help but wonder who's agenda this voting privilege fills. The inmates are mailed absentee ballots religiously. In fact those ballots appear to arrive in a more timely fashion than most personal mail. It's not because prisoners across the country demanded this right returned to them, because they did not care enough to take up that banner. There are more important things they would demand before voting rights. So I must conclude that somewhere in the political machinery someone needed some votes which could hopefully be culled from a hidden population of uneducated, unmotivated, prison inmates. The politicians apparently are equal opportunity exploiters.

We ended our visit with hugs all around. Steve was more animated than usual, working off a sugar and caffeine induced high provided by the two bottles of pop Cal got him. We made our usual promises to write and left the confines of the prison yards behind us for our long drive home. Today we will be attending the annual Calderone reunion; one of twenty six which Steve has missed.

Jessie Velvet Byrd

This was the July assignment for ditalini press. Write a country song.

Grandma, tell me something 'bout grandpa.

The man whose blood brings color to my skin.

She said child don't you ever tire of askin'?

I'll tell you the story just once again.

They called him Jessie

Jessie for the outlaw

Velvet for the southern drawl

And Byrd for the way he flew away.

He left his people on the reservation

To pick cotton in the hot Arkansas sun.

I was just a silly southern farm girl

Thinking maybe, Jessie was the one.

We lay beneath the stars that summer season

Lost in a sweet lovers fantasy.

I gave everything a girl could give him

And he gave something special to me.

They called him Jessie

Jessie for the outlaw

Velvet for the southern drawl

And Byrd for the way he flew away.

They came for him one night with shotguns loaded.

A bastard child he was forced to claim.

He left me with my heart and pride both broken

I knew my son would never have his name.

They called him Jessie

Jessie for the outlaw

Velvet for his southern drawl

And Byrd for the way he flew away.

The Story behind the song

My grandfather was Jessie Velvet Byrd. We know very little about his heritage other than he was of Native American descent. Nothing romantic; we suspect he was Creole. When Jessie was in his fifties, he got drunk one night with a couple of his buddies and ended up on a rail road track. A freight train plowed into his car killing his friends on impact and leaving him with traumatic brain injuries. One of his many offspring (he had been married four times) came to my Grandmas farm in Arkansas to see if my dad would possibly help in caring for their father. Dad wasn't home, so when the young man approached Grandma, she pulled a gun and ordered him off the property. She never mentioned the incident to my dad. Jessie survived his injuries, dieing at last at the age of seventy four, in a mental institution.

Silence Isn't Always Golden

I've had plenty of opportunity to write this summer, but find myself constantly resisting the call of the keyboard. It's been, hot, it's been fun, and the time is flying by. So why not capture the moments in my blog?

How does one explain what cannot be expressed aloud? The real story which fills my mind and my heart is one that cannot be shared publicly, and although this blog has limited readers, it is still very public. Some things are so painfully private that even the most open minded writer must refrain from sharing the experience. The story unfolding before me seems to have no ending, or perhaps no good one, and I fear that if I write prematurely I might influence the reader unfairly causing a prejudicial opinion of guilt or innocence of the characters involved.

But I am still out here watching life find it's way; hoping with all my heart that when it's all said and done I will be able to bring laughter and not tears to those who consider my blog worth reading.

Weekend Detours

They finally finished the road construction on Ridgewood Drive and took down the detour signs that prevented me from visiting the Western Reserve Park. I went there today in search of the usual peace and quiet which it supplies so abundantly.

I needed to detox from the weekend, and a long walk in the woods was just what the Doctor ordered. From the new fawns tagging behind their mothers, to the simple insect on a common daisy, my camera lens shifted my focus from the drama of daily life to the simplicity of nature.

I'd spent a rainy weekend locked indoors with my seven year old granddaughter and her one year old partner in crime, Matt. Before I begin to complain, I will remind myself and anyone who reads this, how much I love these kids and how happy I am to give my daughter and her husband a much needed respite from their roles as mom and dad.

Having said that, rainy weekends and children are not a great mix. My granddaughter, Boo, has learned that drama and defensive back talk are one way to cope with being in the second grade. However, I am not in the second grade and I won't tolerate a smart mouthed child even if she inhabits the precious body of my Boo. So we waged war on each other this weekend as the thunder rolled and the rain poured down.

By the time we settled into bed Sunday night we were both hurting and disappointed in each other. Fortunately just the act of snuggling together helped sooth some of the wounds from our weekend battles. It would break my heart to loose the precious connection I have with her, but I am the adult and that means I can't always be her friend. As she grows older we will have to find a balance to maintain reasonable discipline without damaging our special bond.

Before I could think of something wise and wonderful to say to her, she rolled over to hug me and said, "You know grandma, it's not easy babysitting when you aren't the mom or the dad, is it?" "No, Boo, it's sure not." I said, and we both started to giggle. I knew then that we'd just taken a little weekend detour and that everything would be fine once we got back on the main road again. We just have to follow our hearts.

X-Traordinary's Words

This was Mays Ditalini Press topic: X is a man who no longer likes certain words either because they have become too common or they evoke sentiments far too painful. What words could X eliminate and why?

X knows that his job is, and always will be, to join together with his friends to form words; creating the perfect language for mankind. Sometimes it frustrates him to hear this language misused. He hates the word SHAME when it is hissed from someones lips. The SSSHHHH suggesting that one is such an embarrassment that they should be neither seen nor heard. The word CONDESCEND bothers him too. It seems to infer that one is conniving to descend into the deceit that others are beneath them. He grieves over the beautiful word PAGAN which was created to represent the simple agricultural people who worked the fields with their hands, supporting themselves with their crops. Now demonized to mean one who is a non believer. Sometimes X dislikes a word for no reason at all. PRAGMATIC has always stuck in his throat. He doesn't know what it means, nor does he care. He simply hates the feel and taste of it on his tongue.

Customer Service ?

You have reached B&H & Appleton laundry service. Please leave your name, your apartment address and the number of the machine that you are reporting out of order so that we can more quickly service the appliance.

"Well hello again. It's me, Sandy, from the Regency apartments. Once again, after a ten hour work day, I am standing before one of your broken washers. It's filled with lots of water and, of course, my clothes and it appears to be unwilling to enter into the spin cycle. I don't ask for much from you people. Just a simple wash cycle in return for the $1.50 I plug into your antique machines week after week. Instead I'll be spending the next two hours retrieving soaked and dripping laundry from this machine and transferring it to another which will hopefully decide it wants to use the spin cycle. Never mind the extra $1.50 this will cost me. It's the fact that I'll be unable to finish drying my clothes until nearly midnight that upsets me. So be sure and tape those nice little 6 quarters onto another card and drop it in the mail for my refund. That will make it all better. Kind of like poking a sharp stick in my eye in order to collect on the loss of sight clause in my insurance policy.

Oh, and that yucky stuff floating in the water? Kinda looks like cat litter doesn't it? I have no idea how that got there. Have a nice day!"

My Name Is Sandy........

My name is Sandy and I'm a Farmaholic. This is my first time at an FA meeting and I'm afraid that it just might be my last chance to regain control of my life.

I find myself getting up at midnight to harvest an imaginary crop or to feed my virtual dog, and then drag myself, exhausted, into work the next day. I've been thrown out of Walmart for trying to use FV cash to pay for my groceries. And last week my whole world collapsed when my FV neighbors simply disappeared. I mean, why? Why would neighbors just leave? I'd committed to a rice co-op and promised to plant and harvest 200 plots, but without neighbors I wasn't allowed to join. Without neighbors in FV you're nothing! Farmville tech support keeps saying they're investigating the mysterious disappearance of neighbors and loading problems, but I remain friendless except for the animals on my farm.

My computer room smells from the overflowing cat litter sitting in the corner. I have no time to feed and clean up after a real pet when my new virtual dog still needs to be trained with the virtual dog treats.

The worst of it is that I've influenced my grandchildren through my addictive behavior. I needed twenty neighbors to expand my farm and so, yes, I admit it. I coerced those innocents into joining my virtual world and now they too are addicts. Once I even stooped so low as to create a fake neighbor to use in my never ending quest of bigger and better farming. I like to think of it as creative farming. Oh? Really? Well, no, I never actually thought of myself as being a FV cheater. I suppose you could be right, but you won't report me will you?

I've been thinking that maybe I was getting a handle on the problem lately. After all, I gave up Cafe World so I could concentrate on Farmville. That's a good sign. Right? What? Well, yes maybe that is a little like giving up wine to devote more time to Vodka. Guess you've heard all of this before. But I know some people who are much worse off than me. they're using Mafia World, Zooland, Vampire World and God only know what else to feed their addiction. OK. So maybe I should just concentrate on my own problems.

Well. Would you look at the time. Is it 8:30 already? This has been helpful, but I really must go. I have a grape crop that will whither by ten tonight. Oh! And I think it may be my turn on Scrabble......................

Fools Gold

This was April's Ditalini Press assignment:
Take an object, place, or emotion and give it human characteristics. Once again my muse, Susan whispered inspiration into my ear. And a big thanks to Rudy my techno-guy who also has a great rock collection.


Fools Gold

Like the craftsman gilds the edges of a fine frame, I too can guilt the edges of your world. In doing so, I cover the original portrait of your life with fools gold. Turning pleasure to pain, freedom to imprisonment, and life's ambitions to drudgery, by simply whispering the words, "should have, could have" into your ear. My whispers drowning out the beating of your heart which carries the rhythm of the songs you want to sing. There is no end to what I can do.

I can make you give up your life's ambitions by looking through the eyes of your child, stretching out my arms to you, and saying, "Please don't go."

I can drive you breathlessly, recklessly across an entire continent to weep at the grave of a parent who never really loved you.

I can hobble you in the middle of the dance by pointing out that your best friend is a wallflower.

When you soar, I can ensnare you in my web of lies, and bring you back down to earth to be fitted with guilted iron boots.

And when laughter escapes your lips, I can shame you with the knowledge that those around you are grieving.

Yes. I can do all these things, but only if you give me the power by choosing the fools gold I offer. I am guilt. Pass me by in search of life's finer treasures.

Springtime In Ohio

Just when we thought it was safe to sit out on our patios, mother nature sent us one last white reminder that winter is not quite over. But we Ohioans know that if you don't like the weather here, just wait a day or two and it will change. This past weekend, at Rudy's home in Akron, we awoke once again, to sunshine and 50 degree temps. A beautiful morning which held the promise of outdoor activities by afternoon. As I gazed out across his back yard, I noticed these amazing little crocuses poking their heads out from some of the unmelted snow which lingered in the shadow of the garage.

I couldn't resist snapping a quick picture and as luck would have it, the result was better than anything I could have imagined. This truly is springtime in Ohio, where we, along with our flower gardens valiantly poke our heads out from the winter blahs and go in search of sunshine. Even after the darkest coldest of winters we have the promise of spring. We just have to be strong enough, patient enough, and hopeful enough, to go in search of it.

Late Night Toast

I've often pondered, without conclusion, the question "Can one who is born blind truly miss color?" I believe I have the answer. It is yes. For I was born and raised without the benefit of parental love, and yet I miss that which I never had. With mom's passing, I have lost every opportunity to win her love and affection, and that is my deepest sorrow in this grieving process. Mothers, by nature, are suppose to love their children. She did not. I can't fix this, can't soften it's affect on me or explain it away.

And so, I sit here tonight, drink in hand, listening to a Keith Urban CD; singing along with the lyrics.

Don't you know

Nobody drinks alone

Every demon from your past

Every ghost, every memory you've held back

Follows you home.

Nobody drinks alone.

I am not alone tonight. I have plenty of ghosts, demons and memories to keep me company.

We all raise our glasses and say, "Here's to you Mom!"

The End Of The Journey

Mom passed away on Tuesday, March 16th at 8:15 PM. I know the exact time because my sister and I were there on either side of her holding her hands as she made the transition slowly, one labored breathe at a time, from this world to the next. It was harder than I'd ever imagined. When the end came my sister and I looked across her body at each other and with tears in our eyes celebrated our strength, honor, and commitment to family. We'd made it. We'd done the right thing in being there at the end of a bitter sweet journey.

Mom was never meant to be a mother. We have yet to understand why she gave birth to my sister and I. Through the years her stoic German demeanor taught us to be tough because life was hard and she wanted to be certain that we would survive all it threw at us. Tears were seen as a sign of weakness and strongly discouraged. There were never any kind words or loving embraces, only instructions and corrections. As we began to raise our own family's of daughters, we found that her attitude was not softened by grandchildren. She treated them just as she had us, offering only criticism or indifference. They tried so hard to love her. We tried so hard to love her, but nothing ever changed.

As mom grew older, she began to need us to help her with daily chores like shopping, Dr's visits, complicated insurance forms and an occasional trip to the emergency room. We were not saints. We often harbored resentment during these last years, but we were there and we continued to try to paste a smile on our faces and do the best we could for her often at the sacrifice of family time and our jobs. Connie and I comforted and encouraged each other

during these difficult times. We stood firm in our commitment to do the right thing by our mother.

Now that I've let mom go, made funeral arrangements, cleaned her apartment and hauled a truckload of debris away, I have to find a way to work through my thoughts and emotions. Tears hang just behind my eye lids. My throat aches with unreleased pain but I cannot seem to let it go. She did a good job making me tough, but she could not rob me of love. My daughters were there with me this past week helping me say goodbye to a woman they barely knew. Their pain was in watching me suffer silently. My sister and I have conquered a generation of stoic tight lipped family ties. We have created families bound together not just by obligation but by the deepest love imaginable.

A friend of mine who understands the difficult relationship I've had with my mother wrote me a simple note of condolence and it rings crystal clear as I hold back the flood of emotions within me. She said she hoped that the end was sweeter than the journey. And it was.

Blood is Thicker Than Paint....is Thicker Than Water

Those of you who read my Scrabble Wars Blog understand, as much as you can, the kind of relationship that my daughter Sarah and I have. We are and always will be oil and water, fire and gasoline, alcohol on an open wound. But blood being thicker than anything, when push comes to shove we come to each others aid with humor and an endless sense of selflessness. Point in fact, when I faced the very real threat of unemployment last fall, all of my kids offered to open their doors to me providing food and shelter until I could get back on my feet. Sarah, simply said she'd pay whatever I needed beyond my unemployment benefits to stay in my own apartment and not move in with her! That's my girl.

This weekend, while her boyfriend was in Chicago at some police academy training, I joined Sarah in a paint marathon at her little home in Euclid. She wants to put her house on the market this summer and the best way to do that is to put a fresh coat of paint on all the walls. Our job was to complete the dining room and living room, applying not one, but two coats of pain. (I'm going to leave that little typo in this post as paint pretty much translates into pain.)It was a long, gruesomely fun weekend. Every muscle and joint in my body tells me today that we successfully completed the task and what's even better, no one died in the process.

To make the job more interesting, we had the added company of her two Rhodesian Ridgebacks and one German Shepherd. The Rhodesians are 120 pounds of mass and muscle. One is an adult male and the other is a nine month old, fully intact, male puppy. These dogs were bred in Africa as lion hunters, so when they want attention they usually get it. And when the pup, Anubis, wants to um...... assert his maleness, well then just don't bend over to open a paint can. Fortunately it was a rare sunny weekend in Cleveland so they were able to stay outdoors most of the time.

We spent Friday evening taping the ceiling line and around the woodwork. Then we moved all the furniture to the center of the room and created a cozy theater like atmosphere between leather sofas and the entertainment center. By eight we were snuggled up, each with a couch and a dog watching Housewives of Orange County. My choice would have been Survivor or Amazing Race, but Sarah never misses an episode of this ridiculous reality show. Like I said, oil and water. I slipped off to bed early with Argos in tow as he was to share my sleeping quarters. I use the word share loosely.

Saturday morning we began the marathon. I took the upper trim which meant up and down ladders but less precision because of the taped ceiling. Sarah took the lower baseboards which meant kneeling and bending. A fair trade off, I'd say. Once the trim was finished we loaded up the new battery powered paint roller which she had purchased. It was my job, of course, to assemble it first! We took turns rolling paint on the walls and working our farms in Farmville. This was the weekend when we were finally allowed to expand our chicken coops and it was important to both of us to stay on top of our progress. Lunch was a frozen goat cheese pizza and a bud lite lime. Heavenly chow!

After my brief nap, (age requires naps) we began our afternoon session, applying the second coat of paint. We were finished by four and were both satisfied with the way it looked. Clean up took another hour. Clean up for each of us personally took an additonal two hours. Apparently the paint clean up and her shower used up all the hot water, so I had to wait for the tank to reheat before I got my turn in the bathroom. We wanted to get dinners delivered from Mama Catenas, but discovered to our horror that this particular night their driver did not show up and therefore they did not have delivery available. Well, she'd promised me Mama Catenas Pasta Primavera and by God I felt she needed to make it happen. So we drove out in sweats and PJ'S to pick up the food we ordered. She made me go into the restaurant while she stayed in the car.

At last we arrived back home, laden with yummy Italian food and a bottle of wine each. Once again we snuggled up with our rewards (and of course the dogs) and watched Braveheart. It was wonderful! I slept like a log with my bed partner, Argos.

Then came the dawn and my muscles seized up on me and I wanted to die. Sarah insisted we go to Target to pick out a rug for the dining room and some other decorating items. She also insisted we use Jim's truck since my car couldn't haul all of her purchases. She laughed as I struggled to get in and out of that monster truck with no running boards to assist in the four foot drop from seat to ground level.

Of course shopping with Sarah means, "Do you like this mom?" To which I reply, "Yes I think that would go well with the paint color." Then she routinely states. "I don't think so. I think this would be better." If however, I said I did not like what she selected, she would say that she liked it and into the cart it would go. Aha! I discovered a faster way to get out of Target. I just said I hated everything she picked out and it went from shelf, to cart, to check out. Only one hour spent in hell.

To finish a long story, we put the rooms back in the best order we could and went out to the Beachland Ballroom for their Sunday , mostly vegan, brunch. It was a gorgeous sunny day and I know we both felt pleased that we'd accomplished so much in so little time and also that we had not killed each other in the process. The food was wonderful, and the company was even better. I may be limping today, but my heart is filled with gratitude for the bonds of family which I am so lucky to have. There is nothing like a little hard work to chase the winter blues away.

Waiting for Sunshine

Mid winter depression has settled over me like a blanket. Not a warm comforting wrap, but rather a musty, smothering, itchy straight jacket. Even my vitamin D supplements aren't helping in the absence of sunshine. And winter brings more than cold, snowy sunless hours, it carries along with it flu, and cabin fever.

I love my grandchildren, but during these virus laden months they become little Petra dishes of cold and flu germs and as I grow older, the infections they pass on to me seem harder and harder to shake off. Poor Boo caught an upper respiratory infection a few weeks ago and landed in the hospital. Without a spleen to fight off common infection, she is helpless against viral invaders. While her mom tended her in the hospital, her brother Matt needed full time care at home. Grandma Bush and I took time off from our work week to share this responsibility. There is nothing like an eight month old baby blowing snot bubbles out his nose and screaming for his Mama, to suck the energy right out of you. I was reminded during that 24 hour stint why we have children when we are young.

I don't care how many times you wash your hands or try to protect yourself from catching the flu, a baby breaks through every sterile defense known to mankind. And so, I ended up sharing my grand children's illness. Don't get me wrong, I wouldn't have it any other way when it comes to being there for my kids, but I now long for the sunshine, a cough free nights sleep, and the strength to get through the four ten hour work days which lie ahead of me this week. With my 60th birthday looming in the near future, I feel older than I've felt in a long time.

Copping a Plea

This was Februarys writing assignment for DP (Reincarnation)

I must say that when this months topic was posted, I shuddered at the very thought of writing about a subject which totally confuses me. I had intended to simply blow it off, after all, February is a short month and one could easily miss the posting deadline. Then out of no where my special muse (yes, you, Susan) inspired me to take on the project with my usual cynical, sarcastic, irreverence rather than puzzle over it's seriousness.

Ah.....the thought of having lived one or more past lives truly terrifies me. After all, I have barely stumbled my way through this life making one wrong choice after another. Doesn't seem like I've learned much from all that experience. If in fact I have gone around this block before, than surely I am an old soul and this is my last run at it all. I'm simply too tired to do this again. Just between you and me, I get the feeling that no matter how many times I do this, I am never going to get it right!

On the other hand there is another theory out there drifting along the edges of quantum physics, and it intrigues me. What if instead of past lives, we were actually living several life experiences, at the same time only in different dimensions. Each life experience based on the choices we make within that dimension. Like those juvenile novels which give the reader the opportunity to change the story by answering a simple question at the end of each chapter. "If you think Jane would steal the locket, turn to page 33 and continue. If you think Jane puts the locket back, turn to page 29."

What a grand idea! Somewhere out there I'm living a truly blessed life because I've made all the right choices. Somewhere I got it all right! Now I don't have to feel quite so bad about the dumb mistakes I make here. One thing is certain. If I get to choose, I'm going to plea bargain for plan "B, (alternate dimensions) instead of plan "A" (past lives.) Why? Because plan "B" offers me a life sentence served concurrently! Now that's a deal in any courtroom.