no plot twists

 What if you were handed a timeline of your life at the very beginning? You knew exactly who the angels would be and who the demons would be. You could make no changes to the timeline, so if it said you would marry Bob Smith on December 11, 2015, then you would. If it said that Bob would have an affair, then that would happen, too. The only thing you could control would be how you responded to each event. Would your life have been better? Or worse? Would being able to go back and change the way you responded to something, would it have made your life better?

in-laws

My parents divorced when I was eight years old. Neither one of them ever said an unkind word about the other. After I reached college, my mother occasionally said something, but it didn't amount to much. My father remained silent on the subject of my mother all the way to his death at the age of 94. Mother died two years prior to that, but Daddy still held his tongue.

My in-laws were not quite so polite. Upon meeting me for the first time, my mother-in-law turned to my husband and remarked, "I don't think her teeth are that bad." My husband helpfully repeated that to me, which should have given me some insight into what to expect, but alas, I still expected people to behave. They didn't.

In our first gathering of his family, I listened intently as his mother, stepfather, sisters, and brother excitedly shared their various strategies for achieving a great tan that summer. It was October. There was talk of iodine mixed with baby oil, butter, various tanning oils, and other ideas. Then there was a pause and they all looked at me.

My paternal grandmother lived for 99 years and studiously avoided the sun. Even late in her life when she and Granddaddy took up golf, she wore a tea length day dress, long gloves, stockings, and a huge, brimmed hat. Her skin was like rare porcelain. Needless to say, "tanning" was not really important to me.

But I felt the weight of expectation as my in-laws all stared at my untanned skin. I thought I would make a joke to lighten the mood. I said, "You're probably wondering how I achieve this specific shade of pale. I slather my entire body with mayonnaise, then sit in a dark closet all summer long."

NOBODY even cracked a smile. We just all sat there awkwardly. I thought I was making fun of myself. They clearly thought I was making fun of them. Maybe I was.

A few minutes later, someone asked me what I did for a living. I explained that I worked in a mental health clinic. My clients were long-term mentally ill patients and alcohol & drug patients. There was another long pause while everyone stared at me. It was only later that I found out my husband's two sisters were crack addicts, and that his brother was an alcoholic. And just to make things as awful as they possibly could be, my new mother-in-law was also an alcoholic. She had been married five times to five different alcoholics.

On our next visit, I was six months pregnant with our son. My mother-in-law offered me a glass of wine. I gestured to my belly and shook my head. She replied, "Oh, Honey, I smoked and drank through all five of my pregnancies and it didn't hurt my children at all."

Well, I suppose I should count it as a miracle that the marriage lasted three years. How did it end, you ask? My husband joined a bowling league. He hadn't touched a drop of alcohol up until then. Suddenly, he started coming home every Wednesday night drunk as a skunk. He was an amorous drunk, so I took to barricading myself and the baby in a bedroom on Wednesday nights.

After multiple repeats, I talked him into going to marriage counseling. Over time, he agreed to go to an outpatient men's group that was for men trying to work out if they had an addiction problem. But before the first meeting, he went home to visit his family. His mother told him that there was absolutely nothing wrong with him and that I was a lunatic. When he came home, he announced that he would not be going to those meetings and that he would not be returning to counseling.

I put it to him plainly. I said that he needed to choose which was more important - alcohol or his wife and son. He chose alcohol and moved out. No doubt his mother was very pleased.

During our divorce proceedings, my brother-in-law called me to let me know that they were all prepared to lie in court to make sure his brother got custody of our son, unless I agreed to a minimal child support payment. I agreed to what his lawyer proposed - the absolute minimum child support payment in our state at that time. And throughout my son's childhood, I never asked for an increase. And following my parents' example, I never spoke one unkind word about my ex-husband to my son until he was a grown man. Again, his father and my in-laws were never quite as kind.

I can say, without reservation, that my son is the best thing that ever happened to me. What I went through to get him and keep him was worth it. I'll always think so.

girl

The brown-skinned girl upstairs has a heavy footfall.
I hear her bang-bang-bang-bang-bang across the ceiling.
Always a count of five, she scampers with a rhythm that is musical.

I’m annoyed.
But in everything, I look for purpose and reason.
So, I am screwing up my courage,
               to decipher her meaning in my life.

She is the little girl in me who got stepped on.
I walk through life with unhealed bruises.
I attract people who bruise me more,
               perhaps because I hide the ones already there.

She has me trapped in a symphony of running feet.
I’ve been running all my life.
I run to find my home, a place I can never seem to find.

I’m not one to report noisy neighbors.
But I’m so easily annoyed by things I can’t control,
               which is everything, of course. Confounding.

On a path to nowhere, she runs. I run.
I ran here to escape the love that binds me.
Distance, it would seem, is not the fix I keep aiming for.

She is wild and free. How I wish I could be wild and free.
Maybe I’m jealous? Because I can’t start over.
I can’t remember his face, the one who hurt me so.

Let my hair fly in the wind.
Let my dress flap around me.
I’m not running because I’m scared.

I’m running because I’m free.

i am dog

In looked so nice when
I was out. Out looks better
now, though. I am dog.

Now out, looking in.
Plaintive expression. Do I
smell bacon? I am dog.

xenization, part 2

 Here is the history of my homes:

1958-1959 Durham, NC
1959-1964 Nishinomiya, Japan
1964-1968 Wellesley, MA
1968-1973 Gainesville, GA
1973-1980 Misenheimer, NC
1980-1981 Jersey City, NJ
1981-1983 Cedartown, GA & Aragon, GA
1983-1984 Misenheimer, NC
1984-1985 Thomson, GA
1985-1993 Statesboro, GA
1993-1998 Morrow, GA
1998-2002 Jonesboro, GA
2002-2004 Scottsdale, AZ
2004-2006 Morris Plains, NJ
2006-2008 Phoenix, AZ
2008-2010 Memphis, TN
2010-2012 Eagleville, PA
2012-2013 Duluth, GA
2013-2015 Peoria, AZ
2015-2020 Phoenix, AZ
2020-2024 Brunswick, GA

Cue Johnny Cash. "I've been everywhere, man, I've been everywhere."

fitbit

When my Fitbit died, I stopped walking, which wasn't a smart decision. Yesterday, my new Fitbit arrived. I got it charged and put it on. Then I felt the urge to walk. I decided to take a bag of trash to the dumpster and pick up my mail on the way back. When I went outside, I realized it was later than I thought - just after 9 p.m. But I was determined, so I set off.

Our parking lots are not well lit, so as I walked, I was paying close attention to any movement or sound. Having watched or listened to hundreds of shows on murder, I know how these things happen. I mentally planned escape routes. lol

I made it to the dumpster, then backtracked to the mailbox. My mailbox is on the bottom of a column. As I bent down to open my box, I felt my back go out. NO!!! I got the mail and stood up. I knew immediately I was in trouble.

My back injury dates back to 2005 when I was lifting a box of books and bending over to place it in the trunk of my car. If you had told me then that I would be dealing with it for the rest of my life, I would have jumped off a cliff. Now, I'm used to it. For now, Aleve and a heating pad are what I need to slowly recover. But I'm always aware that it can happen without warning. Once it happened when I was stepping into a skort!

Anyway, I started my walk back. The buildings in my complex are long, with two entrances each, 12 apartments for each entrance. My apartment is in the fourth building from the mailbox. (There are many more buildings in the opposite direction.) I made it to the first entrance of the first building and could go no further. I walked to the staircase and sat down. I didn't have a phone, so I couldn't call anyone for help.

Just then, a car pulled up. I was desperate. I walked over to the driver and explained my predicament. I asked if he would PLEASE give me a ride to my building. He did! As we slowly drove along, it occurred to me that I had just gotten in the car with a complete stranger, the subject of many murder stories. Oh, well, I thought. I've had a good, long life. If he murders me, at least I'll be out of pain!

But he didn't murder me. He was a perfect gentleman. I thanked him profusely and staggered into my apartment. I'm now at the Aleve and heating pad portion of the program. And I have slept SO MUCH!!! I am on the mend - for now.

violet

 I met a Frenchman in my dreams, on the banks of a water feature. The grass felt cool under my bare feet and I was looking out across the landscape of trees and rolling hills. He was at a gathering hosted by my neighbor and came over to talk to me, thinking I was at the gathering, too.

Dreams progress in stops and starts, so it's no surprise that I was then giving him a tour of the house I was staying in. I explained I was just there until my publisher found more appropriate lodging for me. The house was huge but had very little furniture. My belongings were strewn about.

When we got to the master bedroom, it was vast. We walked through it to the master bathroom, which was separated into a his and hers design, each with its own closet.

Then we were sitting on a sofa in the living room talking and drinking wine. Was he hungry? We went in the kitchen, and I threw something amazing together. What was it? I don't know. Dreams are funny. We sat on kitchen stools at the counter and ate our food. Then he cleaned the kitchen while I sat on my stool and drank wine.

Next, he had found my brush and was behind my stool brushing my long, gray hair. It needs washing, I said. Then he was coloring my hair, using blonde and violet colors. Then I was looking in a mirror admiring my new cut and color. This part of my dream flashed by, unlike the hours I used to spend at the beauty parlor when I was still coloring my hair.

We sat on the sofa and talked some more. Then I said I was tired and went to bed, leaving him in the living room. (What?) I was almost asleep when he slipped into bed beside me. May I sleep here, he asked. Can you behave, I asked him. I pointed to the other side of the bed. It's a big bed, I said. He moved.

My dog woke me up then, pulling me away from the Frenchman in my bed. Isn't it always that way? You find a man who speaks with a French accent, who happily cleans the kitchen, can color, cut, and style your hair, and wants to sleep in your bed, and WHAM! You wake up.

meditation on ants

Two weeks ago, I was being occasionally bitten (stung?) by an ant as I lounged on my living room sofa. The ants were probably attracted to whatever crumbs I dropped. I had nobody to blame but myself. But I also noticed one or two ants in my bathroom. They seemed to be coming up from the door frame. I ordered ant traps.

My sister and I both have Zen Color, a coloring app, on our phones. She discovered it first and told me about it. There are multiple categories of pictures to color. Her favorite, I think, is any that remind her of our time in Japan. My favorite category is Mystery. There is no picture when you start. It gradually appears as you color it. The other day, a mystery puzzle featured colorful ants in a beautiful meadow.

I got bored and added another game to my phone which requires me to find dozens of random items. It's like Where's Waldo, but a little more sophisticated. And on my list of things to find in almost every puzzle? Yep. Ants.

All of that made me think about Biblical references to ants. When preachers talk about it, they're usually extolling the virtues of hard work and industrious ways. But I usually think of it in terms of the collective strength of those ants. I once gave a prayer before a banquet at a professional conference in which I said that a single ant can carry items that are many times its weight, which is amazing. But a colony of ants can move mountains. I wanted us to think of ourselves as a colony of ants, working together to improve the lives of our young people.

Tonight, I was listening to James Taylor's October Road album. In the song September Grass, he sings,

Do you see those ants dancing on a blade of grass?
Do you know what I know, that's you and me, Baby?
We're so small and the world's so vast,
But we found each other down in the grass.

Ants. Maybe they were biting me to tell me to get up off my butt and clean my house. Or maybe they were reminding me of who I've found down in this grass. You. And you. And also - you.

stalked

A bald eagle stalked us on our morning walk today. I should say that the eagle stalked Priscilla and Jackson. I'm sure the eagle detected that I was a load too heavy to maneuver. I first noticed the eagle as he rode the currents above the lake. What a magnificent wonder it was as it tilted this way and that in the air, catching the changing currents of the slightly breezy day.

 

Suddenly, the eagle swooped down in our direction, arresting its dive just above us, clearly studying us. It rested on a small updraft, balancing itself in slight adjustments of its wings and body, staring at us. At only 11 pounds, Priscilla probably looked like a perfectly delicious breakfast. Or maybe Jackson, at 16 pounds looked the better selection. More meat. But eventually the eagle decided against an attempt and flew off across the narrow part of the lake. I watched as it soared back and forth, surveying the ground around the edge of the lake. Finally, I lost interest and continued our walk around the lake, intent on stopping at the cove where baby turtles had recently been born. Last year, only one survived, but I still see it almost every time I scan the water there. It's not big enough to swim out into the lake. There are bass and huge carp in the deeper water, not to mention really big turtles, and don't forget the alligators!

 

But only about 2 minutes later, as we approached the turtle territory, I saw the shadow of a large bird appear across our path just ahead of us. I glanced up and the eagle was back, just behind us and above our heads, measuring (I think) the difficulty level of a Priscilla or Jackson purloin. Again, I gazed up at the beautiful creature with its signature white head. I was mesmerized, even while I was pondering a potential fight with an eagle, because over my dead body would it be taking my babies. Can eagles sense a protector's determination? Maybe. It eventually flew off again and didn't return.

 

cinnamon rolls

So I'm standing at the stove and I'm carefully and artfully spreading white icing on cinnamon rolls to take to my just-moved-in-today upstairs neighbors. Suddenly I hear a sound that startles me because it sounds like it's coming from INSIDE my apartment. It's a metal-on-metal tinkle sound.

I stop, activate my innate, serial-killer-tracking-superpower, and listen HARD for about 30 seconds. Nothing. I go back to my icing and hear it again!!! I stop, alarmed now, and decide to just stroll through my apartment to see if I can hear it. Master, master bath, master closet, Living room, dining room, hall, guest room (Y'ALL COME!), guest bathroom, coat closet, and finally the patio. Nothing but birds and a neighbor's dog barking his usual "WHERE ARE YOU" bark that signals that his parent is not at home.

Satisfied that chopping, hacking, and bloodletting are not about to commence, I return to my cinnamon rolls. Immediately, the faint tinkling begins again. WHAT IS THAT!?!?! Then, I see it. I'm wearing a silk, floor-length caftan that has a laced up section at the upper chest. The ends of the laces have decorative beading, the metal of which is gently hitting the handle of the oven door as I apply icing to the rolls. Cue my eye roll to go with the cinnamon roll.

My imagination is prolific in its ability to transform the ordinary into the worst possible horror. I'd like to blame it on Stephen King, but I was like this long before I read The Shining - and everything that came after.

I ate a cinnamon roll before I took the rest upstairs. I felt this was fair compensation for the 3 months I probably lost off the end of my life. (This really won't age well if I'm visited by an axe murderer tonight.)