For Good

I always knew this was temporary.

Huh?

I mean, it was only a matter of time before you’d meet someone. And that’s the way it should be. They’re exactly right. It’s the way I want it, too. We all want you to be happy.

I am happy.

Well, you could be happier.

I don’t know if I like the idea of too much happiness.

Yea, well, try to keep an open mind.

Things are fine the way they are. I like you. I like hanging out with you. Why can’t I just hang out with you?

Don’t you miss your friends? And dating? And having a special person in your life? All men like that.

I see my friends.

But you know they miss you. Didn’t Jack call just the other day asking if you wanted to do something?

I’ve known him since we were kids. We hang out quite enough. He’s fine.

You need to spend more time with all the people you know, the ones you’ve known all your life. You need to meet some new people. New female people. I’ll miss you, but I’ve known that since I met you. I have to admit that I’m not quite prepared yet, but I will be. I'm fine. Everything's fine. It's been so much fun, and you’re a great guy. Now go forth and socialize. And date, dammit.

I don’t wanna.

Oh, puh-leeze. Of course you do.

Seriously. I don’t wanna.

But, now, you have to. They hate me. They’ll think I never said anything to you, that I really don’t want you to be happy, that I’m forcing you to be here, that I’m glad you feel guilty and sorry for me and have succumbed to the idea of never escaping from me. Please don’t do that to me.

You like lasagne?

Lasagne?

Lasagne. Dinner. I'm thinking we should cook lasagne.

I want to live here. I want to stay here a long, long time. I want to retire here and live out my days. Happily. I can’t do that if the people don’t like me. I want friends or at least to feel like I’m not hated. Hell, I could be shunned.

Lasagne, it is. I’ll be back with the fixins at 5:30. And a movie. It’s my turn to pick, I think, isn’t it?

I’m thinking it’s Saturday night. The best night to start. Call a friend. Go to town. Have a beer and listen to the band at Barnacles. Look around. Make some eye contact. Ask somebody out.

Yea, definitely my pick ‘cause we watched some crap last weekend I can’t even remember the name of.

I’m not going to be here at 5:30, then.

You better. I’ll have all those groceries. You don’t want me left holding the bag, do you?

Oh, good lord.

Take a nap or something. Chill out. Everything will be fine. Trust me?

Yea, but you seriously have to…

Trust me?

Yes.

And with that, he left. Leaving me alone for the afternoon to think about how I could make him leave for good.

Escape to.....Plainfield

Nothing has made this gal want to leave Indianapolis more than a Marion County length commute on 82nd/86th Street. The meanness of it has driven me to stay inside all weekend escaping with movies like Baby Boom and Under the Tuscan Sun, and going on online journeys with The Frugal Traveler or Cynthia Morris.

I will always view our time here as a gift, because it’s been a wonderful place to raise Austin. He knows opportunity and diversity that he wouldn’t have known had we stayed where we were.

I also attribute my thoughts of escape to having never lived in one 6-mile radius this long. Same commutes, same stores, same people, same, same, same. Even Austin, who ribs me incessantly about moving him around too much because he knows it immediately conjures up maternal guilt and I’ll offer to either buy him something or cook him a real dinner, is ready to leave for Bloomington.

So I’m ready to work in Plainfield. I didn’t think I would be, but I am. I’m ready for highway drives again. I’m ready for new places to discover on my lunch hour. I’m ready for country (only meant as “non-city”) folks. I’m ready for a new view.

I also have thought and thought about moving in August when our lease ends. A smaller place, less expensive, possibly more convenient, makes sense. But I don’t think it’s time. The savings wouldn’t really make up for the cost to move, and I'm perfectly and quietly situated among a slew of retirees with disposable income for lots of travel.

And when I do move, I hope that it won’t be within the state. Another year. Or two. Greener pastures. Rolling hills. Sky to the ground. Water. Accents. Daydreams. Connections. Callings. And the womanly balls I haven't fully used since 2002.

Preliminaries

This afternoon, Austin voted for the first time. We went together, because I insisted on having the memory.

Then, we stopped at CVS so HE – with his own money for the first time - could buy Mother’s Day cards to mail to Georgia. “Damn. It’s nuts what they charge for cards.”

Then, we had a conversation about moving this summer or staying put. He made it clear that he does not want to be a factor in my decision. “You need to decide this for yourself and do what you want to do. I’m going to be in Bloomington.”

Then, he left to go to work. (I’m “between projects.”)

Shaky, shaky ground.

Family still eludes me

My father’s sister had recently moved back home to Little Rock, Arkansas. I received the customary tour on my only visit. In her guest bedroom was a lovely little antique table with a Living Bible-sized, very old, white leather bound photo album resting on a round doily that hung, as it should, off the front of the table forming the perfect semi-circle between the table’s two front legs. It was flanked by a few standing pictures of her parents and siblings I recognized and some candles.

“Ooooo, what is this?”

“It’s a family photo album.”

“Can I look through it?”

“Sure!”

“Who’s this?”

”I don’t know.”

“Who’s that?”

“I don’t know.”

“Are they Mahanays?”

“Yes, of course they are.”

“But you don’t know who they are?”

“No.”

“Are their names on the backs of the photos?”

“I don’t know.”

“You’ve never looked?”

“No.”

“Can I look?”

“I’d rather you didn’t. They could tear.”

“And that matters?”

“Of course that matters.”

“Does anyone in the family know who these people are?”

“I doubt it.”

"Well, where'd you get it?"

"Grandma and Pop's things."

"Who?"

"KAREN. Don't be ugly."

"So, you never saw it while they were alive?"

"No, it was in a box in a closet. It probably had been there for years."

"Perfect."

"Can we just go now? I'm hungry."

“Who could we ask?”

“I don’t know. I don’t really want to open a huge can of worms.”

"Worms?"

"It'd be a lot of work. I don't want to bother anyone."

"So, you're okay with a shrine to people you don’t know?”

“They’re family.”

"I assume you’re going to pass this album of unknown relatives to your kids?”

“Well, certainly. It’ll be nice for them to have.”

"But it's meaningless."

"You just don't understand family, Karen. You never did."

April 25th is World Penguin Day

Come to find out, there’s a celebration (or two) every day of the year (April 30th is National Honesty Day, and I'm already planning to have an honest discussion with myself).  

But today is April 25th and it's World Penguin Day in celebration of the beginning of the annual northward migration of the Antarctic’s Adelie penguins.

I’m a big fan of the penguin. Not just for their obvious cuteness, but for their tenacity, their loyalty and their attention to detail.

Six things you can do to increase awareness of this marvelous penguin journey:

  1. Take a friend to the zoo -- or if you can’t muster the penguin perseverance to make it there, watch this video from the lazy comfort of your home: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HHJWtLhHoE0
  2. Attend a penguin parade -- or if that’s too much trouble, too, watch this video: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hocght2zfhA
  3. Read a book about a penguin to your child. Or better yet, play a penguin game: http://www.pbs.org/wnet/nature/antarcticpenguins/quiz.swf
  4. Wear black and white (tuxedos are optional).
  5. Walk around your block a bazillion times in solidarity.
  6. Honk.

So, today, April 25th, take a little time to wish them well.

Happy trails, Penguins!!! Take a sweater.

Growing Up and Away

Looking out over the crowd of enthralled kids….

I’m happy that my son is the Stage Manager of this wonderful production and that his bio made it in the program. I’m so proud.

But I’m so sad.

I’m happy for the many North Central opportunities that Austin has enjoyed. He found his niche and thoroughly enjoyed high school (something I never did). I’m so proud.

But I’m so sad.

I’m happy that I don’t have to come to school events anymore (school kids make me uncomfortable - they did then, they do now). His future is finally here. I’m so proud.

But I’m so sad.

This is a comedy, yet every time I laugh, I cry.

An Indiana man and his color-coded folders

There is something in Indiana I call “The Indiana Man Syndrome”. I don’t know if it’s the accent (or the lack thereof), the formal enunciation, the candid emotion, but there are an extraordinary amount of married men who, frankly, seem gay. My first encounter with it was more behavioral: Two men I worked with ate their lunches (packed in little lunchboxes by their wives) together in an enclave behind closed doors every day. Men where I come from wouldn't do this.

Now, I have nothing against anything any-sexual, be it hetero-, homo-, this-ho-, that-ho-, a-, etc. But I don't enjoy people who can't just pick one and own it. Be honest with yourself and the rest of us, I say. Be proud. Don’t pretend. It’s like lying. And don’t think I don’t know. It’s insulting. And creepy.

I am sitting across from a man who is a grandfather. He gets excited (think full-on-girly-giddiness with flailing hands and bouncy feet) about the most questionable things.

Yesterday, he created a ruckus because someone asked him about his color-coded folders.

“Oh, my, yes! I JUST LO-O-O-O-V-V-V-E my folders. I don’t want to think about having to be without them.

I have blue folders for jobs I must do today. I have red folders for jobs due in a week. I have green folders for jobs that I repeat each month.

I enjoy them so much!”

(See? Now, I ask ya: Is this normal man talk?)

“That’s a great setup. Do you mind if I steal your idea?”

“Oh, my, no!!! You’ll love it! You can buy color-coded folders at Staples. They’re right down the road. And I think you could get your system up and running for less than $20.”

“I’ll go today. Thanks, Dan!”

“Call me when you get it together and I’ll stop by your office. You can show off what you created. I know you'll be soooo happy.”

I want to saw off a toe with my color-coded Bic pen. It would have to be less painful.

Regrets? I've had a few.

Everybody has regrets. And they’re all the same. Things we wish we’d done, things we wish we’d said, opportunities we ran from, offspring we yelled at a little too long, too much alcohol making us think we should fly to NYC to see a boy....

But when I think regrets, the one that always floats to the top is this:

South Haven, Michigan. Downtown. Late spring weekday. Quiet sidewalk shopping. A little indie bookstore. Love those. Must go in. A man, about 80 - maybe a little older - at a tiny postage stamp of a card table set up on the sidewalk right by the door. Arranging his pens and his papers. And the stacks of his book.

He stopped fumbling. Looked up at me. Hope. Anticipation. I smiled. He smiled. I froze in unnecessary fear and walked right by him into the store. Then, we danced the same dance as I left.

Why didn’t I ask? One little question. Did you write a book? Followed by a much easier What’s it about? And thumbing through while he told me his story. And buying. And asking him to sign it.

Regrets? I’ve had a few. But I will always be especially sorry that I didn’t talk to this man.

Scavenger Hunt

Now, this is a neat fundraiser: Believe in Books, The Hunt for Literacy

In this annual Spring event, participants drive around the White Mountains Region of New Hampshire with family and friends chasing clues and earning points. Proceeds benefit the Literacy Foundation, which encourages appreciation of reading and literature among people of all ages.

I found this event in my Heart of New England newsletter this week.

Unrelated note: Never ever ever send a senior in high school to the state of Texas for Spring break. No details will be provided. Just heed my warning. Never ever ever.

Keyword for the next post: Escape.

Thank God for The Typo Eradication Advancement League (TEAL)

I feel weak, a little giddy, and damn near hopeful. To know that while I sleep or sit on my sofa baffled by (but unable to stop watching) something called High School Reunion, there is a group of people out there fixing typos and spelling errors all over this great country of ours.

What could be better?

I know there are wars and human suffering and embarrassing campaigns and disintegrating job markets, but this is what we need in America. People who give a shit about the very basics of education and do something about it. The world is now a better place.

Like I said, I’m giddy. This calls for an M&M and a blog entry. And quite possibly a T-shirt order to show solidarity and appreciation.

http://www.jeffdeck.com/teal/
http://www.jeffdeck.com/teal/blog/

(I checked this post an extra umpteen times for typos. If you find one, do let me know, and then do something about the economy. Please?)

My Thirteenth Tale

“Which floor?”

“Thirteen, please.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes. Pray for me.”

“Oh my. I didn’t know hotels did that anymore.”

“The Hiltons have total disregard for their customers' safety.”

“You probably could get a different room.”

“I suppose I could. But apparently my laziness outweighs my better judgement.”

“Hopefully, you’re not staying long.”

“Just tonight.”

“Well, that’s good.”

“Yes, a comfort, really.”

DING.

“God be with you.”

“Thank you. And with you."

I tried not to stand too close to the glass windows. I was careful to steady myself in the bathroom at all times. I moved everything out of the path to the door.

I made it to the morning and got out alive.

Thoroughbred Retirement Home

I’m not a horse person. I don’t dislike horses, I just don’t know any. I sometimes nod at things my friend, Lisa, who is a horse aficionado, tells me just so I won’t look so stupid.

Between Louisville and Lexington on I-64, there are not quite 100 miles of horse farm after horse farm. All the same. One after another, after another. Rolling fields, pastures I’ve heard, covered in snow after the weekend blizzard and corralled by low, dark wooden – I think – fences. An occasional barn. Some as big as houses. A horse here. A horse there. Nothing remarkable once you’ve seen the first ten or fifty.

And then.

At the end of the trek, right before the nirvana of Lexington, is the “Thoroughbred Retirement Home”. Huge happy bright green sign. Barn? Looks like a clubhouse. Brick. Crowned with gables. Country club lighting. Swimming pool? Maybe horsey hot tubs.

Deliberately lined with trees. Impeccably spaced and manicured. Letting in only the perfect mixture of sun and shade. Every so often, buckets of sorts. Actually, they look more like oversized loving cups. Full of something cool to drink. Filtered water, perhaps?

Higher and possibly heated ground. Not a speck of snow in sight, yet in any other direction, there is tons of it. Greener pastures, as it were.

I see cables. Not yet underground utilities? Lights to read by? Outdoor space heaters? Stereo? Intercom system? To call for dinner in the dining hall. Or to the parlor when family comes to visit.

The equine retirees gather in groups. So much to talk about after all. Such full, happy and productive lives.

Lone - and probably bitter - horses on the outside stare longingly in the Home’s direction. I wonder if they’ve ever tried to jump the fence. Only to hang their heads in shame at being returned to their subsidized homes where they belong. Probably only do that once.

If only they’d performed better. Saved more. Made better choices. Had a better start in life. Had more talent. Were encouraged by their parents to pursue said talent.

Somebody got mad at me last week for comparing human beings to animals in our survival of the fittest instincts. Hrmmmph.

Knoxville. The drive was beautiful. The hotel room view was beautiful. Room service was beautiful. And Tom Jones. As he puts it, he’s just “200 pounds of heavenly joy.” Then. And now.

Back home now. And so sad. I know why, of course. I count twelve reasons. Unrelated to each other, too. Oh wait, thirteen reasons 'cause I know I'll probably never make it to the people version of the Thoroughbred Retirement Home. :)

Chills and Fever

Could this be a sign? Austin is going to Galveston the first week of April for his last High School Spring Break. It dawned on me that I might go somewhere, too. So, where do I look first? Tom Jones’ Website, of course!! (Seeing him LIVE is tops on my life's to-do list.)

He’s performing at MGM that week. I calculated about $600 to get there and stay for one night. Plus the $100 for the ticket.

Then………….and luckily...…

I spotted an article or a review or some cyber thing-a-ma-jig that said he was touring the country!!

So, I delved a little deeper….

St. Louis!! 4 hours away!! An arena, though. Did I want to see Tom Jones in a hockey rink? Not so much.

Prairie Some Place, Iowa. For Tom – the first entry on my life’s to do list? Apparently, not so much.

Knoxville!! 5 hours away!! In the Tennessee Theatre where their symphony plays. Row L. Close to aisle. Not bad. Hilton 3 blocks away. Coupon. Done.

I’m a lady with chills and fever who feels the green, green grass of home.

And I don't mind if I do help myself to a lil’ puppet man.

Dan and Dave

Dan Miller was on Dave Ramsey’s radio and TV shows Monday, the 18th, making for a perfect combination of inspiration and perspiration: Dan works on one’s income, and Dave works on one’s outgo.

Both agreed on the five requirements for success:

  • Passion
  • Determination
  • Faith
  • Talent
  • Self-discipline

Dave said, “What’s great is that you can decide TODAY to have all five.”

They also agreed that 85% of success is identifying strengths, while only 15% is the logistics of getting there. (Where they got the percentages is not entirely clear, but who am I?!)

One of Cynthia Morris’ tasks this month was for us to identify a “Creative Leap” and the skills and qualities we used that made it a success.

Guess I’m off to make my list of how great I can be. I could be a while (not due to length of list). :)

No News is Good News

Another teenage shooting that leaves me bewildered. An explanation of the super-delegate system set up by the Democratic Party in 1982 that makes me mad. An air quality alert for people still living in FEMA trailers after Katrina that embarrasses me (not for the reason you might think, though).

So, I’ve decided to disconnect. I’m going to try a week with no news.

No local news.
No national news.
No Internet news.
Not even NPR.
Nothing.

       Ignorance.

                 Bliss.

For a whole week.

I know Rod Stewart’s Reason to Believe isn’t related to politics, but as soon as I made my decision, this was the first song I heard on the radio. “Political 2008” in a nutshell:

If I listened long enough to you
I'd find a way to believe that it's all true
Knowing that you lied straight-faced while I cried
Still I look to find a reason to believe

 

Update: It's now Day 3 of my 7-day detox and all is well. And much hopeful! 

For a reason

I have lived a more solitary unassuming life, I think mostly due to being a single parent with a non-existent support system (for the last decade or so). Not overly conducive to socializing with other adults and just plain ol' having fun. I also operated during my thirties and early forties mostly from financial fear. Paralyzing in many, many ways.

I’m coming around now, and I don’t mean to sound pitiful, because I’m not, but I do have to deliberately adjust even the simplest of thought processes about myself now.

I am also one of those people who believes that everyone I meet is sent my way for a reason. Some are merely floaters and flashes, but some are teachers and even friends of varying durations.

And then there are the blessings.

Part of the day, I share office space with one of the most genuine and most kind women I have met in a long time. She is just a joy, and so refreshing after a long stretch of projects around a pretty depressing lot.

But lengthy conversation with a female five feet from me is new and sometimes uncomfortable. I often struggle in my contribution. I fight for the right words and anecdotes to share. Age? Maybe. But I think it mostly comes from being rusty. And years of being disrespectful to myself. I find myself weighing everything I say not wanting to come across as though I have or am anything as a result of anything I have done. I have operated for so long on the philosophy of only Luck.

When discussing a consultant in the office I have worked with in the past and keep running into, we talked about our mutual admiration for her ambition. She is starting a new business and having some recent fantastic successes with it.

ME: “It’s nice to see how well she’s doing and how much she’s loving it.”

KIND GAL: “It’s funny that you two keep running into each other.”

ME: “I know! We have to figure out why. I’m thinking she has something to teach me, because it certainly isn’t the other way around.”

Pulling her chair close to mine to get my full attention, speaking directly into my eyes, KIND GAL: “KAREN. You are smart. You are interesting and fun and funny. You have done so well in your career. You are a beautiful person. You have raised a good human being all by yourself. There is wisdom in that alone. You have more to offer than most people do. You have to respect that as much as the people who know you do.”

Being maladjusted to support like that, especially from someone I’ve known such a short time (although some discussions have lasted longer than I should admit here), I had to secretly go to the bathroom to cry. I can’t tell you the last time someone has spoken so highly of me.

To my face anyway. Right? Heh heh.

Cynthia Morris' Creative Leaps

Leave it to Cynthia Morris of Original Impulse fame to come up with something so clever and uplifting for February.

The premise is leap year. She’s making a huge “creative leap” this year (but is saving the announcement for – get this – February 29th, the actual leap in a leap year), so she’s decided to make February a month full of leaps for her fans.

Each day, for the entire month, she’ll post a new creative leap on her blog. Today’s leap, for example, is to grab a “Creative Leap Notebook” in support of the Write it Down, Make it Happen philosophy.

I came across Cynthia’s book, Create Your Writer’s Life, way back in 2005. I entered a summer daily impulse contest and won two free coaching sessions with her. My life hasn’t been the same. If I had the money, I’d pay her to talk to me every day.

Now, I won’t post her entire month of leaps here – that’s wrong anyway - but I have added a link to the left for the month.

I haven’t leapt in years!! Hopefully, I won’t break a hip looking for my notebook.

January 31st?

What? New Year’s Day was 30 days ago? Wasn’t I supposed to accomplish something in January? I created a spreadsheet in December outlining my 2008 goals, but I haven’t even opened it yet. I’m behind. Already. Or am I?

  • Attended two local writing events (which really just reinforced the amount of competition out there)
  • Scheduled JELCC class for March
  • Worked on three new projects (and not an Indian in sight!)
  • Created new ICE newsletter and new CFLC Website menu
  • Read
  • Worked on new PSM template
  • Was sick for a week and lost six pounds. Was well for two days and gained it back.

you probably didn't know

(I saw this posted on a blog I regularly visit and thought it was cute. The idea is to pass it on to other bloggers to learn something about each other.)

I am addicted to I Love Lucy reruns. I still watch the Real World/Road Rules Challenges. I did not enjoy the original “An Affair to Remember”. I like Joyce Meyer.

I try not to, but I still get jealous of the successes of others. I think I could stay in the house for weeks at a time. I could eat my weight in peanut M&Ms. I have never not had a perplexing neighbor. I believe greed is the deadliest of the sins.

I often feel guilty for no reason (leftover from Catholic school days). I can be too righteous for my own good. I don’t let go easily. I’m a loyal friend and a good listener. I have good instincts about people, but sometimes don’t react accordingly. I procrastinate in dangerous proportions.

I have a consuming crush on the man in the Kleenex commercials. I google people I have known. A whole lot of people baffle me. Judaism fascinates me. Volunteering disappoints me. Love eludes me. I lock my doors at certain red lights. I fear for this country, mostly because of the alarming reproductive rates of people who should not reproduce at all.

I check my horoscope every day and my numeroscope every month. I am insanely overdue for an annual physical, but the thought of making an appointment gives me hives. I don’t feel like I deserve to get professional pedicures, so I never do.

I love not being an employee. I love not knowing where I’ll be in five years. I am perpetually grateful.