Sunday, March 28, 2010

They All Laughed at Edison and Also at Einstein

Today would have been our cat Prodigal’s 14th birthday. We held a little graveside ceremony. I set out an open can of cat food and we had a few moments of silence.

Then as soon as we were done I called our other kitties over to eat the food. Problem: they were none of them very interested.

So now I worry that flies will be drawn to it and that they will wander into our house.

But wait a minute—I remember an exciting piece of info I've been dying to share in this venue.

I know how to keep flies totally out of your house. I swear this really works:

Fill a sandwich-sized zip-lock bag with water, then tack it over your outside door.

I read this off the internet last summer, tried it, and we had not one fly in the house all year, where we usually have hundreds.

(I can just hear all the kids who bullied me in 7th grade. You think I’m insane, do you? Try it.
Every one of you will be sorry you harassed me. To a man(or woman), you will call to apologize and beg me to sit at your lunch table.)

Let's all sing! (to the tune of My Country Tis of Thee)

There ain't no flies on us
There ain't no flies on us
No flies on us
There may be one or two
Great big green flies on you
There ain't no flies on us
No flies on us.

Sunday, March 21, 2010

Two Weeks in the Life

A particularly wretched two weeks: sleeping little due to horrid cold, bum knee, and one night about 2 AM discovering a lump on my tongue which I convinced myself was cancer (A rush to the dentist the next morning resulted in the following diagnosis: “I think you bit your tongue.”)

In other news, I found myself overeating horribly, got another rejection letter, tried to tell Trashy how much I enjoyed his sharing but he cut me dead. Set out to fix my laptop's wireless connection and wound up with nonfunctional laptop AND desk top AND printer. (These things should not bother me, but they do.)

On the other hand: I also met with four sponsees (an hour each)and was overwhelmed with what I can only call God’s love. Sitting in the presence of someone who totally trusts you, listening to their deepest darkest secrets without trying to fix them, just mirroring back that they’re normal, OK, just like me, is one of the loveliest experiences God ever gave me.

Last night--Cold gone. After my first full night of sleep in weeks, I got up, had breakfast with a sponsee, then came home and fell asleep like Dagwood on the couch. Three hours later, woke feeling cleansed. Now (My daughter fixed the computers while I was at breakfast) I’m listening to Vivaldi’s Four Seasons. Ah…

Sunday, March 14, 2010

Follow Up on Two Previous Stories

Feb 14th Posting: I saw Kelly today. She got over 35 birthday cards. (She didn’t say how much ice cream money.) But she did say it couldn’t have come at a better time since she’s been overwhelmed taking care of her mother who has Parkinson’s.

March 7th Posting: I lied last week; I really wasn't "over" being trashed, but I thought the story needed some kind of happy ending. (Sorry) But this week I went to a meeting and, based on something a sponsee said, I imagined angels surrounding me. Suddenly I thought, “Everyone here loves me, even Trashy.” And I felt all safe again. (Crazy, I know.) Then he gave a beautiful sharing that brought tears to my eyes.
Now I’m really glad I didn’t put nails under his tires.

March 11, 1917

I miss Dad. His 93rd birthday would have been this week.

I imagine my grandmother pregnant with him, her first child. Waddling about in a Mother Hubbard, probably having heart burn, peeing every time she sneezed, breasts leaking. She could feel the baby kick kick kick and had no doubt assembled little sweaters and blankets and diapers.

And so many Unknowns for her: How much longer? How bad would labor be, anyway? And Boy or Girl?

All this amidst the 1917 news: Czar Nicholas overthrown. U.S. heading towards War. Woodrow Wilson inaugurated the second time. (Strange to think that well-read, politically-savvy Grandma wouldn’t have been considered competent to vote yet!)


On March 11th, I had a birthday party for Dad and invited Mom and LPR. JR made a steak with marchand de vin , bay roasted potatoes, and asparagus with Romesco sauce. (Just the kind of gourmet stuff Dad adored.) LPR and I made ice box cake, Dad’s favorite dessert. (Even in old age he resented the time one Stanley Bernstein came to his birthday and ate all it all.) I had two helpings and imagined Dad relishing it too. Then I made sure some was leftover so he (and I) could have some the next day.

Here's the recipe if you'd like a taste of heaven:

Ice Box Cake

1 pt. (2 cups) whipping cream, whipped
1 tsp. Vanilla
1 pkg. (9 oz.) Nabisco Famous Chocolate Wafers

Add vanilla to whipped cream; stir gently until well blended.
Spread 1-1/2 tsp. of the whipped cream onto each wafer. Stack wafers together, then stand on edge in loaf pan to make a log. Frost with the remaining whipped cream.
IMPORTANT! Refrigerate at least 4 hours or overnight. Cut dessert into slices to serve. Keep away from Stanley Bernstein!

Sunday, March 7, 2010

Trashed Again

Last week I reminded a guy in Program that we Al-Anons aren't supposed to discuss politics during meetings. I thought he’d say, “You're right. Thank you for your diligent attention to Al-Anon's Twelve Traditions.”

Instead he had a screaming fit and started calling me names. I was able to smile and detach with love until he screamed, “YOU'RE ALWAYS PERFORMING!” Against my will, I felt shame shame shame.(You see, there's an element of truth to that.)

Later I thought of all the things I could have said to give him shame shame shame. Too late.
Now I want to place a big nail behind one of his car tires.

Okay, we won't do that. Instead let's analyze: why did I let him get to me?
Because abuse feels so homelike.

In my family, setting boundaries was never allowed. Once, after I got married, I told my alcoholic dad I didn’t want him to drink in my house. All hell broke out. The whole family was mad at me. Dad said he no longer had any feelings for me whatsoever. Mom called me “self-righteous.” Even my favorite aunt accused me of trying to break up my parent’s marriage. For three months none of them spoke to me.
I ended up apologizing to everyone and letting Dad drink in my home any time he wanted.

But now I'm in Al-Anon, I have tools to deal with this, I think.

Eons ago, when I taught preschool, the kids were always running up to me crying, "Mrs. Poe, Johnny said I was a dummy (or whatever.)" I always said, "He just says that because he thinks HE'S a dummy." and they'd run off, happy.

Hmmm.

You know, as I think of it, "Screamer" is always performing.

Isn't life interesting?