A Tale of Two Men

Today look to see a young man in a wheelchair, his face contorted with anger ranting at another man speaking to his mom in Spanish in San Juan airport of all places.

The hellfire torture a person feels over the loss of mobility can only be inadequately imagined, my heart felt for this soul, so I watched him rave a second time. Nothing justifies his behavior to people who were minding their own business, but my heart hurts for him none the less.

Only those who have lost a limb or mobility have any idea of how this young man hurts over the life that might have been his or what he could have done. You’re right; it’s no excuse for bad behavior, if you watch it again it’s a cry for help.

Look in the ranting man’s face; do you see rage? You’re speaking Spanish in the airport is getting on my last nerve rage?

Picture the scene that set the rage monster off, a mom chatting with and cooing over her fit and fine young military son in a way Latina women have of adoring their sons. Looking whole and wonderful her son reflected her adoration, and in hellfire, he sat dwelling on his loss; you can say, how sad or man up, but neither change that this man needs help and more compassion than he showed.

The raging man in a wheelchair may be the focus of this story, but on the flip side, we have a young man who I’d like to recognize for his cool and appropriate behavior. Way to go!!

The young man off camera spoke in reasonable tones telling him he too was military; he was talking to his mom who spoke Spanish, hoping for the angry man to empathize. Blessed are the peacemakers. 

Impossible, Unlikely, Oh, No

Note to army: as long as you guys are out there under Martial Orders you can rape if you want. Or was it more of a get out there and rape somebody memo?

What democratically elected president of a country would say that? Officers may start with my campaign volunteers; they’re young and stupid.

Not many world leaders vie to knock the US President off the big jerk platform, but the leader of the free world butting ahead in line paled in comparison.

Young men murdered defending young women in Oregon; that’s too sad. Tell me this is just another day on planet Earth.

World events, the news reads like fiction. Can we own that something’s not right? Greed and stupidity rise from the swamps like a vapor taking over power and populace simultaneously; welcome to the age of the Atavist.

Republicans may trace back on ancestry.com to Atilla, but I’m beyond the pale unhappy with Democrats; the down the aisle difference of opinion doesn’t cut this schism. Everybody has kicked the can into the gutter. People are pissed.

Bernie is the only politician I trust anymore; in fact, I like the way he thinks, but he’s one person. When the government goes against the population we have tremendous problems, so scary we talk around them.

Lying and pot stirring replaced common sense and caring some time ago. Recent events seem like a return to medieval times with jousting for position and raping and pillaging on deck. A return to the dark ages with technology; what does that look like?

Notes with agendas float past on Facebook, saying dear white friend, I know with a bigotry list attached. Mr. Obama would not have been elected twice without the support of white people; these are the people you react with chiding lists claiming we don’t know how great a president he was. You’re bitch slapping the band. Do you think a single Big T supporter read it?

Smart people don’t kick their dear white friends out from under the covers; I don’t care how pissed about history you may be, you’re too smart to do that, right?

As a longtime Obama mama, the dear white friend post twisted my whiskers. Next, they’ll be telling whites and blacks that we don’t revere Gandhi because we’re not in touch with the Indian experience. Do you see how this goes back up the toilet?

A former Speaker of the House charged with pedophilia, again, while Congress holds a party dismantling protections to the environment and every damn thing they can. Choose black and white or living color, the image of them breaking it off in our behinds remains.

Greed and evil versus everybody else, epic battles dating to forever set the mold for continued battles if we don’t learn; angels, demons, and demigods only fight in the movies anymore. Why not us?

How does the working class grab hold of our government? How do we take charge? Historically a hero rises from the ranks with character; I remember John, Bobby, and Martin. I still cry for their loss. An LBJ about now would be welcome.

Rich people have to actually pay tax for the government to survive as an entity protecting the public good. As a middle-class business owner during the Clinton years, I complained when I wrote the check for my taxes, but ponied up and lived a good life.

Rich people ready to kill for the last quarter greedy doesn’t make sense any more than elected officials body slamming people to the floor.

Are they alien? Is something in the water? I have my own reasons for believing beings from elsewhere are here.

Things happen that people sitting on corners see, that if ever they got together Earth would learn something, but we all know it’s never going to happen.

Ancient family owned banks running roughly over unfortunate people would have more empathy run by humans. Educated Earth men know that the best agreements are the win-win model; win-lose always ends in a rematch.

I believe that people are better than this; that after so much fighting we put our fists down and make peace, so we can get on with life. Always, we made things work.

Who but an alien not depending on our atmosphere wouldn’t mind destroying the environment? All the Earth kiddies turn green and die and you don’t mind; what?

Act Three

I am a Plebeian woman in many a marketplace examining the wares. Being of humble means I look much and purchase little. As I go I look into eyes and see the world; many souls look back, sharing their truths in a passing moment. I see hurt, love, and humanity, as well as, shame inflicted, but mostly not deserved.

I am proud of my cast, commonplace people, the salt on our table. During my productive age, I seldom looked directly into eyes; I didn’t trust, nor wanted to learn their secrets, or them to see my shame.

When you begin with little or nothing you have a plan and stay focused to get something. I believed in business old school, which meant doing my best each day, having integrity. I worked hard and managed to live a life that pleased me. I was blessed by opportunity.

Most of us don’t want to rule the world, just let me do something I can be proud of at the end of the day; it doesn’t matter what. My husband was proud to be a truck driver. He held respect within his company and his boss trusted him. As a Teamster in 705, he played his part in life, as I did as his wife.

The curtain rises on my third act: old age alone. Compliments of unscrupulous bankers, one of my least favorite presidents, and bad timing I have nothing, but thanks to Social Security am able to survive.

Ever wonder if walking off into the sunset means we die together? It didn’t; here I am. Does it matter? Why am I still here?

Act three, old and alone, who wants to see that? But wait a minute, each day holds promise, maybe not like my younger years, none the less, I see a beautiful sunrise and feel the arms of God under stars.

On the internet, I read inspired words from poets responding to their call and see what talented artists produce. I live on a tropical island, driving roads canopied with orange, purple, and white flowers in trees with trunks so wide I can but wonder what changes they’ve seen.

Enjoy the day, each day, one day in the not too distant future will be my last; this much I know. Those I loved, the comfort I strove for is gone, but there is so much value in the humble. I’m blessed when the bones don’t ache.

Travel alone I never thought I could, but adventure need not include tachycardia. Planning, budgeting, and learning about a destination give as much pleasure as the trip, well almost. So often I hit the financial wall with no way written all over it; my challenge to take a break, do something else, and come back with fresh eyes relishes the moment when doable pops into view.

Europe in 2018 what a dream I have for my third act; what do you think, a little Spain and, of course, some Italy?

How About It

When things don’t make sense, when behavior seems too insane to contemplate, we must look outside the box. I know you don’t want to hear this on a day elected officials run amok in the halls of Congress, a school teacher rips off the head scarf of an eight -year-old student, a vacationing family is assaulted on the beach in front of their hotel by a man beating his chest like an ape shouting the Trump will stop this, or a woman shooting a man in the act of raping an animal. Yeah, I see where the last one could be tempting, but, honestly, a miss would have scared the stuffing out of him.

Tell me your life has gone to hell since the Great Recession, well, my world fell apart during that time when bankers bad behavior caught up with the rest of us.Normal creatures lick their wounds and move on; it’s hard as hell, I know. I lost my business, my investment, my lifestyle, and then, my husband died. I know what hair-on-fire feels like and pissed off runs around in the outfield.

Politicians photographed with gleeful, let’s stick it to them expressions doing harm to us; I mean, are they photo-shopped? Why do one thing after another against our interests, even when ultimately they hurt their own families? I lived in a Republican county; Denny Hastert lived down the road. I get Republicans; on many issues, I see their point. This is double bubble, toil, and trouble in green and with warts.

Soon I’ll be sixty-nine, almost ancient, but I feel like I did in the sixties when my friends died in Vietnam. Negative energy abounds and I struggle. But, older and, yes, wiser, I see the cauldron being stirred.

Life isn’t as good; I live on a pittance. In my neighborhood that’s a chronic condition, but we spend our days trying to make the best of it. Being kind or at least nice keeps meet-ups friendly or cordial. You’ve heard the expression: poor, but happy; let me introduce myself.

Before you conclude that I’m down on Republicans, let me tell you that a lifelong Democrat has quit. I’m not happy with them either. Baffle them with bullshit if you can’t impress them with brilliance somewhere down the line became both parties motto.

Why would we elect representatives toxic to us? Our representatives are neighbors; do your neighbors treat you like idiots? Sell off your kids playgrounds? Pay to play mentality benefits the rich and powerful; no doubt, but is it in our DNA or God’s plan that man upon becoming rich and powerful turns into Ivan, the terrible.

When you ruin Earth, what will you do? Hop a rocket to Mars? The rich and powerful, the all powerful Os knows even better than we do that aliens have been here. Even aliens have accidents; other than those, we are hardly aware of the signs that they’re here.

Children of Earth don’t become children of the stars while we’re busy behaving like Neanderthals. I’ve read the writings of the brilliant and hung out with the most humble. I’ve known crazy and seen evil and I truly believe someone is stirring the pot.

An ecosystem doesn’t purge itself, a forest doesn’t naturally burn unless it becomes unhealthy. There’s a natural point at which the snake stops chewing its behind or death ensues.

The rich and powerful exploit Earth like they have a getaway vehicle or they’ve lost control of their headsets.

How many ways could we be manipulated? Think about it. Fifty years ago we were in a race into space; what happened to that?

A new frontier would benefit this generation just as opening American did for our ancestors, but here we are wanting to dig more coal. What’s wrong with this picture?

When Good Things Happen

Have you noticed the weird ways we react to things? When something extraordinarily good would happen to my mom, like the time I gave her a new car, she got a headache. The headache seemed to come regularly with good news.
My brother appeared to blow it off as nothing or just another day that could go sour at any moment. I get so excited you’d think cotton candy was just rated as a low calorie health food.
Reacting strangely to good news surprises me more than how we react to bad news. Bad news or a negative encounter feels like a heavy hand on my head; I can’t wait to shake it off. Learning some techniques on how to shake it off more effectively would help. My ritual of mentally saying, WTF and rolling my eyes to heaven works until something really gets me, and then, I could use a better plan.
I hated to find myself in full blown pissed mode because I could say some hurtful things without a thought. I hate hurting people even when in y opinion they deserve it. I hate how mean that makes me feel.
Now I hate letting myself get pissed because it raises my blood pressure; it’s not good for me.
How long will this last? How can I escape this negativity? Can we make this okay?
Have you ever had a ton of fun friend, who said demeaning things to you? Or made you feel inadequate?
I had a friend who would call me a bitch for the slightest provocation; for example, if I didn’t want to see the movie she wanted, she’d call me bitch.  At first, I ignored it thinking she was taking her frustrations out on me and would get over it. I told her I didn’t like and asked her to stop, but she didn’t.
People’s temper triggers should be respected unless the provoker really wants war because that’s what happens or the provoked wimps out. I don’t like who I can become when angry, so my answer to fun, but abusive people is always, “Goodbye.”
Some people love bickering, saying snippy things and crying to high heaven when war words are returned. Maybe all the evil that gets tossed around in sport soaks into our souls so we act all goofy when truly good things happen; what do you think?

Strange Vibrations

We’re living at an exciting time; yes, I said exciting, not stressful, although that’s true also. We talk about energy vibrations and how things resonate and recently I’ve read a number of articles about how even miles away separated cells vibrate the same. This lends credence to intuitive health modalities I’ve studied and I find that truly exciting.

Holistic healers speak about intention, to focus in your mind the desired outcome. I never bought into that part, preferring to focus on the mechanics of what I was doing. As happens from time to time, I was wrong.

Intention energy created the universe and I was too stupid to pick up on its importance. They say we co-create our world with God through our intentions; yet, at this old age, I’m only now acquiring the habit of asking what outcome I want with things I’m doing. So often I simply find myself doing, proving once again that it’s never too late for a duh moment.

It shocks me how often an old lady can feel like a little girl, but when I contemplate what it means to be an energetic being, I get so excited and vibrate so rapidly I can’t stand it; I have to give myself a time out to calm down.

Perhaps this is why I’m able to see these anomalous energy shifts happening on the planet. I think its aliens, but honestly, I don’t know. Other than the shimmering, we have men and dogs behaving differently.

Other women have reported men behaving strangely, but most of the time that’s just men for you or women’s perception.

Dogs either like you or don’t; they’re not the type to love you one day and bark wildly at you the next.

At first I found these reality blips scary, and then annoying, but I began to notice, well, like I said, men and dogs behaving differently.

One woman said the cow would no longer let her husband milk it and her husband seemed subdued. I couldn’t get her to elaborate. She had the same apprehensive vibe I’ve had for a while now.

Part of the trouble is that if you ask women if they’ve noticed men acting strangely, they want to tell you about what he’s done in the relationship. I could be wrong, but I tend to discount that.

The guys at my gym seem the same, except for one. For months he ignored me, looked right through me. At the gym I stay focused on my workout, so ignoring him was easy, but if you make eye contact with me, I’m going to smile, at least; that’s who I am.

The other day he walked up to me with the bearing of someone who had something to tell. “Did you hear what happened to our friend?” “What friend?” I asked incredulously to this seeming opening to a confidence.

“You know,” he motioned to the counter by the door; his actions indicated pain or difficulty in getting it out.

“She was in a horrible car accident.”  He seemed to be having a terrible time.

“Is she alive?”

I like this woman, so became concerned.

“Oh, no, she’s alive,” he said with relief washing his face.

“Is she alright; how badly was she hurt?” I wanted to know.

“She broke her nose, has two black eyes and bruised her right arm,” he reported before adding, “There was a horse in the accident, too, and he pissed all over her.”

Huh? I couldn’t wrap my head around this new information; how could a woman in her SUV be pissed on by a horse?

Before I could formulate a sensible question the woman in question walked through the door beautifully coiffed and made up wearing a brand new exercise outfit, not what you’d expect from a woman just in an accident.

Could this be an example of this aberrant behavior observed in men? Who knows? Men saying weird shit seems normal actually.

 

Home

I’m just a lonely widow past my productive prime living on an island where I don’t speak the language and have no family ties to the community. Why do I stay here?
It’s warm and beautiful; that’s enough for me. I can’t sell my house; three out of four houses up the road sit vacant and decaying. Maybe when they institute a real estate tax, people barely hanging on will leave. Sad because Puerto Rico grew a warm, loving culture that isn’t the same when Puerto Ricans come back from the states after generations they’re American just like the rest of us, which isn’t bad; it’s different.
What’s the value of living in a melting pot, if you don’t understand your ingredients? It’s like cooking; when I have a sniffing relationship with my vegetables and so forth, I appreciate the flavor when I’m done so much more. Too bad I’m not a good cook, I love to eat and travel.
Where ever I’ve been, I found people to be rather nice; even thieves and murders have charming moments. Mostly, I try to leave it up to God and the courts to decide what’s wrong.
One thing I’ve learned over and over is the value of not judging; being as it’s so difficult not to, I’ll call it a work in progress.
I value my belief that a higher power, a first cause, an intention evolved ahead of everything else; we came from the pleasure of that, which we call God. To my way of thinking to devalue another being in my mind devalues my thoughts of God; I found that profoundly disrespectful.
Looking at whomever I meet as God’s creation, a manifestation of God, that’s become a preoccupation because I love what I find so much of the time I pity the souls who are unable to connect. I adore nodding, smiling, and saying, “Hello.” To me, that connects with a lovely bit of God energy.
People talk about the power of positivity; a smile, a nod, and a greeting do we get a more basic positive exchange than that? We don’t because there’s a dark energy crossing the planet, but I don’t want to discuss that today.
I’m going back to New Orleans, home to the happiest years of my childhood, where I’ve returned throughout my life. New Orleans does weird really well and I’m a fan of weird. The local vibe being a familiar song feels comfortable like a big leather chair.
The loss of my husband depleted my positive energy. I can only handle so much of other peoples’ negative vibes before I need to rush to my corner, where I can see miles of green and blue beauty that God placed before us for our enjoyment.
That’s why Puerto Rico is my home.

Bye-Bye Bread

No bread for three weeks except for one violation a week ago, which caused my eyes to swell and nose to run, so there’s no doubt that I should avoid bread. No warm toast in the morning or sandwich at lunch, and forget about a roll with dinner; that’s so sad. Boo-hoo!!

I’ll have no oyster Po-boys in New Orleans, but who needs anything other than oysters? Will I have the strength to turn down the bread basket with dinner? Who knows?

I can’t seem to get enough carbs from vegetables; twice the past week I’ve had low blood sugar with pre-headache flashing lights before my eyes. Fried bananas with cinnamon cured it tastefully. All these raw vegetables don’t fill me up, so for the first time in a couple of years, I’ve been eating meat. Skirt steak, kale, spinach, cucumber, and artichoke made a wonderful salad; just the kind of entrée that makes me want to order dark chocolate cake for dessert.  I sautéed a whole container of chicken livers for breakfast; none were saved for the dogs.

My back hurts hard today, but it’s raining so no surprise. My morning stretches help and soon I’ll at the gym lifting weights and feeling good. 

Shall We Continue

Anyone who tells you being old is a state of mind isn’t yet old enough to know. At best we have aches and pains to deal with, at worst its terminal illness and death; that’s our reality.

Yesterday was my husband’s birthday; he would have been seventy-four. He turned seventy on his last live birthday; his friend, Pablo threw a fine party for him. It pleases me to remember how happy my darling was that day.

At ninety-four, my mom is healthy enough that she’s optimistically reaching for one hundred. A happy dotage living among her offspring; can you picture all the happy old bubbies/abuelas in the world? We love them. They gave shape to the character of our generation. My mom was a child of the Great Depression whose pain I could see clearly when she told stories of relief shoes and food lines.

If we were to pick a favorite, most instrumental woman in our life, mine would be my father’s sister, my aunt Margaret, who at eighty-eight begged me to help her die. I turned cold when I heard her ask. In one of my more selfish moments, I told her I couldn’t jeopardize my soul by such an act and how she could do it by herself if that was her true intention; she never did, but ten months later God took her.

At some point for all of us, the end will be the option. Deal with it or be a big pussy about it, nothing changes.

All I know is that if this is to be my last sunset, I don’t want to be in the house watching TV. To look at someone, smile, and be happy compensates for enduring many aches. To say, thank you for the small things people do for me gives me pleasure.

Blessed with the time to contemplate how others have helped me or been kind, I find myself extraordinarily grateful.

Until unable, I shall as we said in the late seventies or maybe early eighties, keep on truckin!

Bad Back Getting Better

To rid myself of back pain, that’s what I want. Let’s face it; you know it hurts when all you want to do is lay in bed. Contrary to my negative self-image, I’m not a lazy person.

In my fifties, I practically ran my business from my water bed. Without pain pills, I never would have been able to show my dogs to a win. Over a lifetime injuries large and small accumulate in the body. A little ouch here, a little ouch there bones record, giving us bone spurs and arthritis later.

Medical doctors gave me pain pills. Osteopathic doctors and soft tissue therapy helped bit by bit; oh, I best not forget my wonderful acupuncturist without whom I might not be walking.

From a young age an iron worker built like a body builder beat me regularly; being in car accidents, thrown by horses, and other adventures added more than a fair share. Life is a participation sport; you’re going to take some licks.

In my fifties I felt old, ancient; I didn’t know how my aunt then in her seventies could go on weekend trail rides. Strong pain medication fortified me on the few short rides I did.

In my fifties and envisioning a time in assisted living or a nursing home felt bitter. Hated it! Fifty, you could call that my decade of surgeries; after the last, I wasn’t healing. My darling, the man with debilitating pain took such good care of me.

I have read that if your grip is so weak you can’t open a water bottle, you’re at risk of a heart attack. Arthritis in my hands prevented me from bottle opening. The statement made me think the end is near.

Here’s where sing halleluiah enters the picture for me; since exercising for the last four years back pain that had once crippled me becomes less all the time. As muscles tighten holding my fat stuff in a better position, I hurt less.

At times I’d given up and quit only to return to exercise when it hurt more. To exercise after my husband died demanded every bit of will I had left. So much of me wanted to say, “F--- it.”

What does a never give up person do when they get old?

You marshal on as you learned to throughout your life.

So now under flesh that shakes like Jello, I have some solid muscle. Approaching seventy feeling way better than fifty is fantastic. When you tame a pain that medicated with strong pain relievers slows to a four level into three aspirins will cover stronger pain, you can cope with it just fine. Decreasing the jiggle may be a never ending journey, but who cares? I can carry a bag of dog food in the house without hurting. 

Not Too Bad is my Best These Days

As usual, the morning web post told me how to lose weight and reduce inflammation; apparently, I’m doing everything right. Hot dog!!

No, I’m not going to bitch about how fat I still am; I feel good and all things considered, I’m happy. But a woman likes to look good in her clothes and dumpy doesn’t do it for me. Remember the fire hydrant looking villains from Dr. Who, the Daleks? I look like a Dalek wearing a wig and a dress; that’s no one’s best image. But at sixty-eight who cares?

Hoping to go to Spain next year, so I’m practicing my Spanish attempting short sentences whenever possible, but all I hear is, “Don’t worry you don’t have to speak Spanish; I speak English.” Where were they ten years ago when my Spanish was practically non-existent? I’ve learned a good number of words in Spanish, so when someone says a whole paragraph to me and I don’t recognize a word, it overwhelms me with a feeling of stupid. 

Congratulate me for abstaining from bread for two whole, long weeks. Twice my sinuses have drained suddenly and dramatically with a foul taste in my mouth and stomach. The first time I thought it was an allergic reaction, but no swelling in the morning. After the second bout of drainage, I noticed that sinus areas were not as tender to my touch. Halleluiah! That was getting aggravating.

The results for all my hard effort came in the form of blood pressure in the normal range and reasonable test scores. My cholesterol tested a tad high, so I adjusted my diet accordingly, I believe.

Who knew I’d retire in time to be alone and almost broke trying to stay healthy, but there you have it. It’s funny that in my productive years I gained a fortune to lose it as my golden years began; what I miss most is my husband’s loving presence, but even that loss no longer holds the screaming sadness of nightmares.

It’s time to admit I’m glad to still be alive and healthy. My life has been filled with love and my career spent in pursuit of my passions; I’ve been blessed. Money comes as a byproduct of being good at something people want; it’s an ethical way to a good living. It’s also no guarantee to being able to keep what you’ve earned when rich crooks walk among us. Yes, I’m still pissed; you’d think I’d learn to get over things.

This weekend will go to the dogs, which makes me happy.

Please, enjoy yours.

Fighting Arthritis Pain

Off and on, sometimes excellent and other times lackluster, over the last four years I’ve exercised regularly; my back doesn’t hurt as badly, but it still hurts and I’m still fat. At the moment I’m grinding a tennis ball into a pressure point in my back for all I’m worth; ain’t life grand?

 As older people we stand differently, a little crooked or maybe slightly humped with head forward; in my fifties, I began a mean dowager’s hump. Arthritis limits range of motion or causes pain; taut muscles try to align the body correctly. This hurts, but then it gets better; that’s my priceless reward.

Rolling your head one way and then the other, a common part of stretch routines, tells where that devil arthritis invaded the neck. Have you ever rolled your head to a sudden “ouch” stop? Surprise, there it is and it hurts.

Swollen face and achy joints in the morning demanded I do something, so two weeks ago I had my last piece of bread. About five days bread free severe withdrawal struck. I got so crabby I couldn’t stand myself. I wanted to go kick a can. My symptoms had caused me to give up my prized comfort food; oh, harsh world.

In the last two weeks, I haven’t woken severely swollen; that’s good. Swelling around my eyes may be ever so slightly decreased or it may just be wishful thinking.

I had bread at every meal; the smell, texture, and feel of it on the tongue gave joy to the day. Cream cheese on kale doesn’t have the same ring as cream cheese on toasted French bread or on a toasted bagel with lox. In another week it should be out of my system so I can test if it’s bad for me. It just gets better. Vegetables replacing bread in my diet must be a good thing; just never mind how sad it makes me feel.

Pain-free, that’s my goal.

Love Affair With Parks

Sitting in a shady city park with statues, and flowers, and people passing, I resonate with peace and excitement at the same time; how delicious!

I remember having lunch in a small park in downtown Chicago when I worked in the Loop. The stress and boredom of meaningless job drained into the trees. As teenagers, we’re required to hold at least one job we hate; right?

From the age of eight when I first saw Spanish moss hanging from ancient live oak trees, I fell in love with City Park in New Orleans, which remains on the top of my list.

The tree lined park, Plaza Antonia Quinones can be proud of its beauty with a fountain and a stage for horns from the San Juan Philharmonic playing tonight.

Havana’s wonderfully ornate light poles delighted me as I strolled with my dearest friend through the park in the shade of overwhelming statues adorning Cuban government buildings. Horse drawn carriages offering tours were under scrutiny by my brave animal advocate friend.

She boldly strode up to a man whose horse kept licking its lips. “Go immediately to a water trough; your horse needs water.”

Have you ever seen a senior lady with her back up? She radiated command. Those ladies who have ever gotten their backs up know what it’s like to be so filled with moral outrage your eyes are bloodshot. The water station was visible from where we stood. The man dutifully complied.

Havana also had beautiful horses and carriages. I insisted on riding with a handsome dappled gray. What is it with women and beautiful horses? My heart skips that beat, sweet!

Where ever I go I spend time in local parks; only one gave me bad vibes. I left quickly. On the island I call home watching loving families play in the parks and on the beaches remains a great time soaking up vibes.

Memory took me down many paths in many parks. Considering how important parks have been in my life I pray that people running the world realize how important they are to my stability.  

Weirdo

If the awkward silence in this room gets any louder I going to have to turn down off hearing aide, once said laughter and witticisms follow. The person who diffuses tension in the room, that’s me.

I make goo-goo faces at babies. I smile and nod at people passing by; I am a weirdo.

I love what God has made. Where I live reminds me each day; this is a beautiful valley.  

I don’t understand perfection, but there’s good and bad in all of us to varying degrees. Beauty in each of us is in the eyes; it’s a spark in which souls unite and then depart. When I see that beauty in someone’s eyes I feel my soul’s been given treasure.

Do you know how many dead eyes I peer into before the treasure?

Some days not many, people are better than popular opinion. In people I find good; I told you I was a weirdo. ;)

Bitch of the Day

Aging is a funny thing. I’ve spent most of my life growing up or at least growing into the person I wanted to be. Unlike some people, I’ve never quite had full satisfaction with that, but still, consider myself a work in progress. Now my memory falters, my face is falling, and my joints ache.

A box of thank you letters and citations remind me that I’ve been a good person. Smiling photos speak of happy times with loved ones long gone. Being a caring, responsible adult required effort; being an asshole always seemed easier, but that wasn’t who I wanted to be.

Negativity and problems entered every day; I called it proof of life. Each morning my staff brought their personal problems to work; one woman’s son was on duty in Iraq, so who could blame her? Every morning I listened to one complaint; I called it the bitch of the day.

After hearing one complaint, we were required to focus on having fun with the dogs brought for day care. Did I tell you I loved my work? But the point is after getting it off my chest; I need to move on to the positive possibilities in this day.

As a retired person, I have the luxury of focusing my day on what I choose, thanks to Social Security.

A scientist, Carl Maslow wrote about a hierarchy of needs people had to have a fulfilled life. Food, water, and air are obviously the most basic needs. When those needs are met we get to explore who we are and what we want. When you work all day, who has time?

Most folks my age will attest to the problems we share in our golden years. Putting into our trust fund allows us to search for the gold in our lives.

What’s NOT funny about aging is having some greedy asshole mess with your trust fund, speaking of which I vote Congress give back what they borrowed with interest.

And that’s my bitch of the day. I’m going to the movies.

Almost 70 Meets Almost 20

The other day at the gym, a pretty twenty-something asked why I worked out after I completed a hundred squats. The look of incongruity covered my face. Huh? The answer required a few seconds of thought because people speak Spanish too fast for me to understand at first. Exercise is the best thing in the world for me and I love it.

This little girl at the age where her body hasn’t even rounded out, looking like a skinny teenager said in Spanish, “Por salud? For health?”  In her eyes I could see her sincerity; she wasn’t being a smartass. None the less I could read in her face the wonder why a fat old lady worked so hard. After all, you’re still old, why not just rest on the porch until your time comes? How sweet, her big brown eyes pitied me.  

After processing the magical mystery tour of a young girl’s thoughts all I could do was nod and say, “Yeah, for health.”

Her face scrunched up like she wanted to cry. Oh, shit, she thinks I’m going to die. Lord in heaven, I’ve forgotten what it’s like to be young and that stupid, but now it comes back to me like the memory of skin so soft.

“I exercise so I can continue to be strong enough to do things around the house.”

Her look said, “Like what?”

“I buy dog food in fifty-pound bags. If I didn’t exercise moving it would hurt my back.” Perhaps this practical answer would justify my presence at the gym.

Her face said loudly, “You poor thing!”

Who, me, came the internal reply. Believe how glad I felt that she didn’t verbalize this!

What could I do, but return to my workout? Her big kind eyes made contact with mine and we smiled as we moved to a new machine. She lowered the machine settings by about half each time she got on one I’d just finished. About the third time, I smiled and winked at her as she adjusted the weight. “Yeah, you’ve got a long road ahead of you; enjoy!”

Going to be a Fine Year

Over the New Year Holidays and since I’ve been feeling off. Sleep, my new best friend comes often and stays long. Post nasal drip plagues me; if you have it, you know what I’m talking about. This is physical stuff, not me with my usual whiney attitude over losing my husband.

Whenever I hear conversations about allergies, I hear something about winds from Africa and sand. A day at the shore breathing salt air helps tremendously, but my allergies haven’t been this bad since I lived near a coal yard in Chicago.

Of course, it may be the wheat; I eat way too much bread. I read that food allergies trigger other allergies and the foods we crave like bread cause it all basically. Just swell.

My allergy addictions get the best of me in high-stress times like when a bunch of my stuff breaks all at once and my car is one of those broken things. Just before everything broke, I booked a four day trip to St. Thomas when I caught the nice holiday sales. Live music on Water Island by world class performers, do I have to tell you how excited I was?

Light switches in the kitchen and both bathrooms refused to turn off; I took action, turning off the appropriate breakers. Repair could wait. Both toilets started leaking, so I turned off the water to both toilets; all of this happened before Christmas company.

My attitude remained positive; after the holiday I could hire a new handyman. I could get by, but my friend came to have fun and so we drove my car to Fajardo and Ponce, all over the island. The island beauty will grab the air right out of your chest.

Explaining my house problems to my guest humiliated me, but what the hell. If pouring water from a bucket to flush the toilet is too rustic for you, sorry; that wasn’t nearly enough. On the patio, I noticed a steady stream of water from the roof near the water tank that should have dried up with the rain. Goody.

All I wanted to do was to go to sleep, my joints ached and my face felt swollen. My company left early; I found a handyman, slept a couple of days, and then went to the gym. After a few days, I felt well enough to think about driving to Isabela or maybe just go home; I didn’t know.

I felt and heard a pop and my car stopped; I managed to get it off the road. The funny thing about hitting the end of my rope is nobody cared. I wanted to scream or cry or hit something, maybe. Time to inhale deeply, a few more times, since this had to happen after close of business before Three Kings’ Day and I was flying to St. Thomas on Friday, the thirteenth.

One nice thing about being a senior citizen is you’ve had plenty of time to learn how to get over yourself and get on with it. I handled my car problems, went on my trip, where I had a good time until a waitress upwind of me sprayed a cleaning solution in the air that I happen to be allergic to and instantly became wheezing ill. For two days of the trip, I slept like a bear in hibernation.

The night I made it to the concert on Water Island, classical vibrations by talented musicians danced with the dendrites of my neurons. The magic of performance ignited my spirit when I needed it most. 

Carlos Jimenex, my car’s fine mechanic had her ready and running on time. I and my stuff are on the mend.