When I was in Show Low last week to pay $90 plus gas to have a switch flipped, I also stopped to have my propane tank filled. All I use it for, now that heating season is over, is cooking, a relative rarity, but I still wanted it filled.
When I went to the office to pay there was a box of World's Finest Chocolates candy bars on the counter. I love those things. I've been eating very well lately, no junk food at all, but I had to have one. Just one, caramel and milk chocolate, a combination that is the food of the gods. It was as good as I remembered and worth every single calorie.
I have a story about World's Finest Chocolates and I may be the only one who remembers, or chooses to remember. When the kids were little they played soccer and baseball and one season they were given boxes of WFC to sell. I took a box to work, others got sold here and there, and the surplus was put on top of the kitchen cabinets. At the end of the selling time, we toted up the money and retrieved the boxes from on high to return what wasn't sold.
Well, well, well. There was nothing to return because the boxes were empty. Oh, yes. I knew immediately which kid had eaten his way through, oh, I don't know, several dozen candy bars. I'm not naming names but it's the second-born and his first name rhymes with 'blames.' It's apt, isn't it? He'll probably still deny it.
=======
Thought of the day:
I can resist everything but temptation. (Oscar Wilde and the kid whose name rhymes with blames.)
Monday, May 20, 2013
Sunday, May 19, 2013
The color purple (or green or gray or blue)
What we are is windy. We're so windy I have to close the vent over the fan in the roof or it would be ripped from its hinges. There's enough wind to push me a foot or so over on the road when I'm out walking, to make me tie my hat on or have to take it off. Enough to whip branches on trees as though they were string and not wood, whistle through open windows, and rock the van. I've never lived in a place so consistently windy in the afternoon. It wasn't like this when I got here but as we've progressed toward summer and the desert heats during the day, the wind awakens.
What often accompanies the wind is a dramatic sky. One evening last week the neighbors and I were sitting around, watching a storm over the desert. As the clouds blackened and grew, they pushed powerful gusts of air toward us. Great dark clouds moved eastward, sometimes filling the sky, other times allowing blue to come through. We watched until a light rain compelled us inside. Yesterday afternoon a flat plane of threatening clouds hung over the Painted Desert, pushing gust after gust. They morphed to ragged strips of varying gray but the wind persisted.
 |
| A small portion of the Painted Desert taken from the historic Painted Desert Inn. |
Rarely has it rained, maybe a smattering, enough to speckle Grace right after I washed her, but a couple of weeks ago I woke to heavy rain in the night. Within a day or two, what an amazing sight to see that the floor of the Painted Desert was a green haze.
The sky here is sometimes the purest Southwest blue, sometimes leaden with unfulfilled promises of rain, and sometimes cluttered with flat-bottomed white puffs, but it's always wider than wide, from horizon to horizon. This part of Arizona, at least, has a 180 degree bowl arced over it, changing by the minute and always eye-catching, enough to make you pause to look. It's as much the Big Sky state as Montana.
I'm waiting for the impressive, theatrical thunderstorms that come with summer. I can't wait. When I was a girl our father always called thunder, whether deep rolling rumbles or the whip-crack that accompanied lightning, sky booms, and I was never afraid of storms. How could anyone be afraid of sky booms? I wonder if they sound the same in Big Sky Arizona. I'll keep you posted.
=======
Thought of the day:
I think it pisses God off if you walk by the color purple in a field somewhere and don't notice it. (Alice Walker)
Friday, May 17, 2013
That's what friends are for
The volunteer community here at the park is an amazing source of support. I've already written about how they stepped right in when I had the electrical problem with Grace. The neighbor who spent a hour with me trying to find the inverter is also the one who picked up the GFCI from the store when he was going to town for something else. I didn't have to ask; he volunteered and wouldn't take any money until he came back with it. Someone else returned the GFCI to the store for me to save a trip. Another one lent me a volt meter to test the circuit. (Melvin told me to get one and I hadn't. When I called him with my problem he asked if I'd ever gotten one as he said to do and I had to I hang my head in shame, but Amazon is sending me my very own even as we speak.)
On my first night here I heard a knock on my door. It was another neighbor telling me to come over; there was a get-together outside someone's motorhome, BYOB. This happened two or three nights in a row until the weather turned cold but when it warmed up again we're again sitting around in the evening. I have an invitation to come over any time, for any reason, from all of them. My next-door neighbors issued an invitation to come watch TV. I have another open invitation to ride into town when they go to church on Sunday. They don't expect me to attend with them; it's just an invitation for a ride. I meet another one for a walk nearly every night. They pick up groceries for me to save me a 20-mile drive to town. As seasoned volunteers they offer their wisdom on other good places to go and where to avoid. In the beginning I wasn't sure how I'd be received as the only single person here but I've never been made to feel as the odd woman out.
I've been kind of conditioned over the years to not ask for help and to keep to myself. It's outside my comfort zone and I don't like to feel beholden, but these people, these wonderful folks, have told me, "This is what we do. We take care of each other."
Today the first couple left. They weren't due to go until mid-June but the wife suddenly became ill and they're going home to Texas to her own doctors. When they came back from the hospital yesterday we all gathered to see how she was doing, and once again our little community came together to help with anything they needed done to be ready to go. Next week my walking buddy and her husband leave, and in a couple of weeks the last of the ones who were here when I arrived will head out. But a new family came in the other day and someone else arrives soon - an ever-changing community of more or less like-minded people, if we leave Obama out of it, who take care of each other. My life is richer for having known all of them and I look forward to paying their kindness forward and forward.
On my first night here I heard a knock on my door. It was another neighbor telling me to come over; there was a get-together outside someone's motorhome, BYOB. This happened two or three nights in a row until the weather turned cold but when it warmed up again we're again sitting around in the evening. I have an invitation to come over any time, for any reason, from all of them. My next-door neighbors issued an invitation to come watch TV. I have another open invitation to ride into town when they go to church on Sunday. They don't expect me to attend with them; it's just an invitation for a ride. I meet another one for a walk nearly every night. They pick up groceries for me to save me a 20-mile drive to town. As seasoned volunteers they offer their wisdom on other good places to go and where to avoid. In the beginning I wasn't sure how I'd be received as the only single person here but I've never been made to feel as the odd woman out.
I've been kind of conditioned over the years to not ask for help and to keep to myself. It's outside my comfort zone and I don't like to feel beholden, but these people, these wonderful folks, have told me, "This is what we do. We take care of each other."
Today the first couple left. They weren't due to go until mid-June but the wife suddenly became ill and they're going home to Texas to her own doctors. When they came back from the hospital yesterday we all gathered to see how she was doing, and once again our little community came together to help with anything they needed done to be ready to go. Next week my walking buddy and her husband leave, and in a couple of weeks the last of the ones who were here when I arrived will head out. But a new family came in the other day and someone else arrives soon - an ever-changing community of more or less like-minded people, if we leave Obama out of it, who take care of each other. My life is richer for having known all of them and I look forward to paying their kindness forward and forward.
Tuesday, May 14, 2013
I get by with a little help from my friends
Grace blew a circuit the other day. The overhead fan quit for a second and the microwave beeped and then everything seemed ok. It wasn't until the middle of the night, when I got up to plug in the heater, that I found a dead outlet. I don't have an abundance of outlets and losing not just one, but two, was an inconvenience to say the least. So at 3 a.m. I was awake with the owner's manual and a flashlight and was able to figure out that the two were on the same circuit. I tested all the breakers and pulled the fuses and everything was all right. Now what? Go to the neighbors.
Within 10 minutes, tops, of asking one neighbor his opinion, everyone else up and down the volunteer line knew of my problem. I still don't know how it happened. Everyone pretty much suggested the things I'd already done. Now what?
I called Melvin, my all-around brilliant person. In the short time I've actually known him in person he's astounded me with the breadth and depth of his knowledge, to the point if I ask him something and he doesn't know the answer, I take it as a sign the apocalypse is upon us. The man knows ev-er-y-thing. He had me running in and out of Grace, plugging and unplugging, starting and stopping the generator, turning lights and fans on and off, turning the air conditioner on and off, running the engine, stopping the engine, and doing the hokey-pokey. He concluded several things, boiling it down to the inverter. The inverter changes 110 volts to 12 volts and vice versa, so if I'm plugged in, the AC power will charge the battery; likewise if I'm running the generator to charge the battery it will convert the battery power to 110. I had orders to call him if I got to a repair shop and they started getting shifty.
One of my great neighbors came over last night and crawled around on the floor with me, trying to find the thing. He must have spent an hour and we think we found it but it would have been behind a panel in a cabinet and I wasn't about to start tearing things out myself. I did try replacing the ground fault switch and that didn't solve the problem.
I juggled my work schedule so I could take Grace to a repair place in Show Low today. Melvin nailed it. It was the inverter and if I could have found it, which was under the bench/bed I sleep on, and could only be accessed by lifting the platform, I might have figured it out. Or my neighbor might have. Or Melvin would have for sure. All it needed was a little nudge of the switch from one position to another, and for this I paid $90 plus gas. Resetting the inverter also took care of the GFCI switch, so I can take its $16 replacement back to the store.
Now I know. And now I have a super duper deluxe whole-house surge protector on its way from Amazon. I ain't going through this again.
Within 15 minutes of my return from Show Low and talking to the first neighbor who spied me and came to ask, everyone knew, including park staff in a building down the road. If only I could harness this speed to the Internet here. I'd have no complaints at all.
Within 10 minutes, tops, of asking one neighbor his opinion, everyone else up and down the volunteer line knew of my problem. I still don't know how it happened. Everyone pretty much suggested the things I'd already done. Now what?
I called Melvin, my all-around brilliant person. In the short time I've actually known him in person he's astounded me with the breadth and depth of his knowledge, to the point if I ask him something and he doesn't know the answer, I take it as a sign the apocalypse is upon us. The man knows ev-er-y-thing. He had me running in and out of Grace, plugging and unplugging, starting and stopping the generator, turning lights and fans on and off, turning the air conditioner on and off, running the engine, stopping the engine, and doing the hokey-pokey. He concluded several things, boiling it down to the inverter. The inverter changes 110 volts to 12 volts and vice versa, so if I'm plugged in, the AC power will charge the battery; likewise if I'm running the generator to charge the battery it will convert the battery power to 110. I had orders to call him if I got to a repair shop and they started getting shifty.
One of my great neighbors came over last night and crawled around on the floor with me, trying to find the thing. He must have spent an hour and we think we found it but it would have been behind a panel in a cabinet and I wasn't about to start tearing things out myself. I did try replacing the ground fault switch and that didn't solve the problem.
I juggled my work schedule so I could take Grace to a repair place in Show Low today. Melvin nailed it. It was the inverter and if I could have found it, which was under the bench/bed I sleep on, and could only be accessed by lifting the platform, I might have figured it out. Or my neighbor might have. Or Melvin would have for sure. All it needed was a little nudge of the switch from one position to another, and for this I paid $90 plus gas. Resetting the inverter also took care of the GFCI switch, so I can take its $16 replacement back to the store.
Now I know. And now I have a super duper deluxe whole-house surge protector on its way from Amazon. I ain't going through this again.
Within 15 minutes of my return from Show Low and talking to the first neighbor who spied me and came to ask, everyone knew, including park staff in a building down the road. If only I could harness this speed to the Internet here. I'd have no complaints at all.
Sunday, May 12, 2013
Moon watch
Last night I sat outside and watched the moonset.
Such a lovely evening tonight,
the sky a darkening cobalt.
The air is mild,
the breeze - gone soft.
Hanging low in the sky
is a sliver of a moon ~
the merest golden light cupped upward,
waiting for the evening star,
poised above it,
to fall.
When I admire the wonders of a sunset or the beauty of the moon, my soul expands in the worship of the creator. (Mahatma Ghandi)
Such a lovely evening tonight,
the sky a darkening cobalt.
The air is mild,
the breeze - gone soft.
Hanging low in the sky
is a sliver of a moon ~
the merest golden light cupped upward,
waiting for the evening star,
poised above it,
to fall.
=======
Thought of the day:When I admire the wonders of a sunset or the beauty of the moon, my soul expands in the worship of the creator. (Mahatma Ghandi)
Saturday, May 11, 2013
Walk the walk
Life is full of paradoxes, isn't it? Yin and yang. On the one hand, but on the other hand. I wrote a few days ago of being so furious with the ex-husband and at the same time grateful he's finding whatever peace he'll allow in his life. The only way I can explain this dichotomy is to say there cannot be just black and white, that life's episodes are on a continuum from bad to good. Or maybe it's finally dawning on me that narrow-minded thinking, a byproduct of fear and hate, just takes too much energy that is better used on improving the quality of my life.
About a year ago I got into a downward spiral toward a depression that I know from experience would be a long haul out of. Six months before, we'd closed the magnificent failure of the family business, blame was being cast hither and yon, and most of us weren't speaking to the other most of us. After working an exhausting 60-70 hours a week on my feet, I suddenly had nothing to do. For someone who likes and needs structure, I was destined for The Pit.
There were weeks I didn't leave the house; when I did it was a major event I had to hold my breath and unthinkingly charge into to accomplish. I started running looping tapes in my head about what a failure I was. In a massive demonstration of self-flagellation I began searching online for people I knew from high school, excuse me, more than 40 years ago, to see what successes they were, so I could add some grease to the spiral. Of course everyone I found was a success! None of them appeared to be criminals so I made the highly logical assumption that if they were Googleable, they were successful.
I still had enough sense to know I'd better stop this martyrdom sooner rather than later so I saw a psychiatrist. He heard my tale of woe and made a small dosage change in my antidepressant, but it's what he said that has really stuck with me. He said to ask myself, "How is this helping me?" That's it. Five words I've said to myself a thousand times. Five words that are a reality check, words that bring me back to the paradoxes my sister's death has stirred up.
It would be so easy to feel nothing but sorrow and loss. How can anything good be dredged up from losing a sibling? Just dive into the awareness of one's own mortality, look at positive proof that life isn't fair, or acknowledge the long-ago waste of her potential and try to find the good in any of this. I asked myself, how is being lost in this darkness helping me?
Well, here it is: Know, really know, that life is short and its end can be unexpected, and you'd better do something with that knowledge. Take advantage of every opportunity to tell those who matter to you that they do - never let a phone call or email end without saying, "I love you." Call the sister you haven't spoken to in years, not out of bad feelings but just because you haven't. Mend fences. Say thank you. Believe in something. Stand up for something. See beauty everywhere. Don't imagine slights. Allow events only the importance they deserve. Cultivate perspective as a sixth sense. The crisis of Mary's death put the ex-husband out of my head for the first time and when he slunk back in I had kind of a "who cares" feeling about it. Even if I have to continue to battle his demon, I KNOW this new feeling exists, it is real, and it will return.
There is a continuum from sorrow to joy, from hate to love, from craving to giving, from denial to acceptance. Find your place on your line and open yourself to ways of nudging yourself from darkness to the light because that is what helps you.
Thought of the day:
“Life is an opportunity, benefit from it.
Life is beauty, admire it.
Life is a dream, realize it.
Life is a challenge, meet it.
Life is a duty, complete it.
Life is a game, play it.
Life is a promise, fulfill it.
Life is sorrow, overcome it.
Life is a song, sing it.
Life is a struggle, accept it.
Life is a tragedy, confront it.
Life is an adventure, dare it.
Life is luck, make it.
Life is too precious, do not destroy it.
Life is life, fight for it.”
Mother Teresa
About a year ago I got into a downward spiral toward a depression that I know from experience would be a long haul out of. Six months before, we'd closed the magnificent failure of the family business, blame was being cast hither and yon, and most of us weren't speaking to the other most of us. After working an exhausting 60-70 hours a week on my feet, I suddenly had nothing to do. For someone who likes and needs structure, I was destined for The Pit.
There were weeks I didn't leave the house; when I did it was a major event I had to hold my breath and unthinkingly charge into to accomplish. I started running looping tapes in my head about what a failure I was. In a massive demonstration of self-flagellation I began searching online for people I knew from high school, excuse me, more than 40 years ago, to see what successes they were, so I could add some grease to the spiral. Of course everyone I found was a success! None of them appeared to be criminals so I made the highly logical assumption that if they were Googleable, they were successful.
I still had enough sense to know I'd better stop this martyrdom sooner rather than later so I saw a psychiatrist. He heard my tale of woe and made a small dosage change in my antidepressant, but it's what he said that has really stuck with me. He said to ask myself, "How is this helping me?" That's it. Five words I've said to myself a thousand times. Five words that are a reality check, words that bring me back to the paradoxes my sister's death has stirred up.
It would be so easy to feel nothing but sorrow and loss. How can anything good be dredged up from losing a sibling? Just dive into the awareness of one's own mortality, look at positive proof that life isn't fair, or acknowledge the long-ago waste of her potential and try to find the good in any of this. I asked myself, how is being lost in this darkness helping me?
Well, here it is: Know, really know, that life is short and its end can be unexpected, and you'd better do something with that knowledge. Take advantage of every opportunity to tell those who matter to you that they do - never let a phone call or email end without saying, "I love you." Call the sister you haven't spoken to in years, not out of bad feelings but just because you haven't. Mend fences. Say thank you. Believe in something. Stand up for something. See beauty everywhere. Don't imagine slights. Allow events only the importance they deserve. Cultivate perspective as a sixth sense. The crisis of Mary's death put the ex-husband out of my head for the first time and when he slunk back in I had kind of a "who cares" feeling about it. Even if I have to continue to battle his demon, I KNOW this new feeling exists, it is real, and it will return.
There is a continuum from sorrow to joy, from hate to love, from craving to giving, from denial to acceptance. Find your place on your line and open yourself to ways of nudging yourself from darkness to the light because that is what helps you.
Thought of the day:
“Life is an opportunity, benefit from it.
Life is beauty, admire it.
Life is a dream, realize it.
Life is a challenge, meet it.
Life is a duty, complete it.
Life is a game, play it.
Life is a promise, fulfill it.
Life is sorrow, overcome it.
Life is a song, sing it.
Life is a struggle, accept it.
Life is a tragedy, confront it.
Life is an adventure, dare it.
Life is luck, make it.
Life is too precious, do not destroy it.
Life is life, fight for it.”
Mother Teresa
Thursday, May 9, 2013
Give 'em hell, Mary
My sister Mary died Wednesday night. She was four years older than I and had fought diabetes since she was 25 years old.
One of the things I remember most from our childhood was her escape from doing the dishes. When there were dishes to wash and dry, what a coincidence, Mary had to go to the bathroom every time and, wow, her exit from the bathroom coincided perfectly with the last dish being pulled out of the rack by someone else. For years I called an excuse to be somewhere else when there was work to be done, "Pulling a Mary." Another sister remembers Mary being the first in line at the doctor's office when we kids were lined up to get shots. Because she could be counted on to pass out or throw up, the rest of us could have our turn with the needle while Mary was being seen to. What an irony; the one with the most fear of the doctor's office was the one who spent her adult life in and out of them and the hospital.
She was eventually disabled by the diabetes and hypertension and had to leave her job as a social worker for the state. By 1997 her kidneys had failed to the point she was finally able to qualify for a transplant. I remember her saying they had to be functioning at just 10% before she could get on the list, and of course she'd been on dialysis for years. When she died she had one of my kidneys inside her. It too failed her at the end but it worked very well for 16 years, getting her off dialysis, for which I was very grateful.
She was a fierce advocate for her health.She had to be because she was in and out of the hospital many times over the years, but boy, did she know the system. I was counting on her to guide me through Medicare. Now I'll have to wade those waters alone. She remained in control of her care to the end, spelling out on a board several times her wish to have life support removed. She had fought all her adult life but she was done and made her choice.
We were seven but our oldest brother, Tom, was a Detroit policeman who died in the line of duty in 1972. We miss him still. And now we are five. Rest in peace and good health, Mary, and give 'em hell, whoever gets in your way. It won't be the same here without you.
One of the things I remember most from our childhood was her escape from doing the dishes. When there were dishes to wash and dry, what a coincidence, Mary had to go to the bathroom every time and, wow, her exit from the bathroom coincided perfectly with the last dish being pulled out of the rack by someone else. For years I called an excuse to be somewhere else when there was work to be done, "Pulling a Mary." Another sister remembers Mary being the first in line at the doctor's office when we kids were lined up to get shots. Because she could be counted on to pass out or throw up, the rest of us could have our turn with the needle while Mary was being seen to. What an irony; the one with the most fear of the doctor's office was the one who spent her adult life in and out of them and the hospital.
She was eventually disabled by the diabetes and hypertension and had to leave her job as a social worker for the state. By 1997 her kidneys had failed to the point she was finally able to qualify for a transplant. I remember her saying they had to be functioning at just 10% before she could get on the list, and of course she'd been on dialysis for years. When she died she had one of my kidneys inside her. It too failed her at the end but it worked very well for 16 years, getting her off dialysis, for which I was very grateful.
She was a fierce advocate for her health.She had to be because she was in and out of the hospital many times over the years, but boy, did she know the system. I was counting on her to guide me through Medicare. Now I'll have to wade those waters alone. She remained in control of her care to the end, spelling out on a board several times her wish to have life support removed. She had fought all her adult life but she was done and made her choice.
We were seven but our oldest brother, Tom, was a Detroit policeman who died in the line of duty in 1972. We miss him still. And now we are five. Rest in peace and good health, Mary, and give 'em hell, whoever gets in your way. It won't be the same here without you.
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