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.