That Just Ain't Right

More catch ups to do for my regular readers... luckily, for readers/friends who already know these "catch up" stories, I may or may not have some new stuff to tie it up in.

Back when I started this blog, I imagined that by this far out, (almost 5 years), I would  either:

a.) Be so entrenched in new-life stuff, the significance of my widowhood would be a faint memory or
b.) Still be so paralyzed by grief I wouldn't get out at all, or ever again. (the idea of the "b." option usually coincided with "One of Those Nights".)

Neither extreme is true. Deat's death, but moreso, his LIFE, still colors my perspective in a myriad of ways. That's okay, both for my life and within the context of this blog. I still hold out the hope that if another widow or widower reads this blog, she or he might find comfort in the kinship of experience. Fewer posts are based around issues of widowhood, but that's okay. It shows that life does go on.

All that said, time to do a catch up and broach a significant topic in widowhood: 

I  WENT  OUT  ON  A  DATE! 

(Err... at least I thought I did). Let me back up and explain.

One of the blessings Deat left me was his friends: not only the ones I knew well but the ones I didn't know at all. One of the latter was a lady from his college days named Georganna. She and I have yet to lay eyes on one another. We "met" on Facebook and through our mutual love for Deat, just kinda "adopted" one another. She's kind, generous with her time and resources, and fantastically funny. 

Back at the beginning of November, George and I were Facebook chatting about the dating scene and how our married friends wanted to see each of us attached to a good man... without considering the lack of acceptable, eligible men asking us out...

Me: LOL! Some of my friends were lecturing me on how I need to date.

I asked them if they knew anyone they liked well enough to set me up with, they said no... 

I said "I rest my case"

George: EXACTLY

wait...

wait...

How old are you?


At this point, I realize what's going on, and I nearly swallow my non-nicotine, but, up until that point in the conversation, relatively-comforting, gum.

Info from George: His name is Danny and he lives RIGHT HERE NEAR ME... He's a great guy... He doesn't have kids but he's great with kids... He's a Great Guy... He's younger than me... He's a GREAT GUY... She used to date him but the distance was just too much so now they're just good friends... HE'S A GREAT GUY...

George: Girl, I called him, I'm on the phone with him right now.

I coughed so hard I spit my non-nicotine and not-even-a-little-comforting-anymore gum across the room.

After some more back-and-forth with George, he and I "friended" one another on Facebook and had a short  instant-message (IM) conversation... mostly about the stuff we were seeing on one another's pages.

The following day (a Friday) at about 6, Danny said hello again via IM. After a few minutes, he suggested we meet.

Danny: Are you free later? Maybe for a game of pool? Tho, I'm sure you will win lol
Nothing major.....just to hang out for a few... if you don't wanna, I understand. No pressure. 

(Nice, considerate invitation, right?)

Me: Geez, I would love to, but I don't have a babysitter!

(Farther along in the conversation)

Danny: "A" for effort, that was you TRYING to trash talk...  When we play, I'll only use half a Q & still win. 

Me: In. your. dreams.

Danny: Lol... We'll play 8 ball, I'll spot you 5 balls.... That way I might get a challenge out of you.

Me: (Dialing babysitter)

Danny: See, trash talk

Me: Son, I will roll over you like a Mack Truck

Danny: Awe....I'll roll over alright, roll over n let you win.

Me: Oh, and you ain't gotta spot me a dang thing! Do you KNOW who you're talking to?

The guy barely knew me, but already knew me: if you really want to get me out of the house, get my dander up. We met at the local bowling alley, the only place I could think of with pool tables.

How did it go? Let's just say I didn't use the rack much that night. I considered not telling how it went, to spare Danny any FURTHER embarrassment... but I think it's a good lesson:  don't knock my game, dude.

After Danny got tired of getting beat we got tired of playing, he suggested we go eat. By that time, I felt comfortable with him so I left my car at the bowling alley and rode with him. I ate dinner earlier with the girls so I had a milkshake while he ate. (Yes, it was within my Weight Watchers points... well, sort of...).

We talked, and talked, and talked and talked. (He would say I did, but he'd be lying. He helped. A LOT.) I tried not to talk  about Deat too much, but Danny seemed completely comfortable even when I did mention him. We talked about how, from experience, I felt that "friends-first" made the best relationships. We talked a lot about faith and trying to follow the Bible... and how those issues come into play when dating. (On the mental list of what I want, a man who loves God, CHECK!) 

I really, really enjoyed myself. When we got back to my car, he walked me to it and gave me a hug goodbye.

Whew! Yes, I've been out a few other times since Deat's death... I'd been kissed.  But, I'd known 2 of them for about 20 years each and the other one for at least 6 years. The idea of kissing somebody REALLY NEW kinda freaked me out.

A couple nights later,  I was back at the bowling alley, playing pool with the girls and some of my theatre babies... Danny sent me a text and I invited him to join us. Again, had a great time. Again, he hugged me bye. Another bullet dodged... but I'm starting to sweat it. 

(What if I actually like this guy more than as just an excuse to get out of the house*... What if he likes ME? What if sometime soon he decides he WANTS to kiss me? What do I do, then?)

The following week Danny called and we went to lunch on his day off. We were again talking about relationships and he said that he felt the best move he could make for himself at that time was to stick to just friendships. He said he felt that staying away from romantic relationships was what he needed.

 (Wait, did I just get friend-zoned? You mean he DOESN'T want to kiss me? Why the heck not? I'm cute, kinda, sorta, maybe. Well, darn it, I USED to be! If I was him, I'd want to kiss me... SHEESH!)

He was right. (Danny, if you're reading this, don't get used to me saying that. For the most part, everyone knows you just ain't right...) Oh, and he's AWESOME! Just ask him** 

We've developed a pretty great little friendship. He's my male perspective with no pressure. I like to think I'm his sounding board, too. If I'm not, well, then he just talks too much. It also frees things up for him to come "hang out" with the girls and me. It's okay that my girls love Danny. I very rarely "break up" with a friend, so they get to keep THEIR friend, too. 

(Unfortunately, he and P.D. have joined forces on the hedgehog campaign... but that's another post.)

And finally, I've wondered, if I started dating fairly regularly... do I have to write about each and every one I go out with? Not now, I don't. 

Danny is a pretty entertaining all by himself, and I already got his permission to talk about him in the blog. He'll keep ya'll amused enough that I may or may not tell you about Donny (yes, I used their real names. I can't make this stuff up).

 'Cause kissing (OR not kissing) and telling, well that just ain't right. 

* Danny's gonna read this. That's me, trash-talkin'.

** Sarcasm alert

Pre-teen Titan?

P.D. is a funny kid. If she wants something, she researches it and collects all the facts to decide whether and how much she truly wants it. By the time she presents it to me, she knows her subject inside and out. 

She's been pondering unusual pets since before Christmas. For a some time, she wanted a breed of turtle called a Red-eared Slider. She filled me with enough facts and trivia that if someone brought me one, I'd not only recognize it; I could diagnose any ailments it might have.

Recently, her interest has turned to hedgehogs.

Conversation this morning before school:

P.D.: They start hissing and panting to warn you if you handle them too much. If I got a hedgehog I would name him, "Kraken".

Me: Okay, I'll bite, why "Kraken"? I thought you just said hedgehogs weren't very aggressive?"

P.D.: "Because then if one of B.B.'s friends came over and wouldn't put him down, I could say...

"RELEASE THE KRAKEN!"

(I can totally see that face at 1:28 on P.D. if they didn't listen...)

Instant Gratification

Oooh the cobwebs were even worse this time!

Soooo I took a blog sabbatical (Blobatical?) for various reasons, but now I'm back and hopefully will write/post with some consistency for a bit. The source of my return? Well, that started with Kirk*. Kirk became involved with the Treehouse Poets Series (at the Treehouse Cafe and Bakery, thus the name) and it piqued my interest, so in December I grabbed an old poem and went.

(On a side note, on that first night I went outside to talk with some folks and smoked two Marlboro full-flavor menthol cigarettes while chatting. Yeah, I know. Don't worry, it bit me. I ended up having to go to a gas station and throw up... and it still took me another couple hours before I felt well enough to drive back to L-town. Serves me right, I guess...)


Smoking fiasco aside, I had a good time. Everyone I met was very welcoming; I heard some very talented writers speak, and several made kind comments about my poem as well. I decided I'd go back.

As the date for the next poetry night neared, I realized I was either going to need to go dig old notebooks out of storage or get poetry inspiration and write one quickly to have an offering. I remembered that at the previous get together one author read a sample of his fiction instead of poetry, and it occured to me: I have ALL kinds of samples of my writing RIGHT HERE. So I read blog entries.

A scene from the Treehouse Poets Series #4. Or, in the interest of offering quality entertainment, "Where's Waldo?" only 1. Without Waldo and 2.With me and 3. I'm not wearing the goofy hat. G'head, click the picture.

To introduce the blog and the original theme, I chose to print out and read "Answers" (which, at least, ends on something of  an "up" note) and "One of Those Nights" (which, decidedly, does not). As I finished reading and looked out at the now-somber faces in the crowd, I realized I had made some fairly gut-wrenching selections... and I was the last speaker slated. I hated the idea of the night ending on such a sorrowful note. Luckily, Travis found a couple more readers (both excellent).

The one other issue eating at me was the idea of leaving the audience with the impression that I might still be in the dark place from "One of Those Nights." I had noticed several authors reading from their phones, so called up JKH on my phone and raised my hand to read just one more selection: "Dealing with Frustration in a Therapuetically and Nutritionally Sound Manner".

And suddenly, something magical happened... they were laughing... in all the right places!

What.     a.     Rush.

It was so great, I can't even come up with an appropriately humorous and hyperbolic simile for intoxication to try and illicit the standard appropriately cheap chuckle that should go right here!

Don't get me wrong, I love writing for you people but as I've told you before, I crave your comments, your reactions to what I write. I am now in love with every single person attending the Treehouse Poets Series who offered me those exhilarating morsels of merriment...

Sigh... I believe I'll be "jonesin'" for them until next month!

As I returned to my seat to bask in the joy of the moment, the second part of my motivation for using blog entries happened: someone asked me to repeat my blog address. And someone else. And someone else... And Travis put it on the Treehouse Poets Series Facebook page. I have to write regular posts now, or let them down.

Luckily, I have lots to catch my regular readers (if they come back) up on. I started to do all the catch-ups in one post, but I might need material until the next interesting thing happens... and with all the link jumping, this post is confusing enough!

Thanks Treehouse Poets, you're helping me breathe new life into this old blog!

*Who is Kirk? Kirk is someone better explained after much more alcohol than I plan on ever consuming at one sitting again... :-P

Um, No Pressure...

Holy cow holy cow holy cow! I have to type fast, I've just been PUBLICIZED!!!! Longer post coming later today, just got to have SOMETHING current on here!

The MC, The Expert

As I've told you before, I ride with the MC to our work-site in another county on Tuesdays. He has to drive through my town to get to the town where we work, so it just works out. (The MC’s car and driving habits are a story for another time… I digress.) During the ride we consult about clients, about our practice... but sometimes we just talk about our own goofy idiosyncrasies.

I may have mentioned the MC’s gruff nature before.* He's an admittedly OCD creature of habit and likes everything "just so." I’ll never forget our second meeting when he made me redo my whole internship application over a single scratch-out. This time last year, I was still extremely intimidated.  I did much of our early work together holding my breath, hoping I measured up.

The pressure built and built until one day I blurted out, “Man, I wish I had a nickel for every time somebody has called you an a-hole! I’d be stinkin’ RICH!”

He laughed. I laughed. Pressure relieved. He decided he should author a how-to manual. We even laughed about his “How to be an A-hole” writing aspirations last night on the way home from work. He thinks they’d be best-sellers at Cracker Barrel gift shops.

You, too, can be an A-hole!

He probably saw enough Cracker Barrels last week on his trip with some other Vietnam Vets to D.C. for the Rolling Thunder Memorial Day Rally. (Of course the MC rides a Harley, you expected less?) He arrived to pick me up last Tuesday morning, bright eyed and bushy-tailed after having ridden 10 hours to get home on Memorial Day. He pointed out he did this to keep me from having to smell him if he’d waited and finished the ride home Tuesday morning… how considerate!

We usually get together (sometimes in my kitchen) on Wednesday mornings to work on client charts or other projects for our practice. As he was dropping me off last Tuesday, he said he’d call me in the morning to let me know if we’d be working. He said he'd been waiting for a part for his tractor to come in at a store here in L-town, so he wanted to save himself a trip and work on whatever day the part arrived at the store; he'd just pick it up while he was already in town.

The girls were gone with their grandparents to Myrtle Beach, so I enjoyed my leisurely Wednesday morning with my coffee, cereal (measured, Weight Watchers-style) and Facebook to amuse me while I waited for the MC to get in touch. I read posts, checked the news, texted with Crystal, thinking the MC would be calling any minute. He usually does his morning walking routine with his buddy P.T. (I’m still not saying where…) and calls me immediately after.

I noticed the clock at 9:30. The MC still had not called. Hmm, that’s weird. He always calls before now if we have iffy plans.

At 9:58 I sent him text, “ ? ”

At 10:11 I called. The MC’s cell is also our client line, so he always answers… but it went almost straight to voice mail. I figured he must be talking to a client… but then it might be an odd signal glitch so I called again at 10:15 and left a voicemail… still nothing. I started fretting a little. This wasn't like him.

I called again at 11:11. Again, it went straight to voicemail. Okay, this is REALLY weird, considering the MC knew my day was on hold until I heard from him. What if something happened to him? Nobody would think to call me…

I wondered if maybe he was ignoring me… he will sometimes send a call to voicemail if he’s really busy, so I texted him again at 11:13 to express my concern:

“Okay Dude, I really hope you aren’t in the hospital. But YOU better hope you are,  because if you AREN’T I will put you there for making me worry…”

Still nothing.

This went against everything I know about the MC. He likes to follow a routine. He answers the phone. He checks his messages. He doesn’t leave me hanging.

Could I call someone? The only people I know for certain that he talks to regularly are his daughter in another state, and two local friends, P.T., and Lee**. I don’t know his daughter’s number and REALLY wouldn’t want to frighten her since she lives so far away. I don’t even know P.T. and Lee’s last names, but I do know where P.T. works and could find him there if I needed to.

I started thinking about the what-ifs. The MC lives alone. He’s only in his early 60’s and looks to be in pretty good shape. But, he has horrible eating habits and he’s been complaining about high blood pressure lately. Or he may have decided he really wanted that tractor fixed, come and picked up the part and be out working on it… What is he’s hurt, or sick and can’t get up, get to the phone? What if he’s knocked out or lying in agony? No one would know…

By 11:20 I was in Kermit heading for the MC’s house. While I was on my way, I tried to call P.T. to see if the MC had shown up for the walk that morning, but P.T was tied up and couldn’t come to the phone.

I told myself I was just going to make sure the MC’s car was gone so I’d know he was okay and just not available. Yes, the MC is a very private person, but I’m just being a good friend, right? Ugh, what if he has (gasp!) a lady friend he didn’t tell me about and was just hanging out with her at the house? He’d probably be aggravated at the privacy invasion... Then again, how many stories have I read or heard where someone thought something was off and did nothing and it ended in tragedy? Besides, it’s only a 15 minute drive…

The MC has a few acres of property, and his home sits about 50 yards off the road in a wooded area. When I arrived, no surprise, the front gate was locked. I couldn’t see the carport for the trees… grr. I heard a tractor in the distance, so I got back in the car and drove around the property to see if maybe he was mowing. I didn’t see any mowing evidence so I went back. I’m really glad no one was around to watch me climb the gate, I’m sure it wasn’t pretty.

As I walked closer to the house, I could see both the car and truck were there. I noticed the mower sticking out of the shed, so I knew he wasn’t mowing. I went to the back door, rapped on it and waited. Nothing. I strained to hear… nothing. I decided to walk around front and look in the front windows.

Please don’t let me see his body on the floor, pleasepleasepleaseplease… I didn’t see anything, but thought as I walked back around to leave, “I don’t think he’s here, but where in the world could he be?”

When I came back around I saw it and my heart nearly stopped: The Harley. He’s here somewhere. I tried his cell one more time, but still didn’t hear it ring. I noticed my voice was shaking as I left the voicemail.

Okay, I think I’m going to have to find a way in. I tried the doorknob, hoping I could just stick my head in and yell for him… locked of course. I yelled his name a couple times hoping he could hear me in the house… nothing.  I decided to try P.T. one more time. I might need P.T. to come help to break into the house. Maybe I'm being ridiculous. I'll just tell P.T. what I know and see what he says. The secretary answered and told me to hold on.

While I was on hold, I saw the MC’s face appear in a window, sans shirt, sans glasses and wet hair going everywhere.

I screamed like a girl. A short scream, but still…

The MC opened the door (looking really confused, holding the door knob in one hand and a towel around his waist with the other) just as P.T. was answering, so I quickly held up my finger and said told P.T. the original reason for my call but that it was alright now because I’d found him.  P.T. said to give him a hard time since he hadn’t answered P.T.’s texts either.

So I hung up, looked up and said, “Okay, you’re alive, that’s all I needed to know. It’s all good. P.T. says you’re a slacker, and I’ll be going now…”

I almost made a break for it, but the MC motioned for me to come in and told me to wait while he went back through the house to get dressed. Apparently, the phone got turned off somehow and he was so exhausted from the trip he slept late that morning. He said he thought he heard somebody knocking while he was in the shower so he came to check it out when he got out.

We ended up going to lunch. He promised me he’d delete the voicemail without listening, but cracked up at the text message. I am forbidden from trying to check on him like that again...

This Wednesday morning, (today) my phone rang at 9 a.m.

The MC: I was just calling to assure you that I am alive and well and you have no reason to drive to my town today…

Me: Ya know, you really are the perfect person to write that How-to manual…

*sarcasm alert

** not their real names

Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes

Turn and face the strain... (ch-ch-changes...)

Yeah, I know, REALLY original title huh? I actually think one of my other blogger friends used this title before me. There could be two. Then again, a million monkeys on a million typewriters for a million years could also produce my blog... if there's a really warped one in the bunch.

Click to enlarge

As you can see, it's now been 1 year, 4 weeks, 21 hours, 55 minutes and 35 seconds since I quit smoking... (more or less, who keeps track of these things, really? snicker) So, this post is four weeks late. And, truth be told, I've only been off the nicotine gum for a little over two months... (I have to say some self-deprecating stuff before I start bragging some more, right?)

Giving up cigarettes and nicotine altogether has been very liberating for me, boosting my self-confidence in all the right places. Do I miss smoking? Every dang day, if only for a minute or two... some days more than others. It gets easier every time I find something in the house that still bears that tale-tell smell: a smoker lived here. I don't find them as often now... but I do find them.

So, at one year in, I feel pretty confident that my habit is kicked. Recognizing that change helped me feel empowered to start so working on a another change, so about a month ago I added a new computer gizmo to answer to:

Click to enlarge
Pretty neat, huh?

My weight has been out of control for some time... and while I lost the cigarettes in the last year, I gained TWENTY-FIVE more pounds. (Ahem!) Before, I always told myself that Weight Watchers was too expensive. After looking at all the money I was saving by not buying cigarettes on the other gizmo, (over $200 a month) I figured I deserved to treat myself to the expense of this one. (Less than $45 per month, and that includes the cost of the meetings!)

First, there's my superficial reason: many of The Ladies are already doing weight loss/health conscious programs. Tina's lost around 70 pounds, Sabrina's lost over 50, Crystal (my WW compadre!) has lost over 25... I'd be danged if I wanted to be the last fat girl standing! (Not to mention, the pics from our Derby party of me were atrocious. When I look in the mirror, I don't see a fat girl, but by gum that camera sure as heck sees her!) Besides, Heather, Tina, Pennie and Michelle have all been known to run 5Ks! I am determined to waddle behind them for some of those races this year. Who knows, maybe next year I can run them, too.

For a long time I had been telling myself I should be able to manage my weight on my own, that I should be able to just do it by myself and I didn't need guidance. It's kind of hard (not to mention hypocritical) to hold onto that belief after working as drug counselor for however-many months. If everyone should be out whipping their demons on their own, what am I getting paid for?

And besides how could I, in good conscience, sit in front of my clients extolling the power of changing thought processes; telling them that if they don't like something in their lives, they have the power to change it, with me sitting there over 100 pounds overweight? (Yes, you read that right, one hundred. I've been fortunate that until this last 25-30, I've always carried it well)

Another reason I chose Weight Watchers is their gradual process of weight loss. I am expecting the actual weight loss to take 1 1/2 to 2 years. As I tell my clients, lifestyle changes don't happen overnight. There's a slow process including education and retraining the brain involved. I don't want this to be a diet, I want to change the way I view food and the way I take care of myself. Not to mention the ways my daughters view food and take care of themselves. One of the MANY things I want to leave as a legacy to my girls is a healthy lifestyle. Hopefully we're on our way.

How does this fit in with the "New Life" tag?

When Deat died, when I started this blog, I still felt so vulnerable, perhaps even weak. I felt cheated, and scared  of all the changes that came with losing the person I loved most in the world, the person I looked to before I made any major decision. I've often said change is my confirmation of God's sense of humor: He designed us to hate change and then gave us change as the primary constant in our lives.

However, change has been a tool I used to regain my power, my footing in the last 2 1/2 years. A couple of weeks ago, I received my Masters' diploma. I completely changed careers; changed cars; changed health habits; changed the way I view L-town and possibilities that exist here. With each change, I grew a little stronger.

Perhaps that's the difference between the changes we choose and those that "just happen" in our lives. The changes I didn't choose seemed to sap my strength, then the ones I made returned it.

"Look what I did!"

Still, before I go crazy thumping myself on the back, I have to look at each change and mention that I see God's hand in the opportunities presented me, the situations coming together "just so" to facilitate the moves I made... one right after the other, one answered prayer after another. I felt empowered taking the wheel, but obviously, I didn't do ALL of the steering.

So, finally, I thank God for all of it, especially providing a workplace where I can share this part, His part, of the change process, too.

Musical Memory Lane - Please Don't Go...

Or, Why I Prefer Music WITHOUT the Videos...


Warning for phone users: The following post has videos and will be really hard to follow

General Warning: It may be really hard to follow anyway...

I used to love this song, both the 1992 KWS version and the KC and the Sunshine band version from 1979. Today I made the mistake of looking both versions up on YouTube.

Hearing the KWS version reminds me of the last of my college years living in the dorm, and unbeknownst to me at the time, the last carefree years before life really got started. My friend Shelly put it on a mix tape for me, and I listened to that tape over and over; I just never watched the video.

I loved the way the sadness of the lyrics was juxtaposed against the upbeat tempo that made you want to get up and dance... kinda like young love: big ups and downs all mixed up and jumbled together.

So, today, feeling sentimental, I looked it up and found this:

Hint: Only watch to the 30 second mark, then hit pause, read the next bit, then continue.

Kinda cool for the first 30 seconds, right?

The crazy white face-bright eye shadow-weird headpiece-thing, (typical of music videos from that era)...The smooth, early nineties-esquese dance images, lithe dancers jumping, moving together and apart. The singer gesturing with the lyrics...  I was diggin' it.. it fit right into my memories.

 (Hit Play and read on) Then dude started really dancing.

Bless. His. Heart.

And WHOA! What is that at 1:06? Yeah, I know I saw the face back at :04 but I'm not sure I want (her/him/it?)  walking AT me. Don't throw flowers at me! I mean, you're pretty and all, but you took  androgyny all-the-way-out-to-scary, dude! (uh, ma'am?) I guess it doesn't really matter, but it's bugging me that I'm not completely sure.

To be fair, considering the happy memories this song conjures up, I can appreciate the lead singer's joy at singing it. I can celebrate the love of the song with him, as long as he's not looking into the camera and smiling that cutesy "we-know-the-real-secret-don't-we" smile at me. Ugh.

So, this version of the song wasn't completely ruined, just a teensy bit tarnished. Maybe, (highly likely) I just got old and really conservative in my tastes.



I decided to move on and watch the KC and the Sunshine Band version.

When I was in college listening to the KWS version, I didn't recognize it as a cover of KC and the Sunshine Band. I actually had forgotten about the KC version until several years later when I heard it on an oldies station. It immediately transported me back to my pre-teen years hanging out at Helen and Donna's house.

Donna and Helen had older sisters (lots of them, we're all Catholic). I thought their older sisters were so cool; I barely remember talking to them, I just remember being in awe. Anytime their sisters were home,  music was coming from one or another of the upstairs bedrooms. Liking those songs made me cool by association.

Hint: Play until about :22, then hit pause, if you know the song, right before he starts singing.

First thoughts: not as handsome I remember him, must be the lighting. Oooh, there ya go,  full shot of him, late seventies stylish! The way he's looking off into the distance, he's SO dreamy! 

(Hit play, play until :30) What's with the stare? Is he on drugs?
(To :40) AAAAUGH!!!! Suddenly,  my elementary school crush morphed into CRAZY STALKER GUY! Walk out that door? Son, I am running out that door! 

(:50-:59) Quit looking at me that way! Don't beg... it's unbecoming... 

(To 1:20) Blessed huh? Why does that, now, seem like a cheap suck-up so I won't leave?
(1:25-1:30) Okay, dude, that look was just maniacal.
(To 1:38) Crossing your eyes like that just doesn't help your cause.

(To 1:51) Okay, now I'm just disgusted. Tambourine Man, wearing suspenders and plaid don't make you country. Could you guys PLEASE button your shirts?

(To 2:00) He's either hoping this will make me FEEL THE MUSIC as much as he does... or, as I first surmised, he really is higher than a kite. (Play on) 

Note to self:
You see the  looks he's giving you... Sure, he's down on his knees now, (2:34) but if you actually walk out, he WILL hunt you down and kill you...  at 3:04 he starts demonstrating the horse whipping he's going to give you as soon as he knocks you down.

Finally, at 3:30, I guess he gave up. He keeps looking over his shoulders though, checking. 

"Are you still looking? This is what my little tight-leather-pants behind looks like walking away. I see you looking... Bet you wish you hadn't come up with the leaving idea now, huh? Ha! I walked away FIRST!!!!"

I was worried I'd have nightmares about scary Harry Wayne Casey stalking me. Then I found this:

KC, I may be a big 'ol girl, but I think I could outrun ya now...

Whew!

Hanging on to the Gusto and Conversating* with the Boo Bear

The Gusto Theatre closed, but the legacy in my life lives on.

Last weekend P.D. and I went to see "Hunger Games." Don't brow-beat me for letting P.D. see such a violent movie... we both had already read the books (have you?) and discussed them. If she had asked to go with someone else, my answer would have been "no" but she was with me, and since we already knew every scene, none of it was really shocking.

Anyway, at the theater, two of my "Gusto Theatre Babies" came up and hugged me. Later in the week, I got a call from one of my teenage "Babies", upset over a break-up. He came over for dinner for a distraction the next night... B.B. kept him so busy playing "Go Fish" and swinging on the swing set, I daresay it worked. Another one IMed me in Facebook last night for some quick advice. Kids are so great. All I ever did was let them know I cared... and it makes my day each and every time one of them calls me on it.

Last night the "Ladies of Gusto" had potluck at our "monthly" get-together. Back in June or July last year at one of the shows, I suggested a "Margarita Night" at my house for the moms of the theatre kids. I was surprised at how many were interested! We had six women, we had a private Facebook page for messages to one another... we had tequila, we had a blender, we had Sabrina at the helm, we were in business!

We had so much fun, we decided to do it again... and again... and we realized we weren't really drinking much margarita. Finally, one night Janet said, "Hey, do we have to make the margaritas or can we just admit that we really like each other?" (Poor Janet is stuck babysitting the tequila at her house; we still haven't gotten all the way through it.) We figured out, the margaritas just drew the line and said "No kids allowed." But now that we're tequila-free, we're even having the kids come, too.

I didn't realize how much I needed girlfriends and girl-time. I don't think any of us did. We share our ups, our downs... we tell stories about our families, the people we grew up with. We TRY to stop short of the following, but last night we had to sing a rousing chorus...

We don't MEAN to...

Pennie took P.D. home with her to spend the night with her daughter... then asked to keep her one MORE night. B.B. says she's missing Sissy, but she likes the "Just Momma and Me" time. She decided she wanted supper from a local fast food place.

B.B. Momma are you ready?

Me: I just gotta find my keys.

B.B.: Now you know you're supposed to put them on the hook as soon as you come in! (Stopped just short of rolling her eyes.)

Me: Kinda like, um, your shoes and your closet?

B.B.: Um... yes? (Big-eyed smile.)

Later, in the car...

B.B.: Momma, is it late Spring?

Me: No, I think it's more like early- or mid- Spring.

B.B.: You don't get to have Summer until after Spring, right?

Me: Right.

B.B.: That's what Papaw said. but I don't know if Papaw knows about these things...

Me: Why wouldn't Papaw know?

B.B.: Well, he's Papaw, and I have to...

Me: B.B., are you just talking to hear yourself talk?

B.B.: (Looking shocked) How did you know? (Long pause) I know f-o-r spells for, and I can use it in a sentence...

Life is good.


* Conversating is a reference from Capricorn Cringe. You can search it on her blog.

Sister Love, or, A Funny Thing Happened on the Way Home from the E.R.

Today I got a phone call at work --  P.D.(age 10) in hysterics. "Maaaaa-maaaa" was just about the only word I understood. I managed to decipher that B.B. (her 6 year old sister) had been hurt.

Somehow, as my breathing began to go shallow and my blood pressure began rising, I was able to maintain the presence of mind to discern that B.B., the injured one, was NOT crying. I tried to calm P.D. and asked her to put Ms. Marjorie on the phone. Apparently B.B. and P.D. were in a tussle when B.B. let go, fell backward and hit her head on a piece of furniture.

From my own days as an E.R. frequent flier, I remembered that even with a minor injury, scalps bleed a lot. I asked Ms. Marjorie to check and see if it was a gaping wound, and she reported that it was not, so I didn't worry. It was close to the end of the day and I'd be leaving soon anyway.

Came home, checked it out, it didn't look bad so I started the night routine. After B.B.'s bath, I checked it again and noticed that it wasn't a scrape, as Ms. Marjorie and I had first surmised, but actually a cut with just enough of a gap to require a trip to the hospital. Sigh. Of course B.B. was scared and protested, but I assured her that while it would hurt some, it wouldn't hurt for very long. That seemed to reassure her.

When we arrived in triage, the nurse informed me that she'd need a couple staples, but that with the newer numbing gels and techniques, it wouldn't even hurt. What a relief! P.D. and I sat in our waiting cubicle in the E.R., laughing and playing math games with B.B. to distract her.

Unfortunately, the nice nurse was WRONG. It did hurt. If you've been following this very long, you know P.D. (the one in tears) is the sensitive one; B.B. is Momma's Precious Little Monster.**  B.B. does not go down without a fight. It took five of us to hold her down for the second of the 2 staples. P.D. had to leave the room, she couldn't watch.

Soapbox moment: I learned this from my dear Daddy: 


Don't EVER tell a child something won't hurt if it will.

Lying about it just teaches the child that you can't be trusted. B.B.'s hurt feelings about being lied to, then held down, lasted way longer than the pain of the actual staples. She cried, and cried, and cried... and cried some more. 

Finally, as we were leaving I offered her a bribe distraction to help her calm down. 

Conversation on the way home:

B.B.: (sniffling) You're still the best Momma in the world.

Me: Really? Why?

B.B.: Because you said I could have ice cream if I calmed down. I sound really calm, don't I, Momma?

Me. Yes, you do.

B.B.: Sissy's really calm. I think she should have something special, too.

How could I refuse? :)

** B.B., if you are reading well enough that you can read this post, all I have to say about the comment with the asterisk is, "Well, you WERE!"

Jerks Need Not Apply

Remember way back when I said I was ready to date again? Well, uh, hmm... they still aren't knocking down my door. As much as it pains me to admit it,* I'm not quite as cute at 41 as I was at 27.

Not that I mind. I have a meaningful job, great friends, and two beautiful little girls that fill my world with love and laughter. When God decides the time it right, it will happen. For now I'm content with my life as-is.

Besides, the more stories I hear from single/divorced friends, not to mention clients, the happier I am that the stress of "a relationship" isn't part of my realm. I'm not hearing about a wealth of good men out there. Even the M.C. has mentioned that it seems that a disproportionate number of our clients (particularly the women) seem to be "stuck" in relationships where they aren't supported, valued or appreciated. I remember falling prey to dating partners like that a time or two myself back in the day.

I've pondered how (besides just being blessed) I was fortunate enough to have been married to a man like Deat. I've jokingly said that two months after his death I elevated him to sainthood and I conveniently forgot every single flaw he had... but compared to the men I've been hearing about, he really was a saint! How did I get so lucky and others didn't? I've further wondered: when the time comes, how will I teach P.D. and B.B. to guard their precious hearts from the "playas" of the world?

Today, a friend of mine posted a link to this article and I think it offers part of the answer. The following is from Darlene Brock at the Grit and Grace Project. You'll find a link to the blog section of her site over in the "I Read These" list on the right.

If He Acts like a Jerk… he probably is

We live in a world where there must be a Masters Degree in Excuses for Bad Behavior.  That reality is evidenced in the relationship single females have with their male counterparts.  It seems the female is constantly seeking the reason her male counterpart acted the way he did when the answer is often so simple.

He says he didn’t call because his phone battery died.  When really he went out with his buddies and you were the last thing on his mind.  He’s so sorry he was an hour late the traffic was really bad.  Instead of I just didn’t think you would be upset that I had to master one more level on my video game before I could find my keys to get in the car.

Then the classic I am afraid of commitment because I was hurt so badly by someone else.  Instead of I have every intention of seeing everything I can get from you while making a minimal amount of effort.

Ladies, what is wrong with this picture???????  We must not assume that all men make excuses, some are caught in traffic, have let their cell phone battery die or have been hurt, these are life realities.  But let’s not assume they are telling the truth either.  Especially when you are hoping to build a long lasting relationship with a repeat offender.  They must earn your respect and trust the same way you must earn theirs.

Simple common courtesy - call when you say you will, arrive on time - just basics should be expected.  The exception to that behavior needs to be occasional not recurrent.  It doesn’t matter how cute he is or how many flowers he brings to prove he’s sorry if all he can offer is an excuse in answer to the “what happened?” question.   This indicates a personality that will display unacceptable behavior in every area of life.

Simple moral to the story ladies, if he acts like a jerk……he probably is.  Don’t accept his excuses and expect more from him than his lack of even a little common courtesy.  If all ladies would hold men to this standard they would step up.  They would work for that relationship because they had to.  They need to work for it.  They would be better men worthy of women that expect better men.  Worthy of women who themselves seek to be better women.  And you wouldn’t be left waiting by the phone hoping for a call.

Simple and succinct, but it speaks volumes. In six short paragraphs, she conveyed a message that so many young girls forget or never learned... heck, a lesson that so many grown women need to understand. I'll be making copies of it for some of my clients.

Reading this reminded me of the attitude I maintained during my dating days. I gave this "speech" to more than one guy, and when I think back to the heartaches and heartbreaks... they came when I allowed myself to settle for less.

So you say you want to date me, huh? Well let's get something clear. While I love a friendly competition, in a relationship I don't compete: not with other women, not with alcoholism, not with drugs, not with sports or your buddies. I understand you'll want to spend time with your friends, I can take time with my friends, too. But I won't tolerate being treated inconsiderately, period.  

I'm not unreasonable, I just ask that you do what you say you will do. If you said you'd call, call. Don't be late or break a date without a good reason. I understand that circumstances come up, and sometimes it can't be helped. If we had plans but you can't be where you said you'd be, make a phone call so I'm not sitting around worrying and wondering where you are. I'll treat you with respect and expect the same. I will not tolerate less.

I don't compete because I don't have to. If I can't win, I won't play. It's that simple. If I have to win your time, your attention, your consideration, quite frankly, I'm not interested... because that tells me you aren't, either.

 As Darlene Brock points out, simple common courtesy is not too much to expect, but when we accept less; less is what we get.

Is it possible that speech might send a guy I was interested in packing? Well, yeah, it was designed to! I figured if he was interested enough to stick around after that speech, he might be worth my time. It's funny to me now. but simple courtesy was one of the things that helped put Deat on his pedestal.

When the time comes, I think I'll be grilling P.D. and B.B with this speech until they can quote it verbatim. I realize they will probably date different boys with a host of other issues, but hopefully this will weed out a few of them.

Meanwhile, just in case some suitor comes to call, I think I'll brush up on it, too.

*Sarcasm alert