I'm not a religious person. I'm not even sure there is anything or anyone or any being remotely controlling my being here or what happens in my life. I guess I worship in the Temple of Doom and kneel before the icon of Saint Random. I could argue about religion and magical thinking forever - but I don't. I respect - and am often in awe of - those who thank God for the good things and say it's 'God's plan" when things don't work out. Faith is a powerful thing because it makes sense of the unexplainable. Without something to believe in, our heads might explode.
Having said that, I am not opposed to science and physics - although my grasp of them is negligible. ( it can always be argued that God created science or some such mumbo jumbo). Science and physics are my "higher powers". So I bow to them when I whenever I become aware of the patterns that surround me. The things I'm pretty sure I can depend on to always occur.
Take, for instance, my flowering crabapple tree. It is always the last one on my street to burst into bloom. It is also one of the first trees to lose those blooms. Blink your eyes and they are all over the driveway. Why? Because on day 3 of crabapple blooming we get a day of incredibly strong wind.The surrounding weather is irrelevant. Sometimes it's raining - but mostly it's not. The wind blows the blossoms from the tree. And then it's just a tree. Never fails. Day three. Big wind. No flowers.
The same thing used to happen with my peonies (before they were so rudely mangled and destroyed by a big old earth mover). Stunning pink blooms, happy ants, one week and then the awful, torrential rain. The rain would knock them over and slowly, their flowers would fall apart and disappear. There were years when I missed "peony week" at my house because I was on vacation. If I had known they would be forever destroyed by the big machine, I would have planned my vacations around that week. Loved that pink.
Not all patterns happen in nature. Sometimes they happen in people. We have a friend.. A nice enough guy with a big heart and a generous nature whose relationship savvy is on par with that of a thirteen year old girl. He likes the early stuff. You know - the part where the woman hangs on his every word, gazes into his eyes, eats what he eats and is willing to have sex daily. (Did I mention he is a psychologist??? Yep.) I first met him when my (ex) friend married him. She too had a adolescent view of relationships After several rough goes at marriage she was sure she'd found "the one". "There are good guys out there," she used to say, "I found one." Uh huh.. And he was her "good guy" for about five years.
After five years, the blush fell off the rose (sorry - I'm keeping with my nature theme). As we all know, Mr. perfect starts to be less than perfect. She could NOT accept this. The fights began. We had reason to suspect he had someone lined up on the side. He checked out mentally. The marriage ended badly. And he was with a new woman before his suitcases were unpacked. (It's important to know that he had established a relationship with my ex-friend, prior to leaving a woman he was living with. He also had a few ex-wives) He never looks back , he once said. Never.
So I lost my ex-friend in the divorce. (long story - no great loss)...but he hung around because he golfs with my husband. I got close to the new woman. And then I realized that his relationship with this woman was exactly, EXACTLY the same as it had been with my friend. Open space, insert woman here. Move in with her immediately. Go on trips. Go to the lake. She carries his meds and their money in her purse. We sit thru the same 15 stories he used to tell with my ex-friend...although he alters them to look even better. He takes control (in his loveable way) Oral sex is mandatory (girls, get some knee pads) She was afraid to get him upset . etc. It was creepy. I started adding up the facts. He seems to have a five year span. He doesn't care who the woman is - all she has to do is adore him.When he no longer feels adored - he's gone. And now he's gone from the last woman (bummer). There's also a new woman. This one hasn't seen 40 yet (he's 68).He moved in with her a few weeks after they met. She hangs on him. She drinks what he drinks. Agrees with him on everything. Laughs way too loud at his jokes. It's kind of pathetic, She may last 5 years. (My husband doesn't give it through the summer). Crazy thing is I still enjoy this bullshitter guy. In small doses. Go figure.
I don't know if my crapapple shedding, or my drowned peonies or my "teenage" 68 year old friend have anything to do with a God or science. I suppose there is comfort in pattern and predictability. They are both signposts that we've been this way before and we're pretty sure what lies ahead. So as I sit here and glance out the window as the plumber pulls into my driveway, I suppose I should find comfort in knowing that each time we eliminate our debt something big breaks in our house. That's the pattern. God really doesn't control my plumbing- but I think physics does...
Friday, May 31, 2013
Saturday, May 25, 2013
Gravity
In case you haven't figured it out...Diane Keaton doesn't wear those ubiquitous scarves around her neck to make a fashion statement. (But she does wear a lot of white and I think that may be a fashion statement). She wears them because her neck looks like a wet sock that fell out of the washer and dried crumpled up on the floor. A woman's neck is one of the first places that gives away her age. You can't really fix it.
The topic of necks was covered in an essay, in riotous detail, by the late Nora Ephron. In fact, the title of the book was - "It's a Shame About My Neck" . And , take it from me, it IS a shame.
My own personal neck has begun to show signs of wear and tear. At this point it looks like the Sta-Puft marshmallow man. Follow my marshmallow rings upward and you reach the skin under my chin. I don't have a true wattle...I think you notice those most on heavier people or turkeys. But I do have a neck issue.and the skin under my chin is loose and possibly considering life as a wattle - just not yet.
Botox and fillers cannot touch this. When I last check there was no surgery that really worked well. Turtlenecks and scarves can hide it. My mother had a temporary fix for it. Several years into her dementia and on the day of my niece's christening, she pulled me into the bathroom, pointed to her neck and said. "Look. Look what I did." What she had done was take several strips of clear scotch tape, attached them to both sides of her neck and pull it taut in the back, under her hair. She had also attached tape to her jawbone on both sides and pulled that skin back to eliminate the little pouchy things that happen as your face begins to sag.. It was her version of a facelift. Even though there was a lot of tape bunched up in the back of her neck it sort of worked if you didn't get close enough to see the shiny reflection of light off of the tape. From far away that looked wet - like she'd been crying and the tears had rolled in an odd direction. In hindsight I should have recommended Magic Tape because it has no shine.
Earlier this week I snapped a cell phone shot of myself to send to a friend who begged and begged me to let her see my silvery hair. I took 19 pictures. Each one revealed this neck issue. I never sent the picture.I don't know who that old lady was but it couldn't have been me.
Maybe I have that disease where you can't recognize faces. Brad Pitt has it. So does Oliver Sachs. Why not me?
The topic of necks was covered in an essay, in riotous detail, by the late Nora Ephron. In fact, the title of the book was - "It's a Shame About My Neck" . And , take it from me, it IS a shame.
My own personal neck has begun to show signs of wear and tear. At this point it looks like the Sta-Puft marshmallow man. Follow my marshmallow rings upward and you reach the skin under my chin. I don't have a true wattle...I think you notice those most on heavier people or turkeys. But I do have a neck issue.and the skin under my chin is loose and possibly considering life as a wattle - just not yet.
Botox and fillers cannot touch this. When I last check there was no surgery that really worked well. Turtlenecks and scarves can hide it. My mother had a temporary fix for it. Several years into her dementia and on the day of my niece's christening, she pulled me into the bathroom, pointed to her neck and said. "Look. Look what I did." What she had done was take several strips of clear scotch tape, attached them to both sides of her neck and pull it taut in the back, under her hair. She had also attached tape to her jawbone on both sides and pulled that skin back to eliminate the little pouchy things that happen as your face begins to sag.. It was her version of a facelift. Even though there was a lot of tape bunched up in the back of her neck it sort of worked if you didn't get close enough to see the shiny reflection of light off of the tape. From far away that looked wet - like she'd been crying and the tears had rolled in an odd direction. In hindsight I should have recommended Magic Tape because it has no shine.
Earlier this week I snapped a cell phone shot of myself to send to a friend who begged and begged me to let her see my silvery hair. I took 19 pictures. Each one revealed this neck issue. I never sent the picture.I don't know who that old lady was but it couldn't have been me.
Maybe I have that disease where you can't recognize faces. Brad Pitt has it. So does Oliver Sachs. Why not me?
Friday, May 10, 2013
Slipsliding away
It's the Friday before the grandest Hallmark Holiday south of Valentine's Day. Mother's Day. Like most people my age, my Mom is gone. She technically died/passed/moved on/met-her-maker etc in 2001. She started dying many years before that and was gone long before her heart stopped beating. She died in tiny pieces, each one more horrifying for her than the last, until, thankfully, her mental world was so altered that she wasn't aware of her own existence. There are some blessings in Alzheimer's. They just take a long time to happen.
During her long long "journey" (oh how I hate that word!!!) there were many wonderful - but fleeting -moments that are as clear to me now as if they just happened. Two small, simple ones stand out. The first always reminds me of how tightly we cling to hope and how we find meaning and relevance where there isn't any. The second memory reminds me about the incredible power of love between a mother and her child. Both memories bring tears...but both pop up every year at this time as if my Mom were here to say, "Don't forget me."
My parents lived in Florida. In a good year I got "home" twice. There weren't a lot of "good years" because I was busy with work, a kid and all the other stuff that provides excuses for us. When her mental deficits could no longer be ignored, I spaced the visits further apart. And yes, I regret it. It was during a late Spring visit. By this time Mom was going through a cheerful stage. She spoke mostly jibberish (but with a lot of inflection!). Sometimes an entire clear block of relevant words and sentences would pop out of her mouth and we learned to value this. She spent hours talking to small people who lived in our kitchen. She laughed so hard when these "people" were around that I sometimes wished I could see them. She was also very active. Constantly in motion (always - even before she got sick). She loved to walk. We had to keep the doors locked and chained to keep her in.
Spring in Florida is lovely. Humidity is low, Temperatures are comfortable. It's the perfect time to walk. So we did it every day. On this specific day, we walked quickly (cause she did nothing slowly) around a man-made lake behind the apartment complex. We walked and talked. She asked me questions that gave me every reason to believe that she was having a period of clarity...she knew who I was and generally understood what we were talking about. We talked about family. Work. Kids. It was one of the most wonderful times I'd had with her in years. Partway through our third time around the lake she looked at me and said, "You are such a wonderful person. So nice. Is your Mother still living?" I recall two simultaneous reactions to her question: an emotional kick in the gut and an inability to speak. Maybe there were five seconds of silence. But she was waiting for her answer. I reached out and gave her a hug and said, "No, she's been gone for some time. ....but I've sure enjoyed talking to you. She was a lot like you" We walked on. She reverted to happy jibberish. And I recall thinking how foolish I'd been to let my self imagine something that wasn't possible. But it sure was nice.
My second memory actually happened earlier than the walk around the lake. Perhaps one or two years earlier. I had spent many months on the phone from Wisconsin searching and fighting for services for my parents. Dad had no money (A perpetual state of being) and he needed help. Luckily there was grant money available to pay for day care. For awhile Dad resisted. "Your mother won't like it. She never joined anything. She doesn't like groups." Over and over we had argued until, at last, he agreed to try it. She loved it. She thought she was going to "The Club". This was odd since she'd never joined or even visited a "club". After my Mom had been "clubbing" for several months, and Dad was realizing how wonderful a few hours of freedom could be, I flew down for a visit. I picked up a rental car and drove directly to the Day Care Center.
In the room where I found my mother there were many tables full of magazines and small toys, brightly colored crayon pictures hanging on bulletin boards, and stuffed toys seated patiently on nearby shelves. In a large circle on one side of the room sat a dozen or so "guests" singing loudly to a recording of "Let me call you sweetheart". There were men and women. Some were swaying with the music. A few were slumped in wheelchairs. Several were chatting to each other unaware that those around them were singing. In the group of singers, looking animated and happy, sat my little Mom. My mother would never ever ever in her life be in a sing-along! But here she was. Off key at the top of her voice. Happy and involved. I felt my throat close and the tears come and I ran from the room. I sat outside in the garden on a concrete bench and sobbed till there were no tears left. This was real.(It's never real when you live 2000 miles away) This really was happening. She was gone. And my heart was shattered.
After composing myself I returned to the room to get her. For a brief moment she looked at me, her eyes widened, and she smiled and waved. I hugged her. She held out her hand and said, "Hello Ruth " (Ruth is her sister) She shook my hand and turned away. I took her hand and led her out the door. We walked out slowly.. She was talking nonsense. She stopped several times to examine a leaf or tie her slipon shoe that had no laces. When we got to the car she grabbed my elbow and turned me around, "Honey,have you been crying?", she asked. I said, "No Mom, it's allergies." but she didn't hear me because she was busy rolling small balls of paper and tucking them into her pocket. But for that one moment she recognized me and for that one moment she knew who I was and I knew that she was still in there somewhere and she still loved me.
Wherever you are now Mom, I miss you. Happy Mother's Day.
During her long long "journey" (oh how I hate that word!!!) there were many wonderful - but fleeting -moments that are as clear to me now as if they just happened. Two small, simple ones stand out. The first always reminds me of how tightly we cling to hope and how we find meaning and relevance where there isn't any. The second memory reminds me about the incredible power of love between a mother and her child. Both memories bring tears...but both pop up every year at this time as if my Mom were here to say, "Don't forget me."
My parents lived in Florida. In a good year I got "home" twice. There weren't a lot of "good years" because I was busy with work, a kid and all the other stuff that provides excuses for us. When her mental deficits could no longer be ignored, I spaced the visits further apart. And yes, I regret it. It was during a late Spring visit. By this time Mom was going through a cheerful stage. She spoke mostly jibberish (but with a lot of inflection!). Sometimes an entire clear block of relevant words and sentences would pop out of her mouth and we learned to value this. She spent hours talking to small people who lived in our kitchen. She laughed so hard when these "people" were around that I sometimes wished I could see them. She was also very active. Constantly in motion (always - even before she got sick). She loved to walk. We had to keep the doors locked and chained to keep her in.
Spring in Florida is lovely. Humidity is low, Temperatures are comfortable. It's the perfect time to walk. So we did it every day. On this specific day, we walked quickly (cause she did nothing slowly) around a man-made lake behind the apartment complex. We walked and talked. She asked me questions that gave me every reason to believe that she was having a period of clarity...she knew who I was and generally understood what we were talking about. We talked about family. Work. Kids. It was one of the most wonderful times I'd had with her in years. Partway through our third time around the lake she looked at me and said, "You are such a wonderful person. So nice. Is your Mother still living?" I recall two simultaneous reactions to her question: an emotional kick in the gut and an inability to speak. Maybe there were five seconds of silence. But she was waiting for her answer. I reached out and gave her a hug and said, "No, she's been gone for some time. ....but I've sure enjoyed talking to you. She was a lot like you" We walked on. She reverted to happy jibberish. And I recall thinking how foolish I'd been to let my self imagine something that wasn't possible. But it sure was nice.
My second memory actually happened earlier than the walk around the lake. Perhaps one or two years earlier. I had spent many months on the phone from Wisconsin searching and fighting for services for my parents. Dad had no money (A perpetual state of being) and he needed help. Luckily there was grant money available to pay for day care. For awhile Dad resisted. "Your mother won't like it. She never joined anything. She doesn't like groups." Over and over we had argued until, at last, he agreed to try it. She loved it. She thought she was going to "The Club". This was odd since she'd never joined or even visited a "club". After my Mom had been "clubbing" for several months, and Dad was realizing how wonderful a few hours of freedom could be, I flew down for a visit. I picked up a rental car and drove directly to the Day Care Center.
In the room where I found my mother there were many tables full of magazines and small toys, brightly colored crayon pictures hanging on bulletin boards, and stuffed toys seated patiently on nearby shelves. In a large circle on one side of the room sat a dozen or so "guests" singing loudly to a recording of "Let me call you sweetheart". There were men and women. Some were swaying with the music. A few were slumped in wheelchairs. Several were chatting to each other unaware that those around them were singing. In the group of singers, looking animated and happy, sat my little Mom. My mother would never ever ever in her life be in a sing-along! But here she was. Off key at the top of her voice. Happy and involved. I felt my throat close and the tears come and I ran from the room. I sat outside in the garden on a concrete bench and sobbed till there were no tears left. This was real.(It's never real when you live 2000 miles away) This really was happening. She was gone. And my heart was shattered.
After composing myself I returned to the room to get her. For a brief moment she looked at me, her eyes widened, and she smiled and waved. I hugged her. She held out her hand and said, "Hello Ruth " (Ruth is her sister) She shook my hand and turned away. I took her hand and led her out the door. We walked out slowly.. She was talking nonsense. She stopped several times to examine a leaf or tie her slipon shoe that had no laces. When we got to the car she grabbed my elbow and turned me around, "Honey,have you been crying?", she asked. I said, "No Mom, it's allergies." but she didn't hear me because she was busy rolling small balls of paper and tucking them into her pocket. But for that one moment she recognized me and for that one moment she knew who I was and I knew that she was still in there somewhere and she still loved me.
Wherever you are now Mom, I miss you. Happy Mother's Day.
Sunday, May 5, 2013
Old Dog New tricks and Hot Men
I own a smartphone. I am clawing my way into the 21st century. It's been three days and my nails are broken, my knees are skinned and I know I have to learn to learn this gadget in an upright position. Groveling and bouncing from one twenty-something to another to ask for help is not a pretty picture. I am forever grateful that my nephew is staying with us for awhile and he has been a gracious assistant. He is a thirty-something and has more patience with his elders. Sadly, he left yesterday for a three week trip and I am flying solo.
So far, the best part of buying the phone was buying the phone. When Bob and I walked into US Cellular on Thursday, the store was quiet. There was one salesperson sitting at a desk and no other customers. As the sales guy approached us, all I can remember is freezing-in-place, locking my eyes on his breathtaking face and blurting out "I need a new phone..." or something like that. All my life I have been attracted to olive-skinned men with dark eyes and black hair. It helps if they have an ad-worthy white toothed smile and a rocking body too. Long slender fingers on perfectly manicured hands tie this picture up in a neat little package. And here he was.... forty years too late. Shit.
Well, not only was George (yep, that's his name) awesomely gorgeous, he was also charming, patient and funny. I think I stretched this visit out for well over an hour. I would have bought almost anything he was selling. Really - I asked questions about every gadget I saw. Asked for advice with a phone cover. I did everything but ask him to zip up the back of my dress (which would have been odd since I was wearing jeans). He invited me to take a "class" on the first Saturday of every month (which, thankfully, was 2 days away). I don't think my lust was obvious to anyone but my husband who just kept shaking his head and rolling his eyes. Occasionally I would whisper, "This kid is so gorgeous!" I texted everyone who might appreciate my appreciation of this perfect specimen. In the end, I snapped a picture of him "Oops, found the camera!" I said, trying to be cool. I texted the picture to everyone.
On Saturday I went to the "class". There were three women, including me,. We all had grey hair. It was a Granny class. But at least I was dressed cool. There were two people available to help us. George was available and so was Matt. I whispered to the other Granny lady - "You go with George. I find him far too distracting." She gave me a confused look. ( Let's face it - George could be our grandson...) So I went with Matt who, by the way, was also hot. Olive skinned, big dark eyes and a great smile. Maybe you have to look like that to work there.
As of today I can text, email, Facebook and surf on my phone. Last night I taught myself how to change ringtones but they didn't go where I thought they would and i may have hit the wrong buttons. When I get a text my phone farts. I have a long way to go and anticipate many trips to the store for help and recreational viewing.
So far, the best part of buying the phone was buying the phone. When Bob and I walked into US Cellular on Thursday, the store was quiet. There was one salesperson sitting at a desk and no other customers. As the sales guy approached us, all I can remember is freezing-in-place, locking my eyes on his breathtaking face and blurting out "I need a new phone..." or something like that. All my life I have been attracted to olive-skinned men with dark eyes and black hair. It helps if they have an ad-worthy white toothed smile and a rocking body too. Long slender fingers on perfectly manicured hands tie this picture up in a neat little package. And here he was.... forty years too late. Shit.
Well, not only was George (yep, that's his name) awesomely gorgeous, he was also charming, patient and funny. I think I stretched this visit out for well over an hour. I would have bought almost anything he was selling. Really - I asked questions about every gadget I saw. Asked for advice with a phone cover. I did everything but ask him to zip up the back of my dress (which would have been odd since I was wearing jeans). He invited me to take a "class" on the first Saturday of every month (which, thankfully, was 2 days away). I don't think my lust was obvious to anyone but my husband who just kept shaking his head and rolling his eyes. Occasionally I would whisper, "This kid is so gorgeous!" I texted everyone who might appreciate my appreciation of this perfect specimen. In the end, I snapped a picture of him "Oops, found the camera!" I said, trying to be cool. I texted the picture to everyone.
On Saturday I went to the "class". There were three women, including me,. We all had grey hair. It was a Granny class. But at least I was dressed cool. There were two people available to help us. George was available and so was Matt. I whispered to the other Granny lady - "You go with George. I find him far too distracting." She gave me a confused look. ( Let's face it - George could be our grandson...) So I went with Matt who, by the way, was also hot. Olive skinned, big dark eyes and a great smile. Maybe you have to look like that to work there.
As of today I can text, email, Facebook and surf on my phone. Last night I taught myself how to change ringtones but they didn't go where I thought they would and i may have hit the wrong buttons. When I get a text my phone farts. I have a long way to go and anticipate many trips to the store for help and recreational viewing.
Thursday, May 2, 2013
The Daily Dilemma - sunrise edition
Most people start their day reviewing the list of things that have to get done and then planning how to execute. Some folks - with less on their plates- do yoga or meditate or go for a run. The amazing people do all that and still squeeze in quality moments with their kids and a Starbucks venti mocha loca chocka whatever.
My days - for the most part - begin with The Daily Dilemma. My subscription started about 16 years ago and I can't find a number to call to cancel it. The basic subscription is free, but it costs a lot. Most dilemmas (dilemmae?) involve my son or my son and my husband (the stepfather). Today is no different. Today's topic is The Saga of the Cell Phone.
I need to write about this so I can work it out - or have justifiable reasons to catch the next train to anywhere by myself. (This would leave the husband and the son alone to kill each other). Or solve it and stick with the solution.
When my son is part of the topic, advice flows freely from all those well-meaning people whose kids are good. These are the kids whose worst sins were sneaking out one night, or smoking and getting caught, or not maintaining a GPA high enough to get into Barnard or Harvard. These friends/parents are the voices of inexperienced reason which they contrast sharply to my unstoppable and painful enabling behaviors.So I'm tuning out "those people" today. But, thank you for your advice.
My cell phone contract ended three years ago. In that time I have maintained my dumb phone as well as my 28-year-old son's smartphone. From time to time (if he is working AND if I can corner him) he will pay me, It's always a struggle. My dumb phone is dying. I have to re-contract somewhere. This time I want a smartphone. I do not want to pay for 2 smartphones. I am "smart" enough to realize I will get stuck -which would make me dumb and thus negate the impact of a "smart" phone.. Earlier this week, after years of threatening to shut down his cell, I announced that this was the week. I spoke to my son about looking at prepaid plans for himself (He could never pass a credit check for his own plan). I talked about a bunch of stuff. He wants what he wants. He wants his smart phone and wants me to engage another contract with him on it. The arguments have been vile. (The irony in arguing with him is he is very persuasive and his reasoning and arguing skills could be great skills to have if he had a career. But his career is to fuck-up.) I have verbally stuck to my guns about NOT funding a smartphone..and the result is my husband's "admiration". Whoopee.
Today is the day. The man/child said he'd rather have no phone...but I want him to have a phone. It gives me peace of mind. He gets in trouble so often that he needs - and mostly I need- a way to reach out. It's a Mom thing. You either get it or you don't.. My husband doesn't. I'm sure if I were him I wouldn't get it either.
I discussed my need for him to have some basic phone this morning. I thought about it all night. Today I would give him one more opportunity to accept a dumb phone.. My husband said, "Yesterday I was proud of you...today not so much."
I live at the corner of rock and hard place. I am surrounded by two people who hate each other. One of those people - no, BOTH of those people are insecure and whiny. I guess my husband didn't realize he was signing on for a lifetime commitment to my son. I understand this, really I do. But I did sign on for that commitment and maybe I've overdone it but he is screwed up and he came that way. Personality disorders are what they are. He won't change. My husband won't change. I guess that leaves me.
I will get my phone. I will offer him a basic phone one more time. I will incur the continual disapproval of my husband and the disdain of my son because no one got what they really wanted.
I think I'll go read that "Hints to being a Happy person" now. Need it.
My days - for the most part - begin with The Daily Dilemma. My subscription started about 16 years ago and I can't find a number to call to cancel it. The basic subscription is free, but it costs a lot. Most dilemmas (dilemmae?) involve my son or my son and my husband (the stepfather). Today is no different. Today's topic is The Saga of the Cell Phone.
I need to write about this so I can work it out - or have justifiable reasons to catch the next train to anywhere by myself. (This would leave the husband and the son alone to kill each other). Or solve it and stick with the solution.
When my son is part of the topic, advice flows freely from all those well-meaning people whose kids are good. These are the kids whose worst sins were sneaking out one night, or smoking and getting caught, or not maintaining a GPA high enough to get into Barnard or Harvard. These friends/parents are the voices of inexperienced reason which they contrast sharply to my unstoppable and painful enabling behaviors.So I'm tuning out "those people" today. But, thank you for your advice.
My cell phone contract ended three years ago. In that time I have maintained my dumb phone as well as my 28-year-old son's smartphone. From time to time (if he is working AND if I can corner him) he will pay me, It's always a struggle. My dumb phone is dying. I have to re-contract somewhere. This time I want a smartphone. I do not want to pay for 2 smartphones. I am "smart" enough to realize I will get stuck -which would make me dumb and thus negate the impact of a "smart" phone.. Earlier this week, after years of threatening to shut down his cell, I announced that this was the week. I spoke to my son about looking at prepaid plans for himself (He could never pass a credit check for his own plan). I talked about a bunch of stuff. He wants what he wants. He wants his smart phone and wants me to engage another contract with him on it. The arguments have been vile. (The irony in arguing with him is he is very persuasive and his reasoning and arguing skills could be great skills to have if he had a career. But his career is to fuck-up.) I have verbally stuck to my guns about NOT funding a smartphone..and the result is my husband's "admiration". Whoopee.
Today is the day. The man/child said he'd rather have no phone...but I want him to have a phone. It gives me peace of mind. He gets in trouble so often that he needs - and mostly I need- a way to reach out. It's a Mom thing. You either get it or you don't.. My husband doesn't. I'm sure if I were him I wouldn't get it either.
I discussed my need for him to have some basic phone this morning. I thought about it all night. Today I would give him one more opportunity to accept a dumb phone.. My husband said, "Yesterday I was proud of you...today not so much."
I live at the corner of rock and hard place. I am surrounded by two people who hate each other. One of those people - no, BOTH of those people are insecure and whiny. I guess my husband didn't realize he was signing on for a lifetime commitment to my son. I understand this, really I do. But I did sign on for that commitment and maybe I've overdone it but he is screwed up and he came that way. Personality disorders are what they are. He won't change. My husband won't change. I guess that leaves me.
I will get my phone. I will offer him a basic phone one more time. I will incur the continual disapproval of my husband and the disdain of my son because no one got what they really wanted.
I think I'll go read that "Hints to being a Happy person" now. Need it.
Wednesday, May 1, 2013
T-i-m-b-e-r
...said no tree guy EVER.
They came. They destroyed...and then they sort of cleaned up, but not completely.
before felling my beloved tree, Tree Man provided a final diagnosis. Cancer. It had tree cancer. It wasn't dying of old age. It was freaking cancer. He pointed out the bluish tinge to the sap. That means cancer. There is no tree chemo - but then who wants to watch the leaves fall off or be anywhere near a tree that is throwing up. I can live with this now.
In the moments before and after her demise, my tree blanketed the air with a pungent burst of pine smell. Her swan song. My yard smells great. Looks awful;smells great. I also got a good look at the Hawks Nest. Interesting use of mixed media. Lined with plastic. woven with twigs and twine. Empty...thank goodness.
They came. They destroyed...and then they sort of cleaned up, but not completely.
before felling my beloved tree, Tree Man provided a final diagnosis. Cancer. It had tree cancer. It wasn't dying of old age. It was freaking cancer. He pointed out the bluish tinge to the sap. That means cancer. There is no tree chemo - but then who wants to watch the leaves fall off or be anywhere near a tree that is throwing up. I can live with this now.
In the moments before and after her demise, my tree blanketed the air with a pungent burst of pine smell. Her swan song. My yard smells great. Looks awful;smells great. I also got a good look at the Hawks Nest. Interesting use of mixed media. Lined with plastic. woven with twigs and twine. Empty...thank goodness.
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