I want to write something more hopeful than I wrote earlier in the week. I am grateful- EXTREMELY grateful,for the love I received and the encouragement. I will say this again, I am overwhelmed by the love from my community of friends. I hope I can and DO return the love you have all shown me.
Today marks 32 years as the Branch Facilities Manager- although it had no such title when I started. Wide-eyed 28 year old me, thinking this was just a stop on the way to something ... bigger. WHAT, I ask could have been bigger than this? I was fortunate to fall into something that suited me and my meager talents. I grew. My late, and much missed boss, Betsey Hoage once observed that I "created" the position, which I suppose to some degree, I did. I found a niche for myself. I really miss the thrill of moving and opening buildings, but given my current health challenges, I am glad we are NOT doing that now. I am looking at two years before I retire. I hope to leave my colleague filled with the knowledge of how to get it done, so she won't have to reinvent the wheel, as I did. Truth to tell the wheel has changed substantially since that bright October day when I entered the elevator at the then-ARCO towers and rode the express up to the 35th floor . We used to do everything by hand, the pace was slower. There were 62 branches and two bookmobile units- Chinatown was branch 63, but the Valley Bookmobile was number 62. InnerCity Bookmobile was 91, in case you are wondering...
Things are faster, people expect immediate results. Sometimes it is possible, sometimes it is not. I have days when I go home feeling like I really earned my paycheck and some days I feel like I let my co-workers down. It's like any other job, I suspect, but this one has a meaning dearer to me than getting the records straightened out at Rent Stabilization or talking complaint calls at Parking Enforcement ( after we designed the areas, they seriously had NOT thought out what we would do and so I took phone calls) I like to think this job makes a difference in the Department. I love my "peeps" as one of my co-workers calls my folks out there in the branches, and YES I have a real affection for them. I was told once that I should not care as much as I do. I can't work like that, hell, I can't LIVE like that. Love is always part f the equation for me.
Friday, October 26, 2018
Tuesday, October 23, 2018
Stress
I am up early and trying to write, wondering just how confessional I should get this morning. I have an appointment with my therapist- an emergency one, set up by me and my primary doctor as the stress is starting to cause physiological effects.
I cry at the drop of a hat, I'm crying now.
I have severe chest pains, but my EKG is fine.
It's stress.
I can't walk, which was my go-to for stress relief. I am trying to get on the exercise bike but even that hurts.
Two things are causing this, I suppose. One is the #metoo and the Kavenaugh hearings dragged up some crap I THOUGHT I had dealt with- apparently not, I won't go into details here, I just can't right now, but suffice to say that just because you are in a relationship does not give anyone the right to another person's body, I remember crying through the assault by someone I trusted and looking at him and seeing he was oblivious to the pain and torment I was going through. He was just taking his pleasure from doing what he was doing.
I am having both knees replaced in December, at least that is the plan. I will get final clearance from my surgeon but I am in daily pain that makes my life miserable. I can't enjoy daily things. The pills I take contribute to my weepiness. I am a hot mess- AND you would not believe the number of people who do not support me. I have heard a number of "Oh my God, you can't do that'"s Instead of being supportive, people tell me how bad it's going to hurt. I know they mean well, but I really wish they would stop. I'm already scared. It's major surgery, after all. PLEASE, if you are reading this don't tell me any more horror stories. I HAVE to have this done. Tell me you love me. Tell me I am strong enough to do this, but DO NOT tell me I can't do this. It's hard enough to face it, without negative people- some of whom haven't even HAD the procedure- telling me how hard it's going to be. I have no illusions, but am trying to get my head in the game.
Fear means Face Everything And Rise. I need to take that to heart.
I cry at the drop of a hat, I'm crying now.
I have severe chest pains, but my EKG is fine.
It's stress.
I can't walk, which was my go-to for stress relief. I am trying to get on the exercise bike but even that hurts.
Two things are causing this, I suppose. One is the #metoo and the Kavenaugh hearings dragged up some crap I THOUGHT I had dealt with- apparently not, I won't go into details here, I just can't right now, but suffice to say that just because you are in a relationship does not give anyone the right to another person's body, I remember crying through the assault by someone I trusted and looking at him and seeing he was oblivious to the pain and torment I was going through. He was just taking his pleasure from doing what he was doing.
I am having both knees replaced in December, at least that is the plan. I will get final clearance from my surgeon but I am in daily pain that makes my life miserable. I can't enjoy daily things. The pills I take contribute to my weepiness. I am a hot mess- AND you would not believe the number of people who do not support me. I have heard a number of "Oh my God, you can't do that'"s Instead of being supportive, people tell me how bad it's going to hurt. I know they mean well, but I really wish they would stop. I'm already scared. It's major surgery, after all. PLEASE, if you are reading this don't tell me any more horror stories. I HAVE to have this done. Tell me you love me. Tell me I am strong enough to do this, but DO NOT tell me I can't do this. It's hard enough to face it, without negative people- some of whom haven't even HAD the procedure- telling me how hard it's going to be. I have no illusions, but am trying to get my head in the game.
Fear means Face Everything And Rise. I need to take that to heart.
Sunday, September 30, 2018
Henry Ong
There is an Irish saying, that tears shed here speed a soul's progress to heaven. Last night, so many of us were weeping, but I don't think Henry needed our tears to pass into whatever plane awaits us when we leave this one.
He was one of the good ones.
I met Henry almost 30 years ago, when he was a PR specialist at the LA Public Library and I was doing... what I am still doing. I had no idea that my sweet funny co-worker was on his way to becoming a world renowned playwright. He must have been working on Madame Mao's Memories then. I lost track of him but we reconnected at some point, I think when a play he was asked to write for local deaf students was presented. Chris and I were able to see readings and performances of his work. I loved his adaptation of "Nina Balatka" I remember how happy he was to see us at the original reading of The Blade of Jealousy at UCLA. We saw it again at a reading to try to get investors and finally, I celebrated my 60th birthday at a full stage production on Opening Night this past June. Henry was glowing, as he usually was.
I am glad he got to produce his Magnum Opus, "The Dream of the Red Chamber", doing a Chinese street theater style version of it in a park. He even gave me and Chris a few lines to read to be part of it. I was still recovering from pneumonia at that point and I was tiring easily, so we only were able to stay for one act. I really wanted to see more. It was classic Henry Ong, with great characters and silly little asides, much like Henry himself. When I first met him, he would walk up to a group of us, look at us and ask if we had seen someone who was standing in the group. It became a "bit" and he would always act shocked that the person was right there. He could be so silly.
My first thoughts on hearing of his passing were of his husband, Matthew. The love between them was palpable. Word fail me here.
Henry, I'm sorry I never got to love Trollope the way you did. Maybe I should give the old boy another shot. I am sorry we never got to have that dinner here at Casa Myers. I make a wicked vegan curry. This week, I will make it to share and talk about you. You are not really gone; just "hiding behind a pillar" Your work will continue to be performed and enjoyed. I love you, Henry Ong.
He was one of the good ones.
I met Henry almost 30 years ago, when he was a PR specialist at the LA Public Library and I was doing... what I am still doing. I had no idea that my sweet funny co-worker was on his way to becoming a world renowned playwright. He must have been working on Madame Mao's Memories then. I lost track of him but we reconnected at some point, I think when a play he was asked to write for local deaf students was presented. Chris and I were able to see readings and performances of his work. I loved his adaptation of "Nina Balatka" I remember how happy he was to see us at the original reading of The Blade of Jealousy at UCLA. We saw it again at a reading to try to get investors and finally, I celebrated my 60th birthday at a full stage production on Opening Night this past June. Henry was glowing, as he usually was.
I am glad he got to produce his Magnum Opus, "The Dream of the Red Chamber", doing a Chinese street theater style version of it in a park. He even gave me and Chris a few lines to read to be part of it. I was still recovering from pneumonia at that point and I was tiring easily, so we only were able to stay for one act. I really wanted to see more. It was classic Henry Ong, with great characters and silly little asides, much like Henry himself. When I first met him, he would walk up to a group of us, look at us and ask if we had seen someone who was standing in the group. It became a "bit" and he would always act shocked that the person was right there. He could be so silly.
My first thoughts on hearing of his passing were of his husband, Matthew. The love between them was palpable. Word fail me here.
Henry, I'm sorry I never got to love Trollope the way you did. Maybe I should give the old boy another shot. I am sorry we never got to have that dinner here at Casa Myers. I make a wicked vegan curry. This week, I will make it to share and talk about you. You are not really gone; just "hiding behind a pillar" Your work will continue to be performed and enjoyed. I love you, Henry Ong.
Wednesday, September 26, 2018
Writing or lack thereof
Recently, I got a call from my Alma Mater, asking me to donate $100 to the school. I could do it quarterly, so I said "Why not?" even in these economic times, I think I can swing $25 every three months.
I got a gracious letter from the Dean of Humanities ( I have a degree in English, as I am fond of pointing out, which means I can quote Chaucer while asking if you would like fries with that.) She invited me to contact her assistant and arrange a tour and lunch. Seriously, I would be ashamed to have such attention for a measly $100, which was the point, I suppose. They would probably get more money out of me if I went so, no.
In talking to the Poly Sci major who solicited me ( good training if you are going to work in politics, right?) I talked about what I was involved in at CSUN. It's been a long time, but she made me remember working on the school literary magazine, then called "Angel's Flight" She said she had never heard of it. That made me sad, but I looked it up. They still DO one, it's just called something else- the Northridge Review, I think.
As I looked at things regarding Angels' Flight, there was a lot of it I remember differently. Time smooths things over, I suppose,
The Editor ( who was listed as the founder, but that's just BS) was a woman I disliked. She didn't care for me either, but I was "allowed" to stay and work because they needed bodies. I had worked on literary magazines in High School and college and had initially hoped to be some kind of editor ( I was good at it, even if I CAN'T edit my own stuff worth a tinker's dam) She was killed in a car accident the summer between my junior and senior year, which she had prophetically written about in a poem called "Premonition" She was older than I was and I think she was going for her doctorate. After her death, all of her mean girl behavior- and she was for all intents and purposes a mean girl- were swept under the rug. I believe we dedicated the next edition of the magazine to her, fitting and proper even if she were not a nice person. In the minds of a few she was a saint and a brilliant poet and her loss was mourned all over the poetry world. I remain neutral. Maybe because I knew and disliked her, I failed to see that she was this brilliant wordsmith everyone talks about. I tried to re-read some of her things recently and still feel her work was average, as mine was. I have to be honest with myself. I enjoy writing, but poetry is a minuscule market and you have to be dazzlingly brilliant to be a working poet. It is a craft I enjoy and I may go back to work at it,just for myself. I love the feeling of finding just the right word to express what I am feeling. I try to use as few words as I can to convey the emotion. It's a puzzle, but I enjoy the process.
I am not going to take the Dean up on her gracious offer. It would feel wrong to me. One of these days, I will go back to the Campus and see the changes. I graduated in 1980. The 1994 earthquake reshaped the school and I wonder if I will miss the old campus or delight in the new ones. I should visit the Oviatt Library I practically lived there my last semester. It has been renovated, something I know a bit about. We'll see.
I got a gracious letter from the Dean of Humanities ( I have a degree in English, as I am fond of pointing out, which means I can quote Chaucer while asking if you would like fries with that.) She invited me to contact her assistant and arrange a tour and lunch. Seriously, I would be ashamed to have such attention for a measly $100, which was the point, I suppose. They would probably get more money out of me if I went so, no.
In talking to the Poly Sci major who solicited me ( good training if you are going to work in politics, right?) I talked about what I was involved in at CSUN. It's been a long time, but she made me remember working on the school literary magazine, then called "Angel's Flight" She said she had never heard of it. That made me sad, but I looked it up. They still DO one, it's just called something else- the Northridge Review, I think.
As I looked at things regarding Angels' Flight, there was a lot of it I remember differently. Time smooths things over, I suppose,
The Editor ( who was listed as the founder, but that's just BS) was a woman I disliked. She didn't care for me either, but I was "allowed" to stay and work because they needed bodies. I had worked on literary magazines in High School and college and had initially hoped to be some kind of editor ( I was good at it, even if I CAN'T edit my own stuff worth a tinker's dam) She was killed in a car accident the summer between my junior and senior year, which she had prophetically written about in a poem called "Premonition" She was older than I was and I think she was going for her doctorate. After her death, all of her mean girl behavior- and she was for all intents and purposes a mean girl- were swept under the rug. I believe we dedicated the next edition of the magazine to her, fitting and proper even if she were not a nice person. In the minds of a few she was a saint and a brilliant poet and her loss was mourned all over the poetry world. I remain neutral. Maybe because I knew and disliked her, I failed to see that she was this brilliant wordsmith everyone talks about. I tried to re-read some of her things recently and still feel her work was average, as mine was. I have to be honest with myself. I enjoy writing, but poetry is a minuscule market and you have to be dazzlingly brilliant to be a working poet. It is a craft I enjoy and I may go back to work at it,just for myself. I love the feeling of finding just the right word to express what I am feeling. I try to use as few words as I can to convey the emotion. It's a puzzle, but I enjoy the process.
I am not going to take the Dean up on her gracious offer. It would feel wrong to me. One of these days, I will go back to the Campus and see the changes. I graduated in 1980. The 1994 earthquake reshaped the school and I wonder if I will miss the old campus or delight in the new ones. I should visit the Oviatt Library I practically lived there my last semester. It has been renovated, something I know a bit about. We'll see.
Tuesday, September 4, 2018
Labor Day
Some people think of Labor Day as the "end of Summer" holiday. As a kid, I din't understand the significance of the labor movement. Some people still don't.
There was a guy on a local page complaining that the trash wasn't going to be picked up on Monday because "they are celebrating their holiday" I wanted to say something to him, but sometimes it's better to let sleeping dogs lie on those community pages, but here is what I SHOULD have said:
Look, buddy, Labor Day celebrates how the labor movement improved working conditions for ALL of us in this Country. Labor Unions helped create weekends off, the 8-hour work day, child labor laws, workers compensation, just to name a few. It helped move forward the idea of a minimum wage- a living wage.
I benefit from my Union job, sure, but everyone benefits from the work those early Labor Unions did to improve working conditions in this country.
So as the final Cookout of the summer wound to a close in yesterdays sunset, I wonder how many people raised a glass to the struggles of Labor and celebrated to working class on the first Monday in September?
There was a guy on a local page complaining that the trash wasn't going to be picked up on Monday because "they are celebrating their holiday" I wanted to say something to him, but sometimes it's better to let sleeping dogs lie on those community pages, but here is what I SHOULD have said:
Look, buddy, Labor Day celebrates how the labor movement improved working conditions for ALL of us in this Country. Labor Unions helped create weekends off, the 8-hour work day, child labor laws, workers compensation, just to name a few. It helped move forward the idea of a minimum wage- a living wage.
I benefit from my Union job, sure, but everyone benefits from the work those early Labor Unions did to improve working conditions in this country.
So as the final Cookout of the summer wound to a close in yesterdays sunset, I wonder how many people raised a glass to the struggles of Labor and celebrated to working class on the first Monday in September?
Wednesday, August 29, 2018
August 29. Again
My mom once told me she was glad her mother did not die around a holiday. She said she couldn't remember the exact date and it was easier not to have the date remind her of her loss.
I can't seem to do that.
My mother died on August 29, 2004 after a courageous battle with Alzheimer's My brilliant, funny loving mother slipped away piece by piece for four years. The pain of that still causes my throat to close and the tears to burn my eyes.
I miss her terribly. That really goes without saying but since I am typing it, I am putting it out there.
I think of her when I am in the kitchen, having coffee in the morning. I think of her when I try to balance my bank statements. She pops into my mind at the oddest times.
Recently at work, there was a challenge to post your prom picture. I posted one of me in the beautiful satin dress she made me. It was the most elegant thing I had ever worn. She fussed over the slippery material for a week, getting it just right. It fit me like a glove. The memory of that time is precious to me. Every day I would come home and she would come home from work and she would fit me. It took several adjustments to get it right. It was lovely and no one else had "my" dress. When I went to the prom my senior year, someone had a cape made of the same material as the dress she made me for that dance- it was he dress I wore as a bridesmaid in my sister's wedding four months before.
My mom loved to sew. She used to make all our clothes. I think it was her relaxation.I did not get that gene. I knit ( and still make her slipper pattern when I can) crochet, embroider and needlepoint, but I hate sewing. Sorry Mom.
So, if I seem a bit weepy or far away today, please excuse me. I'm missing my mom. If you still have yours, give her an extra hug or a phone call. She's a gift you will miss when she is gone.
I can't seem to do that.
My mother died on August 29, 2004 after a courageous battle with Alzheimer's My brilliant, funny loving mother slipped away piece by piece for four years. The pain of that still causes my throat to close and the tears to burn my eyes.
I miss her terribly. That really goes without saying but since I am typing it, I am putting it out there.
I think of her when I am in the kitchen, having coffee in the morning. I think of her when I try to balance my bank statements. She pops into my mind at the oddest times.
Recently at work, there was a challenge to post your prom picture. I posted one of me in the beautiful satin dress she made me. It was the most elegant thing I had ever worn. She fussed over the slippery material for a week, getting it just right. It fit me like a glove. The memory of that time is precious to me. Every day I would come home and she would come home from work and she would fit me. It took several adjustments to get it right. It was lovely and no one else had "my" dress. When I went to the prom my senior year, someone had a cape made of the same material as the dress she made me for that dance- it was he dress I wore as a bridesmaid in my sister's wedding four months before.
My mom loved to sew. She used to make all our clothes. I think it was her relaxation.I did not get that gene. I knit ( and still make her slipper pattern when I can) crochet, embroider and needlepoint, but I hate sewing. Sorry Mom.
So, if I seem a bit weepy or far away today, please excuse me. I'm missing my mom. If you still have yours, give her an extra hug or a phone call. She's a gift you will miss when she is gone.
Monday, August 27, 2018
Shakespeare, Utah, road trips and home.
We head for home today after a week of travel and fun.
We had a blast at the Shakespeare Festival IF we were to do it again, I would probably try to go to the lectures, but this vacation was more about sleep and Shakespeare than Shakespeare alone.
The Merry Wives of Windsor was pleasant enough, well acted but I really don't care for musicals where the music is inserted for no good reason. i like MUSICAL THEATER, were the music advances the plot, but Not where they just dropped in period songs to give it flavor. They should just use it as transitional pieces, not have the entire ensemble come out from every corner to sing. It made the play overlong.
We were delighted to spend time with our friend Lisa and have dinner with some of the other members of the Company. It was probably one of the best times on the trip- certainly the FOOD was terrific. A nice relaxing hour!
I seriously underestimated the cost of food and even with looking at the prices often had a sense of sticker shock when the bill arrived. It's ok. We gambled less than we thought we would so we SHOULD be going home with money. The thing is NONE of the food was WOW that's amazing- except the cheese bar at the Bellagio. I ate too much cheese.
I like the people at Bally's best. They are super friendly and helpful. The original bellman was an 81 year old man who was in better shape than most 50 year olds. He was quite funny as well, and he said he used to drive for Mayor Yorty, he laughed when I remembered the nickname "Traveling Sam'
We are off to eat at a buffet, gamble a bit and then head for home. Work tomorrow. I kind of wish we had one more day, but I am sure I have a ton of emails waiting for me. Sigh.
It's been a wonderful trip.
We had a blast at the Shakespeare Festival IF we were to do it again, I would probably try to go to the lectures, but this vacation was more about sleep and Shakespeare than Shakespeare alone.
The Merry Wives of Windsor was pleasant enough, well acted but I really don't care for musicals where the music is inserted for no good reason. i like MUSICAL THEATER, were the music advances the plot, but Not where they just dropped in period songs to give it flavor. They should just use it as transitional pieces, not have the entire ensemble come out from every corner to sing. It made the play overlong.
We were delighted to spend time with our friend Lisa and have dinner with some of the other members of the Company. It was probably one of the best times on the trip- certainly the FOOD was terrific. A nice relaxing hour!
I seriously underestimated the cost of food and even with looking at the prices often had a sense of sticker shock when the bill arrived. It's ok. We gambled less than we thought we would so we SHOULD be going home with money. The thing is NONE of the food was WOW that's amazing- except the cheese bar at the Bellagio. I ate too much cheese.
I like the people at Bally's best. They are super friendly and helpful. The original bellman was an 81 year old man who was in better shape than most 50 year olds. He was quite funny as well, and he said he used to drive for Mayor Yorty, he laughed when I remembered the nickname "Traveling Sam'
We are off to eat at a buffet, gamble a bit and then head for home. Work tomorrow. I kind of wish we had one more day, but I am sure I have a ton of emails waiting for me. Sigh.
It's been a wonderful trip.
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