More Sayings From My Mother

fronie-bowers-jones1[1]The other day I realized I had violated my in-home safety policy. I never even thought about such things until my friend Renny ran downstairs in her sock feet, slipped on the carpeted stairs, and shattered her ankle so badly that it subsequently took pins and plates to put it back together. Then there was the incident when my poor brother fell off the bed while changing a lightbulb in a ceiling fixture, hung his foot in the box spring, and was stranded for two days with a broken leg before he could get help.

Now that I’ve thoroughly frightened everyone, I should explain that the in-home safety policy applies only to people who live alone or perhaps spend all day or all night alone at home. Number one rule: Don’t run around in socks. Either go barefoot or wear shoes that fit. Rule number two: Always have your cellphone in your pocket. Make sure it’s charged. Rule number three: Teach your cat to dial 911 (joke.)

Anyway, my violation did not result in an injury, but I realized I’d done it while staring at a sink full of dirty dishes. Immediately one of Mother’s immortal sayings popped into my head: “If I get sick in the night, don’t call the ambulance until you clean up this kitchen.”

Another favorite behavior was how she hoarded her nice nightgowns and robes in case she had to go to the hospital. I guess she was concerned about looking well-dressed in her hospital bed.

Then I smelled my garbage, realizing it needed to be carried out, and thought, “There’s something kyarny in there.” That was a favorite word of Mother’s. I just found it online in the Urban Dictionary. I knew it meant “smells like something dead.” According to that website, kyarn is a Southern derivative of the word “carrion,” meaning dead or decaying flesh.

Another of Mother’s expressions was often aimed at me: “Get off your high horse.” That meant, “Stop being so arrogant and superior,” or as phrases.org.uk says, “A request to stop behaving in a haughty and self-righteous manner.”

Well, I have to get off my high horse and go get my cellphone. That way if I should get drunk as Cootie’s goose (i.e., dizzy) I can always call for help!

10 Years of Supper Club

ImageIn January ten years ago, my friend M. went off to a writer’s retreat near Chicago to work on her poetry for a month, leaving behind her husband, B.  B. is a human resources consultant and trainer and is often on the road, but things were slow that winter, and he was very bored.  He likes to do long-distance bike rides and has done several “centuries” in his spare time.  But that winter was a harsh one with lots of snow, so he was cooped up inside a lot.

I didn’t realize how bad it was until he called me and said, “Do you want to go to the mall?”  A sure sign of desperation, with most men.  I invited him to dinner instead with my friend Diane.  I had met Diane a few years earlier in a fiction writing class.  She has great tolerance for my limited cooking skills, and at that time was an assistant district attorney, with a lively perspective on local happenings. 

So I cooked dinner for the three of us.  I don’t remember what it was, but I’m sure it was simple.  It turned out that we all enjoyed murder mysteries, had similar political views, and were interested in the arts.  B. declared that we should do this on a regular basis.  “Let’s have a supper club, and take turns cooking,” he said.  Diane and I agreed this was a great idea.  Our first official action was to vote M. in as a member.

We’ve been meeting for the last ten years.  Sometimes it’s as often as weekly, or every two weeks.  It tends to be less often in the summer, when folks vacation.  They all have more vacation time than I do, since they don’t work 9 to 5 anymore.  But we’re still faithfully getting together.

We each have our favorite meals that the others cook, and ones that are our old standbys.  Occasionally the host will order out for pizza, because the main thing for our club is not the food–it’s the companionship.  That said, we have had some excellent meals, but this is not a gourmet supper club.  We’re as likely to have meatloaf or sausage and white beans as we are to have Julia Child’s beef stroganoff recipe.

This week we are celebrating 10 years, and M. is back at the same writers’ retreat.  I hope she turns out some wonderful poems.  And I hope we can keep cooking, laughing and talking for at least another 10 years.

1980 Flashback

Argo on IMDb

I just saw the movie “Argo” this afternoon, and it took me right back in time to 1980. It’s a great movie, no question, a tightly-plotted, suspenseful thriller with a lot of good lines and really funny characaters as well. It’s also a time machine!

I hadn’t realized how long ago that was. It seemed like the Iran hostage crisis would never end, much less end with them getting out safely. I didn’t recall about the six who were “rescued by the Canadians,” which is the subject of “Argo.”

What really took me back was the footage they used of actual TV news broadcasts–Uncle Walter! (That’s how I thought of Walter Cronkite.) And the clothes! Those awful huge glasses, especially the aviators! And the mustaches. The look was really end-of-the-seventies. So much denim!

It’s also painful to think that the Iranian people went straight from one kind of repression (the Shah) to another kind of repression (the Ayatollah.) And they are not free to this day, especially the women.

I did enjoy the movie a lot. But I did feel a little sad, too. Has it really been 30 years since I was getting out of Wharton, going to interviews with a bad perm (think When Harry Met Sally) and wearing a pair of those glasses?

2012 in review

The WordPress.com stats helper monkeys prepared a 2012 annual report for this blog.

Here’s an excerpt:

600 people reached the top of Mt. Everest in 2012. This blog got about 3,100 views in 2012. If every person who reached the top of Mt. Everest viewed this blog, it would have taken 5 years to get that many views.

Click here to see the complete report.

Christmas at the MCL

I800px-Christmas_tree_bauble[1]t’s December 23rd. Tonight I had dinner with my sister and brother-in-law at the MCL cafeteria. It’s known locally for having lots of vegetables and plain but palatable food. It’s also known as the Medicare Cafe.

The cafeteria line has salads in portions, five or six different entrees in addition to fried chicken, broccoli, Brussels sprouts, mashed potatoes, and several desserts. You slide your tray along to the cashier. Then an attendant comes and carries your tray to a table if you aren’t able to yourself. They are younger women in white waitress uniforms.

Most of the clientele is north of 65. Tonight several were elderly, some in pairs, many alone. Buzzing from table to table were the table waitresses, mostly older women, who refill coffee and clear the tables. The one who waited on us tonight moved slowly, bent at an angle slightly toward the floor. But she never stopped moving, pouring coffee, and talking to the regulars.

“She knows so many of them,” my sister said. “See that man? He’s here every time we come. He’s always by himself and reading a book.” The grey-haired man sat in a small booth alone, eating slowly.

Then the waitress shuffled over, refilled his coffee and gave him a Christmas present. He smiled.

I hope he had somewhere to go for Christmas. But someone did care. So he wasn’t alone.

The Return of the Light

800px-Christmas_tree_bauble[1]A lot of us find the holiday season difficult.  As the days get shorter and darker, some folks get more and more depressed.  In ancient times people sought for explanations of the seasonal changes.  Why did the days get shorter?  Why did they then begin to lengthen again?  What is the pattern of all this?

Astronomy evolved from the search for answers and from observation of the natural world.  Many of the world’s religions celebrate the winter solstice, when the shortest day of the year leads to lengthening again.  Many religions and cultures have a festival of lights, whether it’s Hanukkah or Diwali, the winter solstice or Christmas.

Why do we long for the light and fear the darkness?  Is it because we as humans don’t see well at night, so darkness became a source of fear?

This year seems particularly dark, especially with the horrible massacre of children in Newtown, Connecticut.  And there have been several other mass shootings this year.

Next Friday, Dec. 21, is the solstice.  Let’s hope that this holiday season will help us turn to the light, as the days begin to lengthen and we celebrate Christmas.

And I am calling us all to action.  Enough darkness.  Enough killing.  There is no legitimate reason for any private citizen to have an assault rifle or a semi-automatic pistol.  Let’s work to outlaw these weapons of massive death!

A Need for Quiet and Repose

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERADon’t get me wrong–I love Christmas, and New Year’s, and the whole holiday season.  I love being with friends and family.  I always travel to be with a part of my family at Christmas.  I have given a “holiday party” for anywhere from 12 to 28 people for the last 15 years.

But I also find this season exhausting, and sometimes melancholy.  I think of my parents who have died, the many aunts and uncles who are gone, and others I have loved and lost.  Holiday grief is not unusual.  Here’s a useful blog post (which I wrote) for my former employer, Regional Hospice and Home Care of Western Connecticut, on the topic.

Sometimes it’s not even that.  It’s just exhaustion!  And sometimes, it’s just good to be at home.  Nights like tonight, when I am tired and still coughing from this blasted upper respiratory infection (2 weeks later!), it’s a wonderful thing to have the Christmas tree lit, and a comfy bed, and a good book.  I’ll even turn off Sunday Night Football and go to bed early with a book, the cat, and quiet.  I don’t need snow or carols.  I just need home.

So, as Tiny Tim said, God bless us every one!  Here’s to being snug and warm and loved.  And for those who aren’t, may God give you those graces in the new year.  And may the rest of us step up to make it happen, too.

Fever Dreams

I’m finally feeling better after being sick for a week.  I never get the flu–always get that flu shot!  I rarely get a cold.  But this really laid me low.

The worst of it was the fever.  I ran a fever of 101 degrees or more for three days.  And I had the same dream all three nights, just picking up at a different place each night.

I dreamed I was designing a website for someone (which is not at all in my skill set, but in the dreams I could.)  The site was vividly colorful.  At some point I realized that whatever File:Leptotyphlops humilis - head.jpgI did to the website was being echoed in the real world.  I remember thinking this was pretty cool, watching colors and images cascade out from the screen into reality.

Then  on the third night of this dream I made a terrible mistake, and everyone in the world suddenly had reptilian scales instead of skin, in a sort of purple-and-black python pattern.  And people turned and looked at me with snake faces and black, snake eyes.  I freaked out and woke up.

Someone at work said this was a responsibility dream.  Apparently I’m afraid of screwing up in a really big way and having it affect other people.  I am getting ready to start a new job, and I am both excited and worried about starting a new endeavor.

I guess the good news is, whatever I do will spill out into the real world, but it’s unlikely I will turn people into purple-and-black snakeskin monsters!  Thank goodness my powers are limited 🙂

Raise a Song of Harvest Home

Does anybody remember singing Thanksgiving hymns in church?  “Come, Ye Thankful People, Come”?  I’m missing the emphasis on something besides Black Thursday/Friday and shopping.  Thanksgiving seems to disappear between Halloween and Christmas, more glamorous holidays.

One of my friends who has invited me to share Thanksgiving with her family for many years has a great custom.  Her partner offers a blessing over the groaning board and the “hands that prepared it,” and then they go around the table.  Each person has to name something they are grateful for.

Oprah calls it “an attitude of gratitude.”  In a time of irony, entitlement and downright ennui, it’s nice to remember we are, often, lucky in so many ways.  There is plenty of tragedy after Hurricane Sandy and the nor’easter–and there is tragedy every single day, sadness and hurt and hunger and despair.

My late boyfriend used to say, with irony, “Well, I didn’t get malaria today.”  Yes, there are people who are richer or happier or more beautiful than we all are.  But there are people who are much worse off.  Let’s try to help someone else this holiday.  And if nothing else, let’s be grateful for the family and friends we overeat with!

Happy Thanksgiving to all!

The Sessions

I saw a really great movie this afternoon–“The Sessions.”  If it comes to your town, it will be at the local arty movie theater.  It’s not a blockbuster by any stretch.  But the emotions it raises are both quiet and profound.  Here’s a link to the Rotten Tomatoes review:  http://www.rottentomatoes.com/m/the_sessions/

It’s based on the real story of Mark O’Brien, a man who was stricken with polio as a six-year-old child, and had to spend the majority of each day in an iron lung, since his muscles were paralyzed.  His parents refused to give up on him and cared for him at home.  He went to college and became a poet and journalist, moving into an apartment of his own.  In the movie he knew he was approaching his “use-by” date, and he wanted to lose his virginity, and experience what that meant.  So he consulted with his priest (he was a devout Catholic) and hired a sexual surrogate.

The amazing thing is, the movie is not really about sex.  It’s about intimacy, and pleasure, and caring.  And, ultimately, it’s about the need for love, much more than the need for sex.

Helen Hunt as the sexual surrogate plays her as a complete professional who just wants to help him as far as her role permits, no more.  But even for a professional, emotions have a way of coming in.

It was the most human and humane movie I’ve seen in a long time–caring, nonjudgmental, and, ultimately, loving.  In a time when sex seems to have been downgraded to reality TV and stupid, uncaring behavior, it’s reassuring to see two adults who aren’t beautiful (although Helen Hunt is still lovely), or vampires, or drunk on the Jersey Shore, being intimate and kind.