I didn’t post this on Valentine’s Day because heaven forbid I taint someone’s heart-shaped chocolates with my sour grapes, but for cryin’ out loud, could you keep your love to yourself? Not all of us receive flowers or teddy bears on this particular day, ya know. It should be called Salt in the Wounds Day for those of us who aren’t partnered up.
I’m glad you got a dozen roses. I genuinely am. But by insisting that I smell them you aren’t saying, “Look! I got flowers!” You’re saying, “Look! I got flowers… and you didn’t.” And believe me, I’m already well aware of that fact.
So enjoy your day. Revel in the fact that you are loved. But try and be just the tiniest bit sensitive to those of us who are walking barefoot through the jagged shards of our grief or broken hearts. Don’t offer me pity chocolate (it only proves you don’t like the ones with the almond centers). I’ll buy some for myself on the day after, when it goes on sale.
“You do realize they’re only happy to see you because you’re their source of food, right?”
“I refuse to believe that.”
“And they lick you for the salt.”
“You make them sound like parasites.”
“If you started beating them they’d turn on you in a hot minute.”
“The same could be said for the average human.”
“And acting cute helps assure that you keep them around.”
“Here’s a question: Why are you so hellbent on convincing me that my dogs don’t love me? What is love, anyway? Here’s what I know. These dogs keep me warm at night. They help me feel safe. They make me laugh, they help make me feel less alone in the world, they’re someone to talk to, they come to me when they’re afraid, they choose me over everyone else, they bring me joy, and I love them. That’s more than good enough for me.”
There’s no lonelier feeling on earth than the realization that no one considers you to be their top priority. Sadly a lot of us can say that. That’s why so many of us have pets. You just can’t beat having someone who is happy to see you when you get home.
If you are somebody’s number one, don’t take it for granted. It’s a precious gift. And I hate to say it, but speaking from experience, life is so incredibly fragile that that comfortable feeling could pop like a soap bubble when you least expect it. So if someone loves you, cherish that person. Show your appreciation. All the time.
In fact, now would be good. Right now. Get up from your computer and tell the person that you love most in the world that you love him or her. Because nothing else matters. If you won’t do it for yourself, do it for all of us who don’t have that gift right now. Because let me assure you that when you don’t have it, you ache for it.
‘Twas an odd Christmas indeed for me this year in this land of total strangers. I didn’t deck the halls with boughs of holly. I didn’t string lights. I didn’t attend parties or wrap gifts. I left no cookies out for Santa as I knew that this year he’d pass on by. It’s hard to put on the ritz for a party of one. Instead I went to work.
While others donned their ugly Christmas sweaters, I was struggling into a pair of coveralls that make me look like a prison inmate. While others were drinking egg nog and singing carols, I was wiping the grease off trunions. While others were watching It’s a Wonderful Life, I was removing grime from buffer landings and striker plates. Drawbridges don’t clean themselves, don’t you know.
Before you start feeling sorry for me, though, I have to say that I was actually quite happy doing all this, and not just because of the double time and a half pay rate. Although I had been braced to feel completely sorry for myself, somewhere along the way this feeling washed over me. It was the purest, most sincere sense of gratitude I’ve ever felt in my life. It actually brought sappy little tears of joy to my eyes.
After a couple years of pure hell, it suddenly occurred to me that in actual fact I’m in a really good place in my life right now. I’m not sure how I lucked out. A lot of it really was total dumb luck. But here I am, reaping the benefits regardless.
I’ve got the best job I’ve ever had in my life. I’m living in a really cool city. I’ve got my dogs, and a nice, safe place to live. I get to sleep at night like a normal person for the first time in 13 years. Things are really quite good. The rest will come.
At some point this made me think of that scene in the Grinch where he realizes that even though he’s taken all the material things away from the people of Who-ville, somehow he hasn’t managed to steal Christmas. Whether you’re a Christian or not, much can be learned from that story. Gratitude and love are what counts in this world. All the rest is just frosting. The cake is the thing.
And I do feel gratitude and I have love in abundance. Life is good.
A well thought out gift will always say, “I cared about you enough to take the time to really think about what would make you smile.” What could be more special than the gift of caring? That’s why we say it’s the thought that counts. You took the time to know me, know what interests me, know what my favorite color is and what size I am, what I wish for, what I need. You took an interest. We don’t make that sort of effort for just anyone.
Today many people in the world will exchange gifts. Some of those gifts will gather dust on a back shelf, or be relegated to the “regift” pile. That’s so unnecessary. Those gifts were usually exchanged out of some sense of obligation. The ugly sweater that doesn’t fit from the distant relative. The coffee mug from the coworker who has overlooked the fact that you don’t drink coffee. Don’t even get me started on the inedible fruitcake. And the frustrating thing about these types of presents is that the giver and the receiver usually both know what a waste they are.
The world is already full of more stuff than we need. Why add to that mix stuff that won’t be used or appreciated? In recent years, when I have felt the need to give a gift to someone who isn’t in my most intimate circle of friends or relatives, I have given a microloan to Kiva.org or a donation to Heifer International in their names. That way someone who really needs help to help themselves will benefit, and you can share in that warm feeling with the recipient of that gift. You can’t go wrong like that, because I guarantee you that the life of someone, somewhere will be improved by your generosity.
Always remember the most basic reason for giving someone a gift. It’s a way to show love. In the end, that’s all that really matters. If you are not sincerely putting love into the process, the least you can do is send some care and consideration out into the wider world.
I had the most distressing phone conversation the other day. I try to call my favorite aunt, who is 85 years old and lives in Connecticut, about once every two weeks. Her health is not good. She’s in constant pain, but she has a killer sense of humor and her mind is sharp as a tack. She’s about the same age as my mother would have been if she had survived past her 60’s, so that means she has a special place in my heart for that reason as well.
I was expecting our usual chat. Cracking jokes, complaining about aches and pains, feisty gossip that for some reason she feels she can only share with me. Not this time. Maybe she was tired, maybe I caught her just as her pain medication was kicking in. I hope that was all it was. God, please let that be all it was.
Because the person I talked to did not know me at all. This person had my aunt’s voice and I’m assuming she had my aunt’s body, but it was like my aunt wasn’t there. She kept thinking I was my sister. She asked about a husband that I do not have. I said, “Aunt Betty, you know you’re talking to Barb, right?” She replied, “Oh! Sorry. I’m a little confused. So, have you heard from Barb?” “This is Barb.” “Oh, yeah… I love all the postcards Barb sends me.”
I don’t know which upset me more, the fact that she didn’t know me, or the fact that she wasn’t herself. This was not my hilarious, feisty aunt. This was a meek, confused person who seemed… well… old. It made me sad.
To be honest, I fear getting dementia much more than I fear death. To lose my memories, the only things in life that are uniquely mine, is a terrifying prospect. Losing myself and yet leaving my body behind is the stuff of nightmares.
This situation also reminded me of one of the last conversations I had with my mother. In the very end stages of her cancer she was pretty zonked on pain medication. She’d have good days and bad days. One day she seemed to be having a very good day, and I said as much. She said, “I am! My daughter Barb is meeting me for lunch!” When I hung up the phone, I burst into tears, because she was in Virginia and I was in Florida, so I knew I’d be standing her up. I sort of hoped her confusion was enough so that she wouldn’t remember to be disappointed. It’s hard when someone leaves you before their body does.
So I’ll call my aunt back in two weeks and hope for the best. But I’ll be scared. Whether she knows me or not, I’ll tell her I love her. Because everyone should know they’re loved, even if they don’t know by whom.
Everywhere I go in my new city of Seattle, I seem to practically trip over attractive men in my age group who at least appear to be straight and single. And they’re all very nice when I interact with them. These are all good signs.
The thing is (yes, there’s always a thing) they are oblivious, usually, to my interest. I’ve seen this in male friends my entire life. I’ll say, “Couldn’t you tell that girl was hitting on you?” and inevitably they reply, “She was?” Clueless. As dense as a London fog.
Of course, there is the possibility that every single one of them isn’t the least bit interested in me. But if I believe that, I may as well throw in the towel right now. And then I’d be without a towel. That would never do.
I think what I need is an ad executive. A professional who will come up with creative ways to put my intentions out there. Find a way of saying, “Hey! Don’t just smile and jog past! There’s potential for romance here!” “Hey! I appreciate you holding this door open for me, but I’d rather you stop and actually talk to me.” “Hey! Thanks for the advice on fun places to see in Seattle while exchanging meaningful eye contact, and thanks even more for drawing me a map on how to get to these places. Now ask to come with me.” Or maybe I should start with simply, “Hey!” Because I don’t even seem to be getting that across without help.
I’m thinking of getting a t-shirt that says, “My dogs love me. You would, too.”
My departure from Jacksonville was a strange one indeed. The night before, after having a lovely dinner with one of my dearest friends in the world, I came home and started loading a bunch of last minute stuff in the car. I thought I had closed the door to the house behind me. I really did. But when I looked up it was open and my dogs were nowhere to be found.
I spent the next hour walking the neighborhood in tears, hollering their names. Of course I went to the extreme. What if I couldn’t find them by morning and I had to drive away without them? But then just like that they wandered up to me, looking very perplexed that I was blubbering on the street.
We got back to the house and I guess about two months of accumulated stress and anxiety decided to come out all at once and I just fell to pieces, and finally went to bed utterly drained.
The next morning I packed all the last minute stuff and did all the last minute cleaning, and another dear friend stopped by bearing Krispy Kreme doughnuts. This used to be a strictly Southern thing, so I didn’t have the heart to tell him they have them in Seattle, too. But it was good to see him. He was sick as a dog, and had dragged his wretched self out of bed just to say goodbye one last time. That’s a true friend.
When he left I told him I loved him and he said he loved me too. He said, “You are going to have an amazing life.” I got tears in my eyes.
It’s funny. All my friends seem to fall into two extreme camps. Those who can say I love you back, and those who get uncomfortable by the whole concept and can only respond with a smart aleck retort. (You know who you are.) The thing is, I know they love me. They show me in so many ways. But it would be nice to be told. Ah well.
Anyway, after he left, me and the dogs hit the road. It felt kind of abrupt. After a month of long, drawn out preparations and hurdles and arrangements and stress and anxiety, suddenly, BAM! We were on our way. Just like that.
And as I drove out of Jacksonville, my home for 30 years, I felt oddly indifferent. First of all, there is no “You are now leaving Jacksonville, please come again” sign on the interstate, so I didn’t have a definite dividing line. Second, it’s the people who make the place, and I had been saying good bye to the people for weeks. So the geographical change didn’t have the impact I was expecting.
But I did observe a tradition I always observe when crossing my home state line. I take a deep breath and I blow all my worries and cares and problems over my shoulder. I leave them in Florida. And this time, I also symbolically blew away my bad habits and grudges and things I’d like to get past as well. (Floridians may want to wear a gas mask for about a week, because it could take a while for all that stuff to dissipate.) Crossing into Georgia, I felt rather cleansed. Lighter.
In Georgia I stopped for gas, and a rather rough looking motorcycle gang pulled in behind me. I’ve never had a problem with bikers. They don’t bother me, I don’t bother them. But this time I took my dogs out of the car and was walking them on a patch of grass, and one of the scariest looking guys comes up and says, “Oooh! Can I pet your puppies? Are they friendly?” And we had a nice long chat about his 10 Chihuahuas and about Seattle. As he walked away, awash in tattoos and leather, he wished me a safe journey. It’s funny the people you meet when you travel. (That’s also a reminder about not judging books by their covers.)
So the first leg of my journey was a short one. 245 miles. I’m now safely ensconced at my sister’s house. I wish all the legs were going to be this short. Next stop, Paducah, Kentucky!
I’ve been in high stress mode for a while now, between the death of my boyfriend, a horrific financial situation, and having to find and then move to another house. I am on the ragged edge. I need a break.
It would be really nice if someone would bring me flowers, take me out to dinner, and then give me a nice foot massage (among other things). I want to be pampered, cared for, and cuddled. I want to be appreciated and accepted and feel special.
Unfortunately I’m fat and 49 and I work the graveyard shift, so my field of potential suitors is, well, nonexistent. But hold on. I care about me. I appreciate and accept me most of the time. Why can’t I pamper myself? Why can’t I do something special by myself? And why does it never occur to most of us to entertain that option?
So as soon as the dust settles from this move, I intend to take myself out on a date. (I’ve already asked myself, and I told myself yes.) I’m going to buy myself some flowers. I’m going to splurge on something extravagant to eat. Then I’m going to take myself home, play some smooth jazz, light a candle, turn the lights out, and take a nice bath. Yeah, that’s what I’m gonna do. If I play my cards right, I may even take myself to bed. Because I think I’m quite a catch.
A friend of mine sent me a link to a story about Richard Dunn, a guy who, finding himself stranded overnight in the Las Vegas Airport, asked for a roll of tape and shot this hilarious video by attaching his phone to his suitcase, among other things, and making creative use of escalators, moving walkways, signage and water bottles.
I saw this video and fell instantly in love. First of all, I appreciated this guy’s self-deprecating humor, which made me laugh at a song that I’ve more than once cried to in my lifetime. I also admired his intelligence and creativity. He could have felt sorry for himself and slept on the airport floor all night (which I’ve done a time or two myself), but instead he decided to do something innovative and fun, and that suggests that he’d be fun to be around. And he knows how to make the best of a bad situation and does not take himself too seriously, which are very valuable qualities in a life partner. The whole video is one delight after another. It also doesn’t hurt that he appears to be in my age group and I find him physically attractive.
So I went there in my head. I doubt it’s any secret that I have an overactive imagination, but I pictured us 20 years from now sitting on the veranda of our mountain cabin (because he, of course, would naturally want to live where I want to live), our grandchildren at our feet (which is an amazing feat since I am past childbearing age and wouldn’t want kids even if I could still have them, but allow me a little poetic license, here.) He’s saying, “Yeah, your grandma and I met because she saw this little video I did, and she contacted me, and it was love at first sight.” Happily ever after, and with many fun stories about being stranded in airports all around the world. I had found my soul mate.
And then I watched the video again and noticed the wedding ring. It was right there the whole time. CRAP!!!!
Richard, Richard, what might have been. How will I break the news to the grandchildren? Ah well. At least we’ll always have the Las Vegas Airport.
So I’m snuffing out the candles, and turning off the hot tub in my mind. I guess I’ll order pizza and drown my sorrows in hot pepperoni. Next!
Check out my follow up on this blog entry here. It’s been crazy!
The View from a Drawbridge 