Wednesday, March 30, 2005

Slight Retraction...

I've decided to go easy on him this year. After the wild time he showed me last night, flowers seem a little less important.

Just a little bit less. In any event, I'll buy them myself for awhile.

However my rant from last year made me laugh, so I thought I'd keep this up to plug the Cancer Society. It's still a great cause.

From one year ago:

Every man I've dated who's been a great flower-giver has also been over-compensating for some huge personal flaws in other areas. He can't hold down a job, remember to shave or speak to his mother without screaming, but he'll bring me flowers and candy and thoughtful gifts in an attempt to charm me into staying in his life.

Every man I've dated who I think I might like to see across the dining room table for the rest of my life thinks flowers are stupid, or too expensive (they're $10 a dozen on the streets of New York, losers), or useless, or whatever. Who cares if I love them and they make me happy.

A girl shouldn't have to buy her own fucking flowers.

This rant brought to you by the American Cancer Society. Buy some daffodils for someone. It's a good cause, and it might keep you from getting dumped.

Monday, March 28, 2005

A Dream... and a Lot of Questions

I dreamed that I was entering a small group of houses. Small houses. They were arranged in a sort of circle, and there were people walking in between. About 6 or so of them seemed to be walking the same direction, away from me, and I could have sworn one of them was Grandma. I was thrilled to see her. I shouted out to her, and tried to run to her, but the closer I got, I could see it wasn't really her. A voice said in my ear, "She's gone, Deidre. You've really got to let her go." I stood and cried while a wave of sadness washed over me. I could see that the stooped old woman was not Grandma... but she looked so like her. I thought I would sink into the ground with despair. I stood and sobbed for a few minutes... they seemed like a very long few minutes.

A small child was standing in the space between the buildings. I don't remember if it was a boy or a girl... it wasn't obviously any one sex. It seemed to be female. It had black hair and olive skin. "You were her favorite kid," I told the child through my tears. "Most babies cry a lot, you know? But not you. She always talked about how you were such a good baby, always smiling and happy." I paused uncertainly. "Like me."

The child appeared to be about 6 years old, but I felt instinctively that this was an adult I was talking to. It seemed imperative that I tell this child how Grandma felt about her.

Somehow I found myself sitting in the front seat of a car, an old sedan. Grandpa was driving. He looked like he always does in my dreams - happy, strong, proud of me. He drove me to a school. I had a box in my hands. I asked him if he would be back to pick me up. He shook his head. I asked if I would see him again... and he said no. Not with words... I just felt the words in my mind. I looked at him, hoping... He smiled at me and waited. I got out of the car. "Thanks, Grandpa," I thought. I did not look back. I did not see him pull away.

In the school, a young African-American girl of about 14 was singing a simple teen-pop song, the sort you'd hear from Hilary Duff or possibly in a children's musical. She was making a video with two friends, a guy and a girl. It was a sweet love song.

I filmed the video. I ran the camera. That was why I was there.

Marge meowed. I began to wake up. "Grandpa, will Isee you again?" No... I felt. "Thank you Grandpa," I said. "Thanks for the ride. Thanks for coming to see me. Take care of Grandma. I miss you... and I love you."

I woke up.

When I told G about this dream, I cried. I can't believe I'll never see them again. It still hurts. Grandpa didn't speak to me... he wasn't there to talk to me. He just came to help me get where I needed to be.

I have had two Tarot card readers tell me that I am destined to seek further education, and that I will be a teacher of some sort. But in a school? Filming music videos? Student Projects?

I don't want to be a teacher!

Was Grandpa the voice in my ear, telling me that I've got to let Grandma go?

Was I the small dark child?

Wednesday, March 23, 2005

Me, Little Me, and God, Part II

"Little Me" is me at 14, talking to big bad me, as I am now, not-so-grown-up at 33.
Part I is here.
(With continued thanks to Zenchick. *hugs*)


Little Me: WHOA! Stop it! What do you think you're DOING!?

Me: Uh... nothing. I'm walking.

Little Me: You don't know what's out there!

Me: Ok... but I think I know what's NOT back there. (Points behind her)

Little Me: But ANYTHING could be out there!

Me: Yes. But I think I can handle it.

Little Me: But HOW do you know?

Me: Well, I guess I don't really know.

Little Me: So what are you doing? How do you know it's safe?

Me: I don't know. I just... trust.

Little Me: Trust who? Trust what?

Me: (gives her a long look.) I don't think you really want me to answer that.

Little Me: Oh please. You're so not talking about God.

Me: I sort of am.

Little Me: (snorts) You're an idiot.

Me: Well, that's mean.

Little Me: Well, I'm sorry, but you are.

(They stare at each other.)


God: Girls! You're both pretty!

(The girls giggle, embarrassed.)

God: See, God can always make you laugh.

Me: Oh, that's for sure.

Little Me: (Pointing to Me, angrily) Do you talk to her?

God: Sure. All the time.


Me: (quietly) I remember that...

A woolen blanket woven in Native American patterns appears, draped about Little Me's shoulders. She pulls it tightly around herself, and over her head. She sinks to the ground and sobs, a shaking mound of red and black and yellow blanket.

Me: (Looking down at her) I couldn't hear God when I was your age. I remember. I tried so hard to get God to communicate with me somehow, anything at all... I remember what that was like. And I remember how safe I felt locked away in small rooms with blankets and darkness. (pause. Looks up, at God.) And how lonely I was.

God: Little One? (Little Me pokes her head out, looking up at God.) It's ok to be angry. I'm sorry you couldn't hear me... but you make a lot of noise! You could at least turn the music down. (Little Me giggles in spite of herself.) Dearest one. I can't tell you what the future will hold. I can't promise you'll never be hurt. But I can promise that I will never leave you, no matter what happens. I've been with you the whole time, you know.

Me: (darkly) So why couldn't we tell?

God: You never had the chance to lie still. Like most people, you're very easily distracted by outward, this-world concerns. Even when you laid on the grass in the park, your friends pulled you to your feet to play some games. You never had any quiet, did you?

Me: Not really. I guess we didn't.

Little Me: Home sure isn't quiet.

God: And anger can be blinding, you know.

Me: Yeah. That I know.

Little Me: But how do I just stop being angry? Stop being scared? I can't just decide not to be mad and scared, and then it just vanishes!

God: You're right, you can't make it just stop right away. But you don't have to. The trick is to make sure you don't stop listening, or loving, or hoping, or believing. You can do all those things even while you're mad, or scared. That's what trust is, Ouiser. It's not about the absence of fear, or anger, or sadness. It's about persevering in the belief - the hope - that the bad feelings will end. That's trust.

Little Me: (Sits Indian style on the ground, holding the blanket around herself) Can I keep this?

God: Of course you can, little one. I gave it to you to help you feel safe.

Me: (panicked) But I lost it! I don't know where it is now! I don't have that blanket anymore!

God: That's ok, Ouiser... you stopped needing it for awhile. Remember?

Me: Oh... yeah.

God. So you gave it to someone who did need it. (rumbles from the sky)

Me: What's that? (Little Me holds the blanket over her head, looking up)

God: (smiling) Your grandma is proud of you for that. (rumble) Both of them.


Little Me: How could you give this away!?

Me: Like God said... we won't need it someday. (crouching down to Little Me's level) You keep it as long as you like.

Little Me: But... what about you? It's cold in New York.

Me: (Smiling, sitting down) Just a few years ago, a very close friend of mine knitted me a beautiful blanket. I have that one now. Friends are a gift from God too.

Little Me: You have a lot of friends?

Me: (pause) I know a lot of people. I do have several real friends though. More than just two or three. (Tucks a strand of Little Me's hair behind her ear) You know, a lot of people only ever have one. Some never have any.

Little Me: I don't have any.

Me: You will.

Little Me: And I guess I should just trust you on that.

Me: (smiling) Yup.

Me Stands, and walks off, straight ahead. Little Me stands, holding the blanket around herself, watching. She takes one step forward, stops.

Red Tape?

From: "VoterRegGuy" (
To: "mzouiser" ( (I changed this, what, months ago?)
CC: "VoterRegManhattan_DONE" (
Subject: RE: Not sure of exact polling location
Date: Wed, 23 Mar 2005 09:08:03 -0500

Dear MzOuiser,

Due to heavy volume of work during the 2004 election season, we were unable to answer all emails.
We are truly sorry about this.

To answer your question, your poll site is: 210 Riverside Drive. ED 113 AD 67

If you have already received this please disregard.

-----Original Message-----
From: MzOuiser (
Sent: Monday, November 01, 2004 12:53 PM
Subject: Not sure of exact polling location

Could you tell me where I should go to vote? I think it is on Riverside drive...

I live at (my old address).

Thank you,


It's a good thing I have other sources of info. (I did vote after all.)

Slight change of plans: Huge Financial Services Company wants me to start tomorrow instead of today. So I have one last day to loaf around in my pajamas, watch soaps, and take 45-minute long showers.


UPDATE: Yeah, I did re-read the post where I voted. It's amazing how hopeful I felt at that time. So positive about the future. I had such firm belief that everything was going to be alright, and "be alright" involved certain specific things.

Boy was I wrong. All the specific things I thought were going to equal "being alright" were complete busts. The election. The loss of my apartment. The job itself.

I don't quite feel that everything right now is "alright." Things could be so much worse than they are. But I remain doggedly focused on how much better things COULD be. I hate the word "should," but I'll go ahead and use it: SHOULD BE, goddamit. I just can't let go of certain things... not yet.

So: Another Huge Financial Services Company. Another apartment. Another leap into the future.

How many times can I ask people to wish me luck?

Why do I feel like I need to ask for well-wishes?

Now here's a post. Maybe I'll do something other than watch soaps today.

Tuesday, March 22, 2005

It's All in the Timing!

Well, the interview with the staffing agency went well. REALLY well. Holy Crap!!

I start TOMORROW at a Huge Financial Services Company which I have never heard of. The agent girls were practically cartwheeling through the halls. Apparently I walked in the door at precisely the moment they needed a Customer Relations Specialist. DAMN! Of course they are talking up the HFSC, making it sound like Utopia, but I shall jusge for myself. TOMORROW. As in TOMORROW. Wow!

I don't know exactly how much I'll be paid for this, but I know the minimum, and it's enough to live on. OH PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE let them give me that extra bump!

Gets better: I don't hate Customer Relations. In fact, I really grooved on it. And after working closely with the World's Largest Retailer for four years, there's no customer I can't handle.

Uh, I mean, I feel well-prepared. (God - I may SO eat those words someday...)

Gets even better: I'm being brought in because somebody is resigning. This could - COULD - morph into like.. you know... a real, settled job.

So... congratulate me... then wish me luck all over again... I still have a ways to go!

For now: lunch.

Monday, March 21, 2005

While the Dishwasher is Running...

Got this one from the ACE-o-my-heart. Another meme, for bibliophiles!

(Funny how the author assumes everyone
has read Farenheit 451. If I hadn't been anticipating a long plane
ride a few years ago, I might never have read it myself.)

I'm going to deviate from the norm a bit and send this to >gasp< some of my straight
blogger boyz. Because they deserve some love too. And these guys are all such adorably perfect nerds. Although the Professor might only be a math nerd. Meaning he might have the funniest answers.

(AND, since the Professor has changed his email address, If he doesn't read this... I'll have to live with the wondering.... sigh....)

It's a book meme – fill in your own answers and pass it onto 3 other bloggers. I'm sure you know the drill.

You're stuck inside Fahrenheit 451: which book do you want to be?
Claudine in Paris, by Colette

Have you ever had a crush on a fictional character?
Damn this is an embarrassing question. When I was about 12 or 13,
Jaxom from Anne McCaffrey's Dragonriders of Pern novels. Then when I was in college, Heathcliff from Wuthering Heights. (But doesn't every girl go through a Heathcliff phase? Finally, in my late twenties, I read Pride and Predjudice for the first time, and swooned over Mr. Darcy. Who is SO CLEARLY the model for Mark Darcy in those Renee Zellweiger movies. But I digress.

The last book you bought is:
I never buy just one at a time: Barack Obama's Dreams from My Father
and Edith Wharton's Old New York Short stories.

The last book you read:
Before those two? Anna Karenina. I have to read it again. Several times.

What are you currently reading? (I love how Aaron is currently reading 5 books!)
Barack Obama's book (see above).
Next on my list is Emporer: the Gates of Rome, and then The Trouble
With Islam Today
by Irshad Manji, as soon as my boyfriend is finished
reading it.

Who are you going to pass this stick to (3 persons) and why?

The Professor
, because... come on, he calls himself a professor, let's
hear some Professin'!
Eric, because I've never seen a man with so many books by the age of 28, and that boy DESPERATELY needs something to blog about.
Dr. Zoom, because he plays too many games!

See y'all at Amazon and B&

Saturday, March 19, 2005

You know I Couldn't Help Doing This

My japanese name is 浜野 Hamano (seaside field) 三千代 Michiyo (three thousand generations).
Take your real japanese name generator! today!
Created with Rum and Monkey's Name Generator Generator.

Somehow... this makes sense to me!
Must be the fumes from the cleaning materials.


Today: laundry, grocery shopping, cooking.

I'm sure this will wear off soon. Maybe I should try Advil. Or vodka.

Friday, March 18, 2005

In case you were wondering...

My boyfriend surprised me and blew off going to the gym to take me out boozing last night. My St. Patick's Day was saved! Alas, there was no live Irish Music within walking distance. Well, there might have been. I was simply unwilling to patronize the cheesy dive at the end of Main street. It was suggested by several townsfolk that they might have a band... but I heard nothing streaming out the door when we walked near it.

I did get my Bushmill's though. As Anne Bancroft said, "Blended whisky is crap."

I finally got to see the inside of this place, a very classy joint indeed. I had walked past it once or twice when it wasn't open. The owner and bartender were very cool, and talked all about the history of the place, which is impressive. They have live jazz every Wednesday night, and dancing on Friday nights. Not to mention homemade desserts. MzOuiser has a new hangout.

This morning, I woke up sans hangover, and as a further treat, received a phone call from that lady recruiter I mentioned the other day. Only she's not a recruiter - she's an agent at a staffing agency in White Plains. Who cares - I have an interview on Tuesday morning. It's a step.

I'm not feeling philosphical today. I'm feeling domestic. I have this bizarre urge to dust, mop, straighten, file papers, do laundry, scrub the tub... Yeesh. This will earn me big brownie points with G, so I'll follow my instincts.

Have a nice day, y'all.

Thursday, March 17, 2005


I meant to write an essay, but this song came out instead. Only I can hear the music in my mind... but posting it is part of the closure.


You were young
But I was so much younger
You held on
But I was so much stronger
You tried to be my anchor but I was swept out to sea
Couldn’t swim
But I sure learned fast
Nearly drowned
But I laughed last
And you hated me for cutting free and I guess you had the right

I spent ten years in shark infested waters
Not bad for a land-locked only daughter
I’ve got the memories of a lifetime and the pictures to prove it

Coming home
Mom and Dad seem older
And they are
And November seems colder
And I think I look so different, but everyone knows me

Say my name
And I’ll say yours
Look into my eyes
I won’t flinch from yours
Tell me who you are and how you feel and what you see when you look at me

If you’re happy, why do you shake?
If you’re in love, where is she now?
Do you have everything you’ve ever wanted, or did you compromise?
If we’re nothing, why are we here?
If you hated me, why sit so near?
If you mean nothing to me, why do I feel like I’m on stage?

Your eyes are blue
And they hold me
In their deep wet depths
A familiar sea
If I can sense the tightly coiled emotion in you can you sense it in me?
Two feet apart
And that’s too close
My heart is heavy and my mouth is full of things we cannot say

I am happy now and I don’t hate you
You shouldn’t hate me but it’s ok if you do
If she’s good to you then she’s everything that I could never be
If you gave up a dream, then don’t ask why
Just focus on your wife and child and this given life
I loved you in my way, and it was the best I knew how to be

We were young
But I was so much younger
We had fun
But we were crazed with hunger
I knew we couldn’t give each other the lives we wanted
I guess you thought
It would be so easy
Being in love
Should make you feel
That the rest of life will fall into place…
Yeah… we were young

I forgave myself a long, long time ago
You should forgive me too, and finally let me go
This is the last goodbye and I won’t tell myself that maybe we’ll be friends

I wish you well
In your life on land
I’ll return
to the edge of the sand
And when I disappear under the waves this time you’ll forget my face

I got stuck on that series of essayes when I was trying to write the one about my Mother. Christ, that woman has had a life. A pseudo-career in theatre spanning something like 40 years. I bit off more than I could chew. BUT - stubborn Irish me, I did write a structure, and I'm waiting until I can get time to really interview her about the details. Hell, somebody needs to chronicle my Mom's life as an artist. It's too good a story.

So I skipped that one for now. The next one is "Another Ancestry." I learned some fascinating things about my older relatives, who had several husbands, kids who don't know who their grandparents are, etc. Maybe I'll get that one up next week.

I have this need to finish things.

IN OTHER NEWS: So far my St. Patrick's Day SUCKS. Nyack is dead right now. If I was in the city I'd already be tipsy. Half of Manhattan is already tipsy. The other half is working and will descend upon the city like a swarm of unruly leprechauns as soon as the day shift ends. There are Irish bands everywhere. I AM STUCK IN A SMALL TOWN. OH THE UNFAIRNESS. I INSIST that you all go and think of me when you're knocking back the Bushmills. See if you can find a bar that sells Bushmill's 16-year. That shit is the BEST. Erin go Bragh, and Cead Mile Failte, friends.

I'll wait until about 9 or so and head back into town. There's two pubs in the same block. I'll get my fiddlin' and my Bushmills at one of them.

And I really should have written a post about this holiday, and my Irish family history, and the stories my aunt Mary Kate told me, and my Grandpa and Mom, and how I feel about everything I learned about St. Patrick and the Christianization of Ireland and the virutal annhilation of the old religion, which I prefer to practice now, and the symbolism of the shamrock as the triple-faced goddess, and all that.

I miss you Grandpa, and Aunt Mary. Thanks for all the green 7-up and cookies. I won't forget any of the stories. I love you.

Wednesday, March 16, 2005

Music Meme, and Musings

Oh, it's SO nice to have some free time!

(Thanks Glennykins)

1. Total amount of music files on your computer?

Hm. Last count was around 1000. Not really a lot by today's reckoning. All but a handful are ripped from CD's that I purchased at full price, so the RIAA can go fuck itself.

2. The last CD you bought was...

I never buy just one at a time: a collection of Renata Tebaldi arias, Spike Lee & Co.'s Do It Accappella, a Tom Petty album (the one with "Mary Jane's Last Dance" on it), Carole King's greatest hits, and I think a copy of Sting's Ten Summoner's Tales, for a friend.

3. What was the last song you listened to before reading this message?
Right now I'm listening to "I Was Brought To My Senses" by Sting. It's off the album Mercury Falling, which I keep in the CD changer. I never get sick of it, it's great dinner music, and everyone I've played it for likes it.

4. Write down five songs you often listen to or that mean a lot to you.

(Just five?!)

4.1. "Trouble In the Fields" sung by Maura O'Connell. It's a song about farmland, but it's also a song about relationships, community, family, inner strength, and faith.

4.2. A cover of the theme song to the Mary Tyler Moore show sung by Joan Jett. "You're gonna make it after all..." It was done for the made-for-TV reunion movie that came out a few years ago. I ripped it off the TiVo back when I lived with a guy who knew how to do that sort of thing. I swear it could make Steven Wright smile and bop down the street.

4.3. I can't listen to "All Out of Love" by Air Supply without crumpling into a sobbing mess

4.4. When I'm really in bad shape I sing along to "Blood and Fire" by the Indigo Girls, but it's been awhile since I did that.

4.5. I celebrate life events with "Walkin' on Sunshine" by Katrina and the Waves

5. What 3 people are you going to pass this baton to and why?

Frank, because he could use a little pointless fun.
Jonathan, because for all our shared past, I'm betting we have opposite tastes in music.
Crash, because the man just has such great taste. Culture Vulture.

I'll even go so far as to see if I can't get Amanda to do this, even though she's on hiatus. (I know you're reading, Amanda...) Like me, she feels deeply, she ain't from the big city, and she's been THROUGH IT sistah.

Music seems to reveal a great deal about people. Why do we like what we like? Why do certain music genres (country, for example) make some of us want to bash our heads against the wall, while others will limit their collection to nothing but? Why does someone prefer Ella to Bille, Dean to Frank, The Bee Gees to Abba, the Mamas and the Papas to just about everything else?

Next time you look over your music collection, ask yourself who you see in that pile of art. What does it say about you? Does the rest of your home reflect your taste in music? Do your clothes? Do you see your friends in your collection? Your parents? You old lovers?

Being a singer myself - who refers to herself as a musician - I tend to read song lyrics like the script to a play, and see a song as a story being told, even if it's instrumental. But then I also have times when I just want to bop around to "Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go", and that's part of being human. (And that song almost made the top 5, for just that reason.)

Tuesday, March 15, 2005

Welcome Home

Cancun was perfect. Well, it could have been warmer. I was in jeans and sweaters every night, and the water was (no really!) too cold to swim two of the days we were there. But... the sand was powdery, the hammocks swung gently, the frosty beverages were sweet, the eye candy was everywhere, and the king-sized bed in our hotel room was... you get the idea. Most of my skin is a lovely shade of red, some patches of brown. My summer freckles have been activated, and I look like goddamn Holly Hobbie, but G doesn't seem to mind. Pics here.

My temp assignment at the bank is over. I was unceremoniously yanked. They waited until I was on vacation, left me a voicemail, and that's that. The poor bank. They had no warning at all. They were a bit attached to me. They are not happy about the temp agency simply taking me away from them without any notice. Part of me wonders if I won't be getting a phone call from one of my supervisors, but I sincerely hope I don't. I don't see them paying me enough to make that commute worthwhile. So, it's been fun, so long fellas. I'm back on the rolls of unemployment.

I may have an interview on Friday with a recruiter. A lady recruiter. I can't tell you how nice it feels to be meeting with a woman. After my experiences in my last two office jobs, the thought of shaking hands with another fat white guy in a suit, feeling his sweaty sausage fingers in my hand while his eyes wash over me in that scrutinizing way... God, my stomach churns. Can I just work with women for a while please?

Hopefully this nice lady will find me a job. She seems SO enthusiastic. She's even willing to drive into Nyack to interview me at a coffee shop in my neighborhood, as I don't have a car to get to Westchester. Impressive. She also says she doesn't get a lot of temp work and wants to put me in a settled, permanent job. Gee. Ok. A real job? That pays enough for me to afford to buy a car? Is it possible?

In other news, I'm also wondering if an essay I submitted to a magazine might actually get published. I submitted it after the deadline, but they emailed me and said they are considering it. They asked me to reformat and resend, so I did. Who knows? No big deal if they don't use it, but if they did, wouldn't that be cool? Especially since its a particularly great mag. I'll keep you posted on that.

My Grandma's funeral was a life-affirming experience. I will miss her, of course... but I realize that I am missing that part of my family more than I realized. Those cousins of mine seem to genuinely care about me. My aunts and uncles too. Not because they have to care about me, because I'm their brother's daughter or we have shared ancestry... they actually seem to want to know me, who I am, how I feel about things. I'm so used to dreading seeing them, and everytime I do see them, in recent years, I never want to leave. Ironically, I always look forward to seeing my Mom's family (the New Jersey Italian and Irish Catholics), and every time we visit them, I spend weeks bitching about what spoiled, tiny-life idiots they've all grown up to be, and how bitterly disappointed in them I am, that we seem to have nothing in common and nothing to talk about. I always thought I'd feel that way about the Baptists in Dad's family, the seperatists who hate big cities, who don't drink, or listen to rock music, or read anything other than church-approved materials, who think women should be submissive to men no matter how they are treated, or how much smarter they are than their husbands... My perceptions have been turned upside down.

My parents seem a bit closer to each other, and it warms my heart. All of my cousins and I are reaching out for each other just a bit. All of our parents are too. We are all aware of the generation which has left us. The wheel rolls on.

Wish me luck this week.

Thursday, March 03, 2005

Lyrics to my life

Random lyrics stuck in my head before I knew my grandma had died:

Took my baby to the doctor
with a fever but nothing he found
by the time it hit the streets,
they said she'd had a breakdown
someone's always tryin' to start my baby cryin'
talkin', squealin', lyin, now baby's slowly dyin'

Random lyrics stuck in my head after I found out grandma had died:

He lives! He lives! Christ Jesus lives today
He walks with me and talks with me along life's narrow way
He lives! He lives! Salvation to impart
You ask me how I know he lives?
He lives within my heart.

This song is in my head today:

Baby I know that we've got trouble in the fields
When the bankers swarm like locust out there turning away our yield
The trains roll by our silos, silver in the rain
They leave our pockets full of nothing
But our dreams and the golden grain

Have you seen the folks in line downtown at the station
They're all buying their ticket out and talking the great depression
Our parents had their hard times fifty years ago
When they stood out in these empty fields in dust as deep as snow

And all this trouble in our fields
If this rain can fall, these wounds can heal
They'll never take our native soil
But if we sell that new John Deere
And then we'll work these crops with sweat and tears
You'll be the mule I'll be the plow
Come harvest time we'll work it out
There's still a lot of love, here in these troubled fields

There's a book up on the shelf about the dust bowl days
And there's a little bit of you and a little bit of me
In the photos on every page
Now our children live in the city and they rest upon our shoulders
They never want the rain to fall or the weather to get colder

And all this trouble in our fields
If this rain can fall, these wounds can heal
They'll never take our native soil
But if we sell that new John Deere
And then we'll work these crops with sweat and tears
You'll be the mule I'll be the plow
Come harvest time we'll work it out
There's still a lot of love, here in these troubled fields

You'll be the mule I'll be the plow
Come harvest time we'll work it out
There's still a lot of love, here in these troubled fields

As If I EVER Thought I Was In Control

Yesterday, I was going to post something short and sweet about the essays I'm in the middle of writing, and the essays I wish I had time to start writing, but I instead decided to throw up my breakfast in the bathroom, cry for about 30-40 minutes, and exit the office. At about 11:30, I practically sprinted for the 7 train.

I didn't know exactly why I was feeling so sick, except for the stress of everything weighing me down, as it has for so long. I chalked up my physical and emotional breakdown to cumulative stress.

I exited Grand Central Station in Midtown and began aimlessly wandering, thinking vaguely about the shop windows, knowing I ought to head to the clinic for a quick blood test to look at my iron levels (my fatigue has been heavier than usual lately), and then head to church, which often helps clear my head. I felt somehow that it just wasn't quite time for that yet.

Shortly after noon, the vague something I was waiting for materialized. My mother called. My other grandmother, my Dad's Mom, had passed away. "Did this happen just this morning?" Mom confirmed that it had.

I'm not devastated with sadness like I was with my other Grandma, but I am feeling a wide range of emotions, and grief is included. Today, I await another phone call, from my Dad, telling me when to head for the airport. The funeral is in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, where Grandma will be buried next to my Grandpa, who passed away almost 30 years ago.

How many of us expect to live 30 years as a widow (widower)?

I will have a lot to say when I get back. I have a lot to say now. Will I get the chance to write any of it out? I'd damn well better. I am really, frankly, sick of seeing days and days go by without me getting a chance to simply talk about how I really feel.

No wonder I threw up yesterday. I exited my external life in a huff.

After we got off the phone, I went to the clinic and had a simple blood test. No biggie. If the iron levels are low, I go back on the supplements. If they're fine, great. I'm looking into counseling.

I didn't go to church. Instead I had a manicure. Physical self-care won out over... what?

I feel that I'm being pushed and shoved through life, over the last two years. Not gently led. Not lovingly carried. I am NOT seeing any footprints in the sand here. I can't exactly say I feel abandoned.... More like tested. I am being tested for something. I have tried so hard to take steps here and there to improve my overall life circumstances, but those steps have led me into even deeper, wilder, more treacherous waters. I'm not drowning at all - but this is one hell of a long, difficult swim. Yesterday, I just quit paddling.

I think right now maybe I'll float for a few days.

I haven't seen my paternal Grandma in over two years. I virtually never see or communicate with most of my Dad's family. Another challenge. Another deep, cold, pool to swim through.

At least, after the funeral experience, if I can just get through it, I'll wake up in Cancun.