The Ring

He bought a ring for me.  He put it on layaway and has diligently made payments on it for the past six months.   This is a modest ring, by jeweler's standards, yet is the most lavish piece of jewelry I have ever owned. It required planning and sacrafice for him to afford, making it all the more meaningful to me.  The ring is made of both white and yellow gold with a large blue sapphire.  His family raised show horses when he was growing up.  White, gold and royal blue were the colors of their stables.  These are his House colors - - and the same colors in my ring. 

We have decided to call it our  (drum roll, please).... "Committment" ring.



Yeah... commitment.
Feels good.
Looks pretty.

Alley Finds and Musings

Strolling through the alleys sometimes feels as though I’m invading my neighbor’s privacy. I see a part of their lives they don’t intend to display. Worn out furniture and appliances, forgotten swing sets, three legged dogs and discarded building materials abound. Sure. There is the occasional back yard that is all neat, tidy and well maintained. But this is the exception, at least in my neighborhood it is the exception. Backyards are like the family room, i.e., where real living takes place. My own backyard has a gas grill - - that doesn’t work; A broken flower pot I intend to mend one day; a stack of wood for when I go camping (although haven’t been in six years); and an old bicycle that was a piece of crap the day I bought it.

This jacket is too damn hot. Would selling helicopter rides over the lake be a good idea? Walking in the dirt is much easier on my sciatica.

 

How people discard their trash is telling.  There is the throw-everything-out-not contained-in-a bag and hope no furry animal gets into it before trash day.  A mish-mash of cans, boxes, wrappers and half eaten food dots their alley space week after week, while other houses have no trash to speak of until trash day.  For these houses, their trash appears in a securely covered trash bin, its contents never to be revealed.

She is home from work early today.  What’s her name again?  Danielle?  Darlene?  Marlene?  Crap. 

 

I’ve begun to carry some of my neighbor’s discards home as my treasure. 

So far, I’ve acquired this. 

Great for a small herb garden, don’t you

think?  I’ve never grown herbs before.
But now I have the pots… if I ever get the urge.

I've also acquired two of these:

 

 
 

















                                             In hopes of turning them into this:

 

I love the sky in the morning. 
Winter mornings it can be harsh and foreboding, while the evening’s sky is often lush with soft colors.  I listen as birds fly overhead, dogs bark, children cry, wind chimes tinkle. 

That picture frame is still there.  Hey look over there….. what’s that leaning up against the fence?

Forever Special

When he announced he wanted to take me window shopping, I knew what I wanted to think, but I dared not. When we pulled into the parking lot of the jewelry store, my stomach did a mini flip flop.  I felt myself dissociate.    

This was going to be one of those moments and I didn’t want to do or say anything that might tarnish the memory. I wanted to be excited; flush in love and gushing with happiness. I wanted these next few moments to play out like a television commercial, like a scene from a sappy movie.  But I felt none of these things.  Instead, my self-inventory revealed I wasn't prepared to be here.  My clothes were all wrong.  My fingernails were frayed and my gray roots were in desperate need of color. What disappointed me most was sensing our lack of innocence.  

He and I both know that rings and promises don’t guarantee a love will last.  Forever is a relative term. Make no mistake: we want this to be something that will see us to our graves.... but we've been here before.  The glow-y illusion of endless love is a bit lost on us, and I was sure everyone else in the store could see our truth. 

But we soldiered on. Maybe a little less giddy and a little less indulgent then the other couples in the store, but Hope carried us forward in our quest. We picked out a setting and then a stone. He put some money down to hold the ring, telling the salesperson he'd pay it off by July. Said he wanted to be able to call me his fiancée on our second anniversary of being together. 

A smile filled my face and I began to feel a little giddy - - a little indulged. I realized how much he wanted me to feel special. He wanted me to know I am loved. And, he wanted me to have something to see, to touch, to show others that I am his. He knew I needed this, and he made it happen. 

In the end, the moment was very special. A Forever kind of special.

Taking Mom to see Lincoln

Less than 5 minutes into the movie....

Mom:                 I think Lincoln was our greatest president ever.

Martha:             Yes. He was good

10 minutes later...

Mom:                  They didn’t have cars back then.

Martha:              No.  Just horse and buggies.

5 minutes after that...

Mom:                  They really wore big tall hats back then, you know?

Martha:              Yes they did (puts finger to lips in a sssh mode).

10 minutes later....

Mom:                  I think Lincoln was the greatest president we ever had.

Martha/Patty:  Ssssh.

15 minutes later....

Mom:                  Is this movie about Lincoln?

Martha:              Yes.

A few minutes pass..

Mom:                  Is that Abraham Lincoln?

Martha:              Yes, Mom.  Please lower your voice.      

Mom:                 Am I talking too loud?

Martha:             <Nods an emphatic yes>

20 minutes later....

Mom:                  They didn’t have cars back then.

Martha:              <No response>

5 minutes after that...

Mom:                  They really wore those tall hats back then, you know?

Martha/Patty:      <a resigned groan>

a few minutes later...

Mom:                  Our ancestors had slaves.

Martha/Patty:     SSSSH!!!!!

At the climactivc end in which Ammendment 13 is voted on and passed....

Mom:                  What did they just vote on?

Everyone else in theater:  <Softly chortles>

Empty Nesting

I have transitioned to the next chapter of my life. Overhearing the chatter of the two young mothers with offices at the end of the hall have opened my eyes to my newfound reality.  They are overwhelmed with trying to be successful at their jobs, their parenting and their marriages.  They are in the thick of seeking that elusive balance between work and home.  

 

That balance - -  which was so unknown to me a handful of years ago - - has become quite tangible.  Who knew?

I thought back then my chaos was my forever.  Old journals are saturated with penciled-in afterschool events, softball games, gymnastic meets.  The many hats I wore: Chauffer, Nurse, Chaperone, Financier (how much does that uniform cost?!), and Confidante.  i was always tired and there was never enough hours in the day.  I magined the sweet, unknown luxury of having nothing to do after work except go home and stay there.   

Now that that once-imagined time has arrived, it tastes more bitter than sweet.  Empty nest... two little words to describe a big void.

Dinner with Friends

Okay… so we’re at dinner with some new friends.  The men are out back grilling steaks and we women are in the kitchen assembling salads and talking about the men who are outside. 

She tells me that her husband’s drinking has gotten out of control. 

I wasn’t aware he had a drinking issue. 

He was caught sleeping/passed out on the job, and now his job is in jeopardy, she tells me. 

The week before, while she was out of town, she found out he stayed blind drunk the entire time she was gone.  He has reluctantly joined AA, but laments to her that he wishes he could just drink like a “normal” person.   They had a loud argument over all of this and in the midst of it, the police arrived.  They were summoned there by a neighbor who was concerned by all the yelling. 

Then the men rejoined us - - and the conversation ended as abruptly as it began.

I’ve been ruminating on all she shared with me ever since. 

Gladys Kravitz Imnot!

I’ve taken to sitting on my front porch lately.   One reason is because it offers more to look at than my back porch.  Another reason is because I‘m in love with a man who smokes cigarettes.  He’s considerate enough to take his habit outside and I often go outside with him while he gets his nicotine fix.    A third reason is because said man comes with a dog named Penny, and Penny has a crazed obsession with the squirrels that frolic about in the front yard (see photo).  Her endless excitement over the chattering tree rodents is more engaging than most things on television.

My porch sitting has made me more aware of the comings and goings on my block.  For example, my new neighbor to the north is from Ethiopia and teaches at the university.  She has a boyfriend.  Sort of.  I think?  I see his car parked out front most Saturday nights.   On Sunday mornings, they each leave her house at the same time in separate cars.  But, as soon as he’s out of sight, she returns in her car, alone.  Hmmm?

My Jewish neighbors make me smile all over.  From sunset Friday to sunset Saturday their comings and goings is a veritable parade of culture and family. They walk in droves throughout the neighborhood.  They walk in middle of the street.  I overhear them chatting in Hebrew with one another.  Women with covered heads and hemlines well below the knees.  Men in their black jackets and tall, wide brimmed black hats.  Children (oh-so-many-children!), scampering beside the adults in their toddler-sized black and white attire. 

Then there are my Hispanic/Latino neighbors.  The family at the bottom of the hill had a huge party this summer, complete with piñatas and Mariachis.  Salsa and merengue dancing carried on into the wee hours with uncles dancing with sisters, fathers dancing with daughters, mothers dancing with babies and Spanish spoken by all.  A culture and language decidedly different from our Jewish neighbors, yet also very much the same.

At the other end of my block is a vacant lot, overgrown with tall grass, weeds, bushes and trees.  Deep in the thick of it, homeless people set up a camp of sorts.  Several boxes, an awning, and broken lawn chairs could be spotted between the foliage.  I’m not the only person who noticed this ramshackle housing, but I’m not aware of anyone complaining, or reporting them to the authorities.   I don’t quite understand the unspoken tolerance that reigned in this situation.  Once the weather turned cold, the cardboard box residents moved on - - to warmer accommodations - - I hope. 

Yesterday evening I watched two elderly Jewish women shuffle down the middle of my street.  One was pushing a walker and another was pushing a wheelchair.  With shoulders bent, they managed small, slow, careful steps forward.  As they approached the corner I heard, or rather, FELT the distinctive noise of a gang banger boom box.  The women drew closer to the corner as did the vibrating music.  As the women arrived at the intersection, so did the tricked-out low-rider with the offending super sub woofer.  The driver and his passenger looked like stereotypical inner-city drug lords from a movie, complete with tattoos, leather, and machismo running amok.  But then, something unexpected happened.  The low riders saw the hesitant women trying to negotiate their way across the street, and they not only came to a FULL AND COMPLETE STOP, BUT THEY ALSO TURNED OFF THEIR MUSIC!  They waited until the women were well clear of the intersection before driving forward.  It wasn’t until their car was out of sight that I felt their boom box resume its infernal beat.

My neighbors - - in all their cultural, socio economic and religious diversity - - are a microcosm of the world.  I may enjoy watching it all unfold, entwine, flourish and struggle from the chair on my front porch but, please, don’t call me Gladys Kravitz!