Mother Mary

Growing up in a part of the country that was overwhelmingly Roman Catholic, every home had a statue of the Virgin Mary. In my little town, most of the time it was in the back yard. Dressed in blue, Mother Mary always had that same rueful expression on her face. Maybe it's a Susan thing, but she always looked pained to me. Later when I saw Russian icons and other classic works of art depicting the Madonna and Child, she still had that same, sad face. Pained serenity. Sad resignation. I don't know. Not a happy expression, to be sure.

You've probably heard the classic Christmas story from the second chapter of the Book of Luke, where the angels appeared to the shepherds, who went to see the Christ child in the manger. They spread the word that the long-awaited Messiah had arrived. Luke tells us that as they did that, Mary pondered these things in her heart.

Mary had a lot to ruminate about. Before she even knew she was pregnant, she was told by an angel she would bear the Messiah. So she knew from the very beginning that he would suffer and die a horrible death. Yes. I know it was for a purpose, but can I just tell you that we parents hate it when our kids hurt?

The Protestants tend to shy away from Mary a bit. Some of them think that the veneration of her borders on worship, and most of them will tell you she wasn't always a virgin. I have never really identified with her at all, but lately as I have joined this big club of mothers with kids who are adults, I see the archetype as not just Christ's mother, but as someone entirely different.

Like any mother worth her salt, Mary was with her son up to the bitter end, keeping vigil at the crucifixion. She could console herself, I suppose, with the knowledge that her son's death was for a higher good. But to see him hurt must have hurt her so terribly.

Watching a child suffer is a horrible thing for a parent. We think, "Let it be me!" even if we don't actually say the words aloud. Our kids who are grown think for themselves, form their own opinions, and make their own choices. That's as it should be. But when they make decisions that lead to abuse, addiction, dysfunction, crime, illness, possibly death, that's very hard to watch. It seems so unnecessary, such a waste, all that self-destruction.

It is counterintuitive for those of us who stood by the bed making sure the infant was still breathing, sat by the high chair making sure he didn't choke, who made a life around loving and protecting, to watch helplessly as our children choose paths that will only make them hurt.

It is odd to see the person who was once the little prince or princess in our lives sit atop (as Trent Reznor so eloquently calls it) an empire of dirt. This is so not what we signed up for. This was not supposed to happen.

Any problem, of course, with one family member involves the entire family. And any responsible parent will be willing to do whatever would be helpful, which might include taking full responsibility for mistakes made along the way. Apologies and amends might be in order, but the martyr taking the blame for someone else's bad choices has no place in this picture.

As young mothers, we know that we are to teach our children. But what we really don't understand until they are much older, is that they teach us, too. If we let them. These are hard lessons to learn; those of letting go, of good boundaries, of not enabling behavior.

And while we hope that our children will be safe and healthy and happy, the ultimate lesson is we can't do that for them. But we can do it for ourselves.

Susan

"Hurt" written by Trent Reznor

Warrior

"A constant struggle, a ceaseless battle, to bring success from inhospitable surroundings, is the price of all great achievements." Orison Swett Marden

Perhaps the measure of greatness is the odds one has to beat to achieve it. Maybe that's the way we should look at it. Not what has been accomplished, but what obstacles were overcome. It is heartening to know when we are in the midst of a struggle, when we feel careworn and exhausted from doing battle every day, when the odds seem against us, that one day we will prevail. Sometimes it's the only thing that keeps us going; that idea that the price we are paying will one day be so worth it.

I have a sweet young friend who is a therapist and a talented writer. She started out being a friend of my daughter-in-law, and then my son, but now she is my friend, too. A couple of years ago, she had a back injury, and I spent a day with her, helping to clean up her house. I did those little things that we take for granted, but are very difficult to do with a hurt back. I gave her little dog a bath, and then drove on a shopping outing. But mostly she just needed some company, and I enjoyed spending time with her.

She reads my blog and knows my stories, as I know some of  hers. That day she told me that I am a warrior. The way she said it caused me to think of it as capitalized. "You are a Warrior," she said. She went on to tell me that I am not a warrior because I do battle and fight. She said I do battle and fight because I am a Warrior. A seemingly small, but significant difference.

We were talking about the loving adults in my life when I was a child. I told her that I was thankful for them; my older brother and my sister-in-law, my older sister, a maternal aunt and my maternal grandmother, my fourth grade teacher, my father. These were people who made me feel loved, in spite of who my mother was. I said that I felt very indebted to them. She acknowledged that as being true and helpful, for it is a fact that even one loving adult in the life of an abused child can make a difference. She said that they helped, but that I should never forget that I am the one who got through my childhood. "You,' she said forcefully. "That was you. You did that." No one had ever said that to me before, in quite that way.

However, today I am thinking about how life is not, nor should it be, a constant struggle. And while maybe she's right, that I am a Warrior, I would rather think that I can be a warrior (notice the lower case, please) when I need to be, but that is not an ongoing part of the journey of my life.

It is a great achievement for me to be here today, fifty-four years old. Happy, healthy, whole, able to give and receive love, ready for each new adventure. I won't diminish that. But life, I believe, if I will let it, can flow. I don't have to fight all the time. Sometimes things go my way, and beautifully and effortlessly. Sometimes I just flow. When I let go.

Maybe the warrior is just one facet of me. And perhaps I can make her largely a part of my past, of someone who I used to be when I had to be. For right now, I am enjoying learning how to go with the flow of life. I am not a martyr, eager to prove how much I can struggle. There is no virtue in suffering for suffering's sake, and I enjoy pleasure way too much for that.

I need to do more than survive. I want to thrive. I don't want to always be some scrappy little flower that pushed her way up out of the dirt to find the sun. I want to blossom. I think it's way past time for that.

There's a time to wage war, and a time to enjoy the spoils of it. Now is that time.

Susan

Merry

My friend wishes people a "Merry Easter!" Don't you just love it? I told her the British say "Happy Christmas!" and she took that as the perfect reason to continue to say "Merry Easter."

One of my favorite entertainers of all time is the late Judy Garland. You may already know that she died quite young and experienced much sadness in her life. Her singing voice is distinctive. There is no one quite like her, although I suppose her daughter Liza Minnelli's voice is close.

How she has always made me feel, from the time I saw her in "The Wizard of Oz" when I was a child and even today as I watched the following clip of her and the great Fred Astaire, is happy and sad all at the same time. Not that she is being a phony; you know, pretending to be happy when she's not. But that she knew what it was like to be sad, but somehow being happy always won out.

Susan

"In Your Easter Bonnet" written by Irving Berlin

Wonderful

"I don't care about money. I just want to be wonderful." Marilyn Monroe

I don't want a whole lotta money, just enough
    For Tribute coffee when I awake
A manicure and pedicure professionally done
    And mascara that won't make my eyes run

I don't want a whole lotta money, just enough
    For fresh flowers on the table every day
A little cushion when bills are paid
    A concert where my favorite music's played

I don't want a whole lotta money, just enough
    To travel and explore and go and see
My passport's current and I know where it's at
     I'll wear my flip flops and a baseball hat

I don't want a whole lotta money, just enough
    For amusement parks on summer days
The roller coaster and ferris wheel
    I won't let my sunburn peel

I don't want a whole lotta money, just enough
   To hear an opera singer and see a show
To visit a city and feel its heat
   The whole world is at my feet

Susan

Yes. It Can Be Done

Today is a state holiday in California. It is Cesar Chavez Day, and March 31 was his birthday. Chavez was a great American of Mexican descent, a champion of the working man and woman.

One of the first things my company does after hiring an employee is to sit him down in our break room and have him view several videos. Be safe. Lift with your knees, not your back. Don't steal. Report people who are stealing. Things like that. One of the movies is a very poorly done film cautioning against the evils of unions. It doesn't come right out and say don't join a union, organize a union, sign anything that might indicate you might be interested in a union, or even think about it, but that is clearly the tone. We don't have a union. Our starting employees earn the California minimum wage; $8 an hour.

Cesar Chavez was kind of a big deal, the sort of man who knew he could make a difference in the world. And so he did. His motto was, "Si, se puede," strictly translated "Yes. One can." A more accurate English meaning of what he believed is, "Yes. It can be done."

Whether organizing farm workers, or making changes in our personal lives, we must first believe it can be done. If we don't think we can do it, we can't. And if we think we can, we are more than halfway there.

Susan

Spooned

I enjoy being on the floor. I would be the adult at the Christmas gathering, sitting on the floor with the kids playing Legos. At a party where there is not a lot of sitting room, I would be one of the people who sits on the floor. Sometimes younger people, to be respectful, will get up and tell me to take their place. Sometimes I do. Sometimes I would rather just sit on the floor. I have always gotten down on the floor with my dogs, sometimes lying there with them. Did you know a Labrador Retriever is so large and so sturdy that you can rest your head on him and listen to his heart beat, and he doesn't mind at all? And did you know that an Australian Shepherd who trusts you completely will allow you to spoon him and listen to him softly breathe as he sleeps, and he doesn't mind at all?

Last night I was lying in bed, on my side, tired and ready to fall asleep. I love my bed; my soft bed with beautiful red poppies on the sheets and the coziest blanket ever, and a throw that one of my dearest friends gave me many years ago as a wedding gift. I thought about spooning, snuggling together, facing the same direction. And then I realized something. When I was married, I could fall asleep comfortably if I was spooning my then-husband, my front to his back. But I was uneasy and could not fall asleep if he was spooning me, his front to my back. I never understood why. I just knew I wasn't comfortable. I wanted to be. I loved him and I crave physical touch and affection. I wanted to just let go and enjoy the warmth of his body as I drifted off to sleep. But I couldn't.

Did you know that if you wait long enough, so many things you never understood will finally dawn on you with complete clarity? That's what happened to me last night, as I realized how my body had known what my mind denied for so long. I didn't like to turn my back on him. I never felt like he "had my back," as the young people like to say when you take care of someone. I could never totally relax, wondering when the next time would be that he would explode.

I don't enjoy thinking about my former life. I had thought I had worked through so many things, talked through so many things, brought about closure and resolution. I don't consciously think about it at all, until some odd realization like this dawns on me.

Did you know that you can lie to yourself, but your body will never lie to you? And did you know that it is one thing to spoon, and another thing altogether to be spooned?

Susan

Round and Round

I think I saw your smile today
     Although you are so far away
You're dead and you've been buried in the ground
     For years and years. You're not around.

Out of no where, it hit me like the cold
     You're not coming back. You'll never grow old.
Then I saw him smile, and on that day
      I knew you never went away.

I looked so deep into my heart
     And knew you were still such a part
Of everything that moves and breathes
     The sun, the sky, the gentle breeze.

The way he walked across the lawn
     Was just like you and slowly it dawned
That life's a circle, round and round
      Though you are buried in the ground.

Susan

That Spam I Am

Over the past few months, three people I know have had their email hacked. Now since I was in all their address books, my Spam for my personal email has increased exponentially. One of the things I love about Gmail is that it is great about putting questionable things in the Spam folder. It keeps my In folder all nice and clean, which I love. I check out my Spam a couple of times a week; just cruise to see if there is anything in there that I actually need to see. There very rarely is. Of course, I don't click on or open anything. However, I can see who it's from and the first part of each email.

Most of them are boring, but others are pretty funny. There are also common, related themes I just know you will appreciate.

• Hi, hot man! Are you lonely? (My email address actually has "Susan" in it)
• Enlargement or enhancement of a body part I do not possess, since I am not a man, hot or not
• Huge sums of British pounds just waiting for me to claim them
• Plea for me to wire money to someone traveling abroad with a lost wallet and lost passport
• Class action lawsuits for pharmaceuticals gone horribly wrong
• Cheap pharmaceuticals from Canada
• Great deal on a credit card
• Legal help in filing bankruptcy

Susan

"Green Eggs and Ham" written by Dr. Seuss aka Theodore Geisel

Perfect

"Start out perfect and never change." Miss Piggy, when asked for her beauty tips

Because I thrive on variety, I wear my hair differently from day to day. I love headbands and scarves and barrettes and all that kind of stuff. Sometimes I curl it. Other days I leave it the way it is naturally, straight and smooth. On those days, I often am asked how I get it that way. Blow dryer? Flat iron? What products do I use to get it so smooth? How long does it take me to straighten it? None of the above, actually. I wash it, comb it and voila! It is the hair My Higher Power bestowed upon me when I was dropped to this planet.

I am old enough to have partaken of the "curly perm" fad of the 1980's, when those of us with straight hair spent good money and a few hours in a salon to have curly hair. Now the pendulum has swung, and straight hair is in style. So women with curly or wavy hair straighten it.

It is fun and I think wonderful to keep up with the current trends. Especially as we women get older, nothing dates us faster than having a look that screams, "1985 called and wants its hair back!" But fashion and trends also walk a fine line which for some women becomes self-loathing.

The beauty industry, of course, has a vested interest in making us and keeping us unhappy with our appearance. It hurts my feelings to hear women talk about how much they hate their hair, their hips, their nose, any part of their bodies. It can become serious, too, with body image problems and eating disorders.

I think Miss Piggy nailed it. We all, each one of us, start out as perfect, beautiful babies. And we should never, ever change.

Susan

"The Way You Look Tonight" written by Dorothy Fields and Jerome Kern

Wordless

We were talking about writing and what it means to us. She said how often we are concerned about how what we write will be received. Is it any good? Will the reader like it? Will it be helpful? Will it resonate? While, of course, we hope that what we write is meaningful to someone, I think we sometimes miss the importance of the act of expression. We express ourselves through writing or acting or the visual arts or any other number of ways. We must express ourselves. We need to express ourselves. I am learning to let go, to express without being too attached to the outcome.

It is that way with the love and affection we have for other people. While it is important to me that those I care about know it, that the words, "I love you" be said often, that is to benefit the other person. They need to hear it, but I need to say it, too.

At this time of year so signficant to those involved in both Judaism and Christianity, a story from the book of Luke comes to mind. Just days before his death, Jesus was invited to the home of Simon, who was a Pharisee, a religious teacher. It was the custom in those days, that the lowest servant in the home would wash the feet of a visitor, to remove the dust and grime and to refresh.

On this particular visit that did not happen. No one washed Jesus' feet. No servant. No basin. No water. No cloth. There was, however, a woman, a nameless woman, who arrived at Simon's home. She was not a friend of his; in fact, he was offended at her presence because he was very pious and she was a sinner. She had a box of precious ointment with her.

She knelt at Jesus' feet and without saying a word, washed his feet with her tears. Can you imagine the amount of tears needed to wash a pair of dirty feet? She dried them with her long hair. She rubbed the fragrant myrrh on them. Myrrh was used to anoint dead bodies before entombment, a task given to the female family members. Myrrh was also one of the gifts the three kings brought to the Christ child.

It is a perfect picture of loving humility and vulnerability, for she knelt and let her tears flow. Then she used what was thought of as a woman's greatest glory and covering -- her hair -- to wash the least glorious part of his body -- his feet. Could Jesus have gone without his feet being washed? Well now; it would have been nice and gracious on the part of Simon to make sure it was done, but of course Jesus could have done without it. Did he appreciate it? Luke tells us that he certainly did, and praised the woman for it.

But more important, I think, is that the woman needed to express it. She needed to show her love and devotion through a ritual greater than any words she could speak. No fancy turn of the phrase. No poetry. Not even an, "I love you," this expression spoke volumes. Jesus would soon be gone, his earthly ministry over. Did she know this? Certainly there were rumblings and rumors that something must be done about this pesky man who thought he was a king. Did she sense it? Did she know she might not have another opportunity? Did she create an opportunity for herself by showing up, unannounced and uninvited, at the home of an important religious teacher like Simon?

I do not know. But this story has always resonated with me, and I think she expressed herself perfectly and beautifully. If she was anything at all like me, she must have felt so complete after doing such a thing. She took what she had; her tears, her hair and her most costly possession, and used them to say what her voice could not. She expressed herself.

Devotion.

Susan

This story is from Luke 7:36-50

Loving Life

"Love life and life will love you back. Love people and they will love you back." Arthur Rubenstein

The hallway on our building's floor was being vacuumed, so I picked up our welcome mat and put it inside the apartment before leaving for work. My dear roommate put it back out later that day, but she had turned it around by mistake so that instead of a visitor seeing "Welcome," we see it when we leave. I didn't turn it around, because I kind of like the idea of stepping outside our home to a world that welcomes me.

Although I have bad days and I get blue like anyone else, for the most part I expect good things to happen each day. There are adventures that await me outside my front door. And while there are a few bad apples in any barrel, most people are good.

"You are really good at killing people with kindness," one of my colleagues at work said to me as we watched the customer walk out the door. The customer was at my coworker's cash register and started off with a bad attitude, and I walked over to see if I could be of help. My job is to make sure that each customer has a good experience in our store, but I also was concerned that my coworker not be treated unkindly. By the time I was done, the customer said to me, "Now you are making me feel really bad, because you are so nice and I was acting sort of like a b****." (Sort of?!) I smiled and told her it was my pleasure to help her.

I wasn't kind to her to make her feel bad. I was kind to her because that is who I am. But I will admit that I was happy to know she realized the error of her ways. And my coworker was happy because I stuck up for her and entertained her at the same time. One of the reasons I am good at my job, at working with the public, is because I do genuinely love people. Of course there are a few here and there that no one could ever please, and once in a while there are some who are just crazy mean.

Why not love life? As far as I know, this is the only life I will ever have and it's kind of stupid to not make the very best of it. Why not love people? The world is full of them, and it's kind of stupid for me to hate them. Why not believe what my welcome mat says as I step out the door each day?

I love it when things make sense. You get what you give.

Susan

I Love My Knees

My left knee was a little sore. I couldn't remember doing anything to it, so I was somewhat puzzled. Then a couple of days later at work, one of my colleagues called my name as I was walking in the opposite direction. I stopped in my tracks, turned quickly, and felt a twinge in my knee. So that is it. It occurred to me that I do that a lot. We are chronically understaffed and super busy, and one of my largest concerns is keeping our customer queue short. So without even realizing what I was doing, I had been reacting that way. Stop. Turn. Rush over to take care of this or that, in an effort to keep things moving. Over and over, day after day, and my left knee was all, "Ouch!"

So I decided to take it a little slower, perhaps not take everything at work so seriously. Breathe more. When one of my team calls my name, she might have a customer requesting a markdown on an item. She could be asking me to approve her return. It is not life and death stuff, where I have to stop in my tracks and rush down to take care of things before someone bleeds to death. I mean, really, Susan.

I appreciate my knee bringing this to my attention. Aren't our bodies wonderful, wonder filled and amazing machines? My knee, through a small amount of pain, was warning me that I need to slow down a bit. I think that is so lovely. How can I not listen and then do the right thing?

I love my knees. They have been helping me get around now my entire life, and they ask so little of me while I demand so much of them. I rubbed a little soothing ointment on my knee, and for the next few days was conscious of being gentler. It feels almost all better now.

How about you? Do you listen to your body? And what is it telling you?

Susan

The Pink Sweater

Sunday I went grocery shopping and put my pink sweater in the cart. I never put my purse in the cart, ever. It is always on my shoulder or arm. But I will put my sweater or coat or hoodie in the cart. About a third of the way through my shopping, I used the restroom and left the cart outside. I knew the sweater was in it, but I wasn't concerned. When I came back, my cart was gone, and along with it, my pink sweater. I thought at first that perhaps I left my cart elsewhere, so I retraced my steps. The cart, and with it, the sweater, were gone. I checked with lost and found and they didn't have it.

The next day, I checked with lost and found. No pink sweater. And the next day. No pink sweater. Now this sweater, an inexpensive cardigan, was several years old, and too big for me anymore anyway. Not a great loss. I was more puzzled about how I "lost" my shopping cart than I was concerned about the pink sweater. I am not absent minded and I don't usually lose things. I always know where my car keys and cell phone are, and I pay my bills well before the due date. I'm an organized sort of girl.

Now I knew that I would get another pink sweater. I just didn't know how and I didn't know when. When I told a friend the story, she told me the universe would give me a new sweater. Yesterday on my lunch break I visited a thrift store that is in the same shopping center as my store. I found a pink cotton sweater set, a cardigan with a matching sleeveless top, on the rack. It was $7 for the sweater set, and it still had tags on from the department store where it had been purchased. I guess someone bought it and never wore it, and it was donated to the thrift store, which benefits a hospice in my area. It is really beautiful; more beautiful than the pink sweater I lost. And very, very expensive, judging from the original tag on it. Now expensive doesn't always mean better quality, but with clothes sometimes it does. Even if I was much more prosperous financially, even if I won the lottery, I cannot imagine ever buying a sweater set that cost $189. That is just outrageously outrageous. But that is what I have, hanging to dry even as we speak. (I always wash new clothes before I wear them. Is that too much information for you?) I plan to wear it tomorrow.

I love clothes. Love, love, love to wear pretty things. Now I guess I'm not unlike a lot of women in that way, but it really makes me feel wonderful to have beautiful things to wear. Since I live on a very tight budget, I could deprive myself for the sake of being frugal. I could tell myself that I don't need them. That I can get by. That I can make do. But if you've been reading for a while, you already know the stories I've shared with you of all the beautiful clothes that have been coming my way, many of them free and the others very inexpensive.

My old pink sweater was very pretty. But it is nothing compared to my new pink sweater; and this new one even has a matching top. And I never would have bought the new one if my old one had not been lost. So it's almost like I had to have that happen so I could have something even more wonderful.

You are probably ahead of me by now, but I'll go ahead and say it. I am now wondering if there are some old things I need to "lose," perhaps some things I need to let go of, so some even more wonderful things can come into my life.

Susan

The Story

Mired in monotony
     I sigh but not too heavily
And turn my head and take a look
     I think I'll go and read that book
There's nothing new
     Under the sun, I know it's true
For what you wrote so long ago
     Is all about me, oh this I know
I know how it starts and I know how it ends
     And yes, I know it's all pretend

Or is it? So who's to say
     What is night and what is day
For what we create out of nothing it seems
      But heartfelt wishes and fanciful dreams
Becomes reality, at least for me
      And those around me, those I see
Who need a story that ends so well
       What is truth? Who can tell?
I smile and sigh so happily
        I've scattered that monotony

Susan

We Should Have Cake

A February birthday with red velvet cake and cream cheese frosting
   And tomorrow, yellow cake with chocolate frosting
A tradition I have started, or at least I hope
   Of people who work side by side
And we don't even know their birthdays
  
When I was a little girl, all the important times had cake
   Wedding cake, always white with white frosting
And you took a piece home and slept with it under your pillow
   To dream of the man you would marry
And mostly to get frosting in your hair

There was birthday cake with ice cream
   Cake at the baby shower
Cake for after the funeral service
   And company is coming (we called visitors "company")
Cake, and maybe cake just because someone could drop by. Who knows?

When did we stop having cake?
    Brownies and pie are good, pudding as the British call dessert
And cupcakes are so old they are new again
    But I miss the cake

Mr. Gandhi told me I should be the change
    I wish to see in the world
So I got things started, or at least I hope
    For in the midst of the ordinariness of life
We should have cake

Susan

Eeyore

Reading Google News with only one eye
   I find myself unable to take it all in
These current events, as we used to call them
   When I was in elementary school
I would cut a story carefully from the local newspaper
   My fingers getting dirty from the newsprint

The sadness in the world overwhelms me
    I find myself taking it on, as the things that happen to other people
Seem to invade the world I live in
    And touch the people I love
I find my hands once again covered
    With the dark, inky-ness and sadness

No more sad stories, I shout silently
    To the universe, but only hear my words echo
I think of how much I can do and how little I can do
    And of how important my contribution is
And how it hardly seems to make a dent
    And changes nothing and changes everything

She sits at the table, twisting the paper from her drinking straw
    And tells me in that odd monotone we take on
When we speak of our pain, of how she was hurt
    And my stomach sinks, and the tear comes in my eye
And I wonder why she wants to tell me this
    Isn't there someone else who can hear this?

How do I make my way in this world
    And make a difference and be a help
Without taking on the sadness of all the others
    And making it my own?
I listen to her with only one ear
    For I can't hear it all; only some of it

My being sad will not make her sadness go away
    For tragedy is not transferrable
And I do not want to be a beast of sad burdens
    Which makes me think of the donkey Eeyore
And in spite of all the sadness in the world, I laugh

Susan

Black and White Movie

Like a black and white movie with cheesy special effects
    The street light and the fog and a woman alone walking a dog
Morning is my happy time, an early bird am I
    But late at night I feel cold and tired and vaguely lost

I sigh, from sadness and boredom and sameness
    We hurry back inside where it is warm and the candles burn softly
The lamp by the window has a shade with a dragonfly painted on it
     Which always says hello to me

Not that dragonflies talk or lampshades do much more than shade lamps
     But if I am the heroine in a black and white movie, anything is possible
As I kick off my shoes and take off his collar
     And stroke his silky fur, I bury my face in the dog's neck

I find comfort and unconditional love, no words spoken
     This is what we humans need, yet seldom give to each other
But in a black and white movie with dragonflies and foggy streets
     And a street light, maybe it's just not dogs who can love this way

As I blow out the candles and bid the dog and the dragonfly goodnight
     And climb the stairs to my room, I know that I will not be tired forever
The house is warm and my bed is soft and I am ready to dream
     Full of expectation, like the heroine in a black and white movie

Susan

Airy Fairy

Your pessimism hangs thick in the air
      I find it hard to breathe
And even after you have left
      It lingers on my hair and clothes
Like the stench of cigarette smoke
      From someone who cares more about
A habit than the people who need to breathe

You are proud of your glass-half-empty attitude
     And maybe it gives you comfort
To know that since you expect nothing,
     You will never be disappointed
You smirk at me with my airy fairy
     Notions of a better day
As I drink from my half-full glass

You mistake my sweetness for stupidity
     And my kindness for weakness
You find me naive and hopelessly hopeful
     But you don't know me, not really
Or you would know that there were days
     All I had was hope, and there were nights
 I lay awake waiting for the morning light

Susan

Have You Hugged Your Car Today?

Pink attracts a lot of attention as we buzz around. A pink VW New Beetle is not something you see every day. We get honks and smiles and waves and thumbs up. Pink has had her picture taken countless times. Women and girls love the fact that she is pink, and men want to see who is driving her. Little girls love her best of all.

There is a preschool in the shopping center where my store is located. Today when I came out for my dinner break, there was this note on my windshield.

"I just have to tell you that my 4 year old daughter LOVES your car. I park next to it whenever I see it in the parking lot when I pick her up from school and she gets so happy. She even gives it a hug. : )
(Signed) Fellow Pink Car Admirer"

Now wasn't that sweet of that parent to write me the note? I'll let you in on a secret. I sometimes hug Pink, too.

Susan

The "F" Word

Let me tell you something about myself. I rarely use a curse word. In fact, it is kind of a joke among the people who know me best, how I don't swear or curse. When I do pop out with the occasional word, they will even laugh and say how cute I am.

The last time I was with my granddaughters we were having those serious conversations that seem to go on with children in the car. I don't know what it is about the car. Maybe it's the lack of intense eye contact or something, but when my sons were growing up, we had some of our deepest talks while driving along. And the same thing happens with my grandkids.

My younger granddaughter was talking about someone we all know, a woman, who has a potty mouth. She so badly wanted to say the words this person uses, but was refraining from doing so. I said, "I hope you girls will never talk like that. It's not ladylike." Just using the word ladylike made me wonder if I was channeling my own maternal grandmother, who was most definitely a lady. They both nodded seriously.

Yesterday at work a coworker who has a horrible attitude displayed her horrible attitude for the zillionth time. One of our managers was standing beside me, and after the coworker flounced away, I said quietly and calmly, "She is so f****** defensive. I'm so sick of it." His eyes got big, and it occurred to me that I had said the "f" word. I said, "I usually don't talk that way," and he laughed and said, "Yeah. That was really out of character for you."

And it was. I had no idea what I said until after I said it. But that is really how I feel about her, and the fact that I used an expletive means I feel really strongly about it. My boss said, "You can only take so much and then it just comes out." My coworker didn't hear me, by the way.

I have always treated this coworker with kindness and respect, because that is how I treat other people, regardless of how they behave. She and I are at the same level. If she was a person I supervised, we would have had a conversation long ago about her attitude. But it's not my place to say anything, unless I see it affecting customer service.

It sort of bothered me because I felt like I was out of control, this word just popping out my mouth without my really knowing what was happening. Perhaps subconsciously I have been wanting to speak to management about her, although everyone who works at the store knows what she is like. So I guess I got my chance, without really planning it that way.

Or maybe I just effing analyze everything too much.

Susan

Invisible

Yesterday one of my colleagues at work came up to me and said, "I just need to vent." To which I replied, "Okay." She told me she really, really, REALLY hates it when a customer is on her cell phone the entire time the transaction at the cash register is taking place. I said, "You don't like to be invisible." To which she replied, "Exactly." I asked her if she talked to those customers, asking them all the questions we have to ask, and she laughed and said, "Oh. Yes." Then we both laughed. Never let it be said that we don't engage with the customer.

Now let me tell you this, that the majority of our customers are lovely people. Cordial and polite and not inclined to make us miserable or cause us to believe we are invisible. It's a Susan thing, perhaps, but I believe that most people are good, and that if we put our best out there, it also calls out the best in other people. But I totally understood what my coworker was telling me, because I have stood in her shoes.

This got me to thinking if I sometimes treat others this way. Not making eye contact. Not smiling. Not saying hello. I hope I am not that person. I try not to be that person. But I think it's a good reminder so that I am more conscious of how I behave in my day-to-day.

Susan

Sprinkler Head Replacements

Today I received an email from the property manager at our complex. The subject line read, Sprinkler Head Replacements. My first thought was that it's the name of a band, and I thought, really? As I read the email, I found that the sprinkler heads in all the apartments will be tested and replaced if necessary. I was probably thinking of the actual band The Replacements, or maybe that other band Talking Heads.

The email went on to detail the dates blah blah blah and buildings blah blah blah and how you will not need to be home blah blah blah and this is mandated by law blah blah blah and thank you for your patience as we keep you safe blah blah blah.

It was a particularly boring message, after such an intriguing subject line. What would be much better is if an up-and-coming local band Sprinkler Head Replacements would play a concert on the lawn in the courtyard some evening, now that the days are longer. We residents could bring our blankets and snacks and it's likely some of us would even get up and dance. That's how much fun it would be.

Now that sounds wonderful; doesn't it? It also sounds like I definitely need to get out more.

Susan

Bananas

This morning, I was pretty excited when I woke, because I had planned yesterday to make banana nut pancakes this morning. Usually, I like to have my coffee first thing, and then wait a while to have breakfast. I'm usually not hungry first thing in the morning. But when I know banana nut pancakes are on the horizon? I'm hungry. It's like the times I've been on vacation, staying at a really nice hotel where they make yummy breakfasts, I wake up starving. Starving.

My sweet roommate's sister sent us a cool basket of goodies, and there were lots of bananas in it.
I like bananas. I eat maybe one or two bananas a week. Is this too much information for you? There were a lot of bananas in the basket. I took some to work where they were quickly scarfed up. The last two were getting overly ripe, but those kind are perfect for baking, because they are all mushy and super sweet. So yesterday I put them in the fridge, and this morning I made pancakes out of them. Super delicious.

You know how some people say, "When life gives you lemons, make lemonnade"? I crack myself up sometimes, because I like to say, "When life gives you bananas, make banana bread." Or in this case, pancakes.

Susan

It's Later Than You Think

Did you "spring forward" today? I love it when we turn the clocks ahead in the spring, because that means longer days of daylight, sunshine and happiness. My iphone springs forward on its own, but we have a radio/stereo/CD player in our kitchen with a clock on it. It is officially my roommate's, so I have never bothered to learn how to change the clock, thinking I could just pawn that job off on her.

This morning when I made coffee, I wrote a little note to put beside the clock. My roommate was still sleeping. She had not changed the clock the night before, so I drew a picture of an old-fashioned alarm clock, the kind you wind up, and wrote, "It's later than you think." I crack myself up sometimes.

Today is the youngest you and I will ever be. Do you live life with a sense of urgency? There is so much to do and so much to see in this wonderful world of ours. I have to wonder this morning if there are some ways in which I am dragging my feet in my own life, ways in which I  might be procrastinating. Because, you know what? It's later than you think.

Susan

Bend

A couple of nights ago we had a storm. It was a lot of wind and rain (by southern California standards, at least.) I like lying in bed at night, all warm and safe and cozy, listening to the rain on the roof. The windchimes on our veranda were clinking. The next morning, the air felt all clean like it does after the rain. As I walked to my car, I looked at the palm trees I love so much, and thought of their branches in the wind, the smaller ones bending in the wind yet not breaking.

One of the secrets to peace in life is knowing how to bend. The happiest people I know are the ones who can stand firm when they need to, but they have the wisdom to be flexible. They bounce back from the storms, maybe a little worse for the wear, but they aren't broken.

I have been working on some Easter cards for the people I love. I found an envelope the perfect size to put all the cards inside, for a little family of four. It has preprinted in red letters the caution "DO NOT BEND." It also has printed on it that it is a photo/document mailer, so I guess if someone at the post office wanted to get all crazy, it might not be good if a photo or a document got bent. But these are just greeting cards -- wonderful, decorated and specially chosen for each person -- but just cards.

So I decided to take the pressure off and write a little something of my own on the envelope. You know what? We as humans are not as fragile and breakable as we might think. And you know what is best for you in your own life, and in each situation. Maybe you should not bend. But you can bend if you want.

Susan

The House at the End of the Road

Thirty-some years ago I had a very vivid dream about a man with no face. It was Christmas time. I was wearing a long, red and green plaid skirt with a sweater. The man who stood next to me loved me very much, and I loved him. We were greeting guests who had come to our home for a Christmas open house. It was important to me that we not just have a party during the evening, but an open house throughout the afternoon and evening, so guests could come and go as they pleased, because the holiday season is such a busy time. We wanted to include everyone, friends and family and neighbors and colleagues from work. I don't know why this part was so important, but it was. Bayberry candles burned. Christmas music was playing. Our home was beautifully decorated. A delicious buffet of food was displayed. I was happy and warm. It was one of the most wonderful dreams I have ever had. When I was married, we had some glorious Christmases. Yet there were a few times when I looked at my husband at the time and thought, "You're not the man with no face."

Wednesday night I had a dream, and the man with no face appeared again. He loved me very much. I was happy and warm. We lived in a cottage-type house at the end of a circular road. In my dream, I thought of this home as the House at the End of the Road.

The next day, Thursday, I was channel surfing on the radio. Some people channel surf the TV. I do it to the radio. As I was searching for a different station, I heard the old Boys II Men song, "The End of the Road." I shared this story with my niece. That night, I worked the closing shift at work. It was late when I finished, and I looked at my phone and saw a message from my niece. She told me "The End of the Road" was on American Idol.

"The End of the Road" written by Kenneth Edmonds, Antonio Reid and Daryl Simmons.

Susan

Follow

Sophie Madeleine is a talented young artist from the UK. Here she is singing one of my favorite songs, "I Will Follow You Into the Dark" written by Ben Gibbard. And playing one of my favorite instruments, too. I hope you enjoy it.

Susan

The Great Cookie Caper

You might miss this in your news today, so I want to tell you all about it. Pink and I pulled a caper today. (Pink is my VW New Beetle, for the uninitiated reader. Pink. It's her color and her name.) We delivered the goods, see. It all went down like this, see. (Doing my best James Cagney impression.)

My friend's adult child has a business associate, and this man did something extraordinarily helpful for my friend's child. She knows the man casually as she has met him once or twice. The way we moms operate is like this, see. You do something nice for our kid, you do something nice for Ma. She emailed this man to thank him, and he graciously replied. Still, she wanted to do something.

Around this part of town, see, you do something nice for us, we reward you with food. It's how we roll in this 'hood, see. (Transitioning from 1940's gangster to modern day gangsta.) Remember that swell dame at work who gave me all the clothes? I did some detective work. In the break room one day, she was talking about how much she loves chick peas, also known as garbanzo beans. I very innocently asked, "Do you like hummus since it's made out of chick peas?" Then a few days later, she was chomping on some chicken that had pesto on it. So this smart cookie put two and two together, and made her some homemade hummus and homemade pesto and put it in a really beautifully decorated bag with a lovely card. (Lapsing momentarily into Susanspeak.)

Getting back to my story. My friend decided to make some of her ridiculously delicious cookies for this nice man. She was going to mail them, and then I suggested that I deliver them to his office. She loved that idea, and thus began The Great Cookie Caper.

She packaged the cookies up beautifully, and I put them in Pink and off we went to downtown San Diego, about twenty minutes away, obeying all posted signs and speed limits. This nice man's office is in a swanky part of town called the Gaslamp District. I had some cash money in my purse, cuz if you're gonna pull a caper, using a debit card for parking leaves a paper trail. I was able to park right outside this man's office, put a quarter in the meter which gave me 12 minutes, more than enough time to drop off the goods. I have to say, Pink was the perfect cookie delivery mobile.

"Good Morning!" I said to the receptionist. "I have a delivery for Mr. His First Name His Last Name." I'm all professional, talking like some classy educated chick.

"He isn't in right now," the dame replied. I smiled, playing along, and asked, "Would you kindly give him this and let him know it's from My Friend's First and Last Name." She said she would, and I thanked her and asked her for her name. She replied, "P.J. Like pajamas." Now she is one smart cookie not to give me her real name, right? I said, "Thank you, P.J. Have a wonderful day."

I got in Pink and called my friend, not while I was driving, because I don't talk on the phone while driving. Ever. I called her "Mugsy," even though that is not her real name. I talked to her in code and said, "The snow dog barks at midnight as the eagle lands in San Diego." (The snow dog is a reference to her beautiful yellow (almost white) Lab, whom a little neighbor boy called the snow dog.) We talked for a little while, she called me "Roxy," but hung up before the call could be traced.

Then Pink and I drove away into the sunset, or rather into the partly cloudy mid-morning. I was exhiliarated to pull off such a caper. Really. My friend couldn't have picked a better person for this caper than this girl.

How about you? Have you pulled a caper of kindness lately? You could give yourself a cool name. But just to let you know, P.J. and Mugsy and Roxy are already taken.

Susan

Difficult

They have celebrated their silver anniversary and have three beautiful children. He adores her, and she loves him right back. He is difficult, driven and demanding. And she handles it, and him, well. When I read Steve Jobs by Walter Isaacson, and the author wrote about his wife Laurene, this other couple crossed my mind. I wrote about narcissists in Frankly, My Dear...

I think to successfully handle anyone who has narcissistic qualities (and not everyone who does is a textbook narcissist) one must be willing to go toe to toe with them. Mrs. Jobs did this, and this wife that I know in real life does as well. She is a lovely person, but if he acts like an idiot (and he does, from time to time) she tells him he is acting like one. If he tramples someone's feelings (and he does, from time to time) she tells him straight up he needs to apologize. He doesn't berate her because she stops him dead in his tracks when he does, and he backs down.

And this is precisely why I will never be married to, live with, date or even knowingly go out for coffee, with a man who has these tendencies ever again. Been there, done that. I don't want a man I have to handle. That is patronizing. I don't want a man I have to scold as if he is a little boy and I'm his mother. I don't want a man who doesn't know when to say he's sorry, who is too proud to admit he is wrong without my pointing it out.

Am I capable of calling someone out? Yes. I am and I have, when it is an absolute necessity, and I can do it without being mean. But it is not who I am, and it takes so much out of me. If, early on, when my ex-husband acted like this, I would have responded in kind, would things have been different? Maybe. Probably? I don't know because it seems to work for women like this real life wife and Laurene Jobs. But not I. Not this girl. I never did it and I never will. I am not a fighter and I am not a yeller and I so will not run the show in a relationship with a man. And I have come to realize that it is okay. It is perfectly okay for me to be who I am, and to come to understand who I want to deal with and who I don't.

I want a man I can look up to and respect. A mature adult who, while he certainly will have flaws and make mistakes like any human being, fully owns his behavior and is in control of himself. One who doesn't need to be handled. One I will never have to defend myself against.

I think it's great for women like Mrs. Jobs and this real life wife, these gals who find a way to live happily with their difficult men. It is nice for them. It's just not who I am, and I have finally figured out that is perfectly fine.

Susan

Offense

Both my sons were active in sports as they were growing up, and it introduced me to a new world where I increased my vocabulary to include things like the finger roll and shake and bake. I also learned that the best defense is a good offense. This is true in American football, where a good offense pretty much means the defensive players have to do very little.

It is also true in life. I was thinking about a time almost twenty years ago, when a poor business decision my husband at the time and I made caused a chain reaction of some other stuff. It felt like there was some horrible surprise waiting for me around each corner, and instead of facing life with my usual confidence and optimism, I became quite pessimistic and defensive. The daily dread of what might happen next exhausted me, and for the first time in my life I began to suffer from insomnia.

I would fall asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow, but awoke every morning sometime between 3 and 4 am and could not go back to sleep. Rather than tossing and turning, I would go downstairs and try to be quiet so I would not wake my husband or the boys. I would watch late night TV in an attempt to bore myself back to sleep. I would read dull books. This makes me giggle now, the idea that an author would write a book so boring an insomniac would be eager to read it. I hope no one reads my stuff in an attempt to lull themselves back to sleep.

It seemed there was something bad around every corner, and the driving force in my life was to keep my kids safe. I concentrated on my defense and ignored my offense. How different my life is now, where instead of being scared of what might be coming around the corner to get me, I actually walk around the corner myself and go after it.

Where I am I going with this? You know; I really have no idea. Maybe just to remind myself of how much better I like playing offense than defense.

I have been unable to determine for sure who actually said, "The best defense is a good offense." If you know, will you tell me so I can correctly credit that person?

Susan

Stressors

Stress seems to be a part of everyday American life. In fact, it's almost like some view their stress as a status symbol. It's like all the cool kids are under a lot of stress. We all know that stress can be a killer, and I mean that literally, as our life styles affect our emotional, mental and physical health. High blood pressure, stroke, heart disease, and diabetes are just some of the more commonly known illnesses that have stress as a contributor.

Dealing with it all means identifying the stressors, and eliminating those we can. And managing those stressors we cannot completely do away with.  I know a few couples, as you probably do, where both husband and wife have very demanding jobs. They see each other very little, and when they do both are exhausted and stressed and have very little to give to what should be the most important thing in life: their relationship. Yet they don't think of making changes, perhaps lowering their standard of living, to live a more peaceful life where they have time for each other. Sometimes we live a certain way for so long, that the idea of changing it doesn't cross our minds, and we just live with the stress. Or die with it.

One of the things that really stresses me, yet is so easy to eliminate, is clutter. It's probably because I am sensitive to my environment, but having every surface covered with stuff makes me crazy. I never understood this or identified this for years, but once I knew what was going on, what a difference it makes.

A clean, organized desk. A coffee table with room for an actual cup of coffee, or my two feet as I watch TV. A kitchen counter that has space on it to comfortably prepare a meal. Walls where you actually have wall space you can see amongst the art displayed. A bathroom counter where there is room for my hot rollers. My jewelry organized on my dresser top. This gives me peace.

Now what I call clutter may not seem like clutter to someone else, and that is okay. But it's nice that I know it is a stressor for me, because it is so easy to manage. What are your stressors? Is there some little thing in your world that you could eliminate or manage to make a big difference in your stress level?

Susan

Art

I come from a generation that was encouraged to color inside the lines. There was a story that I used to tell myself, that I was not artistic. I was quite invested in this story, until I discovered that it was a lie. It was with the help of a friend who is an amazing artist herself, that I began to believe this.

A couple of semesters ago, I took an Art course at my college called "Color and Design." It was like going to kindergarten every time I walked in that classroom. I loved it. Early in the semester, one of the students who was quite critical of herself said something disparaging about herself and what she had created. The instructor told the class that we were not allowed to do that, adding, "It's not helpful." One of the delightful things about the instructor was that she sometimes did talk to us like we were in kindergarten, and that was one of those occasions.

I learned some good theory in that class. I also got the much-needed four credits in Art that I need. I was introduced to an amazing new world. Best of all, I found a safe environment to express myself and take risks without reservation. I held nothing back. Way past the point where I am self-conscious, I lost myself in that class.

Now as a reader, you know that I love words. I have loved the written word since before I can remember, when the characters in the Little Golden Books were my friends. But sometimes words are not enough. My most-read post of all time is I Am Sabrina Fulton. I wrote it one morning with tears streaming down my face, then I dried my eyes and washed my face and went off to Art class.

The assignment was to make a self-portrait, and what I was not able to get on paper adequately with the written word, I got on paper with my paint brushes. It was cathartic, as I made something that was at once me and all the other mothers in the world.

Last week I had some chaos in my life, and the written word failed me. It was then that I turned to Art, my own personal Art Therapy. I decorated some Easter cards for family members, and it helped me so much to have that means of expression. It is one I denied myself for many years because I thought I wasn't good enough.

Self-expression is one of life's greatest gifts. I wonder what other means of expression I have not been allowing myself. Lately I have been thinking about the ways in which I might be holding myself back in life. Self-imposed limitations are, I suppose, the only true limitations.

Susan

Nurture

"Never say anything about yourself that you don't want to come true." Brian Tracy

The front end of our store hums along nicely when we have people on the schedule who work hard, know their jobs and understand that we are a team. I occupy Cash Register 1, a pivotal area of the store where it all happens. Number 2 is a critical position, because it supports 1.

I usually start my shift a while after the store has opened, and having the right person as the opening cashier at Number 2 means that things got off to a good start that day, and I can hit the ground running. Having not the best person for that position at Number 2 means I can walk into some scary stuff and spend hours catching up.

I have a favorite Number 2. The other day she reminded me that she would be going home soon, and suggested I take my break before she left. I thanked her for reminding me, and agreed that was a great idea. Then I told her how much I appreciated her watching out for me.

She is a very jovial person, but she became quite serious and said, "You take care of all of us, all the time. Someone should take care of you." I found this quite dramatic, because for the past two or three weeks my latest daily intention is, "The people in my life nurture me. I draw new people into my life who nurture me." And she was nurturing me. I have noticed that a few of our other colleagues have followed her example, and they look out for me now, too. Number 2 had no idea, because I didn't share this with anyone. Until now.

Intention is such a powerful thing. Intention is different than wishing or hoping, because with wishes or hopes, it could happen, or not. It's different than prayer, or the way I remember prayer from when I used to pray, where God could grant my request or not. Intention is already happening. It's already in progress. I choose my intentions very, very carefully and with a great deal of respect, because with them I create my life. Intention is a powerful thing, not to be toyed with. Intentions are not negotiable. Once one is set, I won't be denied.

I could have run around all resentful, muttering, "I take care of everyone. No one takes care of me," and all that would happen is that the universe would agree with me, and no one would take care of me. How wonderful that I don't have to drag myself around like a martyr, rolling my eyes and sighing dramatically about how I have to do it all.

The people in my life nurture me. I draw new people into my life who nurture me. Yes. I do.

Susan

"Wishin' and Hopin'" written by Hal David and Burt Bacharach

Secrets

Some secrets are dirty and smelly, and the longer they are kept the more overwhelming the foul smell when they are finally let out. They create chaos and clutter and dirt and bad, bad smells. I opened the windows wide, letting in the cold, fresh, clean air. I picked up and vacuumed and scrubbed and cleaned and walked with great purpose back and forth to the laundry room. I knew I was doing too much too fast, that later I would be exhausted, but it all had to be done immediately, if not sooner.

When it was all done, I sat in our most comfortable chair in the living room as the afternoon sun streamed in. The rug was clean and soft under my bare toes. I closed my eyes, hearing the sweet silence and smelling the faint odor of fresh oranges.

I breathed in and out and in and out. As I concentrated on my breathing, I realized I had been holding my breath for days.

I didn't feel hungry, but I take good care of myself in all ways, and eating is one of those. I scoured the refrigerator for every vegetable I could find and sauteed them in a big skillet with olive oil and lots of garlic. It smelled so delicious, and as I swirled in the linguine, I realized I had been hungry for a very long time.

Secrets lose their power when they are let out. The dirty becomes clean. The dank, sour smell goes away. The chaotic becomes peaceful. I breathe easy once again, and enjoy the simple pleasure of a bowl of pasta.

Susan