Soirées

It’s all worth it.

Our Christmas Eve soirée was filled with so much love and friendship that I will feel abundantly fulfilled for a long time.

So next time my tank’s on not-quite-full, I’m having a party!

How ’bout you?

copyright © 2009 by Auntie Eartha. All rights reserved.

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Balls

My friend said he has big balls.

I told him it’s just edema.

He said that they’re dark blue.

I told him a different shade would better complement his natural coloring.

Last Friday this friend went into the hospital for an “overnight,” plaque-removal procedure in his leg. He ended up in ICU for five days, then in cardiology for one. The artery cleansing was supposed to take up to an hour; instead, it lasted five hours and involved a close-to-death experience.

On the same day I didn’t have transportation, because my vehicle needed a new starter, soon after I’d bought a new battery: two things my body could use. Sometimes life’s events are like bouts of diarrhea.

So I didn’t see him until Saturday morning, and we both teared up when I said how scared we all were. He was too.

I love this guy. He’s a good person who brings out the best in me and sweetly, kindly encourages me to push myself to become better—to play piano better, to sing better, to play guitar better, to play golf better, to play tennis better. Note the word play. He works hard as a software engineer-consultant, and when the work is done, if he’s not in the bathtub, he’s playing (with) something.

As with any relationship, it isn’t perfect. We always do something that the other doesn’t like. He doesn’t like it that I have so many male friends, not noticing that I also have a lot of female friends and spend most of my time alone.

I never liked his smoking or his pitting me against another female—the mean, self-absorbed, controlling type. Fact is, in our 11 years of friendship, we’ve parted company several times for these two reasons. Bad stuff.

And once, after he said, “Huh?” for the eighty-sixth time in an evening, I said, “That’s it! Leave. And don’t come back till you have hearing aids!” A couple months later, he called to say he’d gotten hearing aids.

But he doesn’t wear them. Funny thing, though: his hearing has improved, especially around dinnertime.

I asked him yesterday, “Do you know how hard it is to love someone who smokes?” Watching someone you care about suffer through self-infliction is heartbreaking. Knowing that they will probably die a painful death is exhausting. Truth is, even though I’m quite an energetic person, I am physically, emotionally, and mentally drained from feeling my dear friend’s pain. I simply could not separate myself from being a part of him.

Meanwhile, his self-obsessed female constantly wore everyone down with her perpetual intrusions. My friend, who should have had a loving and calm environment to heal his mind and body, was inflicted with high blood pressure, trying to make peace between her and his 89-year-old mom and daughters. She sure kept me away until my friend requested my presence.

So here my friend and I go again, hanging around like his big balls. But time will tell how big they really are. Will he really stop emasculating himself by putting a cigarette to his lips? Can he grow with the positive? Will he notice all my girlfriends? Or will we be playing ping-pong with body parts?

copyright © 2009 by Auntie Eartha. All rights reserved.

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Inauguration Day

What a glorious day for the United States of America!

We the people in our republic, democratically elected a gentleman of African American, English, and Irish descent. Many of my friends must feel profound joy in helping bring Barack Obama to his position of Commander in Chief, particularly my black friends, who may not have imagined this success possible.

My sister, whom I met October 6, 1986, isn’t much older than I. She remembers having to nurture her thirst from a drinking fountain for blacks only. It’s hard to imagine a world like that, yet prejudice exists. I know.

And though the reflections in Ecclesiastes 3 say…

“There is a time for everything,
and a season for every activity under heaven:
a time to be born and a time to die,
a time to plant and a time to uproot,
a time to kill and a time to heal,
a time to tear down and a time to build,
a time to weep and a time to laugh,
a time to mourn and a time to dance,
a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them,
a time to embrace and a time to refrain,
a time to search and a time to give up,
a time to keep and a time to throw away,
a time to tear and a time to mend,
a time to be silent and a time to speak,
a time to love and a time to hate,
a time for war and a time for peace.” [NIV]

…my prayer is that the world will see America’s vision to work hard and in peace toward a loving, sustainable home planet, and we will all work together to plant, to build, to dance, to embrace, to be silent, to love in peace [using more contraception], and in a sense, to be born again.

copyright © 2009 by Auntie Eartha. All rights reserved.

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Birthdays and Blessings

I just turned 34 again.

I’ve been turning 34 for so long, I can’t remember how old I really am. And since no one is charitable enough to card me when I order a glass of wine, I don’t have to look at my driver’s license or even take it out of my car. I wonder if it’s expired.

To celebrate my big event, I invited 70 people from all over the U.S. hoping that someone from afar would surprise me with a visit and a substantial donation to my nonprofit organization, but no luck.

Instead, I received much more: respect, honor, and renewed friendship from 40 people closer to home and 20 more via phone calls, cards, gifts, and e-mails. I felt like a tsunami of love poured over me.

The best part about aging is being comfortable in one’s own skin—a condition some never achieve, making them difficult to endure. It’s looking into the trusty mirror, suppressing a gasp, and thoughtfully pondering, I wonder how many Botox treatments I’d need to spackle these cracks.

Beyond the weathered skin is where comfort lies…except on fat-stomach days. I used to have a plump body five days a month. The numbers have transposed: flat-stomach days, five; fat, 25. On those glorious five days, I try to be deeply comfortable, but the critic inside my head won’t shut up.

Mind, body, spirit.

My mind is still sharper than my tongue. I remember more than what would be expected if I worked as a firefighter, waitperson, or CIA agent. That’s why I’m not married. If I could forget some things, forgiveness would be so much easier. “Sure, I forgive you. What’s your name again?” I’ve tried to be more like Jesus and Gandhi, but I’ve only received the persecution.

True under-the-skin comfort comes through spirits. After drinking enough of them, you’re at ease. Okay, I mean spirit. Being comfortable in your own skin is deeply understanding and accepting who you are, continually getting better, living honestly, honestly living, and embracing yourself when no one else will.

Most of my friends make my life easier. They’re stable, fun, have no pretenses, and live authentically. Others move easily around them, because they love and respect themselves first. They are my role models. One of my best role models is my 15-year-old daughter—the best gift a mom could ever receive.

I am blessed…and I didn’t even have to sneeze. Thank goodness, because I forgot to put on my diapers.

copyright © 2008 by Auntie Eartha. All rights reserved.

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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