At long last, the ghetto cruiser has left my driveway!  Last winter, without consultation or any sort of advance warning, my son John came home with a 1978 Mercury Grand Marquis.  The type of car that those of us who grew up in the 70s remember quite well.  In fact, I think I went to my junior prom in a car very much like this, except it was a hideous goldish-brown color, something my date borrowed from an uncle.  Looking at the back set sure took me back in time...  but I digress.  I was shocked to see this giant thing and, aghast, asked John why in the world did he buy this?  He already has wheels and his 1988 Chevy pickup is equally horrible on gas, so what the...???  "Well, Mom, you see... it's got a 460 big block engine in it.  Do you know how valuable that is?"

Apparently I do not.  He pointed out the very cool lowrider chain steering wheel and the fact that all the electric doodads worked, including the headlight doors, but still I was unimpressed.  We registered and I insured the behemoth, and he drove it a couple times, but it sat in my garage all winter, taking up space I could have rented out to a paying neighbor.  She was nearly as bewildered as me when I broke the bad news to her that I couldn't rent the garage to her for the winter because the pimp mobile would be in residence.  "But doesn't your son already have a vehicle?" she asked, perplexed.  "I know, I'm sorry - believe me I'm very displeased." 

The Merc barely fit in the garage.  There were seriously only inches in front of and behind this monstrosity.  It reminded me of the USS Arizona, sunk at sea in the Laurel Street garage, a rusting hulk nearly as big as a battleship and missing only Pearl Harbor to be a dead ringer.  It started leaking transmission fluid, and in the spring, I told John --- the ghetto cruiser has GOT TO GO.

He and his pal Nate managed to get it running by jumpstarting it and pouring all the gasoline from my snowblower into the tank.  They got it out of the garage and drove in around the block, then parked it in front of the garage.  There it sat all summer.  At the beginning of September, I told John again: the car has to go.  If it is not gone by the end of September, the junk man cometh and I will keep the $100 he pays for it.  "But Mom - it's got a 460 big block engine!  It's worth a lot more than a hundred bucks!"

Last night, a couple guys showed up to look at the car.  John "looked everywhere" for the keys and naturally, couldn't find them.  He and his brother went down to the garage with the prospective buyers and started to work on breaking the trunk lock for some unknown reason.  I guess he thought he'd locked the keys in there.  I looked in the bowl where we keep the keys - lo and behold, there were the keys.  I'm not sure how he didn't find them, but nonetheless, I handed over the keys and they fired up the giant.

John wrote up a bill of sale and with great screeching and smoking of tires, the ghetto cruiser drove off to West Milan, leaking tranny fluid and leaving skid marks all the way up Laurel Street.  I have a feeling that I am not the only one very happy to see that thing gone. 

Thoughts come to me after I've had certain conversations with others.  A friend and I were talking one day about how it seems to be that opposites attract in relationships, and how weird it is that nice, generous people so often end up with demanding, selfish partners.

This year I've studied quite a bit about relationships.  I listened to an intensive Tony Robbins love & passion relationship series, which was very in-depth and took about 12 hours.  Kinda like studying a college course.  I've read several books as well.  Most recently I read one that advised women to take immediate control in any new relationship.  Be a little bitchy, the author (a man) recommends.  This will attract men like skeeters to a bugzapper, apparently.

Really?!?!

All this time I've been doing it wrong.  I thought that being kind, understanding, even-tempered and loving was what a partner would find attractive in me and make them want to be with me.  I figured that what I want is what someone else will want.

Don't get me wrong, I understand the whole polarity thing.  Man/woman.  Masculine/feminine.  Check.  But bitchy/nice?  Can't there be nice/nice?  Is this under the realm of give/take?  It seems like minus/plus.  Can't there be win/win?  Why must one have the upper hand and the other suffer?  What if I'm the nice half of the couple - does that mean I have to be with a jerk?

Is it possible for two people to love each other with the same level of passion, thoughtfulness, care, and kindness?  No games played, no plotting, no drama?  Would that be so easy that it would be too boring and not represent enough of a challenge?

I'm wondering how other people see this.  If you've got an opinion or theory, let me know.  It's all part of the learning process.  Who knows?  One day I might become one of these relationship experts!  :-D

Cosmo as in the minnow, not the magazine or the drink although I like those too. 

I have been asked by a few people about the status of Cosmo, the one remaining minnow from my son Tom's February 2007 ice fishing trip.  While I can't really believe that anyone still remembers him (even Tom forgets him on a regular basis), it's nice to know people do care.

Cosmo is still alive and well.  I sure hope I am not jinxing him by writing this.  He has grown a bit large for his fish tank in my opinion.  I'm the one who feeds him every day and makes sure he has clean fresh water.  He actually gets excited when he sees me coming and starts zooming around his tank.  That must be how minnows show their love for their humans. 

All summer I have been thinking about releasing Cosmo into the wild.  Just taking him up the Andro and letting him swim away with the other fish.  But then I wonder if that would be kind or cruel.  Here he is, spoiled by a life of handfeeding and woefully unprepared to fight it out in the river.  When I start thinking about him swimming out, tentatively, and encountering a big bass that might gobble him up, I just can't bring myself to set him free.  What if I mustered the courage to set him loose, and as I watch him swim away free, a big fish comes up and eats him right in front of me?!

Oh good Lord I guess I'll just have to keep him.

I was having lunch with one of my good friends yesterday, and she was telling me about a boy she knows who is homeless.  His mother is living in her car, and he stays wherever he can.  He sleeps in a brother’s cellar sometimes, and actually slept outside one night.  She said that he doesn’t have any new clothes or supplies to start high school.  

Last night when my sons and I sat down to dinner, I told them about this conversation.  I was moved by their concern for the boy, who is around their ages.  They both commented how hard it would be to not have the stuff that other kids have, and couldn’t imagine what it must be like to not know where you are going to sleep or if you will eat or take a shower.  We are so lucky and have so much, they said.  We have warm beds, as much food as we want, clean clothes and a safe home we know we can come to.  It’s sad that some kids do not have these basic things.  My oldest son pointed out that kids are trapped in these situations.  They don’t make the choices that leave them without a home, food or clothing.  And they are generally not treated well by other kids.

I’ve been bugging my boys for months to clean out their closets to make room for the new clothes they got for school.  After dinner, without me telling them to do so, they each went up to their rooms and started cleaning out closets.  Together they made a good sized pile of jeans, sweatshirts and t-shirts.  They brought them to me and asked if I could get them to this boy.  Most of it they could still wear but they each said they felt this kid needed them more.  Today I gave the box of clothes to my friend to deliver to the boy.  

My kids are used to hearing me talk about those less fortunate due to the nature of my work, and are accustomed to us donating food, household items and clothes to pantries, shelters and thrift shops.  This act of kindness on their part, however, really showed me that my boys are growing up and into the men I want them to be.  Men with compassion for others and gratitude for their own abundance and good fortune.  Men others will look up to.  I certainly do.

This little story serves as a reminder to all of us.  Look around you.  There in the midst of your busy, overfull life are people who have so much less than you do.  Give a little bit of yourself.  Buy some extra food to donate, give bedding to a shelter, send clothes you don’t wear to be used by someone who will be thrilled to get them.  Talk to a stranger.  Smile at someone.  DO something.....

The End of Suffering

written by Thich Nhat Hanh, Buddhist monk

May the sound of this bell penetrate deep into the cosmos
Even in the darkest spots living beings are able to hear it clearly
So that all suffering in them ceases, understanding comes to their hearts
And they transcend the path of sorrow and death.

The universal dharma door is already open
The sound of the rising tide is heard clearly
The miracle happens
A beautiful child appears in the heart of the lotus flower
One single drop of this compassionate water is enough to bring back the refreshing spring to our mountains and rivers.

Listening to the bell I feel the afflictions in me begin to dissolve
My mind calm, my body relaxed
A smile is born on my lips
Following the sound of the bell, my breath brings me back to the safe island of mindfulness
In the garden of my heart, the flowers of peace bloom beautifully

This was really not what she thought she would be doing when she next visited this particular spot.  As she stood on the bridge over the swollen, swirling river, she thought about the one she loved and wondered how things could have gone so horribly wrong.  She held his love letters in her hands but couldn't make out the words since her eyes were spilling over with tears, tears that seemed to have no end.  Months had passed since he walked out of her life and no matter how hard she tried, nothing could erase her memory of him, of the love they shared and the feelings that passed between them.  Some of this was unspoken, felt rather than articulated.  It was an amazing gift they shared, that ability to sense what the other felt.  She considered if he might actually feel what was happening inside her right now.  She knew that he loved her and shared at least some of the hurt she felt.  Were these feelings real any more?  Was anything real any more?  The pain of true love withheld was unbearable.  She knew of only one way to end the suffering.

She'd thought long and hard about this.  A permanent solution to a temporary problem, she remembered he'd once called what she was about to do.  A slight pang of guilt knotted her stomach.  What about a problem that's not temporary, she thought to herself.  This problem surely isn't temporary – it's been like this for years – nothing's gonna change.  She carefully folded the letters and put them in her pocket, realizing that made no sense.  In a few moments they would be destroyed.  She bent down and grabbed the edges of the bluestone granite slab she dragged out onto the bridge.  It took three tries to get it out there because it was so heavy.  At one point she had to put it down because a logging truck was coming down the road and she didn't want him to stop and ask her what the hell she was doing.  She took a good look around.  No traffic up or down the road.  She hefted the stone to her chest, took a deep breath and stepped off the bridge.  The cold water swallowed her up faster than she expected and she almost let go of the weight.  Despite the strong current of a river that was unusually high for this time of year, she sank straight down.  Some involuntary reflex made her hold her breath and look up, and she was reminded of what it felt like years ago when she nearly drowned before she learned to swim.  How ironic, she thought.  As her lungs cried out to exhale, she noticed something on the surface of the water which was now about 15 feet above her head.  She struggled to focus in the murky water.  Is that a rainbow?  Bright prisms of color shone down from the surface, mingling with the exploding points of light in her head as she let her breath go and drew the water of the river into her body.  The last thing she felt was her broken heart beating for the final time in the pit of her chest.

********************************************************************************************

I woke from the dream gasping for breath and disbelieving that my subconscious had played out so vivid a story.  I was drenched in sweat.  It was 3 AM and still very hot, but somehow I'd covered myself with a blanket and comforter and now my bedclothes clung to my skin as though I really had just been fished out of the river.  Oh my God, I thought, that is what it would really feel like to drown – was that me?  I sat up in bed and prayed that I would never truly come to that place no matter what.  I listened to the stillness that is always there, the silent constant you hear if you listen for it.  Outside the birds started their morning ruckus and the sun began to lighten the sky, just like nothing unusual had happened.  I swung my legs out of bed and got up to go through another day.  When I came home for lunch, it started to pour although there was blue sky all around.  I looked up to see what I might expect for changes.  Is that a rainbow?

My sister's fiance asked me this past week why I haven't written anything in a while.  I couldn't really come up with a good answer for that, except to say that it just hasn't been in me to write anything lately.  I haven't had time, blah blah.  We had a conversation about how writing is an expression of love, whether you write stories, poems or songs.  I was moved to tears by this thought and I don't think that either Carol or Mike knew why I reacted so emotionally to the conversation.

The truth is, that is exactly what writing is.  An expression of love.  What got the waterworks going for me was thinking about some things that have been written and given to me.  Expressions of love.  I can't get through this brief blog today without tearing up so what I will do is say that I'm gonna continue this story later.  Very soon.  I don't know where it will go or if it will entertain, amuse or suck.  We'll see.

When I was nearly out of high school, I started hanging around this place called Mel's.  It used to be a hangout for motorcycle guys, but had turned into a game room.  It had pool tables, a juke box, foosball and Pac Man.  And of course, there was Mel.  He was a little guy who always had very large, very excitable Dobermans that did not like loud noises.  Bad combination of hair-trigger dogs and rowdy kids.  Lots of us hung out there waiting to find out about any parties we might want to go to.  Friday nights at Mel's were the wildest and many times I remember standing room only where it was pretty much impossible to play pool or foosball.  I played in several foosball tournaments, official and otherwise.  Hanging at Mel's introduced me to many characters.  I became good pals with the Berlin Mills Beer Brothers – Dave Kearns, JB, Hot Damn Dan, Mike, Tom, Dave B and another Dave K.  At one point I thought it would be cool to be a Beer Brother, but since I was not a guy we all figured it wouldn't be proper.  I got to be an honorary member.  Those guys were all very funny, but Dave Kearns was quite a character.  Dave is the only person who has ever called me Katy, and I didn't mind when he did.  He would see me and shout "Katy!!!!" and I would shout back "Davey!!!"  He told me once that nobody else ever got away with calling him Davey.  He was always in a good mood most likely from drinking so much.  He lost his drivers license for driving in this exceptionally good mood.  Twice.  The second DWI was ugly because he was driving after having his license revoked.  One evening at Mel's, I was standing outside with a few of the Beer Brothers and here comes this dude on a motorcycle.  He slowed down to park across the street and we all stared at him trying to figure out who he was.  He had long dark hair and was wearing sunglasses although it was getting dark.  As he strode across the street, we realized, all at the same time, that it was Dave wearing a disguise.  It was totally absurd and absolutely hilarious. 

After I graduated from high school, Dave had a party at his camp at Cedar Pond.  We spend the day out on his boat and later that night, the camp was crowded with people there for a good time.  I had worn a red one piece bathing suit with thin tan straps that tied over the shoulders that day, and I left it hanging on some deer antlers to dry.  During the party I happened to look over and see two guys from the Road Kings pointing at my swim suit and having some intense conversation.  I watched suspiciously and pretty soon, one of them took the suit and headed for one of the bedrooms.  I caught up with him and grabbed my suit just before he got away with it and demanded to know just exactly what the hell he was doing with it.  He said "my buddy just bet me $20 to go put this on and come out wearing it - oh please, just let me do it!"  Now, this was a very heavyset, very hairy MAN!  No way I was going to let him parade around in my swimsuit, which would no doubt be ruined, for any amount of money.  I yanked it out of his hands and left him looking sheepish and disappointed.  Dave thought this was just about the funniest thing he had ever witnessed.  I can still hear him laughing in his raspy voice.

At a party one night in the middle of that summer, in came the Beer Brothers pushing Dave B who was wearing a very glum look and a plaster cast on his arm.  Some background:  this Dave had been in a car accident some years before.  He was paralyzed from the waist down and confined to his wheelchair.  How he could possibly have broken his arm was quite a mystery to me.  When I asked him about it, though, he flatly refused to tell me.  This, of course, made me all the more curious.  I probably asked Dave B four or five times that night what happened, and finally, after hours of bugging him and hours of drinking, he finally did.  First of all, he made me promise not to ever tell anyone, a promise I have mostly kept until now.  And in case this forever ruins Dave B's fond memories of me, I herewith apologize for breaching his confidence.  That is something I hardly ever do, but in this case, it is just way too funny a story to keep to myself any longer.  Anyway, Dave said that the night before, the Beer Brothers and company had all been at Fagin's Pub until it closed.  They all wanted to go to Dave B's house, but there were 8 of them and only 6 could fit in JB's car.  The guys figured out how they could do this in just one trip. They jammed six guys into the car, Dave Kearns rode on the hood and they tied Dave B's wheelchair to the back bumper of JB's Cadillac and proceeded to tow him.  Well, they got to the house thinking what a fantastic idea this was, got out and saw the empty wheelchair they had dragged on its side for who knew how far.  They jammed back in the car and doubled back to find poor Dave lying in the road.  He was not in a good way.  Some of the guys got left behind as they brought him to the hospital and gave some story about him falling out of his wheelchair.  The emergency room doctor was very displeased at 2AM to host a crowd of loud drunk guys and a grouchy paraplegic with a broken arm who insisted he didn't need anesthesia. 

This week in the paper I was startled to read Dave Kearn's obituary.  It said he died after a brave battle with lung cancer.  He had lived in Florida for many years and I found myself wishing I could attend his funeral to tell people what a funny guy he was and how I will miss him being in the world.  He gave me many funny memories and I'll never forget him.  Good bye, Davey. 

When I was in high school, I agreed to date a guy in my class who was nice but not really my type.  He was good looking and friendly but we were not on the same wave length I guess.  On our first date, he took me home to meet his family.  That was OK but a little premature.  I knew other girls he had dated and wondered if they all got passed by his family.  We had a few classes together, and in history class the next day, he was making awful cutesy faces at me, which lots of other kids saw.

I thought maybe I was being too harsh, so I consented to a few more dates.  He and some of his friends rented a shabby, unheated third floor apartment and he thought it would be nice to show it to me.  When we got there it was obvious that these guys had rented the place real cheap and were using as a shagging pad.  "Huh… real nice – let's go," I said.

After another date, he wanted things to get more serious.  I told him I thought it was too early for that and that I wasn't sure I wanted that kind of relationship with him.  We were supposed to go to a party together at the end of that week but when the day came, I told him I was going with some of my friends instead and we could meet there.  He seemed a little put out by that but said "OK".

When the time came to go to the party, one of the girls decided not to ride with the rest of us and we had room for one more person.  We drove by the shag pad before the party and saw his car, so we stopped to see if he wanted a ride with us.  I climbed the stairs with my two girlfriends and knocked at the door.  No one came to the door, so I banged again and the three of us started hollering for him.  He probably feared that the other tenants would hear us.  He opened the door a crack wearing a very guilty look.  To say the least, he looked surprised to see me.  I said "what's going on - let us come in," and I pushed the door open a bit more.  Behind him was a girl about three years younger than us.  She had managed to put her bra back on and was struggling to put her shirt on.  We three girls took all this in, and the other two made for the stairs, stifling laughter, affording me the privacy to deal with this situation on my own.  To the girl struggling to get dressed, I said "Honey, don't bother to hurry on my account.  You can have him," and turned for the stairs too.  He started to make excuses, and I held up my hand.  "Forget it," I said, "I wasn't interested anyway."  He had the nerve to say, by way of a final defense I guess, "Well, you drove me to this because you wouldn't sleep with me!  You DROVE me to it!  I didn't want to, but you MADE me!!" ......right in front of the shirtless girl.

(special thanks to Jason for reminding me of this one...)

My sister Carol inspired me to write this story.  We were conducting a marathon painting extravaganza at her new house last week and had lots of time to talk and reminisce.  I'd like to say that I may add to this story later as I plumb my memory...

In case you haven't heard the term before, a One Date Wonder is someone you go out on a date with only once.  There's a variety of reasons, which we'll get into here in a bit.  I can only represent the female perspective here and I hope that does not offend anyone.  Of course guys must have their own One Date Wonder stories, which they may call something else, and God knows I would never want to minimize their experiences.  But being a woman I can only speak for myself and other women I know.

My sister's addition to this story is the time she dated a guy nicknamed Lurch.  As any fan of The Addams Family could guess, he was really tall, very goony and not terribly articulate.  He was harmless but definitely nothing about him was as spectacular as his appearance.  Carol instructed Lurch to come and pick her up at our house one night.  My mother opened the door when he arrived, and ushered in a guy who had to duck his head to get in.  She was, in a very rare moment, speechless.  She was well known for chatting up anyone who came to our house, but I don't think she knew what to say, especially when he introduced himself as Lurch.  Carol told me this past week that it was her only date with Lurch, and she had only done that to shock Mom.  We agreed that had been accomplished.

Our cousin Jennifer, who lives in the Boston area, used to stay with us often.  She and my sister are the same age and we cousins are pretty close.  Anyway, one time she accompanied Carol to a dance at the Chalet.  To hear Jen tell the story - and believe me it is worth hearing her tell it – Carol left Jen sitting at a table while she went out on the dance floor.  Since Jen didn't know too many people here, she just kind of looked around and listened to the band.  Suddenly Jen saw this big hand reached out to her and looked up to see Frankie Judson smiling and obviously asking her to dance.  She shook her head "no" but Frankie was already pulling her up out of her chair.  Not wanting to make a scene she figured she would dance unenthusiastically with him and then find Carol to rescue her.  Frankie must have noticed her trepidation because, over the loud music, he bellowed "DON'T BE AFRAID!  I WON'T HURT YOU! I LIKE YOU!"  That terrified her even more.  When she did finally find Carol, my sister thought this was hilarious and told Jen she thought he was telling the truth and would not hurt her.  I believe she was a little bit picky the next times she visited as to the evening plans.

My own One Date Wonders are no less funny.  When I was in fifth grade, Raymond Croteau sent me a note:  "Do you like me? Yes or No – Do you want to go to the movies on Saturday?  Yes or No."  I didn't get to go because my mother found the note and proclaimed me too young for dating.  In high school, this guy took me out driving on the back roads of Milan and Dummer in the winter, talked the entire time about his ex girlfriend, and when he brought me home he asked me what I thought he should do to get back together with her.  Another guy I thought was great asked me to go to his cousin's wedding with him.  I waited several hours in nice clothes and uncomfortable shoes for him, but I got stood up.  He found me later that night at Mel's and tried to apologize while I was playing foosball.  He was very drunk by then so I had to wait until the next day when he was sober to give him the buzzer.  I once had a date with a guy whose family had a logging business.  I went on a picnic with all of them at some place way in the woods.  He showed me their skidder and wanted to go "skidder driving" but I guess I scared the hell out of him because he had no idea what to do with me.  And then there was the guy who let me drive his mother's car in the woods.  I didn't have a license and we'd both been drinking at an outdoor concert that day.  I managed to hit a rock and get a flat tire, and he made me change it while he sat on a rock, drinking a beer, watching.  We didn't go out again.  I met an older guy when I graduated from high school but was still living at home.  Shawn was 26.  My best friend talked me into going on a date with him even though I thought there was too great an age difference.  We were going to a party I'd been invited to by a bunch of my friends.  Anyway, when he picked me up, he sat himself down and had a long conversation with my mother about how he loved jogging – it kept him regular, he said.  I was stunned to hear this and so was Mom.  Talk about your first date ice-breakers!  She said, "OK, you kids have fun, and don't be home too late!"  When we got into his truck, he asked me if I liked Chuck Mangione, and he played that song "Feels So Good" over and over.  If I DID like Chuck Mangione, I didn't after that.  We went to the party, and he hardly knew anyone there.  The guy who stood me up for his cousin's wedding was there, and he kept trying to talk me into leaving with him so he could "apologize properly".  Shawn evidently thought I needed rescuing and got into an altercation with the guy.  I decided it was time for us to leave when they started pushing each other around.  When he brought me home, my mother was in bed - no doubt she didn't want further conversation with Shawn.  He wanted to come in to "talk".  I quickly learned that meant he wanted to do me on my parents' Naugahyde couch although we had only met a few hours before.  Groping Shawn got shoved out the door.  He sent me flowers on my birthday which were very nice but it didn't get him another date.