25 years ago, I made a new friend at work. Her mother died shortly after we met. She grieved for her mother for a very long time. At the time her mother died, she had one young daughter and 2-3 older children (I can't remember exactly how many kids she has, as I've not met them all). She told me, years later, that one of the reasons she "spoiled" her younger child was because she felt she'd emotionally cheated the child because of her grieving. She said she felt like she spent about 10 years of her life being a zombie. She was going through the motions, but was emotionally disconnected.
Not long ago, one of my co-workers experienced what could only be described as a "freak out." During her "freak out" she said LOTS of things (rapid fire, bouncing from subject to subject, sort of random) some of which wasn't true, some was exaggeration, some total nonsense, but some probably grounded somewhere in the truth. The theme seemed to be that I am a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad "person."
Even though I could easily dismiss all of what she spouted as the product of a perfect storm of several very bad days, a couple of major screw ups, and personal issues, one can't completely forget such an attack.
Which has me thinking . . . I've found myself without friends lately. Not the real friends . . . they still seem to think I'm worth knowing . . . but the more social/superficial friends seem to have decided to spend their energies else where. And, frankly, I've not really been in the mood to go out of my way to be extra nice to anyone.
And then I started to wonder . . . has my grieving over the last three years (and the multiple hits of emotional firebombs) turned me into something of an emotionally distant zombie? I suspect the answer is yes. I'm not sure I actually want to do anything about it. Although it was nice to have a lunch crowd, it was expensive. The feeling of belonging was cozy, but obviously temporary and fleeting.
Grieving changes you. I think I'm less willing to put up with BS and I have a shorter temper. And, I should probably not take things so personally. But, I think I'll concentrate on being grateful for the real, deep friends I still have. At the end of your life, they are the ones that matter any way.
Showing posts with label friends. Show all posts
Showing posts with label friends. Show all posts
Thursday, October 22, 2015
Sunday, October 04, 2015
Played
The other evening, while attempting to be social, a friend who has recently gone through a personal crisis said to me "Phenom told me to tell you when I'd need some meals . . . I'll need some next week."
Okay. Phenom had not bothered to mention this offer had been made before, but it is the sort of thing I do.
Today, I made a double batch of Cinncinati style chili and roasted a chicken. I gathered all the toppings for the Cinncinati chili (cheese, onion, oyster crackers, kidney beans). At some point, the Phenom asked why I was making so much food, and when are we going to eat that chicken?
I told him I'd been informed that an offer of meals had been made. Phenom says no . . . that the offer of "anything we can do to help" was made.
On one monkey shaped hand, I am a tad startled by the forwardness of the request. But, mostly I'm thinking there is a lesson in this for me. Last year when I was so sick and in and out of the hospital, many people offered assistance to us and each and every time, we turned it down. Most of the time, it was vague "let us know" type offers, but there were some very specific offers . . . like a friend who saw the Phenom picking up our take out dinner and offered/really wanted to pay for it.
Looking back, we turned those offers down because we were a tad embarassed. We never quite wrapped our brains around needing help. And, I realize now, it was a mistake. We should let people help us Someday, they might not offer. We're always tremendously helpful to others, and we need to learn to allow others to return the favor. That being said, do leave it to the afflicted to figure out what they need you to do. Figure out something, creatively, and do it.
Like the gift certificate to a local restaurant I tucked into the door of a friend whose mother passed away this week. My friend has spent the last week sitting at her bedside, administering hourly pain meds . . . a good, hot meal she could just pick up and even have left overs the next day, was needed. (She lives alone, and much like us has a really annoying independent streak. ) I find that if nothing else, a pizza gift certificate can always be used. And cookies. Even if the afflicted doesn't eat them, the people around will.
Okay. Phenom had not bothered to mention this offer had been made before, but it is the sort of thing I do.
Today, I made a double batch of Cinncinati style chili and roasted a chicken. I gathered all the toppings for the Cinncinati chili (cheese, onion, oyster crackers, kidney beans). At some point, the Phenom asked why I was making so much food, and when are we going to eat that chicken?
I told him I'd been informed that an offer of meals had been made. Phenom says no . . . that the offer of "anything we can do to help" was made.
On one monkey shaped hand, I am a tad startled by the forwardness of the request. But, mostly I'm thinking there is a lesson in this for me. Last year when I was so sick and in and out of the hospital, many people offered assistance to us and each and every time, we turned it down. Most of the time, it was vague "let us know" type offers, but there were some very specific offers . . . like a friend who saw the Phenom picking up our take out dinner and offered/really wanted to pay for it.
Looking back, we turned those offers down because we were a tad embarassed. We never quite wrapped our brains around needing help. And, I realize now, it was a mistake. We should let people help us Someday, they might not offer. We're always tremendously helpful to others, and we need to learn to allow others to return the favor. That being said, do leave it to the afflicted to figure out what they need you to do. Figure out something, creatively, and do it.
Like the gift certificate to a local restaurant I tucked into the door of a friend whose mother passed away this week. My friend has spent the last week sitting at her bedside, administering hourly pain meds . . . a good, hot meal she could just pick up and even have left overs the next day, was needed. (She lives alone, and much like us has a really annoying independent streak. ) I find that if nothing else, a pizza gift certificate can always be used. And cookies. Even if the afflicted doesn't eat them, the people around will.
Friday, October 02, 2015
Foggy
There are losses you never actually stop grieving. I understand, deeply, when women express the difficulty of mourning their mothers. I have a friend who has been at her dying mother's side this week. We've not heard from her in a couple of days, so we suspect her mother has passed on. She's pretty intensely private, so one has to read the signs with her.
Two years ago, when my dear friend died, it put me in a daze that lasted several weeks. More or less, I have no recollection of anything that happened between his death in August and the first of October. Why the first of October? Because today is the two year anniversary of the death of a good friend's mother. Her mother had been very ill, the night before my friend had to sign papers for her mother to have surgery. The situation was dire . . . she would die in a matter of hours without the surgery and might not live with the surgery. Her mother lived through the night, and my friend awoke, on her birthday, to believe her mother would recover. Only, a few hours later, her mother died.
Realizing my friend needed support jogged me out of my fog. And, today, on that anniversary, when others are leaving sweet and joyous notes on her social media, I'm the one asking if she's got a plan to make it through the day . . . because I understand what it's like to be robbed of ever seeing one's birthday as a holiday and pure celebration.
Being grown up really does suck sometimes.
Two years ago, when my dear friend died, it put me in a daze that lasted several weeks. More or less, I have no recollection of anything that happened between his death in August and the first of October. Why the first of October? Because today is the two year anniversary of the death of a good friend's mother. Her mother had been very ill, the night before my friend had to sign papers for her mother to have surgery. The situation was dire . . . she would die in a matter of hours without the surgery and might not live with the surgery. Her mother lived through the night, and my friend awoke, on her birthday, to believe her mother would recover. Only, a few hours later, her mother died.
Realizing my friend needed support jogged me out of my fog. And, today, on that anniversary, when others are leaving sweet and joyous notes on her social media, I'm the one asking if she's got a plan to make it through the day . . . because I understand what it's like to be robbed of ever seeing one's birthday as a holiday and pure celebration.
Being grown up really does suck sometimes.
Thursday, August 20, 2015
A nice distraction
So, the anniversary of the deaths of my friend and the Old Woman are coming up. Well, the anniversary of my friend's death is today, roughly. Since he committed suicide, we aren't entirely sure of the exact timing.
But, since they died within the same 12 month period and the anniversaries are roughly a month apart, I have this nice, prolonged, funk I get into starting mid-August. Fun times for everyone around me.
Earlier this month, I received a family heirloom I'd been promised over 20 years ago by the Old Woman: her chiming mantle clock. Last weekend, I cleared my mantle and set it up. I love it and find peace when it chimes each quarter hour. (I give props to the Phenom because I suspect it drives him crazy but he knows enough to say he likes it.)
Last month, I came up with a fairly far-fetched idea and passed it by my friend's father. He thought there was some merit to it, and has been helping me with some details on his end. Well, today . . . on the anniversary of my friend's death . . . I have learned that the project is probably going to happen. In other words, I've been given a packet of very official papers to complete. I need to double check the dates I was given, but there may be a book in the near future.
This isn't about money . . . I suspect we won't see a dime. But, this is about keeping his legacy and memory alive. This is about making sure people don't forget him. It's about appreciating his talent.
But, since they died within the same 12 month period and the anniversaries are roughly a month apart, I have this nice, prolonged, funk I get into starting mid-August. Fun times for everyone around me.
Earlier this month, I received a family heirloom I'd been promised over 20 years ago by the Old Woman: her chiming mantle clock. Last weekend, I cleared my mantle and set it up. I love it and find peace when it chimes each quarter hour. (I give props to the Phenom because I suspect it drives him crazy but he knows enough to say he likes it.)
Last month, I came up with a fairly far-fetched idea and passed it by my friend's father. He thought there was some merit to it, and has been helping me with some details on his end. Well, today . . . on the anniversary of my friend's death . . . I have learned that the project is probably going to happen. In other words, I've been given a packet of very official papers to complete. I need to double check the dates I was given, but there may be a book in the near future.
This isn't about money . . . I suspect we won't see a dime. But, this is about keeping his legacy and memory alive. This is about making sure people don't forget him. It's about appreciating his talent.
Friday, January 30, 2015
The very slow realization
Funny how friendships can end. Sometimes, it's a big blow up with yelling and tears and lots of anger. But, sometimes, it can be just one thing that makes you say "you know, I'm done."
I recently had a friendship end this way. I'm sure we'll still be cordial to each other. We'll be polite. Because that's what you do in a small town.
I'd made a comment that was intended to be funny. I miss judged my audience and it wasn't funny. The recipient's reaction wasn't completely unexpected, although one might say that perhaps a tad overblown. But more than that, it made me realize that our friendship has been more about me walking on eggshells with them, and their response to my insensitive remark brought home that I'm tired of walking on eggshells for them.
Kinda a harsh realization, right? Frankly, I'm thinking of it all more in terms of "you know, they've been pretty clear that they tolerate me because of proximity, but they'd never go out of their way for me . . . and I've gone out of my way for them plenty. It's time to stop now."
More than anything, I'm a little embarrassed I was so slow on the up take. Monkeys aren't real good at the nuances of human relationships, sometimes. sigh.
I recently had a friendship end this way. I'm sure we'll still be cordial to each other. We'll be polite. Because that's what you do in a small town.
I'd made a comment that was intended to be funny. I miss judged my audience and it wasn't funny. The recipient's reaction wasn't completely unexpected, although one might say that perhaps a tad overblown. But more than that, it made me realize that our friendship has been more about me walking on eggshells with them, and their response to my insensitive remark brought home that I'm tired of walking on eggshells for them.
Kinda a harsh realization, right? Frankly, I'm thinking of it all more in terms of "you know, they've been pretty clear that they tolerate me because of proximity, but they'd never go out of their way for me . . . and I've gone out of my way for them plenty. It's time to stop now."
More than anything, I'm a little embarrassed I was so slow on the up take. Monkeys aren't real good at the nuances of human relationships, sometimes. sigh.
Wednesday, November 19, 2014
And they say monkeys can't cry
(it's a fact, we don't make tears.)
But, I'm definitely tearing up today.
25 years ago, I was a senior in college and doing an internship. One morning, I sat in on a meeting with my on-campus supervisor and my internship site supervisor (Deb and Frances, respectively). During the course of the meeting, Deb and Frances realized that they knew each others partners, but had never had the opportunity to meet each other, until that moment.
Witnessing this conversations has been one of the most influential moments in my life. At the time, I was head over monkey-tail in love with the Phenom and didn't stop talking about him, our fun, our plans for the future, etc. While Deb and Frances talked, I realized that they were using very vague and gender neutral terms to refer to their partners. I felt horrible. I realized that, as lesbians, they had to be on guard when talking about the loves of their lives. Where I could chatter on like a silly little, brainless thing . . . they had to worry that they might accidentally reveal too much about themselves to the wrong audience and there was a very real threat in such a slip.
I have often thought of this moment. I have referenced this moment, along with other examples, when making the case for why we need to confront homophobia, hate crimes against LGBTQ persons, and why marriage should be available to all people.
Today, Frances got married. The right for her to marry has only recently been available to her. And I couldn't be happier. I might even produce the first ever monkey tears of joy.
But, I'm definitely tearing up today.
25 years ago, I was a senior in college and doing an internship. One morning, I sat in on a meeting with my on-campus supervisor and my internship site supervisor (Deb and Frances, respectively). During the course of the meeting, Deb and Frances realized that they knew each others partners, but had never had the opportunity to meet each other, until that moment.
Witnessing this conversations has been one of the most influential moments in my life. At the time, I was head over monkey-tail in love with the Phenom and didn't stop talking about him, our fun, our plans for the future, etc. While Deb and Frances talked, I realized that they were using very vague and gender neutral terms to refer to their partners. I felt horrible. I realized that, as lesbians, they had to be on guard when talking about the loves of their lives. Where I could chatter on like a silly little, brainless thing . . . they had to worry that they might accidentally reveal too much about themselves to the wrong audience and there was a very real threat in such a slip.
I have often thought of this moment. I have referenced this moment, along with other examples, when making the case for why we need to confront homophobia, hate crimes against LGBTQ persons, and why marriage should be available to all people.
Today, Frances got married. The right for her to marry has only recently been available to her. And I couldn't be happier. I might even produce the first ever monkey tears of joy.
Wednesday, November 12, 2014
The Secret Ingredient is Love
I almost said that to someone yesterday . . . but was able to stop myself. Whew!
A friend we call Uncle Jeffy called for the Phenom yesterday. I truly enjoy it when he calls because he is easy to joke with, he gets my sense of humor, and he thinks I'm clever. Also, he's easy to "bust" on.
He also is generous with the food related applause. He loves my espresso brownies. And, my double chocolate spice cookies. And the liquor loaves. Pretty much anything I cook, he offers enthusiastic applause . . . which is the secret to getting more from me. The Phenom is right, I do it for the applause. Nothing wrong with being a whore.
Yesterday, he accused me of having secret ingredients or not sharing the whole recipe because when I've shared the recipe with his wife and she attempted to make them, it was a failure.
I've had another person tell me that their attempt to make the espresso brownies was a huge failure too.
I tried to explain to him the whole deal about flour and how different brands use winter or summer wheat and how this means a cup of one brand of flour is going to be more dense than a cup of another brand. He said it made his head hurt. And, I was going to say, that the secret ingredient was love . . . but I managed to just promise him a liquor loaf instead.
A friend we call Uncle Jeffy called for the Phenom yesterday. I truly enjoy it when he calls because he is easy to joke with, he gets my sense of humor, and he thinks I'm clever. Also, he's easy to "bust" on.
He also is generous with the food related applause. He loves my espresso brownies. And, my double chocolate spice cookies. And the liquor loaves. Pretty much anything I cook, he offers enthusiastic applause . . . which is the secret to getting more from me. The Phenom is right, I do it for the applause. Nothing wrong with being a whore.
Yesterday, he accused me of having secret ingredients or not sharing the whole recipe because when I've shared the recipe with his wife and she attempted to make them, it was a failure.
I've had another person tell me that their attempt to make the espresso brownies was a huge failure too.
I tried to explain to him the whole deal about flour and how different brands use winter or summer wheat and how this means a cup of one brand of flour is going to be more dense than a cup of another brand. He said it made his head hurt. And, I was going to say, that the secret ingredient was love . . . but I managed to just promise him a liquor loaf instead.
Wednesday, November 05, 2014
My Mission
I love having a mission when I go to NOLA. I mean, beyond drinking and eating lots and lots.
Today, I was chatting with a dear friend who lives on the left coast. She is in the R&D phase of opening her own eating establishment. She has worked, for years, in professional kitchens and is a fantastic home cook as well. And, although she is from the snowy part of the country, she married herself a Cajun boy. Her eatery will be NOLA foods.
She has asked me to find some specific art pieces for her new eatery, as well as take pictures she can use as decorations. She's already culled through several collections of pictures I've taken in the past and found several she likes, and has given me some ideas for specific shots she wants.
And, she is going to repay me in food. And, did I mention she lives in a state with legal recreational pot?
YIPEE!
Today, I was chatting with a dear friend who lives on the left coast. She is in the R&D phase of opening her own eating establishment. She has worked, for years, in professional kitchens and is a fantastic home cook as well. And, although she is from the snowy part of the country, she married herself a Cajun boy. Her eatery will be NOLA foods.
She has asked me to find some specific art pieces for her new eatery, as well as take pictures she can use as decorations. She's already culled through several collections of pictures I've taken in the past and found several she likes, and has given me some ideas for specific shots she wants.
And, she is going to repay me in food. And, did I mention she lives in a state with legal recreational pot?
YIPEE!
Wednesday, September 17, 2014
How I know You Love Me
I had two moments of being reminded that I'm loved yesterday.
First, I was chatting with a friend who I consider family (and she considers me family as well). You know we're both "grown up" because we spend way too much time talking about our various ailments and doctor appointments. I mentioned that my doctor was troubled by recent tests and is sending me to see a specialist. (joy.) Her immediate reaction was to offer up one of her internal organs for transplant. Or bone marrow, if that's needed. She didn't think so, but just in case.
Second, while watching our Tuesday night appointment television, a commercial came on for the Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day movie. I looked at the Phenom and said "THEY RUINED IT!!" The Phenom said he'd known about the movie for a couple of months now and had tried to shield me from learning about it. He knew I wouldn't be happy. I love that book. Almost as much as I love The Monster at the End of This Book.
I'm feeling the love . . . even if I'd rather not take your organs or will boycott a movie on principal.
Youtube of Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day.
First, I was chatting with a friend who I consider family (and she considers me family as well). You know we're both "grown up" because we spend way too much time talking about our various ailments and doctor appointments. I mentioned that my doctor was troubled by recent tests and is sending me to see a specialist. (joy.) Her immediate reaction was to offer up one of her internal organs for transplant. Or bone marrow, if that's needed. She didn't think so, but just in case.
Second, while watching our Tuesday night appointment television, a commercial came on for the Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day movie. I looked at the Phenom and said "THEY RUINED IT!!" The Phenom said he'd known about the movie for a couple of months now and had tried to shield me from learning about it. He knew I wouldn't be happy. I love that book. Almost as much as I love The Monster at the End of This Book.
I'm feeling the love . . . even if I'd rather not take your organs or will boycott a movie on principal.
Youtube of Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day.
Tuesday, August 26, 2014
All My Favorite Things
For the holiday, we're going to a friend's beach house this weekend. YAY! BEACH!!! YAY! FRIENDS!!!!
And, our friends are not only two of the smartest people we know, but the most popular people we know. Before they moved away, hanging out with them was like suddenly being welcome at the popular kids' table in the school caf.
But, it gets better. One of this is a fabulous cook. He doesn't go in for desserts and baking, so I've been assigned to bring the sweets. To sweeten the pot, he has given me a theme. You know I love a theme.
We are going to do a classic tailgate and watch college football.
I'm making mini choco cupcakes and topping them with a key lime frosting I invented. And, I'm making margarita jello shots. OH GOSH it feels good to be able to cook again . . . and FOR A THEME!!
Beach! Friends! Food! Football!
My little monkey brain is just pulsing!
And, our friends are not only two of the smartest people we know, but the most popular people we know. Before they moved away, hanging out with them was like suddenly being welcome at the popular kids' table in the school caf.
But, it gets better. One of this is a fabulous cook. He doesn't go in for desserts and baking, so I've been assigned to bring the sweets. To sweeten the pot, he has given me a theme. You know I love a theme.
We are going to do a classic tailgate and watch college football.
I'm making mini choco cupcakes and topping them with a key lime frosting I invented. And, I'm making margarita jello shots. OH GOSH it feels good to be able to cook again . . . and FOR A THEME!!
Beach! Friends! Food! Football!
My little monkey brain is just pulsing!
Friday, June 27, 2014
Thoughts on the Tattoo
There are some cathartic events that you know it, you feel it as it is happening. Like getting married. Or attending the funeral of a loved one.
The tattoo has been slower in developing meaning.
I'd joked about getting a tattoo for years. A couple of years ago, there was a half-hearted attempt to acquire one. Then, last winter, when it was decided that my Bestie would be joining us in NOLA in June, the conversation got serious. We both agreed we were into the tattoo. We found the place we wanted to do it, and worked on our designs.
I, originally, had asked my oldest friend in the world to design one for me. But, then he killed himself. I poured through his artwork to see if I could find something usable. Nada. Then, one night, at the end of yoga, I envisioned a lotus flower. Later, the same evening, a friend asked me for a recipe. I consulted the Southeast Asian cookbook I'd inherited from my friend. Stuck in the book, which I know to have been his "go to" cookbook, was a drawing he was using as a bookmark. In the center of his drawing was a lotus flower.
The tattoo place said they'd have to make it HUGE in order to insure the detail would come out properly. Much too large for what I was looking for. So, it seemed I might not get a tattoo after all. Then, as I gathered my friend's letters for his father, who is working on a collection of writings/art in memory of his son, I found a letter with doodles in it. And, that's how I settled on the design.
The tattoo was more painful than I expected. I didn't jerk my arm or cry, but there were moments when I gritted my teeth and wondered if it were worth it.
It is nearly healed now, and settling into becoming a part of me. Like the way my friend will always be a part of me.
Let's face it. Since my 40th birthday, it's been a long, painful march through crappy situation after crappy situation. I learned that a person I thought of as a dear friend was everything but a friend. I've had to watch the Old Woman struggle with the end of her life. I've experienced the death of two of the most important people in my life. And, I've had this bizarro medical journey with multiple hospital stays and surgeries. I need a bookend to these years of crap. I hope that this tattoo will become symbolic of what I've survived, and that the pendulum will swing back to the quiet, drama free life I once knew.
That is a lot to pin on 30 minutes of gritted teeth and a bit of ink. But, humans are kinda silly in what they put their faith in, no?
The tattoo has been slower in developing meaning.
I'd joked about getting a tattoo for years. A couple of years ago, there was a half-hearted attempt to acquire one. Then, last winter, when it was decided that my Bestie would be joining us in NOLA in June, the conversation got serious. We both agreed we were into the tattoo. We found the place we wanted to do it, and worked on our designs.
I, originally, had asked my oldest friend in the world to design one for me. But, then he killed himself. I poured through his artwork to see if I could find something usable. Nada. Then, one night, at the end of yoga, I envisioned a lotus flower. Later, the same evening, a friend asked me for a recipe. I consulted the Southeast Asian cookbook I'd inherited from my friend. Stuck in the book, which I know to have been his "go to" cookbook, was a drawing he was using as a bookmark. In the center of his drawing was a lotus flower.
The tattoo place said they'd have to make it HUGE in order to insure the detail would come out properly. Much too large for what I was looking for. So, it seemed I might not get a tattoo after all. Then, as I gathered my friend's letters for his father, who is working on a collection of writings/art in memory of his son, I found a letter with doodles in it. And, that's how I settled on the design.
The tattoo was more painful than I expected. I didn't jerk my arm or cry, but there were moments when I gritted my teeth and wondered if it were worth it.
It is nearly healed now, and settling into becoming a part of me. Like the way my friend will always be a part of me.
Let's face it. Since my 40th birthday, it's been a long, painful march through crappy situation after crappy situation. I learned that a person I thought of as a dear friend was everything but a friend. I've had to watch the Old Woman struggle with the end of her life. I've experienced the death of two of the most important people in my life. And, I've had this bizarro medical journey with multiple hospital stays and surgeries. I need a bookend to these years of crap. I hope that this tattoo will become symbolic of what I've survived, and that the pendulum will swing back to the quiet, drama free life I once knew.
That is a lot to pin on 30 minutes of gritted teeth and a bit of ink. But, humans are kinda silly in what they put their faith in, no?
Thursday, June 19, 2014
Lagniappe
is a creole/cajun term for "a little bit extra" or "bonus."
I'm home, in New Orleans, with two other couples (ranging from my age to retired). So far, I think everyone is having a good time (possibly even TOO good a time.)
We've also enjoyed some lagniappe. At the first bar we visited (where we've become friends with the owner) the bartender refilled my glass with the extra of the drink she made for us. She said that it was either me or her drinking it, because she wasn't going to waste good booze.
Yesterday, after a morning cup of coffee, we headed to my favorite jewelry store. We picked out the perfect birthday gift for a friend. Then, I found a really really really pretty diamond ring. And, Phenom directed my attentions to the case of fleur dis lis jewelry. I saw a pretty necklace. He saw another. I ended up with both. But the chain on one wasn't the right length for me, so we looked to swap it for a longer one. The store owner, of course, remembered us from our many previous purchases. So, rather than charging us for the chain and the pendant, she gave us the replacement chain free.
Before dinner, we popped into the French 75 bar; a favorite. And, for a time, we had the place to ourselves. We talked with the bartender, who we've drunk with before. I explained that we were "drinking the alphabet" and I had some hard to find letters. He started thinking aloud about what sort of drink he could make and call it "Queen Victoria" for me. Then my BFF and her husband joined us, and I ordered a "Queen Victoria." She was disappointed she didn't have "Q" on her list. After we left, he told her that the drink was our spontaneous invention. hee hee. Oh, and he comped us some gougeres and souffled potatoes.
Today, BFF and I are getting tattoos. More about that later.
I'm home, in New Orleans, with two other couples (ranging from my age to retired). So far, I think everyone is having a good time (possibly even TOO good a time.)
We've also enjoyed some lagniappe. At the first bar we visited (where we've become friends with the owner) the bartender refilled my glass with the extra of the drink she made for us. She said that it was either me or her drinking it, because she wasn't going to waste good booze.
Yesterday, after a morning cup of coffee, we headed to my favorite jewelry store. We picked out the perfect birthday gift for a friend. Then, I found a really really really pretty diamond ring. And, Phenom directed my attentions to the case of fleur dis lis jewelry. I saw a pretty necklace. He saw another. I ended up with both. But the chain on one wasn't the right length for me, so we looked to swap it for a longer one. The store owner, of course, remembered us from our many previous purchases. So, rather than charging us for the chain and the pendant, she gave us the replacement chain free.
Before dinner, we popped into the French 75 bar; a favorite. And, for a time, we had the place to ourselves. We talked with the bartender, who we've drunk with before. I explained that we were "drinking the alphabet" and I had some hard to find letters. He started thinking aloud about what sort of drink he could make and call it "Queen Victoria" for me. Then my BFF and her husband joined us, and I ordered a "Queen Victoria." She was disappointed she didn't have "Q" on her list. After we left, he told her that the drink was our spontaneous invention. hee hee. Oh, and he comped us some gougeres and souffled potatoes.
Today, BFF and I are getting tattoos. More about that later.
Wednesday, June 11, 2014
The Journey
I have a friend who is walking across America. He's on the American Discovery Trail, which I didn't know existed until he took off. He started in March on the east coast. He camped in snow. He has dealt with thunderstorms and freezing weather and heat. Some nights, he stays in inexpensive hotels, others he camps. He isn't wearing headphones, he has a phone and some form of computer with him, because he posts to a blog nightly. He clearly is using apps to check weather and navigate. (Which makes me wonder how people did it before smart phones.) He had planned on taking 9 months to complete the trip, but personal circumstances have caused him to bump up his time line and attempt to finish in 7 months.
This week, he hit the "half way" point. Although, as he nears the Rocky Mountains, I suspect his pace will slow quite a bit. He has mentioned, in his blog, that the further west he goes, the more nights camping he will have. I'm concerned about him getting enough food and water. Carrying large quantities of water is difficult, as it adds tremendous weight to his pack.
Reading his blog, what I am most struck by (and he seems to be as well) is how tremendously kind and generous everyone is to him. He is a vet, and isn't afraid to identify himself as such, which I think probably helps. He's also older, mature . . . so not some hippie kid shirking their responsibilities on the bank of mom and dad. He has an open and kind and calm demeanor. All of which, I think, helps people respond in kind.
Nearly daily, someone pulls over on the road to offer him water or food or a place to rest. He has had wonderful conversations with people from all walks of life: from folks hanging out in East St. Louis to elderly women tending their gardens. He even had a homeless person give him $2 because the guy thought my friend was also homeless. He tried to refuse it and the homeless guy told him to not question a person's freely offered generosity. A great life lesson, to be sure. He has asked to camp in people's yards and been greeted with dinner and hot coffee brought to his tent in the morning. In fact, the only hassle he's faced is from the state troopers who stop him about once a week to check his ID and want to know his particulars.
In a time when we are bombarded with messages of how much danger lurks just beyond our finger tips, it is refreshing to see that someone could walk half way across America and have only good interactions with the people he encounters along the way.
This week, he hit the "half way" point. Although, as he nears the Rocky Mountains, I suspect his pace will slow quite a bit. He has mentioned, in his blog, that the further west he goes, the more nights camping he will have. I'm concerned about him getting enough food and water. Carrying large quantities of water is difficult, as it adds tremendous weight to his pack.
Reading his blog, what I am most struck by (and he seems to be as well) is how tremendously kind and generous everyone is to him. He is a vet, and isn't afraid to identify himself as such, which I think probably helps. He's also older, mature . . . so not some hippie kid shirking their responsibilities on the bank of mom and dad. He has an open and kind and calm demeanor. All of which, I think, helps people respond in kind.
Nearly daily, someone pulls over on the road to offer him water or food or a place to rest. He has had wonderful conversations with people from all walks of life: from folks hanging out in East St. Louis to elderly women tending their gardens. He even had a homeless person give him $2 because the guy thought my friend was also homeless. He tried to refuse it and the homeless guy told him to not question a person's freely offered generosity. A great life lesson, to be sure. He has asked to camp in people's yards and been greeted with dinner and hot coffee brought to his tent in the morning. In fact, the only hassle he's faced is from the state troopers who stop him about once a week to check his ID and want to know his particulars.
In a time when we are bombarded with messages of how much danger lurks just beyond our finger tips, it is refreshing to see that someone could walk half way across America and have only good interactions with the people he encounters along the way.
Tuesday, June 10, 2014
The Bestie
I have a friend who has been my friend, literally, forever. It is rare that we go more than a few days without some form of communication (generally instant messaging since she's not a phone sort of human). We live 3000 miles apart, but still manage to get together every couple of years.
The other night, she told me that she thinks of me as her sister. In fact, I nearly got to be her sister when the Grad Student was looking for a safe place to stash me.
The Bestie and I know all the intimate details of our lives. We can complain and whine to each other. We know when the other has a doctor's appointment or when to back off a touchy subject. And, we can give each other shit like no one else.
Next week, Bestie and I are getting together in New Orleans. We have a pre-arranged adventure I'll admit to later. But, in a drunken text conversation last week, we set up the shit we are going to inflict upon each other next week. At some point "hey, I have a nice ass. Very kickable" got texted to me and "I will help you find your tongue" got texted to her. Now, in an act of mutually assured humiliation, we are preparing t-shirts with those lovely sentiments on them. heh heh.
Also, we like to play drinking games. This trip, we're going to drink the alphabet. There are prizes for the two people in our party who get the most letters checked off. And, I need to remember to bring her the last liquor loaf. She's that sort of friend . . . the one I'd give my last liquor loaf to.
The other night, she told me that she thinks of me as her sister. In fact, I nearly got to be her sister when the Grad Student was looking for a safe place to stash me.
The Bestie and I know all the intimate details of our lives. We can complain and whine to each other. We know when the other has a doctor's appointment or when to back off a touchy subject. And, we can give each other shit like no one else.
Next week, Bestie and I are getting together in New Orleans. We have a pre-arranged adventure I'll admit to later. But, in a drunken text conversation last week, we set up the shit we are going to inflict upon each other next week. At some point "hey, I have a nice ass. Very kickable" got texted to me and "I will help you find your tongue" got texted to her. Now, in an act of mutually assured humiliation, we are preparing t-shirts with those lovely sentiments on them. heh heh.
Also, we like to play drinking games. This trip, we're going to drink the alphabet. There are prizes for the two people in our party who get the most letters checked off. And, I need to remember to bring her the last liquor loaf. She's that sort of friend . . . the one I'd give my last liquor loaf to.
Thursday, May 22, 2014
Phenomena? Confession?
I generally consider myself a highly functioning monkey/human. I possess all the basic skills for taking care of myself/others. I can do basic repairs to clothes. I can cook meals. I can check the oil in my car. I can instruct others in basic life skills. I also have higher order skills like reasoning, creating objects that are useful/pretty, and reading maps/navigating large cities.
Since this, months long, medical adventure, I've found myself facing an interesting phenomena. I can only describe it as a semi return to infancy. And, I can't say I hate it. I'm not actively seeking it out, but I have enjoyed it at the same time. By return to infancy, I mean allowing others to care for me.
This goes beyond the necessity of nurses changing my dressings or Phenom bringing me food when I can't get out of bed. I think I've spent so many years trying to blend in, go unnoticed as much as possible, it has been a nice reminder of my place on the planet when people have gone out of their way to show concern.
There have been flowers, phone calls, care packages, sweet notes, and cheering of milestones in recovery.
I think those years in a cage in the behavioral sciences lab made me forget what it feels like to be mothered/cared for on that level.
Not that I'd ever consider repeating any part of this "adventure" . . . but I do appreciate the many ways my fellow humans have gone out of their way to remind me that I have a place in their lives, that I matter.
Thanks, Ya'll.
Since this, months long, medical adventure, I've found myself facing an interesting phenomena. I can only describe it as a semi return to infancy. And, I can't say I hate it. I'm not actively seeking it out, but I have enjoyed it at the same time. By return to infancy, I mean allowing others to care for me.
This goes beyond the necessity of nurses changing my dressings or Phenom bringing me food when I can't get out of bed. I think I've spent so many years trying to blend in, go unnoticed as much as possible, it has been a nice reminder of my place on the planet when people have gone out of their way to show concern.
There have been flowers, phone calls, care packages, sweet notes, and cheering of milestones in recovery.
I think those years in a cage in the behavioral sciences lab made me forget what it feels like to be mothered/cared for on that level.
Not that I'd ever consider repeating any part of this "adventure" . . . but I do appreciate the many ways my fellow humans have gone out of their way to remind me that I have a place in their lives, that I matter.
Thanks, Ya'll.
Monday, May 19, 2014
Perspective
Two stories.
One: I have dear friends in Portland, Oregon. I've become a fan/friend of their teen aged daughter. (Okay, I may have sent her some radical feminist reading materials.) Their daughter is gay. She's been openly gay, with girlfriend, since middle school. I know it just killed her parents that they could not give their daughter a world in which she could enjoy the rights and freedom to marry the person of her heart's desires. Until today. I was so happy for this family when I heard about the federal judge striking down the ban on gay marriage in Oregon today. And, I know that her parents are thrilled that someday, their child will have the chance to enjoy one of the dearest relationships humans can enjoy.
Two: I have a long time friend whose husband has serious kidney issues. He has been waiting for a transplant for years. Saturday morning, she texted me to say they were on the way to the big, university hospital because there might be a kidney for her husband. I was so sad to hear from her Sunday evening that no kidney was available after all. But, she said, she's okay because they are just disappointed, and somewhere there is a family grieving the loss of a loved one.
I love it when other humans make me wanna be a better monkey.
One: I have dear friends in Portland, Oregon. I've become a fan/friend of their teen aged daughter. (Okay, I may have sent her some radical feminist reading materials.) Their daughter is gay. She's been openly gay, with girlfriend, since middle school. I know it just killed her parents that they could not give their daughter a world in which she could enjoy the rights and freedom to marry the person of her heart's desires. Until today. I was so happy for this family when I heard about the federal judge striking down the ban on gay marriage in Oregon today. And, I know that her parents are thrilled that someday, their child will have the chance to enjoy one of the dearest relationships humans can enjoy.
Two: I have a long time friend whose husband has serious kidney issues. He has been waiting for a transplant for years. Saturday morning, she texted me to say they were on the way to the big, university hospital because there might be a kidney for her husband. I was so sad to hear from her Sunday evening that no kidney was available after all. But, she said, she's okay because they are just disappointed, and somewhere there is a family grieving the loss of a loved one.
I love it when other humans make me wanna be a better monkey.
Thursday, April 10, 2014
Spoiled
Because of my recent medical battles, I've had to be on a rather strange diet. Temporarily, and slowly now being reintroduced, I've not been able to eat most veggies/fruits. And, those I can have must have no peels and must be very over cooked and low in fiber content. (While the dietitian explained the diet to me I kept muttering "Yuck, yuck, yuck, yuck") I also cannot have nuts yet. This is difficult because nuts in all forms were one of my daily snacks.
But, now that recovery is happening, I can slowly start to add the foods I actually like back into my diet, with some caution. (YAY)
Several of my lovely human friends have been so helpful and supportive during this time of foodie hell. One keeps a growing list of foods we will have once I'm back to 100%. Another has reminded me several times that the moment I'm up to it, she and I will have a meal to beat all meals at a super-wonderful, best-meal-ever, tapas restaurant we love.
Now, stay with me while I seem to veer off topic.
Last month, two nice young people Phenom and I are both acquainted with got married. They are very young and both work in the field of journalism (print journalism too!) and thus are dirt poor. Because of my medical situation, we were unable to travel the many miles to their wedding and partake of their blissful beginnings. And, because of my medical situation, last night we finally got around to ordering their wedding gift.
While I was hospitalized in January (at the beginning of this nightmare), I watched the entire series of "A Chef's Life" on public television. It is a series about a chef who left NYC to return to her rural hometown to open a restaurant. She is committed to local foods/farmers and being inventive with classic southern ingredients. (She does some damn interesting things with grits.)
As it happens, this chef's restaurant is in the same town as the newly wedded couple. And, just because I can't eat fun food right now doesn't mean I have stopped obsessing over other people getting to eat fun food. I ordered a hefty gift card for this restaurant for the couple. I figure it will be enough for a few fancy date nights.
Less than an hour later, a good friend of ours called to check in on my recovery. During the conversation, she suggested that once I'm fully recovered, I should come visit her (far away from us) and that hey, have you heard about The Chef and the Farmer restaurant? It's not too far away from where she lives and she too watched the PBS series and we should go eat there.
How cool is that? And, OH YUM! And, the outpouring of affection and concern and sweetness and generosity from so, so many people during the past few months has been the most life affirming, lovely thing ever. I'm such a spoiled monkey.
But, now that recovery is happening, I can slowly start to add the foods I actually like back into my diet, with some caution. (YAY)
Several of my lovely human friends have been so helpful and supportive during this time of foodie hell. One keeps a growing list of foods we will have once I'm back to 100%. Another has reminded me several times that the moment I'm up to it, she and I will have a meal to beat all meals at a super-wonderful, best-meal-ever, tapas restaurant we love.
Now, stay with me while I seem to veer off topic.
Last month, two nice young people Phenom and I are both acquainted with got married. They are very young and both work in the field of journalism (print journalism too!) and thus are dirt poor. Because of my medical situation, we were unable to travel the many miles to their wedding and partake of their blissful beginnings. And, because of my medical situation, last night we finally got around to ordering their wedding gift.
While I was hospitalized in January (at the beginning of this nightmare), I watched the entire series of "A Chef's Life" on public television. It is a series about a chef who left NYC to return to her rural hometown to open a restaurant. She is committed to local foods/farmers and being inventive with classic southern ingredients. (She does some damn interesting things with grits.)
As it happens, this chef's restaurant is in the same town as the newly wedded couple. And, just because I can't eat fun food right now doesn't mean I have stopped obsessing over other people getting to eat fun food. I ordered a hefty gift card for this restaurant for the couple. I figure it will be enough for a few fancy date nights.
Less than an hour later, a good friend of ours called to check in on my recovery. During the conversation, she suggested that once I'm fully recovered, I should come visit her (far away from us) and that hey, have you heard about The Chef and the Farmer restaurant? It's not too far away from where she lives and she too watched the PBS series and we should go eat there.
How cool is that? And, OH YUM! And, the outpouring of affection and concern and sweetness and generosity from so, so many people during the past few months has been the most life affirming, lovely thing ever. I'm such a spoiled monkey.
Tuesday, February 04, 2014
Typecasting
Ever see the movie What About Bob? The main character lived by the mantra, if you can fake it, you don't have it.
As a result of my most recent drama, I find that people have demonstrated an outpouring of support and kindness and generous offers. People have offered to cat sit . . . to fix us food. . . to act as delivery services. It has been heart warming to realize that years of being "decent" has not gone unnoticed or unappreciated.
Today, alone, I received three different tokens of concern from three very different sources.
First, ESK gave me a pint glass that said "Today I snuck a bunch of booze to work using my stomach." (Phenom wants to borrow it for the office.)
Then, I got a card from a relation that referenced margaritas. (A specialty of this household.)
And, I received a book from a friend who has moved to another state but we still work to keep in touch on a regular . . . Cocktails for a Crowd.
If folks actually thought I'd crossed the line from being a delightful drunk monkey to full blown alcoholic, they wouldn't joke about boozy drinks with me, right?
Now, I need to get well super fast because I'm itching for a cocktail party.
As a result of my most recent drama, I find that people have demonstrated an outpouring of support and kindness and generous offers. People have offered to cat sit . . . to fix us food. . . to act as delivery services. It has been heart warming to realize that years of being "decent" has not gone unnoticed or unappreciated.
Today, alone, I received three different tokens of concern from three very different sources.
First, ESK gave me a pint glass that said "Today I snuck a bunch of booze to work using my stomach." (Phenom wants to borrow it for the office.)
Then, I got a card from a relation that referenced margaritas. (A specialty of this household.)
And, I received a book from a friend who has moved to another state but we still work to keep in touch on a regular . . . Cocktails for a Crowd.
If folks actually thought I'd crossed the line from being a delightful drunk monkey to full blown alcoholic, they wouldn't joke about boozy drinks with me, right?
Now, I need to get well super fast because I'm itching for a cocktail party.
The friend everyone needs
I have a dear friend who is a hypochondriac. Sure, we tease her. We have even been frustrated when illnesses rear up suddenly (like immediately upon returning to work, reluctantly, after lunch.) One year, we even gave her a stack of faux doctors' notes (complete with real and fake illnesses) for her birthday.
But, my friends, everyone needs a hypochondriac as a friend.
First, they read about medical conditions extensively and are thrilled to have an opportunity to question you about your symptoms and draw on their vast medical readings to diagnose you. (And, you'd be surprised how often they are right.)
Second, they have cultivated friendships with people in the medical field and can often snap a picture of your ailment and text it to actual medical personnel for a diagnosis/opinion on the fly.
Third, they have a personalized yellow pages of medical referrals stored up in their brains and can, in a moment, refer you to a medical services outlet that won't suck. Because, not only do they know who provides what services in your town, but they've been there and have weeded out those that suck.
My friend is two for two on perfect medical recommendations.
But, my friends, everyone needs a hypochondriac as a friend.
First, they read about medical conditions extensively and are thrilled to have an opportunity to question you about your symptoms and draw on their vast medical readings to diagnose you. (And, you'd be surprised how often they are right.)
Second, they have cultivated friendships with people in the medical field and can often snap a picture of your ailment and text it to actual medical personnel for a diagnosis/opinion on the fly.
Third, they have a personalized yellow pages of medical referrals stored up in their brains and can, in a moment, refer you to a medical services outlet that won't suck. Because, not only do they know who provides what services in your town, but they've been there and have weeded out those that suck.
My friend is two for two on perfect medical recommendations.
Monday, August 19, 2013
The Stories We Tell Ourselves
I don't know if this is a flaw or compassion, but I find myself sugar coating a lot.
Example: recently the freeloader mama cat had a litter of kittens. She is the worst kitty mama we have ever encountered. She is just not cut out for motherhood. And, if we could catch her, we'd get her fixed. She had 5 kittens. All beautiful variations of black and white. We knew one died pretty quickly. Then she started moving them around. She will typically leave one behind when she moves them. Late last week, I observed that she'd moved them, and abandoned the ones that were left to die. Later that day, I did observe that they had all died, but their little bodies were inaccessible for me to retrieve to bury.
Since then, Phenom has been looking for the kittens. Phenom thinks she might have moved them under the house in the rain. I'm playing along, because I don't want the Phenom to be sad/angry over their fate.
Example: I have a good friend who has struggled for years with mental illness. He suffers from physical ailments that contribute, some. Recently, my friend has fallen back into the pit. I'm not sure how much I'm sugar-coating his situation . . . or am I just being kind?
And, when all else fails, I'm not afraid to use manipulation.
It's a tangled web.
Example: recently the freeloader mama cat had a litter of kittens. She is the worst kitty mama we have ever encountered. She is just not cut out for motherhood. And, if we could catch her, we'd get her fixed. She had 5 kittens. All beautiful variations of black and white. We knew one died pretty quickly. Then she started moving them around. She will typically leave one behind when she moves them. Late last week, I observed that she'd moved them, and abandoned the ones that were left to die. Later that day, I did observe that they had all died, but their little bodies were inaccessible for me to retrieve to bury.
Since then, Phenom has been looking for the kittens. Phenom thinks she might have moved them under the house in the rain. I'm playing along, because I don't want the Phenom to be sad/angry over their fate.
Example: I have a good friend who has struggled for years with mental illness. He suffers from physical ailments that contribute, some. Recently, my friend has fallen back into the pit. I'm not sure how much I'm sugar-coating his situation . . . or am I just being kind?
And, when all else fails, I'm not afraid to use manipulation.
It's a tangled web.
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