Thursday, January 31, 2008

NordicTracks and Prostheses


(Puzzle piece number 8 of 38.)
On this, I would like your input, please.

After you sweetly and tenderly boot your former partner’s physical existence out of your life, what do you do with the leftovers?

I’m not talking specifically about food or social diseases, though these days, a social disease could be quite the serious hangover. But today I’m talking about material stuff, which a lot of us have way too much of (one of Auntie’s pet peeves).

Allow me to paint a couple impressionistic to realistic pieces: You cast a gaze upon your mantle and view a photo of the happy, little, ignorant couple, and it makes you cringe, then rip! Leafing through paperwork, you uncover a love note, causing you to emit a groan, then you get sick, then rip some more! Or maybe you’re a toughie, and you force a laugh. Ha!

You head over to the fridge, hoping to find some satisfaction for your belly and what do you see? your former’s favorite beer or wine or sparkling water. As you’re rolling your eyes, you spot a hole in the wall where a nail once held another cruddy Kodak moment.

Why couldn’t I have attracted a stray cat rather than a skunk? ’Cause I’d miss the cat if it split.

So you tootle through your place to locate some spackling compound to fill the hole in the wall and your head, and you spot Former’s cordless drill set in the garage. The least he could’ve done is left charged batteries.

You’re too annoyed to read a book, so you decide to do a load of wash and listen to the new Eagles Long Road out of Eden CD, repeatedly listening to the instrumental “I Dreamed There Was No War,” yet feeling like starting one. When you’re putting the warm, dry clothes away, out fall Former’s socks and undies, apparently tossed into the laundry basket preboot.

That’s it for leftovers! What am I gonna do with all this stuff? Burn it in the fire pit? It’s a novel way to meet fireguys and firegals.

You can toss, rip, recycle, or exchange stuff, like the person him- or herself. But what do you do with big things, like a grand piano, a NordicTrack clothes tree, or a prosthetic leg?

My best guy friend (BGF) had his leg removed because of cancer and tried a prosthesis, which never fit him quite right, so he quit using it.

“What did you do with it?” I asked him one day over 20 years later.

“Oh, I left it at a former girlfriend’s house…in her closet.”

“And what did she do with it?”

“I don’t know. I never talked to her again.”

Therein lies the dilemma. Once departed, returning for anything seems unlikely.

So what do you suppose this former girlfriend did with my BGF’s temporary extension. Craigslist and eBay didn’t exist back then. Did she have a garage sale?

What would you do with big leftovers?

copyright © 2008 by Auntie Eartha. All rights reserved.

If you like it, link it!
http://auntieeartha.blogspot.com/2008/01/nordictracks-and-prostheses.html

Wednesday, January 30, 2008

Limp Wrists and Poodles


(Puzzle piece number 7 of 38.)
All my friends could tell: the relationship wasn’t working.

The knots in my stomach prevented restful sleep, and I’d awaken nauseated. Still, I had made a commitment and, to me, it meant “life.”

“As in, ‘sentence’?”

Well, maybe. So despite the anxiety, I’d still do his laundry, make his breakfast, snacks, and lunch to go, then dinner. I’d shampoo the carpets every other day when his minipoodle would pee on the floor.

“Wait a minute!! You had a relationship with a guy who had a miniature poodle?”

Yeah, so? I was in love and would do anything for him. But during the day, I did wonder what he was doing. Is he looking for a place to move? Has he found a new person to replace me? Is it a guy?

When we’d have a disagreement, he'd leave for a couple of days. That way he wouldn’t have to talk and let me know what he was thinking. I’m not sure where he’d go.

And he really didn’t like saying thank you or showing appreciation for all I did for him, while I put my own work on the back burner. But I just knew eventually he’d thank me. Plus he said that as soon as he established himself in this new city, he’d help pay some of the household expenses, such as rent, utilities, and groceries, since, as a handyman, he ate as much as a teenage boy. It was so cute! Especially when he’d talk with his hands and flick his wrist…

“Excuse me? The guy didn’t say thank you, and he had a limp wrist?!”

…and his favorite movie was In & Out with Kevin Kline. He loved the part where Kline and Tom Selleck kissed for ten seconds.

Then one day long after he “established” himself and still wasn’t financially contributing, I awakened feeling used…

“as in up?”

Yep! So the poodle went to the Humane Society, the lunch-to-go stayed at home, the grocery bill went down 60 percent, and he went, well, he’s probably in and out of somewhere!

And I got glasses.

copyright © 2008 by Auntie Eartha. All rights reserved.

If you like it, link it!
http://auntieeartha.blogspot.com/2008/01/limp-wrists-and-poodles.html

Tuesday, January 29, 2008

The Thing You Gave Away


(Puzzle piece number 6 of 38.)
Have you ever given something away then discovered you really needed it? But you made a commitment, the thing was gone, and it was too late to reclaim it. Kind of like passing a fluffer in public, then wishing it weren’t such a smelly one.

So you walk around glumly for a while, regretting your generosity, kicking yourself with the foot you’ve grown out of your backside, wondering if the recipient would kindly return it to you saying, “Gee, I really don’t think I’ll use this as much as you would, so thanks, but you can have it back.”

But when that winning lottery ticket doesn’t materialize, you gently ease the foot out of your rear and move on, living with the memory of The Thing You Gave Away.

Well, I gave my heart away. I know it sounds a little strange, because here I am, but not entirely.

There are nights when I know my heart’s recipient is stomping all over it, laughing without a care as it bleeds all over the room, thumping to escape its cruel captor.

One night the nebula inside my chest billowed as if something were ready to barge out. It felt like an impatient, hungry beast was lunging for its long-awaited meal. Honestly, I thought I was a goner.

But I lived. The beast apparently got its meal, the billowing subsided, and I winched myself out of bed the next morning.

Perhaps, just as cells replace themselves and some organs regenerate, pieces of the nebula in my chest are attracting more positive energy. Soon the dust and gas particles will congregate, reconstitute, and sing Steppenwolf’s “Born to Be Wild.”

These transformations don’t usually happen when I’m alone at nighttime, though. They emerge when I get out of my house and hike, and laugh with friends, and think of crazy, embarrassing things I’ve done (like accidentally, publicly…), and when I contemplate naughty things I could do to retaliate for the brusque treatment given my heart.

Yes, pretty soon I should be back to a better normal, new heart completely intact, ready to take on the next challenge. Till then, though, I’ll keep my foot on the ground, gas in my SUV, and scarred, or is it scared, heart securely guarded by my pawns.

copyright © 2008 by Auntie Eartha. All rights reserved.

If you like it, link it!
http://auntieeartha.blogspot.com/2008/01/thing-you-gave-away.html

Tuesday, January 15, 2008

Blue by You


(Puzzle piece number 5 of 38.)
My fifth birthday comes up as a strong memory. My favorite color is blue, which coincides with the mood of my childhood and the sentiment of my parents’ marriage. Even our Christmas tree donned blue lights and blue balls—think special and painful. So Mom decided to throw me a blue birthday.

She rounded up a few kids she knew and invited us all into our spacious grassy backyard where she’d stuck four-foot wood dowels into the ground. Each dowel was topped with a big blue balloon, so the yard resembled a Columbian execution zone with heads on top of stakes.

After playing in the humid blue balloon maze, we developed quite an appetite. Keeping with Wisconsin nutrition habits, we all gathered inside to eat cake—blue cake with blue icing and blue candles. It was as if Chicken Little was right: the sky had fallen.

By party’s end, Mom was surrounded by blue-tongued, blue-toothed, blue-lipped, wired little bloopers. I’m sure that the next day there were some freaked out little kids when they looked into their toilets—preflush.

What goes in, must come out, so pick a complementary color…and chew thoroughly.

copyright © 2008 by Auntie Eartha. All rights reserved.

If you like it, link it!
http://auntieeartha.blogspot.com/2008/01/blue-by-you.html

Enough Already: Morals, Values, and Freedom*


I know a woman who believes
enough is never enough.
She comes from a wealthy family
while some have it rough.

Everything she gets is free
from our government, you and me,
yet she hails from a different country.
Thank God for her, America’s the land of the free…
home, food, car, gym membership, medical treatment…

There was a woman whom I had wanted to meet for quite some time. I’d see her strolling alone while I walked and talked with my hiking partner. It was obvious this woman was angry: her face emanated it. But it struck me as curious, because her ethnicity is often associated with peace.

One day in January 2003 as I hiked alone, I approached her, said hello, and asked if I might join her. She quietly and reservedly welcomed the idea with an apprehensive smile.

A pretty woman with nutmeg-toned skin and henna-colored hair, her English was understood fairly easily, but her thin body walked uneasily. Being forthright, I told her that I had wanted to meet her for months. I shared threads of my life and asked her about hers—what brought her here and when. Cautiously she offered some answers but sidestepped most questions by suspiciously “forgetting” segments of her life. Her omissions compounded her mysterious nature. She seemed intelligent, so I deduced that her forgetfulness was intentional and the thoughts she chose to share were selectively accessed.

Soon after meeting, I invited her over for wine, tapas, and conversation. Our energy blended into comfortable laughter, and I saw her anger subside. It was as if our souls knew each other. That’s when the friendship began.

I’d invite her to my parties and holiday gatherings, to which she proudly wore colorful, flowing clothes. She met many of my friends and even allowed some to hug her, rather than just bowing a namasté greeting. I learned that she had come to Oregon years ago to live with a communal group, where they shared a common culture. Everyone contributed to the whole, led by a man who brought peace, value, and deeper meaning to their lives.

It was a neat concept to me. Raised in the Midwest by workaholics, my lifestyle was more driven, more stressful. There were no handouts. Even as a child, if I wanted something, I worked to earn it. I hadn’t felt peace living with my parents. And by the look on this woman’s face, her peace was fleeting.

Within months of knowing her, a mad, selfish child erupted from this 65-year-old woman’s depths. She’d call at my busiest time of day and demand that I help her with a medical or legal issue, or advise her on her new car purchase and how to deal with financial matters. She’d have a communications problem with another, then need to understand a word’s definition.

She never asked, “Are you busy?” or “Do you have a moment?” Like an inconsiderate child, she demanded my attention. She no longer contributed to our relationship. Her rapid-fire questions never opened space for a response. When I would start to reply, she’d garrulously speak over me.

Though she doesn’t permit many to know her, her energy is felt by many. The managers of her apartment complex lost patience with her threats and complaints, so they encouraged her to move. After one year of living in a brand new, beautiful apartment, she chose to move back into her previous neighborhood. I researched possible places for her, gave her information, shared crime stats.

But listening is not her forté. Being demanding and living free are.

This woman-child frequents doctors’ offices because of an injury sustained at the hands of a doctor, the purported reason for her torment. Visits to the hospital emergency room for unrelated problems are too frequent for one without earned income. She walks to the gym when conditions are good and rarely drives her brand, new all-wheel-drive car; I see it parked in the lot by the latest apartment she complains about.

Recently I referred a handyman-painter friend to this woman—another momentary lapse of reason. He later told me he’d met her, felt sorry for her, and would paint her entire apartment for $350—an $850 job. I said he was being conned. I was embarrassed for referring him, hurt by her imposition, and told the woman just that. He still went to her apartment to paint, but she immediately told him to leave. I haven’t heard from her since.

As my mom used to say, “Enough already!” And now I’m free!

* This essay lacked in finding any humor in this mediocrity.

copyright © 2008 by Auntie Eartha. All rights reserved.

If you like it, link it!
http://auntieeartha.blogspot.com/2008/01/enough-already-morals-values-and.html