one thing I'm excited for

My son is moving out to Phoenix. He'll arrive in five days. I've missed him! I moved back out here in 2013. We've seen each other only once since then, when we attended a reunion together. But we talk several times a week. I'm lucky that we're close. I talk to other mothers who tell me they almost never hear from their sons.

Throughout his childhood, people kept warning me, "A son is a son until he takes a wife. A daughter is a daughter for the rest of your life." I never believed it. I saw no evidence of that in my own extended family. I knew many devoted sons. And among my friends, there were many men who are also close to their mothers. So I think that statement would only be true if the son married the wrong woman. The right woman would foster that mother/son bond, even if she and her mother-in-law weren't close.

All good parents balance letting go with being available if their adult child needs them. My son has done things that terrified me. Kayaking down treacherous rapids, mountain biking, playing the stock market - he enjoys risk and thrill. I have to work really hard to express joy over some of his choices. Sometimes I feel like my heart is going to explode from fear. But I really am so glad that he celebrates life in so many ways.

At the library where I work, we're celebrating the 50 year anniversary of Maurice Sendak's Where the Wild Things Are. That story tells me that no matter where my son goes, he'll always come back, especially if I cook something good to eat!

the night of my 21st birthday

This prompt is meant for younger writers, I suppose, who grew up after the legal drinking age was raised from 18 to 21. When I was in high school, I easily passed for eighteen, and had no trouble getting into most bars and taverns. So my 21st birthday was just another birthday, as far as I was concerned.

It was a Tuesday, as I recall. Some of us had plans to go see And Justice For All over the weekend. But the topic of my birthday hadn't even come up. I moved through my scheduled classes like every other student enrolled at Pfeiffer. Nothing memorable happened during the day.

At the time, I was secretly serving as editor of a benign but humorous underground newspaper (Cockfeathers) that questioned college administration, and made fun of the regular college newspaper (The Pfeiffer News) which was hopelessly dull and never courted controversy of any kind. We aimed to entertain, mostly, but we didn't object to the occasional poke at a hornets' nest. We tackled tenure, student scandals, teaching styles, rumors about various people, administrative appointments, and college spending. One exposé tackled the redecoration costs of the administration building juxtaposed with a cut in funding to various student activities. Shocking!

I had rented a post office box in the next town so our readers could send letters to the editor, which they frequently did. In fact some of our best stories began with a letter to the editor! I drove over that afternoon to check the box after my last class was done. In the box were three letters. Two were standard letters complimenting us on our work. The third was an article being submitted for publication. I stood there reading it. It was hilarious and I knew we would publish it.

When I got back to my car, I spotted an envelope under my windshield wiper. It had my name written on it. My heart started racing when I saw that. I looked all around. I was alone. Inside the envelope was a note card. (I still have it.) It said, "Please meet us at 6 pm at the VFW." Who was us? Was this a trap? I looked at my watch. It was 5:45. There was no time to go find another newspaper staff member. I had to decide.

I slowly drove to the VFW. When I got there, I found an empty parking lot in front. I sat in my car, thinking. Should I go try the door? I was frightened. Suddenly my harmless newspaper felt dangerous. I worried I might get expelled. I had just about made the decision to drive away when the front door opened and a figure emerged. It was one of my favorite professors. He waved. I waved back. He signaled for me to come in. Behind him in the doorway was a female member of the athletic staff. She too signaled for me to come in.

Confused but curious, I got out of the car and went in. I was greeted by a large group (twenty?) of employees of the college. I was handed a glass of champagne. They all held their glasses up. The highest ranking professor said, "To the wonderful Cat on the occasion of her 21st birthday. We appreciate your editorial work, your courage, your sense of humor, and your service as our voice." Then we all drank. I was speechless. People went out the back door a few at a time, some hugging me before they went.

Finally, it was just me and one instructor. I was still holding my champagne glass. "You okay?" he asked as he took my glass. "I guess. I'm so confused." We stood looking at each other. He offered no explanation. "I've got to lock up now," he hinted. I went out the front door. I heard the lock click behind me. I got in my car and drove back to the campus.

We never set out to be anyone's voice. We were just having fun. But I guess what we did mattered!

(All credit for the origin of Cockfeathers goes to Don Sherrow, may he rest in peace.)

words or phrases I constantly use

What the hell?

You have GOT to be kidding me!

It'll be fine, just fine. (Credit to Martha Jane Thompson.)

Shit!

Fuckin' men!

Can you stop and get some ice cream?

Ohhhh, Catherine, what are you doing? (Credit to Richard Semakula.)

Stop me if I told you this one ...

what I wore yesterday

I wore confidence. I first tried on weary resignation, but it didn’t look good on me.

I wore joy. I celebrated being alive and happy.

I wore gratitude. I heard from my lover, halfway across the country on a family trip. I heard from my son, who will be here soon. I’m loved. I wore love!

I wore patience. Customers come from all walks of life and sometimes bring their troubles with them. Did my kind attention to their souls make a difference? I wore hope.

I wore worry, thinking about our presidential election.

I wore laughter as co-workers shared stories and I shared mine.

I wore the coolness of the pool water at the end of a workday.

I wore wonder as I floated on my back and watched fluffy clouds drift across the Arizona sky.

I wore exuberance as I threw the ball for Jackson. I wore exasperation when he stopped to smell the flowers and ran back without the ball. I wore humility when I realized my dog was demonstrating, “Don’t forget to stop and smell the flowers.” I wore affection as I scratched his ears and told him what a good boy he was.

I wore comfort as I tucked into some tacos. I wore salsa that dribbled on my shirt. I wore a shrug because that Resolve stain stick really works!

I wore interest and surprise as I watched Father Brown solve yet another mystery.

I wore contentment when my lover called to report on his day and tell me good night.

I wore relaxation as I snuggled into my bed to read before I closed my eyes for the night. I wore amusement and appreciation as I caught up with the wisdom of Mma Precious Ramotswe.

I wore peace as I counted my blessings and gave thanks for another day.

things I’d say to an ex

I like this topic. It reminds me of a poem I wrote at some point in the last year or so. Here it is:

-------

Love Timeline

Could I have my youth back, please?
There are boys and men I’d like to embrace.
I didn’t then because I was told that I shouldn’t.

Could I have a redo?

There are boys I wish I’d said no to,

     and one I told to go away,
     to whom I’d now say “stay.”

May I take a weapon back in time?
There’s a fella who could use a lesson or two,
     and I, more than anyone,
     can find exactly the right examples.

And I’ll take just a moment,
     to kiss that one boy on the cheek,
     before he’s taken by the flames.

And let me tell THAT young man
     that he IS worthy of his father’s legacy,
     before the water fills his lungs.

And let me whisper in that special soldier’s ear
     that he is loved and cherished,
     before he ends it with his gun.

Time, a fickle beast, refuses to yield.

I'm stuck with the choices I made,

    and the choices I was never given.

four weird traits about me

Just four? I have so many. Ugh. These prompts are starting to get on my nerves. But I’m determined to finish all thirty. I usually fizzle out on things like this. Not this time! So, four weird traits.

1. I really enjoy doing absolutely nothing, by myself. I’m perfectly happy sitting in a chair, with nobody else around, just thinking. I joke that I’m an introvert who fakes extroversion really well. When I’m around people I’m animated and engaged. But I’m happiest when it’s just me. And my dogs! I frequently get advised that I should have more activities. People who say this to me are often scheduled beyond belief. A lunch date can only be planned for “two weeks from Wednesday.” That’s fine for them, but not for me.

2. I keep lists of character names, book or chapter titles, scene descriptions and snippets of dialogue. Maybe all writers do this. These things just pop into my head. I was working on the second floor of the library last week. There were workmen changing out a small art gallery area, so random furniture had been pushed here and there. I spotted a customer sitting in a chair facing out a huge floor-to-ceiling, wall-to-wall window. He wasn’t reading. There were no other chairs or tables or customers near him. He was just watching the world. And if you read #1 on this list, you’ll know I was thinking how much I would like to be doing exactly what he was doing. I wrote “The Brilliance of the Man in the Orange Chair” which I will use at some point.

3. I’m socially awkward, but only in very specific ways. I’ll say something benign that is interpreted in a negative way. I won’t realize right away that I expressed the thought in a poor way. By the time I do realize what has happened, I’m frozen with mortification and can’t figure out what to do or say to fix it without sounding defensive. Because nobody perceives me as socially awkward, I come across as aloof, when all the while my brain is trying out and rejecting explanations, clarifications, apologies, and other strategies to fix my unintentional faux pas. I’m a lost cause.

4. I have hoarder tendencies which I combat with very minimalist surroundings. If I see even a hint of things piling up, I institute my Every Time Rules. Every time I get up, I must put something away. Every time I leave the house I must take something with me. Every time an item in my house reminds me of something unpleasant, I throw it away. One happy aspect of getting older is that with the object out of view, I’ll never think of it again.

I’m not reading ahead on these prompts. I’m hopeful, for my sake and for yours, that the remaining topics are less about me and more about … anything else!

some things I miss

Catching fireflies in a jar, then letting them go again.

Acrylic nails, but not the expense or the seeing-stars-pain of hitting one on a surface.

The Mom I had from 1975-2002. I never saw that woman again.

Crane onion skin writing paper & envelopes in canary yellow.

My guitars.

My cousins Bobby, Catherine and Beth.

Good Humor Chocolate Eclair Ice Cream on a stick.

Full-sized toilet paper rolls.

Thin Mints - original size, three sleeves in a box.

Hill Street Blues.

Playing backgammon with college buddies.

Sam, when he was a newborn, 3 years old and 6 years old.

My dogs - Belle, Peanut, Jennifer, Sunshine, and C.R.

My cats - Ninja, Angel, Nicole, and Joe.

The excitement and joy of Christmas mornings as a child.

Cap'n Crunch cereal.

My Slip 'n' Slide.

Pittman Park UMC.

Montreat, NC.

Knowing my brothers.

a family member I dislike

There is no family member I dislike. There are family members with whom I disagree on major issues such as politics, religion, and social privilege. And there are a few family members who (I think) dislike me, or simply don’t understand me. And more with whom I have very little in common. But I can think of no one I dislike.

So, where do I go from here? The whole premise of this prompt is to motivate me to give rich detail about why I don't like a specific family member, or to describe a series of precipitating events that led to a Hatfield/McCoy situation. So what does one do in the absence of familial hostility?

Ah, this, from Gloria Steinem: “Happy or unhappy, families are all mysterious. We have only to imagine how differently we would be described – and will be, after our deaths – by each of the family members who believe they know us.”

I believe that only a handful (or two) of people really know me. And most of them are not family. I created a family of friends who know me and love me. So perhaps the same is true for everyone else in my family. I think I know them, but I don’t.

And the family members I think don’t like me? If I'm right, I think it’s because they don’t know me at all. They’ve inherited a dislike from other family members who think they know me, but don’t.

But being liked isn’t critically important to me. Being honest and authentic, and having the courage to speak my truth is important to me. Sometimes there's a heavy price for that.

I do wish I could spend more time with family, especially those I don’t know well. Maybe in retirement! And who knows? Maybe time will yield deeper relationships than I currently think are possible. Wouldn't that be sweet?

my morning routine (fiction?)

My first thought every morning is coffee. But I have to take the dogs out first. And they need their breakfast. Priscilla had too many months on the streets scrounging for food to ever be relaxed about meals. She is frantic for breakfast, shivering with anxiety and excitement, barking if I don't move fast enough.

Then I put water on to boil. I need one cup of coffee in the morning - Columbian drip. Yes. And breakfast of some sort.

Next move is a toss-up. If I'm working that day, I think about what I'll wear. I might start a load of laundry. Will I need lunch or a snack? How much time do I have? Do I need to wash my hair? Once I'm ready for work, I read or play on the computer until it's time to go. Sometimes I write.

If I'm not working, I'll pull the zandikyn and contact the mother ship. I'm required to report on any significant contacts with humans and provide coordinates for last known locations of my partners. This can take some time if they're probing for details or collecting biological samples.

Next, I drive over to Alice Cooper's house. We play Skip-Bo (my favorite) and Caroms (his favorite.) We might go for a swim. I record our conversations for the book I'm writing. He will talk extemporaneously with very little prompting from me. Sometimes we take little road trips - to the Brass Armadillo or to hit some golf balls. Then it's time for lunch!

That's it!

does my zodiac sign fit me?

Libra. And my name is Catherine. I like a man who's bold; a man who's not afraid to be original. And if that's you, come with me. Take my hand. Come with me, baby, to Love Land. Let me show you how sweet it could be ...

OOPS. Sorry, I was floating on for a minute there.

No. I don't think my zodiac sign fits me. I think zodiac signs are manufactured nonsense. I've seen this proven multiple times. If you take descriptions of each sign and remove obvious clues, such as "bull-headed" for Taurus, "balanced" for Libra, and "two sides of you" for Gemini, any description can fit just about anyone.

But it's fun to play with. Not that I do. I can't remember the last time I even looked at it. Let me go do that now ...

Now THIS is spooky. My horoscope for today. "Words from you carry a bigger punch than you sometimes acknowledge. Many more people listen to you than you realize. Be careful with what you say and write. One of your readers will send you $5,000."

Just kidding. I wrote that. Let me go read it, for real.

"Connect with the stabilizing force of the day, Libra. It's important for you to keep at least one foot on the ground, as powerful and intense emotions are likely to try to take over the scene. This is a good time to do things with passion."

Okay. Will do. I always do!

Or was this the horoscope for Pisces? Hee hee!

music shuffle

The instructions are, "Put your music player on shuffle and write the first 3 songs that play and what your initial thought is."

1. 'S Wonderful - Joao Gilberto. His version is very sensual. My first thought is that I wish my lover was here. He's still at work. But the night is still young. Maybe I'll still get lucky.

2. Twisted - Joni Mitchell. Hilarious. This is my theme song, so of course it popped up. I was just talking to a friend about this song a few weeks ago.

3. Trouble No More - Allman Brothers. Well, this band takes me back to the happy parts of my adolescence. It was always the music.

five fears

1. Alligators. I have no idea when this became a thing for me. I've always had a vivid imagination. My ability to supply awful detail to every potential tragedy means that I have about two hundred potential imagined scenarios in which I am snatched by an alligator, drowned and eaten for lunch. Last year when we were looking at a possible relocation to Miami, we fell in love with a rental property on a canal. I told the real estate agent about my morbid fear of alligators. He said, "It's Florida. You're on the water. There are gators. But they're more likely to snatch your dogs." Nope! Couldn't do it!

2. Dying alone. I have no doubt there will be people around me if I die of cancer or old age. But I live alone. So I imagine a slip and fall at the beginning of three days off. I don't always answer my phone. How long would it take for someone to come check on me? Again, my imagination is not my friend.

3. Donald Trump as our president. Yikes! No imagination is necessary. He says it all. Terrifying.

4. The number four. In Japan, the number four is viewed in the same way we view the number thirteen. The character for four sounds like the character for death. Some buildings don't have a fourth floor. Maternity wards in hospitals avoid the number four. I somehow internalized this during my early childhood in Japan.

5. Schroedinger's Rapist. Every man is not a rapist. Most men are not rapists. As women, we can't tell by looking who is and who isn't. Therefore, caution is a necessary evil. And the fear is very real.

I have other fears that aren't quite as prominent. My imagination provides me with endless opportunities to be afraid. The fact that I step out into the world is sufficient proof to me that I'm brave. But you will notice, I'm sure, that there are very few alligators in Phoenix. Or in Canada, if Trump is elected!

my favorite color and why

Purple. I've always loved purple. Purple was an unusual clothing choice when I was young. Only my hippy friends wore purple. So I associated the color with freedom of expression and a let it all hang out mentality. When I wore purple, I felt zany and happy. I can still remember specific items of purple clothing from that time period.

The first time I read the poem "Warning" by Jenny Joseph, I recognized myself, except for the part about the sobriety of my youth. I don't think I had a particularly sober youth. But I loved the idea of doing unexpected things as an older woman. My best friend actually bought me a framed copy of the poem done in calligraphy.

I decided I would buy an entire purple wardrobe, one piece at a time, tossing my non-purple things along the way. I figured by the time I was forty, I'd be known as The Purple Lady. I liked that thought. I imagined myself as Auntie Mame - in purple.

But then that poem was used as the basis for the Red Hat Ladies craze that swept the country. You'd see groups of older ladies in restaurants, all wearing purple outfits and red hats. I gave up my all purple idea. It would hardly be a signature look if half the country was doing it. But it made me sad.

There is one other choice that appealed to me. Paisley. I liked the look on people's faces when I gave that as an answer for the favorite color question. It was unexpected. I actually heard it in song lyrics. Carole King? Melissa Manchester? I've looked for it, but couldn't find who sang "Paisley is my color." But I appreciated the intent.

I'm a kaleidoscope. My internal colors change. So paisley suits me with its swirl and its endless color combination possibilities. But an entire wardrobe of paisley? I'm not quite zany enough to pull that off. But I can imagine at least one or two items in purple paisley.

I'll just have to wait out the Red Hat Ladies. I'll reclaim purple when I'm older.

a quote I try to live by

"Never put a raisin where a chocolate chip could go."

I don't recall where I originally read or heard those words, but they resonated right away. The phrase became a mantra of sorts. And it works on so many levels.

On the surface, it's chocolate chips. I love 'em. They're delicious, even if you're using Nestle semi-sweet. But go up a notch and use Callebaut or Scharffen Berger to get a real treat. Or even better, try Trader Joe's chocolate chips.

But look at that quote another way. It can also mean "Don't settle." You deserve to be happy. If you're not happy doing what you're doing, do something different. There is no requirement that you stay where you are or keep doing what you're doing. Just because you initially started with raisins doesn't mean you can't trade them in for chocolate chips.

And finally, in your quest to be coupled, don't settle for a raisin. Wait for the chocolate chip. And remember, raisins sometimes look like chocolate chips. Don't take a huge bite, thinking you've found a chocolate chip, only to find you're stuck with a raisin. Go slow. Ask questions. Examine things with a clear head. If it's a raisin, walk away slowly. You deserve better than that.

bullet your entire day

It would happen on my day off.

AM:

• 5:13: Priscilla licks my forehead. I tell her good morning and gather her to me for morning cuddles.
• 5:13: Jackson hears me say good morning to Priscilla and takes a flying leap from wherever he was and lands with a heavy crash on top of both of us. Having grown accustomed to his physicality, I have shielded us from the assault with one arm & shoulder.
• 5:14: I scratch Priscilla's belly while I simultaneously rub Jackson's head and hold him back. If I let go, he'll start dashing around the bedroom, which will include several more aerial assaults.
• 5:17: I get up, turn off the house alarm, make a pit stop, then open the back door to go out with the dogs.
• 5:20: Back inside, I feed the dogs.
• 5:21: I start to make coffee. I remember I don't have milk because I never went to the grocery store yesterday. I stop making coffee, resolving to go to McDonald's after the dogs finish their breakfast.
• 5:22: I remember I have non-dairy creamer. I start coffee again.
• 5:24: I check my phone for messages. None.
• 5:25: I check my Facebook on my phone for notifications. There are several. Barbra Streisand has announced tour dates. I wonder if Cody & Chris will want to go. Trump has said more stupid shit. I roll my eyes.
• 5:31: Coffee in hand, I sit in my recliner and check to see what today's writing prompt is.
• 5:33: I start typing this list.
• 6:00: I remember I have leftover cinnamon rolls.
• 6:08: After nuking the rolls, I settle in to read my current book, The Saturday Big Tent Wedding, number twelve in Alexander McCall Smith's No. 1 Ladies Detective Agency series. I'm still in my pajamas.
• 6:24: Jackson drops one of his toys on the foot stool. I throw it for him a few times. The third time he retrieves it, he crashes into Priscilla, who is stretched out on the foot stool. She grabs his toy to assert herself. A heated tug-of-war begins. I use the opportunity to add this to the bulleted items.
• 6:29: Back to my book.
• 6:48: Had a sudden urge to watch the final scene of last night's Game of Thrones in which Daenerys Stormborn (The Unburnt; Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men; Queen of Maureen; Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea; Breaker of Chains; and Mother of Dragons) destroys patriarchy. I watched it three times. How I wish she was running for president!
• 7:11: Back to the book.
• 7:33: Some music might be nice. I realize I never managed to transfer my music to my new phone. I spend thirty minutes trying to figure it out. Then I give up in disgust.
• 8:06: Back to the book.
• 8:26: I can figure this out. Google various phrases regarding transferring my music.
• 8:50: Persistence pays off. Now listening to music. Yay! Back to book.
• 8:53: Music is too distracting. Turn it off. Back to book.
• 9:07: Tired of reading. Go online to read the news.
• 9:52: Stomach growling. Grocery store? Not yet. Solitaire Tri Peaks.
• 10:25: Time to get dressed.
• 10:40: Meal planning & grocery list.
• 11:04: Off to the grocery store.

PM:

• 12:24: $120.00 later ... I'm home.
• 12:25: Carry groceries in & put everything away.
• 12:51: Break time! Potato chips. Play on computer.
• 1:29: Cleaning kitchen.
• 2:16: Laundry started.
• 2:21: Watching Grace and Frankie on Netflix.
• 3:11: Open new chlorine tabs and add to floating dispenser in pool.
• 3:28: Set up hose to add water to pool. Notice temperature is finally perfect.
• 3:42: Sweep up around pool. Oleanders are in full bloom, dropping flowers galore.
• 3:53: Head out the door for Lyft rush hour shift.
• 4:16: First fare - airport run.
• 5:02: Second fare - Encanto area to Bell Rd.
• 5:36: Third fare - Local waitress to restaurant.
• 5:44: Fourth fare - Local parent from work to daycare to home. (Car in shop.)
• 6:32: Headed home.
• 7:03: Begin dinner preparation. Salsa chicken.
• 7: 26: Fold laundry.
• 7:41: Make up bed.
• 8:06: Eat!
• 8:41: Give myself permission to end this log.
• Whenever: Shower. Read. Bed.

three pet peeves

You know, this would be a great conversation starter. Anyone could think of three with very little effort. We're faced with all kinds of annoyances throughout the day. But which am I willing to reveal in a public domain?

Pet Peeve #1: Rudeness to service personnel. There is nothing more revealing than how a person treats other humans in the service industry. As William H. Swanson wrote in his 33 Unwritten Rules of Management, "If someone is nice to you but rude to the waiter, they are not a nice person." I must concur. It happens most frequently in restaurants, I suspect, but I've watched people behave badly in all sorts of settings. Certainly I've seen it at the library and at every college and university where I was employed. Some people just seem determined to be nasty, even if nothing about the situation warrants a war-like stance.

Pet Peeve #2: Rudeness from service personnel. This behavior always amazes me. Front-line customer service people can make or break a for-profit business. How does the business not have systems in place to drastically reduce the odds that there's a horrible person serving their customers? Then there's the government employee, that stereotypically cold, uncaring bureaucrat who relishes each roadblock between the customer and the customer's satisfaction. These people are so ubiquitous that people GUSH any time a government employee provides great customer service. I've been a government employee most of my life and I hear this from customers all the time. They're surprised that I'm kind to them! That's just sad.

Pet Peeve #3: My neighbors who celebrate happy moments by coming outside to shoot their guns in the air. Idiots.

What are your pet peeves?

my life in seven years

I'll be 64. So, of course, I'm hoping I'll have grandchildren named Vera, Chuck, and Dave. Who could ask for more?

Must I really think about this now? Oh, all right. Fine.

I'll be a little more relaxed because I'll have some retirement income. I hope I'll be traveling more. The end.

my commute, to and from work

My driving commute to work is fairly stress-free. I'm fourteen miles from work. It's a twenty-minute commute, mostly on multi-lane highways. It helps that I'm rarely driving to work during rush hour. And it also helps that I love to drive.

My real dilemma is that the light rail has extended close enough that I can take advantage of the well-lit park-n-ride and take the train in. It's a straight shot and there's a stop right in front of the library where I work. Why is this a dilemma, you might be wondering? I hate mass transit. I always have.

It takes longer. And sometimes there are delays. And I'm an absolute magnet for unwanted attention. But I should do it more often. I could reduce my carbon footprint and save money too. We even get a transit pass as a benefit! When I don't use it I feel like a whiny, spendthrift, Earth-hater. There's just no winning.

Coming home is a different story. I'm often in rush hour, bumper to bumper traffic. It's not horrible, but even I have to admit that coming home on the train beats driving! So ideally, I'd like to drive TO work and take the train home. But that would only work for one day, right?

two words/phrases that make me laugh

Language really turns me on. Fitting words together to paint a picture, or to express an emotion, really satisfies a need for me. Most of the time, I get the rush from some other writer’s words. But on rare occasions, I manage to put something on paper that pleases me. But what makes me laugh?

Indubitably. That word cracks me up. I can’t say it in a non-theatrical way. It always exits my mouth with a weird, Katharine Hepburn-like voice. I don’t think I’ve ever used the word seriously. It’s just a funny word to me.

Then there are hundreds of Southern words and phrases that make me laugh. Although I was born in North Carolina, the family returned to Japan before my first birthday. Five years later, we moved to Massachusetts. So I was just entering the fifth grade when we returned to the South. And there I stayed, more or less, for the next thirty-something years. I consider myself a Southerner, though I’ve lived in Yankee territory on four occasions and visited many more times. And I’ve been in Arizona for almost fifteen years. But I’m a Southern woman. And I’m proud to say that.

My all-time favorite Southern saying is “Well butter my butt and call me a biscuit.” It’s an expression of surprise and it never fails to crack me up when I hear it. I’ve never used it myself, verbally or in written form. But when I hear it (or read it), I know I’m communicating with a certain kind of Southerner – my favorite kind. Because you don’t hear this phrase from well-to-do, upper crust folk. No, only salt-of-the-earth, regular folk use this magical phrase. And I love them for it.

relationships

"Your current relationship; if single, discuss that too"

Nope. Not gonna do it. He doesn’t like it when I write about us. Instead, I’ll tell you about relationships, both fictional and real, that I am amazed by, amused by, or inspired by.

I favor relationships in which there is a balance of power. I have never seen a thriving, healthy relationship in which this was lacking. When one person has no power or significantly less power, they’re almost always unhappy in the relationship. They may stay with it, but the unhappiness shows, no matter how hard they try to hide it.

I know religious couples who insist that they’ve chosen a dominant husband dynamic because the Bible told them to do it that way. I see that playing out three ways:

• The husband is aggressive and selfish. The wife and children are miserable and are helpless to make any sort of change. I see this in varying degrees. In some cases, the husband is a bit oblivious and the wife is passively resigned to her fate. Either way, ugh.
• The husband is meek and is following the wife’s lead. Both agree to pretend he’s in charge. It’s obvious to all but the most unobservant that the wife is in charge. And the husband is secretly miserable. 
• The husband is careful to consider the needs and desires of all family members and would never move forward knowing his decision would leave his wife bitter or miserable. The wife speaks clearly about her needs and desires and truly supports her husband in every decision he makes because she knows her happiness is of critical importance to her husband. Husband and wife are actually partners.

Regardless of religious beliefs, I think strong partners are those who are a close match in intelligence, wit, and heart. It helps if they have similar morals and ideas about behavior. But mostly I think they need to have a strong desire to work towards mutual happiness. Jealousy and bitterness are a death knell to happiness, so trust and trustworthiness are absolutely necessary if a couple is going to thrive.

So, here are the healthiest relationships I’ve observed:

• My cousin Becky and her husband, Bob. I first became aware of the beauty of their partnership when I watched them parent together. They are, to me, the most evenly yoked couple I’ve ever seen. They each invest energy in making sure the other is thriving. I’m sure they’ve had challenges along the way. But I believe their commitment to each other is absolute.
• My friends, John & Claudia. They each had previous unsuccessful marriages. They spent a lot of time working through their own issues. I attended their wedding when I was very young – 19 or 20. They walked down the aisle together, holding hands. I loved the symbolism of that bold choice. This was 1977, I think. Then they had written their own vows, which were full of raw truth. I was so impressed with their partnership. 
• My father and stepmother. I’ve spent a lot of time with these two. Their partnership is solid. It’s built on the expectation that each will speak up – clearly and unashamedly – about their own thoughts and desires. Each takes ownership of their own feelings. Each is quick to apologize for any wrong-doing. Each supports the other without reservation.

Fictional relationships I’ve loved, healthy or not:

"Sister" Husband and Mr. Sprock in Where the Heart Is. They’re not married, but they’re clearly strong partners. “Dear Lord, we ask that you bless this food to the nourishment of our bodies. And we ask forgiveness, Lord, for the fornication that Mr. Sprock and me committed this morning on this very table.” These two have settled into life and are relaxed and happy.

Armand Goldman (Robin Williams) and Albert (Nathan Lane) in The Birdcage. Each partner is a mess, but they love and support each other through thick and thin. Albert: “Oh yes, another jibe, another joke at my expense. You were probably laughing at me with Katherine, too. Well, why not? I'm not young, I'm not new, and everyone laughs at me. I'm quite aware of how ridiculous I am. I've been thinking that the only solution is to go where no one is ridiculous and everyone is equal.” Armand: “What a pain in the ass you are. And it's true: you're not young, you're not new, and you do make people laugh. And me? I'm still with you because you make me laugh.”

Denys Finch Hatton (Robert Redford) and Karen Blixen (Meryl Street) in Out of Africa. These two handled some difficult circumstances. Each character was fierce and their romance was once-in-a-lifetime passionate. Had he not died, I think they might have grown old together.

Tracy Lord (Katharine Hepburn) and C.K. Dexter Haven (Cary Grant) in The Philadelphia Story. Humor is important in any relationship. This quirky pair proves it. 

Jack Twist (Jake Gyllenhaal) and Ennis Del Mar (Heath Ledger) in Brokeback Mountain. I had to have one ill-fated couple. They could have been an amazing couple, had they found each other under different circumstances. 

Shoot. That makes me think of my other favorite ill-fated couple - Francesca Johnson and Robert Kincaid in Bridges of Madison County. Again, under different circumstances, they would have grown old together. Francesca's hand on the door handle as she contemplates running away with Robert, is one of the most emotional movie moments I've ever seen.

John Dunbar and Stands With a Fist in Dances With Wolves. Watching their love story from their first meeting to the film’s final frames is a wonderful experience. I confess I’ve watched this movie dozens of times. It never gets old. 

My favorite movie couple will always be Norman and Ethel Thayer (Henry Fonda and Katharine Hepburn) in On Golden Pond. They are completely devoted to each other and each is terrified of losing the other. But it’s their sweet humor that tells me of their love. Norman: “There’s someone at the door.” Ethel: “It’s me, you old poop!” I love Ethel and Norman.

Well, that’s it. As soon as I publish this, I’ll think of ten more movie couples. And at least one real life couple. I’d love to hear from you. What fictional or real life couples did you think of while you were reading this?