"I wish I hadn't even gone."

There are certain people I have cut out of my life. And I am forever having to explain to my mother why. I never have an acceptable reason. Like 'because they are alcoholics', or 'they abandoned me' or 'they beat me when I was little' or any of the common reasons people give for forsaking kin-folk. But at last, a simple reason occurred to me. Many times on the drive home after visiting these relatives, I'd heartily wish I hadn't even gone.

The realization came about today, as the husband and I drove homeward in the truck, both windows down, the dogs tired but happy in the center, I stared at the familiar route 10 trees sliding by and thought how glad I was we had gone visiting that afternoon. I had not wanted to go, the lists of chores scoffing at me, my stewing over how incompetent I was at last week's work convention still on a low simmer.

But the kids and back-yard and trees and dogs and shared strawberry short-cake sent the lonesome, tormenting thoughts away. A shared afternoon with my sister-in-law's family made all the difference to me. They helped ME. And that is worth going back for.

Just walked in from my "gas and cash" run. "Gas" and "Cash" both completed. Now "pack".

I went to the post office where a woman walked in with 7 children buzzing around her. Had to stop myself from gasping aloud, "Are you really going in there with all those kids?!", as I was filling out forms and perturbed that this pre-adolescent mob scene would be ahead of me in line.

As I drive about town I wonder about my blog and if the two blogs I have been following via a bookmark could be added to my blog list. I like them, but adding to my blog list feels like stalking. It does make it easier for me to access and read. Hmmm... feeble social skill set not helping me make a decision. I don't know these two people from adam, just found by clicking around you know.

Where'd all the Good People Go?

Where'd all the Good People Go? is actually the refrain of a song I like. Who are the good people? The tiny part of my brain that thinks it knows these things tells me the good people have jobs, that they show up to on time, if not early.  They work hard all day and make their company money. They come home at a decent hour and make dinner, talk to their kids, straighten up their houses, say 'Hi' to the neighbors, call their mother, brush their teeth, and turn out all the lights and the TV before going to sleep, in their bed.

On the weekends they mow and mulch their lawns. They fix broken gutters and maybe power-wash the siding. They decorate the outside of their homes according to the season, and remove said decorations promptly, and put it all away in rubber-maid bins they store in the attic. They drag the decorations down and unpack it, then pack it up again and again and again.

They take nice planned out vacations, they go weekends to visit friends. They send little gifts to their friends kids on their birthdays. They always remember to send Christmas, sympathy and 'thinking of you' cards. They use coupons, all their bills are paid on time, they have adequate retirement savings. Their car is always presentable. Their house never smells funny.

They can't believe people who let their grass get too high, and don't use weed-n-feed every fall. They look on in disgust at people who show up late for work. They sneer at laziness and ungratefulness. They just don't believe in clutter, at all, anywhere.

The good people, who keep everything going along, going along.....banks and political parties and corporations and universities and sports leagues and the highway system.....and Facebook.

Stayed Home Today

Just emailed 'out' this morning and then read Brave New World. It was an ok book, I don't see what all the fuss is about though. It seemed kind of old-fashioned. I was not impressed with the way women generally were portrayed in the book either. I read it because in the local paper there was a hullabaloo about having high school kids read it. And I have to admit, after I read it I don't think I would be too pleased if my teenage child had to read this book either. The book does more to solidify out of date notions about women than it does to make the kids think about science and how it could affect society in the future. And why would a black kid even want to bother with the book? The book is best left where it began, in 1932.

Beyond all that though I'm glad a lay in bed all day and read. After reading it I journalled a little, the pen and paper way, then showered. Before coming downstairs it felt like I had a direction for the rest of the day. But the atmosphere in my head is hugely different between upstairs and downstairs. Downstairs the feelings of being lost just flood in from every direction. Upstairs is safe. Safe to plan and daydream and pretend. Downstairs too real, upstairs just enough removed.

Maybe I should walk v-e-r-y s-l-o-w-l-y down the steps and see how many steps I can get upstairs head down.

Dark Comedy

Actual email I received today:


"Christine and Karla were just at your house and they cleaned but they missed a few things because there was cat poop on the carpet and the bathroom floor.  I was wondering if you minded us rescheduling the cleaning? I was also wondering if you could clean up the cat poop and litter box before the next cleaning so we could get the things that we missed this time?  Please let us know what you think. I hope to hear from you soon."

Rehearsal - Part I

A man at work, who was a co-worker until the struggles with cancer forced him to go on disability, transitioned to hospice care. I never liked this man when we worked together. He was divisive amongst co-workers, and slightly creepy on a one-on-one basis. He was difficult to communicate with and could act like an ass if you were at a level below him on the work scale. He tended to over complicate everything. The cancer forced everyone around him to cover for his portion of the work so that he could be at appointments etc. This went on for a year and a half. Then ultimately the cancer became his full-time job.

Apparently now everyone must go visit him, or at the very least send him cards. At least that is what all my co-workers are doing, but no one ever asks me. I bring this up because last Friday a particular group of co-workers paid a visit to his home and did not include me. There was no mention made to me, at all.

I dare not complain, since I did not and do not want to go visit this guy. I mean, I never liked him, and I had thought other co-workers were of the same opinion. But this event makes me wonder, of course, did I somehow dislike him more than everyone else and everyone picked up on that? Is one supposed to get over not liking somebody when they are near death? Perhaps everyone knew that if asked, I would say no. And I'm quite certain I would have. I don't think your relationship with someone should change when death is knocking. I try to behave as if death is knocking every day. Whether or not I am living up to this credo can only be determined when I too, am at death's door. When I'm lying on my death-bed, do I want everybody I ever knew, liked or not, trotting through my bedroom? I don't think so. And does this make me different from other people?

I think probably don't know if this makes me different from other people, because honestly I don't believe most people think about their own death. Or if they do think about it, it is some sanitized Christian version of lights, and heaven, and Pearly Gates, and being judged.

I am not certain of much, but one thing I am certain of, is when I die, I want to be quiet and focused on what is happening.

Heat Reflecting off Mulberry

I finished reading Snow Falling on Cedars.

It took me about 4 days. I enjoyed it. I stayed up later than my usual bed-time to finish it. My little light shines.

I found myself jealous of the characters easy relationship with nature. Within moments the citizens of San Piedro island could be walking on a beach or standing among trees of a forest, or even out on a boat. It made me wonder why I don't spend more time doing these things. I can make a list of excuses certainly, but basically it is because there is not much nature nearby. There are not even sidewalks in my neighborhood.