Nice People

I have become a rather cynical (dare I say bitter) old bitch as I have gotten older. Pain, disappointment and betrayal will do that to you.  I see myself going down this unhappy, but most of the time amusing, road.  Then along comes a Nice Person.  Well dadgummit, you just ruined it, didn't you?  

I planted a letterbox in Hawaii a couple of years ago, in a very urban, busy, indoor location.  I didn't expect it to last long.  I had such a wonderful time that trip, I got to see my brother and his family for the first time in 10 years (they live in Germany)  I got to meet my very first great-niece and see my niece (her husband was stationed there) being a fantastic mother.  I went with my sister who I hadn't gone on a trip with in a million years, and we got along the WHOLE time.  Plus.... I was in Hawaii!  So, this box has a little bit of a special meaning to me.  I didn't expect it to be visited so much, to the point I was getting notes saying the log book was getting full.  My niece has since moved on to Georgia, so I couldn't ask her to help out.  I figured why not just ask a fellow boxer who lives in the city and who has found the box already.  I contacted Morgan Family Hunters introducing myself and asking if they would send me the box, then replace it when I send it back.  SMACK!   I ran right into a Nice Person.  Not only was she happy to help out, she told me what that box means to them.  Oh, the warm fuzzies peeked out of my bitter heart.  Quick as a flash she sent it to me with a lovely, lovely note and a package of chocolate covered macadamia nuts.  Don't get me wrong, the candy was a sweet touch, but the note was better.  It reminded me that Yes, Virginia, There is Such a Thing as Nice People.  Lookee, warm fuzzies exploding all over!  I'm almost finished with the box and I will send it back to her and it will once again be in place.  But no sweet treat I send back to her can compete with the gentle uplift she has given me...simply by being nice.

There are even fuzzies in my navel.

Condensed Milk

So maybe not condensed milk but here is my thought process:  over on FB I indulge in my fascination with words by periodically posting archaic/obscure/long/fun to say out loud words.  Since I haven't posted here recently, here is a condensed list of those words.  Feel free to use them in a sentence if you'd like:


ennui
soporific
trifecta
tympanometry
portmanteau
pinguecula
speculoos




This is my egress for today.

Cheers!

I created a cocktail out of the leftover alcohol  I found stashed in the house.  Its been so long since I've mixed a drink I have no sense of proportion.  So, it's written in my own vernacular, alter to suit your taste.


Gotelli Hammer*
¾ glass tangerine juice from Trader Joe's
1 huge splash of Absolut Citron
1 small drizzle of Orange Curacao
1 smaller drizzle of Kirschwasser


Raise a toast to absent neighbors.  Add more tangerine juice.   Ahhhhhh!








*You know... instead of a Screwdriver.

He Always Called Me "Doll"

On or about 1950, Mr. and Mrs. Gotelli decided to settle down and raise a family.  They picked a house in a new subdivision south of The City.  They ran their business, worked hard, raised a family and retired.  Life shuffled along as it does, neighbors moved in, moved out, passed away, had kids etc.  Mr. Gotelli was a bossy, nosy guy.  He had no problem telling anyone what's what, and he did so frequently.  Everyone knew him, he knew everyone.  He watched out for all the neighbors, told them when kids were throwing rocks at their cars, questioned the friends who would come by and feed pets while the neighbors were on vacation, alerted them when their back yard was on fire, wheeled in their garbage cans when they were too overwhelmed with caring for their wife who had cancer, yelled at them when they would park their to-many-cars so that driveways were blocked.  When Mrs. Gotelli died he told his neighbor that every morning he would go to the cemetery to visit her grave and yell at her for leaving him.  He doesn't have to do that anymore.  On Tuesday he will finally get to settle in next to her and neither one will be alone anymore.  The Mr. Gotelli shaped hole in the neighborhood is pretty big, about the same size as the one that's in my heart, but not as big as the one that is in my husband's. No more morning updates on the way out to work.  No more anything.  The S of GremLandS wants me to make a letterbox in his honor and plant it in the cemetery.  I will do it.  I can't think of anything at the moment that will do justice to the unofficial Mayor of our street.  But I will do it.

:-(

Hallelujah?

You know how when you are dreaming just before you wake up?  And the dream is SO significant, or insightful, or symbolic?  Almost a little too so?  Here is my story of this morning.  


:Start Dream State thinking:
All the activity associated with normal life are your standard notes of music and most people hear them as they are, the true sound of the note.  Some people are tone deaf and go through life completely out of sync and not knowing why things always seem to go wrong.  Somewhere in between are the people who, instead of hearing the true note, hear the harmony and these can range from hearing a third or fifth or an octave above, these are the lucky ones who are positive and motivated and uplifting.  Another type hears a full chord instead of just a single note.  Major chord being equated with a manic state, minor chord with a depressed one.  Now imagine that everyone's life wasn't like a book to read but a sheet of music to be played instead.  Now imagine a room full of people, everyone with a different instrument and playing their own sheet music.  At the same time.  Now, how in the world could we even stand to be there?  How soon before we'd run from the room with our ears ringing and eyes watering?  But also imagine how amazing it would be to find someone playing something that complemented yours.  
:End Dream State thinking:


I wake up thinking, ohmygosh, I'm BRILLIANT!  That is an amazing metaphor for life in general!  Where do these things come from?!?!  I'm a genius!  I also notice my alarm/radio is going off and I think, I better get up I've already hit the snooze button once.   Wait... hit the snooze button once...  Then I realize I have part of a song stuck in my head from when the alarm went off the first time.  The lyrics are rolling over and over and I can hear Jeff Buckley singing Hallelujah! perfectly in my head and it goes like this:


Well I heard there was a secret chord
That David played, and it pleased the Lord
But you don't really care for music, do ya?
Well it goes like this
The fourth, the fifth
The minor fall and the major lift
The baffled king composing Hallelujah 


Oh, I'm NOT brilliant.  I just incorporated the song on the radio into a light dream state.  Sigh.  Well, it was fun while it lasted.












If you hum a few bars, I can fake it.

As If One Isn't Enough

I'm not sure how many (IF any) people read this blog.  If I am to judge on the comments, there are two (Hi WomanToBlame, Hi Wendy!).  So in case you two, or anyone else who stumbles on this blog, NEED to read more junkandstuff, I just wanted to let you know......I've got another blog.  Yep, as if one isn't enough.  I'm trying my hand at a different kind of blog, it goes along with my etsy/ebay selling and is called Her Maj.  If you have any interest in vintage, antique, odd, old stuff come on over.  I do a lot of research on my item because I'm kind of a slave to that kind of thing.  I only use a portion of what I find out, and sometimes I learn cool stuff that I thought it would be nice to share...and it makes me feel like all that research didn't go to waste.  So, this blog will still be the same random rant and letterbox love and silly soliloquy  kitty box it has always been.  
Soooooooooo, that's about it.  Yeah, that's all I have to say right now....yup.  Uh, now what....   Sooooooooooooooooo, how was your Christmas?






Mine sucked, as usual.

It's a Win-Win Situation

Got a new car, real live new car, the first NEW new car I've ever had.  I am now a moss covered hamster.  Can you figure out what car it is by that hint?  If you get it right, maybe I'll send you something...like a stamp I carved but never planted.





vrooom, putt, putt, putt

The Grem Of GremLandS

We are sad... Our cat Gremlin, the Grem of GremLandS is missing. :-(

The L and S want their Grem back!

Do Your Thing

Usually I hate commercials, but sometimes they nail it. Case in point, an ad running recently for Kaiser. Disclaimer here: I don't work for, with, patronize or utilize Kaiser. I just like the commercial, because it's...well... so ME, down to the expression on her face. And it does actually motivate me to "find my thing". It makes me smile every time I see it.





What's your thing?

hint, hint

What to do on Oct. 1st







44

Ex Animo

I used to write in a journal all the time.  I started in high school and continued to do so until about 13 years ago.  I can't explain why I stopped.  I know when I did, it was a very momentous time in my life.  It was a turning point, my whole life changed within a matter of days, hours even.  And for some unknown reason, I couldn't write in my journal about it.  I know because I tried.
And I never went back to writing in a journal like that again.  I have looked through some of my old ones and was shocked (and embarrassed?) to see I wrote about the SAME things over and over and over again.  I remember thinking, all that writing and nothing changed, so what's the point.  Fast forward many years and here I sit...writing.  But this is a "Blog" not a journal or a diary, right?  I don't write the deep dark obsessive crazy thoughts that occasionally surface in my head.  Because now I know I am not unique in having these kinds of thoughts.  Everyone does at some point or another with varying degrees of frequency.  I do write about personal things...kind of.  Most often I allude to them or make them into stories or metaphors (or fives).   So what is the difference?  Here, I write for a pretend audience.  Originally I did that because this is the Internet after all, one of THE most public places in the universe.  I would be uncomfortable, embarrassed to put myself out there like that.  But what is the point of writing if not for some personal benefit?  So, I don't write about what I did on my summer vacation.  I don't write about the food I eat, the clothes I wear, who I saw or talked to......unless I see something larger in it, some connection to something else.  I don't know why I started writing like this, but it has been so much more satisfying than all of the journals I filled for sooooooo many years about how unhappy I was with my life or what boy I was pining after or wondering what should I be doing with my life.  Because ultimately none of that mattered all due to that one point of time in my life that changed everything forever.  
So, let's bring this puppy back around full circle, shall we?  What is the point of this bit of writing today?  The thing that changed my life forever was cancer.  non sum qualis eram: I am not what I once was.  My vision of my life, my purpose, my path was totally blown up.  It pisses me off sometimes, I feel cheated, I feel angry often, I feel sorry for my self sometimes.  I have scars, I have pain, I am missing parts of my body, I am missing parts of my memories but I am lucky to be alive, lucky to have married the best man in the world for me, lucky that my family loves me (in their own strange way....see this written just in case any of them stumble on this post, can't be too sentimental here.  wink wink)   Still haven't come to the point of this post, have I?  I am going to leave it at that, because like I said before this Blog tends towards finding that bigger connection or message in every day things.  So, if this is being read by anyone else than me, it is up to you to figure out the connection that resonates for you.  As for me, I'm going to bed.






Non Sequitur

Don't Quote Me On This

When I was a young, angsty teenager, I read in a book by Hugh Prather this quote, "If the desire to write is not accompanied by actual writing, then the desire is not to write".  I was rather taken by that book, Notes to Myself.  In retrospect, I wish I wasn't such an impressionable teenager looking for guidance from someone "older and wiser".      Hmmm, let me re-wind a bit.

I have been cleaning out a lifetime of accumulated stuff.  I've always been good at regular "spring cleanings" and getting rid of the excess, but not as fast as I have been stacking stuff in corners and putting in boxes to stow on shelves and in closets.   I have been unearthing a lot of past life residue.  I have found things I still can't bear to part with (a plastic plate my mother made for me that says "Laurie the Star") , things I am making myself part with because it is not healthy to hang onto them (old diaries) and things I can't believe I've kept for all these years. 

Which leads us to the above mentioned book.  I found it buried somewhere and it brought back a rush of memories.   I remember pouring over this book, highlighting passages I thought were profound and meaningful. (Yes, highlighting...shut up.)  I remember thinking people like the author must know how things really are and I need to learn from their words.  Sheesh, I'm lucky I wasn't targeted by a cult, I bet I would have fallen for it hook, line and sinker.  Back to the book and the rush of memories.  I started leafing through the book and reading the "thoughts".  The more I read, the more my nose wrinkled. I seriously fell for this self-indulgent psychobabble?  I started to feel bad for the younger me and wished I hadn't been so hard on myself for not living up to impossible ideals.  For whatever reason, the quote "If the desire to write is not accompanied by actual writing, then the desire is not to write" stuck with me, because I have often felt that desire to write, without anything happening.  Then I must not REALLY want to write, I would think with my conditioned mind.  Well, the adult me says, "Poo on you, Hugh!"  Sometimes I write, sometimes I don't, sometimes I want to and sometimes I don't.  But it doesn't fit into a nice little bowl of chicken soup.  So this is me writing, this is me writing about nothing in particular, this is me writing my thoughts at this moment that are subject to change at any moment.  I symbolically toss all those old self-recrimination out with that dog eared, highlighted copy of one of the early "self-help" books.  Unfortunately, our younger years are formative, hence the term formative years.  It's not as easy as it sounds and I am still very susceptible to the written words of others.  I have since replaced Hugh Prather and Richard Bach with the likes of Jenny Holzer and Steven Wright, because I have discovered I like to mix relevance and absurdity.  To me, that is a reflection of how life REALLY is...the relevance/absurdity thing... not the actual quotes.  As brilliant and clever are they are they are still someone else's and I need to find my own.

I still like to use quotes though....

And Yet More Proof

What is happening here?  Have I crossed over into the twilight zone?  Do I resemble foie gras?  Here was the scenario:


1. Pre-existing drama in group A.
2. Poor parenting guidance in group A.
3. Repeat of bad behavior of a minor in group A.
4. Request from group B to correct this.
5. Group A's dysfunctional communication cause misinformation.
6. Clash occurs between members of group A and group B.
7. Apparently, I am the only voice of reason on the whole block, but no one will stfu long enough to listen.


I stood between someone who's position was to keep asking a loaded question and someone who position was of the excluded middle.  I mean that literally, I physically stood between them as they repeated the same arguments at each other.  My repeated phrase was "stop", "STOP", "STOP!".  But no one listened.  I knew which direction to go in to solve this thing and it was as if I were invisible.  When I was finally able to get a word in, I pulled out the facts.  The series of events that took place.  The ultimate goal was to stop the kid from throwing rocks.  In the end, its was resolved peacefully between the two arguing adults.  All's well that ends well?  


Not quite.  


The fall out was that  an 8 year old boy was reduced to tears and I was left with the disturbing feeling that I am inconsequential.  





:-x

Apparently I *AM* Chopped Liver

So, I'm not always the most social person.  A lot of time if I have nothing interesting to say, I just stay quiet and this is a trait that has bothered people all my life.  Because, as we know, people like to comment.  As a kid, I never knew what to say to these personal observances.   As an adult, I still don't know what to say.


"You sure are quiet!"  (what do I say to that? okay?)
"You sure don't say much."  (I could agree conditionally, because sometime I yammer on and on.  All depends on the person, the subject, the situation, etc.)
"Well, no one can complain that you talk too much."  (said by an older boy when I was a pre-teen.  Was that a criticism or a compliment?)


We arrive at today.  I have been trying to reconnect through FB with some family members that I stopped having regular contact with.  I invited them to play some fun word games that we could take our turns at leisure and there is a chat window to...well, chat.  All is well and good I thought.  sigh.  Predictably, since it's summer people have been out and about on vacations and so there are longer waits between turns.  No big deal.  But this is the little zinger I get this morning:


Relative One:  sorry to take so long, hopefully (Relative Two)  told you I was camping and out of service
Me:   no, I didn't know
Relative Two:     Hi there! Nice to have you back (Relative Two)! I didn't really think to chat while you were gone. Sorry


Wait, what?  "Didn't think to chat while you were gone."  Seriously?  Seriously??  Wow.  Okay.  What do I say to that?  


Sarcasm:  Sorry I'm not worthy of your conversation.
Guilt-trip:  I'm not so good with chatting lately, things have been kind of rough.  I'm a little down I guess.
Deflect with humor:  Is this thing on?  taptaptap
Passive Aggressive:  Welcome back, chatting just isn't fun without you.
Martyr:  I know I'm boring.
Honesty:  ouch...

Okay, Here is the wrap up and the ultimate question.  You can't control what other people say or do.  I get that, I accept that.  You can only control what you do.  Yep, got it, accept it.  But how do you make yourself not care?  I can let it roll off my shoulders, I can control the impulse to lash out.  I can't control the feelings that come up.  I can't make it not sting.  I can't make myself not care what my family members say or do.  In the end, I can only kick myself for thinking things will be different this time.  Ultimately, I know better...no matter how much hope springs eternal. 








I am pâté, thankyouverymuch.

Avec Fromage

Sometimes my heart feels a bit like swiss cheese.  There are holes where people used to be.  There are holes where dreams used to be.  There are holes where I thought love used to be.  Do these holes ever get filled in again?  Or does your heart just keep getting lacier and honeycombed with the holes that life creates?  And if my heart is Swiss cheese can I fill those holes with cheddar?  I don't even know what that means, it just popped in my head.  Maybe because I don't particularly like Swiss cheese.  I love a good extra sharp cheddar though.  Is that what my heart has become?  A sharp cheddar?   What if I'm lactose intolerant?  What if I can't tolerate what my heart has become?  I suppose I will just come up with yet another metaphor and write about it in my little litterbox corner of the world.





No wait!  I'm crackers!!!!!

Letter to the Lady Who Cut in Line

Dear lady who jumped the line,
Yes, I saw you sneak through.  No, I don't believe you didn't know there was one line for two cashiers.  Why do you think you are more important than everyone else who is waiting their turn?  You are the perfect example of why people who play by the rules, work as a team, do the right thing are the ones who get screwed.  So thank you for that, thank you for taking humanity down one more notch.   Am I overreacting?  Maybe.  Or is this just one more log in the fire of my frustration?  Please, cut in line again...I'm begging you.


sincerely,
The lady with no more patience



beotch!!

This Is Me Trying to Let Go

A few days ago a friend helped me plant a LB that was part of a "Memorial Plant Day" for a boxer called preboxed who died recently from cancer.  I don't know what kind she had, but I hate every form it takes.  Guess it has stirred some stuff up, this is what I just wrote on my Facebook page.  I'm putting it here too because "This is me trying to let go." 

It's been probably 7 years since she died.  They played "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" by Israel Kamakawiwo'Ole at her memorial.  I break down every time I hear it...still.  I also don't talk about it.  So...this is me trying to let go.
Patricia was my "cohort".  We were in a breast cancer support group together, it was part of a study to see what type of therapy is most beneficial to breast cancer patients, regular group vs. variety (group, art therapy, education, yoga, etc.)  After the initial study was over, she was the only I kept in touch with over time.  She kept in touch with everyone, she was the glue.  I went to a "Survivors Day" in GGP with a friend and met her there, because she was a fierce survivor and wanted to celebrate it.  Even when she had a recurrence.  The last time I saw her was several months before she died.  I met her at Kaiser and sat through a chemo drip with her.  We laughed and talked and talked and talked.  I talked with her on AOL for a while after that, but then she became quiet.  Then I got the email from her partner saying that she had died.  For about 6 months after her screen name would still pop up on the IM thingy they had then.  Every time, my gut reaction would be to smile and think "Hi Patricia!"...then I  would remember and realize it was her partner, taking care of the business of life.  
I went to her memorial alone.  Steven can't go to things like that, it hits too close to home for him, but I needed to go.  I was in pain with muscle spasms and in a mental fog.  Patricia.  Dead.  Damn.  I sat in the back of the Swedenborgen Church in SF and listened and cried and held hands with the strangers on either side of me.  Then I tucked it all in the back of my head and went on with life.  Until I would hear THAT song.  Then it all comes back, every time, just as strong, and I don't tell anyone.  Until now.  I miss my friend, Patricia.  I am afraid, too.   When will that be me?  Because someday, it will.  And no amount of good intentioned "get hit by a bus" pep talks people give doesn't change the fact that one of my "buses" has already turned the corner and is heading towards me and all I can do is hope I've gotten out of the way in time.




I haven't bought a ticket anyway.

Likewise, I'm sure.

The following are exerpts from a Facebook status exchange.

Original Status: "Ok, I want to apologize for my lack of interest in getting close to many of you..."

Someones comment: "Sometimes we have just enough energy to get through what we must, and no more."
Original posters response:  "...i have plenty of energy. Just no interest..."  

God how I love Facebookland sometimes!  The original status was touching on issues of trust and friendship, etc. so there is more to it all than what is above.  But I love the whole thing about "I'm just not interested in getting to know you."  The lady has balls, alright.  I so wanted to add the comment:  "That's okay, I'm not really interested either.  ;-)"  The winky face is to cue others in on the fact that IT'S A JOKE, but knowing the audience I figured people wouldn't get it and think I was being mean to their beloved leader.   I'd like to think that she would get it, but ya' never know.  Perhaps it's just another case of "I crack myself up!".  At least I think I'm funny.




We are not amused.

Have a Nice Day?

Okay, since when did "have a nice day" start meaning something else?  I've noticed recently that people use that phrase to mean "$cr{w you!"  or  "pi$$ off"  or  "You're an idiot and I'm not."  A disagreement ensues, people argue their side and when others don't agree....more often than not they will end a paragraph or conversation "You have a nice day" said with a wrinkled nose.  Up is down.  Left is right.  Nice is not.



Have a HAPPY day, remember that one??

Just Keep Swimming, Just Keep Swimming

Hmmm, should I carve some stamps and put them up on Etsy?  I think I'm a decent carver, but would anyone really want to buy them?  I guess I'm not the only one with that idea (dang it!).  The other stamps I've seen there have ranged from exceedingly simple to quite beautiful.  I dunno.  Is it worth it?  I know carving can give me migraines.  But I like doing it.  Gak.  Some days I tell myself to just put my head down and keep trudging along.  It's not enough and I need to exercise that creative outlet. 
Boxing has taken a back seat to "the business of life".  We kind of hit a plateau with planting...hit one with finding too.   Okay, now I'm rambling.   Which made me remember Steve Martin's song Ramblin' Man.  Can't find the lyrics but did come across Grandmothers Song:

Be courteous, kind and forgiving,
Be gentle and peaceful each day,
Be warm and human and grateful,
And have a good thing to say.

Be thoughtful and trustful and childlike,
Be witty and happy and wise,
Be honest and love all your neighbors,
Be obsequious, purple, and clairvoyant.

Be pompous, obese, and eat cactus,
Be dull, and boring, and omnipresent,
Criticize things you don't know about,
Be oblong and have your knees removed.

Be tasteless, rude, and offensive,
Live in a swamp and be three dimensional,
Put a live chicken in your underwear,
Get all excited and go to a yawning festival.



Welcome to my world!