Taking Responsibility

Susan Snyder of The Philadelphia Inquirer recently reported that Penn State has made its first settlement for Jerry Sandusky's victims. Twenty-six victims, $60 million. In exchange for taking the money, the victims agree not to sue the university or Second Mile, Sandusky's charity. I wrote several posts in the past about the horror that took place back in my home state of Pennsylvania. I am glad to know that the school is taking responsibility. In exchange for the settlement, the victims agree not to sue the university or Second Mile charity.

Susan

The $6.30 Dress

This is a follow up post to the one called "The $4.95 Dress." Today I went into the same store where I found the $4.95 dress for my friend's wedding, and found one for the rehearsal and dinner the night before the wedding. It was marked down to $7.00, and with my employee discount I got it for $6.30. How about that? These are very important events, and I am so excited to have my dresses for both of them.

Money is tight for me. I'm not complaining, but just stating a fact. These two lovely dresses are just more proof that I can have pretty things, and that I can have what I need and want. You see, there were much more expensive dresses in the store both times I visited, but it just happened that the ones I really loved seemed to be waiting for me. The polka dot dress is a blue that is somewhere between royal and navy, and the dots on it are a light blue, close to an aqua.

Here is a picture of the dress, but not a picture of me. It is fun, and polka dots are one of my favorite things. I think I am a very lucky woman. The brand is Be Bop, which is also a fun name.

Susan

The System

We have a lot of problems in our country, the United States of America. A lot of problems. There are many nations throughout the world that have some wonderful ideas that we would do well to implement here. I could give you my opinions on gay marriage and health care and our prison system and guns so on, but is that what you really come here for? If my father was still alive today, he would likely chuckle and tell me I'm a bleeding heart liberal. One of the things I loved about my father, is that he talked to me and conversed with me the same way he did my older brother. (My younger brother was only 13 when our dad died, so he didn't have adult conversations with him. Not that I was really an adult, but I think you know what I mean.) I have had extended family members tell me that my father hated women and had a low opinion of them and a general disrespect for them. I won't object to that, but I will say that as a girl child who was almost 18 when he died, I never saw that or felt it.

When I was in high school, I would work late at Burger King. In summer, we were open till midnight on week nights and 1 am on weekends, and I often worked the closing shift. I thought that my dad must like to stay up late, but now that I think about it, perhaps it wasn't so much that he was a night owl as it was he wanted to make sure I got in safely.

We would sit and have these discussions about politics and current events and life in general. And I am so thankful for them, for many reasons, probably the biggest being that although we didn't know it, my father would die at the young age of 54 and I would not be having any more conversations with him. I thought of them as "intellectual conversations," and it made me feel good that my dad thought I had a good mind. Sometimes he would poke a few holes in my arguments, and that's as it should be. It's no fun to talk with someone on a serious subject and not be challenged. But he never patronized me. He made me feel as I could hold my own on many topics, and it no doubt contributed to the confidence that I have always felt in the presence of men. I can remember over the years men old enough to be my father or grandfather, in business situations, seeming a little surprised and maybe amused at this young girl named Susan and how she conducted herself.

So while we have a lot of problems that need fixing in this country, one of the greatest things in my opinion is that each person accused of a crime is entitled to a vigorous defense, and a trial with a jury of his peers. That the jury is made up of people like you and me, is quite intriguing. It's not just a judge who decides someone's fate. It is not a group of professional, paid jurors. But just someone like me. Or you.

George Zimmerman went through the system. Although each is entitled to a speedy trial, most defendants choose to wait and allow a solid defense to be mounted. That takes time. So when it was all said and done, six female jurors concluded that he is not guilty.

The system works, the way it is supposed to, even when it surprises us. It was my guess that Zimmerman was overcharged with second degree murder, and when I heard that the jury would be permitted to consider manslaughter, I felt it likely he would be convicted of that. I didn't follow the case closely, but I kept up with it a bit. Mostly because it involved two young men. Martin was 17 at the time of his death, and Zimmerman 28. As the mother of two sons, as a woman who reflects on the values as a society seem to teach boys, as I think about guns and violence and such, it struck a chord with me. In this blog, my most popular post (the one that has been viewed the most) is one I wrote shortly after Martin was shot. It is called "I am Sabrina Fulton."

It is beyond tragic that so many of our young men kill our young men, for whatever the reason and whatever the circumstances. I wish them all peace. I wish peace for the families of Martin and Zimmerman, and I think of both Mrs. Fulton and Mrs. Zimmerman as my sisters. I wish George Zimmerman peace, for that night has forever changed his life. I would not want to live with the fact that I had pulled the trigger of a gun and took another person's life, regardless of the circumstances or reason.

Sometimes it seems that we will never have peace within our nation, that there will never be a day when some young man won't be picking up a gun and killing another young man. Not that women don't commit violence, for they do, but the young men just really resonate with me. I have to ask myself, however, what am I doing to make our country a better place?

The system works. I need to be working somehow to make things better.

Sweet Sixteen

"Go on doing with your pen what in other times was done with the sword." Thomas Jefferson (writing to Thomas Paine)

Yesterday was her sixteenth birthday, and she spent it addressing the United Nations. Malala Yousafzai, you may recall, was shot last October for having the audacity to attend school. For her appearance at the UN, she wore her favorite color, pink. She has had surgery and is recovering quite well. Yousafzai received $3 million for a book deal. It will be titled, "I am Malala." Yes, my dear. You certainly are.

Susan

Photograph from Associated Press

Creativity

This quote is from Ursula K. Le Guin.

Sometimes the way we think of creativity limits it, as if the only creative people are the poets and the painters. We are all creators of some sort, from the man who creates a dinner from what he grew in his garden, to the woman who writes code for a living, and every person who creates a better life for himself through his thoughts and behavior.

One of the things that stifles creativity is that self-conscious feeling that maybe we aren't good enough. My first Art class in college was a few semesters ago. The course was called Color and Design, a very basic sort of class. Our professor was herself a talented artist, not that she ever drew attention (I used the word "drew." That is funny!) to that part of her life, but toward the end of the semester she showed us some of her work and it was amazing. It had been featured in various shows, and she even earned money by selling it, which is something not every artist can say.

What she created that meant the most to me, was a non-judgmental place where we as the students could create. We could express ourselves fully, and in fact, she did not allow us to criticize ourselves or be negative. I loved that class, because I stepped inside that classroom and I felt like I was a child again. One who was simply who she was, and let that come out with her Art.

My dear reader, what are you creating?

Susan

Heart of Gold

This morning I'm in the mood for Neil Young. Enjoy.

Susan

"Heart of Gold" written by Neil Young

The $4.95 Dress

I found the most wonderful dress for my friend's wedding, coming up in a few months. Since I will be the reader, I won't really be a part of the wedding party, but we thought a dress that would sort of harmonize with her colors (black and gold) would be just perfect. Because I have been losing weight, I have really been looking for a dress yet.

The other night, I was driving home when I my intuition told me to stop at a store which is on the way. It is a sister store of the one where I work, and I get an employee discount. I really, really didn't want to stop, because I was tired. And after working all day in a store, I didn't feel like going into another store. I actually was not even thinking about a dress for the wedding. But I obeyed my intuition, and walked in the store and began to look around, and there it was. It had several clearance tickets on it, one on top of each other, with $5.50 being the one on top. It must have been in the store for a long, long, long time to be marked down so many times. And even before then, it must have been around for a long time because this store is an off-price retailer which has merchandise other stores don't want. The dress has been waiting. Just waiting for me. 

The $5.50 dress, which with my 10% discount, makes it a $4.95 dress. I tried it on, and can you say perfection? I have eight more pounds to lose, but it fits now and will look great then, too. It has black and gold sparkly spangles on the top, and the bottom is a creamy ivory lace that is almost yellow. I love this dress. Love. this. dress.

It is a Mimi Chica, which is a brand I knew nothing about, until now. I did some searching online, and found it on Macy's website under "item no longer available." Well. Of course it is no longer available, because it is mine. So here is a picture of my dress, but not a picture of me. The model looks happy, which is how the dress makes me feel.

So once again, my intuition leads me somewhere wonderful. Isn't this a great story?

Susan

Say It Right

A while back, my younger son loaded some music on my ipod. I've been listening to it this morning. I like this one.

Susan

"Say It Right" by Nelly Furtado, Nate Hills and Tim Mosley

Traveler

"Please be a traveler, not a tourist. Try new things, meet new people, and look beyond what's right in front of you. Those are the keys to understanding this amazing world we live in." Andrew Zimmern

Have you ever stayed at a hotel where the chairs by the pool or the chairs for the beach become a big issue? Guests running over to the pool before breakfast, and putting down their towels and staking their claim? Being eyed suspiciously if you look in the direction of their chairs, when in fact, you might be just enjoying the gorgeous view or thinking about whether you want your Margarita on the rocks or blended?

I think these chairs are amazingly wonderful.

Susan

Demons

She has a new, exciting but challenging opportunity in her life, and she seized it. I say to her, "You can do it!" because I am certain she can. But it is pushing a lot of her buttons. Have you ever noticed that? When we step out of the usual day-to-day, and especially when we start to get what we want, we also end up confronting our demons. That should not be surprising; right? It could be that her biggest demon is "You're not good enough." It is a common monster in many of our lives, or at least it seems that way to Susan. Not unusual at all.

She recently had a memory, one she had not thought about for decades. Her father would call her into the living room on Sunday afternoon, and he and the mother would be sitting there. Her mother didn't talk, but her silence conveyed to my friend that she was in agreement with what Dad said. "You are nothing but a disappointment to your mother and me." Now it's likely her father said other things, too, but this very ominous statement is the one my friend remembers the most.

I have never met her father or her mother; both of them passed away years ago. But she has told me a lot about her dad, and there was a lot of good there, too. He was a good man in many ways, and he gave her a lot. She says he made her feel loved and special and pretty, and all the things a little girl needs from a daddy. But this statement that she thinks she heard every Sunday, "You are nothing but a disappointment" is a big demon of hers. I told her that her father must have been a very powerful person in her life, perhaps the most powerful person ever, for that statement to have carried so much weight. She shared this with her therapist, who said it seems to have influenced many of the things my friend has done throughout her life.

"Your dad hung the moon," I suggested, when she told me this story, and she nodded and started to cry. I know my dad certainly did. He put it up there in that big, dark sky. "He was the first man you ever loved," I added, and I got tears in my eyes, too. "With that pure love of a little girl."

So she is confronting her demon of Not Good Enough. She knows what some of my demons are, and I told her I think of mine as Muppets. Monsters. Demons. Okay. But ones that are really not all that scary, once I get to know them. The thing is, I have spent a lot of time and energy trying to avoid them and run away from them, when they are just big, adorable, cuddly things with green and orange fur. And although they can be scary, I want to share a secret with you. They are really my friends. Yes. You read that right. They are my friends, and are just there to help me. If I will let them.

How about you? You have demons, too, if you are a human like me. Could you begin to visualize them as Muppets? Can you begin to sing this song? I'll sing along with you.

Susan

"Mana Manam" written by Piero Umiliani. Muppets created by Jim Henson. Some are property of Disney.

Susan, My Susan

At work, I overheard my colleague's conversation with a customer and knew that I was needed, so I began to walk over to her register. I heard her say, "I'll ask my su..." meaning to say supervisor, then she saw me and said, "Susan." So it came out, "I'll ask my Susan." We laughed and I called her "My Karin," and for the rest of the shift, and even a few days later, people were saying, "My Susan."

I like that. I am their supervisor, which is my job and I am good with that, but if I had my druthers, I druther be their Susan. It is wonderful to belong to someone; don't you think? Oh. I suppose if it turns into some weird stalkerish, possessive thing it's not fun at all. Jealousy can be an ugly emotion. But to belong to someone, and have someone belong to you, can be lovely.

This has always been one of my favorite songs. It is an old standard, and it's about belonging and travel, two of the best things in the whole, wide world.

Susan (Your Susan)

"You Belong To Me" written by Pee Wee King, Chilton Price and Redd Stewart

Personal Shopper

Today I felt that I should stop in the secondhand store that is in the same shopping center as where I work. I really wasn't excited about it at first, but thought who knows what I might find. So I obeyed my intuition, as I am learning to do. I popped in there on my lunch break.

There was a huge swarm of women around the rack of women's slacks. It all looked boring to me, a bunch of black and brown and navy blue slacks. So I was over looking at something else, and this woman yelled out, "If anyone's a 2, here are some nice white ones. Banana Republic." She held them up. I thought she might be talking to friends she was shopping with, but I guess he was just yelling it out for anyone who might be around. But I suppose she was really talking to me.

I went over, and saw that there were so many shoppers at that rack because women's slacks were half off. I took those slacks into the dressing room, and I imagine you are way ahead of me now. They belong to Susan.

A few months ago, a friend had given me a pair of white slacks she didn't want any longer, and that is always a smart kind of look for summer; right? But since I have lost weight, they are too big for me. This pair of slacks that I got today are actually more of an ivory color, which is a better shade on me than white anyway. Very pretty, with nicely designed pockets and buttons and smart cuffs at the hem. Fully lined, and I imagine you get the picture. They are awesome. $6.50! How about that?!

It's like that other shopper was my personal shopper. Wowzers! This intuition thing really works.

Susan

The Bridge

We were listening to a song, my friend and I, sort of humming along and singing along, and I said, "This is my favorite part." She, who has some musical training, said, "That's the bridge." Then she added that often when we listen to music, I get all excited when the bridge comes. She explained simply that it's the connecting part of a song.

Sometimes I don't even care for a song, but I like just that particular part. The other day, I heard a song I had not heard in many years, "Daisy Jane" by America. I remember when my sons were little and we would take road trips, their dad and I would let them help choose the line up. This was back in the day of the cassette tape, long before ipods and satellite radio.

They liked the America tape we had, and the younger one particularly liked "Daisy Jane." I am going to share it with you, and let you know that my favorite parts begin around :51 and again at 2:08. Game. Gaaaaame. Blame. Blaaaaame.

Singing along in the car is one of the best things to do.

"Daisy Jane" written by Gerry Beckley

Father's Day

When I was a little girl, my stomach often bothered me. It is not surprising that I would have diarrhea or vomit, that my stomach would hurt. My mother would say it was the flu, but looking back I don't think it was very often the flu. Our home was a scary place. My mother was a scary person. My stomach hardly ever hurts anymore. I have a good life, one where there is no reason to be upset or scared or sad. I can't even remember the last time I threw up.

My father died a week before my 18th birthday, which means he has been gone for a long time. I remember the first time I was ill and threw up, after he was gone. I was an adult person, and I had never thrown up by myself. He would always go in the bathroom with me, and hold my head, and keep my hair out of the way. Throwing up is scary. There is a lack of control to it that frightened me, but he was always there to stay with me so that I didn't have to throw up alone. He would help me rinse out my mouth, brush my teeth, and he would get a cool washcloth for me. It was comforting.

I remember when I was married, telling my husband at the time that story, and he looked at me strangely and said, "Susie, I am not going to do that." He thought throwing up was icky, which it is. And I didn't ask him to, but I would have liked it if he would have held my head while I threw up.

Is that weird? That it is one of the tenderest memories of my father. He was not an affectionate man. I remember being a little girl, and jumping up in his arms, or getting on his lap, but like a lot of fathers, once I got to be a little older, he kept his distance from me. He didn't hug often, and I can't ever remember him saying, "I love you," although without a doubt, I felt loved by him.

I hug a lot. Not random strangers, but the people I love get hugs. I say, "I love you" a lot. One of the wonderful young women I work with gave a week's notice that she was quitting her job. Management doesn't communicate well, so no one told me. A few people knew that yesterday was her last day. When she told me, I felt so sad. I adore her, not just because she is a valued member of my team, but she is a lovely person. I said, "Oh, Daniela...." and hugged her. She said, "This is why I didn't tell you until today, Susan. I knew you would do this, and then I would cry, and I couldn't do this for a week."

It is just the way I am. If you have to throw up, just tell me and I'll be that person who goes into the bathroom with you and holds you so you don't have to throw up by yourself. You don't even have to be very careful not to get it on me, because sometimes vomit is projectile and you have no control. I just don't want you to be alone and scared. I'll change my clothes if I need to.

Maybe you prefer to be alone when you throw up, and I will respect that. I try to be respectful, but I really want to help. I don't want you to be scared and alone. And I guess when I say that, what I am really saying is that I don't want to be scared and alone.

So this is my Father's Day post. This is what my dad meant to me; that when he was there I was not alone and I was not scared. Every child should be so lucky.

Susan

Loyalty

Today is Flag Day in the United States. I shall wear red, white and blue today. Are you thinking, "Of course you will"? I am not a flag waver kind of person. I don't think that we are the best nation in the world. Actually, I think one of our biggest problems is our arrogance; that we run around and say things like that. I think it's funny that many times the people who say we are the greatest country in the world do not even possess a passport and have never even been outside of our country. I wonder how they could possibly know that?

I am, however, a very loyal person. Is it because I was born in the Year of the Dog? It is part of who I am. So since I was born in America, I am loyal to her. Two of my uncles, and my older brother, and my older son, all served their country. I appreciate all of those men and women who have served, and I will also tell you that I think Edward Snowden is the bee's knees.

My life as a woman would have been quite different if I would have been born in some place like China, or Iran. But when I came to this planet, I landed in the United States of America. I love her, because she is mine. But I think I would also love China, or Iran, if she was mine. I love what is mine. I am loyal to what is mine.

She's a grand old flag.

Susan

"You're a Grand Old Flag" written by George M. Cohan

I Love Beer

When I was a travel agent, I always gave a gift to clients booking a vacation package or cruise. The cruise lines would arrange something, like flowers in the cabin, or a bottle of wine at dinner with my compliments. There was a little gift shop in the same shopping center as the travel agency, and they had the most wonderful assortment of picture frames and albums, and I often chose one of those and gave that to the client when he or she picked up travel documents. That was back in the day where you actually needed paper documents, and when people actually put photographs in albums. I did it mostly because I needed to keep my costs down, and a nice $20 photo album was better than giving the cruise line $40 for a $5 bottle of wine.

Sometimes clients would bring me back a gift, or send me flowers, but not often. I remember one pair of elderly sisters who were going on an escorted tour of New Zealand, one of the most expensive vacations I ever sold. When they returned, they both came in to see me and told me how wonderful their trip was, and how wonderful I was for suggesting that particular tour company. With great flourish, they presented me with a bag. It was filled with the little jars of jellies and preserves from their breakfast table. They were so pleased with themselves, and one of them said, "None of them have been opened."

It used to be that I thought I didn't like beer. The only beer I had tasted was Bud or Rolling Rock and I thought it was icky, so I never explored the world of beer. Also, I was convinced that beer makes you fat, and I didn't want that. A client and his wife were traveling to Germany for Oktoberfest, and when he picked up his documents, he asked me if I liked beer, and I said I didn't care for any of the beers I had tasted. He said, "I'll bring you back a bottle of wine. Riesling." And he did, and I loved it, and to this day, my favorite white wine is Riesling, or Moscato, which is very similar, at least in Susan's mind. It was a lovely way for him to show his appreciation.

Last year, my younger son and I took a trip to Nantucket Island, and he introduced me to the world of craft beers. He has a good deal of knowledge about them, and we went to a brewery and I learned what a flight is, and we did some beer tasting. The brewery was within walking distance of where we stayed, so it was the perfect way to spend an afternoon. The people there were impressed that we were from San Diego, because San Diego is well known for its craft beers.

So. Guess what? I like beer. Correction. I love beer. I just didn't know it because I had never had anything good. The other evening, my roommate and I went out for a snack and the bartender recommended Sculpin IPA, which is made by Ballast Point, a local brewery. So we split one. Then we ordered another one, and split it. Which means Susan had an entire beer. It was yummy, and the perfect beverage to have with a veggie wrap. I like beer. I love beer. It's funny that it took me 53 years to discover that. I wonder what else I have been missing out on, just because I never had the good stuff.

Susan

I have not received any remuneration for my endorsement.

Come Take My Hand

When I was in fourth grade, my dad took up a hobby. He got his pilot's license, and he and a friend bought a plane together. My father most of the time was a very unhappy person, but this new venture was something that made him smile.

I loved going up with him in that little airplane. We always had his friend with us, because my dad would not fly alone with his kids in the plane. I remember how carefully they checked everything out before we went up, and how diligent they seemed to be with all the controls.

My mother hated his hobby. She was a woman extremely dedicated to being miserable, and she disliked it when others were not as miserable as she was. I don't know all her issues, but she was very vocal at how much she objected to him doing it.

She refused to ever fly with him. I don't believe my mother was ever on an airplane her entire life, although I can't say for sure. She said those little planes are dangerous, and a person could die. And she wasn't completely wrong about that, because there is definitely a risk.

I didn't think it was dangerous at all, and even relished the times he would zip that little plane around a little, just to amuse me. I was in my early 30's before I ever flew on a commercial aircraft, but I remember thinking that you really didn't even know you were flying, except for the take off and landing.

One of the best times we flew was when he and his friend flew me from Pennsylvania to Virginia so I could spend a week at my sister's home there. I was amazed that we got there so quickly, because it was a very long and tedious drive in the car. I totally remember thinking that was the way to go. I still think so.

When I was a travel agent, I learned to deal with clients who were afraid to fly, or had some trepidation, or simply were a little nervous. Fear is an emotion, so you really can't reason with it. But statistically speaking, traveling in a car or in a train is much riskier.

Flying. How I felt was this. My dad was the person I trusted most in the world, and he would never put me at risk, so I just enjoyed it. What is there to fear when you know the pilot?

Toward the end of my marriage, I attended a jazz festival with my husband at the time. His favorite music is smooth jazz/R &B. Being the good sport that I am, I went with him and I enjoyed seeing him have a good time.

Everyone was all abuzz about Jeffrey Osborne. He must be a really important artist in this genre, I remember thinking. My ex-husband didn't know who he was. I wasn't interested enough to Google him on my phone, and then as we were sitting there, the announcer introduced him. Jeffrey Osborne. The crowd went wild, and I thought, oh this will be interesting.

And then he opened his mouth and sang, "Just smile for me and let the day begin..." And I was all, oh my gosh! So that is who Jeffrey Osborne is. He wrote the lyrics and made famous one of the best songs ever, and here it is.

Susan

"On the Wings of Love" written by Jeffrey Osborne and Peter Schless

Rawwwwrrrr!

I love this. Opening the cage door right now.

Susan

Feel Good

"When you make the choice to start living as you would in a perfect world, you let the universe know you expect greatness. And by doing so, the universe has no choice but to identify you as a magnet for all  you desire." Phil Good

Occasionally, at the store where I work, corporate decides we should Improve Morale. So we got a coffee maker. This is ironic to me; that our store sells items for the home and we didn't have a coffee maker in the break room. I would occasionally bring in a cup of coffee from home, and heat it up in the microwave, which is sort of ghetto, but if I wanted coffee, this is how it would happen. My colleagues would be all, "Cofffeeeeee" as they longingly smelled the aroma. Then we got the coffee maker. But we had no coffee. This was also ironic, since we have a food section in our store, and we sell coffee. Then we had coffee, but no creamer or sugar. Then we got creamer and sugar, but no cups. Then we got cups, but we would run out of coffee. It was funny in a sad way, like I need to laugh about this, or it will make me cry.

We didn't have coffee for a long time, so my sweet roommate suggested I take some in that she had bought and didn't like. So I did. I also donated a box of tea bags, for tea drinkers. Yesterday I made a pot of coffee when I got in, and people were all excited. And we had creamer and sugar. And cups. But they were the cold cups, those red plastic ones. One of the wonderful young men I work with and I had this humorous debate in the break room, about whether or not the hot coffee would melt the red plastic. He is such a nice guy, and works so hard, and he said, "I'm afraid." I told him I'd stay there with him, to have his back, in case there was a "meltdown." Meltdown. Get it?

It is not my job to make sure the break room is fully stocked at all times. This is up to a certain assistant manager. I have had other jobs where that was part of my job description, and while I am a flawed and imperfect human being, I think I was always able to keep the whole coffee thing going. It is such an easy thing to do, but it means a lot to people.

Someone asked me later, "Susan, did you make the coffee?" I said I did, and that it was compliments of my roommate. See. The thing about me is, I try to light a candle instead of just curse the darkness. I have been on this planet for a while now, and believe me, I know that it isn't perfect. But I try to live just as I would if it was perfect. Then I ran across this quote by Phil Good, and it makes me feel good. Phil Good; get it? I love the idea of being a magnet for all I desire.

The world is not perfect, but to Susan, there is such a thing as a perfect cup of coffee. Close enough. For now.

Susan

"Feel Good, Inc." written by 2D, Murdoc Niccals and D Jolincoeur

Passion

For eight years, I was a travel agent. The business was in the same small rural town in which our family lived. Folks there were not terribly sophisticated, and I am not saying there is anything wrong with that. There were many people who were going on a tropical vacation for the first time, their first cruise, their first vacation to Mexico, or what they would often say was their first "real" vacation. That usually meant one that didn't involve visiting relatives. I enjoyed introducing them to the world of travel, which is one of my passions. It was fun, to send someone somewhere for the first time, and have them come back and tell me how wonderful it was. It was great to see people get bitten by the travel bug, and to plan their next trip and the next and so on.

When I say I love to travel, I mean I really love to travel. It doesn't have to be expensive, or exotic. Anyplace but here, you might say. Not that my "here" is bad. I live in the San Diego, California area, for goodness' sake. My "here" is paradise. But I love to go places. So travel is definitely a passion of mine. Somewhere different. Somewhere I've never been before.

It is not that way for everyone. I think many people would say they love to travel, and they might love the idea of travel, but some really don't like it or enjoy it all that much, and they definitely don't love it like I do or have a passion for it the way I do. I discovered this when I was a travel agent, and I saw how uncomfortable some people became with the idea of leaving the familiar. It sort of surprised me really, because I thought that money might be holding some folks back from a vacation, but that wasn't it at all. They had trouble stepping outside their comfort zone. They couldn't seem to just let go and let it all happen.

No matter how well we plan, things do go wrong from time to time when we are away from home. Customs agents are not always friendly, back-slapping kinds of guys. No matter how carefully you pronounce and then spell your last name, those people at the hotel desk might decide they have never heard of you. Diarrhea. While not all of it is pleasant, having a pleasant, go with the flow attitude about it, and a sense of humor will help.

Go with the flow. Have a sense of humor. Not be surprised if something goes awry. Step outside the comfort zone. Let go and let it happen. It sounds like the things that make for a good travel experience, come in pretty handy in everyday life. And whether it's traveling or just plain living, to fully and completely enjoy it, we need to love it and have a passion for it.

Susan

Cover Ground

"It's Enough To Be On Your Way" written by James Taylor

Susan

The Face

"Nature gives you the face you have at twenty. Life shapes the face you have at thirty. But at fifty you get the face you deserve." Coco Chanel

Several years ago, my friend and I worked together and the boss we had treated my friend awful. I got a text from my friend today that said she had seen this woman, and "seven years have not been kind to her." My friend is not at all a catty person usually, but this boss was really mean to her.

I texted back, "She shall wear her evil deeds on her face for all eternity!"

Have you ever noticed that about people, especially women, as they get older? Being sweet always pays off in the end.

Susan

No Harm

Beatles' lyrics are simple, aren't they? This is Roxy Blue and the Handful's rendition of the John Lennon and Paul McCartney song, "Oh, Darling." What could be simpler than "I'll never do you no harm"? Roxy is my friend. It started out that her mom was my friend, then Roxy became my friend. I love being the age I am, because it means my friends' kids can be my friends, and my kids' friends can be my friends. It is also very possible that I am Roxy's oldest fan, but not for long because she is going to become famous very soon, I believe.

Roxy just celebrated her first wedding anniversary, with a wonderful woman. I'm glad I live in a world that is becoming more accepting of all the different ways people love. It's happening way too slowly in my opinion, but at least it's happening.

Whoever you love, and whoever loves you, surely there will be times when there is hurt. But it's one thing to hurt unintentionally, and it's another thing to do the person you love harm. So with all the kinds of love in the world, all the different varieties of how people pair up, that's the thing to remember. We need to make a vow, "I'll never do you no harm." Or if you're like Susan and grammar is your thing, you could say, "I'll never do you harm." Yeah. I know. Lennon and McCartney's way does sound better.

Susan

Little Sister

"The feelings that hurt most, the emotions that sting most, are those that are absurd. The longing for impossible things, precisely because they are impossible. Nostalgia for what never was; the desire for what could have been; regret over not being someone else; dissatisfaction with the world's existence. All these half-tones of the soul's consciousness create in us a painful landscape, an eternal sunset of what we are." Fernando Pessoa

This is quite a list; right? I finished reading it and thought that this must be why I am such a happy person, because I don't do any of these things. What a painful way to live.

A dear friend asked me yesterday how I was doing. She knows that I am grieving my brother's death, and how I feel is different from day to day. I am the sort of person, that the longer I process something, the more I become at peace with it. I shared with her some of my thoughts and feelings. About my brother, and how he lived his life. It's safe to say he didn't have the painful existence that Fernando Pessoa speaks of in the quote. I was thinking about his wife and children and grandchildren, and other members of our family. I told her that my younger brother and his wife arrived in Hilton Head yesterday afternoon, and were staying at my sister-in-law's house with her. I was happy she would not be in a big house by herself. So we talked a bit, and she listened kindly as she always does.

She said, "This is just like you, because you have such a generous heart. But I was wondering how Little Susie was doing." I had not thought about it that way. I told her that Little Susie liked it that her big brother was proud of her. My brother was a great fan of my writing, followed this blog daily from its inception, and applauded the fact that I am working on a novel. He approved of everything I was doing in my life; school, work, my family, my life in general.  I didn't think I needed his approval, but once I had it, guess what? I knew I had needed it.

And let me tell you, he was not the kind of person to say things just to make you happy. He could be critical, although as he got older, he mellowed and so he would phrase what he felt a little more gently. But he had no problem telling me he disagreed with me. We had that kind of relationship, where he did not patronize me because I was his little sister. I liked that.

My brother was a man for whom I had a great deal of respect. To think that he also respected me? Well now. That makes me feel really good about myself, and makes me think that while I certainly don't have it all together, I am doing just fine. A while back I got an email from him, just the usual details of his life, and he ended it with, "Your writing, as always, is excellent. I am jealous." Him jealous of me? Wowzers!

My friend said, "Maybe you will dedicate your book to him." I answered, "Maybe I will." And you know what? Little Susie thinks it's a grand idea.

Susan

 

My brother took this picture of me, age 5.

Please Show Me How To Love You

"Just Show Me How To Love You" written by Dario Baldan Bembo and Amerigo Cassella

Susan

Memorial Day

In Flanders Fields by John McCrea

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow.
Loved, and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up your quarrel with the foe
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch. Be yours to hold it high
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.



All gave some. Some gave all. Happy Memorial Day.

Susan

Courthouse Coffee

Today I had jury duty. As the old ladies used to say when I was a little girl, "Always a bridesmaid, never a bride." I didn't get chosen. My boss was really happy about that when I called her and told her.

There was a coffee cart right outside the jury lounge, and on our first break I got a cup. There was a sign that said, "Cash only" and I rarely have cash. But I had some quarters in my wallet, so I thought that would be perfect. The man who ran the coffee cart was blind, and I handed off the seven quarters to him, and they scattered everywhere. On his cash register keyboard, and down on the floor beside him. There he is, not able to see, feeling around for the quarters. Lots of people behind me, and the chatting that had been going on stopped. It was so quiet, you could hear a pin drop. Or a quarter. Or seven. Awkward; right? I said, "I am so sorry. That was a bad handoff." He said, "You did that on purpose, didn't you?" and laughed. I said, "Yeah. I just wanted to mess with you." And we both laughed. And so did the people behind me in line. I offered to pick them up for him, and told me not to worry about it.

The coffee was very good, by the way; for courthouse coffee, that is. Much better than I expected.

Susan

Somethin' Else

I was pretty young; perhaps 8 or 9. That would have made my little brother 4 or 5. My parents were fighting. It was not the usual row where my mother raged and my father said little. It was one of the times he was also yelling, and my brother and I were very scared. I remember trying to comfort him. We lived in a rather large house, with the bedrooms upstairs, but still when people yell, their voices carry. I distinctly remember thinking, "Someone is going to die here tonight."

So I went to the phone and called my big brother. He was a grown-up man in his 20's. He lived with his wife and daughter about ten or fifteen minutes away from us. He must have flown like the wind, because it seemed like I had no longer hung up the phone, but he was walking through the front door.

I don't know, or I can't remember, what he said, but they both stopped immediately. It was like a miracle. Did my big brother have super powers or something? To get two grown ups who have escalated in a horrible argument to immediately quiet down was somethin' else. He was somethin' else. He talked to me, got down at eye level with me. I have no recollection of what he said, but I remember he made me laugh. He was very good with children; he had a sense of what tickles a kid.

My parents were quiet. The house was quiet. I went to bed that night with things back to normal, or as normal as it ever was in our house. No one was going to die, at least not that night.

Once we were adults, I told my big brother this story, in one of those "Do you remember..." moments that we have with family. As I was talking, he had tears on his face, as did I. He said, "Susie, I don't remember that at all. It seemed like they were always fighting." I told him that it didn't matter if he remembered it, because I did. This is who my brother was. He was somethin' else.

Susan

Gonna Give All My Secrets Away

Some secrets are wonderful, like when it's Christmas time and you smuggle something special into the house, and hide it in the back of the closet until you can wrap it. If you're like Susan, you might give a hint or two, like saying, "I was Santa's elf today!" But most secrets are not wonderful at all. The reasons why we keep them can be complicated, and I suppose can be rationalized and explained away. The folks in Alcoholics Anonymous like to say, "You're only as sick as your secrets." (You know me. I tried to find out who is actually responsible for saying that first, and I couldn't.) I don't know about you, but I don't want to be sick.

Susan

"Secrets" written by Ryan Tedder

My Brother

My older brother died today. I just got the phone call a few hours ago, and since then have felt so supported and loved by two of my dearest friends, and my sweet niece who is also my friend. He was 17 years older than I, so he was more like an uncle to me than a sibling. He was a person who really "got" me, and that is a very rare and wonderful thing. If you feel that the world is a little less tonight than it usually is, that would be why.

I wrote about my brother a few years back here. He was a good man.

Susan

Harsh

In most stores within my company, there is only one person who has my position. Our store is large enough that there are two of us. At extremely busy times, our shifts will overlap a bit. But most of the time, we work different shifts to have maximum coverage. My counterpart (CP) as management calls her, is a lovely young woman who is really good at what she does. We are in middle management at the store, sandwiched in between the associates and the upper management. There are five managers, human beings with various personalities, who also have their own ideas of how things should be run, which does not always coincide with stated company policy.

These managers take turns being the manager on duty, which means at that time he or she is responsible for backing us up. While my CP and I have a lot of responsibility, we have limited authority and there are occasions where we have no choice but to turn to a member of management. They all vary in how supportive they care to be. The least supportive manager (LSM) is so unsupportive that it would almost be better for us not to have her than to have to ask her for help. She and I get along well. She seems to think I am good at what I do, and she also seems to like me as a person. It is common knowledge that she does not feel that way about CP.

On many occasions, LSM has sort of thrown us under the bus so to speak. I try not to let it bother me, but the day last Christmas time that we were beyond busy, had a queue that snaked around the store, and I was being confronted by an angry male customer whose face was all red and the veins in his neck were all bulgy and he had this little spittle thing on his lip as he was turning his refund about a mirror into a personal attack on me, I would have appreciated her being a little more supportive.

So what to do about LSM? Speak with her about it? Go over her head to the general manager, who already knows what she is like? Suck it up and be resentful? Cry in the ladies' room? It is a tricky situation, because LSM used to work for another retailer, and she has brought in other people from that company. So having a problem with her could also affect my relationships with these people. We are all a team. Or at least that is what I try to work toward, and we all have to get along somehow. It is all very political, and I am not fond of politics.

One day I had not just one, but two new employees to train. I was doing this while I was performing all my other duties. We don't have any kind of formal training. The way we train a new cashier is in front of the customer. Watch me for a while, then let's have you do it yourself while I stand here, then way before the cashier is ready, we cut them loose. It is very scary, but it's how things are done.

So I was trying to divide my time between the two cashiers while doing all the other things that I was doing, and the LSM was my manager on duty. It was a stressful day, but truthfully it didn't seem especially bad to me. The next day the manager to whom I report (we'll call him VSM because he is a Very Supportive Manager) asked to speak to me privately. We sat in the office, and LSM was there as well, in front of the computer, muttering about the computer program.

VSM told me that one of the new cashiers I was training said I was harsh with her and she was embarrassed in front of the customer. VSM was visibly uncomfortable talking to me about it. It was not a formal reprimand or anything, but it was something that he had to speak with me about. I found myself in the odd position of feeling like I should make him feel more at ease as he was telling me about it. I asked if the new cashier had mentioned any specifics, and he said no, just that I was harsh. Both he and LSM sort of rolled their eyes, because harsh is not really an apt description of my personality. But I will admit that I do take my job very seriously. And when I become very focused on something, I can be short with people. I know that about myself. And sometimes I can be an immovable force. So I owned all this, and he relaxed quite a bit.

VSM went on to say that CP and I are very busy, and in a difficult position of trying to keep all the customers and all the cashiers happy, and he knows management has fallen down when it comes to supporting us. He said they need to take better care of the front end, and that all starts with taking better care of CP and me. He then said that if he is in the store and I need something, to let him know right away and he'll be up immediately. And if I am just too stressed and it's not a break time, just call him and he will come up and run things so I can walk away if I need to. I said thank you, and that I had not imagined I could do anything like that, since all the managers (and I turned and included LSM in my comments) have so much on their plates. He said that was what they were there for, so any time I needed more backup, I should let them know. Then I suddenly realized I had my opportunity! I turned slightly and looked directly at LSM and said, "LSM, would you be willing to support me and CP in that way, too?"

LSM said, "Oh! Absolutely." Then she went on to say how awesome I am, and we all had a lovely chat. I thanked VSM for bringing this to my attention, because I don't want any of my team feeling uncomfortable around me, and so on. I told them both that I would rely on them more, call them sooner rather than later, and just take some deep breaths and relax. They were all smiling and happy and VSM was glad this little talk he had to have with me was over. I thanked LSM again for being willing to help me.

So, as you see, I was able to address LSM's lack of support, in sort of a roundabout way. I got her to say it! I got her to say she would be supportive. Of both me and CP.  LSM is my new best friend. The next day, she walked up to me and spoke in a confidential voice. "Are you okay? Do you need anything?" I thanked her profusely and asked her for some red pens and she skittered away to get them for me. She came back all happy, an entire box (12! count them! 12!) in her hand. She told me how hard my job is and how awesome I am and how people don't understand how stressful it is and so on.

Then a few days later, our general manager told me that this cashier who called me harsh (CWCMH)  is "not really cashier material" (I would agree) and she is going to be utilized in another area of the store. I see her now and then and we chat, and she also visibly relaxed when she saw that I was not offended or mad that she had said I was harsh. Yesterday as she was leaving for the day, she caught my eye and smiled all big and happy, waving, "Bye, Susan!"

And the talk that VSM had to have with me? I could have been defensive, but I wasn't, because I know I can benefit from criticism, even if it sometimes stings a little. I am not always aware of how I come across, and if the cashier thought I was harsh, maybe the customers saw it, too, and it doesn't reflect well on the store and the overall experience our customers have. And it was totally worth it, because I got what I wanted from LSM.

Don't you just love it?

Susan

Jury Duty

Thursday I have jury duty. I am fortunate that my employer will pay for up to three days of jury service. I have been summoned many times, for Superior Court in my county, and a couple of times Federal Court. But I have never been chosen. I will stop by the library and check out a book to take along. That is something to look forward to; some down time for reading as I wait.

A couple of times when I was self-employed, I did ask to be excused because it truly would have been a financial hardship for me to serve. But other than that, I don't want to try to get out of it. I would be happy to be on a jury. It's an experience I've never had and would like to have. One of the unique rights we have as Americans is a trial by jury. And I'd like to serve because if I was a defendant, I would want someone like me to be on my jury. Intelligent, fair minded, and a little on the liberal side. Okay. Maybe more than a little.

I am looking forward to Thursday. If nothing else, I'll get to read for pleasure, and get paid for having a day off work. But maybe this time, I'll get chosen. It would be my privilege.

Susan

Doubt

It is morning. I can hear the sounds of the parking lot outside, with people opening and closing their car doors and leaving for work or school. Daylight is peeking around the blinds, and then I notice him. Sitting in an armchair in the corner of my bedroom is Doubt. Why is Doubt always a man? And since when is there an armchair in the corner of my bedroom? It looks like a comfortable chair, and he appears to be very comfortable. Was he watching me sleep? Because that is creepy. Was he waiting for me to wake? It certainly seems that way. I haven't even used the bathroom yet. I haven't even had my coffee, and he begins to speak.

I don't know him that well. My friend, who tends to be a worrier, is going through a struggle right now, and she says her best friends are Worry and Dread. I want to tell you that Doubt is not my best friend. He's not even a casual friend. More like an acquaintance that I seldom see. I am a fairly confident person, and I don't hang out much with Doubt.

Yet there he was, just waiting for me to wake up so he could chat. I let him talk and I didn't say anything in response. I got out of bed and walked downstairs, and he followed me. I went into the bathroom, and came out to the kitchen to put the water on for coffee. I ground the coffee beans, and all the time he was talking to me.

I put the freshly ground coffee into the French press, and poured the hot water in and tried to wait for eight minutes, which is the perfect time to make perfect coffee. He kept on, and I have to admit he was having an effect on me. I poured my coffee, and opened the blinds in the living room, and sat down to enjoy it.

Doubt is very cunning. He doesn't come right out and say that it can't be done. He causes me to question. And not in a good way. That is why he's not a friend. A friend will point out both the upside and the downside, and help you navigate around. Point out some things you may have not thought about on your own. Give you things to consider. That's what friends do, all the while wanting the best for you. That is not what Doubt does.

I finished my coffee, and it was yummy. Then I went about my day, getting ready for work, and by the time I walked down the street and got into Pink, I noticed that Doubt had wandered off somewhere. Maybe he had someone else to talk to, someone who was a little more receptive to what he had to say.

I'd be lying if I said he didn't shake me up a little. He did. I have some pretty big wishes and hopes and dreams and intentions, and I guess I wouldn't be human if Doubt didn't occasionally stop by. But you know what? I didn't welcome him. I didn't even say "Good Morning," or "Excuse me," when I went to the bathroom. I didn't offer him coffee, which is not like me at all. I just let him do what he does, and then I went on with my day.

He came. I allowed it. Then he left. Just like that. There is no armchair in the corner of my bedroom. I suppose Doubt will drop in from time to time, but I won't do anything to make him comfortable.

Susan

Penny

I have a new friend. We just met yesterday, and we hit if off instantly. Her name is Penny, and she is an American Bull Terrier; a pit bull in the common vernacular. I don't like calling those dogs that, because it perpetuates something that I think is beyond horrific. I had heard about her from her human, but I will say that I had to ask my friend on several occasions not to share with me all the details of Penny's scary past. Maybe I'm a sissy, but I always stop people when they want to tell me things like that. Yesterday when Penny and I met for the first time, her human started to tell me about Penny's past, and I asked her again to please not do that. She smiled, and said, "Okay. Penny is a rescue."

Penny gave me lots of kisses, and I kissed her back. I had to stop talking in the baby talk voice I use with dogs, because it only got her more excited. She brought me her toys and her blankets, and we shared a chair, with her sometimes in my lap, and other times, curled behind me nuzzling my ear. Penny is amazing. She is a young dog, wonderfully muscular and strong, and at the same time beautiful in a very feminine way with her white coat with black spots and her pink ears and muzzle. She calmed down a little when I began to talk in my normal voice, and we had a good time snuggling together.

I found myself a little nauseous, though, as I thought about how some humans treat some dogs like Penny. She has a wonderful home, because both my friend and her husband are wonderfully gentle and loving people. They adore Penny, and their other dog who is a Boxer named Ziva. Ziva and I are already old friends. I tried to shake it off, as I said good-bye and drove home, but the feeling stayed with me for a while. I wanted to look on the bright side, that now Penny has a good home and no one will ever hurt her again. I tried to focus on that, but it made me sad, and the sadness stayed with me for a long time. Once I start dwelling on the sadness and meanness in the world, it can really start to spiral with me. I go from dog fighting to rooster fighting to abused children to Syria and on and on it goes. I become overwhelmed with the sadness and badness and meanness in the world.

This morning I feel much better. I know that the world is a wonderful place, and that there is a lot more goodness in the world than badness. There are a lot more happy things than sad things. And there are many more kind people than there are mean ones.

Penny seems to know that, for she is a very happy dog. She seemed to know that I was a friend, in the exuberant way she greeted me and brought me all her treasures and her kisses. So why should I be sad, when Penny is not?

Susan

The Process

"The most beautiful people we have known are those who have known defeat, known suffering, known struggle, known loss, and have found their way out of the depths. These persons have an appreciation, a sensitivity, and an understanding of life that fills them with compassion, gentleness, and a deep, loving concern. Beautiful people do not just happen." Elisabeth Kübler-Ross

She was five years old, and excited about her first dance class ever. Ballet. She had her tutu, and she would wear it around the house, dreaming of being a ballerina. Knowing that she had her first class, I asked her how it went. "Terrible!" she exclaimed. "They make you work."

Now I was the sort of parent who would explain carefully to the kids what was involved in a new undertaking, that it would be fun, but what would be required. I'm not sure if her parents didn't warn her that ballet class would be work, or if they did and she just didn't want to hear it.

We can get so caught up in dreaming about the end result, that we don't ask for counsel or listen to it when it's offered. I can totally relate to the little girl, because I sometimes wish I could have the result without the process. I want to just put on a tutu and instantly become a ballerina.

The process is work. Being a ballerina does not just happen. When she's performing, it looks effortless. It is like that with anything; isn't it? People who are really good at what they do make it look easy. And while it is probably easier for someone who has a natural talent for it, the process is a lot of work.

This little girl quit after a few lessons. Now I won't debate the wisdom of allowing your child to quit. Part of the idea of giving them these different experiences is so they can find out what they like and don't, although there is also a need for a child to learn how to stick with something long enough to give it a chance and experience some success.

I am going through something right now that has caused me to grow weary of the process. It's a lot of work. As is so often the case, when I write I am writing mostly to myself. I want the beauty and the thrill of the end result, but I've got to tell you: it's a lot of work. But I will continue on, as I think of my little friend and remember this. A tutu does not a ballerina make.

Susan

Making the Best of It

He had heard a lot about me, from his wife and her sister, who is a close friend of mine. He and his wife were in town for a visit, and we got to meet for the first time. "I've heard so much about you," I said as I hugged him. Do you know how that is? How you hear this and that and the other thing about someone, and you form notions about the person, and then you meet, and it all comes together? Who you imagined this person to be and who he is when you finally meet all converge.

He and his wife treated us to lunch at a very posh restaurant right on the beach. (That's where the picture of me dressed in red in front of the red Ferrari was taken. It's that kind of place, where the valet puts all the really amazing cars up front.) We chatted casually, and then he began to ask me about my marriage and my divorce and my ex-husband, and it was almost like he was baiting me to say bad things about my husband. Now I have shared some things on this blog that are not flattering about my ex-husband, but I hope I have not done it in a mean spirited way. And I don't trash him in real life. I relaxed and didn't become defensive, and I had no problem answering this man's questions. I told him that my ex-husband is a good man, that we are friendly but not really friends, that he is a great father and grandfather, and a huge influence in who I am today.

He smiled and pushed back a little from the table, leaned back, and it was like I had passed some sort of test. He said how refreshing it was to hear me say that, and then went on to tell me about the many bitter divorced women he had known, women who hated their ex-husbands forever and such.

I told him it takes two to make a marriage, and it takes two people to get divorced, and that I hope I had learned from my mistakes. No one gets married intending to get divorced, but I think I have made the best of a less than ideal outcome. I am not bitter about the past, I am happy with my present, and I think I have an even better future to look forward to.

In my divorce settlement, I was awarded my diamond wedding ring. It was beautiful, and full of meaning. I wanted to make the best of it, not have it sit in a drawer somewhere, or be sold in some mercenary way. I had always loved mother's jewelry, with the children's birthstones, so I decided to turn my wedding ring into a mother's ring. I sold the wedding ring to a jeweler who doesn't melt it down for gold, but either reworks the diamonds or sells it intact. He told me he knew he could sell my ring as it was, and I liked knowing that it might become something wonderful for someone else. He wrote me a check, and I put it in my bank account, and another jeweler sold me my mother's ring. It's actually two stackable rings, three gems each, so that I can add to it if the family increases in the future. Six birthstones for my two sons, daughter-in-law and three grandchildren. An emerald, amethyst, alexandrite, garnet and two blue topazes.

My mother's ring makes me happy, and I feel that I honored my wedding ring and all it symbolized, by turning it into a mother's ring. Our family is the best part of who we were. Maybe a way to not be bitter about the past, is to move on but take all the best parts with you. Perhaps that's how we can make the best of it.

Susan

Choices

It's Mother's Day, and I am thankful for the two guys who made me a mother. I wanted to be a mom from a young age, and I always imagined it would be in the usual way. I would get married, get pregnant and we'd have a baby. I have never had a baby, and I've never been pregnant. My two sons are actually my stepsons; my ex-husband's children from his first marriage. He had custody from the very start; in fact, it was his wife's idea. It was my privilege and my honor and my joy to be the mom in their home.

I knew both these wonderful guys since before they were born, since I was friends with my ex-husband and his first wife when they were married. To the kids, I was sort of a favorite aunt kind of person, but I never expected I would become their stepmom. So I think we were extra lucky in the sense that I already had a bond with each child, which made our success as a family easier.

The boys always called me Susie, but would refer to me as their mom. We didn't keep it a secret, but it didn't come up all that often, so people who knew us only casually just assumed I was their "real" mother. Without exception, if they found out I was the stepmom, they would be shocked. Some were dumbfounded. I recall the reaction of a fellow soccer mom. "No!" she shouted, her face in disbelief. "They love you so much! And you love them!" Uh. Yeah. That's what being a mom is all about; the love.

My ex-husband's career and our finances were shaky, and while we talked about having a baby, it seemed the time was never right. I was confident I could be an excellent mother to the two kids we already had, but to bring a baby into our family always seemed to be a disservice to the boys. I wanted them to have the best life possible, something I silently vowed to give them the day I made my marriage vows to their dad. Not just material things, like sneakers and music lessons, but lots of time and patience and energy. I was fortunate that their dad was a full partner with me; he put as much into being a dad as I did into being a mom.

While I don't judge women who put their babies in day care, I didn't want to be one of those mothers. It would have broken my heart to have a baby, only to leave my child all day so someone else could raise him or her. So as the years went on and I hoped for our situation to improve, it didn't, but I was diligent with my birth control. Now if there would have been a happy accident and I would have become pregnant, I know all four of us would have welcomed another addition with open arms and hearts. But it didn't happen. My older sister predicted that if I didn't have a "baby of my own" I would one day regret it, and I never have.

I don't know what it feels like to have a little life growing inside of you, or to give birth, or to nurse a baby, or to look at a little person who has my DNA. I never felt like I missed out on anything, because I just don't know how to love anyone any more than I do the two wonderful guys in my life. And I don't know how it could have been any better, to get to be their mom.

Their real mom is a nice lady, but she never got much enjoyment out of motherhood. I was over the moon with it. Now that the guys are adults, they each have a good relationship with her. They don't resent her because she wasn't around, and people tell me that's because they always had everything they needed from a mom from me. It is probably the best compliment anyone could pay me.

Many times, I have been told that I am very maternal, or that I am a natural mother. It certainly felt very natural to me. It was a very fulfilling experience for me, but it is not that for everyone. I am grateful we have choices as to how we can live our lives, and choose what feels right for us.

My sweet niece, a truly exceptional mother herself, likes to tell me that it's a blessing to allow others to walk their own paths. To allow them their own choices. I think the happier we are with our own decisions, the less we tend to judge others and how they live their lives.

Susan

Unrest

"It is not the strongest of the species that survive, nor the most intelligent, but the one most responsive to change." Charles Darwin

The winds of change are blowing in my life. I know it because of my restlessness, as I wrote about here.  I have no idea what change is about to take place, but I trust that when the time is right, I will know. I don't especially like waiting for it. I don't know if the magnitude of the change is in proportion to my level of unrest, or not. If it is, this change will be a doozy, because I am very much ill at ease right now.

Here I sit, typing on a querty keyboard; the same one I learned to type on back in tenth grade. We had manual typewriters, and when we moved up to electric...wowzers! That was big. I taught myself Word Perfect back in the 1980's. And tonight, I sit here typing and as soon as I hit "publish," my words will be out there for anyone, anywhere in the world to read. Instantly.

So I keep the basic keyboard skills I've had since I was fifteen, but I keep adapting to the technology and make it work for me. It's that way with any change; right? We already have all the tools we need, even if we feel ill-prepared. Change can be scary, but not as scary as standing still and watching life pass you by.

One of my dreams is to travel to the Galapagos Islands, the place where a 20-year-old Charles Darwin began to formulate his ideas about evolution. What an exciting adventure that will be for me someday.

And for now? Well. I am like one of Darwin's critters; willing to respond and adapt to change. I welcome it, and given how I feel, I know it's on its way. My hair is being pulled by the stars again.

Susan

Strong

The entire world now knows their names. Michelle Knight. Gina DeJesus. Amanda Berry. These three Cleveland women lived a horror that I cannot even begin to fathom. It is over now, and I wish them peace and healing.

When I heard the 911 call Berry placed, I was struck by how confident and strong and present she was, although I could hear the nerves. And she was nervous for good reason, because Castro was coming back. Twice she told the operator her name. "I'm Amanda Berry." She added her circumstances; hoping, I suppose, that the operator would realize what that all meant and there would be an immediate response. Ten years is a long time to be gone. It's so long a time that folks could have forgotten her. It's so long a time, and she was so abused that maybe she would have forgotten who she was. Such treatment could have robbed her of her identity; her very soul. But it didn't.

If she wants to retreat and just live a quiet life, certainly she has every right to do that. She owes us -- the public -- nothing, even though it seems the details will be offered up for public consumption. She has absolutely nothing to be ashamed of, and certainly she and Knight and DeJesus will be encouraged to testify against Ariel Castro.

What amazing resilience and strength, to endure things I have trouble wrapping my mind around. All three of these women are young enough to be my daughters, and I stand in awe. So much evil could crush a person, yet the voice I heard in that 911 call doesn't sound like a victim at all to me. I feel honored today to just live on the same planet, to know that such strength exists. Selfishly, I suppose, I hope she will share more of who she is with us in some way. I would think all three women would be asked for interviews, and there could be offers of book deals and the like. It's not that I want to hear the gory details necessarily, but I just want to feel the spirit of someone who can go through ten years of hell and emerge victorious.

She said it twice. "I'm Amanda Berry." Yes, my dear.  You certainly are.

Susan

Meet Charles Ramsey

"When I was a boy and I would see scary things in the news, my mother would say to me, 'Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.'" Fred Rogers

If you haven't already seen this, I would encourage you to take the time to watch this. It is wonderful to know that there are men like this in the world.

Susan

99 Miles

This morning I awoke thinking about an old vinyl record album I used to listen to, "Breakaway" by Art Garfunkel. I was in that sort of mood. Humming "Disney Girls" as I made coffee. One of the songs on that album is called "99 Miles from LA," and you know what? I currently live 99 miles from Los Angeles. How about that? Back in the day in Pennsylvania, when I used to listen to this album, I had no idea one day I'd be living here.

I don't know if that means anything. I think this is just one of my random, rambling posts. And that's okay. Are you in the mood for a little Art Garfunkel?

Susan

"Breakaway" written by Jimmy Webb
"Disney Girls" written by Bruce Johnston
"99 Miles from LA" written by Albert Hammond and Hal David

Three Little Words

There have been some memes going around; questions we answer so our readers can get to know us better. It's kind of funny really, because if you are a regular reader, you see me spill my guts on a regular basis. I am going to combine two of these memes. One requires only three word answers, and the other is a "have you ever" kind of thing.

Have you ever...

Shot a gun?                            A big .22
Watched someone die?          It was Dad
Served on a jury?                   Never a finalist
Flown on a plane?                  Love to fly
Swum in the ocean?               Sand in suit
Cried yourself to sleep?         Long time ago
Been camping in an RV?       It was fun
Ridden on an elephant?         How I wish
Ridden on a camel?               A bumpy ride
Been lost?                              In San Francisco
Eaten just cookies or
cake for dinner?                     That is gross
Been on TV?                          Maybe I will
Been on radio?                       Not my voice
Been in a car accident?           It was minor
Donated blood?                      Too scared to
Gotten a speeding ticket
in past 12 months?                  I obey law
Gotten a piercing
(not ears)?                               I have not
Gotten a piercing
(ears)?                                     Dad was mad
Gotten a tattoo?                      A pretty lily
Ridden in a hot air balloon?   I will someday
Ridden in a helicopter?          Hovered over volcano
Gone parasailing?                  In Puerto Vallarta
Been on a jet ski,
snowmobile or dune buggy? Yes! All three

Susan

This is me. Not my car.

Free Spirit

"There is nothing more beautiful than seeing a person being themselves. Imagine going through your day being unapologetically who you are." Steve Maraboli

It was one of the rare occasions at work when we weren't crazy busy. The three of us were picking up, straightening up, and trying to recover from a hectic afternoon. There were no customers in line, and we were being silly. Don't tell anyone, but two of us were dancing to a Whitney Houston tune on the Musak.

One of the women asked me, "Have you always been a free spirit?" I was sort of shocked, because I have never, ever thought of myself as a free spirit. She went on to say that it seems I am comfortable with myself. I told her I was much more self-conscious as a younger woman, a little more concerned about what people thought about me. But one of the wonderful things about getting older is that I don't care so much anymore.

Now don't get me wrong. There are some people whose opinion is very important to me. I hope I don't run around hurting people's feelings or being inconsiderate, but there is a freedom to my life now, a freedom to be who I am. Maybe it's because now I have started to figure out who I am. How can you be yourself when you aren't sure who you are?

One of the things my dear roommate has helped me with is how to talk about things right up front, in a direct way, so that resentment doesn't creep in. She and I have a very close friendship, and we respect each other, but if something is bothering one of us, we speak up right away. This does not come naturally to me, and I am grateful for her help in this way. I want to know if something I do bothers the person who lives with me, and I can change and I can compromise.

The funny thing about being called a free spirit is, I really like structure and need it. I also am a rule follower, if the rules make sense. I like to know where the boundaries are. I am a good follower, if I respect the leader. I wrote about this in more detail in Fence Me In.

But if a free spirit is someone who doesn't apologize for who she is, I guess that would be me. And if a free spirit dances whenever she can, then sign me up.

"I Wanna Dance With Somebody" written by George Merrill and Shannon Rubicam

Be Sure To Wear Some Cilantro In Your Hair

Today I wore a lime green shirt and green pony tail holders in my pigtails to work. I was sitting in the break room enjoying a plate of refried beans, rice and salsa, with some wonderful cilantro sprinkled on top. Our company was very generous in providing us with lunch today; Mexican food and I totally loved it.

A coworker walked in and here's how it all went down.

Her:     Susan! I love your pigtails.
Me:      Thank you!
Her:      What is the green?
Me:       Cilantro.

She laughed and said she meant the things in my hair, and we had a short discussion about the very high quality pony tail holders my roommate shared with me. But I truly did think she was asking what was the green on my plate.

Cilantro is seriously gorgeous, in addition to being very delicious. Did you know that cilantro is the Spanish word for coriander? And that the green leaves of the coriander plant is what we know as cilantro, and the dried brown seeds are what we think of as coriander, used a lot in Indian foods. It is ridiculously good for you, too, the cilantro leaves and the coriander.

My roommate makes some really great homemade mashed potatoes with cilantro and cumin, and they are amazing.

So I could totally wear some cilantro in my hair, and have it look lovely. And it would smell good. I could make it into a wreath, and channel the Roman goddess Flora. And if I got hungry, well. There you have it.

Susan

Enjoy

It's Friday! I am working today, but not tomorrow. So I have another Saturday off. Unless someone calls out "sick," which is highly likely since, after all, it is the weekend. Then I am working on Sunday. But not Monday. Is this too much information for you? No matter what you are doing this weekend, enjoy!

Susan

Crazy

Next month will be two years I've been working at my store. It was my first experience in retail, and soon after I started, I asked our loss prevention guy about a customer. She fit the profile of the typical American shoplifter; an older white woman, and she always wore a way-too-big-for-her rain coat. He laughed and told me that was Trudy, as if that is something everyone would know. Trudy is a regular. The rain coat, as it turns out, is because she had cancer and had a double mastectomy and she is ashamed of her non-reconstructed body. The thing about Trudy is, she talks way too much, to all the employees and to customers and to anyone who will listen to her. She is very random, as the young people like to say, because she jumps from one unrelated topic to the next. People think she's funny or weird or annoying or crazy. I like Trudy because she's crazy funny and not crazy mean. One day she told me all about why she wouldn't have breast reconstruction, and my eyes were kind of glazing over. When she stopped to take a breath, I said, "Trudy, don't you think breasts are overrated anyway?" Trudy hooted. The thing about Trudy is, she hoots when she laughs.

One day Trudy hollered over to me, "Hey, Susan!" from several feet away, and asked me if I had heard that the Kardashian mom was getting a second breast enhancement. The thing about Trudy, is she keeps up with all the celebrities. I answered, no I had not heard that, that I hadn't talked to Mrs. Jenner in ages. This made Trudy hoot. Then she became really serious, and said, "She's getting a second boob job. I'm just trying to stay alive." I smiled and nodded.

So some of us became concerned when Trudy went missing for a week, which turned into a month, which turned into months. No one seemed to know her last name or how to get in touch with her. One of our managers said maybe she went to visit her son in Texas. We knew he and his wife were expecting Trudy's first grandchild. She had despaired of ever becoming a grandmother, once she was in her 70's and her only child in his 40's with no sign of "settling down."  A couple of us thought that maybe Trudy died. She has a number of other health problems besides the battle with cancer.

Then one day, in walks Trudy, jabbering away in her usual way like she had not been missing at all. She looked at me, and I squealed, "Lazarus!" and Trudy hooted. One of my coworkers got Trudy's contact info, just in case she turns up missing again. We can check in on her. As it turns out, her daughter-in-law had some complications with the pregnancy, Trudy flew to Texas, and stayed until the baby was born. He is a handsome guy named Max and Trudy has pictures. Lots and lots and lots of pictures.

Now I am not concerned about Trudy out on the sales floor talking to employees; not my area. However, when she disrupts things up at the cash registers, I needed to do something. Folks seem to handle Trudy two different ways; allow her to monopolize their time indefinitely, or they rudely skitter away from her. I don't like either one of those approaches. The thing about Trudy is, she is very self-aware. It's like she knows she's random and inappropriate and crazy. So I thought the honest, direct approach was in order. And having her back after an absence, seemed like a good time to draw a boundary.

Trudy ended up at my cash register, and we were chatting as I was ringing her up. I admired her picture of Max, and said how good it was to see her again, and then I looked at her and got serious. "Girlfriend," I said, "you know I love you, but I have to keep the line moving all the time." Trudy agreed and thanked me, and she was off.

So it's been a couple of weeks since Lazarus arose. Since then; well now. I won't say that Trudy is any less crazy, but she seems to respect the fact that we have other customers to take care of. Yesterday she was in, and was at the cash register next to mine telling the cashier she had fourteen pictures of her grandbaby. Then she looked straight at me, smiled and then said to my coworker, "But I'll only show you one. I know you're busy."

Today I was walking on the sales floor, and "I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For" was playing on our Musak. There was Trudy, talking to who knows who about the dog beds, and her eyes met mine. As if on cue, we both began singing the chorus, "I still haven't found what I'm looking for..." We both smiled. It is nice to have her back.

Susan

"Crazy" written by Brian Burton, Thomas Callaway, Gian Franco Reverberi and Gian Piero Reverberi