A meme, just because I can’t write much today….
from bridgett’s blog:
My answers:
A. Attached or single? I’m done with seeking attachments. Thank God. No really, I mean it. With my body in the shape it is now, celibacy, something I once thought I could never face, gives me some peace of mind.
B. Best friend? In the 70’s it was Melanie, Tiffany and Peter.
In the eighties it was Peter, Steve, Bridgett. [I loved Brian who was also a good friend and life partner, but our connection was so deep, unmovable, complicated and [from my side after the *** hit the fan ] ambivalent, I don’t know what to call it.}
In the 90’s Peter, Steve and Bridgett. Add in Joanne, [name withheld] and Marta late in the decade.
In the 2000’s Joanne, Peter, Steve Bridgett. That’s all.
. Cake or Pie?: Whole Foods Two Bite Brownies man.
D. Day of choice? Saturday morning resting my tired brain, shoulders, hands ankles…
E. Essential item. This computer.
F. Favorite color? Blue. [duh] Specifically that misty blue/grey often called slate blue.
G. Gummy bears or worms? Christmas M and M’s
H. Hometown? Lyndhurst [Cleveland], Ohio.
I. Favorite indulgence? Vegas, baby.
J. July? July. In Ontario, in a lake, swimming.
K. Kids? None, which bums me out. But I may get an actuall pet next summertime
L. Life isn’t complete without? Books. Music. DVDS. But I’d pitch them all for more face time with family and friends
M. Marriage date[span]? September 5th 1987-January 11. 1993
N. Number of brothers and sisters? One younger brother and one younger sister. Oops, wait they’re my cousins, but cousins in name only. They’re my sibs and I love em.
O. Oranges or Apples? Oranges.
P. Phobias? Bees. Wasps. Hornets. The abject humiliation brought about by a flare up of one of my less socially acceptable impairments.
Q. Quotes? [Lewis Black, about cold cold winters] “…..It’s so cold, I have not been able to hold a single thought in my own head. I go out, and say “You know what I should really…***K ITS COLD!!!”
R. Reasons to smile? Paychecks. Calls from home. Comfortable clothing.
S. Season of choice? Spring, when the sun comes out and tells me that it will get to be fun, living in Denver eventually, and I won’t miss my family back east so much.
T. Tag 5 people: If you feel so moved, go right ahead.
U. Unknown fact about me? Um. Honestly? Each of the people that know me only know part of the story. But if they all sat around together (maybe at my wake?) They’d all find out that there is not a single unknown fact about me.
V. Vegetable? Spinach with some onion, and a bit of vinegar. Heaven.
W. Worst habit? Expecting that the electronic fax machine at my job will work better next time. Stupid of me.
X. X-ray or Ultrasound? Cat scan, darn it. So the fool doctors can’t *miss* cancer for over a year, next time.
Y. Your favorite food? one homemade burger with a dash of A-1 and some grilled onions. and the Citrus adventure salad from the restaurant chain “The Elephant Bar.”
Z. Zodiac sign? Scorpio with Scorpio Rising. And I am a textbook example, for those who put stock in those characteristics. So watch the **** out.
My cat…
Yes, unbelievers me, one of the most terrified-of-animals people I know, I once had a cat.
He had an unremarkable name, but he was a great good friend for the time I had him…
I think I was about eleven.
He was a Christmas gift, a grey and white calico that my mother was appalled by and my father’s brother and his wife insisted on giving to me…
The most fun we had was our nightly patrol. He had learned that I was possesive about my bed, and didn’t want visitors. But he understood that it was ok to wake me at patrol time.
Sometime in the dark of night…when even my father was sleeping [it off] My cat would jump to the head of the bed, and bat me on the nose with his declawed front paws…until I woke up…
The rule was, we had to patrol all the rooms on the main floor, except my parents room. He would look behind to see if I was following (I was), and had learned quite early in our association not to outrace me, or I might sulk. The end of the vigil was always the back room, with its wall of windows. And then, he’d stop. Precisely in the middle of the carpet. And sit watching anything that might interest a cat that was going on outside.
I would also sit quiet and watch the things that caught my eye…snowglow, reflected by a bit of lamplight. On a clear night, it was my chance to look up and lose myself watching the stars…not to catalog or understand them…but just examination…
Then, after some ten minutes he would turn and we would head back to my room, where I would permit him to take a spot near my shoulder, sitting on my bed, so I could pet him easily…and then the purring engine started…it was just enough to get me back to sleep…and he’d slip away and hang out alone until the day began.
He was never taken to the vet for the necessary shots, a job assigned to my alchoholic father that he never completed..(Surprise) so my cat fell seriously ill early, suffered a great deal that my parents and I both had to watch…and then my father did finally make that trip to the vet, to end my cat’s misery…
You aren’t supposed to hate your father, and thank goodness we got things straight and loved each other for the last year he was around, so it *ended* well.
But just writing this post made me realize where the hate began, a genuine hate that would last through the end of my adolescence, to be replaced by pity, and with contempt oddly mixed with concern when I became an adult.
When I realized I wasn’t the only inoccent losing the battle against the chaos in the house.
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I’m going to try the pet thing again, within the year, since newhouse allows pets.
But, due to roomates allergies to all pets *except* one particular breed of dog, it’ll be a schnauser pup….
I’m kinda excited to try it, and in memory of my cat, will be damn watchful to take care of the vet needs of the new housemate…I’ll probably try to get said pup next summer.
This pet will have a safe house.
Friend in town
Damn, it’s good to have someone to talk to…face to face, three dimensional, like the old days…I think the art of good face to face conversation nourishes the spirit.
I’m atypical. I’ve kept in close touch with two male friends from high school and a college roomate.
We’re scattered all over, but email, phone and in person, we always seem to pick up right where we left off. We all have history, lengthy but in most cases remarkably uncomplicated. They love me and I love them, and if any one of us called at one in the morning and said “I need to talk,” they’d probably comply.
Someone whose jokes are too obtuse for anyone but the two of us.
Who still smiles the same way (the first thing that drew me to him…when I was in the “have a crush on anybody” stage.)
Who understands the complexity of my relationship with my maternal parent.
Who knows enough to go to the fridge and get his own Coke.
Who understands the lure of black-and-white movies….and agrees that “Now, Voyager” is quite a find.
Yes we’re weird.
Playing like five year olds at a favorite restaurant….
And having conversations like…
Him: “I think I want to be cremated, it’s less stress…But I can’t have my ashes spread in all my favorite places…it’s not like you can give your friends a nickel bag here and a nickel bag there…”
“Well, where is your favorite place?
“You mean other than Ashtabula?”
[fit of laughter]
“I wish you lived closer,” he says.
I do too.
He may be back over at my house tonight and/or tomorow.
To absent friends…
I do miss you. You were the bouncy third of us, the dancer, english major with the fairyland face…who wished all of life were borders, edges, safe corners that you could dance through. I got too scary, and the other perhaps too far away….But even my worst would not have hurt you. We miss you.
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It should be 1958, and you should be jitterbugging whith whomever you please…sleevless black dress and elegance…brains and beauty with no hint of risk taking…It should be an ordered world, of course, but it is not.
I do hear though that your bike is rolling through the maples again in the spring sun. I miss you.
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I am so lucky that you never bailed. You in the bad jacket with the merciful heart. I had a dream once.
It’s late afternoon in northern Italy, and you bought that house. You’ve decided that everyone you ever knew should be invited…I’ve gotten mobile somehow, and have high heels. I expect to see you first, but the one I *do* see first is even better, (I hear you give great parties) and I suddenly get that this is the Hereafter party…Else why would my husband be standing in a tuxedo in your entryway in late afternoon sun, lifting a hand up to shade his bluegreen eyes to see me?
But really, that was a dream. I hope you get the house, for real, and invite the ones still here…so we sit at sunset and drink a little and laugh a lot.
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One of my father’s people, ‘salt of the earth’ fits you. You don’t need to be puzzled or concerned about me, you’re just my friend and my cousin. Simple, straightforward, funny, flawed, enjoyed. I’ll see you when next I’m home.
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And the enigma, the one I can say anything to who knows things about me my other friends and family do not…who has seen me at the end of my rope and not blinked.
I don’t have to miss you at all, since you’re coming in June. We laugh as though we are twelve, and nobody gets it…we’re quickwitted, merry, make no excuses, take no prisoners. I can use twenty thirty, fifty dollar language and you don’t stare as if I’ve just landed from another world. You let me sing.
My list of…
I was going to call it my list of failures, and then I thought, no, my list of changes, and then I thought, f- it they *are* my list of failures and the only thing good about them is that I own them, damnit. On some things I *am* self aware rather than self indulgent, so self aware in fact, that it feels like a basement with a single bright bulb that never goes out, full of messy boxes.
I couldn’t finish my second masters. (Or, find work using my first.) I mislaid, misplaced or plain had stolen a grey backpack with a bible, and my first lenghthy detailed research notes on the Great Awakening (I’m unsure if it was the first or second…..it was to be the first piece of a masters thesis) and I just went to my advisor and said “Fcuk it.” I didn’t see any way to go back to the beginning and/or pick something else…the stipend was ending, I was about to get married, and I was getting intimations it would be a rough road.
Law School. Same notation, just alot quicker.
Marriage. I was unable to reckon that I should just be fine as what they used to call an old maid. I should have had the strength of will to override love and settle for work. And, if he wasn’t the wrong person, it was surely the wrong place, time, and convergence of various events past and future to do that.
I didn’t find a way to make my maternal parent mind her own business without moving 1300 miles. I should have been able to shut out the parts of her communication style that threatened to drive me nuts. Then, perhaps, I wouldn’t be 1300 miles from the rest of the family, and I wouldn’t have had to reconcile with Mom completely on my own. (I’m glad I’ve at least managed that.)
I didn’t stay connected to my father’s people well, after he died, and now they’re hurt and mistrustful. I don’t blame them.
Then there are the things others see as my ‘failures’ which I absolutely have no space in my head to assign the label of ‘faliure’ to
My weight.
Holy Christ. I’m the same inside person. Do you like that person? If *yes* then, not to be rude but STFU.
I used to use crutches but now I can’t.
The foot pain is getting to the point that I use the mute button on the work phone, cry a bit at a sudden sharp moment, and then get back into a customer call.
The walking is done for awhile. Suck it up.
Midlife And Treachery 
