Somebody to Love

I started a Facebook Group with this title today. Here's what happened and why it's so important to me:

Somebody to Love

While watching an episode of Undercover Boss, I saw two hard working people talk about being disowned by their family. One for being gay, one for being a trans woman. I wanted to just hug them and invite them to my house for dinner. I turned to my husband and said we should adopt "kids" disowned for such a ridiculous reason. Thus was "born" the Somebody to Love project.

While no one "disowned" me, I definitely felt abandoned virtually from day one. Mom left me with sister who left me to get married and then my parents divorced and mom left me again to daddy. Then daddy got talked into leaving me to a cruel abusive babysitter, then back to mom, then back to sister, then mom. I feel like a ping pong ball and I'm not even nine years old yet!

When I finally left my family chaos and started adulting in my own world, my sister who took care of me when I was little, sent all these judgmental messages. She didn't approve of my man friend so she wouldn't call me at his house. *I* was supposed to call her. 

Oh my gosh, I just realized why I called my other sister all the time. I was following the pattern THAT sister insisted upon. Wow. I hadn't thought of that. Anyway, my mom and oldest sister wanted to hear from me not because they wanted me to have contact and be safe. They just had an idea of what they were SUPPOSED to do. How they were SUPPOSED to act.

In my adult life, strangers often treated me with much more consistent kindness than anyone biologically related to me. Well, my dad loved me. I had that. Only he had his own troubles and flaked entirely too much. 

So for lots of reasons, that include not wanting to pass along flawed genetics and flawed experiences, I chose not to have kids. Now that I'm "gramma " age, I feel the urge to have people in my life. Someone to call on their birthday, someone to bake turkey for on thanksgiving and someone to have as a kind sibling to laugh with and share that camaraderie that I've heard other families have.

So I started a group. Come check us out: Somebody to Love

Kind comments encouraged. 

So Happy Together

Nine years ago, we decided to get married on the date 6/6/06. I heard people were maligning the date because of its resemblance to the biblical number of the beast. Since I don't have a faith and I wanted to reclaim it as a quality day, we decided it would be OUR day.

Though this plan got thrown together rather quickly, I'd been with Murry for a very long time. We were already bonded in our hearts, we just decided to add the tax benefits.

The county clerk gave us a list of people who could officiate and the only one who responded quick enough was the municipal judge for the tiny town of Powers, Oregon. It sits a few miles from Myrtle Point and is about an hour car ride from our home.

I had a bad cold that day and I didn't let that dampen my spirits. When we got into town, the judge didn't want to disturb the person who held the key to the courthouse so we went into the library next door. We told the clerk what we were doing and she suggested a quiet spot around the corner from her desk.

Murry told me that it was the science fiction section. You see we met in a SF themed chat room over the internet.

In attendance were our friends Anna, Murry's friend Sandy from work and his wife Shannon. Since this was the judge's first ceremony, his dad came along and took pictures.

My friend Anna insisted on buying us flowers. After the brief ceremony we went to diner at a little place called Jacks.

We purchased our rings from a pawn shop years ago. Though they go well together they were bought seperately and sized. Murry wore a ring that belonged to his own father that he sized himself. They're all very pretty and sparkly.

When Murry's oldest sister heard we had gotten married, she couldn't contain her joy. She ran right out and bought us gifts. As she is a Jehovah Witness, she doesn't get to shop for events very often. They don't celebrate very many things in the same way other faiths and secular people do.

She bought us a very unusual lime green throw blanket, a small gray elephant bolster pillow and an overnight bag the color of blush wine.

The juxtaposition of colors and textures reflects both the uniqueness of my marriage and that of my kind sister-in-law. We treasure them and they feature prominently in our home.

We're so happy together.

Shame

Some question the concept of "rape culture" because that sounds ludicrous. Why would a social structure promote assault and violence? Why would any group systematically oppress another's right to personal safety?

What if they feel the need may be stronger to protect THEIR space? As in they feel it's important to make people aware that though something happened in this space, the space isn't to blame. And when they remove the location from the equation, sometimes the event becomes clouded in mystery.

Rape survivors go nameless to protect them. Though I respect someone's right to choose how they disclose such information, I wonder if it perpetuates shame. Plenty of car accident and other crime survivors see their names plastered across the news.

Universities would rather not discuss rape on campus to protect their community standing. Churches, specifically the Catholic church, protect priests from prosecution in order to project an image of superior morality. Yet the very act of secret keeping begs exploitation by the immoral. Perpetrators count on this.

Shame helps no one. John Bradshaw and Brene Brown both define shame as "I am a mistake. " Unlike guilt, which means, "I made a mistake." If you are shameful, it defines your natural soul, you have little chance of changing it. If you feel guilty of an action, you can decide to act differently in the future.

In the case of surviving rape, neither guilt NOR shame applies. Yet authority asks people to examine their behavior. Especially in the light of accusing in a place that wishes to protect their space and or the accused has social status.

American culture implies a value in sexual purity. They call having intercourse for the first time, "losing" virginity. Comedians joke about masturbation, unusual sexual practices and orientation as though those who partake lack character.

Many bible passages blame rape on the woman. If a college campus puts forward a rape prevention program, they put their primary focus on what women can do to protect themselves. Rarely do these kinds of programs place the "locus of control" onto men.

And men who find themselves assaulted, get shamed twice if they somehow find the courage to report their attacks. No one discusses the possibility of rape inside prisons, all boys schools, fraternity and boy scouts.

I see blaming anyone for surviving a crime as like blaming a wall for graffiti. "Bad wall! You asked for it with your clean solid color surface!"

I survived child sexual abuse. I see no need to hide that. I survived beating and neglect too. It took years, support and two good therapy people to help me understand that those who hurt me deserve to feel guilt. I deserve to be bandaged and soothed.

When we can start claiming our survival, named or not, we can start to heal. End the denial and shaming of all crime survivors. Start the conversation and include men in the discussion.

Train everyone to be aware of the rights of all to say "no thank you, " to any advance. Train everyone to discourage intoxicated people from all bad decisions.Train police and teachers to listen and observe when accusations come to light. Presume innocent for the survivors of sexual assault too.

Masochism Tango

Fifty Shades of Gray comes out today and I thought I would explore any manner of fetish methods for lovemaking. This lovely Tom Lerher song always brought a smile to my face so I decided to use it as title.

Masochism Tango  and 50 Shades both exploit the concept of pain as pleasure. Though I haven't read the book, I have know people that enjoy the practice. 

Not all bondage, dominance and submissive behavior involves pain. Some people enjoy limiting their own or someone else's movement. Wrapping yourself in nothing but plastic wrap to excite your spouse would be a form of bondage. 

Then there's piercing. While the initial studding might be painful, once the punctured area has healed, more often the stud acts as a method for enhancing pleasure. These more dense, usually metal, objects create a new sensation in an otherwise conventional sex act. Kissing someone with a pierced tongue or lip may produce a noticeable difference from a non pierced partner. 

Often when I speak of behaviors, some assume I partake. If I did, I would say so. I make no judgments on anyone else's consensual choices, but being tied up and or pain as pleasure do not excite me in any way.

I guess if have any kind of fetish, it would be creating stories sometimes involving sex. These usually have a science fiction theme so some involve alien encounters and exotic partners. I'll save such details for any future novel and short story writing. Suffice to say, I have a normal healthy fantasy life. 

Cindi Lauper wrote a whole musical based on the concept of dressing up fetishes. Kinky Boots won Lauper a Tony too. Gay men love to dress as women and many a joke has been made about guys who like to wear women's underwear. 

Some people like to dress up as characters from films like Star Wars Think Princess Leia in a chain mail bikini. Some engage in costume play featuring plush play toy like animals themes. Often referred to as "furry" by those who partake, I've know people who go so far as to pretend to BE that animal while in costume. Furries engage in sexual play and can even have sex without breaking their fantasy role. 

People may become attracted to using leather, silk, fur, rubber and latex as items for stimulation. Sometimes in the form of undergarments or specific items like leather gloves used exclusively in the bedroom.

One could go on for quite a while on the various objects and experiences people find sexually arousing. Some of these are so common place as to be somewhat "normal." Like people who find long luxurious hair on women or beards on men a most attractive feature. 

Whatever floats your boat can be found out there somewhere. So long as every adult involved agrees to the activity, I say go for it. Get your kink on. Happy Valentines Weekend. 

Somebody that I used to know

Breaking up creates stress and mess. Even the best reasons and calm decisions leave us feeling let down.

It's been over 20 years since the divorce from my ex husband became final. I know I made the right choice and yet I still feel some regret.

Once in a while I look up his name to see if there are any web pages where I can see what he might be doing with himself. I noticed a LinkedIn account. I avoided visiting it as I wanted my spying to be anonymous. I knew it would let him know that I'd viewed his profile. I didn't want to intrude.

Curiosity got the better of me and I clicked on the link. The gray haired bearded man who stared back took me by surprise. How could he age so starkly? Any second now, I expected a voice to boom from my speakers, "You kids get off my lawn!"

Yes, I'm going to be 51 years old in a couple of weeks. Old enough to be a grandmother. He's old enough to be a grandfather. I knew this, but didn't "feel" it until I saw his picture.

After a few days, another kind of curiosity took me to look at my eldest sister's Facebook profile. I wanted to see what she had to say about the death of our mother.

I unfriended her last summer, but she still posted all her posts so anyone can see them. I saw a photo of my mother that my other sister had posted on her Facebook page. I didn't even know that sister used Facebook.

In the depths of writing my book, I've been thinking a lot about family. It's slow painful work. Plus today is my sister Cokie's birthday. Because she posted the photo of my mother, I also looked at her profile.

She looked happy. Part of me hopes she is, another part feels a deep sense of... what do I call it? Rage? That's the word that first comes to mind.

I feel justified at being angry, well to some extent. My ex and my sisters all deeply betrayed me. In a sense, they did so in the same kind of letting down. My ex cheated on me and I feel my sisters chose my mother over me.

They all chose someone else, someone I feel not as "good" or "cool" as me. My friend my ex took up with had plenty of emotional problems. And I'm SURE my mother talked about any number of difficult topics.

These are the issues that I once believed caused the rifts between them and me. My ex told friends that it was "okay" for him to sleep with my friend because "my wife is frigid and crazy." My sisters constantly told me to "get over it" whenever I tried to resolve the past.

I do realize that what they say are the issues, often only touch one layer of the truth. Though that understanding often comes much later.

Why would those who use the word "love" decide to act in such disrespectful ways? I often wonder what about me makes me so unlovable. It's not a truth, plenty of people care about me, but I'm deeply confused that it doesn't seem to be those who are supposed to do it.

I keep trying to give up the fantasy of a family connection. It still hurts. I cling to the awareness that my dad loved me. And my amazing husband Murry treats me with amazing dignity and respect.

I'm trying to make that enough.

Happy Birthday Sister. I hope you are happy and do find peace.

My Romance

I've probably blogged about this before, but my search features isn't working properly and I can't find it, so I'm going to write the story again.

Though we knew each other online, I put off meeting Murry in person for years. Someone who knew him told me that he was weird. I found out later, he snubbed her after she snubbed him and they were in a bit of a personality clash "war."

A mutual friend of ours then told me that Murry was quite normal and I finally decided to meet him thanksgiving day 1999.

He kindly drove out to Pasadena to pick me up. We then drove about 30 miles back to his house. I met his house mate Bob and Bob's girlfriend and later a string of random guests.

Neither of his housemates had local family so it was a lighthearted gathering of friendly people. We all laughed and ate and had a good time. Neither Murry nor I drink alcohol, but some of his friends wanted to go to a nightclub. We decided that was a good time for him to take me home.

I gathered my handbag and we went outside to get in his car. He parked around the corner to give his guests parking room in front of the house.

As I got to the corner I realized I had to fart. I couldn't do that IN the car and Murry was walking right next to me. I decided to slow down a little in the hopes of squeezing out the gas without him smelling anything.

He trod a mere 10 feet ahead as tried to slip out a silent release. No such luck. Maybe had there been more low clouds, I could have passed it off as a foghorn.

Murry just paused a bit as he got near the car. I got to my door and he asked, "Did you hear frogs??" I imagine he could have felt the heat from my blushing. "No, I'm afraid that was me. Better outside than in the confines of the car!"

He just chucked.

After waiting years to meet me, the first night I try and gas him. Ain't I a prize.

Thankfully there's more to romance than our moments of imperfection.

Squeeze Box

I looked up songs about breasts and found this title on the first page. I felt kind of funny that I didn't realize this song was about boobs, but it makes sense once I thought about it a minute.

Men love the tatas and they don't mind admitting it. Though some take it into an offensive category, I'm here to talk about another aspect of breast admiration.

I love my boobs. As I gained weight, my biology drove my breast tissue into bulbous, pendulous when swinging free, tatas.

That swinging can be hazardous to an unsuspecting mate too. I nearly knocked my husband senseless reaching past him for a drink of water. After that, we both referred to my breasts as "Hooters of DOOM!"

Said Doom Hooters don't break any records. I can, thankfully, still buy bras in any store. Though I'm told that a proper fitting would probably increase the cup size. I can't afford a fancy bra, so I do the best I can with what I can find.

Not long after I moved into Murry's house we bought a large screen TV. We went from a standard 32 inch to a huge 60 inch rear projection screen. Being sight impaired, I loved the larger viewing area.

Murry's friend Vance came by and was admiring our new set and remarked how wonderful it would be for viewing porn. Then he turned to Murry and said, though I suppose you are used to looking at large breasts.

Around the same time, a friend took a photo of me and upon seeing it, my online friends remarked how large they looked. I told them that it was jsut the angle of the shot. They didn't buy it.

It's weird to me. I don't think of them as that large. They're just a part of me. I hold them (ahem) in high esteem, but I live with them every moment of every day.

A few years ago, I realized why I am so much at ease with the Doom Hooters. They are clearly an adult thing. They show that I am a grown woman and can be as sexual as I desire.

Plus, I didn't have them when I was being molested as a little girl. There's zero confusion about my chest being touched and fondled. That helps me to stay in the now. That helps me enjoy my sexuality.

So, I say, Bounce Your Boobies and love the tatas today. I could have used that song, but I prefer Squeeze Box.

Listen to Rusty Warren sing Bounce Your Boobies here:
Bounce Your Boobies

What part of YOUR body to you love without reservation? Kind comments encouraged.

Let's Give Them Something to Talk About

Rhonda Britten says that we will always love someone once they've resided in our heart. Though we part, that affection stays with us.

And so it was with my friend, Phil Hurmence who passed away a couple of days ago from complications related to diabetes.

When we met, I lived with my first husband. Phil and my best friend Nancy were dating. They broke up and about a month later, my husband and I split up.

Nancy broke up my marriage by sleeping with my husband on our anniversary. I'm grateful now, but at the time, I felt deeply betrayed by them both.

Phil and I became good friends and a few months later more than friends. I moved in, though I maintained my own room. We both knew it wasn't a forever thing. After a couple of years, I cried and told him that it was hurting me being with someone when I knew it wasn't going to go much of anywhere.

We were close, but we wanted massively different things. It was amicable and I told him that I would find a new place to live. After a bit, he asked me to stay. He said I was the best, most reliable roommate he had ever had.

His friend Steven asked me why we didn't just get married. "You guys love each other." Though that's true, it would have been settling for both of us. Settling for almost good enough.

Phil and I lived in Pasadena a total of six years. We spent holidays together and his father and mother treated me like a member of the family.

When I went to Europe on a study program, Phil emailed me the most delightful letter about my cat Kevin. I wish I had kept it, I've been kicking myself over deleting it. Phil told me that it took Kevin about three days to realize I wasn't coming back. He said the cat wandered around the house meowing and looking everywhere for me.

So he picked up the cat and talked to him. Told him that "mom" was on a "big adventure" in the "outside," and she would return soon. Phil said that seemed to calm Kevin as if he understood. Maybe he did, he was a smart kitty.

A couple of months later, Kevin became sick and Phil had to take him to the vet. They decided that he was too sick to survive. He called me in tears. Such a sensitive guy when it comes to cats.

Phil always joked about the cat being from outer space. Taking Kevin to the vet, he turned on the radio and the song "Come Sail Away" started playing. Phil said he had to pull over he was crying so hard. The song ends with "they climbed aboard their starships and headed for the skies. "

When I met Murry and decided to move in with him, Phil went to live with his parents in Arizona. We had occasional phone contact and as it happens, Murry's sister lives an hour from where Phil's parents lived. We went to visit them both a couple of times.

I will miss my witty intelligent friend. I hope where ever you are now, you get to ride the starship with Captain Kevin.

All my love, your dear friend, Didi

Hit the Road Jack

Well, hit the road, Debbie. The day before I moved into the house that Murry owned, his roommate's girlfriend, Debbie, had a meltdown.

She somehow convinced herself that the new woman would threaten her status. Turns out, she had reason for concern, but I'll get to that in a minute.

She decided that Murry was "dangerous" and crawled out the window into the roof. Murry never knew what he said or did that sparked this reaction. I even asked him if my moving in would be any issue and he said it wouldn't.

So there she stood, jumping up and down calling "help police," while Murry tried to coax her inside. Roommate, Bob, hadn't gotten home from work. Murry had a guest over and they were just watching TV when she started acting weird.

Back then, Murry worked nights and it was about time for him to go to work so he left. A neighbor called the police and they arrived the same time as Bob and since they didn't know what was happening, put him in handcuffs.

They managed to get her to come to the door and she said it wasn't the guy. Bob told them that it must be a landlord issue and they left without filing any report.

Murry came to visit me on his way to work and said that she was being weird. I knew something was gonna be up when I showed up with my truck full of stuff the next day. She tried to tell how "dangerous" it was to live there. The only danger I felt was from her.

Murry decided that she needed to leave and he insisted she get her own place. I guess he felt she had tenant rights so he gave her 30 days for this. After 30 days, supposedly she had her own place, but she hung around her boyfriend and would stay up there while he worked. We could hear her stomping around.

Friends and her daughter showed up at the door asking for her. Implying we would harm her, the daughter said she was "checking on mom."

One evening, she and Bob came in and started walking past me as I lay on the couch  watching TV. She stopped and reached over and started petting the cat laying on my lap. Then she snarked  that I should tell Murry she has her own place. This didn't have anything to do with me, so I told her that was between them and that she needed to tell him herself.

She called me a bitch and whined about how he's too dangerous to talk to. Bob hustled her out of the room and apologized. I must have looked up in a way that told him she had crossed a line with me.

I'd been ignoring her for the better part of three months. Until that night, I didn't feel it was my place to say or do anything. I'd always believed the pen was mightier than the sword, but I had no idea how powerfully it could pierce.

I wrote her a one page letter and posted it on the front door and the door to the Bob's loft room. I don't remember all nine points, but I remember it was filled with rational musings on the situation.

If she didn't consider this her address, why did people come looking for her there? Why was she there alone? If Murry's so scary, why did she come into the house at all?

I also put a sign with big fonts that said "Deborah does not live here" on the front door. She ripped down the notes and called me a bitch again. But she did it as she stormed out.

I never saw her again. Murry said he saw her in Bob's car about a week after this.

Bob wasn't a bad guy. Seems weird that he would hook up with a selfish bat shit crazy woman. They did eventually break up. and he moved on and bought a house.

Debbie kind of reminded me of my mom. they're both selfish, self abusing lost souls who will defend their crazy with righteous indignation. I wish them both peace.

Got any roommate stories? I'd love to hear them.

Penny Lane

This is number 5 in a science fiction series I started. Here are the links to the previous ones if you wish to catch up. This is completely made up as I go and started on a suggestion from a chat. Comments welcome. 

1. Undercover Angel
2. Double Vision
3. Ya Gotta have Friends
4. Getting to Know You

  Georgia crouched down to pick up a piece of fruit she nudged off the table. "Now," she whispered into her com.
  Though she knew what would happen, the force of the blast left her ears ringing. Several people bumped past her before she managed to get under the table. 
  The electromagnetic pulse knocked out lights and cameras, but not life support. Those areas had protections and safeguards to prevent disruption.  After this, she though, even Penny Lane would be secured with redundant systems, space station operations would see to that. 
    The market took up the center of deck nine. The gang confined the disruption near the Chentry section. They hoped to blame the whole operation on anti Chentry separatists.
  Market goers began to bump and jostle in their panic to escape the darkness. Georgia scurried from her hiding place, feeling for the edge of stall tables. The scents of fresh cut fish, guided her to the left and down two tables. 
  She knew security officer Jones sat and had coffee with his cousin every morning at 10. As she rounded the corner she heard his gruff voice bellowing, "Stay calm!"
  The panic in his own voice only served to upset more people. "He's doing my job for me," thought Georgia. As she moved closer she bumped into a table of hissing insects. As she reached out to steady it, she felt a tentacle slither under her fingers.. 
  Shuddering she snatched her hand away and began wailing to attract Jones to her. As he neared she grabbed a passerby and body checked them into a small group she heard milling about. 
  She ducked under the bread table across from the now fighting crowd and listened as officer Jones tried to stop the chaos she created. 
  Georgia reached up and grabbed a loaf to nibble on while she waited. The  pungeont flavor of the sourdough took her back to the first time she went to a Penny Lane. 
  Benhi had just handed her a phone that served as ID. She turned it over in her hands and checked to see her face staring out at her. 
  "You'll have to learn how to use it before you go out. You don't want to be fumbling with it when asked," said the Chentry."At least you can read, that's a step up from most people who live on the street."
  Georgia clicked through the menus and noticed that she had a few credits on balance. Benhi told her that she'd earn more as time went on. She smiled to herself at the new found personhood, though it did make her feel a bit dizzy.
  Early the next morning she dressed in her brown overalls and black shoes and headed to the market. Benhi wanted her to run an errand for him. She needed a few things for herself  as well. The Chentry don't have hair so Benhi neglected to buy her a comb. She made do with her fingers, but she needed to learn proper grooming.
  They decided that she would start out as a low level worker and build her ID as time went on. She needed time to adjust to having an address.
  In the past, she avoided the market during the day. Though it proved excellent nighttime scrounging grounds.
  Now that she could browse and even buy a few items, Georgia savored the pungent aromas of fresh local delicacies. One stall  piled fish around all four sides. Three aproned dark haired men stood around the center table gutting and skinning  items for customers too lazy to do it themselves. She eyed the chum bucket and thought about the times when she'd found fish heads to eat after the market closed.
  She kept to the edge as she glanced at bread and fruit and guessed at a couple of items where more Chentry stood waiting their turn. Vats of dark liquid roiled with living thing waving tentacles out the top. Cages of hissing insects protested with piercing chirps when the clerks grabbed one out to sell.
  Georgia lurked past the minstrel strumming a lyre. He thrusted his chin at her hoping for a tip, but she didn't know how to do it so she scurried past. He turned to look for easier pickings.
  An argument between a pair of stall owners ensued near where Georgia stood. She looked for a place to hide , but realized that no one else was paying any attention to the loud voices. She forced herself to hold a passive expression and moved away.
  Lost in the excitement of the new experience Georgia realized she missed the alarm on her phone. When she found Drax in the electronics section, He yelled at her for being late. 
  "You think I have all day? Now you wait for me." With that the brown skinned man sat and began watching something on his phone. 
  Georgia watched him a moment then looked down at his wares. Old useless junk, she reasoned. Nothing on his table shone with the gleam of modern tech. 
  She decided to try a bluff and see how he would react. "I guess Benhi will have to take his business to someone else. Someone who delivers." She turned to walk away. 
  He stood and glared at her frowning a moment, then shrugged and smiled. "Any friend of Benhi's" he trialed off. Taking the package from him, she gave him the stern look she always got in the orphanage. His smile faded as she turned away and hurried back to her mentor. 
  Back at the space station, lights began flashing about and crowds  filled lit corridors. She slid in near Jones just as the gang gave her the all clear. 
  After the market cleanup, the security chief picked her up when he saw the video of her ducking down before the blast. He used this as an excuse to debrief her. She feigned complete ignorance. She didn't know what they were exchanging, only that they needed her to keep Jones occupied. She did report on some minor gang activity and they agreed that nothing would be done. 
  Her cover more secure, Georgia rose within the ranks of the gang and kept her under cover status with the chief. Soon she began using both resources to trace the people responsible for killing her mentor. 

Stuck in the Middle with You

It seems to me that most people just want to live their own lives. They just want to get up, do work that they enjoy, come home and drink a beer. Though my choice would be root beer.

I want to live in a place where the "community" stuff just works. I want smooth, well maintained roads, an honest police force, strong well trained firefighters and education that teaches kids how to use the tools of knowledge.

I care about my progressive ideals, yet I don't want to concentrate on those that put me in constant opposition. Seems to me the most courageous thing to do is choose the middle. Choose to open up to the desires of the people who may not have time for research on all aspects of a political point.

I want to know what the center thinks and wants. I want to know how to have a real middle of the road conversation. I want to be part of the middle and share in the pleasures of the latest popular tv show.

How can we agree to disagree on the fringe stuff and find common ground on the basics? How can we gain representative for that which needs doing and let the edges worry over the big questions? Who will speak for us?

What do you want, middle people? And how can we gidder done?

Kind comments encouraged.

99 Tears

I've been avoiding problems in my life. We have massive debt left over from closing our business and owe taxes and fines beyond our meager income. The pile of paperwork to sort through it all seems insurmountable.

I've been paying the state of Oregon and I have a federal tax bill due on the first. Basically my July income has been spent.

Murry has some health concerns that are prolonging his hiring doing a job he wants. He has a doctor's appointment to find out what's going on.

I'm happy for him to have an opportunity and I appreciate the frustration. Though the job promises to be long hours. Which will be strange for me. I'm used to him being around a lot.

We need to fix things around the house and tend the yard, but it's sporadically raining. I guess I should just remember that nature is not something I can change and let it go.

We could really use high speed Internet, but we can't afford it right now. We tried to get it last year when Murry was working almost full time, but the cable company flaked out. My browser I have set up to do larger text with nice colors wont load things like Facebook.

I feel so left behind by all the new fangled technology. I want a smart phone too. We checked just before he got that merchandising job, the cheapest regular phone company wanted around $60 a month for one. I know I can get one of the pay as you go connections for $45, but  I will have to buy a phone.

I am mad at myself for not posting often enough to this blog. Not everything I think about involves joy, and I forget that it's okay to share that too. I am still an optimist and I feel very little shame about having problems. I feel a little guilt. Just a little.

If I weren't a procrastinator I wouldn't be a pro at anything ;)

If you feel the urge to offer help, make it in the form of morale support. Kind comments always welcome.

Happy

All happy happens sometimes. Mostly happy happens most of the time. With a little happy, ambivalence or neither happy nor sad and unhappy in about the same minor proportions. I'm counting content in the "mostly happy" category.

I went to two parties this weekend and before I even got there, my heart filled with the possibilities of meeting new people and getting a new perspective. I sometimes fret a little about putting too much pressure on something I haven't yet experienced. Though I do love being around people. Even if I didn't get to speak to anyone, just the chance to watch others interact would be fun.

Every time I go to gatherings it reminds me how social I am. When I wrote up my "dream day" for a goal setting exercise, I made sure it ended with a dinner party. I love diversity of conversation.

I can and will talk to strangers. "My that's a lovely shirt, " to the lady in line at the store. "Have you grown Armenian cucumbers?" to the farmers market vendor. Bold, honest, happy chat, anywhere, anytime.

Even my Murry got into the spirit. Last night he mentioned that we could fix up our yard and start having more people over to our house. Evidently, though he's a bit quieter than me, he had as good a time as I did.

Both parties had live music. One had a dance floor like great room and people swayed and whirled around in solstice celebration. Both bands flung melodic tones enlivening all who heard.

One party celebrated the 50th birthday of a friend. Since I had no such celebration for my own big 50 this year, I felt so close to the guy. His wife made deviled eggs from their own laying chickens and potato salad from ingredients she grew herself. She also made a wonderful carrot cake that surpassed any commercial confection I've had.

At the second party, people brought in pot luck foods and laid out an amazing spread of salads, dips, burritos (Murry's) and various interesting flavor combinations. I'll be dreaming about the bacon and cheese stuffed mild peppers for a long while.

I love being a sensor. Touching, tasting, seeing, hearing and smelling  new and interesting experiences raises me up. Add to that thinking about all the stories people tell. Connecting to some new friend's dream of moving to Oregon and finding it so charming. Hearing the story of a couple meeting 35 years ago and noticing how it has similar elements to meeting Murry. Telling my own view on the world. And having someone nod as they listen.

Experience + fellowship = happiness

Okay, dunno what you might comment on. If you think of something, then make it kind.