yes, it has happened. I am finished with the compulsive searching for a place to live other than the apartment complex. Yesterday I paid my deposit. I go back today to sign the rental agreement. My rent starts there on the day I move in with the bed and all — probably Monday, April 13th. So first month’s rent is roughly half a month’s rent prorated. May’s rent will be less the $500 in the deal for signing a year’s agreement, and also the person who refers me gets $250.
Is it all about money?
Right now, it is.
This time of transition is for pulling in the reins financially. It will be all about what I spend and what I don’t spend.
I am awake and showered and getting ready to leave this morning as early as the light allows,,, which is not quite yet. It’s creepy enough getting to work when there are only one or two others in the building. I don’t want to add darkness to that equation.
6:15am now. Time to add clothing. Gotta go. Interesting conversation with the apartment manager. Evidently she is still on Match.com after quite some time. She seemed impressed with the likes of the people I’ve met. Impressive, maybe. But are they capable of loving? Debatable.
Off to work.
Later………
Here’s one for traveling music from the two-hit wonder.
is precisely what I had for nearly 24 hours from last night through this afternoon. I bemoaned, “I can’t do it. I need space. I need light. I need…. I need…. I need….” ad infinitum. I even made arrangements to see several houses today (day off for Cesar Chavez’ birthday in lieu of celebrating Columbus Day in another month) all of which came to nought. I am such a freaking vacillator that I can see myself coming a mile away.
Ow-hever, as an Englishman I once knew used to say, I have come back to my senses, have done the figures, and am once again ok. Now if that left shoulder/neck pain would go away. That’s my major stress point and one that flares up whenever I think I’m ok and am not.
Going to purchase a few brown boxes to pack kitchen stuff tomorrow. Planning to have all packing done by the 5th of April. Want to get patio plants in asap.
Call me crazy. I made the decision to stay in this house on March 13th. Today, I was drawn to look at the vacant apartments at my son’s complex. There is one downstairs two bedroom that has the same square footage as the house where I live now. I have been into several apartments in this complex. This one spoke to me. The little patio has only one plant which means that I can do my gardening the way I like….. postage stamp style.
The bedroom I would sleep in, and the bedroom I would use for a studio both look out on to a grassy undulating lawn backed by a lovely hedge which hides the swimming pool. The laundry room is a hop, skip and a jump away; the mailboxes are closer. The sun will not blare into the windows during the heat of the summer. Get this…. the rent is several hundred dollars less than I pay here.
Of course. I know. This is a house. In the evenings, the windows and curtains are closed, so I don’t even know if I’m on this planet. There is a gardener at the apartment complex. There is a pool guy. My responsibility would be only the little patio outside the nice sliding door in the living room. The parking place is almost as close as where it would have been if I had asked to park outside my front door.
You think I’m crazy? Eh? I’m not suffering the pangs I felt the last time I thought about moving over there.
Let me go finish the purple fabric piece that I decided to complete today. At the end of the day, it’s finished.
Love always,
the 59-year-old happy woman.
My son knows me too well. He told me today that Ian McShane was on tv being interviewed. You know what my kid said? ”He’s really old, mom.” He’s about 8 years older than I am, dear son. Here’s a clip of him as Al Swearengen in Deadwood…. the longest bit of Deadwood with no apparent swearing. You can look up others for yourself. Chose any one. This is for those of us who pretend to have decorum tonight!
This woman has reached the grand age of 59. For two years of her recent life, she was on a personal pursuit of a male mate…. not for procreation, but for love. Not for sex or intimacy, but for love. It has taken a full two months and one week for her to figure out the why of the search in the first place.
On that albeit brief journey, she met countless men from the internet, others from her past, and even some only in her mind. She traveled from California to the Puget Sound in Washington state to Albuquerque, New Mexico to Tahlequah, Oklahoma…. and points north, south, east and west of Sacramento.
Incidentally, this is one of her “I am no one” phases that nearly always comes coupled with her “I know nothing” times. She is serious tonight, reflecting on what men told her over the past two years.
And now, sitting down, needle and thread in hand, sewing beads to a two-year-old unfinished wall hanging, she removed the flowers that had been basted on, because she is not in a flowery period any more. During one of those pokes into the fabric, she said to herself aloud, “Can men give love?”
This woman craves love. She does not crave attention. She wants merely to be loved and to love. No, she does not look like the woman every man wants to wake up to every morning, certainly not every man’s dream. But she is loyal, supportive, giving, living the peace within and so much more.
One man said, “Consider your packaging,” to this wholesome female. She looked him right in the eye, and without words said the same right back to him. And when someone told her, “You’re a big girl, but you’re a damn sexy lady,” she was nonplussed. This was from a man who said that if they had sex first thing, they would never part, and would most likely never really get to know each other since their relationship would be based on sex only.
Men worry about the dumbest things. Apologies to you all who do not feel you fit into this particular category. One of the most frequent questions to this woman wanting to be cherished was, “How much of me can you take in your throat?” Give it a break. Here she is thinking about whether or not she could shower this man with her love, and he wants confirmation that her throat is there only for him. Sorry if that was too graphic for you.
Now, back to giving love. This woman is now half an hour older, and has no more idea if men can give anything…. we all know that men of her age are obsessed with money, with whether or not they can get it up, what she will look like when she is on his arm in public, where those lips lead……
Let the big, sexy woman have an ergo moment here.
Y’ain’t gettin any of their money (if they have any), cause that’s already planned out.
Might as well resign yourself to the fact that you’re going to hear every aspect of their past, current and future lives before they even turn to see if you’re still there. Repeatedly. And if you laugh at a joke, be sure you’ll hear it over and over and over…. verbatim.
Will she understand the guy who wants to come home from work and load ammunition for weekend trips to the firing range? Will he understand her need to have her hands in clay whenever the need arises?
Will she ever figure out what to do with the mushroom in the bush that he seemed so proud of? Will the sound of that front room light turning off remind her of that moment forever?
Now, this generous, peace loving, uterus-less woman has no idea if she is capable of giving love, either. It is all so twisted and some is so sick and twisted that she now wonders if it is all worth it…. the search, that is.
I’ll leave you to think on her dilemma. Perhaps even one or two brave men will respond to this query, for she knows not where to turn from here, except to change her glasses and go back to the wall hanging that still needs more beads.
Tell me, please.
One male friend has told this woman that you can’t hurry love, and reassures her that there are many out there who love her already. Thanks for that.
Sit back and listen to a few rare moments of the real George….
So, I’ve set aside childish things, and am now in pursuit of the perfect computer desk. My conclusions so far? It does not exist. Of course, I do not want to pay $800 or $1200 or $4000 to get my ergonomically correct example of perfection. Maybe I should just center my search around the wonders of the keyboard and mouse. There are several I do like a lot.
I’m back after spending more than an hour entranced with keyboards both on youtube and the web in general. I’m going to get my day started, and will be back later to report on progress of any kind.
well, work today began as no other. I had been there about 10 minutes, had stopped by the water cooler to get water for tea, opened my lotus notes, and suddenly, with no warning, actually began what was to be the most frightening 10 minutes of my life.
I coughed repeatedly, and could not catch my breath between coughs. Throat was coated with some icky almost dry stuff that seemed to keep my throat closed. I have always had panic moments about my throat. Never sleep or sit comfortably with my throat fully exposed, afraid that something will come into contact and sever the space. Previous lifetime experience? Inane fears? Whatever it is/was, I didn’t/don’t like it.
The only other person in the building when I get there early is the executive director, Robert Hendren, D.O., a true healer in his own right. He was just too far away to hear the coughing, and unthinkably far away for me to even think of crawling there, as I could barely draw breath as it was. Couldn’t yell. No breath, and any I found was saved for me.
So where was my colleague who usually arrived about this time? Of course. Driving to work with her husband these days, so she arrives about half an hour later than usual. So there was no witness to my near death experience. Another minute or so, and I’d have been on the floor expired. Oh me, oh my. No time to think of what to do except try to relax, my dear, try to relax. I did so successfully for a few seconds whereupon the coughing started in earnest again.
Eyes teared up like I had lost my dearest friend. No time to take off the glasses to wipe them… in fact had used the last tissue a couple of minutes prior. UNBELIEVEABLE!!!! Yes. It was.
I was sure I was a gonner…. or is that goner?
Ok… what is that yoga pose where you just stand for hours…. tadasana, I thought clearly all of a sudden. I’m not going to die…. not here at the med center with no doctors present! So my body went into a state of memory draw…. if ever I needed grounding with the help of tadasana, now was the time.
I felt nausea….nearly vomiting several times. Thought my throat would bleed from the abuse of sharp pieces of air…. how does air do that? Feels so harsh and hurting — as if there are glass shards mixed in there.
Thank you, yoga classes for giving me that pose. Thank you, meditation for giving me the power over my breathing. It was all within me. I had but to pull it out at the correct moment.
Thank you, body…. thank you brain….. for giving me what I needed when I needed it.
As the insanity subsided, I felt myself return to reality… a place very far from where I had just been. I could hear myself saying over and over, “I want to live… I don’t want to die… I want to live… I don’t want to die.”
By the time my first colleague arrived in my area, nearly half an hour had passed. I sat tearless, composed, attentive to my computer monitor, no one being the wiser of what I had just experienced. It was for me alone. I was alone.
Later in the day, I read online about similar experiences that people had been through…. exactly describing mine, and most unable to find doctors who could even understand the situation.
The old brain kicked into gear, and told me it was not time for me to go yet!
Big stuff still to come, darlin.
Nobody’s kickin me to the curb without a fight.
Now I must rest and do some sleep, for tomorrow is another day. Perhaps I’ll tell you about Washington state in November when I write on March 18th.
Before I go… this is what my brain brought to me just now….
This is goin’ way back. Dolly is the original woman. This is HER song.
this is what I got this morning….. “Take no remedies if your heart is clear.”
I thought about it. All clear!
On Friday, I did the last vestige act of ridding the house of memories of the men. Mailed two books back to the person who had loaned them to me. Oh yes, there’s a photograph on the kitchen wall that I must replace. An obscure scene of a black and white landscape somewhere between Santa Fe and Albuquerque — from the guy in Albuquerque. Strange how some things on walls become invisible. And oddly enough, I did buy one print of the specs of the Brooklyn Bridge for the living room wall because one person whom I never met — was an engineer interested in things like that. What a dufus.
Now it’s time for clearing the house. I still have some of the lovely cedar and sage from the old man in Taos. And I will use the abalone shell that my mom gave me for my birthday. Open all windows, and do what I must, disengaging smoke alarms in the process. Time to change batteries, anyway.
Sam and I had lessons with her when she was still in Santa Point Reyes in the bay area. Recently, she accepted a position as assistant professor of vocal studies at Berklee College of Music in Boston. Oh yes, Sam has a wonderful voice, but does not want recognition of it. I do think he does take for granted and dismisses his greatest musical talents. But that is yet another rant. So many rants, so little time.
Going to make some tea, for the coughing portion of this brief sick period has begun. Through last night and on into this morning. Must be careful of the ears and parts south. Coughing is so hard on your body.
On to the day, even though the sky is overcast with nary a touch of sun to be seen at all at all.
Ultimatum to myself has worked. Made a couple of decisions prior to the deadline of March 15th.
I will be staying in my current home for the foreseeable future — alone. I think the lack of communication with the “men” caused a void in my online life that got replaced by looking for a new place to live. No, the houses and apartments do not talk back, but the change does… well, it makes me talk to myself and makes me totally crazy. I will take sacrentals and craigslist and other sites off my bookmarks for now, and will spend time back with the art.
Must really take some photos of the pot that was just fired. Yes, I still use the firing facility at city parks and rec, and sometimes it’s my undoing. Yes, a kiln is still on my wish list. It took many hours to complete the glazing. The result was supposed to be two colors… a very dark green and a very dark orange — I mean almost undetectable that they are green and orange. Imagine my surprise when I was shown the fired pot that was obviously green and orange with the white clay body showing underneath. Too hot, say I. Well, get over the disappointment until you have your own kiln, sweetie!
As with most things, I should have no expectations….. men, houses, kilns and their operators… Why else am I sitting up at 4:33am writing this hoo haa?
One of the places I looked at yesterday was three blocks closer to the local park. Yippee, I thought. Motivation to go walking more often. Bollocks. Motivation for me would be someone putting my shoes and socks on my feet and leading me out the door for a walk. No compunction, no desire. (Hmmm….. she muses. Perhaps my new obsession?)
I’ll be very happy to have the second performance of the duck waddling theme song over tomorrow afternoon. I would love to reward myself with something really nice, but I need nothing. The rationale will be that the something nice will be a lovely home that will be there when I get there, and money in my pocket when the time comes to pay the rent.
Realized that my grocery shopping practice (as is my mom’s) is to buy an item well before running out. Take a couple of instances. I have found that Trader Joe’s has very fresh (well, you know what I mean) raw nuts — almonds, cashews and pecans — at fairly reasonable prices. I use these nearly every day, so I know the stock at home. Toilet paper is another commodity that I used to completely obsess about. And if you’ve read any of this blog prior to today, you will know of a successful hysterectomy surgery back in September that lessened my daily need for toilet paper. Bought some yesterday. Just finishing with the lot I bought at 7/11 on an emergency run to the nearest store. I had underestimated just how much is on those little rolls from the convenience store! – or should I say how little. I now buy when I’m down to using the next to the last roll. Prevents emergencies such as the one after having questionable Japanese food the other day.
As for the raw nuts… I will wait until I pour the last one out of the bags, then go to Trader Joe’s and get more. Sensibility at age 59, eh? Now, to corral the rest of my life. I have not bought fabric unless it’s a wardrobe emergency, such as making the skirts for my mom when I also bought elastic.
So, mini-recap.
Staying in this house.
Changing shopping habits.
Using obsession detector. (aka spidey sense)
You are good.
I’ve found a super website I would love to sort of replicate with my stuff. Now have to contact the owner to get her feelings on that. Or does one do that? I have no clue. Well, perhaps when I am really awake later this morning — no I don’t plan to stay up from now — I will try to find out. I’ve tried putting something together on the Mac, but it’s so truly unimaginative and so in the box that I hate it. Also, it’s populated with photos I paid a bunch of $$ for, but dislike immensely.
There you have it, dearies. Getting out there. Next writing will be about my this year’s vacation or however I decide to label it.
And now, back to bed. Sometimes getting this stuff out in the middle of the night helps me.
Ok, so I’m suffering slightly from some unknown affliction. I’m not asking for pity, for sympathy, but merely for diagnosis. The lady at the store told me to call the doctor and ask for antibiotics. Then she said, “Well, it might be from all the pollen released from the trees.” I did not call the doctor. Instead, I took/am taking massive doses of vitamin C, drinking orange juice and drinking lots of water.
I need to wash the dishes.
I need to wash the clothes, sheets and towels, but as yet still have underwear enough for at least a week. After poking through the closet the other day, I have found several nearly new outfits bought during the past year or so, most of which I have not worn yet. Now is the time.
Wore shoes other than birkenstocks yesterday and my feet feel really good! I think the bump on the shoes that goes beneath the row of toes (supposedly a toe grip) is annoying the heck out of my left foot. Wore those other shoes again today for the few minutes I was out and feet felt good again. Ok. Yes, I’ve worn Birks for most of the last x number of years since I was 16, but my feet have changed in 43 years. It’s time for something else. I wore them when Wilfley’s Health Foods was open and was the only place in Sacramento that dared keep them in stock. Everyone said they were ugly. Wilfley’s was located across from what was then Shakey’s Pizza and in the same building where Opa Opa! the recently opened Greek restaurant, can be found.
I even went through a period of wearing nothing but Earth shoes that are now having a resurgence in popularity. Gone are those days! I’m less interested in shoes now. Used to pride myself in buying the coolest ones from Guild House on K Street. That was when K Street was abuzz with fashion stores such as I. Magnin. I remember going in there only once as a teenager. Dumbstruck with the prices on simple dresses. Then there was Joseph Magnin. I never did figure out the relationship. That’s when Breuner’s, the home furnishing store, was still flourishing. They had beautiful stuff…. stuff of dreams. Yes, I admit, I dream sometimes of furnishing my home with lovelier stuff than I have now. That won’t be until I have a slightly larger place. If and when….
I’ve been practicing painting leaves for my Chinese brush painting class. I love doing something diligently and with purpose. And let me tell you, this does take discipline and a sense of purpose. My arm is a bit tired from holding the brush perpendicular to the table. You know, most of the painting is in preparation of the brush. The bamboo stalks take a dryish brush, the smaller stems less pressure, joints darker ink, leaves lots of moisture and a great movement. Those things are solely my interpretation. And yes, I have set aside the fabric and clay for a couple of weeks to practice this.
My teacher, Lillian Seto, has been painting for 26 years. I have been practicing for less than 26 hours. A long way to go. But to be learning — nay, scratching the surface — is fantastic. I am excited with the possibilities of using a new brush technique on my pottery. Since I have no other experience of painting except glazing pottery, this is truly a wonder.
Geez. Just realized the time. Did I strain my throat playing oboe on precisely the day that I hatched a cold? I remember one doctor years ago saying that I had a cold when I went to her, but that I also had a sinus infection at the same time, which warranted antibiotics.
Work tomorrow? I won’t know until the morning.
Was a lovely day today here in the old Sacratomato.
Perhaps this is an allergy. I am not friendly with people who come to work coughing and sneezing, so if this turns into such a palaver, I will be at home for a couple of days so as not to spread my germs back into the workplace. It has been years since I had any sort of virus or whatever. Sorry to moan so much. So much to do.
Hey, I can sing the bass part in this tune….. I must really be sick (usually do the lead!).
Actually, the lowest notes are out of my range. It was great music when I got to sing this with the late Rudy McClary, one of the most amazing bass singers ever. Gerald Gregory on that recording with the Spaniels.
after the Peter and the Wolf concert this afternoon, I found myself speaking with the conductor and the narrator. There was a lot of self-congratulation going on, after which the narrator (a Yorkshireman more recently of Sacramento), Michael Frost who is also a DJ (oops,wrong title — however) on the Capitol Public Radio station in Sacramento KXPR and a fine viola player in his own right and the guest conductor, Pete Nowlen, an excellent French horn player and prof at UC Davis who also conducts the wind band at UCD and I nattered on a bit.
The final declaration… or perhaps query asked by Michael was, “What does it mean when it says, ‘the duck took a deep swim?’” We looked at each other, and I said, “Perhaps you should ask the duck!” Laughter ensued.
Playing in the orchestra was lovely. I feel/felt right at home. Of course there are several friends from years and years back who have found a home in the Camellia Symphony again, as we all did when we were but youth starting out in the local amateur orchestra.
The wind section is, as always very, very good, as we were all tested by the Prokofiev. Strings… hmmm…. how can I say this graciously. They were outshon by the winds.
It was a good experience for me. The conductor, is very good. Easy to follow. Some of the conductors I’ve played for are well nigh impossible to figure out. Pete is one of the rare ones.
One more performance next week. Then we’ll see what happens!
Going to do some bamboo practice. No, I have not started playing another instrument; it is part of the practice for the brush painting class I have on Wednesday evenings. Three more classes. I love it. Every minute of it.
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