As the Crow Flies

I am trying to paint this morning and my husband has a toothache. Not a very happy house today. I got to a stopping point so I could log in to my dental benefits website to locate a participating dentist. Sounds simple, right? Hell no! It seems I don't know my mother's maiden name and my birthplace after all. I suppose I was adopted and my dental plan has kept this information from me until now. I was instructed to call an 800 number for further instruction. So I did, much to the dismay of the CSR that got my call. Poor girl didn't start her day well. She couldn't get the system to allow me to log on either so I asked if she would just give me a few names of dentists in my area. Seems the closest dentist that shows up in the system based on my address is directly across the river from where I live, but because the nearest bridge is 20 miles away in the opposite direction it is a good forty-five minute drive. She sounded incredulous that the computer system could be wrong. I assured her I could not fly so she would have to find a provider for me within ten miles please. Nope! No providers in tiny towns. This is one of many reasons why I want to live in the city! In the meantime, hubby will have to lose at least half a day of work for his appointment. He gets DTs when he's out of contact with his emails and business phone for too long and he gets extremely grumpy. Now I remember why I meant to drop my dental coverage this year. So he could go to the dentist a block away from our home and I wouldn't have to deal with the moaning. Peace out!

Simply Happy

I am tired and going to bed soon to catch up on my sleep. I'm off work tomorrow so I will try to do some more cabinet painting. For now, I just thought I would make a list of some things that make me happy:


winning at euchre
a good book
crossword puzzles
my own bed
heated seats in my car
whiskey and diet coke
pictures of my girls and grandchild
the stereo turned up loud
fresh sheets
sweatpants
coffee
red starburst jelly beans
the smell of my husband's closet
the glow of stained glass lamps
Webcam
wax lips
practical jokes
the letter k
Mel Brooks' Young Frankenstein
Bob & Tom on the radio in the morning
stupid billboards
Sex and the City
my granddaughter's laughter
dinner on the stove when I come home late from work
Sunday mornings

That's all for now. Goodnight.

Hugs to You

My husband and I both come from large Catholic families, with five siblings each. This past weekend we met up with his family in Indianapolis to celebrate the February family birthdays, especially my mother-in-law's. I consider myself extremely lucky to be part of this big, happy family. When we all get together it is a noisy, joyful event with plenty of food and drink. While both our families are similar in many ways, his family is very physically affectionate, hugging and kissing as if they hadn't seen each other for ages. It reminds me of "My Big Fat Greek Wedding" without the Greek and without the wedding. Every gathering is celebrated as a special event. It took me a while to get used to all that touchy, feely kind of emotion but I wouldn't want it any other way now. I love that they are so open and genuine and truly nice. They are also very openly spiritual, not afraid to bow their heads and join hands in public to give thanks for all the blessings that have been bestowed upon them. While not necessarily religious, and never proselytizing, they know the importance of being grateful for the good things in their lives and praying for those situations that are beyond their control. I am grateful that my children have grown up in this open, loving family environment. No matter what they choose to believe or not believe spiritually they have this basis of goodness as their foundation.

I know many people have said that we are lucky to have a family so full of love and emotion. They are naturally drawn to this family and its aura of love. I challenge anyone reading this post to try hugging and telling your family or friends that you love them. It may be awkward at first but you may be amazed at the response you get. Look for something good in your life every day and be openly thankful for it. Focus on the positive things and try to be optimistic about the future. Too often we get so caught up in the struggle of life that we forget to open our eyes to the gifts we have been given. Hugs and kisses to everyone!

Humble Pie

Okay, you know how in my last post I wrote about how we ignore those irritating alarms? As I was reading my emails this morning I heard a car alarm go off. I didn't bother to get up and check it out. Not my problem, right? About forty-five minutes later I walked into the kitchen to get coffee and breakfast. I glanced out the kitchen window and was instantly panicked because I didn't see my car in the driveway. I rushed into the living room, bellowing at my husband, "Where is my f...in' car?" My heart was racing and my mind was reeling. Why hadn't I paid attention to the warning and gotten off my butt to take a look? My husband, always the calm in my storm, remained seated in his armchair while he suggested that I look in the carport. Okay, my car was parked there, but then "Then where is your car?" blurted out of my mouth.

Last week we had a winter storm and all the trees and shrubs had been coated with a thick layer of ice, causing their branches to bend and bow with the weight. After the melt, the branches sprang back and the trees stood tall and strong. All but the huge spruce tree that stood sentry at the entrance to our driveway. It remained a leaning tower of nature, like a giant Christmas tree askew in its stand, threatening to topple onto our cars and possibly our house. There was not much we could do but wait until the tree specialist could get by to take a look at it. We hoped we could save it. In the meantime, we began parking both our cars out of its path in case the bulging mound of earth holding it at a thirty degree angle would give up its burden and let it fall to the ground.

On Thursday we had another ice storm. Freezing rain again coated every untreated surface, the yard and driveway a virtual ice rink, the trees drooping like weary nursing home residents. When I awoke early on Friday morning I was not at all surpirsed to see the hulking mass of limbs and greenery sprawled across the lawn, the spruce tree having given up the battle to stand upright. Luckily there was no other damage to home, vehicles, or phone lines but I was saddened by the loss of this tree.

Now that the tree was down and the threat of damage to our cars abated my husband had parked his car in his usual spot in the driveway, out of sight of the kitchen window. He just rolled his eyes as he watched my panic turn to realization, then relief, and finally embarrassment. I had experienced a momentary lapse of memory after ten days of seeing both cars parked end to end just outside that window. Now he is contemplating an appropriate Christmas gag gift for our next crazy family get-together. And now I know just a bit of how it would feel to have your vehicle stolen out from under your nose while the warning alarms were ignored by all as just a common nuisance. I am humbled.

Lunar Dreams

There is a lunar eclipse going on as I type this blog entry. The full moon is an orangey, eerie glow and there are a million stars shining brightly in the night sky. I have to wonder if this event had anything to do with the very weird dream I had early this morning. From what I can remember of it, I left my office to walk, barefoot, to a cafe to pick up lunch. Those two things, walking and barefoot, are a glaring oddity for me. As I walked along the busy street that was nowhere near my office I took a short-cut through an office building of some sort. A Rottweiler tried to attack me but only bit my foot before I managed to get away. Damien comes to mind now. Then my two daughters appeared out of nowhere, rushing to tell me that their father's middle name is not what he had always thought it was, that they had researched his birth record. Somehow we never got around to discussing what it really was. Then I am asleep in my bed and my husband suddenly appears, bending over me in a spooky way trying to tell me something urgent but I couldn't make out what he was saying. Body Snatchers was in the back of my mind right then. It was a little frightening and I awoke with a start.

Now I don't know which part of the dream is the weirdest but I had an uneasy feeling all day. When I ran to the bank to get change for the office this afternoon I called my husband to check on him. I needed to hear his voice, normal and cheerful, to put me at ease again. Dreams are like bits and fragments of our memories put into a blender then poured out in a jumbled mess for us to wonder about their meaning. God only knows what these dreams meant. I just hope my husband's middle name isn't Vern!

Unalarming

I was awakened this morning at 4:30 by a distant sound that at first did not register in my mind. I had to strain to hear its constant rhythmic tone but it was definitely there. Then I realized what it was, a car or house alarm set off in the darkness, trying to do its job to alert someone, anyone. I arose and peeked out the bedroom window but all seemed quiet out front. So I dressed quickly and went down the hallway to investigate further. The sound became louder as I neared the living room, but not loud enough to be in my own driveway. I knew my cars were safe. I glanced out the living room windows but saw nothing unusual. The sound was too distant to be coming from my neighbor's house behind me but I couldn't pinpoint the source. Perhaps it was the convenience store down on the next block. I wondered if anyone else had heard it and reported it, rather doubtful since there were no other lights on in the neighborhood except mine. Before I had a chance to pick up the phone and call the police, the alarm suddenly stopped, leaving me to wonder what had set it off. We have had a rash of burglaries in our little town lately. Could there be someone lurking around? Or was the alarm triggered, most likely, by accident? I knew I wouldn't be able to go back to bed so here I sit, my husband sleeping undisturbed down the hall.

A fable from years ago came to mind about the boy who cried wolf. With so many homes and cars and anything else of value wired with alarms we have become immune to their warnings. These alarms are mostly ignored because they are set off so often in error that we have conditioned ourselves to block their assorted sounds from our consciousness. My family has been known to sleep soundly through the ear-piercing screech of our smoke alarms screaming just outside their bedroom doors. Our town summons the volunteer firemen with the weather sirens so I am sure many of the townspeople sleep right through the tornado warning siren as a result of its overuse. We are barraged with the wailing of police cars, fire trucks and ambulances, so much so that it sometimes takes a few moments to remember that we are to move out of their way. Nobody pays any attention when a store's shoplifter alarm goes off, we just assume the clerk forgot to remove or deactivate the security tag. Even in our airports we are nonchalant about the beeping at the security gates, expecting nothing more than a loose coin or some other inane object to be the cause, as is usually the case. At my office the fire alarms have been triggered so many times in the past year that we can evacuate the three-story building in seconds. We move quickly only because of the deafening shrill tone, but we have become very casual in assuming it is only a false alarm set off by some unseen, unknown cause. We leave the building to save our ears, not our lives. Alarms have become rather unalarming. I wonder what type of sound would be useful in startling people into sudden alertness should a true disaster befall us. Perhaps a blaring tune from the Lawrence Welk show?

Sisterly Bonds

Today is my oldest sister's birthday. She is the firstborn in the lineup of my brothers and sisters, twelve years my senior. Because of the age difference, I have fleeting memories of her when I was very young. I remember her sharing a room with my next oldest sister. In the room was a long narrow table that would slide up over the double bed where they could sit, propped with pillows, and do homework, play games, laugh, and share secrets. They talked about boys and parties, clothes and hairstyles, and had the occasional squabble. With their own popcorn popper and small television their room was their little sanctuary, a space that we "little kids" weren't allowed in without permission. To be invited in was special, like getting to wander into the mystical near-grownup world of teenagers. With clothes, makeup, curlers, hair dryers, and magazines scattered about I got a glimpse of what the future might hold. It all seemed very exciting to me.

I remember the parties that my older sisters were allowed to have at my grandparents' house. Teenagers, both boys and girls, would gather for an evening of supervised fun in the basement, with dancing and games, pizza and soda. My brothers, my little sister and I were allowed to join in for a few party games then we were quickly banished, leaving the teens to themselves under my grandmother's watchful eyes. I couldn't wait to grow up and be able to do the same. It seemed they got to have all the fun.

Because First Sis was quite a bit older, she did have more responsibility. I remember her helping my mother with dinner and sharing dishwashing duty with Second Sis. Some evenings she was left to babysit with all of us while my parents were out on the town. With phone in hand she would be perched on the sofa after we had been sent to bed, the television flickering in the background as she chatted. If she was in a particularly good mood, or extremely bored, she would allow us to stay up later than usual and play games with us. I can also remember her standing at the ironing board in the kitchen, pressing clothes while Second Sis folded laundry at the table.

On special occasions First Sis would get decked out in one of her party dresses and her date would appear at the door. Off she would go like Cinderella, to some magical event that I could only imagine, always returning home to my waiting parents.

When I was six years old, First Sis moved away to the big city to go to college. She would return home for visits occasionally, sometimes bringing home new friends for the weekend. I remember their laughter and chattering, their discussions about boys they were dating and about their classes. It was always a happy time when she was home, more like an appearance from a guest of honor that we didn't get to see often enough.

She graduated from college and began her career, married and started a family. The visits became less frequent but even more special. My little sister and I would sometimes go spend a weekend with her, excited to get to explore new territory and to play with our tiny nephew. She and my brother-in-law would spoil us with Baskin Robbins ice cream and treats we could buy at the grocery store behind their apartment. They took us swimming at the country club and to the zoo, to places that our small town could not offer. They moved away while my brother-in-law served his time in the military, then returned to the city. Their home became the gathering place for many family events, happy times filled with laughter, love, and fun. It is still the gathering place for our annual Christmas get-together.

My relationship with my oldest sister has evolved over the years, deepening as we age. We have moved beyond the differences in our ages and have become great friends. We see each other often and talk on the phone, secure in the knowledge that we will be there for each other when needed, to listen and to encourage, to empathise and to advise, to share the joys and the sorrows. The bonds of sisterhood are special, strong, and everlasting, a gift among women with a common history. A gift to be treasured for what it is.

I love you First Sis. Happy Birthday!

Chain Reaction

As I drive to work each morning I pass a section of interstate that has the crossover barrier cables installed to prevent those horrible head-on collisions that make a splash on the news occasionally. The cables are stretched tautly between each post, alternately interwoven from pillar to pillar, adding strength and resilience to the steel.

A distant memory leaps into consciousness, a memory of a schoolyard game that I used to play with my classmates. A chant begins in my mind..."Red rover, red rover, we dare someone over". With our outstretched arms interlinked at the wrists we try to thwart the other team's effort to break through. If we stand strong we claim the challenger as our own, adding to our defenses. If our ranks are penetrated we must forfeit one of our own team members to the other side.

Like our red rover team, the barrier on the roadway stands guard, ready to catch an errant vehicle, preventing it from breaking through to the other side of the highway into oncoming traffic. As strategically as the human chain in the game, these cables are meant to give just slightly before catching, holding back the perpetrator and saving lives. If the cable fails the vehicle crosses and claims its unsuspecting victim.

As I drive along the random question in my mind is whether the designer of these barriers had ever played Red Rover as a child. Do you ever wonder how an idea is born, what sparks the imagination in the creative process? Could something as simple as a recess game be the springboard to a safer highway?

Crying Foul

Weird things happen to me and my family. At 3:30 this morning my husband and I were awakened by a familiar foul odor seeping into our home, permeating every porous surface, every bit of fabric, every inch of space. It filled our nostrils and turned our stomachs, bolting us into instant action. I immediately grabbed my work clothes for the day and stashed them in the bathroom, shutting the door tightly behind me. Then I ran down the hall closing all doors as I went, trying to establish a safe zone, a single room free of this disgusting smell. I heard a squalling racket outside and peeked out a bedroom window to our front lawn. I didn't see it but I knew exactly what was going on. A skunk, in its nocturnal hunt, had some small creature in its grasp, feeding underneath our front porch or worse yet underneath our house. Sometime during its hunt the skunk was probably startled, thereby spraying, releasing its powerful defense, sending us into weeks of hell. Deja vu settled over us. Just this past November we encountered our first experience with this very problem. If you have ever struggled to air out your home of some aroma not related to a skunk you have only an inkling of an idea of how truly horrible this is. I would welcome the smell of a Lenten season's worth of Catholic church fish fries over this. This stink works its way into the very pores of your skin, alerting all who come in contact with you to stay away, to avoid you like the plague. It seeps into bedding, clothes, carpets, upholstery, hair, the fibers in your lungs, creating havoc and oh so much work. My husband shook his head and crawled back into bed, resigned to the inevitable fallout. I could do no such thing. I grabbed a handful of garbage bags and quickly encased the baby shower gifts that I would be taking into the office today for one of my employees. I would hate to think that her diaper genie would smell worse than the dirty diapers themselves, that she may reject the gifts until further notice. Then I grabbed my coat, scarf, and gloves and dropped them into a bag, tying it up tightly, hoping to prevent being banned from the office like after the last escapade. For a moment I thought I might stash a few things in my car but once I opened the door and stepped out into the darkness I knew it would be useless. My car would be saturated with the infected air, too. I decided on the timing of the endless laundry I would be doing, did some dishes, and started the coffeepot. With nothing else to do for the moment I called my daughter in London, the five hour time difference a blessing. I wanted to talk to her and my granddaughter to cheer myself up. I don't want to go through this again... the laundry, the scrubbing, the carpet cleaning, the curtain washing, the spraying down of the house, porch and lawn with a dishwasher soap and vinegar solution. I have to get through two more days of work before I luckily have a three day weekend scheduled. In our previous experience this will be with us to some degree for about six weeks. I am tired before I have even started. It will be a long time until Spring.

Warning! Weather Rant

Bad weather rolled in yesterday afternoon, leaving behind icy, slushy, slippery roads for the commute home last night. It was slow going and it took twice as long to get home as the usual forty-five minute drive. Most everyone was being very cautious, leaving a car length or two between them, everyone except the guy directly behind me for a three mile stretch of interstate highway. He tailgated me as if I had a choice to get out of his way, so close I could not see his headlights in my mirrors. I was in a long, steady stream of cars headed toward the bridge creeping along at less than five miles per hour, each of the more polite drivers allowing cars to merge in ever so slowly as they came off the ramps. I tried tapping my brakes lightly several times to warn him to back off, to no avail. Then I tried stopping altogether for a few seconds hoping he would take the hint. But no, not this dumbass. I finally had to resort to sign language. The kind of sign language I knew he would understand, the kind that I know could get me into a bad situation. I couldn't stop myself from opening my sunroof, lifting my arm through it into the twilight and giving him my finest one finger salute. Then I stopped my car again and waited. I let the traffic move ahead of me until I had about a twenty car-length distance in front of me, while I held my hand in the air, defiant. If he was going to stay on my ass I was going to slow him down even more. I know I shouldn't have let him get to me, that I could have created a worse situation, but if he had rear-ended my car and I had actually had to get out to exchange insurance information it would have been a bad scene. I have no patience for idiots like this. He finally got the message. I eased my car along just a bit and he backed off. Some people are just slow learners!

Another situation I despise is when some employees think they shouldn't have to come into work if the roads are slick or snow-covered. Why is it that some people think they are more important than their coworker who would be called in in their abscence, because in healthcare we will be open no matter the weather. I had an employee actually call yesterday afternoon to say she probably wouldn't be able to get in today. I reminded her that it is her responsibility to make any necessary arrangements to ensure she was there...allow extra driving time, make different childcare plans, park at the end of her driveway to reduce shovelling time, etc. And if necessary, we could arrange for someone to pick her up and bring her to work. She didn't seem to think that was fair. I asked her how she thought it would be fair to make someone else who is scheduled off come in to cover for her. How is it fair that someone else should have to take the risk on the road in her stead? Or how is it fair that she would leave our center understaffed when she is aware of the policies covering bad weather, policies written to protect our patients? Exactly what is it about her that she feels she should be exempt from these policies while everyone else is not? Because she has a child? Not buying it, most of the other employees have young children. Should those who don't have children or whose children are grown have less worth and more responsibility than her? Absolutely not, she chose this line of work and the responsibility that goes with it. If she doesn't like it I suggest she find a new vocation.

So much for my ranting today, just had to get it off my chest. I guess I am getting crotchety in my old age and I find it very difficult to deal with people who are so self-centered as above. I personally am scheduled off today and I will not be answering my phone or taking my car out of the driveway, thank you. Have a nice day!

Child Labor of Love

It is Monday morning....again! Another workweek begins. I arose early this morning and walked into the kitchen to start the coffeepot. I was disappointed when I was faced with a pile of supper dishes that I hadn't done last night, having temporarily forgotten that I had dozed off on the sofa while reading and had gone to bed early for a change, leaving the mess as a wakeup call. So I rolled up my sleeves, filled the sink with hot, sudsy dishwater, and began to clean up. I used to hate to do the dishes, a rather mindless chore, but now it is not so bad. I enjoy seeing the instant results of a task accomplished. Maybe that stems from the fact that there are so many other things in my life that never end. My desk at work is never totally clear, these kitchen cabinets seem to be taking forever to paint, the boxes of items waiting to be sorted through to declutter my house is monumental. So there is a tiny bit of pleasure to be had in this simple act, and some happy memories, too.

As I washed each dish I thought of all the times I had to share this chore with my little sister when we were growing up. We would stand at the sink, side by side, where I was assigned to wash and rinse, while she was responsible for drying and putting away. For the most part we got along during this process, singing childhood songs together, talking and laughing as we worked. Sometimes we aggravated each other, my little sister chiming in with a different song while I was singing another, each of us raising our voices louder and louder trying to outdo the other, until one of us protested to our mother. She would threaten to make us, meaning me, finish the dishes alone, so a compromise would ensue, my little sister usually getting her way. I would make up for it by continually pouring water over the dishes in the drainboard to make her job a little more difficult. Ah, sisterly love! I didn't realize or appreciate what was happening at the time but we were bonding and learning in spite of the arguments. The time we spent standing there was time we spent getting to know each other better, sharing our secrets and our dreams. We learned how to work together as a team, setting the tone for our work habits in the future. We learned how to deal with conflict in an effective manner. We learned to appreciate each other, for it was much more fun to do the dishes together than alone. We became something more than just sisters, we became friends.

When my daughters were growing up they had similar experiences, though they may remember them differently than I do. My oldest may say she always did more work than my middle child, and it may be true to some degree. I guess I expected more out of her simply because of her age. That is the natural order of things. But once she left home for college, my middle child had to assume her role so it is all relevant to timing. I know they have fond memories of growing up together as I do with my little sister and I am glad that they are friends.

Children won't realize what a gift parents are giving them by making them do household chores together, that there are a multitude of life skills and bonding opportunities packed into these simple tasks. They won't realize that it would be easier for parents to give in and do the chores themselves than to listen to the arguments and complaining, robbing their children of the chance to learn and grow together. Only when they grow up and move away will they realize and appreciate this childhood labor of love.

Wishful Thinking

As I get older I tend to reflect on the things that have somehow gotten away from me that I always thought I would do. So I am making a list of things to do before I die (hopefully not for many, many years):

1. Clear all the clutter out of my home so my children won't have to sift through it after I am gone.

2. Write a book. I am currently working on one. It is strictly for myself, not necessarily for publication. And no, I cannot tell you what it is about.

3. Learn to play a musical instrument. I always wanted to play piano but I have no room for one so I would like to try the guitar instead.

4. Take a pottery class. To bring life to a lump of clay, to feel it take shape in my hands.

5. Take dance lessons - ballroom & swing. Great fun and great exercise too.

6. Take art classes - drawing, painting, sculpting. Hoping to find an outlet for my creativity.

7. Study architecture. Buildings fascinate me.

8. Earn a bachelors degree. In something, anything. I need to challenge my mind.

9. Document our family histories to pass on to our children and grandchildren.

10. Travel. To all 50 states. And all over England so I will know my grandchildren's heritage.

11. Volunteer. To feel that I have made a difference in someone's life that I would not have had the opportunity to otherwise.

12. Take a carpentry class. I would love to learn how to build furniture.

13. Try my hand at glassblowing, woodturning, weaving, stained glass. Just to better understand the processes.

14. Go to an Antiques Roadshow appraisal fair.

15. Run the mini-marathon during the Derby festival.

16. Go horseback riding at least once a year.

17. Take a trip with just my daughters to wherever they would like to go.

18. Have my grandchildren spend 2-4 weeks with us every summer, once they are old enough, so we can get to know them well in spite of the distance.

19. Throw a wonderful surprise party for my husband, one he will never forget.

20. Write about everyone I love, telling them what they have meant to me.

21. Go on the blues cruise mentioned in my last post.

22. Start the secret enterprise that my younger sister and I have been discussing. We need investors.

I know the list is long and time flies by quickly so I will read it daily to remind myself to get on with it. What do you have on your dream list?

Blues Escapism

With David Bromberg playing loudly on the stereo I began brushing paint on cabinet doors. I think I could listen to him sing all day, with his quirky lyrics telling tales of love, music, travel, and drinking in his bluesy, guitar-picking manner. It made me long to be sitting with my husband in a smoky blues bar in a seedy part of Chicago or Memphis or New Orleans, drinking whiskey until I could sit no longer then jumping up to dance like a fool, inhibition lost to the rhythm. When my husband tired of dancing we would sit at our table, feet tapping and bodies swaying, letting the music wash over us. Afterward, we would catch a cab back to the hotel, holding hands and laughing, his easy smile making my heart quicken. Music has become a common bond for us over the years, my husband always excited to introduce a new artist to me. We have enjoyed going to concerts and blues festivals in the region, seeking out blues clubs and bars in distant cities, sometimes just the two of us, other times with friends and family. We dream of going on a blues cruise one day, a week of relaxing and reveling to the sound of the music under the giant night sky as we rock and roll with the waves. We would slip away from the ship at each port, exploring the islands, browsing in the shops, and lingering over lunch. Back on the ship we would attend the jam sessions and the autograph sessions with the assorted blues talents, buying as many of their CDs as we wanted to add to our growing collection. Stretched out on lounge chairs, we would bake in the sun and then cool off in the pool, alternating between reading and napping, re-energizing for another night of blues. This is our dream. The current reality is that my cabinet doors are now painted, the chore made enjoyable by the music on the stereo and the dreams in my mind. Without both, life would be much more boring.

Hostage

I arrived home in the late evening hoping to relax after a long day of work, ready to crack open the book I have been reading. No sooner had I gotten settled into my chair, a glass of soda and slice of cake nearby, when I was taken hostage by an uninvited intruder. My husband had just gone off to bed and I was just beginning to unwind, the droning sound of the television barely noticed in the background, when suddenly the intruder was there, demanding my immediate attention. I had heard throughout the day that the intruder was on the loose in the area but hadn't given it much thought, dismissing it as just another news story. Now here the intruder was ordering me into the hallway, where I was then joined by my husband who had been summoned from the other end of the house. We were told to remain there until further notice. We sat in the hall quietly, shoulder to shoulder, wondering what would happen next, the sense of danger looming. There was an angry commotion and then the house went black, the power cut, darkness sliced by flashes of light, indicating the intruder was still here. I wondered what possesions the intruder would steal away from us or worse yet if we would be harmed. My hand slipped into my husband's as we sat silently, listening. The minutes ticked away ever so slowly as we waited to see what would happen next. After an hour we were released and the intruder was gone. We surveyed the house in darkness, relieved to be unharmed. The storm had passed, the tornado siren ceased, and we could finally take our wind-weary selves to bed.

Love at First Sight

To my firstborn child. You were small and fragile, I was young and unsure. I couldn't fathom the love I would have for you until I first laid eyes on you. At that moment you stole my heart, completely and forever. With your tiny hands tightly fisted and your blue eyes bright and alert, you changed my life in ways I had never understood possible before this moment. Here you were, so small and so dependent on me to nourish you, to love you. I was elated and petrified at once, dumbstruck by what a tremendous responsibility it is to hold someone's life and future so completely in my hands. You were perfect, with your cap of brown feathery hair and your beautiful little face, your tiny mouth opening and closing like a baby bird waiting for a feeding. No matter what else the future held, I promised to do the very best I could for you. You were, overall, an easy baby, only crying out when you needed to be fed or changed or cuddled. I marvelled at every milestone met, happy that you were progressing normally in spite of the mistakes I made along the way. We both grew together. I am so proud of the wonderful young woman you have become, with your radiant smile and great personality, your intelligence and efficiency, your humor and your kindness. Though you have left the nest to fly on your own, you will always be my baby bird. I love you. Happy Birthday!

Relics and Renovation

Yesterday I spent the day out with my husband and another couple, good friends from our hometown. We had lunch first in a very nice little deli in a not so nice neighborhood, the area I worked in for seventeen years. The deli sits on a visual dividing line. West of it the old city is trying slowly to make a comeback, its beautiful but time-worn victorian homes being renovated into duplexes and condominiums, the neighborhood trying to regain some of its former elegance and pride, teetering in its effort to hold back the crime and decay. East of the deli the neighborhood has lost its battle, with its boarded up businesses and crumbling houses, its homeless and its addicts roaming the streets, its children growing up too fast into a bleak future. I felt very much at home and found myself watching out the deli window for the familiar faces of some of the street people I had come to know over the years of working down here, wondering if they were still alive, wondering even more how they had wormed their way into my heart in spite of all the problems and extra work they had caused me as the manager of a business in this area. Lunch was very enjoyable, the savory soups and fresh-baked breads delicious as anticipated, the conversation pleasant, and then we were off for an afternoon of antiqueing.

We decided to check out a familiar antique mall in its unfamiliar new location. After finding it and parking, we went in to browse through its four floors of goods. The building is situated on a corner lot at the fringe of the downtown area, with much better access and parking than its former location, but I found it lacking the ambiance that the old location had. Gone are the creaking, groaning wooden floors and the grimy, dirt-caked windows keeping the sun at bay. Instead we walked on concrete and sunlight streamed through the large windows, shining truth on the assorted goods. Gone are the ancient pipes and exposed ductwork hanging high in the ceilings, clanking and clattering like weary bones, barely able to keep up with the demands of the weather. Instead we wandered in a comfortable warmth, jackets folded over our arms. Gone are the buckets lined up along the floor on rainy days to catch the leaks, threatening to baptize anyone not paying attention. Gone are the worries of the precarious state of the old brick building as it rattled and shimmied when the trains rolled by on the nearby tracks, making one consider taking cover. In its stead was nothing, nothing to make you stop to wonder about the structure. Gone was the antique feel of the building itself and with it the sense that one might actually find a treasure hidden somewhere deep within its recesses. I am saddened that I will no longer be able to wander quite so deeply into the past, to get lost in the memories that come naturally when stepping foot inside those doors.

As we browsed, meandering off in our own direction and meeting back up in the next aisle, I happened across a rather unkempt older man, a bit of an oddity compared to the other patrons. He wasn't particularly dirty but rather unruly in his appearance with a patch over one eye, his hair askew and his white beard long and curly, his plaid shirt untucked and hanging below his jacket. He was mumbling something about an object sitting inside a cupboard and at first I thought he was speaking to me. I glanced around but there was nobody else nearby and I thought perhaps he was speaking to his wife without realizing she was no longer beside him. Then he turned and I met his eyes gazing through me, not really seeing me. I smiled. He continued to mutter and shuffled off to the next booth. I wondered if he was just a street person who had wandered in but he continued to talk to some imaginary figure as he picked up one item after another, pondering its age and value, always putting it carefully back on the shelf or table that it belonged on. It seemed he must have done some antiqueing in the past with someone special who was now lost to him and so was carrying on as if she were still here. I thought briefly if this is what I would find myself doing in my future if I were to ever lose my spouse. Would I continue on with the activities that have brought us so much pleasure as a couple, seeking solace in the familiarity, letting the nostalgia shield me from the anguish of loneliness? I was reminded that we should all be careful not to judge too harshly what we don't understand.

I bought three books and a cigarette dispenser that I found amusing even though my spouse and I don't smoke. We met back up with our friends and headed across the river to a restaurant for drinks and dinner. With our bellies full and our moods light we drove back to our home where we discussed the items we had admired but left behind and looked over those that we had purchased, mostly books. We traded thoughts about books we are currently reading and had a slightly heated discussion about politics, shared updates on our families and looked at photos of grandchildren on our computers. All in all, it was a very pleasant day, as it always is when we are together. We will do it all over again another weekend, in another setting, enjoying the slower pace our favorite pasttime has allowed us, spending time with our friends.