Little Big Mouse

This is my version of Little Mouse:

Little Big Mouse

I am the mouse, the mighty little mouse. I invite you to open your inquisitive ears. Hear me, as I speak of your innate greatness.

You are one, of so many, in a world that glorifies the accomplishments of the very few. How can you recognize your mark?  How can you reflect the significance in your life?  How can you show up, let others know you are available to share the talents that you possess within you, all bursting to find their way out in the world?

I will tell you how, right now.  Instead of being a reflection of the projected views and opinions of others ... Be who you are.  Show the power and enlightenment that you are. Share what you are and what you have within you.  Allow your incredible Self to express uniqueness.  Allow your amazing, insightful Self to be creative, by tapping the truth that lies deep inside.

You may be a little mouse in the eyes of others, yet a wise elephant within your own heart.  Your truth may be a soaring eagle, a floating monarch butterfly or a dolphin leaping with joy.  You may have aspects of all of them within you.

And if you are truly a mouse, inside and out, then bravo for you!  For we mice know that the slightest honoring expression opens the heart and allows love to pour forth.  We know that the smallest, seemingly insignificant gesture, when expressed with truth, can open the heart and heal the spirit.  We know that utilizing these big, glorious ears, to truly listen and really hear, accept and respect, are the greatest gifts ever given.  We know that sitting quietly with one another in compassion, and ultimately sharing oneself can be so grand and magnificent an act, that it lights up the whole Universe in wonder.

We mice know that true greatness is within and the tiniest heart may beat as loudly and elegantly as that of the towering elephant.  We know and cherish our strength. It is the power of the small gesture that sings out its truth in love and trust.

Sabado Preto

The Blackest of Fridays 2013

I am allergic to shopping. I detest having to bring a snack, hiking from the car to the store’s entrance. It is nearing the end of my time with the handicap placard and I have been taking full advantage of possessing one. At times, it is not an issue of limping as I approach the entry way and other instances where I have to exaggerate the motion. Hate to think someone would be disgusted with me, using a permit when I didn’t need to. Have to remind myself, after the 30^th to avoid high traffic hours and not park in the Handicap designated spots. Either that, or I find a new friend who needs surgery and a six month temporary pass.

Chuck & Don’s (for those of you who don’t live in the Twin Cities, it is a chain of pet stores) tried to entice me to with a pound donation to a local shelter if I brought Ty into one of the stores between 7 and 9am. I didn’t budge. Arrived later in the day to find a small version of Tyrus sniffing his way along the treat aisle and a drooling Saint Bernard named Rosie meandering around the store. Made me wish I had peeled my way from under the mound of covers to come in earlier. I bought out the store, loaded the massive bags of dog and cat food, treats and Christmas stocking stuffers then made my way down the road to work. As I drove past the Mall, I was very happy to be heading in the opposite direction of the crazed masses of rabid shoppers. I do hope there are no reports of trampling on the news tonight.

Giving Thanks

Thanksgiving 2013

The Indigo mashed potatoes are a hit. They simply need a hint of garlic and they’d be a masterpiece. Thank goodness my neighbor is home and has a rolling pin to lend me. We have cat spats to keep under control and a dog that is nervous and underfoot when the felines start to rumble. The little year and a half old female is a spitfire and trying to take control of the new territory. It is an unexpected hassle, to make shitake mushroom wild rice, the tates, spinach salad, stuffing, blueberry and pumpkin pies (wrestling with the dry dough and had to start over again) and keep an eye on the brawling kitties.  

My niece came over to eat and visit, watch the first season of New Girl with Taelor and I. A friend stopped by with her two little Toto dogs and drank wine with me. Typically, we have a huge gathering, a crowd of friends who do not have family to spend Thanksgiving with. It is odd to be smashing a handful of potatoes versus a ten pound bag. I miss the chaos of a large crew at the table, various favorite dishes to pass and much sharing. It isn’t to say that I am not enjoying myself yet the shift in boisterous to cozy energy takes a bit of getting used to.

The girls got a jump start on handmade Christmas cards for me but they nixed fastening red hot chili peppers to the wreath frames. A project for another day perhaps. Keeping the child labor hours down to a minimum.

Merry Thanksgiving, folks. I am off to get another slim slice of blueberry pie. Would taste better with a serving of French vanilla ice cream but the neighbor is out.

Whiskey a Go Go!

November 27, 2013

I didn’t witness the theft. The entire staff at the MGM Liquor store flew out the double doors and into the night after the robber. A customer attempted to step in front of the bandit’s black BMW but got nervous and veered off to the side as the car careened through the parking lot to escape. There was no license plate on the back of the vehicle and the Manager was furious she failed to stop the criminal who stole two large bottles of Whiskey. The crook wasn’t even attempting to hide the evidence as he ran away, the glass gleaning in the light, from his bare hands. The store was murmuring indignation and upset.

I stood at my little table, three wine bottles askew in the black plastic tub filled with ice, wishing I had been witness to the incident first-hand. I’d been assisting a customer who came in for Asti Spumante. A man requested Mogen David’s brand made from Concord grapes. I hadn’t even realized it was still on the market. Silly me, I sold him one of our Barefoot brands and he was happy. In the meantime, a crime scene is taking place, and I am busy doing “not” my job.

Like last week, the staff is talking, mostly to one another, and leaving the customers to their own devices. I can’t help but step-in and stumble around the unfamiliar store with them, in the hopes of finding what they are seeking. What has happened to customer service, I wonder, as clients roam the store, clearly confused and need assistance.

Three other demos going on simultaneously. I was compromisingly situated in the middle of the store, just past the first three sampling tables, set-up like an obstacle course. Once the first Menage a Trois wine-pusher got ahold of the client, then Bailey’s Irish Cream was doled-out, Cupcake wine was next and I could hardly expect people to want to taste my Barefoot wine after all of that, and no cheese or nut chaser.

I came home to find a thank you card, with several cheerful stickers plastered all over the front side, leaned forward in my mailbox. It is from my cell phone carrier service representative, telling me “It is a pleasure helping you out today. Glad to have you at Ting! Have a great day, Sinead” (with an accent on the “e”) On the backside it holds a caricature of each of the employees head and torso, in a cozy light blue ink. It is the only piece of mail I received that makes me smile. I am pleased they are my company. Ting rocks.

A Gift of Wind

November 26, 2013

My outgoing mail disappeared in the night. The wind took it away in its intensity. I happened to find the AAA survey down the block and around the corner. The postcard to my sister-in-laws mother, who is currently struggling with a life-threatening disease has gotten attached to a new recipient. I generate an inspirational message each day for her and now realize it must have been intended for another person in need. An interesting way of connecting with another human being, whom I do not know, and who may, in fact, require a shift in perspective and a bit of compassion.

Work appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, for tomorrow, which adds to my chaotic day but is much appreciated. I take each gift of income as a fulfillment of my intention. It is an honor to do the work, to contribute to others and have them support me in my life and productivity. Each person I touch, touches me in a way that I am forever changed, shifted, and loved. Even though they may not be aware of it. I feel blessed and “taken”by their generosity.

It is Thanksgiving week, after all! I can shout “Thank You”to the frozen rooftops and laugh with relief.

Union Gospel Mission Magic

November 25, 2013

It’s difficult to understand which side of the fence I am on sometimes, especially when both sides are working on the same project. Standing at one long table, jiggling to the music and placing two cans of off-brand green beans into the sack that already contains a can of cranberry sauce, yams, and GMO corn nibblets. After my two cans, in go peas, a box of stuffing, bag of rice and oversized card to inform the recipient about the donating agency. A frozen turkey and Target-hand-packed sack of potatoes and the grocery bag, accompanied by a big guy in a plaid/green/Wild fan/blue jean/army coat/red sweatshirt to take out to the car, bus stop, taxi stand or van. The line flows as 70’s music blares and we all stand at attention, at our stations. I manage to meander to other areas, collecting the ticket and escorting the customer to the next bag carrier, wishing them a Happy Thanksgiving while looking them in the eye. Most people met my gaze and smiled. It was worth the ache in my lower back. I made it to the potato sorting, hauling full sacks to the line-up in the big room, arranging rice bags and putting the first can into the bag. I like to be a roamer, say hello to the crew, move around and dance a bit to the songs. I only wish I knew just how many bags were piled during my 3 hours and fourteen minute shift. I am a numbers gal, after all.

Flu Bug

November 24, 2013

We’d been up ‘til 3:00am so the phone startled me at 8:10. I was hoping to crawl back in bed, to avoid both the chilly 58 degree air, lying still  in the house and the coffeemaker, dripping fresh brew eagerly reminding me the new day has arrived.

Taelor had missed the city bus, misreading the schedule and chose to walk the two plus miles to work in below zero temps. She arrived, thighs numb, dizzy with contracted lungs. A few minutes later, she passed-out. Vomit spewed from her cold lips and, though she sat down and rested, a second attack hit and she was caught before she clunked her head on the counter, headed to the floor once again. She ate a banana and drank a bit of water then called me for help. I meant to just grab the keys and run to collect her but my friends rallied and we made a run for it together. I was the designated driver the night before and left my car on the street in front of the restaurant so it was frosty inside and out when I got behind the wheel. The other car zoomed away and I meandered down the main road, glad for the limited traffic.  

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                        Once I had the flu so badly, vomiting and diarrhea, that I lost my sight, saw bright spots with a black background. I was so frightened, crawling along the hallway to the phone to call 911. The nurse informed me I was dehydrated and to drink as much as I could, as often as I could, and the symptoms would go away. There were workmen in the house, replacing my carpeting and I was glad the foreman was willing to fill a pitcher of water to leave by the side of my bed, let the dogs in and out of the house for me and check on me occasionally, during the day.

Taelor is feeling better since she slept and ate something more substantial than a banana. We snuggled, watched a mediocre movie and snoozed the day away. Thanks for asking.

Don't Do Drugs

November 23, 2013

     The cross-stitched sign read “Do not do coke in the bathroom." It was posted conspicuously between the two restrooms in the downtown Minneapolis Irish Pub. It is difficult to image why there has to be a banner, stating the obvious.

     At some point in the evening, my friend turned and asked me about my purse, sitting on her side of the table. Evidently, the guy across the divider between our tables had reached over and attempted to grab my bag. Minutes after we entered the bar and sat down, there was an enormous crash. That same young man had toppled over in his thick wooden stool backwards. Young men have no changed much since I was there age, or so it appears. They drank until they became like a pack of howling dogs, following their natural instincts and turning into idiots.

     The singer/guitarist/harmonica player is my friend’s nephew. She insists he should audition for The Voice, although his craggy voice and Dylan-like appearance doesn’t seem like a good fit for The show, from what I gather. His friend from High School, a grade younger than him, is an incredible fiddler. They tore-up the hotel-soap-sized stage as we drank decaf Irish coffee and White Russians. It is a heart-saturating pleasure to witness a coupla guys, fulfilling their dream, doing what they love and magnetizing a following. I declared we are the band groupies. The CD comes out December 14^th. The only thing left to do is design and produce t-shirts to get with the program. I will let you know where to sign up.

Money Matters

November 22, 2013

     Money was not a topic of conversation growing up in a household of eleven, sometimes twelve, sometimes several dozen people in and out. I knew enough not to ask for cash to go to the movies, even though the downtown theatre was .50 and we brought our own grocery bags of popcorn to inhale during the show, lifting our feet from the floor since there were rats in residence.

     At ten, I was babysitting for the kids down the road, had a job at 12 as a busser then carhop, responsible for carrying the heavy root beer-laden mugs to the cars and counting to be sure the customers were not stealing them from my dad. I was surly in confronting the squirrely teens, crowded families-people who claimed they didn’t have any more mugs in the car and when pressed, came up with several stragglers from under the seat. I was skinny and tough and a bit lazy, if the truth be told, standing with my hands in my corduroy pockets and poly orange top with brown trim. I just wanted to be one of the big kids, going out for cheap donuts at the factory after work. Little did I know just how much what you do reflects who you turn out to be. If I could choose again, I would take more time to discover what I was good at and explore more options prior to taking what was right in front of me and convenient. I would be less apt to do what people expected of me and ask to be included when I felt left out. I would not take things so to heart and wear my heart on my sleeve.

     I realize we were more well-off than I thought,, with our own home, two cars in the driveway and most all nine of us headed for college. Money was not the topic of conversation but neither was being impoverished. There is a lot to be said for that.

Dubious Donut

November 21, 2013

Two albino squirrels live within a few blocks from my duplex. I see them at least once a week, scrambling along the trees or scurrying across the cold grass to safety. The randomness of their appearance startles me. I stand, in awe, amazed at their perfect white fur, the audacity of my luck, having two such stupendous creatures within a stone’s throw, makes me giddy.

Today, I aim to communicate with my newfound friend, Donut, who lives upstairs and has been a very dissatisfying neighbor. She races away from me and my outstretched hand, eager to wrap my arms around her long Basset body and look squarely into her Beagle eyes. I want to declare her my new best friend.

This morning, I uncharacteristically veer from my normal routine of extending my arm basically out of its socket, to appeal to her whim; I “tell” her with my mind and demeanor, that I have absolutely no expectation of her. She can do what is comfortable and I will not impede upon her space unsolicited. Donut walked up to me, with her front out-turned feet, and gingerly took the treat from my hand. She failed to race away, didn’t avert my eyes and calmly made her way down the stairs. Whee. This is incredible. I declare myself bonded with Donut and am anxious to explore our new-found kinship. Unfortunately, she is away for more than a couple of days. I do hope she sends me a postcard and brings me a gift upon her return.'Cause that is what best friends do.

Dreaded Shopping

November 18, 2013

A large grey bin, computer laptop box, three oversized cloth bags and a paper shopping bag were loaded into my vehicle to be taken to the consignment store. An hour later, after browsing and discovering fuzzy and practical winter boots, two cardigan sweaters and a blazer she couldn’t pass-up, the damage at the register was over $30 since the lame clerk only took 13 items from the hoard. Discouraging consignment store unload turned shopping trip. Hit the Byerly’s deli for comfort. Although the salads look tasty and luscious in the case, it became another reason to sob in a dispiriting fashion. The plastic covering doesn’t fit properly over the hanging blinds and that becomes still another turned-down mouth reaction. It is difficult to be a mom, to shower the big kid in hugs and a cheerful manner is not enough. Instead, we make a list for Thanksgiving sides and plan our own delicious dishes and sweets.

A young woman is hailing the bus from the windy corner. She has a red-tipped nose, light jacket billowing in the breeze, a paper bag in one hand and broken-strappy purse in the other. I voice my gratitude for a car, winter coat that buttons, gloves, food in my stomach and a youthful, smart, cunning, frugal, discouraged and sassy daughter sitting next to me. Life is grand.

Errand Girl

November 19, 2013

Without the routine of a full-time job, it is difficult to keep track of the days of the week, holidays and coffee breaks. If I happen to leave the house for an overnight, I tend to forget supper time for the cat and the mail delivery. A few stops along the way to fill-up at the gas station late this afternoon, select curtains for the bedroom, purchase cat treats at Chuck and Don’s and avoid Wendy’s chocolate frosty to get me home before the end-of-the-workday rush. Sometimes I do envy those whom have their paychecks automatically deposited every two weeks, count on holidays and staff birthday celebrations, as well as the social aspect of working in an office environment. There must be a comfort in knowing what to expect each and every week, from the alarm alerting the hour to get up,  shower, pour coffee from the machine that knew what time you would need the caffeine, to fighting traffic to arrive home for the evening news. It has been much longer than I can recall, since I have had anything of the sort of commitment to time management. I believe it was 2010 but don’t hold me to that.

I also visited my 90 year old buddy who wrapped his arms around my shoulders and gave me a weak squeeze in greeting. I suppose he recognized me but for sure, he knew Tyrus. We chased around the how-are-you’s and chuckled about the silly cats that were unsuspecting of a giant dog in their house, dozing in the back bedrooms in false security. He suggested he had to get his dinner (I assume he meant lunch) and I let him know I would stop back by to say so long. He seemed sorry to see us leave at the end of our visit, later in the afternoon, and I promised to return again soon. Stumbling a bit to catch his balance, he waved goodbye from his deck, the cat hunched on the rocker nearby. I wonder what kind of shape he will be in the next time I come ‘round. Life is funny like that, unpredictable and full of fifteen minute touching interactions.

Hiding Out at Aldi's

November 20, 2013

It’s garbage day tomorrow and I have to remember to take the big bin to the curb, despite the fact that there is a limited amount of trash in the can, I had to pick up the dog doo in the yard so I don’t want that smelly decomposing, whatever is in the socially responsible canine food containers. If I miss the early truck, I will be very discouraged. It has happened before and I understand how that can ruin an hour, day, even weekend for me.

A cup of coffee was handed to the woman standing on the side of Snelling, just prior to my heading onto the 94 West ramp this afternoon. She got some fruit leather from me and then turned to accept the hot beverage. She appeared worn-out from the effort of asking for donations for her family, the loss of her job and circumstances that led her to be parked on the road with a cardboard sign. In spite of the traffic, I take a few minutes to talk with her, wish her luck and a good day. I drive away, thanking my lucky stars I had a snack in the glove box to share with her.

Caught myself pulling into Aldi’s out of curiosity more than needing anything in particular. The shopping carts were strung together and the clients are forced ot put in a quarter to release one from the other. Luckily, I knew enough to grab a cloth bag from the back seat and enter the store without chasing down a cart from someone in the parking lot. There is a limit to what I will put up with from the establishment! I scorched down the aisles and took a handful of goat cheese, box of multi-grain crackers, a dark chocolate bar laced with chili peppers and a bag of craisins for the Thanskgiving salad. I don’t have a debit card so I am forced to use cash and saunter out, avoiding the carts loaded with goods. Now I can say I have been to the German-based store and survived. No one paid close attention to me, save the woman that commented on the fact that I wasn’t pushing a shopping cart.

$1000

November 17, 2013

An African American woman clumped by in her drag-along slippers, mostly black sweater stretched taut around her, not exactly covering her heavy belly. She had a grin on her face, ambling by the nut section in the long line of flour, salt, soda, and the like, at the grocery store. We chatted about the variety of packaging, sliced, diced, whole, pieces, parts, shelled or not. A guttural laughter emerged when we shared quick stories about Thanksgiving pies. I told her about a time when, horrified, I discovered the elderly woman across the holiday family table from me, gobbling up my pecan pie, had a long hair strung from the plate to her mouth! Gads! I chortled in horror at the memory as my comrade hooted. With tears floating down her chubby face, she shook her head and thanked me for the story.

My new best friend told me of her baby sister, bringing a store-bought pie to dinner a few years ago, that she was clearly unaware needed to be baked. At the table, cutting into the liquid mass, the realization of the error startled everyone at the table. As it seeped off the plate and onto the freshly-ironed tablecloth, Sis poured it back into the tin, and ran off into the kitchen. Half an hour later, the hot pumpkin pie was served, heaped with whipped cream topping (also store-bought.)

Shoppers pass us in the wide aisle, staring at our joy. Anyone can have that pleasure of fun, if only willing to speak with someone you don’t necessarily know. And have a hilarious story to tell. If not, make it up, or use mine. You have my permission.

Take a risk, kick up some dust, show your Self to the woman strolling down the baking essential aisle and feel what happens in the connection. I am smiling and that is worth a thousand dollars.

Barefoot Happy

November 16, 2013

I am a sole-patroller, which means that I can play Vanna White (sans the skimpy dress) to demo wines for Barefoot in liquor stores. Tonight was my very first time so when I was greeted by the manager, Brian, with “Demos never go well here, most people just pass-by, ignoring the display table,” I was discouraged and then determined to prove him wrong. Arriving ten minutes prior to my allotted time, I set up with enthusiasm and efficiency.  Within the hour, I was checking my watch every five minutes and wondering how the heck I was going to stand for two more hours with a Cheshire grin on my face and a bottle of wine in my hand.

I fronted and faced all of the bottles and cartons in the store, managing to keep track of the new arrivals, due to the ringing bell as they entered the cavernous liquor warehouse. Some, startled and anxious to avoid my gaze, skirted around me or avoided my aisle altogether. Then there were the wide-eyed gulpers who asked to sample all three varieties of wine and left with a case of beer or plastic bottle of Whisky. My wine pourer stingily measures out 1 oz so they can’t get too plastered and ruin my show.

I served 78 cups and gave away three of our nifty barefoot ice cube trays and pressed a few coupons in clients hands. Tough to know just how many bottles sold or how many people hid the bottles on another shelf after I pressed it into their hands. I would say most people enjoyed the exchange so I am pleased. Who doesn’t like a free sample? Well, come to think of it, there were a few of those. I crossed them right off my Secret Santa list.

Although I was seeking some sort of acknowledgement of my hard work, none came my way as I “checked-out” at the register, paying for my three bottles and bag of ice. The gentlemen insisted I have a good weekend as they poured the remaining wine out of the bottles and dumped my watery ice into the sink.

Next Wednesday is another three hour shift at a new location. I will be better prepared, with different selections and a new attitude.  Watch for me on Jeopardy, I am the one in the green shirt with a barefoot on it.

Shower Stalled

November 15, 2013

Mom would have celebrated her 78^th birthday, had she lived past 59. She got gyped, robbed, rug swept out from under her feet. Stolen from her family like baby seals in the Antarctic.

A pork chop sizzles in the oven next to a No Name Steak, oiled baking potato, piece of seasoned tilapia, two drumsticks and a small butternut squash. Laundry is in the dryer in the community wash room on the first floor of the building and tube socks soak in the bathroom sink. Tonight is bath night, even more perilous from the first time since the suction cup handle has dropped onto the shower stall and left us to wobble, off-balance, over the rim of the double glass doors. Evidently handicap rails cannot be installed since the foundation behind the walls do not support them. In the renovations of the 17 floors, ten units per level, they did not manage to squeeze-in the proper funding for safety in the bathrooms. Unbelievable. I tend to see at least two elderly people in the elevators each time I drop down or stagger up for mail pick-up, laundry, recycling drop-off or coming and going from the place. Crazy.

Somehow we manage to slice-off five minutes from the last shower and my client groans in pleasure as she sinks into her lift chair for a rest as I slather lotion as I massage her purple-tinged legs, pull on tube socks and wrap them with ace bandages. Her arms and back are sucking the humidity out of the apartment and still remain dry and scaly. Luckily she reminded me to cover her hairdo so we didn’t soak down her curls in the shower. Something to be thankful for.

Saran-Wrapped

November 14, 2013

Wrestled with the plastic wrap for insulating my fifteen windows today. Took a heck of a lot of patience, time, warming up the same cup of coffee no less than nine times, and some swearing to get it all installed, intact and wrinkle-free. The dog and cat scooted out of the room a few times when things got heated and I couldn’t find the roll of tape to secure the far left edge of the window trim in the livingroom. The most challenging part, aside from unfolding endless yards of plastic that tends to only adhere to itself well, is peeling off the edge of the paper liner on the double-sided tape. I requested the Ace Hardware clerk show up at my house today to assist me with this project but he guffawed “Not likely!”

Noticed window panes missing, huge gaps in the seams (that I expertly caulked with foam,) and air blowing in from the accordion vents on the window AC unit. I have yet to overcome the disturbing windows sans curtains since they no longer fit properly with the plastic film. Rubberbanded a sheet to the loose rod holders for the time being. I’d solve world peace too, if I had the time, energy and a bit of Vodka.

Discouraged that I have finished the “Orange is the New Black” first season and I have no new show-turned-addiction to watch tonight. I’ve eaten the remainder of the Halloween candy, the starbursts I discovered in my jacket pocket and sucked on a spoonful to honey to ward off evil spirits. Might as well go to bed.

New Wheels

November 13, 2013

What could be better than sharing pumpkin banana pancakes, hash browns, eggs and coffee with my daughter for lunch and then argue over the addition on the ticket? We hashed out Thanksgiving and Christmas plans, sorted roommate issues, delved into possibly living together, come January, reminisced, bragged about how smart our cats are (mine is much more brilliant,) and hugged the long goodbye, after searching out plastic window treatments for our respective homes. She is off to class and me to work.

I posted my car on Craiglist and plan on purchasing a slightly used one as soon as possible. It is a good time to part with my 4WD, prior to the snow, black ice and frigid temps and get a station wagon that feels more comforting. My SUV can climb trees, though I have never had the privilege of experimenting with that remarkable feature. Though it came in handy when moving from one household to the next, selecting goods from the roadside to add to my collection in the duplex or provide for my offspring and her greedy roommates (I don’t mean that in a bad way.) They cheer (more often than not) as I show up with another incredible find and make room for it in their now crowded four-plex. Wonder how that happened?

Sold the two GM van seats taking up my precious space in the sun porch. Slowly getting rid of all of the prior tenants goods they abandoned, when scampering off in the dead of night. The endless stack of books, DVD’s and VHS tapes of Hmong romance series went to the Neighborhood Centers who serve that culture. The youthful mothers were delighted and snatched up the young love stories like kids after Snickers on Halloween. A pile of unwanted kitchen items await repurposing as soon as I get around to it. We need storage space for the little one’s furnishings when she goes abroad in the New Year.

The garage door opener isn’t functioning properly so I need a handyperson to work on that as well as assist with uninstalling the air conditioner that sits on the window ledge, sucking hot air out the side slits. I can imagine the dollar bills zooming out with the warm breeze. Oh, and I was stopped last night by a guy who rolled down his dingy car window to inform me that my driver’s side taillight is not alight. Drat. Anybody? Anybody?

The KitKat Snatcher

November 12, 2013

DeJohn appeared tonight, knocking so softly on the front door, I nearly missed him. Caught sight of the back of him, racing down the sidewalk away from the house, going nowhere fast. He slammed in the door when I shouted for him, zipped into the kitchen with his shoes on, grabbing miniature KitKat bars from the bowl on the shelves before I could turn the corner. Upset that he doesn’t have manners enough to ask permission, most likely mom doesn’t set a good example for him, I let it go until the next visit, and heat water to make him some tea drizzled with honey to warm him up. “What is that?” he muttered, standing in front of the microwave oven. “It’s a microwave. We use it to heat up or cook food.” His interest wasn’t held for too long. He inhaled three or four chocolate bars, with Tyrus following in circles, around the pint-sized kitchen, hoping DeJohn will drop bits. I felt compelled to harness the nine year old anxiety by calling his mom but the doorbell rang before I could leave a voicemail to tell her DeJohn showed-up here. “Everyone is sick at the house so I am late, sorry” she exhales as the outer glass door opened. I assured her I am ok with DeJohn being here but am worried about the nights I am not home and he isn’t picked-up at the bus stop. I could lay out a sleeping bag for him and make sure the motion-detector light is on in the sun porch, when I leave in the early afternoons, but no one will be here to calm him, feed him and phone mom.

Concern for the bikers, out, with or without lights, in the center of the streets, in the chill of the 20 something night. Thinking about the homeless, huddled in the corners of the bridges, under cardboard boxes and hovered among the abandoned homes. I am so acutely aware of the car in the garage, radiator bubbling in the background, food in the cupboard, the remaining KitKat, a satisfied stomach and contented cat in my lap.

My First Job

My First Job isn't nearly as interesting as Deepak's insightful night as a residence intern but mine, as a babysitter, presented its own set of problems to a scrawny ten year old who needed to pay for her own clothes and school supplies. I recall dealing with Danny, a spoiled, bright, forever on-the-brink-of-tantrum boy, who fought back whenever he felt out of control. Any “No” or even the slightest variation of “No” caused him to throw himself on the ground, bite, kick and scream, or at times, race into his room, slam the door, hide under the bed, fall asleep and make me look like a complete idiot when the parents came home and he was still sequestered in his lair. I’d sit, after droning in front of the tv for hours, reading my books, and finally, hiding behind curtains, at the front window, hoping and praying the folks would come home. I would play a game of “The Next Car That Comes ‘Round the Corner is Theirs” until I was nearly dropping off into REM sleep. I ate to stay awake, anything that contained more than 100% of the caloric limit of sugar per day was game. Though, at Danny’s house, the mother was obviously a perpetual dieter because all of the items in the cabinets, cupboards and frig were injected with artificial sweeteners whose packaging might have tasted better than the contents. I must have been paid well enough, at that particular household, since I accepted more gigs, and being in charge of Devilish Danny. I know you are jealous, Deepak Chopra, MD!

Play Time

November 9, 2013

A small audience hugged burnt red plastic formed seats in the Simley Theatre at Hamline to watch Our Country’s Good by Timberlake Wertenbaker. “Set in 1788, Our Country’s Good focuses on the first European inhabitants of a pen colony in Australia who stage an unlike production of a popular British comedy. Although historically accurate, Our Country’s Good speaks to contemporary issues, interrogating hierarchies power, the politics of sexual subjungation, and the idea that theatre can serve as a source for personal and communal transformation.”

As I slouched in the chair, I considered the actors, college students, loaded-down with classes, hitting the books at the library, writing term papers, juggling research stints, work study, additional jobs, riding mass transit, making some time for friends and social events with other Pipers. I am in awe of their commitment, learning lines for several characters each and tackling British and Aboriginal accents. We need to support the arts, the campus activities and our incredibly talented offspring.  

Bathed in Compassion

November 8, 2013

I have not given anyone a bath since my daughter was a wee one. Tonight, I started sponging down an 88 ¾ woman, as part of my caregiving service. I cannot say I am completely comfortable with the idea but, given she shared with me her trepidation in being utterly exposed to other people, I had to give up my baggage. Darn it all, so challenging to come to grips with my own stuff while admitting it is not ALL about me and how I am feeling.

While swabbing, adjusting the temperature of the water eight million times until it is baby-bathwater-perfect, soaping, dabbing versus scrubbing, rinsing, dampening my jeans, saturating the bathroom floor and murmuring comforting words, I feel accepting and calm. Deep red abrasions need special cream application, and a light back massage helps the washing process fall into a rhythm I didn’t expect. I agreed to avoid getting her new do wet, which was a feat in and of itself.

Suction cups placed within reach of an extended arm, a formed plastic seat with arm rests comes in handy over the commode for a place to park and rest for a moment, a walker cumbersomely accepts full-weight in the stand-up shower, shower head on a hose, and I marvel at the gyrations of positioning this aging woman has had to accept for a “simple” bath. When I get to be 88 ¾, don’t let me forget just how important feeling squeaky clean can be.

Sitting in her recliner, dressed in jammies, a robe and jacket over the top, well-oiled legs wrapped tight in an ace bandage and slippers on her feet, she did look like a contented child, a smile wrapped like a jack ‘o lantern, on her pretty face.

Monster Cookie Madness

November 7, 2013

Doing serious damage to my cookie inventory. I can hear the loud moaning from across the duplex, the exquisite crunch of nuts, mixture of rich chocolates, tender flax seeds softened by the heat of the oven. Not certain why I became compelled to bake this morning, an error of judgment set me into motion, sleep depravation perhaps.

For years in a row, a gaggle of friends got together early December, to eek out dozens of home-made chocolate filled candies, laced with caramel, crème (the good kind,) marshmallow, nougat, peanut butter, brandy liquor, coconut and such. We melted, chopped, grated, poured and decorated the molded delights over several Saturdays, gossiping and sharing details of our lives over the ooze. Each of us left with tins of luscious Santas, reindeer, snowmen and women, elves, holly and some quite undecipherable forms. Sometimes the partners, boyfriends, husbands or kids would show up and ask if they could partake but we declined their assistance. The time together was too precious to allow family across the border. It was up to our own crowd of hommies to sort ourselves out. And mostly, we did.

I think about those women friends from so many years back, especially around the holidays, wondering where they are and what has occurred in their lives since those “I Love Lucy” days at the candy factory. We did eat plenty of the “errors” and ugly ones that were not up to par but the conveyor belt took its time and, lucky for us, we were not fired for our mistakes. Maybe even encouraged the faulty chocolate goobers.

 

Addicted to Vic

November 6, 2013

The cat is attached to his catnip and I am inhaling Vic’s Vapour Rub like it is going out of style. Close my eyes, sucking in the menthol fumes as though my life depends upon it. When I can’t find the jar, I get a bit tense and upset, thinking I may have to run down to the local market and wander the aisles until I can find that dark brown bottle of fast-acting gel. In the middle of the night, I would do anything for a whiff. Gasping for air, I scramble around the table top next to the bed, seeking the small round lid, ignoring the cat’s intake of breathe at the exhaust of decongestant. I am not willing to share, not interested in lending this miracle product out to friends or family. It is all mine, until it is gone. Thanks for understanding.

Mail Carrier

November 5, 2013

     I lost my “I voted” sticker, dropped off my vest somewhere along the way. I ask people “Did you vote today?” and am quite discouraged when they tell me they just recently moved and do not know the candidates, that the politicians tell them one thing and do another when in office, they forgot it was voting day, didn’t have time, etc. Frustrating to realize that the system has gotten the better of us. Wasn’t easy to find the candidates position and took some digging to make a clean decision. I feel fortunate to have the assistance of the internet.

    No word yet from the interviewer I confronted last week. He is very scattered, forgot to send me the directions and website to read about his company prior to the meeting. I was locked out of the building and had to place a call to him and ask that he let me in. It would be a nice change, to have some consistent income and a permanent schedule to work around but won’t be the end of the world if I don’t get the Administrative position after all. I am accustomed to bit-and-piecing my work together to earn the income I need. In light of volunteering at the Mission, I understand just how fortunate I am. At least I am not sharing cat food with Grill and wondering if I have a cot at the shelter at night.

     Misting a little on our walk as I introduce myself to the new neighbor down the block. The sign went down a few weeks ago and I was pleased to see lights on in the house. Cory seems like a nice guy and told me to stop by anytime to visit him and his wife. I like being part of the welcome wagon, whether I have a basket of chocolate chip cookies or not.

    Registered hundreds of families for the turkey dinners this afternoon. Only one strange incident with a man who cut himself shaving and bled all over his pieces of mail, to prove his address. He joked about HIV symptoms and I was astounded Cindy willingly picked up his mail with her bare hands. I would have asked the gent to hold it up so I could read the current address through the little window. Since we pray with the leader before heading out to the big room to begin shuffling through the line, I assume Cindy believes she is protected by the lord from all ailments. Good for her.

Safezone

November 4, 2013

If I could figure out a way to market snot, I would be a rich person by now. Always incredulous as to how much I can produce in one day-boxes of tissue, numerous numbing episodes with the nettie pot (if you have not had the pleasure of using one, you don’t know what you are missing.) The woman on the box, who is smiling during the procedure, must be on high doses of over-the-counter cold medication. I promise you, there is absolutely nothing to be happy about while dribbling warm salt water thru your nasal passages. It gives me an instant headache and I can’t even look the nettie pot in the eye afterwards.

Tonight, I threw infectious caution into the wind and drove down the street to join my neighbors at the Block Club meeting. I learned far more than I anticipated about the homeless youth population in our own Ramsey County. 80% of the 16-to-20 year olds are of color, there is a startling 21% increase in the number of homeless each year, 60% of the young people have one parent who is currently incarcerated, over 4000 seeking shelter each night are under 21 years of age. One of the local programs who serve this populous does an extraordinary job of supporting these kids, nearly 100 per day. They are also willing to bump into the youth on the streets, helping them work in conjunction with the community. They not only provide education but shelter, temporary housing, meals, case management, offer a medical clinic, counseling, GED assistance, clothing, laundry, computer labs, independent living skill-building, sexual health education and street outreach.

I don’t pretend to understand what it is like for these children to be living under these extreme circumstances yet, I aim to. The youth need shelter, food and education in order to better their lives and the community they live in. They are where they are due to economic circumstances and the neighborhood is stepping to try and make a difference. When kids are having kids because they have no one else to count-on in their lives, we owe it to them to work things out together. They act tough, aggressive and determined yet, separated from their gang, they are lonely and, well, children.

Spreading the Wealth

November 2, 2013

The mom next to me is taking up a seat and a half. I attempt to slide in, like an unaccompanied minor but it takes far too much effort to think myself six again. She is sliding her stubble finger across the screen of her cell phone, ignoring my skin scraping the side of the plastic, unyielding arm of the theatre chair. I am eager to hear my daughter’s alto voice, cascading across the room, to sooth my achy joints. Still feeling like a woman acting out the role of “Paula,” just enough out of my body to yield to the discomfort of being ill. I breathe in the direction of Chubby, hoping she catches whatever I have to offer. I blow my nose non-stop, timing the noise with the rise of the trumpets during the jazz performance and wide-mouthed “O’s” of the women’s chorale songs. My purse fills with used moist Kleenex and I scramble for hidden back-ups in each pocket, sure I do not have to resort to excusing myself past the row of eight seats to the left or right of me to get more. Luckily, I have a sufficient supply and skirmish my way to the back of my chair for the final song.

The selections are incredible and I enjoy the concert more than I expect. I bow out of the rest of the program since Taelor is finished for the evening and I want to tell her just how great she is. The girls are preparing for a Halloween Party at their place so I know it would be a short visit. I hand over a number of goodies for my wee one, just to remind her how special she is, and hope I am not dolling out the crud as well.

Barely Awake

November 1, 2013

A few days reprieve from the Blog since I didn’t have access to the internet secret code where I am staying. My psychic skills do not include passwords and social security numbers. Drat.

The start of a chill and scratchy throat, sensation of heaviness in my nasal cavity lead to overindulging on orange juice and fizzy EmergenC tablets. I didn’t have to show three forms of ID with those purchases so I sailed through the line at the drug store that carries far too much junk food for the population’s good. I ended up with $25 worth of goods in my plastic sack, knowing I can always use the bag for kitty litter clean-up afterwards. The warm ginger ale I snagged for my queasy stomach (most likely from too much leftover trick-or-treat candy) sprayed over my lap, newly-washed coat and the console while driving down a side street, swerving to avoid curbs on either side. Unfortunately, I failed to pack extra clothes for the bottom half of my body, the overnight bag stuffed with books, dog supplies and journaling material left no margin for pants. So, I slip on a robe from the hook in the closet and proceed to clomp down the shared-basement stairs, hoping to avoid the other occupants in the building. My hair stands on end, much like anyone who played the Joker character, and I know I am a fright. The clothes washer is occupied so I have to retrace my wobbly steps and hope I can manage in the borrowed robe for another few hours. Another cup of coffee and scanning the umpteen tv channels will keep my mind off of the tenuous circumstances.