Tis the season for concern

It always seems so much sadder when things that cause us grief happen during the holiday season.

Last week we lost one of the council members of our village. She had chest pains and went to the hospital. Before they could schedule surgery to put in stents, she had a heart attack. She appeared to be very healthy at Halloween. She was directing the cake walk and was wearing a delightful witch’s outfit. She, by all outward appearances, was healthy the day before and gone by 11:oo the next day. She was in her 80s.

Maxine, who always has the latest news, talked with me this morning. It seems two husbands in our neighborhood are having medical difficulties. One of them fell and broke three ribs and is now in rehab. He has been having physical problems for some time now. It was decided his body would heal better if he could stay in a rehab situation. I don’t know his exact age, but he is in his mid to late 70s I think. He is also dealing with cancer.

Right across the street from him, another man was going to have a gall bladder operation. He went in for pre-op testing and was admitted to the hospital with liver enzymes, kidney function, and blood pressure issues that were off the chart. There is some talk of perhaps his needing liver or kidney transplants. When I heard that news, I was floored. My first thoughts were for his wife. He got laid off his job a month or so ago and lost his insurance. I was so worried that she would be wiped out with medical bills.

I called a friend of hers to find out just how bad off he was. The friend told me as much as she knew. I asked where he was a patient. When she told me the name of the hospital, I was somewhat relieved. I was expecting to hear that he was in the county hospital. It seems a couple of weeks ago, he and his wife were able to get on COBRA and are covered for the next fifteen months. I am so thankful he was able to get insurance. There is some talk of his needing a liver or kidney transplant.

A few weeks ago I wrote a response to someone who thought insurance was a privilege for those who could afford it and too bad for those who couldn’t. This would have been a perfect example of a woman who has been for most of her marriage a traditional stay-at-home wife. She devoted her life to her husband and two children. Without insurance, she and her husband would have lost everything. It just wouldn’t have been right. Due to the high number of people who have lost their jobs, I guess that COBRA has become much more reasonable. However, I’m wondering what the next step for them will be. Perhaps he will be on SS disability by then. I know nothing of insurance in that situation. However, I’m wondering how she will get coverage. She is scared.

The friend I called has been fighting four bouts of pneumonia the last two springs and falls. She has been extremely healthy all her life. Now she has something that is proving difficult to cure. She has an appointment with an infectous disease specialist to try to find out why she can’t shake this problem and be well again.

Maxine’s husband has had troubles with his knee. I thought he was going to be scheduled for knee surgery in the near future but I guess that option has been postponed in lieu of doing other things first. Supposedly there is a new treatment available. There is a new medication available made out of the combs of roosters. Who would believe something like that could be discovered?  It is an injection called synvisc one and is supposed to give relief for six months. Maxine is very thankful this treatment is available since her husband is now 88 years old.

Next door to me, my neighbor has aterial disease in her legs. She had to have veins removed, turned around and transplanted into her arteries in her legs. Both her legs were sliced open from her groin almost to her knees. Her doctors told her she had “skinny white woman’s disease”. Evidently, in that subset of the population, arteries tend to close down as women age, and very petite women have more of that type of problem than more average size women or men. She was in so much pain she could hardly walk from her bed to the bathroom nearby. She is still in her fifties so it wasn’t a result of too much aging. Maxine and I were happy to see she was outside taking a brief walk this morning.

I saw a friend at the church concert yesterday. I hadn’t seen her in a few weeks. She was walking with a cane. When I asked what had happened, she replied that she had had a cancerous tumor removed from her kidney. It was much larger than they had suspected from the MRI. However, she admitted that the films were taken last January. She just hadn’t done much about it.

My neighbor across the strett has lived with a bad knee for quite a while. It has finally gotten to the point where he has finally agreed to have a knee replacement. He will be recovering after the surgery the first week of February. Two of my other neighbors have also had knees replaced in the last year or two.

I guess this time of our lives is when we start to wear out. Everyone I mentioned today is over 60 except for the woman with the arterial disease. We are all starting to fall apart.

I guess I could concentrate on how much pain and suffering is occuring in this neighborhood, but that doesn’t do much good. I am praying for them and hoping their situations will improve.

This is the season when we are all supposed to deck the halls and be merry. We are all supposed to be filled with the holiday spirit. In truth, this month is no different from any of the other eleven months when it comes to medical problems. It just seems so much more serious at this time of the year.

So far I am doing quite well, thank you. I hope to continue to enjoy the season and my friends. I am trying to be as much support as I can to my friends and neighbors. I’m happy I know them well enough to care. How much do you know about your neighbors? Is there anyone around you who could use some help? How are all of you doing? I wish you good health. Now it’s time to walk with my neighbor. Namaste. Attic Annie

Time to Accept

Gay woman wins Houston mayoral race

Opponent concedes; campaign marked by anti-homosexual rhetoric

David J. Phillip / AP

Houston Mayor-elect Annise Parker, center, celebrates with her partner Kathy Hubbard, left. Parker defeated former city attorney Gene Locke, making Houston the largest U.S. city to elect an openly gay mayor.

http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/34399468/?GT1=43001

Parker’s sexual orientation became the focus of the race in recent weeks after anti-gay activists and conservative religious groups endorsed the 61-year-old Locke and sent out mailers condemning Parker’s “homosexual behavior.”

I’m probably sticking my neck way out today, but I can’t keep quiet about “conservative religious groups” and their stand on gays.

Perhaps I should preface this blog with the fact that I have never been nor never plan to be a lesbian. I’m not hard-wired that way. But I have had to lead my life very carefully because I’m a hetero.

Out of all the years of my life, I was married ten years of that life. The rest of the time I have been single. I grew up across the street from a girl I had known since first grade. When I started teaching, I needed a roommate to share an apartment. She asked if she could move in with me. As a result, we shared accommodations for five years. Neither of us could afford to live alone. I had no home to return to and she certainly was more than ready to move out of her parents’ home.

Because we were basically compatible as roommates, neither of us sought other arrangements until I became engaged to be married. We didn’t think anything about it. However, for whatever reason, because we had lived together for several years, a former friend started the rumor that we were gay. It was soon spread all over our small town. Why this “friend” thought she had to say something like that I never knew. We just ignored the rumors and eventually I guess they died down. At that time, had that rumor reached our employers, it may just have cost us our jobs. That was especially true for me since I was working with children.

Lillian Hellman wrote a smash Broadway play in the 1930’s called The Children’s Hour which dealt with the topic of lesbianism between two teachers. When it was made into a movie the first time around, the lesbian theme could not be used. It would not pass the censors. It had to be a love triangle called These Three. By 1961, the original theme was at least somewhat addressed once again in the remake release of The Children’s Hour. That movie came out only eight years before I started teaching. The town where I was teaching was bigger than the small village where we grew up, but it was small enough that if the administration had heard the rumor, it might have made a difference in my career.

The rest of my adult life after of my marriage, I have lived alone with my son until ten years ago when he graduated from college. I had plenty of room in my house for a roommate. If I had chosen a male roommate, there would have been rumors of a lover. If I had chosen a female roommate, there may have been rumors of a lesbian relationship. For twenty years of my life, until I retired from teaching, I chose for those reasons not to share my house. It was a lonely decision.

I live in one of the most conservative hotboxes in the U.S. Granted it is now a very large city and private lives are easier to conceal, but that was not always the case after my divorce. In addition, my son attended the same school where I taught, so I was in frequent contact on a social level with the parents of his friends.  I felt I could not afford rumors of either kind.

It has always confused me how “conservative religious groups” can express so much love for each other and yet be so completely intolerant of “others”. The word hypocritical comes to mind. Houston is not that far from here. You know if they can mount a major campaign to use hate to try to keep a lesbian woman out of office down there, there are as many “conservative religious groups” in all parts of Texas willing to fight the same battle.

I will never understand how so much intolerance and bigotry can exist in religious groups that call themselves Christian. It has only been twelve years since the torture and murder of Matthew Shepard and the picketing of his funeral by anti-gay Christian groups who held up signs saying “God Hates Fags” and “Matthew Shephard rots in hell”.

They always bring up Leviticus 18:22. They base their entire hate campaign on that. However, they choose to ignore all the other rules in Leviticus that they may be breaking on a daily basis.

I neither condone or condemn those who choose to live with same sex partners in a loving relationship. It is not my place to do so, as others seem to think it is their right and obligation. I have had a couple of readers suggest I study the Bible when I have written on other topics. They believe in the literal interpretation of this Holy Book. I choose to look at the Bible in a different light.

It is my prayer that what happens in a loving relationship between two adults will become an issue only between the two of them. It is my prayer that “conservative religious groups” will begin to pay more attention to the loving Christ in the New Testament and concern themselves more with their own lives than with the lives of others. I feel that too much belief of the message of the Bible is a pick and choose mentality. It will soon be the celebrated birth of Jesus for another year. It is time to love and accept each other as a whole regardless of race, ethnic group, religion, creed, political affiliation, or gender preference. That is what I pray so that headlines like the above will eventually disappear. It’s not like homosexuality will spread. It’s not catching. It’s about time that we accept that thought. If you don’t approve, then don’t seek out their company, but be aware, they are not as afraid to hide their sexual orientation as they once were. They are teachers, football players, ministers, priests, doctors, nurses, judges, TV stars, movie stars, politicians, you name it. They are out there. It’s about time to accept it or choose to live a hate-filled life that is hurting no one but the hater. Namaste. Attic Annie

Wanting a Norman Rockwell Hallmark Christmas

There’s so much hype surrounding Christmas. It is difficult for someone with no close family to spread joy and well-being throughout the land when it is so hard to feel it inside. When I hear about conflicts in the families of some of my friends, I am sometimes grateful to be alone since I hate conflict so much. I guess because I don’t think I’ve ever experienced it, I have a Hallmark Norman Rockwell Christmas in mind as the ideal Christmas occurence that I yearn for. I know that that Christmas probably doesn’t exist.

I saw my son over Thanksgiving. I delivered Christmas presents to him and Yoko when I arrived on November 21. He deducted some money from what I owed him for train fares and hotel accommodations and we called it Christmas.

 He and Yoko will be spending Christmas in the Philipines this year. At least I think it will be safer than when he was in Thailand a couple of years ago during a military take-over of the government. He called me and since I was out walking Ri-Leigh he left the message, “Don’t worry, Mom. I’m fine. I’m not in the part of the city that is being bombed.” I heard nothing more for four anxiety ridden days until he was back at his school again.

Perhaps it’s because what is left of my family is in Illinois that I start feeling lonely. Christmas carries a lot of baggage for me that I’ve been trying to rid myself of for a long time. At some time during ”the season” the thoughts surface once again.

The year my first fiance and I got engaged, he came home on leave from Quantico. He surprised me by showing up on my doorstep. I had no idea what to give a guy who was in the Marines and would, within a matter of months, be heading off for Viet Nam. I hadn’t bought him a present yet.

I lived with my aunt, but she was on a trip so I was home alone. I got into the Christmas wrappings and found a big red  bow. She had two negligees in her dresser that she had never worn. I put on one of them and draped the red ribbon over my shoulder and wore the negligee and the ribbon downstairs where my boyfriend was waiting and sat down under the Christmas tree.

He didn’t get home until the following morning and we had a wonderful pre-Christmas night. Three days later I got my ring.  Four months later he decided he didn’t want to possibly make me a war widow and broke the engagement the day I came home from ordering the flowers for the wedding in June.

I had suspicions for quite some time that my ex was in the process of moving on. There were many tell-tale signs that were becoming more frequent. I’ll not go into that story now. He asked me to go with him to a Christmas party in Mineral Wells. On the way there I started asking questions. He stopped the car and told me if I said anything else he’d throw me out on the highway and leave me there. There’s a lot of middle of nowhere between Fort Worth and Mineral Wells and it was a very cold night. I shut up and pretended things were ok between the two of us while we were at this business party given by one of his clients. The restaurant was a small one that had local artists’ pictures on the wall. I saw this snow scene with a lone cabin. It was all in tones of grays and off-whites. I stood there gazing at it. My ex asked if I liked it. I said it looked as cold as I felt. He must not have gotten my message because he gave it to me for Christmas. He left, but it hung in the hallway for years. I finally had my son deliver it to him several years later with some other prints he had bought during our marriage. It made me just as cold as that night every time I looked at it.

That night when we were home he finally told me what was going on and moved out the next day. It was December 20. He came back on December 25 to give our son his gifts and to play the new video games with him. I could hardly tolerate the music of the repetitive sound of the smurf as my son played that game for the next year. After a couple hours he left permanently and the divorce proceedings began.

When I was growing up, Christmas was always more of a stress than a joy. My father never recovered from the death of my mother. I don’t remember a single Christmas morning of gift giving that had any laughter associated with it. It was just something to get done and over with. There was one morning when I was still in elementary school that I said something like, “Is that everything?” simply meaning, “Have all the presents been opened?” I did not mean it like I wanted more. I really didn’t. I just meant, “Are we finished opening the presents?” My father didn’t take it that way. He started yelling about how greedy I was…and nothing was ever enough. That was exactly the opposite of what I meant, but that is what he chose to hear. I thought that was a strange thing to say about a daughter who silently asked for forgiveness for being alive every day. A fact that he never seemed to acknowledge.

It was never really a pleasant occasion opening presents, and I was somewhat eager to get on with the morning. There was always an underlying current that made me feel uneasy. It was the only time of the year other than at our silent dinners that we were all gathered in the same room. It was hard to take.

I really am trying to do more to celebrate each year and get the Christmas spirit, but it’s not easy. For the past four years I’ve participated in the Angel Tree project at church. We wrap presents bought by members of the congregation and then hand them out when the parents come to get them. We serve the children of families affected by aids. These are often the only presents their children get. For the last couple of years I’ve revved up my giving to a couple of charities. Nothing really gives me that Christmas spirit that lasts very long.

I know there is a world of people around who have far worse tales to tell. I only think of these things when I’m alone. Today is Sunday and I’ll be in church in a little while. That always raises my spirits. There’s always hope that some time Christmas Eve and Christmas Day will be truly a Norman Rockwell Hallmark day.

PS (added after church) I realized today during the service that I AM experiencing just exactly what I want. The friends I have made during the past almost five years are a perfect extended family for me. We accept each other as we are. We share our joys and our sorrows with each other. The music of the choir during this time is fantastic. I’ll be with them Christmas Eve. It’s a Norman Rockwell Hallmark Christmas the whole month of December, and I am grateful. Namaste. Attic Annie

I wish you “enough”

Hi. Welcome to the attic. It’s nice and warm and cozy up here. It’s a great place to chat by the fire. Come on in and warm yourself. I have a pot of my favorite tea, decaf chai, on the counter. Please help yourself. If there is anyone reading this who knows how to photoshop, can you turn this bare attic into a really cozy place to talk? We’ll call this the “before” attic.

I want to share some thoughts with you that I’ve read several times. They are worth passing along.

A father and daughter were saying good-bye at the airport. Before they parted, they each said to the other, “I wish you enough”. When the man was asked what he meant by that, he said that saying had been handed down in his family for a long time.
I find the philosophy of wishing “enough” to be much more realistic than wishing someone “all”. I’ve heard people say, “I wish you all the luck in the world”. Obviously, that is an impossible wish. No one needs more than “enough” in this life time. Having “all” sometimes results in sad endings when we don’t know how to handle the excess.  The following is the wish list that was published for wishing “enough” for someone. What would you add to that list if you had someone important to you in your life?

“I wish you enough sun to keep your attitude bright.
I wish you enough rain to appreciate the sun more.
I wish you enough happiness to keep your spirit alive.
I wish you enough pain so that the smallest joys in life appear much bigger.
I wish you enough gain to satisfy your wanting.
I wish you enough loss to appreciate all that you possess.
I wish enough ‘Hello’s’ to get you through the final ‘Good-bye.’”

Without knowing pain, we can’t fully appreciate pleasure. Without sadness, we can’t feel boundless joy.

I have found that my travel along my life’s path has been a mixed bag. Looking back over the last sixty years I realize I truly have had “enough”. Yes, there were times of sadness but there have also been times of joy.

I lost my mother at an early age, but I gained other women in my life who looked after me and taught me things I needed to know. I just was too dumb to appreciate them at the time. I concentrated on my loss rather than acknowledging my gain.

I have always had an adversarial relationship with my sister. I’ve always wanted a closeness with her that, for whatever reason, we have never achieved. While that makes me sad, I have discovered more “sisters” over the years, including cousins, who have willingly accepted that role and my closeness with them has more than compensated for the lack of closeness with my sister. I always hope that some day what I have to offer my sister will be enough.

My marriage to my ex was a sad mistake. I married for all the wrong reasons. I had more than “enough” grief during those ten years. However, having a son who has turned out to be a fine man, with what appears to be a strong moral compass, is a joy. Yes, we have had our share of spats, and yes, he has chosen to live on the other side of the world, but he gives me “enough’ to make me feel a person of value. I lacked that feeling when I was married to his father. I now have “enough” to last me the rest of this life.

I felt sorrow when I had to drop out of the nursing program in college. Yet, the thirty years I spent in the elementary classroom was very satisfying instead. It gave me “enough” feelings that I was still in a position of service and I was needed to do what I was doing. The joy I feel when I reconnect with former students and hear of their successes is “enough’ to make me feel this life was not ill spent.

How does one measure “enough”? I guess at the end of the day when I can climb into a warm bed, knowing in the morning I’ll still have heat and light and food to eat, is enough. Knowing I am living in such a manner that I, within reason, can do anything I wish to do, without being in debt is enough. I’m glad my wishes are simple.

Knowing that my latest set of lab tests has come back looking better than they have in years, is enough to ensure me that I have more time on this planet to continue to enjoy what I have. Although I still have many improvements to make before I am perfectly healthy, I am making “enough” progress to make both myself and my doctor pleased.

I have learned if I want more I have to give more. That has been a tough lesson to learn for someone growing up thinking she had nothing of value that anyone else would want. I give anyway.

There’s a woman at church going through marital problems. It’s difficult because both she and her husband continue to participate in activities. I don’t know her too well, but I know her well enough to tell her I was glad to see her after she had been absent for a couple of weeks. Last week she told me how she felt when I made that comment to her. She was very comforted by it. That was “enough’ to make me realize I can make a difference in someone’s day. I told her “I’ve been there. I’m always available to listen.” That was “enough” for her to know that someone did care.

I have been blessed with not being very materialistic. I never appreciated the fact that so many people had to wear clothing with someone else’s name plastered across their chests or their butts. I am smart enough to know that what’s on the outside is nothing compared to what is on the inside. To me clothes are coverings, shoes protect, cars get you from point a to b, jewelry is nice but I can’t tell the difference between costume and the real thing. To me, that is “enough”. There are so many people in the US who are slaves to fashion and to “keeping up with the Joneses”. I wish them “enough” to make them satisfied, whatever that level of satisfaction may be. Hopefully that will quiet the longings in their heart for compensation for what is lacking in their lives.

I have been blogging since July. I never thought something I wrote would be read by over 17,500 people in 130 countries before the end of the year. I am experiencing that joy. To know that some people are enjoying what I have to say is “enough” to make me very happy. I now have fifteen subscribers. I hope those fifteen continue to feel my blogs are “enough”.

I am overflowing with the feelings of “enough”. It is my wish for you for the New Year, that you find “enough” in your life too. Namaste. Attic Annie

Diphenhydramine hang over

 

Diphenhydramine

For those of you who seems to be visiting almost every day, thank you. Today’s blog will probably be short.

I’ve talked for some time about troubles with insomnia. In the past few weeks I seem to be going through another wakefulness cycle. I refuse to ask my doctor for sleeping pills. I don’t want to go that route.

It seems that most nights I CAN fall asleep. Then anywhere between an hour to two hours later my eyes pop wide open and I feel like I’ve slept a full eight hours. Then….I look at the clock. It usually says somewhere around 1-2 in the morning. I moan.

Sometimes I force myself to stay in bed and try to find the most boring program on TV. That is not always possible. It seems the majority of channels are hosting paid programming. I think there is a conspiracy against insomniacs. Have you ever listened to those annnoying commercials? Other times I get up and play Bejeweled Blitz on facebook. I find that game is almost a sedative. I use it to try to stop thinking. Around 5 o’clock my body tells me it might rest a while so I go back to bed. Sometimes I can get a couple more hours of sleep. Sometimes I can’t.

When I went to Japan I bought a generic Sleep Aid to use to help counteract jet lag. It is capsules of 50 mg. diphenhydramine. It’s the same stuff as in Tylenol PM and other such PM medicines. I took it all the time as a child in the form of Benadryl.

The directions say “take one softgel at bedtime if needed or as directed by a doctor.” Well, I have experienced that one gel may help me get to sleep, but it certainly doesn’t keep me asleep. So last night I made a decision. I took two gel capsules.

Although I did wake several times during the night, I found I went back to sleep fairly easily. However, today has been a total waste. Every time I  sat down, I fell asleep. I don’t quite have a headache but my head is not exactly pain-free either.

Usually I can whip out a blog in about an hour give or take. It depends on what I find interesting, either in the newspaper, on TV or, on the internet.

Absolutely NOTHING has been interesting today. I don’t know about the paper because it is still out on my sidewalk.

Now, nothing earthshaking will happen because I did not have a productive day. Since I retired, unless I have an appointment, there are entire days and sometimes more when nothing is required of me.

It’s amazing how almost twenty-four hours later, I can still feel the effects. Maxine called me around 10 this morning and I honestly thought it was Friday. She wanted to know if I planned to go to the city council meeting tonight. I asked her, “Why are they having a council meeting on Friday night?” This seemed to concern her somewhat. She reminded me that I had just gone to the concert last night. My fog started to clear a little.

Maxine was concerned because it seems someone has brought up the question of whether golf carts should be allowed to be used in our little village. We figured someone must have a grudge against the one woman whom we know who uses one. Now that doesn’t mean in other sections of town there isn’t someone else who may be using one, but believe me, it’s not a widespread menace to traffic anywhere.

The one we know rides in her golf cart and walks her dog along side. Our little section is made up of two streets. If you can picture a slightly pulled apart horseshoe being crossed at the bottom by a bar, that’s pretty much our neighborhood. She gets in her cart and her standard poodle runs beside her as they go around this lop-sided “circle” we call home.

I told Maxine that that I didn’t think I had a real interest in this topic. “Maybe somebody is afraid that “others” will see the golf carts and think we are a community of old fogies.” She replied, “But we are all old fogies. That’s pretty much the truth. There is not a big turn over in our neighborhood. All the neighbors I’ve lost, with the exception of one couple, were carried out feet first when they left their homes. I, myself, have lived in my house thirty-two years and am retired. Although on the inside I still consider myself vibrant, when I don’t take the diphenhydramine, to anyone gen x or younger, I’m approaching fogiedom in a hurry.

I’m sitting here in my pajamas because I didn’t change them for day clothes this morning. Some days I do that. There’s absolutely no one around to care one way or the other what I wear in the house.

The entire day I only had one other phone call. It was a robo-call from AARP urging me to contact my senator to vote on closing the Medicare donut hole for senior citizens. That did nothing to help me feel any younger.

I was going to clean my house today because I may or may not have someone come in for coffee tomorrow evening. When I found out it was only Thursday, I promptly quit that activity until tomorrow. Actually if this guest does decide to visit, I will probably make chamomile tea for myself. Coffee at night would be a disaster.

If anyone reading this has any suggestions, please let me know. All I want for Christmas is an uninterupted night of sleep. Are there any Santa Clauses out there who could grant my wish?

In the meantime, I’m heading out to get the newspaper and taking it to bed with me. It’s already 10 o’clock and I’m starting to wake up again. I’ve got to nip it in the bud before I am awake all night. I think I’ll try it without the diphenhydramine first. Namaste. Attic Annie

Tis the season to be patient

Inside a pack n mail

  

I am so totally disappointed. The Pack N Mail center near my house has closed permanently. I stopped by there a couple of weeks ago and the gates were closed at 4:00. I was hoping that it was just a family emergency that caused them to close early. It was run by a married couple who had bought it about a year ago from another family. There were always just the two of them running the place.  

I decided to give it another try today. It was so convenient to go there. They had the addresses of all the people I have ever sent any package to in their computer. I didn’t even have to address anything. They just printed out mailing labels and slapped them on. Bim bang done. I never went in there where I had to wait more than three or four minutes to get to the counter.  

I drove up again today and again it was dark with the inside gates closed. I knew the end had come. I got out of the car and entered the Check N Go next door to confirm my suspicions. There was only one woman in the place and she was on the phone, evidently on hold. She looked up and I inquired if the closing next door was permanent. She nodded her head yes and then started talking on the phone again.  

US Post Office

  

The branch of the US Post Office that is closest to my house was on the chopping block earlier in the year when a list of closings was announced. I have never figured out why it was so chosen. It has only been built within the last five years. I have yet to be there at any time when there hasn’t been a line. Fortunately, the name was erased from the list of closures. I am so thankful. Even though I preferred the Pack N Mail, this was my emergency back up.  

I knew the same thing would happen again today. Sure enough there were about five people in line when I got there. Since I had to get a mailing envelope there and address it, it took me about five minutes. In the meantime about six more people came in. I had my back to the door and heard this jingling and the sounds of heavy boots on the tiled floor. “Oh, Santa Claus is picking up his mail,” I thought. I turned to see a long- haired balding tatooed biker wearing heavy chains and spurs on his boots. “That’s definitely not Santa,” I said to myself.  

I heard the door open again so I rushed into line before the next person could get there. I was only a couple of feet away from the biker. I had originally chosen a bubble wrap envelope to mail a present to a friend. The box that would go inside had sharp corners so I felt that a box would be better. I returned the envelope, with the permission of the young woman behind me, grabbed the smallest box they had, and returned to the same place in line. On the way home, I realized I needed that envelope for a second package I will be mailing. Oh well.  

There was only one clerk working the line. The other one was on her break. Now, I’m all in favor of clerks getting their breaks, but I have to admit that I always find myself wishing it weren’t at a time when I was there.  

When I reached the clerk, I verified information about the box. “Now I can just put this in my mailbox for the letter carrier, right?” I asked. “These are the “anything the box will hold” mailing boxes that you advertise, aren’t they?” To which she replied, “No, the priority flat rate boxes are over there,” pointing to a different stack. “You’re going to have to bring this one back to mail it. It will depend how much it weighs.” So there I was. I looked at the line which had increased out the door from the sixteen I counted behind me about three minutes earlier. I didn’t feel like getting the other box and getting in line again so I paid for the box I had. I knew there was no hope of getting out of there if I chose to buy the bubble wrap envelope today.  

Yesterday I went Christmas shopping with a neighbor. I didn’t have anything to buy although I wanted a Christmas skirt to wear to usher at the church concert tonight. The music department is so great, there is always standing room only. I wanted to look festive. I was out of the country two weeks ago, and last week I had some kind of GI bug so this was the first chance I had to shop. What I wanted was one of those outfits you wear once or twice and then shove into the back of the closet until next Christmas. I was looking for a red plaid skirt. I saw just what I wanted in a little girl’s size 6x. But there was no hint of holiday garb of larger sizes anywhere in any of the stores we visited.  

I found this one on line, but I’d say it was about three feet too short.  

Christmas Skirt

  

It’s cold down here in Texas these days. I think I would get too many goose bumps. Then I discovered this one. It is only shown in a size 4.  

Christmas Skirt

  

It’s exactly what I want. However, I would probably have to order two, rip out the seems, and sew them together gathering it at the waist if I really wanted to do that. Seeing that my sewing machine has not been touched in over thirty years, I don’t think that would ever happen. I took sewing lessons the first year I was married, but we moved before the outfit was finished. It never was finished. If anyone knows of a national chain selling size 14 skirts with elastic waistbands or a place on line please clue me in.  

So, instead of a nice Christmas skirt, I am going to wear my almost-to-the knees long sleeved shirt with Rudolph on the front. It shows him with a string of colored lights and Christmas tree ornaments hung upon his antlers and the caption reads “Deck your horns!” I’ll throw on my black slacks and be all set. The shirt was bought many years ago but I only manage to wear it for a few hours each Christmas. Besides, it puts me in a good mood.  

Hey, what can I say. Anything goes at our church. We’re just glad that people show up. I couldn’t  find my Santa Claus cap to go with it so it’s off to the Dollar Store before arriving at church. Here’s hoping your Christmas season is giving you a time to be jolly. If you are given the opportunty to have to be patient, go with the flow. We all know what happens at the end of the road anyway. Why be in a hurry to reach it before you have to? Namaste. Attic Annie

Giving “Just Because”

Imagine about four inches more food on top and bottom

Divine Love, through me, blesses and multiplies all that I have, all that I give, and all that I receive, and I am grateful.

I’ve been praying that prayer twice every Sunday that I attend services since I started going to my present church in 2005. I’m trying to live that prayer and pray it during the week as well. I’m learning how to give, and, in many ways, I do believe I am receiving everything back and more that I have ever given.

Monday I went grocery shopping at WalMart. I had let my pantry and refrigerator go bare. I had gotten home from a trip to Japan a week earlier, but I had some kind of GI bug and didn’t feel much like eating, so the little I still had was sufficient for the entire week.

By Monday morning, except for a few Nutrisystem entrees that I never did throw out, there was not any food in the house. There were condiments, half a bottle of V8, and pickles in the fridge, a variety of teas in the pantry, and spices in the cabinets, but that was all. There was nothing left to concoct a meal.There was not even any more spaghetti to cook and cover with V8 juice like I had done two nights before. (What can I say? It tastes somewhat like pasta sauce and I was hungry.)

By the time I got to the check out line, I had an entire basket overflowing with food. Since I am solely responsible for only my own meals, much of my basket contained single serving entrees. I hate to cook just for myself. Yes, I know that I could cook as much as the recipe calls for and freeze the rest to consume at a different time. However, my stomach does not seem to have a functioning off-button. If I cook enough for four, it may take me an extra meal, but I usually eat the entire thing. Then I get mad at myself. This way at least I have partial control over portion size.

There I was with my overflowing basket. The check out lines had started to back up. Two people were in front of me. I had chosen the shortest line available realizing only too late that the lady in front of me had a basket just as full as mine. It was impossible to see her basket from behind until she started unloading.  When I finally saw the entire contents of her basket, I looked at the other lines and figured it would be just as fast staying where I was.

The clerk looked at me when she was about half finished and said she would be with me as soon as possible. I don’t know why she felt she had to tell me that. I was the one who had decided to stay put. Maybe I looked angry. I tend to look like I’m frowning for no reason.  I told her I wasn’t in a hurry. She finished checking and bagging all the purchases and requested that the lady pay $3.25.

Evidently, there are things that the food benefits program will not cover. The woman kept saying she knew there was enough money in the account to cover all the groceries. Before I started blogging today, I tried to find out what those items are by calling the benefits office, but the guy I talked to could not tell me what food items were not covered. Also, there does not seem to be a list on the website.

Whatever it didn’t cover, she obviously had it in her basket. She did not have the $3.25 to pay. That meant she had to go through the entire receipt to discover what she had purchased for that amount. The receipt was close to being 18 inches long. Did I say her basket was overflowing? That included things on the lower rack as well. I honestly didn’t time her transaction, but it seems it was close to a half hour that I had already waited in line.

The lady kept insisting she bought nothing but food. The cashier had to talk to the manager to explain the situation to her. The manager came back to the register to handle the transaction. The woman couldn’t understand what she could have possibly put into her basket that wasn’t covered. The woman and the manager went back to the service area to go over the list of foods not covered. I waited. So did the four other people in line behind me. I felt sorry for them because I would be taking as much time as the lady in front of me to check out.

The conversation had already taken at least fifteen minutes in addition to the time already spent. I was trapped. You get in those lines and there is no escape. I am extremely patient, but being trapped in the grocery line is not one of my favorite places to be. Finally, that prayer came to me. I said, “I’ll pay the money for her.” No one paid attention at first. All three were in serious discussion over this $3.25 bill. I said it once again, “Did you say $3.25? I’ll pay it.” I wanted to add, “Just please move on out. It’s my turn now.” But I didn’t.

The lady turned and looked at me. The manager just got a blank stare on her face. The clerk said, “Will that be cash or charge?” I already had my billfold out and pulled out a $5.00 bill. She rang up the purchase and the lady and the manager moved over to the service area to discover together what could have been charged that the great state of Texas would not pay for.The clerk handed me the receipt and I had to walk it over to the lady and the manager.

I again felt sorry for the people behind me because I had to make two transactions. I had bought all my gifts for my Little Angel and wanted it rung up separately, thus lengthening my time at the register.

I was finally checked out. I try to buy for at least two weeks and hopefully longer because I hate to shop. The lady walked by pushing her cart and said thank you. Obviously they had discovered the guilty object. The clerk said, “I think it was the powdered donuts. I think those are included under candy.” I looked at the lady and hoped that the donuts weren’t for her. It was on the tip of my tongue to say something like, “I hope I didn’t help raise your blood sugar out of control.” But that probably would not have been taken with the sincerity with which it would have been delivered.

I had paid for a selfish reason. I was tired of standing in line. I didn’t like feeling trapped. I was getting hungry. The bathroom looked like it was four blocks away. I wondered if Divine Love still works with an attitude like that. Would I rack up the brownie points if my motives weren’t pure? Would my giving be blessed and multiplied with those ulterior motives ? I wondered.

As I left the line, the clerk thanked me for paying for the lady’s donuts. She said, “That was very kind of you. You really made my day.” I just kind of sheepishly smiled and moved on, knowing I probably didn’t qualify for the accolade of being the altruistic person she thought I was. It sure is hard to give “just because”. I hope some day I might be able to do just that. Namaste. Attic Annie

My Affair With Tiger

Dear Very Private I’ll Never Share This With ANYONE Diary,

I saw him swinging his club at the Colonial Country Club. It was a warm Fort Worth May day, and the sweat of concentration and heat forming on his furrowed brow as he concentrated on his game excited me as no other player had ever done.

His muscled arms drove the ball straight up the fairway and it landed without a bounce in the cup. A hole in one! Ahhh…sweet dreams. I cheered the loudest of all the groupies following the pro crowd. We all hustled to follow Tiger to the next tee. My white short shorts and zircon adorned cleavage  with the hot pink plunging neckline really rocked. I felt adoring eyes on me all over the course.

I zeroed in on Tiger like a hungry feline stalking her prey. I was new at this game, but I was determined. Anyone with a bod like his had to be a worthy catch. I dreamed of the night to come. Sharing the night with the Tiger was what this cougar definitely fantasized about. We’d start out with champagne after the final hole…after the victory when he’d still be high on adrenaline raising the level of his testosterone to new heights.

I cared not for his wife and two children. After all, any husband is fair play. There’s even a pro league of groupies who tour with the pros of all sports waiting to catch their eyes. Extra points if you win time over the wives. Who cares if their marriage breaks up? It’s all about what I want when I want it.

There’s no punishment for breaking up a marriage. Used to be that wives could sue for alienation of affections, but that went out the window decades ago except in  Hawaii, Illinois, North Carolina, New Hampshire, Mississippi, New Mexico, and Utah. We stay clear of those states just in case some hassled married babymomma wants to come after us for “stealing” their husband away from their otherwise perfect wedded bliss.

If their husbands were such model mates, we’d never be successful. We see the glares of those wives who know the game. We just ignore it and focus on the target painted on the chests of our prey.

Sometimes we meet them in the bar and innocently flirt. We can find out real fast who the interested ones are. They flirt right back. Sometimes we score really early as they pass their room cards to us and watch us tuck them into our bras close to our hearts. Other times we actually have to work a little to entice them.

What’s in it for us? Sometimes nothing other than fun at first…and if they are as good at their games in the boudoir as they are in their pro sport then maybe the big O is a bonus. But then if the wife finds out, we can count on the media to come hound us for our million dollar stories when we come out of the woodwork.

I understand that the current count of groupies who were seduced by the Tiger is up to ten. If the world only knew. This business can be pretty lucrative for a few hours of “work” here and there spread out over months or a couple of years.

Of course Tiger seduced me. I was an innocent bartender… or maybe I was still a cocktail waitress when we first met, I forget.  I understand that this profession is a magnet for married men looking for a little dessert to go along with their main entrees waiting faithfully at home. Bartenders are so good at listening to the misunderstood husband. We comfort them with open arms in our apartments after work. We get extra points if there is really not much wrong with their marriage if the men would just go home to get what they are asking from us. I fear, just like us, it’s the thrill of the chase. Most men are basically cave men hunters underneath all their modern facades anyway.

And what about the wives? Hey, they get well paid off. If the man really wants his wife to stay, he pays her off with Kobe diamonds. Remember that little transaction? Oh, by the way, we professional groupies aren’t just in it for the sports man.

And if there is a divorce? A woman can live pretty well on what she can get for child support for each brat she bred with her mega sire. She doesn’t hurt for too long when her husband starts anteing up the alimony payments. Sometimes they get paid for years and years for a few years’ worth of post-nuptial bliss.

Why do I act this way? Show me the money. I can wait for months or years before I confess. Then the paparazzi who hound me drive my price up really quickly for my mea culpa confession. Think of the book deals I can get now that my little dallying with Tiger is front page news.

The public is so hypocritical. This kind of affair goes on every day in every level of society. The big boys play the game because they can. The litle boys play the game because they can. Nobody really gets hurt in the long run, now do they? Line up with the big bucks. I’m ready to be paid.

What’s that you ask? (Thinking to myself) Would I ever appear on a reality show with Tiger next year? Nah. I’ll leave that to the next crop of groupies. Besides, I only mess around with married men. It’s no fun if they get serious.

]

This is my story and I’m sticking to it. Jay Leno? Oprah? I’m ready for my close-up. Namaste. Attic Annie

Nearing the end of the journey

November 28, 2009

Days 8 and 9

After that full night of rest, I was ready to face my last full day in Japan. Our first stop was to a home that was over 500 years old. The floors were wooden and had mats on them but otherwise, they cooked the same way as the farmers did in Germany that I saw last year. They had a cooking pot hung over a fire in the center of the home. From what I could tell, that was the only source of warmth for the entire house.

Cooking in the floor 1500s style

It was chilly that day so I could imagine how cold it probably got inside the house. There was a shrine similiar to Yoko’s grandmother’s shrine in her home. Both of the shrines were similiar to the one below.

Home shrine

After we toured the home, clear up into the second attic beneath the rafters, we headed towards the paper making business. All of us made our own paper, the size of a place mat. When Nathan returned home, he framed his.

We made paper just as it has been done for years. We dipped our screens into a slush and tipped it from side to side and front to back. When we did that several times and all the water was removed, the backing was removed and the paper was dried. It was a fun experience.

We toured the Gokyama Heritage Village by walking around on the paths. There are people actually living in the homes. The thick thatched roofs were very interesting. They are very steep.

From the village we went to lunch at a five star restaraunt within a hotel. The food was exquisite. We shopped and then returned to Yoko’s parents’ home for our luggage. I really didn’t get much of a chance to talk with her parents. If you know anything about Gulliver and his Lilliputian friends, that’s how I felt with them. I was at least six inches taller than her father, and almost 8″ taller than either of her grandmothers. My son, who is only 5′9″ towers over them.

After gathering our bads, Nathan and I headed for the train station for our return trip home. The whole family took us there to see us off. Yoko stayed behind to visit with her parents for a couple more days. We arrived home after another two hours about 10 p.m.

The next morning I casually packed and once again took a train ride to the airport. Nathan was going to put me on the express at the Tokyo station but decided to accompany me to the airport instead. It was supposedly a two hour train ride from his apartment. We got half way from the Tokyo station (an hour from his house) and the train stopped. We had to catch a train going the opposite way all the way back to the Tokyo station and then catch another train line to the airport. We had arranged plenty of time so I would have two hours to spare waiting for my flight. That went out the window.

We arrived back in Tokyo station and had to wait in line. There were quite a few of us in the station going to the airport and changing lines. They just started waving us through without a ticket. There was another young man about my son’s age that stuck with us. He was very interesting to talk with. Jack, from Comedy Central, if you read this, thanks for the help. He and Nathan struck up a conversation with me joining in from time to time. That put Nathan in a slightly better mood. He doesn’t handle changes too easilly. What had been a total of a planned four hours on the train going to and from his home was now approaching six.

No one ever came by on the train to ask us to pay for tickets. That saved me about $20.00. Had I taken the express as Nathan originally planned, it would have been $30. I was feeling lucky.

We finally arrived at the station. We had to travel to the fourth floor up four more escalators. When we reached the floor, what I thought would just be Continental, was the ticket desks for about a dozen airlines. It must have been a walk of at least two football fields before we began to reach the right area. Because of the time cruch, a new desk area just for the passengers of our flight was opened up. We were greeted with people holding signs saying “Houston” and beakoning us to head toward the counter. I thought Nathan would surely leave, but he waited until I had my bags all checked in. The ticket agent had put a large yellow sticker on my boarding pass with 20 printed on it. From that point I had twenty minutes before the doors closed on the jet.

All I had time for was a quick good-bye and hug at that point for my son. I had wished to talk with him a few more minutes, but that was out of the question. I had those two football fields to traverse in the opposite direction after going through security.

I made it to the boarding area and was stopped one more time. This time it was off with the shoes, open my purse, and wand me. From what I understand, they choose every eighth person to more closely inspect. I watched as others hurried by.

I reached the door with 90 seconds to spare. I was one of the last persons to board. Fortunately I once more had an aisle seat. The two women who came in after me took the middle and window seat. I was very thankful they did not ask to let them out more than twice. That’s a lot of sitting for that long of a flight. The flight was very turbulent at times but I had taken my super Benadryl sleep aid and, although I was aware of it, I didn’t let it bother me.

We arrived back at Houston pretty much on time. I couldn’t find any water fountains and was very dehydrated so I bought a pack of 15 pieces of gum and a liter of water for $5.00. I’m glad I don’t have to travel all that much.

The plane ride home was late by 1/2 hour. I tried to call my friend, Judy, who was picking me up in Dallas but my cell phone was dead. She had been waiting all that extra time. Fortunately, she was still in a good mood about it.

Before she took me home, we picked up my computer so I could blog the next day. Unfortunately, Sam forgot to give me back the power cord so I had to wait the whole day to get back on my computer. It was then that I realized what a total addict I am to this blogging.

Last week I spent the whole week recuperating, only venturing out to visit a neighbor and share her birthday supper with her. Today I went to church. I guess I’m feeling completely recovered once again. It was a wonderful trip. I am not sure when I will be able to see Nathan again and that makes me sad. If I can, I may fly up to Indiana where he will be on staff of a summer school, although I agree with him that there is very little to do at the lake.

I think I have lost him to Japan and Yoko for the forseeable future and that makes me kind of sad.

One of my favorite philosphers kind of soothes my feelings when he talks about children. Kahlil Gibran in The Prophet says, “They have come through you but not from you. You may house their bodies but not their souls, for their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, which you cannot visit. Life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth.”  Well, I may be a bow but I never thought my arrow would end up thinking of making Japan his home for the foreseeable future. Such is life.

At least we don’t get in many arguments this way. Namaste. Attic Annie

 

Kyoto shrine day

November 27, 2009

Day 7

I have never in my life been up and down so many steps as I have on this trip. Surprisingly, I’m still holding up. At several points I counted three sets of thirty steps that we walked either up or down, often carrying my suitcase. Yes, I was the one carrying it or pulling it.   

 

         Kyoto train station      

 We took a second Sunrise tour for this trip, the Shogun and Emperor Tour for the morning. I was surprised to hear that Japan had a Hundred Year’s War just as what happened in Europe. I guess boys will be boys all over the world. The shoguns finally decided to call it quits.      

 Although we didn’t tour it, Kyoto has the largest Buddhist organization in the world. We drove by it. It covers a lot of city land.

 Due to decisions made during World War II, Kyoto was spared being bombed so some of their buildings are quite ancient. The first visit was to Nijo Castle, home of shoguns. Shoguns were responsible for the governing of Japan. The emperor was the spiritual leader.       

 

  

 

These gates are the entrance way to the castle. The rooms are arranged with doors opening onto a wooden hallway that goes on all four sides of the castle. No pictures were allowed inside of the castle but I found this one to show.  

Interior room Nijo Castle

All of the rooms looked pretty much the same except for the paintings on the walls. There were tigers in some, cranes in others, cherry blossoms in a few. Some were the private living quarters of the shoguns, others were receiving rooms for guests and messengers of the emperors.  

According to our guide, Kay, the shoguns needed male heirs and so surrounded themselves with potential “mothers”. The young women would bring tea to them. If the shogun liked what he saw, things would go according to nature. If he didn’t, he would wave her away with his hand since “she was not his cup of tea”. I thought that was an interesting story.    

As we walked there was constant chirping sounds. It was called the nightengale hall because iron clamps had been installed under the wooden floors as a security device. No one could walk silently on the floors without the clamps “chirping”. Since there were about thirty of us in the tour group, the halls were never silent. Next stop was the Golden Pavilion. It turned out to be a beautiful sunny afternoon. The sun was really reflecting off the building. It looked truly spectacular. The grounds and ponds were almost breathtaking. There were still enough trees with their autumn colors to make this area very picturesque.  

Golden Palace or Pavilion

We ended the morning tour with a buffet at a handicraft center. I’m not sure what I will do with it, but I bought myself and my son yakatas. They are the cotton versions of kimonos. I also went wild buying souveniers for my friends.  It was an expensive stop on the tour. 

 

In the afternoon we toured a Buddhist Temple, one of the largest in the world. By this time I was no longer taking notes and I cannot remember which one of the hundreds of temples in Kyoto that is actually was. I do know that the statue of Buddha was huge and it was flanked by a lot of guardian statues as well as 500 smaller statues. It was extremely impressive.   Again, we were asked not to take pictures so this one is borrowed. It’s not exactly like the ones we saw but it is as impressive.

After yet another bus ride we were at our final tour Kiyomizu Temple (thank goodness). This time it was at the top of a rather steep hill. Once more I surprised myself that I was able to make it all the way up. I was so proud of myself. We basically just walked around. The autumn leaves were gorgeous. From the top of the hill we could see most of Kyoto in the distance. The sun was setting so it was another very impressive site. The place was very crowded. I got in line to drink the holy water pouring off the hill (small mountain it seemed) but Nathan suggested there were too many people in line ahead of me. We would be late for the bus. I got back out of line, figuring I’d had about as much good fortune as I needed for the day and we headed back down the hill. I compared the crowd to Times Square New York City at New Year’s but Nathan disagreed. He said there were even times it was possible to stretch our arms out without hitting anybody. Whatever! It was a crowd.

We made it back to the train station with enough time to eat before heading to Yoko’s parents’ home. There were restaurants on the eleventh floor so we took the escalators up to the top. This was a very high class department store. There were name brand merchandise near the escalator on every floor. Japan was full of fashionistas. From the top we could look down upon the multistory Christmas tree lights. It was quite pretty.

After eating we made it to the train for another two hour ride. Yoko and her father were there at our destination to greet us and drive us a half hour to their home. When we arrived, we were greeted by Yoko’s mother who presented us with more sushi, rice, miso, crab, fruit, and saki at 11 pm.

Afterwards I was a little chilly so I asked to take a bath. Between the bath, the saki, and the very long day, I was very tired. We had futons on the floor and the thickest down comforters I’ve ever slept under. I hit the futon and was asleep in about 90 seconds. I slept the entire rest of the night until around 6:30 a.m. I haven’t slept in that long a stretch in ages. Maybe I should consider buying some saki for medicinal purposes? 

It had been a very very very long day. Namaste Attic Annie