I try to never say "Rest in Peace"
It's hard
when you reach the age
where you go to more funerals
than weddings
see more deaths
than births.
I try not to dwell on the sorrow
but on the joy of someone's life
Today
I will try to remember
that she loved elephants
she had a small exquisite collection
on her desk
crammed with photos of her children
and her grandchildren
That she was a joy
That she smiled with her entire face
That she was loved
and that she was my friend.
I hope heaven has elephants to love
Friday, July 27, 2018
Thursday, July 19, 2018
42
No Not Jackie Robinson's number, although I was thinking of Jackie yesterday as I looked at the excellent photo collection on display on Lower Level four ( History) in the building I work in. Central is not "My" building, I just work there. My responsibility- at least for the moment- is the 72 branches of the Los Angeles Public Library.
No, it was 42 years ago today that a wide-eyed eighteen year old me started work in the Pacoima Library. I couldn't believe my luck. Here was a JOB in the library, great pay, vacations, holidays and sick pay. I was making the princely sum of $3.33 an hour! To put in on perspective, most of my friends were making around $1.85 and working with grease fryers. Not that those were bad jobs, but man was I lucky!
I loved that job.
I am looking at working for two years, two and a half months more. I don't know. Lately work has been not as satisfying as it once was and I often feel like I am working in a war zone instead of an office. My friend Pauline, who will probably read this will tell me AGAIN, that I should retire and how wonderful retirement is. I know, Pauline, I just have always had it in my head to make 40 years. There's an opening at the Department of Cannabis- yeah it's a real thing- I wonder if that might not be better. I don't know.
I am hoping that once my knees are replaced and getting around is not so hard, I might have a new perspective or my old pep back. I have graduated to the walker. It is a wonderful walker but I HATE having to use it. It's "for now' not "forever", right?
Sorry to be Debbie Downer. Some days are like that and getting it out of my head and onto the virtual paper of this blog has helped me think. My therapist ( yes, I have someone I talk to who listens and guides me to make choices to improve things) says writing it down might be the best way for me to deal with things. After all, although I am not a published writer ( unless you count the poem I wrote that went in the newspaper when I was seven) Writing is my "art"
I have about 830 calendar days util the day I THINK will put me at 40. I need to log on to the City Retirement calculator and see what it tells me. I have a few legal issues that need to be cleared up. All parties have agreed, it's just the paperwork and the lawyers fees at this point. Once THAT is done, I can seriously look at what retirement will look like for me.
Funny, this started out as a celebration of achieving 42 years with the City of LA. I never really know where these blogs will go. They are, mostly, an unplanned and unvarnished look at what is going on in my brain after the first jolt of coffee hits it. ALMOST like Victorian "automatic writing, but not quite ( I do try to go back and edit for some sort of clarity)
Thanks for riding with me.
No, it was 42 years ago today that a wide-eyed eighteen year old me started work in the Pacoima Library. I couldn't believe my luck. Here was a JOB in the library, great pay, vacations, holidays and sick pay. I was making the princely sum of $3.33 an hour! To put in on perspective, most of my friends were making around $1.85 and working with grease fryers. Not that those were bad jobs, but man was I lucky!
I loved that job.
I am looking at working for two years, two and a half months more. I don't know. Lately work has been not as satisfying as it once was and I often feel like I am working in a war zone instead of an office. My friend Pauline, who will probably read this will tell me AGAIN, that I should retire and how wonderful retirement is. I know, Pauline, I just have always had it in my head to make 40 years. There's an opening at the Department of Cannabis- yeah it's a real thing- I wonder if that might not be better. I don't know.
I am hoping that once my knees are replaced and getting around is not so hard, I might have a new perspective or my old pep back. I have graduated to the walker. It is a wonderful walker but I HATE having to use it. It's "for now' not "forever", right?
Sorry to be Debbie Downer. Some days are like that and getting it out of my head and onto the virtual paper of this blog has helped me think. My therapist ( yes, I have someone I talk to who listens and guides me to make choices to improve things) says writing it down might be the best way for me to deal with things. After all, although I am not a published writer ( unless you count the poem I wrote that went in the newspaper when I was seven) Writing is my "art"
I have about 830 calendar days util the day I THINK will put me at 40. I need to log on to the City Retirement calculator and see what it tells me. I have a few legal issues that need to be cleared up. All parties have agreed, it's just the paperwork and the lawyers fees at this point. Once THAT is done, I can seriously look at what retirement will look like for me.
Funny, this started out as a celebration of achieving 42 years with the City of LA. I never really know where these blogs will go. They are, mostly, an unplanned and unvarnished look at what is going on in my brain after the first jolt of coffee hits it. ALMOST like Victorian "automatic writing, but not quite ( I do try to go back and edit for some sort of clarity)
Thanks for riding with me.
Thursday, July 12, 2018
Float
My good friend Christine is always finding these odd places to go and I love to tag along because aside from the fact that I love Christine ( and her son Lennon and, yeah Max I love you too) she goes places I would NEVER think of, much less go to.
Case in point? Float. It is JUST what you think it might be; a private chamber in which to float. I kept remembering the movie "Altered States" where Jeff Bridges has a weird experience in a flotation tank and goes nuts ( really I can't remember the plot, I just remember that someone I knew ran screaming from the theater when she went to see it- the plot remains vague)
Anyway, Float is one of those new age-y places, all that soft music that seems to be a collection of squeaks and hums. The people were very nice as they explained the process. You have a private room, strip to your birthday suit, shower using their soap and shampoo- but NOT the conditioner which you use after, them get into the tub of saltwater ( you enter the chamber thru a door that reminded me of a submarine door) and float. There are lights to begin with , but they slowly fade and you float around in total darkness. If you need lights there is a button to keep them on, but I wondered how you would know time was up if you did that so float in the dark I did. Truth to tell I was kind of bored and at one point bounced a bit off the side of the tub to change things up. I tried some guided imagery meditation and that helped pass the time. The lights came back up and I got out. I showered and dressed quickly. I kept having this image of them unlocking the door to tell me my time was up and finding me in my all-together. They did not.
Floating is supposed to help you sleep and they say one session may not help. They try to up sell you a year. Not happening. My sleep was no better and no worse that it had been, but it WAS worth a try.
I think I should open a place called "Nap" You get those great big soft beds like they have in fancy hotels, with big soft pillows and those white comforters that keep you cozy, but neither too hot or too cold. The rooms would have those blackout shades like Cameron Diaz had at her house in The Holiday ( look it up, it's fun romantic comedy). You get soft music or a book for ten minutes them the lights all go out (except maybe a night light, just in case) You are offered comfy jammies and the sheets are that t-shirt material or high tread-count cotton ( you can choose your package!) You can nap for an hour or two if you paid for two but an hour is what experts say is best. The bedding, including pillows and comforters are changed COMPLETELY with every guest; no weird wondering who slept there before you as I sometimes do in hotel rooms.
Wadda ya think? Would you use a place like "Nap"?
Case in point? Float. It is JUST what you think it might be; a private chamber in which to float. I kept remembering the movie "Altered States" where Jeff Bridges has a weird experience in a flotation tank and goes nuts ( really I can't remember the plot, I just remember that someone I knew ran screaming from the theater when she went to see it- the plot remains vague)
Anyway, Float is one of those new age-y places, all that soft music that seems to be a collection of squeaks and hums. The people were very nice as they explained the process. You have a private room, strip to your birthday suit, shower using their soap and shampoo- but NOT the conditioner which you use after, them get into the tub of saltwater ( you enter the chamber thru a door that reminded me of a submarine door) and float. There are lights to begin with , but they slowly fade and you float around in total darkness. If you need lights there is a button to keep them on, but I wondered how you would know time was up if you did that so float in the dark I did. Truth to tell I was kind of bored and at one point bounced a bit off the side of the tub to change things up. I tried some guided imagery meditation and that helped pass the time. The lights came back up and I got out. I showered and dressed quickly. I kept having this image of them unlocking the door to tell me my time was up and finding me in my all-together. They did not.
Floating is supposed to help you sleep and they say one session may not help. They try to up sell you a year. Not happening. My sleep was no better and no worse that it had been, but it WAS worth a try.
I think I should open a place called "Nap" You get those great big soft beds like they have in fancy hotels, with big soft pillows and those white comforters that keep you cozy, but neither too hot or too cold. The rooms would have those blackout shades like Cameron Diaz had at her house in The Holiday ( look it up, it's fun romantic comedy). You get soft music or a book for ten minutes them the lights all go out (except maybe a night light, just in case) You are offered comfy jammies and the sheets are that t-shirt material or high tread-count cotton ( you can choose your package!) You can nap for an hour or two if you paid for two but an hour is what experts say is best. The bedding, including pillows and comforters are changed COMPLETELY with every guest; no weird wondering who slept there before you as I sometimes do in hotel rooms.
Wadda ya think? Would you use a place like "Nap"?
Sunday, June 17, 2018
"There's always Pizza"
It's Father's Day, and all over the internet is the question "what did you learn from your Dad?' My short answer "There's always Pizza"
Let me explain.
My Dad was a cook and I got the cooking gene from him. I enjoy cooking and find it relaxing after a long, stressful day at work. Maybe it's the act of chopping things into little bits or pounding meat flat. Maybe it's the comforting smells ( when I can smell anything, due to a BAD head injury about 20 years ago, my sense of smell comes and goes). Maybe it's having family and friends who are family around my table. I don't know but..
When my Dad was alive and I would visit, we would head to the grocery store. I would make a few meals, some to eat and some to "put by" in his freezer for later. I think he appreciated the home cooked meals, but sometimes things wouldn't turn out the way I wanted them to. I'd be swearing up a storm and he would look at me and say "don't worry, there's always pizza" At the time I thought it was the fact that Little Cesar's was right across the highway and you could get a cheese pie ( the ONLY kind he ate) for about 5 bucks. But after he died, I realized it was kind of a philosophy.
If you screw something up, or if things don't go as planned, you can always find another option. You might not have planned on pizza for dinner, but it's always there.
Sometimes, when things aren't going the way we planned, my husband will look at me and say "well, there's always pizza" and we will laugh.
Thanks, Dad. There really IS always pizza.
Let me explain.
My Dad was a cook and I got the cooking gene from him. I enjoy cooking and find it relaxing after a long, stressful day at work. Maybe it's the act of chopping things into little bits or pounding meat flat. Maybe it's the comforting smells ( when I can smell anything, due to a BAD head injury about 20 years ago, my sense of smell comes and goes). Maybe it's having family and friends who are family around my table. I don't know but..
When my Dad was alive and I would visit, we would head to the grocery store. I would make a few meals, some to eat and some to "put by" in his freezer for later. I think he appreciated the home cooked meals, but sometimes things wouldn't turn out the way I wanted them to. I'd be swearing up a storm and he would look at me and say "don't worry, there's always pizza" At the time I thought it was the fact that Little Cesar's was right across the highway and you could get a cheese pie ( the ONLY kind he ate) for about 5 bucks. But after he died, I realized it was kind of a philosophy.
If you screw something up, or if things don't go as planned, you can always find another option. You might not have planned on pizza for dinner, but it's always there.
Sometimes, when things aren't going the way we planned, my husband will look at me and say "well, there's always pizza" and we will laugh.
Thanks, Dad. There really IS always pizza.
Saturday, June 9, 2018
Suicide, Anthony Bourdain and Kate Spade
This week suicide has been in the news, with the deaths of two very successful people who chose to end their lives. We do not know, and can never really know, what drove them to this final act.
There is a lot of speculation,especially when it comes to Kate Spade. She had acknowledged mental illness and according to all reports was seeking help. It just wasn't enough. Sometimes, it seems to be the only answer.
I read somewhere that suicide does not end the pain, it only transfers it. In the case of Kate Spade, the anger and frustration of her family in grief is spilling out in a very public way. She had a young daughter. I hope for her sake the finger pointing will stop and the drawing together will begin. Her daughter is going to need help. It is the living, not the dead, that need us now.
I saw on the Facebook page of a friend a post from a vegan woman, celebrating the death of Bourdain, as if she herself were personally responsible for harassing him to death. Excuse me for missing the point of Veganism, but I guess compassion (in her case) ONLY extends to animals and the human race be damned. I wanted to say to her "Honey, get off your high horse. Anthony Bourdain probably didn't know who you were" If he left a note, we may know the why. Speculation is he had a serious medical condition. I didn't want to get into it with her. She sounded fanatical and with anyone who is in that frame of mind, there is no discussion to be had. Their minds are sealed shut. Please don't rag on me if you are vegan. I am NOT saying anything about veganism, just this one woman who seems to think that his death is a victory of some sort. She made me ill.
The recent suicides have created a rash of postings of the suicide prevention hotline. All well and good, but hat may not work for everyone. I saw a post that made me think "If you thought of someone when you saw the news of suicide, please reach out to them to make sure they are ok." Good idea. Mental health in this country is a dirty secret, as if the Puritan ethic remains a core part of our character. The Puritans were psycho in my book. If you are sad and thinking the world would be a better place without you, or that the pain is too much to bear, I hope you can talk to someone. There is no shame in seeking help. The strongest people need a hand sometimes.
There is a lot of speculation,especially when it comes to Kate Spade. She had acknowledged mental illness and according to all reports was seeking help. It just wasn't enough. Sometimes, it seems to be the only answer.
I read somewhere that suicide does not end the pain, it only transfers it. In the case of Kate Spade, the anger and frustration of her family in grief is spilling out in a very public way. She had a young daughter. I hope for her sake the finger pointing will stop and the drawing together will begin. Her daughter is going to need help. It is the living, not the dead, that need us now.
I saw on the Facebook page of a friend a post from a vegan woman, celebrating the death of Bourdain, as if she herself were personally responsible for harassing him to death. Excuse me for missing the point of Veganism, but I guess compassion (in her case) ONLY extends to animals and the human race be damned. I wanted to say to her "Honey, get off your high horse. Anthony Bourdain probably didn't know who you were" If he left a note, we may know the why. Speculation is he had a serious medical condition. I didn't want to get into it with her. She sounded fanatical and with anyone who is in that frame of mind, there is no discussion to be had. Their minds are sealed shut. Please don't rag on me if you are vegan. I am NOT saying anything about veganism, just this one woman who seems to think that his death is a victory of some sort. She made me ill.
The recent suicides have created a rash of postings of the suicide prevention hotline. All well and good, but hat may not work for everyone. I saw a post that made me think "If you thought of someone when you saw the news of suicide, please reach out to them to make sure they are ok." Good idea. Mental health in this country is a dirty secret, as if the Puritan ethic remains a core part of our character. The Puritans were psycho in my book. If you are sad and thinking the world would be a better place without you, or that the pain is too much to bear, I hope you can talk to someone. There is no shame in seeking help. The strongest people need a hand sometimes.
Monday, May 28, 2018
Memorial Day
This is Memorial Day weekend. I worked Saturday and my co-workers were all talking about Barbecue and where best to get it. As a result on Saturday, I was jonesing for BBQ and wound up getting it at our local place, where for a brief time in the late 70's, my Dad worked. Saturday would have been my Dad's 98th birthday and I would have visited the cemetery, but it IS Memorial day and probably a real zoo, I am not as patient at large crowds and traffic jams as I used to be.
But I have been thinking about those conversations over work on Saturday, what people were going to do with their three days off ( two and half since we were all working Saturday morning) Some people talked about BBQs some talked about sleeping in. I thought about the mountains of cleaning I needed to do in preparation for a friend's overnight visit. My back bedroom is really a storage area these days. Sigh. We did get a lot sorted and tossed and ready to donate to the Vietnam Veterans. Still I can't help circling back to this day and it's meaning:
For a lot of people Memorial Day has lost its' true meaning. Is it another long weekend? the start of Summer? the Indy 500? Well all of those things happen and are partial true, but I am working hard to bring to mind the real reason for this "holiday", it is to remember those who died in service to this country. It is not a day to thank service members for their service. The day set aside for THAT is Veterans Day in November or Armed Forces Day on the 3rd Sunday in May. Truthfully ANY day is a good day to thank service members for their service, but THIS day honors the memory of those who gave the ultimate sacrifice.
In the 70's, people wore bracelets with the names of POW's in the Vietnam war, to bring attention to their plight and to remember every day the person who was a prisoner. I was against the war, but wanted to honor the people who were caught in between. My bracelet had the name Captain Clifford Fieszel. I wore it and when it broke I got a replacement with his name. He was a pilot who was shot down. The Vietnamese said the had captured him, but there was never any proof and he never came home . His name is on the wall, and there is a grave in his memory, but he was never found. I think of him and others like him, this Memorial Day. As they lay a wreath on the Tomb of the Unknown, I think of families who never knew the fate of their loved ones and of families who buried family coming home in a flag draped coffin.
This is a solemn holiday; one for reflection and prayer. Sure, have that BBQ , but take a moment today to thank those who died in service to this county to make what we have possible.
But I have been thinking about those conversations over work on Saturday, what people were going to do with their three days off ( two and half since we were all working Saturday morning) Some people talked about BBQs some talked about sleeping in. I thought about the mountains of cleaning I needed to do in preparation for a friend's overnight visit. My back bedroom is really a storage area these days. Sigh. We did get a lot sorted and tossed and ready to donate to the Vietnam Veterans. Still I can't help circling back to this day and it's meaning:
For a lot of people Memorial Day has lost its' true meaning. Is it another long weekend? the start of Summer? the Indy 500? Well all of those things happen and are partial true, but I am working hard to bring to mind the real reason for this "holiday", it is to remember those who died in service to this country. It is not a day to thank service members for their service. The day set aside for THAT is Veterans Day in November or Armed Forces Day on the 3rd Sunday in May. Truthfully ANY day is a good day to thank service members for their service, but THIS day honors the memory of those who gave the ultimate sacrifice.
In the 70's, people wore bracelets with the names of POW's in the Vietnam war, to bring attention to their plight and to remember every day the person who was a prisoner. I was against the war, but wanted to honor the people who were caught in between. My bracelet had the name Captain Clifford Fieszel. I wore it and when it broke I got a replacement with his name. He was a pilot who was shot down. The Vietnamese said the had captured him, but there was never any proof and he never came home . His name is on the wall, and there is a grave in his memory, but he was never found. I think of him and others like him, this Memorial Day. As they lay a wreath on the Tomb of the Unknown, I think of families who never knew the fate of their loved ones and of families who buried family coming home in a flag draped coffin.
This is a solemn holiday; one for reflection and prayer. Sure, have that BBQ , but take a moment today to thank those who died in service to this county to make what we have possible.
Wednesday, May 23, 2018
Weird "Movie" dreams
Occasionally, I have these dreams that are like watching a movie. I am in them, playing a character. I am certainly not me.
Last night's dream was fun. In it, Tom Hanks was playing my father. I was a teenager with a little sister. Tom tell us all to pack for Paris. Tom is a writer who is really an international spy and we are going to Paris for a few days. He is bringing us for 'cover" as he needs to meet with another spy. He tells us to pack enough for two days. At some point in the trip I begin to worry I have not packed enough of the right clothes and enough underwear. I comfort myself with the thought that I probably packed at least one pair and can wash them out in the sink if I need to ( ok I TOLD you this was a weird dream). We fly in the front of a commercial airline, but there is no pilot . My "Mother" complains she hates flying like this. apparently this is normal. We get to our room. Tom send me and my little sister out shopping, but my purse is not big enough so I look in the hotel closet and find a metal lunchbox like we used to carry in elementary school. It is big enough. Tom insists I pack a hammer in the lunchbox, just in case. I head out and I am laughing as I have read what the spies have written about my "father" Tom. They are very convinced he cannot type. This seems to be an important piece of information and I think it's very funny as he is a writer ( and Tom owns a bunch of antique typewriters) I come back and Tom introduces me to my "cousin" we are going to a fancy dinner and she lends me a white wool skirt and top for the occasion. She also gives me a white stuffed bunny. Dinner is uneventful, but I leave the bunny at her home when we leave. It explodes. It turns out the cousin is a spy for the other side.
My alarm went off at this point. I enjoy the movie dreams quite a bit. They are much better than the nightmares I have been having. Maybe the dream catcher we hung over the bed is working. I am AMAZED at the number of people who have them tied to the rear-view mirror of their CARS. Are you SLEEPING while driving. Sometime, I think they must be, if you read my last blog!
Last night's dream was fun. In it, Tom Hanks was playing my father. I was a teenager with a little sister. Tom tell us all to pack for Paris. Tom is a writer who is really an international spy and we are going to Paris for a few days. He is bringing us for 'cover" as he needs to meet with another spy. He tells us to pack enough for two days. At some point in the trip I begin to worry I have not packed enough of the right clothes and enough underwear. I comfort myself with the thought that I probably packed at least one pair and can wash them out in the sink if I need to ( ok I TOLD you this was a weird dream). We fly in the front of a commercial airline, but there is no pilot . My "Mother" complains she hates flying like this. apparently this is normal. We get to our room. Tom send me and my little sister out shopping, but my purse is not big enough so I look in the hotel closet and find a metal lunchbox like we used to carry in elementary school. It is big enough. Tom insists I pack a hammer in the lunchbox, just in case. I head out and I am laughing as I have read what the spies have written about my "father" Tom. They are very convinced he cannot type. This seems to be an important piece of information and I think it's very funny as he is a writer ( and Tom owns a bunch of antique typewriters) I come back and Tom introduces me to my "cousin" we are going to a fancy dinner and she lends me a white wool skirt and top for the occasion. She also gives me a white stuffed bunny. Dinner is uneventful, but I leave the bunny at her home when we leave. It explodes. It turns out the cousin is a spy for the other side.
My alarm went off at this point. I enjoy the movie dreams quite a bit. They are much better than the nightmares I have been having. Maybe the dream catcher we hung over the bed is working. I am AMAZED at the number of people who have them tied to the rear-view mirror of their CARS. Are you SLEEPING while driving. Sometime, I think they must be, if you read my last blog!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)