Category Archives: Uncategorized

Night School

26 Saturday Mar 2016

Posted by in Binge Dating, Sneak Dating, Surplus Dating, Night School, Uncategorized

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“Don’t date the patients.” “Ever.”  I heard you. When would I have time? I go to school every night after work! Well, not exactly true. The insistent, persistent, persuasive, patients who wanted to ‘sneak-date’ – threatened to stop being patients if I didn’t agree to meet them – at least one time for coffee.

(The dentist would semi- jokingly tell his patients not to date us; in front of us, when he walked with  them up to the front desk to get them to schedule their next procedure) Kind of like black mail. No, just like black mail. But what was the lesser of my two evils? I lost either way. Overcome with temptation, I decided to sneak date.

Once I was guilty. I went out on another date, then another. It was fun.The patients kept slipping me notes on the back of their business cards. When the semester ended, I only enrolled in one on-line course.

Quickly, I became a Binge Dater. It seemed harmless. Why not date a few of them; try some variety. I became a Surplus Dater. I was dating excessively. Seriously, even two dates a night for a short while. I was exhausted. The adrenaline fueled me; but keeping up with logistics; who was who, was hard.

I simplified it. Just date men whose first names started with the same letter. I called all of them “B” – Bryan was B and Brent was B and Barry was B and Ben was B. It was easier that way. They never complained. They all though it was a term of endearment, like it meant Babe or something sexy.

I never frequented the same places with any of them. Bryan liked elegant places. Brent was the one who insisted on the same exact bar every single time (that was easy) Barry always wanted to leave the island and go anywhere on the mainland. Ben just wanted to cook for me at his place.

Though B didn’t stand for boy; it fit. They really were boys at heart. I won’t get into the age thing  but they were all about ten years younger. My last  live-in BF had been 19 years younger. The ten year, decade difference didn’t require as much translation.

Monday and Wednesday guy thought I went to school on Tuesday and Thursday nights. My Tuesday/Thursday guy thought I went to school on Mondays and Wednesday nights.Then there was Mr. Friday, and Mr. Saturday. I religiously took Sundays off.

I had specific outfits that I wore with each B. I wore my hair different; pulled up, pulled back, side part. It was almost like it required four different versions of me. I was a cynic for one, a psychic for one, an adventurer for one, and then a true blend of all three; more the real me.

Valentine’s Day happened when I worked at the Dentist’s office. All four B’s sent me awesome gifts. The dentist didn’t believe that they were from my family. I was going to be officially reprimanded.

Luckily, I’d passed my GRE. It was time for me to go to school Full Time. I tendered my resignation and never saw any of the B’s again. (I made all A’s in grad school except for that one, single B.) I did not get my Masters Degree in writing… LOL.

Weathered

10 Thursday Mar 2016

Posted by in Storms, Weathered, Toilet Bowl Fishing, Uncategorized

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I weathered my first significant atmospheric event in the duplex last night. Strong gusts, pounding rain and disturbing thunder competed with one another all night long.

Walking around in the daylight to survey the impact, I recognized the plastic cover I’d put over the front door’s exterior, all-weather light bulb; half-submerged, barely floating in a mysterious, new river of slow-moving, muddy water.

I grabbed a long piece of scrap wood left over from one of last weeks projects to fish it out. Amazing. The adhesive holding the price tag was still holding. I’d tried in vain to remove the tag when I screwed it into the rusty fixture.  Perhaps if I had used that same adhesive to install the cover,  it would still be where I intended it to be; protecting the expensive, energy-efficient, no-bugs bulb. No, it is now is more like a water-sampling container from the lab. What is in this grimy sludge anyway? Hmm…

The adhesive used on the “General Purpose, Damage-Free, Hanging Hooks was not nearly as reliable.  That loud sound of rolling thunder was actually the wire shelf in the bathroom detaching  itself from the wall and crashing down onto the toilet tank. The broken contents were rolling all over the floor. Of course the toilet seat was not closed. I got to participate in toilet bowl fishing.

My home-made screen door protecter that I’d crafted after immediately putting a hole in my newly installed  screen door is gone with the wind. It’s probably floating in some neighbor’s new sludge river. Maybe later today, I’ll discover it and truly learn which way the wind blows and water flows here.

I should just take my scrap-wood fishing pole along in case I spot it. I’m getting the lay of the land here. This house has weathered many storms. I have too. Game on.

To The Superheroes Who Keep Standing When I Would Fall Down- Latest BLUNTMoms Piece

09 Wednesday Mar 2016

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Toddler_Mama's avatarHold Me, Don't Hold ME

Our conversation starts normally, with particulars exchanged in moments squeezed between acknowledging, encouraging, and parenting our kids as they ping-pong around the room. Ages of children are offered, current employment statuses discussed, and of course comments about the weather are made because this is what adults talk about (right?).

And then a bomb is dropped: Her kid is sick. Like, really sick.

An instant weight falls upon my shoulders as I hear her talk openly about almost losing a child. A tightness in my heart, squeezing, squeezing, as she discusses an unknown future. I stumble with my words, an apology, a well wish, a heavy silence while my brain spins with horrible Hallmark-worthy phrases to offer up.

And all the while, she remains standing. Shoulders back, head up, strong as hell, she talks about what might come, and she is still standing.

This is an excerpt from my latest post…

View original post 53 more words

Child Saint

26 Friday Feb 2016

Posted by in Awaken, Child Saint, Hero, Saint, Uncategorized

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She was ten years old and she died saving two tiny humans. When I read that headline yesterday my heart almost finally broke forever. This child is a saint. The loss of her life is well beyond writable words. The spirit of what she did needs to awaken all of us.

I have not written for awhile. The move took all my energy and then some. Life threw in a few other demanding complications. Adjusting to a different living space while trying to maintain semi-normal routines was practically all-consuming.

The writer in me that wants to blog had to sit back and let the unpacker, hauler, recycling-freak battle it out daily. I was totally moved out of my previous residence by the February 15 deadline; now residing in my own place. Enough. Onward.

I have to attempt to pay tribute to this heroic ten year old. I can’t do anything else but honor her by writing this blog. I have a nine year old granddaughter. I know how much she is loved. There is no doubt that the ten year old was completely adored too.

Selfless Action of Courage. She had courage. She was selfless. She took action. May this little Saint inspire all of us to lead our lives more like her. May we all awaken.

Let our actions be more courageous and more selfless.

To her family I offer my most sincere condolences. I praise this Child Saint.

 

 

An Authentic Buddy

19 Tuesday Jan 2016

Posted by in Thanks, Friends, Reunion, Uncategorized

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Some of us were lucky enough to grow up with a buddy. A few of us still have some of those friends left over from our youth. I’ve had the unexpected pleasure of reconnecting with schoolmates through FB. Old friends have made encouraging comments to blog posts; it’s been humbling to be received so warmly.

One friend private messaged me and offered to lend a hand. I admit to not being handy. He offered to stop by the duplex and see if his abilities could solve some of the more pressing problems.

He and his wife drove up at the scheduled time. We’d not seen one another since graduation. Four decades changes your looks. I doubt we would have recognized each other if not for updated FB photos. Time had changed parts of us, but there is a smile and a hug that the hands of time don’t touch.

They were both genuinely interested in what I was attempting to do. We slowly walked through every empty room. Finally we went to the area that truly needs the most help, the blighted  bathroom. There is literally  a 12 inch space that you have to squeeze through to get to the bathtub. The question I had for them was how to install a shower curtain rod. Nothing about this is simple. He had an idea and has offered a quick fix.

It was lunch time so we went out together and enjoyed a meal. We shared shortened versions of our last 40 years. And then they drove me over to their home. They bought an older island home too. Seeing the magic they worked on their space was inspiring.

The TLC and energy they put into their remodel was obvious. The love and devotion they have for each other was heartwarming. To have an authentic Buddy is a gift I am thankful for, his awesome wife is a bonus. Thanks you two. (You know who you are!)

 

 

Weekend Warrior

18 Monday Jan 2016

Posted by in Neighbors, Property Lines, Battle Lines, Warned, Uncategorized

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Spent the weekend moving from the old to the new; one car-load at a time. I moved my kitchen first. More than anything; I own cooking equipment. I still have the harvest gold, Le Crueset cookware I got in 1977. I cradled random objects and discarded others. Moving is an opportunity to refresh and refine.

I’ve been over to the duplex at least a few times a month during the past year, but rarely on the weekend. I tried to respect my tenant’s rights to privacy. The neighbors weren’t normally around. This weekend, the January weather was brisk but clear and plainly, people were outside and about.

Delivering a car-load on Saturday, from the alley entrance, the neighbor to the West rode up on his bicycle. He asked if I was the owner. I introduced myself. He half smiled. Casually, we shook hands. Quickly, he informed me that the previous owner had built the fence too close to his property line and that they would need to take part of it down to move furniture upstairs into the garage apartment.

If you’ve driven down this alley and seen the dead, dried, sand- trout carcasses nailed to the power pole; you’ve arrived! This garage apartment was badly Iked and has yet to be repaired. Windows are missing parts; mangled, vinyl siding waves in the wind. No human has legally lived there in the seven years since the Hurricane Ike. Pre- storm, it was surely neglected; routine maintenance has been deferred for decades.

I told him he could take the fence down as long as he puts it back up correctly. We shall see what develops.

Sunday, the neighbor to the East called me over. Same question; was I the owner. She was pleased to meet me and glad to see the downstairs tenants go. She reported the law had been over there during the holidays. She said there was something fishy about them. I listened; hoping there wasn’t another issue. From across the street, a curious couple waved weakly; openly armored in honest reluctance.

Warriors were out in force; defining property lines and defending their imaginary boundaries.  This new owner has been property-welcomed; properly.  Perhaps some day we can have a good old fashioned neighborhood fish-fry.

SafeGraySpace

14 Thursday Jan 2016

Posted by in Aging in Place. Seniors, Alzheimers, Boomers, Economic Insecurity, Elders, Livable Community, Uncategorized

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I phoned my step-dad yesterday. I wanted to take him over to the duplex to show it to him. The trash was cleaned out. The walls had been white-washed with cheap paint to hide the remains of their dark history. With this initial step completed, I wanted to introduce my step-dad to where I’d be moving to.

He lives right up the street from me in a Retirement Community. I visit with him often.  When I called, he didn’t recognize who I was. Sometimes, it’s just that he literally can’t hear who is calling. He’s sporadically used a hearing aid for decades; when he could remember where he put it or simply to use it. But, he has Alzheimer’s, so more often than not, he really doesn’t know who is who or what goes where.

After the required re-establishment of who I was, where he was and why I was calling, he explained that he was too busy. He could not go anywhere because he was helping someone get a cane; that someone is his constant companion at the Retirement Community. He couldn’t recall her name but I gently inserted it into my next sentence when I kindly asked him to please be sure to tell her I said hello.

She has memory issues as well. I watched her mobility deteriorate steadily during 2015, but her hearing is intact. She can tell him when his cell phone is ringing. He remains physically fit and can help her hobble around. They make a good team; they keep each other occupied.

That’s what Almost Eighty looks like; he is 79, she’s 78. They majority of the residents where they live, have nearly identical issues. Those fortunate residents have the financial security to ensure this kind of safe, secure, comfortable elder- life-style. It is the institutional version of  my wish for a SafeGraySpace.

In two quick decades, millions of us will be 80. Unfortunately, many don’t have such robust, financial resources.

Fear not. May I Introduce Section 504; the Home Repair program that provides loans and grants to improve homes for the elderly. At 62 you can qualify for a loan/ grant combo of $27,500 at 1%. You have to be low-income. A USDA home loan specialist can help if this is a program that can help someone in need.

I’m not going to wait till I’m 62. I hope I’m not officially low-income at that time; better keep my day job.

Back to the Future…Again

13 Wednesday Jan 2016

Posted by in Accessible Home, Aging in Place. Seniors, SilverTsunami, Uncategorized

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Yesterday, I told my landlord that I would be moving out soon. I dreaded telling him. With all the drama that my tenants put me through in the last year; twelve troubled months felt like a decade. The last thing I wanted was to be a problem tenant.

My landlord told me that he already had a new tenant lined up; a 90 year old lady. She’s been renting someplace else but wanted to move to a ground-floor apartment, one that was easier to access. I was able to maneuver up these three steps when I was on crutches. You can tell a lot about accessibility if you can get where you need to while on crutches. You couldn’t get up here easily in a wheel chair.

Today, my domain name SafeGraySpace automatically renewed. I got an email this morning. So here I am; back to the future.

I looked at the site again. It’s valid. A 90 year old needs to move; at her age? Who was making plans for her safety and comfort? It is society’s disgrace.That’s not where any one should be at 90.

Soon, I will moving out of this space into the downstairs unit of the duplex. It is not the SafeGraySpace I intend to remake it into. But I have a plan. I am certain most of my existing plan will be modified. In the initial step of cleaning up after the renter’s,   I discovered things that the building inspection should have revealed but didn’t.

Trying to clean up around the bathroom window, a huge chunk of termite-ridden debris fell from the area that should have been the window frame. I stopped. It looked more like dirty lace than wood. I suspected that I could be doing more harm than good.

My plan is to move in and stay in it the way it is for awhile. It is livable. I once lived in an off-grid, no running water, log-cabin at 9,000′ elevation for 6 years. I can do this. I need to know that this place is where I want to create my SafeGraySpace. It’s a start.

Accidental Landlord

07 Thursday Jan 2016

Posted by in Addiction, Accident, Landlord, Uncategorized

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I had no intention of being a Landlord. It was an accident. Admittedly, I’m terrible at certain roles in rigid relationships. This role may be the one I am the least suited for.

Currently, my landlord – tenant relationship is complicated. There’s the simple part, the one that should be symbiotic; I pay the mortgage they pay rent and get to live there.

But, if they don’t pay me, I still have to pay the mortgage. Getting them out, formally called eviction, after failing to pay rent for two months in a row, was tough and rough. Things can get unpleasant. Unhappy people can do a lot of damage on their way out.

The slightly dilapidated duplex I bought after my boating accident, to convert into my SafeGraySpace quarters came with renters and a lease for 11 months after ‘closing.’

There’s an upstairs and a downstairs unit. Upstairs is Section 8; that’s both a thesis and an opera of it’s own. That payment is automatically deposited. Like clockwork.

The downstairs renters were difficult from the get-go. Their reasons for being late with the rent were endless. Their complaints were constant. My concerns were temporarily appeased with the fact that their lease would end in November. Things got ugly fast.

It wasn’t the broken windows, the filth, the holes in the walls that bothered me. It was something pink and sticky and everywhere; splattered on the baseboards, walls and doors and coating the inside of the fridge. Every room had evidence of this substance.

What was it? I suspect it was something illicit and probably addictive. These people were broken; probably by an addiction. This sad problem is what broke my soft heart.

Things can be repaired, cleaned and replaced. It’s much harder to fix people; to repair human beings. As I said in the beginning, it was by accident that I am in this role.

I’ve mostly recovered from my accident. I hope these poor people can recover from whatever it is that drives them to exist, covered in their sticky, pink mess. Good luck.

Kick-Off

06 Wednesday Jan 2016

Posted by in New Year Resolution, Forgiveness, Past, Uncategorized

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I am sorry. I read something last night posted by a “FB friend.” It was about something that had happened twenty years ago. The fact that it took him twenty years to write about it suggests a degree of significance in the story of his life.

Good parts of my story, the memorable moments, are my history. The others are the past; the parts that were so bad, they should be left alone; in the past. I have a past.

I hold on to certain things for decades too. My living room looks like a shrine to people and places I have loved, little alters of prized scraps everywhere. My mind is like that; cluttered with my remixed memories. I verge on the brink of being a memory hoarder.

There was something about reading this post that twisted my dreams into a nightmare. I was sitting on the beach on a island in the middle of the ocean. Suddenly, there is a volcanic eruption. Instead of ash, mutilated corpses are falling from the sky. Wake up!

I want to offer an apology to this friend. He would never have had the experience he wrote about, if not for me. Other exceptionally good things came out of us knowing one another. For those things, I am eternally grateful. For the pain I caused, I am sorry.

To kick-off my New Year, I’m trying to declutter my past. I’ll kick-off with apologies. For any and all grief I have ever caused, I would like to officially ask for forgiveness. May this New Year gently bring us all more peace and less pain. It’s kick-off time.