#463 An Ordinary but Satisfying Day.

Today was a pretty good day, with the exception of one major hitch in my gitalong.

I was awakened by a call from May (the widow of about a year). She's going to have a small champagne gathering and wanted to know if I'd come. We talked for a while. She's very concerned about being alone. She has the Lifeline button, but she is not steady on her feet (an inner ear problem), and is worried that she will fall and either not have the button, won't be able to press it, won't hear the squawk box (she doesn't have to hear it actually, but I wasn't able to tell her that because talking with her can be frustrating - she bowls right over anything you say, you never ever! ever! get to complete a sentence), or she will be unconscious, and it would be days before anyone got worried enough to check on her. She's very concerned about that. She asked me if I was scared about it, and although I'm aware it's a possibility, it doesn't worry me. Not right now, anyway.

I want to decide to call her every evening. I really want to. But I just can't bring myself to make that commitment. I'd have to wear an alarm clock to remember. And sometimes she's difficult to get off the phone. I'm a bad bad person. Maybe I won't commit to call, but I'll just call whenever I remember. Is that bad?

She woke me early enough that I was able to take some paper to the recycle center. I took the garden cart around to the lower basement door, and loaded 10 bags of paper into it. At first I thought I had overloaded it, because it was very difficult to get it moving up the hill. Nope. One of the tires had gone flat, and my trying to drag it caused the tire to come right off the rim. It's all torn up and twisted. I don't know what I'm going to do next. The tire place in Rhinebeck doesn't handle tires as small as this. And I was counting on this cart to get the storage containers to the basement - like today and tomorrow. Guess not.

So I carried the paper up to the van by hand, and took those ten bags and some huge bags of plastic peanuts to the recycle center. I rarely take my purse when I go there, because I'm going back and forth to the bins, but today I wanted to stop at the bank and deposit my retirement check, so I did. As I was going down the highway, I saw billows of smoke coming from the Elks' parking lot. Wow! Goody! Barbecue chicken! And the best baked potatoes ever. The Elks set up huge sliced drums on occasional Saturday mornings during the summer. I never know when it's coming, and when I do pass it, on a Saturday morning, I'm headed for the recycle center and never have money, but today we hit it right. I had my purse. $4.50 for half a chicken and $.50 for a huge potato, in a foil bag. I got two bags. (Yeah, I've got a doggie bag habit.)

Piper and I had talked about movies last night, and I happened to have a copy of "The Bridge" in my van and said I'd lend it to him, but when we got back to the village, I forgot. He'd done some heavy trading on Friday, and had said he had to go into the office to clean up paperwork today, so on the way to recycle I stopped by his office to give him the DVD. The little sign on the door said "Open", but the office was dark and he wasn't there.

I am responsible for that sign. He's semiretired, and has clients in the village, so he wanders in and out of his office whenever he feels like it (like multi-hour lunches). Many times I had stopped by with papers for him, and found the door open, the lights on, but no one there. Many times I waited an hour, but he didn't come back. The Angel is worse. I sometimes wonder if the Angel ever sits down in there. He'll be in and out again three times in an hour. So I recommended that they get one of those little "Back at (clock with adjustable hands)" signs for his door. It says "Open, walk in" on the other side.

I guess now I'm going to have to teach him how to use it. It is perpetually on "Open".

At the recycle center, they have changed the bin they use for good paper. It's much bigger, and the opening is way over my head. Those bags are too heavy for me to lift that high. Luckily, there was a man there to help. He about choked when he saw how much I had, but on the other hand, the new bin is much larger than the old, so I didn't feel as much like I was overwhelming the facility. Good. Don't know what else I could do with all this paper if they couldn't handle it.

Back to the village and on to the bank. New Saturday hours - open 'til 1 - so I was able to go in, which means the money will be available to me now, three days earlier than if I had to deposit the check through the ATM.

'Nother stop at Piper's, since I had to pass there anyway. I was standing outside his "Open" locked door when I heard wild honking from the street. He had arrived. I gave him the tape and tried to show him the reviews of the "The Bridge" on Amazon, but couldn't find it listed any more. I guess I bought it just in time. But he learned about Amazon, so it wasn't entirely a waste.

Then a visit to Tall Dark & Handsome #2 to buy a drink to have with my chicken.

Then home to my chicken and wonderful potato, which had filled the van with aromatic enticement all that time. (I added a handful of fresh broccoli.)

You know, reading this, it doesn't sound like such a good day. Pretty ordinary, actually. I guess just getting some major paper out of the house made it special. A good feeling.

I'll have to walk a lot tomorrow, though. I've had three meals in three days, not to mention the second doggie bagged chicken and potato in the refrigerator.

~~Silk

#462 Perception?

Dinner in Rhinebeck last night, then to Woodstock, arriving just in time for the dancers. Piper enjoyed it very much. The Gypsy and the Pixie didn't make it, although both had intended to, but there were other people I knew, and it was nice to see them, and in that context.

It was a good show (although one of the dancers was definitely NOT ready for prime time, and she happened to be the one smack in front of us the whole time). Then I wanted to walk around the village, but by then all the carolers and whatever else was happening was over, and the temperature had dropped a lot, the wind had picked up, and it was obvious Piper was freezing his ears off, so we took a short walk with stops in a few stores, and then home. Well, back to my car, which was parked in front of his office.

I was very happy with the way it went. He used the words "although this is not a date" as he was insisting on paying for both dinners, and later called me a "friend as well as a client". That's good. I like him as a friend. That could work. I am content.

There is something sort of troubling, though. At lunch a few weeks ago, he used some names that someone not "in my life" would be extremely unlikely to come up with, and when I asked him where he got those names, he said "I had you investigated", and then he laughed it off and claimed it was just coincidence. Then he sort of warned me about a situation I was into, about which he should have known nothing, and since then, I have finally learned what he was referring to, he could have not have been more specific, and he was absolutely correct. And the specifics were not mine, but those of another person with whom I am involved. That would be scary enough, but last night, some of the topics he brought up could have come straight from my journal. He doesn't know about my journals. My real name and real email address is not connected with this journal. He doesn't even know my email address or AOL screen name. And yet I'd swear he's read them (this one and the previous one). (Later update - Agh! He knows I use "S........m", and Google would send anyone looking for S.........m right here. On the other hand, he is computer illiterate, beyond what is required for his business. On the third hand, he hires people who do know the internet. The Angel? Hmmmmm. Interesting. But that still doesn't explain the other stuff.)

Either he is extremely perceptive, or he really has had me investigated. And is continuing to get reports. I had told him on Wednesday, when he asked, that I was cooling it a bit with Roman. But he seemed to know last night that it wasn't nearly over at all, not as anyone else might define it. (Nothing specific, more an attitude, a skirting of the issue, a lack of curiosity perhaps.) That's scary.

I am entirely open, I have nothing to hide, I would tell him the truth about anything he asked about, so his knowing these things doesn't bother me. But he seems to know too much that didn't come FROM me, and that DOES bother me, because I don't know where he's getting it.

Can he really be that perceptive? Is this entirely innocent, and I'm being paranoid? He may look like a cherub, and talk like an excited kid, but I have a feeling there's some cold hard steel in the core. A look in the eyes every so often. "Business is Business". A cherub is not going to go into billion-dollar business dealings with Arab states and come out smiling.

Or maybe only a cherub could.

~~Silk

#461 My Life, Rated

Another silly test. I expected the high rating in the finances, but I'm rather pleased with the spiritual rating. They even asked for my advice - "Your Spirit score is very high, much higher than the average. If you wouldn't mind, please take a little time to explain how you manage to succeed so well at this aspect of your life. Your words may be read by someone else who scored very low. Take a moment to give them some useful advice. Your thoughts are very much appreciated." (I didn't leave any advice. I wouldn't know how to advise anyone except to maybe forget everything you have been taught, learn who you are, and listen for the revelations that will come to you if you are open to them.)

Again, there weren't enough questions for this to be any kind of accurate, but taking the test does make one think about some things one might have been ignoring.

This Is My Life, Rated
Life:	7.6
Mind:	7.9
Body:	7.5
Spirit:	9.6
Friends/Family:	5.9
Love:	6.9
Finance:	8.8
Take the Rate My Life Quiz

Your Life Analysis:

Life: Your life rating is a score of the sum total of your life, and accounts for how satisfied, successful, balanced, capable, valuable, and happy you are. The quiz attempts to put a number on the summation of all of these things, based on your answers. Your life score is reasonably high. This means that you are on a good path. Continue doing what is working and set about to improve in areas which continue to lag. Do this starting today and you will begin to reap the benefits immediately. (Read more on improving your life)

Mind: Your mind rating is a score of your mind's clarity, ability, and health. Higher scores indicate an advancement in knowledge, clear and capable thinking, high mental health, and pure thought free of interference. Your mind score is within a healthy zone. This means you have achieved a level of mental balance and harmony consistent with living a healthy, happy life. Continue doing what works, and keep your focus. In our fast-paced world, mental clutter is all too common. Be vigilant in maintaining healthy mental function. Read advice from other quiz-takers on improving the mind.

Body: Your body rating measures your body's health, fitness, and general wellness. A healthy body contributes to a happy life, however many of us are lacking in this area. You have a rather good body score, which is an indication that you take care of yourself. There is room for improvement, however. Please keep doing what works. Eat right, exercise, reduce your stress, treat any illness. Doing these things will help ensure your body will be in good working order for a long time to come. Read advice from other quiz-takers on improving the body.

Spirit: Your spirit rating seeks to capture in a number that elusive quality which is found in your faith, your attitude, and your philosophy on life. A higher score indicates a greater sense of inner peace and balance. Your spirit score is dramatic. Continue on your path, do not stray. Continue to reap the rewards which your spirituality brings forth. Read advice from other quiz-takers on improving the spirit.

Friends/Family: Your friends and family rating measures your relationships with those around you, and is based on how large, healthy, and dependable your social network is. Your friends and family score is not bad but can be improved. Maintain your current social net, while you try to expand it. Try new things and form new friendships. You will be rewarded greatly.

Love: Your love rating is a measure of your current romantic situation. Sharing your heart with another person is one of life's most glorious, terrifying, rewarding experiences. Your love score is in good shape, meaning that things are going well. Do all you can to maintain it, and continue to grow and move ahead. Read advice from other quiz-takers on finding and maintaining love.

Finance: Your finance rating is a score that rates your current financial health and stability. Your financial score is impressive. You seem to be doing everything right in this area, so keep up what you're doing. Do not fall into common traps and continue planning for long-term stability. Read advice from other quiz-takers on improving your finances.

Averages, of over 2,000 tests:

Life:
You:	7.6
Average:	6.4
Mind:
You:	7.9
Average:	6.3
Body:
You:	7.5
Average:	5.9
Spirit:
You:	9.6
Average:	7.1
Friends/Family:
You:	5.9
Average:	5.7
Love:
You:	6.9
Average:	5.3
Finance:
You:	8.8
Average:	6.8

#460 Woodstock Open House

I'm going to the Woodstock Open House tonight. Decorated storefronts, carolers, street music, ice sculptures, that sort of thing. But mainly, Perizad and the Twisted Tassels (http://www.twistedtassels.com/twisted_tassels_007.htm - for some reason I can't make this work as a link, and I don't have time to fiddle with it right now, so just copy and paste to your browser to visit them) will be dancing at the Joyous Lake, and I want to see them. I know a few of the dancers.

I had promised Piper and The Angel long ago that I'd show them some good bellydancers, and since this is tribal style, it's ideal, so I invited them. The Angel wanted to go, but couldn't make it, so it's Piper and me. We'll have dinner, go to the show, and walk around town, in some order. He's good company.

And he's available on weekends.

Another sigh.

~~Silk

#459 Jean Piaget

I left the following caution on the blog of an education student who had just discovered the writings of Jean Piaget, whom she declared was "absolutely wonderful".

Comment:
I read Piaget back in 1980, when my daughter was 5 years old. When Piaget said that children can't think abstractly until like 12, I think it was, I had a lot of trouble accepting that. That was not my experience with my daughter. He said that up to something like 10 (it was a long time ago, so I may have the numbers wrong), a child will think that a narrow bottle contains more than a wide bottle, even if you show that the contents are the same, because the level in the narrow bottle will be higher. So I experimented.

I got a tall narrow and a short fat bottle, and I measured exactly two ounces of water in a glass measuring cup, in front of my daughter, 5 at the time, and two of her friends, 6-year-old twins Una and Liz. I poured it into the fat bottle. Then I did exactly the same thing with the narrow bottle. Then I asked the girls, "Which bottle has more water in it?" The twins immediately pointed to the tall narrow bottle. Daughter frowned at them, and said "They both have the same. She measured. Remember?"

An argument ensued, during which the twins insisted that the water was higher in the narrow bottle. My daughter stunned us all when she picked up the narrow bottle, laid it on its side, and said, "Now the other one's higher!" The twin's eyes got huge.

So, be careful. Piaget isn't always right, and you could do a disservice to some children if you take him as gospel.

~~Silk

#458 Racing Snow

I've got to get all these storage containers down to the basement. I've got to get it done before snow, because I don't think I can take them down the basement steps and still protect my back. What I want to do is take them out the front door, load them into the garden cart, take them around the house down the hill, and in the lower basement door. Rough if there's snow on the ground. (Although I guess I could clear a path with the snow thrower, if worse comes to worst.)

There has already been three inches of snow over Thanksgiving, which didn't stay around long, and sticking snow in "the hill country" north and west of here. The clouds next to "Friday" on my AOL welcome screen have overnight changed to snowflakes.

Note to self - try starting the snow thrower and get it in for service if it won't start. SOON!

Things are getting desperate around here.

~~Silk

#457 Losing Weight, but Not Changing Shape!

Walked today for the first time in a week. I stopped in at Piper's office and asked him if he'd like to walk with me (he keeps saying when I walk in town I should stop and invite him) but he couldn't leave the office right then. So I talked with him for a half hour or so, which cut the walking time down.

I've noticed that if I don't walk, the weight doesn't move, but when I do walk, the drop is noticeable and immediate - like, the next day. And it holds. Strange. What I eat or don't eat doesn't seem to matter as much as whether I walk or not. And I don't necessarily have to walk that far. Even just 1.5 miles will do it.

Sheesh. Winter coming. Cold. I guess I'd better unclutter the treadmill.

Another odd thing - as I'm losing weight, the shape is staying exactly the same, just getting smaller. So even 20 pounds down, the belly is still yucky sticky-outy compared to the base. No, it's not a muscle thing - it's a soft pad on top of muscle. Under all that famine-relief pack is a six-pack. Hard. Flat. Isometrics. Isotonic. Good stuff.

I know fasting is wrong, but I eat something other than 6 to 12 ounces of yogurt only about every other day, and when I do eat, I get way fewer than 1000 calories a day, usually closer to 600. Mostly I'm just not hungry these days. And yet I'm not lacking in energy.

Sigh. I don't understand.

~~Silk

#456 Ice on the Coils?

Daughter - don't be concerned if there's no Tuesday entry. I've got a bunch of errands to run, and a class in the evening.

Anyone - I found heavy icing up on the coils of the dehumidifier in the basement last night, so I turned it off to let the ice melt off. I turned it on again this evening, and now I'm wondering:
- Is heavy white frost on the coils normal? Seems like it would be less efficient....
- Is it something I did wrong, like turn it too high?
- Is it maybe that the basement is too cool? (It's not actually very cool down there - probably high 60s.)
- Is it possible it's always been icy and I never noticed before?
Um, answers, anyone? Is this a problem? Should I ignore it?

~~Silk

#455 Making Progress

I moved the grandfather clock to the basement yesterday.

I removed the pendulum and weights, tied up the chains, turned all the levers, jammed the hand truck under it, tied it top and middle to the uprights, wrestled it out the door and down the hill to the basement door, and into the basement. Whoo! I was not looking forward to moving that thing. It started to kick out at the bottom (guess I should have tied it at the bottom, too, or made sure the middle rope was tighter), but when it reached its final resting spot, I still had about an inch of clock base on the truck, so it made it.

I put the Tibetan chest in that corner, so now I have room to get all these stacked storage containers out the door. That'll give me some space to fill more containers.

Yesterday I also cut up a thousand (or so it seemed - cut up, they made a stack six feet high) empty cardboard boxes in the basement, so now I have room for the storage containers.

I've started another "go to the dump" pile outside the basement door. It's already big. I'm proud of myself. I have all that paper downstairs that I can't burn (right now there's about 40 large grocery bags full, and last night I opened what I thought was a nearly empty box, and found "Science" magazines - a 18" by 18" by knee-high block of them). I guess I'll just throw it all on the outside pile. I'll have to keep the pile covered with plastic - the dump charges by weight, so I don't want it all waterlogged.

I also don't know what I'm going to do with all these rolled-up rugs. They have to be protected from moths. And silverfish. And damp. Eventually they can go on the floor somewhere, but first I have to clear the floor. (First I have to FIND the floor!)

Hush! I'm getting there....

~~Silk

#454 Pity Party - Going It Alone

There was a set of questions going around journals some days or weeks back, one of which was something like "When was the last time you went to a movie alone, and what did you see?"

Most of those who answered the question were of the opinion that going to a movie alone was just too pitiful for words.

I go to movies alone all the time.

Last night, for example, "Pride and Prejudice" at the Upstate. Followed by dinner alone. With a book. Another Saturday night alone.

This Saturday was the worst yet. I am frankly jealous. I don't know how long I can do this.

My friends are all paired off, married, too old, don't drive at night, or are too far away to get together for something as trivial as a movie. I've gone to a few movies just lately with Roman, but when I have time with him, I'd rather we spent the time talking. I'd rather look at him than sit next to him staring at a flickering screen. So, I go to movies alone.

I don't think that's at all as pitiful as sitting in front of the TV, watching the new year's ball drop, alone. Now, THAT's pitiful.

With the exception of 1992 through 2000, when I was with Jay, that's how I've spent every other New Year's Eve of my entire life. With no one to kiss.

You'd think, hey, you had lots of boyfriends, and two previous husbands, what gives?

Well, in high school, I babysat every New Year's. In college, everyone else went home from Christmas through New Year's, so I was left alone in the dorm. When I was dating Ex#1, he worked holidays - more money.

Then after we got married, Ex#1 was away in the Army the whole time we were married. We had one New Year's Eve, but that was after he separated from the army, and I had decided I wanted a divorce. I wasn't strong enough to leave over his objections - I wanted him to agree, to want me to leave. So I didn't spend a lot of time at home. New Year's Eve, I got all dressed up and left the house without saying anything to him, and I went to a club where there was a big party. I didn't go in - I had no reservation - I just wrapped myself up in blankets and slept in the car in the parking lot until morning. Even that didn't faze him. A month later, I left anyway. (Eight months later, he remarried.)

I was married to Ex#2 for twelve years or more, but every New Year's Eve he was either passed out drunk by midnight, or had gone to bed early. Holidays depressed him. All holidays. There actually were a few New Year's when we were visiting his family, and he did stay awake and relatively sober, but he'd be out with the guys at midnight, shooting guns at the moon. THEN he'd pass out.

So, except for Jay, most of my life I've greeted the New Year alone. No one to kiss in the New Year.

You KNOW what this is leading up to.

I'm already anticipating much unhappiness in a month or so.

I don't know why I do stuff like this to myself.

Sniffle.

~~Silk

#453 Another Tribute to Jay

I found the following in my email on my return from Pa. I'm still getting occasional notes like this, and I appreciate them all. Thought I'd share it. I thought this one was remarkable because apparently they were acquainted in middle school, but not so much beyond. Jay would be surprised at the number of people who remembered and appreciated him enough to send me notes. He seemed to think he had no friends in school.
~~Silk



My name is [Name Deleted]. I knew your late husband in Middle School (Iroquois). In fact, he came over to my house on [Street Name Deleted] Road several times for what would now be called "play dates". I wouldn't say we were close friends. However, he was one of my circle of friends from that era. I'm sure he would have remembered me. I read your note about Jay's passing in the IHS 1970 guest book.

I'm so sorry to read that Jay is no longer with us. I knew Jay because he was in my "core" classes in 5th and 6th grade. Iroquois segregated students on the basis of tested IQ into six ability groups. Jay was in Group One, and was generally considered by us mere mortals to be the brightest kid in the class, perhaps the brightest in the entire school. I remember competing against Jay in the 7th grade Science Fair. My Crystal Radio didn't stand a chance against Jay's Liquid Chromatograph (he won first prize). Jay always wanted to be a scientist. I think his Dad was an engineer, as were many of my classmates' fathers in Kodak-oriented West Irondequoit.

Thanks for publishing your moving tribute to Jay. I remember him as a decent and kind young man, who would laugh at your jokes and want to be your pal.

Best regards,
[Name Deleted]
[Town Deleted], CT

#452 I Want to Go Home

I figured out why I hesitated to post this topic (see previous entry).

Because it's revealing.

Several strangers who have somehow found my journal (particularly the earlier entries on AOL, when I was trying to finally let go of Jay) have commented that reading my journal has changed them, that they'd never seen feelings so starkly and yet so deeply expressed (which is one reason that I didn't allow comments - the comments themselves were sometimes wrenching), and so on. They almost all comment on the degree of self-revelation in so many entries, particularly those concerning Jay's and my relationship. Several have told me that my memorial to Jay made them cry. Complete strangers. And yet I continue.

Family and friends are not surprised. They know that I will say whatever I think and feel without censor or censure. My thoughts and emotions are very close to the surface. If they are even the least bit hidden, I drag them out to look at them. Take it or leave it, it's me. It's at least honest.

After what Daughter told me on Thanksgiving Day, I wanted to hide for a while. But that's the whole point of this topic - not hiding. It's the whole point of the journal, actually. Not hiding.

So here it is:

"I want to go home."

After I graduated from college, when I was finally out on my own, I think I may have been a little ... um ... mentally ill. Actually, maybe a little more than a little. I'd be in my kitchen, washing dishes, and I'd hear a voice, someone calling my name. It was so clear I'd turn around, thinking someone was in the hall calling me. Sometimes it was my mother's voice. Sometimes it was a stranger's voice. It was never my own inside-my-head-thinking voice.

The voice called me several times a week, always when I was alone. Sometimes the voice woke me from a sound sleep, calling me. Never anything but my name, and not even my full name, just the first half. The tone wasn't like my mother calling me home, but more like someone tapping me on the shoulder, saying my name to get my attention. It always made me look up, look around. It was so outside me.

Also, every once in a while, while I was doing some household chore, I'd stop, and look out a window, and I'd think to myself, "I want to go home." It was a sad thought. I didn't know why I said it. I didn't know what it meant. I was home. I often said it out loud. I surprised myself when I thought or said it, because I hadn't been thinking it, didn't know why I said it, and with such intense longing.

I had the "calling" voice and the "home" thought through my twenties and until my mid-thirties. The "calling" voice gradually came less often, as the wanting to "go home" increased. By my mid-thirties, I was walking around thinking "I want to go home" almost constantly. Everywhere. All the time. I wanted to go home so badly I sometimes burst into tears, but I couldn't figure out where home was. It certainly had nothing to do with my parents.

By then I was in psychotherapy. I told Dr. K. about how I thought "I want to go home" all the time, and how badly I wanted to go home, and he asked what I thought it meant, and I said I didn't know. He was sure it was not suicide. I wasn't so sure.

At the end of four plus years of therapy, I realized that if I stayed in the marriage to Ex#2, I would die inside. Worse, I could see six-year-old Daughter trying to get his attention, and her failure was making her sad, too. I was finally emotionally strong enough to take care of myself and her. We left him.

"I want to go home" slowed to a trickle almost immediately after leaving him. I haven't thought or heard it in almost twenty years.

Now I am content. I now finally know what I wanted. I know where "home" is.

Home is me.

Because of the way I was brought up, and because the early conditioning was reinforced by some emotional battery in college, I had believed that everything that went wrong was my fault. I thought I didn't matter. That it was up to me to make everyone happy. To be what they wanted me to be, to do what they wanted me to do, to fulfill their definition of me, their expectations. To give what others wanted, no matter what I wanted. Because I didn't matter. I didn't matter. I wasn't important.

Somewhere along the way, I had lost me. I didn't know who I was, or what or how I was. "I" was gone.

I guess that's what Dr. K. meant when he said I had a "poorly integrated personality".

It was only after I left Ex#2, and Daughter was the only person I had to be responsible to and for, that I was finally able to find me. And thanks to Dr. K., I found I liked me. It took a long time to get comfortable with me, to find out that I do matter, and that it's ok to define myself. To be myself. Eventually I liked me. A lot. I'm pretty nice, actually. I wish I had known me when I was younger.

I am valuable. I know who I am, what I am, and what I have to offer. I have faults and failings (one being a tendency toward self-involvement, no surprise, another a resistance to being responsible to anyone else, also no surprise), but they're minor compared to all of the good of the rest of me, and I admit to my faults freely. They are part of the package that is me. I am me, and I like me.

I am finally home. I am at home in myself, and I am content.

The reason I hesitated to post this is that on the way home from Reading yesterday afternoon, as I was driving through the mountains, I thought, "I want to go home." Just once, but it scared me. I think it was because of Daughter's revelation that she had contacted someone from "back then". Someone who knew me before I was me.

It frightened me. The thought, not the contact.

I'm ok now. All I have to do is be me, and everything will be ok.

~~Silk

#451 Pennsylvania

I'm back from Pennsylvania, the land of scrapple and suicide lanes. Nice Thanksgiving dinner at Daughter's fiance Hercules' grandmother Nana's house, where I finally found out the difference between stuffing and dressing.

Daughter and Hercules came up from New Jersey. They're taking a few days to explore areas in Pennsylvania they might consider moving to. Hercules' mother is on an extended visit from California.

Hmmm, lots of things in the first paragraph to explain to non-Pennsylvanians!

Scrapple IS what most people think Spam is but isn't. When Hormel makes a canned ham, they cut the big hunk of meat off the shoulder, and can it. But there's a lot of meat left on, in, and around the shoulder bones. So they trim all the bits of meat off the bones (getting a bit of the soft gristle, too, pure protein), grind it and put it in the Spam can, seal the can, then cook it. Cooking in the can is what causes all the nice jelly around the Spam. Spam is pure ground-up pork shoulder. Nothing else, nothing yucky. I like Spam.

Scrapple, on the other hand, is made from all kinds of scraps. I had a very bad experience more than 50 years ago when I accidentally saw scrapple being made. It involved huge a boiling vat topped with gray foam that parted to reveal an entire pig head, that rolled up like the "NO!" in a Magic Eightball. It had eye holes. Its tongue was hanging out. It looked at me. To this day, the mere smell of scrapple nauseates me. I was offered scrapple for breakfast this morning, and the severed pig head looked at me again.

Suicide lanes seem to be unique to Pennsylvania. I thought they had gotten rid of them, because they do deserve the name. It's a third center lane on a rural two lane highway, to be used only for left turns from either direction (or, unofficially, for passing a slow farm vehicle or Amish carriage). It runs for miles, down the middle of the road. Naturally, some idiots think it's a "go faster" lane created especially for them. So some innocent will pull into the suicide lane to make a left turn, and be clobbered at 60 mph by an idiot who can't get back into the regular lane quick enough. Unless the idiot has already been clobbered by another idiot doing the same thing from the other direction. Oh well. A lot of Pennsylvania is still nearly virgin forest. Maybe this is how the state keeps population growth down.

AOL Journal Land has been full of arguments and discussions the past week or so about stuffing versus dressing. I never knew there was a difference. Nana served both yesterday. The stuffing was the usual bread etc. mixture stuffed into the turkey. The dressing was mashed potatoes with sauteed onions and celery, and a couple slices of white toast cut into small cubes and then sauteed with the veggies, and veggies and bread were then mixed into the potatoes. I liked both. Yummy.

I'm blathering. I'm kind of avoiding a topic I want to note here. For myself.

This past summer I told Daughter one of my biggest secrets, because it affects her, and because she finally came right out and asked. It was finally unavoidably time. I had hoped she would just sit on the information, because it could potentially adversely affect another, who is deeply involved but didn't know it. Or suspected, because of some questions I had to ask about ten years ago, but didn't know for sure. And probably didn't want to know. And really didn't need to know anyway. Maybe.

Yeah. I should have known better. This is, after all, Daughter. She is what she is and has always been. If she were a dog, she'd be a terrier.

Daughter made contact, an anonymous card last June (which she didn't tell me about until now), and a phone call this past week. They discussed the topic. They're exchanging photos. I can't believe it. My past is coming back to haunt me.

She's handling it well. So's he, apparently. I'm a mess.

I don't know how to feel about it. It's been in the back of my head for 30 years, and now here it is right in front. She played a stored cell phone message for me to hear, and the voice on the phone shook me badly. I asked Hercules' aunt for a cigarette, and I took it down to the basement and smoked it. I don't know why, but when my mind is going six directions at once, the only thing that will stop it and put me back on track is nicotine.

She has given me an email address.

She has pointed him to this journal.

Ack!

I wanted to do an entry on "I want to go home". It's all written up - I wrote it last week, when I noticed that I say "I am content" a lot in these journals, even when things are tearing me up. It's such a difference, and I wanted to explore it. I figured I'd put it in sometime when I have no time to write or nothing to say.

But now I hesitate.

And I'm not sure why.

~~Silk

#450 A Story - A Teacher

I scarfed the following joke from the Mensa joke site. Pardon the "shouting" - that's how it was posted.

I WAS SITTING IN THE WAITING ROOM FOR MY FIRST APPOINTMENT WITH A NEW DENTIST. I NOTICED HIS DDS DIPLOMA, WHICH BORE HIS FULL NAME. SUDDENLY, I REMEMBERED A TALL, HANDSOME, DARK-HAIRED BOY WITH THE SAME NAME HAD BEEN IN MY HIGH SCHOOL CLASS SOME 40-ODD YEARS AGO. COULD HE BE THE SAME GUY THAT I HAD A SECRET CRUSH ON, WAY BACK THEN?

UPON SEEING HIM, HOWEVER, I QUICKLY DISCARDED ANY SUCH THOUGHT. THIS BALDING,GRAY-HAIRED MAN WITH THE DEEPLY LINED FACE WAS WAY TOO OLD TO HAVE BEEN MY CLASSMATE. HMMM ... OR COULD HE???

AFTER HE EXAMINED MY TEETH, I ASKED HIM IF HE HAD ATTENDED MORGAN PARK HIGH SCHOOL.

"YES. YES, I DID. I'M A MUSTANG," HE GLEAMED WITH PRIDE.

"WHEN DID YOU GRADUATE?" I ASKED.

HE ANSWERED, "IN 1959. WHY DO YOU ASK?"

"YOU WERE IN MY CLASS!" I EXCLAIMED.

HE LOOKED AT ME CLOSELY. THEN, THAT UGLY, OLD, WRINKLED SON-OF-A-BITCH ASKED, ...

"WHAT DID YOU TEACH?"

=====================================

I started teaching math at Gettysburg High School in 1965. I was 20 years old. Many of my students were only 2 or 3 years younger than I, but they didn't know that. In their eyes, I was a "grownup" and they were the kids. I left Gettysburg in 1967, moved to New York, and went to work for The Company.

Some five years later, I was in Gettysburg visiting friends. We were sitting in a bar one evening when a handsome young man sat down next to me and began to "put the move on" me, big time. He tried every pickup line in the book. I had told him I was visiting from New York, and he said "You know, I swear you look familiar. Have we ever met before?"

I smiled, and said, "Yes. You were in my calculus class at Gettysburg High School in 1965-66."

He frowned and said "That's funny. I don't remember you. Where did you sit?"

I answered, "At the big desk at the front of the room."

The look on his face as it dawned on him who I was was priceless. Suddenly, I was the grownup, and he was the kid.

Gotta give him credit, though. Once he got over it, he kept trying.

~~Silk

#449 AOL's Alerts - Tell Me Again?

I have posted the following comment in several AOL journals. It's a point no one else has brought up, and I want as many ex-AOL journalers as possible to think about it. Could it be that AOL is not being truthful? Gee, is that possible?

We have been told that the text in the alerts was shortened (in the same update as gave us the banners) in order to fix the alert delivery problem.

In the past, the alerts were long enough that I was often able to read an entire entry without having to go to the actual journal. Now, I almost always have to go to the journal (which has forced me to cut down on the number of alerts, since I don't have time for that, especially since the banner ads slow load time). However, I notice that the UK journals, which do not have the ads, still provide long alerts. This implies that the shortening of the alerts is connected somehow to the addition of the banners.

One cannot help but wonder if the purpose of shortening the alerts was NOT to fix an alert problem, but to forcefeed the banner ads. !!!!!

Wouldn't it have been more efficient, more effective, and less disruptive to put the ads in the alerts, and leave the alert text long, rather than putting them in the journals?

~~Silk

#448 Margaret Cho's Blog

I've been dipping into Margaret Cho's blog occasionally. The woman is deep. If you haven't been there, go: http://www.margaretcho.net/blog/blog.htm.

This entry, although a bit depressing, Is a good example: http://www.margaretcho.net/blog/notimeforsuicide.htm
or this one, about dieting: http://www.margaretcho.net/blog/fuckitdiet.htm. I just wander around, choosing topics from the list of entries on the right.

I'm still up because I am doing laundry. I am doing laundry because I have no clean underwear. And I have a date tomorrow, so (even though no one will see them) I can't wear the emergency back-up underpants - Jay's old y-fronts. Ouch. (Well, come on! They are amazingly comfortable!)

~~Silk

#447 Is It Time to Panic Yet?

Monday. Eight items on the Immediate To-Do list. I accomplished four. Considering what last week was like, I guess that was pretty good.

I cleared out last week's mail and newspaper backlog, and burned the (non-colored) trash.

I made hotel reservations for Wednesday and Thursday, Thanksgiving in Reading with Daughter's fiance's family. I left a message at a beautiful antiques-furnished "haunted" mansion B&B, but they haven't called me back yet. So I made reservations at a Best Western. I can cancel the Best Western if the mansion comes through, but I sincerely doubt that the B&B will have anything available. The clue - They have a 2-week cancellation policy.

I called Roman to check on how his father is doing. Not good but not worse. Dinner together tomorrow, then I'll attend his class, then we both go home alone so we can get ready for our respective trips Wednesday.

I studied a little of the Excel textbook Roman lent me so I wouldn't look like a complete idiot. A lot of it is intuitive. If I learn the terms and where to click, the rest should follow. Unfortunately, I didn't get very far. I hope I can do more tomorrow.

I haven't the faintest idea what took up the rest of the day.

I didn't get laundry done, or hem the jacket I wanted to wear for Thanksgiving, or move the grandfather clock, or unpack several "short trip" bags cluttering the hall. The first two could be a problem. If I don't do laundry tomorrow, I may have nothing to wear to Reading. Wish me luck.

Oh, by the way, the alarm clock works fine. It rings changes on cathedral bells, and this morning I let it go to see how long it would ring. The bells ring for two hours before they give up. I don't know what happened Saturday morning.

~~Silk

#446 The Wedding

Yesterday was the wedding. The beautiful alabaster-skinned Pixie wed the spit-shined and polished Dark Prince. Everything was beautiful. The sun shone, the hotel did an incredible job with the dinner, the men were handsome and the women were beautiful, and the day ended well for all.

Personally, the day didn't start so well for me. The ceremony was at 11 am. I was so looking forward to it. I was to stop at Roman's on the way, so I would have had to leave the house by a little after 9 am. Friday night I set the alarm for 7 am, and went to sleep.

I was awakened from a deep sleep, in the middle of the night, by the bed phone ringing. I answered sleepily, and it was Roman. He asked "Where are you?"
"Huh?"
"It's 11 am."
"Huh?"
"Saturday. The wedding. It's supposed to be now."
... followed by yelps of sheer panic on my side.

Luckily, I had laid out my clothes the night before, so I managed to get washed, dressed, and out the door in 18 minutes. Thank goodness my hair didn't look too very bad. Brush and run. I had intended to wash it because I had been burning more paper the night before, but nobody complained .... (I worried about Roman, because he kisses the top of my head a lot.) Yes, I did check the alarm clock. It was set, and the time was correct. Either it went off and I didn't hear it, or it never went off.

Don't tell anyone, but I hit 70 mph on Route 9G. That road is deserted on Saturdays.

We missed the ceremony, of course. I'll have to beg Pixie to let me see the video. Everyone said it was very special. I'm absolutely sick we missed it. But we made it in time for cocktails and the reception at the hotel. And Roman finally got to see the Gypsy dance - she lived up to reviews. The Pixie had taken good care of us - we were at a table with some people I had met before (although that was at a fantasy gathering, and so everyone had been in costume and under assumed names then - which statement, that we had met under assumed names, puzzled Roman for a half a minute). And I didn't have to apologize to Roman - suits and ties were the uniform.

I had taken advantage of the wedding group discount and reserved a double at the hotel for Saturday night, for just in case. What the heck, why not, we could cancel anytime up to 6 pm without penalty. (Maybe I should have got the room for the night before!) But after one large Southern Comfort on the rocks, a glass of champagne, and a glass of wine (the last inch of which I spilled), keeping the room was a good idea. I was giggling a lot.

When I had met with Roman earlier and switched to his car, I said that I had tried to call him on the road and have him meet me in the hotel lobby, but I had somehow forgotten the cell phone. He said oh, no, he was counting on my cell because his mother had called earlier, and his father was not doing well. His sister was headed out to check on them, and he wanted to call them at about 2 to see what his sister had to say. We ended up borrowing The Gypsy's cell (thank you very much, Gypsy!). His sister said she didn't notice anything untoward, but Roman, knowing that his mother is in a better position to judge, worried all day anyway. He called again later from the hotel room. He's going to worry until he can see for himself, I think. (I suspect I should be grateful that he didn't cancel on me and head for Long Island. I'm sure that was his first impulse.)

So, all in all, a good past 33 hours. I think Roman enjoyed himself, too, even with his worry. The DJ played mostly music from OUR high school years, and we sang along and even danced a little (it was mostly fast, and I don't do fast, but the few slows were nice.) We fit well for dancing, too.

Damn. I'm still having trouble accepting that we missed the ceremony. Well, I'll just have to sit back and smile on the marriage. That's the important part, and it lasts longer.

~~Silk

#445 Deadline Approaching

I committed to have the house "company ready" by Thanksgiving. I haven't given up yet, exactly, but I don't think I'll make it. Not to my standards, anyway.

I got next to nothing done this week, having been out Sunday afternoon and evening, Monday night, Tuesday night into Wednesday, Thursday night into Friday afternoon, tonight, and tomorrow morning into Sunday. I wanted to move the grandfather clock to the basement. I have to do that in order to move the Tibetan chest that has been blocking the foyer into that corner, in order to unblock the front door, so I can take stuff on a hand truck around the corner of the house to the basement. The only block of time when I could have done that, it was pouring rain and so windy a goose ran into the side of the house.

I had made a promise to myself that I would no longer stack newspapers. I would read every day's paper the day it arrived, and burn it that night. I'm already five days behind. Duh?

I did go to the Wal-Mart movie this evening. It was limited to 350 capacity, at Bard College, and I had never received any confirmation of my online reservations. Well, there were no more than 80 people there.

The movie was nothing new, all stuff we have been hearing. Not nice at all. I have a friend who just started working at W-M and I'll have to ask him what he thinks. It's funny, but when they were talking about how workers are forced to work unpaid unrecorded overtime, and several other unfair practices, I almost had to put my hand over my mouth to avoid shouting "[The Company] did that, too! They ALL do!"

I have one definite technical complaint. There was a lot of what should have been voiceover with background sounds or music. But it was actually more like music (including vocals) with background voice-under. It's especially apparent at the end, but that's not what I'm talking about. I couldn't hear many of the interviews because the singing or music or background sounds were too loud.

In a future entry, I think I'll address company cultures, and how they can so easy change, usually for the worst.

I had a very bad moment tonight. I just realized that the actual ceremony is in the morning tomorrow, and what I have decided to wear is more appropriate to evening. That thought was prompted by Roman's plaint, "Do I really have to wear a suit? And a tie?" At least he can take his jacket and tie off for the reception if he wants. I'm gonna be stuck in what I leave the house in.

Pardon me while I go crawl through my closet again. Blech. Now I wish I had found a moment to do laundry this week.

~~Silk

#444 Run, Silk, Run

This'll have to be quick. A long-distance friend (Beauregard, for those who may remember him) urged me to see the movie "The High Cost of Low Prices", an expose of Wal-Mart. It's showing at Bard College this evening at 8, so I'll have to get a move on.

Tomorrow is the wedding of The Pixie and The Dark Prince. I'll be leaving here in the morning, and I don't expect to be back until Sunday, probably about noonish. In the meantime, the beast is in charge.

Last night's dinner was pretty good - there were only four of us, but it was good. Dessert was even better. Especially since the dessert tray didn't have to go to work until this afternoon.

Oh, and I found out that the spell-checker didn't work because I had the pop-up blocker on. It's easy to turn it on and off.

Gotta run.

~~Silk