Take Those Blues Away

When I drive, I listen to Fred Astaire. His singing voice makes me feel light and gay. To hear him sing  Cheek to Cheek  or The Way You Look Tonight  renews my faith in romance. Watching him dance in movies, washes a smile over my face and I feel a sense of serenity unmatched to any other. It totally enthralls me to watch him dance with Ginger Rodgers.

All is right in my world.

I had a rough week and I don't know what I would have done without him. Fred Astaire has been my savior on more than one occasion. He makes me feel fancy free and free for anything fancy. When I'm broke, I listen to him sing We're in the Money and I just don't care. When I have to drive in the rain, I put on Isn't this a Lovely Day, and sing along. Pick Yourself Up helps when I just can't do what needs to be done.

Heaven, I'm in heaven ~

Thanks Fred!

On the Street Where I Live

I live on a dead end street.

Once in a while I'll see a car go flying down the street, only to hear the driver slam on the breaks. There's something odd about living on a street that takes you no where. It reminds me of a Roadrunner cartoon, when the coyote slams into a lifelike painting of a landscape.

I hope it isn't a metaphor for my life.

His Time of Need

A phone call in the middle of the night is never good. It's a clear indicator that something is wrong. In my experience it has always meant someone has died or been rushed to the hospital. At least this is how it happens in my family.

When the call came at 3:30 I didn't answer with "hello" I answered with "what's wrong". My brothers wife died from a heart attack in her sleep.

Now I go into auto pilot. I have been in this mode many times before and I'm quite prepared, which is not to say I'm not shook up. He lives about 90 minutes away and I'll make the solo drive tomorrow.

I felt compassion only once from my brother. It was the day my father died, I was eleven and my mom told me my dad was very sick. My brother put it into terms that I understood, he said " Daddy isn't going to get better" and he hugged me.

I'm sure that when everything is done, all arrangements have been made, and things are nice and tidy, everything will return to normal. I won't see him for years, he won't call me on my birthday, and he'll forget he has a niece. When I tell him I really need to see him he'll make some excuse why he can't visit.

OR - maybe not, maybe things will be different this time.

I hope so.

An Orange Tabby

I never found the orange tabby appealing. Despite the popularity of cartoon cats like, Garfield, Heathcliff, and my favorite, Shreks Puss in Boots. It was never the color that disturbed me, I found their faces to be, too fat, too flat, or too blank. Then there was Spike.

The two cats we had died and the house had been sans cats for almost a year. It was a nice change for me after three decades that included one black cat, one grey cat, one white cat, and two brown tabbies. I thought no pets was refreshing, but I was alone in that feeling. I finally caved from all of the pleading and begging and we went to a shelter. My daughter, whose favorite color is orange, made a beeline for the orange kitten. He seemed very gentle and sweet so I agreed. He had a brown tabby sister so we adopted the two of them and dubbed them Spike and Allie.

Since then, we have also given a home to a stray tabby that wouldn't leave our door. Jack would hop up on our picture window and meow at us while we watched TV at all hours. It was a solid case of the squeaky cat getting the oil. Of the three cats Spike is the only one I really love. He has the sweetest disposition and sleeps at the foot of my bed each night. Occasionally he sleeps under the covers with me. He's also a fine actor, when he's hungry he sits with his eyes half shut. His body moves slightly as if he'll fall over from weakness if not fed immediately. He should be on stage.

I can't end here without mentioning my other two favorite cats that I had the privilege to live with. Butch and Mouse. Butch lived until the age of 19, and was a brown tabby. Mouse died at around 10, he was a pure white cat who could fetch. Both were sweet, smart cats, with lots of personality. They've both left a hole in my heart through their absence.

I've been thinking about getting a dog, don't tell my kid.

I Want my Baby Back

Lately when I see a baby or toddler my heart aches. My little girl is ten and I miss those years. Her little smile, her little hands, her fine hair, the way she moved, I loved every minute. I loved my pregnancy too even tho it wasn't considered an easy one, I rolled with the punches, knowing it was temporary and for a damn good reason.

At first, as she got older I didn't long for the old days, but now, her childhood is drifting away and it makes me happy and sad at the same time. Her brain works creatively and she makes me laugh a lot. She's turning into a beautiful, bright, thoughtful, young lady.

I just can't help the longing I feel for that happy little face.

Reunions

The high school I went to began at seventh grade and continued on through twelfth, so I was in the same school for six years. But for a few friends, once I graduated I never saw anyone, unless it was random.
I never went to any of my high school reunions. For years I never knew about them because the invitations went to my mothers address and she threw them away. (thanks mom) This is the reason I was always able to avoid the entire issue. Five years ago I got an email invitation, I guess they heisted my address from Classmates.com. Then I had to make a decision, and it wasn't easy. To this day, I have regrets. I don't remember having some big crush for anyone in High School. So my fear didn't involve seeing a person from my past. No, my fear was just that I never really fit in.

I wasn't your average high school kid, I came with baggage. It's a simple story, that didn't feel tragic at the time, I just was out of place with my peers. Now that I'm all grown up, I see how life altering it was. How much it affected me, why I could never be like everyone else. Now that I have a daughter who is the age I was I see more clearly.

My father died from cancer when I was eleven. I watched this vibrant man wither away to nothing. It was during the school year, I was in seventh grade, when life went back to "normal" and I started classes again it was indefinably strange. No one knew what to say to me, especially my friends. That's when the out of place feeling started. One clear memory was taking a social studies test, the room was silent. Our class was on the same floor as the music rooms and in the silence I heard an organ playing. It reminded me of the funeral and my eyes filled with tears, it was uncontrollable. I raised my hand to be excused and the teacher sternly shook her head no, mouthing that a test was in progress. This was the first time I bucked authority, I got up and left. That must have been when I started to forget stuff. My memory pre-death is clear, but I remember little from post death.

Anyway, this is getting morbid. I didn't want to go to the reunion and I went. I drank too much. Yes, I didn't fit in, Yes, my former classmates are all just people, Yes they had advantages I never had. Yes, they grew up more grounded and secure than me. Yes, they were more confident because they had someone tell them they could do it. Yes, Yes, Yes, Yes.

It has been five years and another reunion is upon me, am I going - NO, NO, NO.

I don't know, maybe.

Un-communication

You'd think I was writing the Great American Novel. What is it about an email that makes me edit it to death? Way back when I wrote a letter I didn't erase, delete, cut, paste and copy. I just let the words flow. It may have something to do with the instant response that it may or may not provoke. Its not uncommon to send off an email only to receive an answer that makes me sit back and say HUH!?

How many times have I had to explain myself from an instant message? It's easy to be misunderstood.

I have a love hate relationship with texting. Not everyone texts equally. Can someone write a texting etiquette, please? Think of it like a walkie talkie or a ham radio, you need to 10-4 over and out or something. As it is, I'm left hanging a lot, waiting for a reply that never comes, or unsure if I should reply.

There are just too many ways these days to miscommunicate.
Talking is hard enough, thank you.

It's Not Just Right

I have a hard time getting used to new stuff, phones, remote controls, jobs, people, shoes. I like the concept of new things but the reality is I just have to work harder to adjust and it causes me anxiety. Not the kind of anxiety that makes me want to take a xanax, just not a toasty feeling. I like it when things are smooth and easy, I guess you could say I like it when things are comfortable and old. Like the way comfort food makes me feel. It doesn't make my tummy upset, it tastes good and it creates a sensation that everything is just right. Kinda like the way Goldilocks felt about baby bears porridge.

You never know what can happen when something is new. Things don't work the way you expect them to. Everything takes longer to do. Stuff isn't where you think it's supposed to be.

This all comes about because I need a new phone. My contract has been up now for over a year and a free phone has just been sitting, waiting for me. I've put it off as long as I can, now my battery is dying and I need to bite the bullet. I dislike this process so much I've started thinking I don't need a phone at all.

If there's an emergency everyone else has a phone and I can use theirs right? If it's a REAL emergency I probably wouldn't be able to use a phone anyway. Who do I really talk to on my cell phone that I can't talk to on a real phone? How will my life change if I don't text?

All this over a new phone.

Games People Play

When I was a kid I could play Monopoly for hours. During summer vacation I spent most days alone watching Dick Cavett and playing Solitaire. Scrabble was my game of choice in my twenties, usually a one on one game. I remember my female relatives always laying on the floor playing Scrabble, we had some major crossword puzzle fanatics in the family and they loved showing off to each other. Trivial Pursuit was popular in my thirties. Then it was back to solo games like: Intellivision Night Stalker...Nintendo Mario Brothers...GameBoy Tetris...Pogo Poppit...and the dreaded Farmville on Facebook. It's the games I play alone that concern me. The solitary and addictive qualities seem unhealthy as I while away the hours with nothingness. Shouldn't I be whiling away the hours reading or creating?

Sometimes playing a game with real people can get scary.

When you play games with other people you sometimes meet an entirely new person you didn't know you knew. A competitive side comes out that you don't usually see, sometimes people even seem to get a little mean. Don't get me wrong, I like to win, but it doesn't bother me if I lose. After all it's just a game and you can always play again. I'm not a strategic player, I don't do things that will lessen my opponents chances of getting ahead. I guess my favorite games of all time are those that take at least a small bit of smarts...Pictionary, Scrabble, Trivial Pursuit to name a few. Games can be lots of laughs as long as you don't play with a meany who's only goal is to win.

After all it's not whether you win or lose...

Non Verbal Communication

I think Bela Lugosi had the right idea when he said "Look into my eyes". I like the concept of having someone bite my neck and then I would fall under their spell. That way I don't have to take responsibility for any of my actions. I could say "I never said that" and really mean it. As it is I find myself saying "That's not what I meant". Communication is just so darn complicated.Why do we have to talk anyway?

Sometimes it just messes everything up. Of course I find it extremely difficult to keep my mouth shut. It would be nice if I could erase all the times I've put my foot in it by saying the wrong thing,

I'd probably...well never mind.

Stop Your Belly Achin

People seem to love to complain. People who have jobs complain about them, people who don't have jobs complain about not having them. People who are single want mates and those who have mates want to be single. Its the same with money, kids, houses, cars and almost everything in between. The state of one's health is a big thing to complain about.

I try not complain, but I'm sure I do. Sometimes you just have to.

There's a fine line between complaining, whining and just stating the facts. If someone asks "How do you feel?" and you tell them your head hurts that's just a fact. If you go on to say "my heads been hurting since yesterday, I can't get anything done, I wanted to bake a cake but the flower will just go up my nose and make it worse, so I can't, it stinks when I have a headache" that's complaining. If at any point in any of those conversations you say something like "why does this always happen to me?" then your whining.

Maybe people think that if they stopped complaining they would have nothing worthwhile to say.

Now that would be something to complain about.

I Heart Pizza

Man do I love pizza. I think I could eat it every day. Deep dish, flat bread, tomato pie, white pie, plain or deluxe, put it in front of me and I can't say no. I eat it cold for breakfast or so hot it burns the roof of my mouth. Eat in, take out, delivery, frozen, name brand or store substitute, gimme pizza.
Slap some sauce and mozzarella on a English muffin or a bagel and throw it in the toaster oven to put a smile on my face.
Give me Ellios or give me death.

Let me eat pizza.

Juror #7

I just finished a three day stint as a juror in a criminal case. My first time ever chosen and I loved it. My mother used to watch Perry Mason even in reruns but I was never overly fascinated by it. After hanging on every word of the OJ Simpson trial I watched court TV for a bit on a regular basis, so I guess I would fall in the average interest part of the American pie chart as far as law and trials are concerned.

I loved the process of jury selection and elimination and I loved watching potential jurors try to weasel out of it. The prosecuting attorney was young and as it turned out this was his first case. No one was as attractive as they are on TV. Well, maybe one or two people.

We deliberated for a very brief time. As soon as the door closed people started yapping, I realized what I was listening to sounded as if everyone was on the same side, so I suggested to the foreman that we take a count. We all found reasonable doubt and made a decision of not guilty.


Juror #7: Uhh... I don't uh... think he's guilty! (played by Jack Warden from 12 Angry Men)


As we walked out of the deliberation room, down the hallway towards the elevator I envisioned the credits scrolling behind me.

It's the hard-knock life

You can become an orphan at any age. I became one at the age of 49. It doesn't matter how old you are it's still a hollow feeling. Initially, I thought it was a freeing experience. I had no one left to answer to, no one needing me to call, or giving me a hard time when I didn't. No flowers or cards to remember.

It feels different now. I thought I asked all the questions but I forgot a few and now there are no answers. No one exists who knew me when, before I became whoever it is that I am now. I don't know that I ever thought about the fact that it wasn't just me before but now it really is just me.

Just me.

In your Facebook

My job requires me to be on Facebook daily.
I had my own page for a couple of years and in the beginning I really enjoyed it. Finding people I'd lost touch with, seeing how their children had grown, trying to write clever status updates, reading comments.
Yes, I played Farmville ~ but let's save that for another blog.

I was disappointed that there was less to talk about when I saw some friends in person. Their walls sometimes told the whole story, and often the conversation became a mere regurgitation of that, with an added who said what, or who friended who.
I soon stopped caring and thought "What happened to real conversation?"

People who didn't set up privacy settings would be upset by what they felt was some sort of stalking behavior. I thought if there are things I don't want people to see, why are they my Facebook friends, it was time to rethink and un-friend.

Once the status shuffle app was created I was less impressed with the wit of certain friends. I also became leery of my adult friends who had too many friends. I had a brief stint as a Facebook whore, but it made me feel dirty and cheap so I reconsidered and un-friended.

I've seen friends post over 300 pictures at a time, including the blurry ones, the concept of editing is obviously lost on these people. Then there are the illness, death and operations postings. Talk about privacy, do these things need to be in a public forum? Lets not forget the Birthday post... the only control you have over this is if you purposely don't list your birthday. Which I have done. Only to be disappointed when only two friends posted a birthday wish on my wall. It's sick, I'm sick, Facebook is sick.

I had to say to myself "Just Don't do it"

Wow, I haven't seen that person in years!! (yeah, I wonder why?)

Facebook drives me nuts!

Less on my bed, less in my head.

Sometimes I use my bed as my office. Books I'm reading, projects I'm making notes on, bills that need to be paid, school papers that need to be signed, its all there, on my bed. ~ There's a cat at my feet and another at my head. I have about five or six pillows, one top sheet, one electric blanket and one comforter. The window must be cracked, and something to drink must be on the night stand. My two remote controls, heating pad and cell phone charger, along with the phone are tucked in the spot between the night table and the bed. My computer lays on the floor at the side of the bed to play some form of solitaire at a moments notice. My bed clothes (that I can't sleep in) lay at the foot of the bed. There's also a big stuffed bear at the end of the bed because the cat that sleeps at my feet likes it that way.

I long for the days when I fell asleep on the sofa with the TV on.