Just Another Pint

Tired of sad and lonely, tired of depressed; want to make it go away. My love left an ache that just doesn't quit, not one little bit. I loved my life with my honey; we were both assholes from time to time, but other times we clicked along beautifully. We were the average people of this planet in love; because of love, I believe in God. Love takes a hard day’s work and transforms it into a gift for someone more important, yeah, someone more important than you.

Do you know how many people haven’t felt that? People tell me to let go of the past so I can enjoy my now, but I cling to the time when love lived in my life. Now, too many angry people want to hurt each other; who wants to go near?

Place, the other great character in any story needs to provide for the plot. I live on a tropical island bitching about being sad and lonely; why don’t I move? Where would I go?

July, the month my honey died, proves painful annually; the month of widowhood picks the scab off wounds not healed. In July lifting weights only hurts, I feel inches away from crying, but it’s my job to make myself feel better. All I can say is repeated applications of Ben & Jerry’s Cherry Garcia and hot fudge topping does wonders after four years. 

What's It Gonna Be

To my dear sweet niece,

At twenty I married your mother’s brother; he liked to hang with the guys at the bar, so I went to the library because I like to read. We were young and in love so we picnicked and made love in the woods, but twenty years later, I’d say,

 “Wanna go to the movies; come on, let’s go.”

“Nah, I don’t want to go,” meant an evening watching TV.

If I wanted to go to the movies, I should go to the movies, so I said,

“I’m going to the movies; you want to come?”

He replied with his usual,

“Nah,” not missing a step towards the family room sofa.

Never had I gone to the movies alone; I held the notion that we should do things together, but had to honor that if he didn’t want to go, it was his right, so when I opened the front door, with my heart pounding, I called,

“See ya later.”

Looking back, I wonder why all the drama; the thought of being a married woman alone in a movie theater upset me, but determined to for once do what I wanted to do even if he didn’t, I left.

I remember my fingers being all sweaty, wanting to sob, but being me, I thought, fuck him and started the car, threw it into reverse and backed out of the driveway. Before I could get into forward gear the front door opened; he threw his shirt on while heading to the car.

“Yeah, a movie sounds good,” 

was all he said in his best nonchalant, cool dude style.

Honey, I don’t know anyone’s life but my own, but I have learned to love and value myself enough to do what pleases me.

Your mom and her brother were tight; she’d tell me stories of things she and her brother did. Oh, my, your family had love.

I remember you with long blond hair and bangs; it seems you were one of the taller kids. What a sweet girl, I thought, you took after your mom.

This much I know; a man who loves you may not go to the ballet with you, but he’ll join you on things he likes because he wants to be with you.

The times I went to things without him, surprisingly, I’d come home smiling. Learning I could have a good time alone helped me get out on my own after he passed.

With or without the love of my life, I must try to enjoy my life or be a miserable old bitch; what’s it gonna be, honey?

Unsolicited advice

If people want advice, they ask for it, right? What do you think about this? What do you think I should do? If you were me, what would you do?

It’s reasonable and even prudent to get other points of view. Often rather than accepting advice a la carte off the menu, I re-think and revise my plans, but value the input that sparked a new path.

“Thanks, I’ll think about what you’ve said,” has become my closing line because I’ve found it better to consider gradually; I’m really slow like that.

Don’t people get that venting doesn’t require a sage response? It’s a bitch that doesn’t ask for more acknowledgment than, “Poor baby.”

A tale of similar woe response can be bonding, but a monolog on what I should have done annoys me to the point I find myself sharing less with friends, which means I listen to their gripe-moans without my part of the sharing that cements these relationships. Finding my place in a group of friends has been problematic. Either I piss them off or; don’t get me wrong, I have friends.

I hung out with a woman whose immediate response to whatever anyone talked about was I followed by her experience whether related or not, even this never changing non-empathetic conversation I found better than the you shoulds.

Yes, we must take our friends as we find them or move along, but why don’t people understand that if I don’t ask for your advice, please, don’t keep volunteering it; it’s not the gift you believe it to be.

I’ll admit that if someone has a particular experience or knowledge unsolicited advice is helpful, but overwhelmingly it’s just annoying.

Shortly after my husband died, in one day, I ran into three women I know, each said, “Your husband would want you to be happy,” followed by some variation on the theme. Not a one asked how I was doing. That day my eyes crossed and I wanted to bang my head, my tolerance surpassed; surprisingly, I remained polite but went home aggravated.

Advice givers don’t know how annoying that is because they are well intended. Heaven forbid that the advice is eye-roll worthy like recent advice to get out of my closed mind by taking hallucinogenics. Value to this advice was that great scientists from the 70’s opened their minds with drugs; this is apparently the gold standard for tripping your mind, which firmly asserted could cause one to feel remiss, but I didn’t do it in the 70’s; why would I try now that I’m approaching seventy.

Sometimes, I won’t consider an unsolicited suggestion; why do people act so offended? I could keep saying, “Thanks, I’ll think about it,” but now that I’m just a poor, old widow, it comes some days in backhoes.

I don’t wish to lose my manners; there’s too much of that going around these days. Perhaps, I should learn the art of the conversational dodge; did it rain by you last night? What’s the latest presidential tweet? Nah, we really don’t want to go there.

Senior Lady Dating Manifesto

I'm looking for someone to spend a pleasant day with, who has a zest for life. We don't have forever; each day needs to have a little sparkle. Do you spoil yourself?

My day begins with thanks for another chance and a stretch to bring my soul back into the body followed immediately by coffee. Two hours later coffee and I are on the internet before I head for the gym. My days are lovely, my roads wind through tropical forests with sheer facing rock walls before showing me the ocean.

A handsome man to look into my eyes, who enjoys my wit and finds me attractive spells a fine afternoon, but a man with humor and candor makes a day too short.

The laundrymen listing all they have and what their friends have from the moment we meet are in the top five of those to avoid; what do I care? I’m not a young chick in nesting mode.

An interesting attractive man may command my attention for a while, but drone on and on without wondering about the woman you’re with becomes too braggadocio for my taste; I’m not a chick just out of the nest.

When your stories match his, you feel like you’ve met a male kindred spirit. You could do a freaking happy dance because you’re sharing your stories with someone who has the same sense of adventure. Little by little you question, disbelief dampens the flames of desire. Ladies, you know how deflating a liar is, right.

A man with a passion for almost anything, I prefer to the guy who lists his assets, upon deciding that those assets should be enough to attract you slides rather rapidly into fault finding, a constant complainer. Yuck.

I’ve had real love and I’ve had forever, at least forty-five years of it. As I recall, we built that a day at a time.

A man who loves his job can tell me stories about something I don’t understand; I’ll ask questions while admiring the twinkle in his eyes as he speaks, but he must ask about me. I don’t spew or interrupt a man waxing eloquent on himself. A man who doesn’t ask about the woman he’s with doesn’t care who you are; screw that and bye-bye.

A lively conversation, friendly banter and a bit of innuendo don’t mean a thing, but time well spent; I could enjoy that, but too many woe-be-gone faces want to tell me their problems. They remind me of a very talented woman who applied for a job as my secretary. I was liking her for the job, told her I’d call her, and on the way out the door she said, “I suffer from melancholia.”

Companions, partners, or mates should bring us up; some days we struggle to enjoy our day. Before we’ll help each other; we must care. Time well spent together brings that, so don’t tell me about forever; let’s just make a beautiful day and see what happens.

By the way, I’m a spoiler; do you know what that is?

It’s a woman who when she’s happy, she spoils you silly.  

The Saggy Remainder Years Challenge

Most days I know what I believe, I think about it quite a bit. On what if days, who knows what will cross my mind?

I can see myself as a fat old lady stuck on a broke island waiting to die, which is true or as the adventurous daredevil traveling to beautiful places alone in her spare time, also true.

In between all these good times, I sure can feel sorry for myself. There’s no getting over you, my darling, even after four years.

God, thanks for the opportunity to have the tribulations that balanced my trials. One’s life should be a wild ride; oh, the shit, you do over the years.

Opting out on children means you don’t get to be grandma. It was my husband I never planned on living without. This majorly sucks and how do I let go of the loss enough to enjoy the saggy remainder years of my life?

That’s exactly the challenge; make the best out of the remainder when every day is bitch or brag and the best may be a pain-free day. Our days no longer hold wide open promise; a day working in the garden means happiness.

Daily, my husband suffered physical pain but managed to love his life and bring joy to others; he was one of those guys. I’ve seen a great spirit live a humble life in torture. I can quit complaining. This is me shutting up, accepting the saggy, remainder challenge.

Always, My Love

“Get over it,”

some have had the guts to say.

“Move along with your life,”

others counsel.

“He’d want you to be happy,”

A few console.

Fourth anniversary here in a bit

I miss being your wife

The showers of love poems

Sweet and sappy

People who like me, a small council

But no one on Earth to touch my soul

Alone, no you to hold my hand

Sampling life’s wares

Many shores to meander

Sunsets seen with toes in sand

Postcards wishing you were there

Always, my love

Hello Mary

Early in the morning, gray-filtered into the valley, light showed up later, about when Mary made morning coffee. With no rush to hurry her about her day, Mary looked past the trees to the fluffy white clouds in the sky lost in thought until she smelled the coffee.

Coffee, chocolate, bread, Mary thought she must have always liked those, but wondered; that’s all she does is wonder.

She felt as if she’d been dropped into a stranger’s life; nothing felt familiar. People spoke to her as if in the middle of a conversation, but she didn’t know them or what they were talking about, it frightened her.

“You’re high. You’ve been drinking. You’ll be fine in the morning. It was a great party. Goodnight, Mary.”

And with that, there was Mary, alone in the night with no memory of a moment before. She sat on the porch staring at Orion’s Belt, saw a shooting star, and then coqui-coqui, coqui-coqui caught her attention until she found a tiny frog that made the sound. It’s odd how faced with something monumental a person will focus on something inconsequential.

Utterly confused, Mary wandered into the living room and down the hall to a bedroom where she dropped onto a bed and sobbed herself to sleep

Nobody needed to tell Mary to go to the bathroom in the morning, but she started at the mirror. “Who is this woman?” She stared at the face not knowing who stared back. “I need help,” she mumbled.

“Who am I? What am I doing here?”

Mary raced out the door to find out. A couple of dogs greeted her warmly. A rich texture of green overwhelmed her eyes.

“Oh, my, it’s beautiful, “ she thought as she looked across the valley.

Just then she saw an older lady walking on the road. Mary scrambled down the driveway determined to find out what was going on.

“Hello,” she called.

The woman walked into a yard across the street; the gate swung closed and locked behind her. She turned to Mary.

“Buen dia. Como esta? Todo bien? Todo bien.” She said, smiled and walked into her house; the door closed.

Mary stopped at the bottom of the driveway. “Huh?”

“What was that? Where am I?”

“God help me.”

She searched the dense green foliage and found colorful houses peeking out; a couple of dogs barked. Cows on a hillside munched and a car went down a road. Mary retreated to the bedroom, where she tried to calm down enough to think; mercifully she fell asleep, only waking after dark.

A dome of sparkling lights set in dark blue ink reflected the twinkling lights of in the bowl of a valley. Tired of the terror, the befuddlement of her situation, Mary sat forbidding herself to think. She stared at clusters of stars when one shot across the sky. “Like me,” she thought and began wondering again.

The next morning the phone rang, caller ID read: Miranda.

“Hello,” Mary answered.

“Hey, Colt’s having a party tomorrow night, wanted you to come. Stop by my house. We’ll walk over together. Bye.”

Mary stood looking at the phone in her hand; what just happened? Miranda sounded friendly perhaps she could help, but then Mary got lost in the pictures on the walls, each one seemed to tell a different tale and one picture looked like the woman in the mirror, not her.

The woman looked happy in the picture, so did the man with her, even the dog with them looked happy. 

Who was looking for her?

Mary examined the cell phone, surprised at how easily she navigated from contact list to the internet and the treasure trove of information, messaging.

With a little information, she calmed out of bonkers insanity, moving into sweaty fingers scared where she spends part of each day despite feeling that she landed in someone’s nice little life.  

My Life Purpose Really

Lately, nothing pleases me. I spent all morning searching for a jazz festival in the Caribbean; the Cuban Jazz Fest cheered me somewhat. How bummed must you be when planning a trip to one of the great jazz experiences on the planet doesn’t hit your yahoo button?

Maybe my biggest fault is that my love is not unconditional. I’m sorry, but it seems to me that the biggest spouters of unconditional love frequently treat each other like shit, alternating between hugging and hitting. The verbally unkind bring out the worse in me; sooner or later my mouth flies open and damage done.

Don’t call me stupid or don’t call me bitch; I would rather be alone than with a verbal abuser. Be kind or go home; it’s that simple.

Don’t get me wrong, there’s a lot of kind people in the world. Every day I encounter lovely human beings. I have people I love and who love me up to the point of, “Oh, gee, that’s sad; I’m going to miss her. What’s for dinner?”

My ties to the planet slip away, the girl always on a crusade let go. My husband would have seen the change.

Entering that final act scares me, but not like I thought it would when I was young. The worse part of now isn’t being alone; it’s being without my husband. Without him, death will ultimately be welcomed. Thinking about it helps, as long as I don’t dwell on it. What’s funny is that I could never contemplate my husband’s death, but my own I can bear.

Even on those bad days when my honey’s death feels yet unbearable, I manage to occupy myself with a movie or planning a new adventure. Today nothing helps, I miss my man in my life; I could howl and cry. If you’ve ever gotten sick and tired of something, you know how this feels. Being tired of the hurt may be helping because I trying harder, yes, there I am; that’s me.

I believe in God, who teaches me to laugh at the bizarre happenings such as the president breaking past world leaders like he’s in grammar school.

Each life has lessons and purpose; God waited, for now, to give me my biggest life purpose. That’s funny.

Alien observers posed for pictures drawn in stone; we can’t imagine how far their technology has come. Think about it. Intergalactic travelers could be covertly immersing themselves in life on earth for fun and adventure while keeping the earthlings busy fighting each other.

Things we see throughout life, pausing to shake a head for a moment before moving on didn’t make sense until everything in my life had gone; I saw something else.

We know the universe is too large for there not to be intelligent life somewhere, if not here. If our ancient civilizations depicted astronauts, I’m guessing they didn’t leave never to return; who does that?

What would it be like to discover aliens with really nothing in common with us in charge? If they owned the world banks and controlled our food supply what else could they do without our realizing that their behavior isn’t normal for earth people. 

Frankly, in America, we don’t care who runs the show as long as we get a fair shake. Other countries allow citizens a nice life with opportunity and health care. Who with so much has so little heart to take away from the disadvantaged and elderly?

If beings from another planet were caught harming earth all people of our planet would be in the trenches together. Our differences would matter little.

Why at a time when people have the capacity to live peacefully and somewhat comfortably do we war? What do six billion dollars buy? Could a guy live on a little less for the sake of others?

In our history, we’ve always been explorers; why are we more focused on repeating our barbaric history than going into space?

I’ve taken many courses and learned of the knowledge and intelligence on this planet; we do better. Why all the out of control bad behavior? Who benefits by stirring the pot?

Worrying about this is not how I should be spending the last years of my life. What I’ve seen; I know, whether anybody believes, well, quien sabe? God has given me a purpose. Thanks.

Happy Birthday

Released from a life of regular beatings at eighteen, I wanted the pain to stop. Welcome to adulthood, you’re out of the house. With other teens, I celebrated by drinking and drugging.

Nobody will ever hit me again, my fiery resolve reverberated in every cell; I still feel the resolve, but minus fire. The law was finally on my side, I had recourse if my father hit me again.

That should have felt better, but it didn’t because every hit on my baby body stored a rotten energy ready to rebound in fury. I could have been beaten into submission, but I drew a defiant resolve to survive.

The hurt and betrayal a child feels at the hands of parents tilts how you feel about the world. I believed everyone would hurt me sooner or later. Of course, that’s true, but there are limits and we can all be assholes at one time or another, but pretty much we can forgive and move on in different directions or make up.

Lucky for me, I met a man who loved me truly, held on tight and never let go. I wish life would have been simple; no, actually dealing with childhood issues became the foundation of my adult dysfunctions. S.N.A.F.U.

I’d pedal upstream like crazy, trying to bring positive things into my life only to be pulled under. I developed a hyper-spastic duodenum; that’s part of my small intestine. Life swung back and forth between good and horseshit. Did I get better?

Oh, hell no, by twenty-five, I had what they called a nervous breakdown. The out of control feeling that goes with falling apart made me think I was losing my mind. Thinking about going insane really made me crazy if you know what I mean.

In a nervous breakdown, days end by crying yourself to an exhausted sleep only to awaken to more crying. Pull it together to go to work, cry on the drive to the office, check face in the mirror before exiting the vehicle, and life goes on like normal. I remember how miserable I felt and only knew worse the day my husband died.

He told me straight out that he didn’t understand people who treated their children like that, but he held me through many tears. With him, I learned to appreciate the beauty in even a bad day.

Life punches and jabs, but then there are the moments with your head in someone’s lap and they’re stroking your face. To appreciate the strokes, I’ve had to give up focusing on the jabs. Do you have any idea how long that takes? I’ll let you know when I arrive.

Joy inhabits a day focused on even the smallest positive details; eventually, it overrides the pain. That may be one of the biggest lessons of my life; it’s a favorite. I like healing a lot.

Today, San Juan here I come with plans to go to a dog show. It’s funny but, when I told a friend at the gym, she rolled her eyes to say, “Who would want to do that?”

I would to celebrate my birthday. For years I didn’t celebrate; how sad is it when your birthday doesn’t make you happy? I hear it from others all the time, so it’s not just me.

During his life, I treated my husband to dinner or parties and gave the best gifts, including our first Rottweiler; or we went to a resort. Good God, I love that man.

Since his passing, my goal is to love myself as well as I loved him.

A lifetime of repairing self-worth follows a shamed child. What I’ve done in my lifetime says who I am; wow, who’d have thought it? I’m proud of me. Happy birthday.

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?

My Angel

Dearest Sister,

Very happy you’re better. Please, be healthy! I need you in my life. We cling to each other as girls in a raft.

To be with you again soaking up your loving care, I can’t wait. Last I saw you was during the worse time of my life. I never could look at life without my husband; you made me feel safe and not alone. It felt like the first growth of life after devastation.

How many times in a lifetime do you recognize a soul mate across a room crowded or otherwise? And, yet, there we were.

Can we doubt God has a plan? You were the angel whose caring reminded me that God cares. Your presence united us; being mad with God doesn’t feel nice.

I miss our conversations and am eager to get to know your country better. Who am I kidding? I can’t wait to hear the jazz, while I hear music I visit my happy place.

Two lifelong dog lovers attending an international FCI dog show; I shiver with delight; can’t wait. To stay with you until the book expo in January would be unfair, so we’ll limit my stay; you say how long. Between now and then I’ll be budgeting.

An unscrupulous company has been burrowing into my checking account, almost caused a huge problem when I was in New Orleans. I bought something on the internet, a cosmetic company began sending and charging for cosmetics that went to my post office box. The purchase as understood by me was a one time deal and I’ll let you know if I want more.

On my trip to New Orleans I encountered difficulty, of course, I budget for some but stood at the counter with not enough in my account to work already done. By the grace of God, I had just enough cash on me to cover. I don’t normally carry more than a twenty or two. My heart beat crazy counting.

I’m too old for this stress. I’m going to the bank to find out how to stop this. Nothing I saw on the cosmetics company website lead me to believe we had an ongoing relationship. I’ll bet this happens frequently. This seems like a sharp business practice, huh!

I could have been so screwed because big business didn’t play fair again. I’ve had a hard time since my return home; health comes with nourishment and exercise. As long as my government doesn’t default on me, I can handle my life.

When you’re up for it please send the correct name of the dog show and dates, town, etc. And the same for the jazz fest. Costs.

Let’s pray we’re not too old for fun; huh, Sister! 

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?