The Elements of Guile

August 12, 2013

No one will notice the woman lying flat, suctioned to the pitted asphalt, begging to be taken from this horrendous, unsuitable, off the books life. The cover up seems absurd today. People around her were seemingly too stupid to figure it out. The phony “Life is Beautiful” t-shirt she wore occasionally, to mask the red tape of manic depressive deceit, should not have fooled anyone. Just weeks before, she was spotted in our hometown, bearing an ear-to-ear Cheshire, the-world-couldn’t-be-better, grin. The obsessive chitchat poured out of her mouth, that did the talking and eating but belonged to someone else, about her up-and-coming plans to move to a warmer climate, where winters do not suck the soul nor bury your heart under the heavy white matter. She flew under the radar in Florida, despite being detained several times, discovered, horizontal on the concrete road, gambling with fate. The Fresh Start Plan did not include alcohol, though that was a given, since she struggled with the demon, who cleverly sweetened the deal with comrades in crime. 

Difficult to imagine the life she lead, our classmate, who’s untimely death turned the Reunion conversation to shock and awe. Disbelief soaked the room, that one of our very own could be homeless, alcoholic and now, dead is absurd, and, well, bullshit. Wife is demanding, financial system corrupt, vacation homes dilapidating, ticking time bomb children challenges, don’t get paid enough, college fund interest rises, utility bills flood the box, and love eludes us. It isn’t nearly as bad as her complex, simple life, though. We are lucky, every day, to escape the same fate. She was ultimately pancaked to the street by a twenty-something drunk driver. Their relationship falls into the gray area.

Gregarious Grill

August 11, 2013

There’s a new cat in the household, who yowled the entire hour plus, on the drive home  from Princeton. Luckily I could drown out the sounds of the pathetic “I’m terrified of the unfamiliar rushing wind, and stream of cars zooming by.” Suppose being a single parent hardened me, to the point of detouring from not one closed freeway but five, adjusting alternate routes, and outwitting the insistent annoying GPS woman. What is with her “Recalculating” pitch,

Grill, the new feline, must be on his seventh life by now, scarred, surly, and cantankerous with a dog, ten times his manly size. He is a gynormous cat with a little pip squeak of a meow. Thought he would be more problematic with Tyrus, shifting gears by having to poop in a new litterbox, change his diet, join the City Kitty Club, and hide under the bed for at least one overnight. However, he is curled up on my once black Hamline sweat pants, purring away, testing the nibbling waters, and seems to have settled-in quite nicely. His well-soiled nappy wool blanket will not lie on my clean bed but I doubt he needs the security, at this point. I was feeling too lonely sans a cat and the household feels much more complete with his “bad” self.

While out in the country, Grill preyed-upon Tyrus, jumping out at him around corners and swatting at his incredibly large black nose, the cat appears to have given up the game. For the moment, they are doing a good job of ignoring one another, which is no small accomplishment, given we live in 950 square feet. Eventually, Grill should be able to be outdoors for a portion of the time. There are quite a number of enormous cats in the area so I am not looking forward to the time we test the waters. We will have to start watching “Rocky” films to help Grill build his scrappy strategy.  

County Shoe Factory

August 10, 2013

One reputable, compassionate physician I worked for, insisted the elderly patients sat on the chair in the exam room, took off their shoes and socks without assistance. He assured me it is very telling, the ability to care for their feet and toes on their own. If a senior struggled with their foot hygiene, they would certainly develop ingrown toenails, grow fungus like a science experiment gone awry, and ignore bunions and other attractive, problematic issues. Many of these undetected or disregard concerns lead to off-balance movement and potential falls. Of course, hip, leg, arm breaks or perhaps something less alarming like a nose fracture.

As I observe the crowds at the Mille Lacs County Fair in Princeton this weekend, I keep track of their feet. Check out the stance, footwear, healthy or off-kilter swollen ankles and cleanliness factor. Nearly all were sock-starved and some ignored glaring stares due to embarrassing black socks stuffed into almost white tennis shoes. You know who you are.

For a County Fair located in the sticks, surprisingly not one pair of cowboy/cowgirl boots to be found. Sandals of all sorts with straps that hug the lower ankle or flip flop sans support, levelheaded tennis, sturdy hiking boots, throw-away jellies, non-supporting flats, and category-less footwear. Two little creatures had no shoes since they were being pushed around in a stroller. Lucky them.  Hopefully their future does not include misshaping bunions.  

No child's play

August 9, 2013

The Ramsey County building had a deathly long line of expectant recipients of medical care, food allowances, rental aid, and utility bill assistance, who seemed very confused in the arduous process. Forms are stored on the center post, though, upon locating the nearly empty pockets, potential service beneficiaries were uncertain as to which document best fit their particular needs. Some scrambled for a useable pen, flat surface in which to complete the forms, and retained obvious anxiety vibes that permeated their varied tones of flesh. Children accompanied their needy parents, quite a number were placated with sodas straight from a colored can, and a few coddled in too-warm wool blankets. After several hours of anticipating an expedient interview, people began sharing their sorry tales of being in the same waiting room yesterday and the day before, eventually sent away, since the agency could not accommodate them. Voices were rising, upset and foul language began to augment the surmising walls. Negative reactions stirred the crowd within hearing distance. It was easy to understand how increasing fear and insurmountable upset could turn a group of people into an impatient mob. A no good man, with a thin smile no wider than a pencil-drawn line on his face, turned his phone into an obnoxious rap stereo, ignoring the distressed looks from his neighbors. People milled about, dropping crackers that smashed into the ugly brown tiles, played musical chairs until there were no more seats to exchange, shuffled papers, and shared grim glances. Taelor and I became snappy with each other, and concerned about the length of the wait, discussed Option B for our afternoon plans. We got caught in the building angst, that germinated from the chairs in the room. I was tracking Black Leggings attached to a pair of red Keds, who had been standing directly ahead of us, in the initial line. When she was called to the Promise Land behind the “Staff Only” door, I felt the hope, and expectation of an immediate nature. Giddy with relief, my response to “those people” turned sympathetic. I knew we would leave them behind, to their own devices.

Stalker man

August 8, 2013

   Taelor’s rapid-fire tales, of international six weeks of adventure in Thailand, kept us awake far into the night. She is committed to being healthy as a horse and finding a best-paying job at the start of her college classes. Since I worked nearly full-time throughout my insufficient college career, I encourage her to pull back on the taut reins a bit and give herself a bit more slack, have some fun and not get too uptight about earning a living. No sense hanging herself so early on.

   Stalker guy in a running truck, parked across the street early this morning, caused the neighbor to call the cops. We witnessed the proficient police officer questioning the perp then he drove off, leaving the driver intact. He was evidently waiting for the garbage truck, as he jumped out of the vehicle, and chatted with the dude for quite some time. Over the roar of the trash compactor, I could not make out the words, and don’t claim to be a great lip-reader. Shoot. Maybe the guy is an undercover, looking for a body in a black garbage bag. One could only hope.

   Moved the rest of the odds and ends into Taelor’s four-plex on a shady corner next to the questionable Midway Motel. Threw me back thirty-two years to the TKE house I lived in with four other young women, boyfriends abound, much saga and torrential tears, rusty cars parked bumper-to-bumper in the city streets, Ramen noodles, popcorn and canned vegetable diets with lots of cheap beer, not to mention guests, around the pad all hours of the day and night. Sonya used to open a can of string beans, turn on the burner and come back to find "someone had emptied the water out of the pot!" We could not convince her that hot water turned to steam and evaporated the liquid from her meal. 

   My Sekai bike was stolen from smack dab in the middle of the livingroom, while I was on a break from work between the hours of bar-time (roughly 2:00am,) and my early morning breakfast shift at 8:30. I was heartbroken. 

   Neighbors above seem to be gone for good. A younger sister appeared with an unrecognized truck, to grab more of the household goods upstairs. She claimed Exel shut off the electricity due to a past due balance, and they are moving out since “cash is short these days.” The pink bike with a rusty bell sits next to the dirty pair of size two roller blades on the back porch, rejected. 

Practicing invisibility

August 7, 2013

Being invisible, while in the middle of the entryway to a very busy work-out facility, is a strange phenomenon. Women, mostly in the upper age bracket, rounded where the waist should be, wearing pert, short, white hair, made their way past, to the open door, which lead to a series of exercise stations, and an animated social hour. They could not, would not, look at the table, decorated with stacks of books or the two larger-than-life women (one of which was me) seated directly behind the furniture. It is a practiced art, to avoid meeting the eye of a potential sale. Their grip was stingy and mean, “hello” abrupt and shallowly cordial. Sadly, the book signing turned out to be unimpressive today.

Wednesday is evidently ice cream day at Walker Methodist Campus. WM is an array of buildings that house seniors, of all incapacities, who evidently adore frozen dairy products. The one-foot-in-the-grave ladies are enthusiastically lining-up to get their flavor of the day. I wish I had time to join them but I had a demanding schedule to keep. No self-respecting executive-type would be caught in the assembly of q-tips with dripping ice cream cones. Sigh.

I will be forced to drink loads of caffeine to stay awake long enough to collect Taelor from the MSP airport at 12:11am. It is too late to plan a party, the only other obvious choice, while having to wait for the arrival time. The house is clean, laundry washed, folded and put away, cat boxes scooped, dog walked, resumes printed and ready to whisk off to the Job Fair tomorrow, oil change coupon folded in preparation for the garage service in the morning, bed sheets swapped and frig stocked. The animals know something big is happening but don’t seem to understand my long-winded explanation. I suppose they will be alerted soon enough.

Still no sign of the village that lives upstairs. I suspect they have departed for good though there is a tiny hot pink bike and roller blades on the back porch. It makes me sorrowful to think the kids are in a place where they miss using them. Unclaimed mail sits in the box on the stoop. It will eventually be discarded, along with all of the unspoken for notice-cadavers at the local post office.

Serve, protect and cook

August 6, 2013

Lying in bed, wee hours of the morning, I realize I am alone. Haven’t honestly felt lonely since I have been living here, since May 18^th, in the duplex, with the giant dog and youthful cat. Without clomping sounds descending from above, however, no activity in the past few days, I absorb the sensation of feeling more succinctly isolated and definitely solo. It has been since before I sold my house in Sacramento, California, in the sleepy Country Club Plaza neighborhood, I discovered, I finally live by myself again. Hadn’t really occurred to me that it had been so very long ago, yet it is twenty years. Shocking.

Why do people really get married. If they believe they are in love, infatuated, in lust, perhaps find it too unnerving to be alone, desire children, need conflict to resolve. It is not so bad living by myself, especially when I have the animals to talk to, can visit with the neighbors or text, email or send telepathic messages to my friends (since my old/new cell phone has decided to stop working.)  

The neighbor woman had two young punks brazenly enter her house this past Saturday, during the light of day to steal her cash-laden purse, silent television, recently charged cell phones and resalable laptop. She was upstairs droning-out to the tv, with her ineffectual watchdog, naively assuming her valuables were safe. Evidently another nearby family heard their doorbell ring and, upon answering it, observed two youth running away from the house. We have a Neighborhood Watch and yet, for some unknown reason, these two kids carted off quite a few items from the first home, unseen. Now, when I leave the house, to hobble down the street with the dog, twice a day, I lock all of the doors, shut the stuck windows, fearful that my meager possessions could end up being sold out of the back of a truck, in an alley somewhere.

People living alone are more vulnerable to the robbers, so I aim to find a partner to protect and serve, at all hours of the day and night.