Something jogged my memory tonight. When my daughter and I visited Findlay Market one Saturday morning about a year prior to my losing my house I remember saying "I love the energy down here; I want to be part of this..." Fast forward one and half years...I am part of it. I saw a picture that made me sit up and think. I have my daughter to thank for saving my sorry ass. I was focusing on what I was losing and not what I was gaining. She found the number of the apartment that I now inhabit and insisted that I call it (from her UPS truck on Xmas break)..I finally did and established a pretty cool relationship with my apartment owner (landlord). Dream fulfilled. Tonight, at my local wine bar, I met up with some of my friends. One of the regulars is an elderly gentleman, who has suffered from a stroke. I don't really know him - but I know OF him - as I know his recent story and his current needs status. He comes to socialize - we all need this. He's still quite sharp and keeps up with conversation - his current problem is output - he's hard to understand - but the fact that I've listened to his feedback gives me complete confidence he knows what he is talking about. He also struggles physically. Tonight, I was relieved when my friend J showed up - he trusts her and knows that she will take him home. He lives near me. And I've made it clear I would take him home too. maybe he doesn't trust me yet. I think he does. We'll just need to get there. J came in, he decided he needed to go home...after a full day's work she and my other friend got him home. When they returned...I told them..I was proud to be their friend and honored to know them. These are the people you want in your corner. They matter and they care. Remember this story when you read about hatred. There is also a great amount of good out there. We just need to focus on it.

So where did I go wrong? My mom planned the perfect wedding, we were young and had the world ahead of us. It lasted 18 months. And at 22 I was a divorcee. And pretty much asset-less. I walked. I took nothing with me, except some unwanted wedding gifts (my daughter from a subsequent marriage now owns the uber-expensive china living in Athens, OH attending college - go figure - I secretly hope her friends decide to have a "frisbee" contest with the Mikasa). No kids, no mess. It seemed to be the right thing to do. "Here, you take it all...I just want out." In some weird twist of fate, I ended up in a conversation recently with the ex I had not even thought of in 30 years. Bad idea. He was still angry. After 30 years. Which is ok, as long as you have the facts straight. But he did not. Even close. The weird conversation turned ugly as he proceeded to accuse me of infidelity that never existed. Not that I care about the infidelity part. After 30 years, why do I feel the need to defend my decisions? On a different note, I apologize to said "Tim Zwork" living somewhere in Florida who was blamed for my indiscretions and whom I have zero knowledge of. Really? The Ex went through the last 30 years with the belief that I left him for someone that doesn't even exist to me. wow. So what do we take from this? I now realize my actions created great emotional stress and suffering for someone else. When I left I was not clear on this. Probably because I was the one who wanted out - other's suffering is more easily dismissed. And...more importantly, we assume people change and grow when we haven't been a part of their day to day life. Do not ever assume this. Or you will end up in weird phone call hell and crying on your kitchen floor because you never saw it coming. But in the end, allowing someone to vent their pain at your expense as long as it didn't cost more than a few minutes off your data plan...ok. Yeah, my feelings were hurt but maybe he gained that closure he thinks he needs. And my feelings always reel back with a vengeance. No one keeps me down long. And Hall & Oates songs will now be my secret reminder of my past relationship with said Ex. He didn't appreciate my remembrance on a mature level. Fuck him.

When "time out" doesn't fly....

The Newtown massacre. A devastation. A mess of citizens across the country calling for everything. More gun control. More guns. Arm the teachers. Arm the 6 year olds. Ban the guns. Less guns. Let's kill deer with BB guns. It's a mess. Then there's the mental health call. I shared an article from Liza's take Slate wrote an article in response. That article really unhinged me. Written from the perspective of a person who doesn't understand what daily life with a mentally ill person in your life consists of. She completely undermined Ms. Long's parenting skills and also managed to perpetuate the stigma of mental illness by accusing the mother of stigmatizing her son by calling out his mental illness in a public forum (she did not use his real name). Ms. Long is trying to bring awareness to a much needed forum. I spent a few years of my life helping to raise a child who was brain damaged and struggled with aggression issues. Before my daughter was born (this child was 13 years older than her)he was a part of my life. He attended Junior High while living with me...his teachers and I decided after one unfortunate incident that his male teachers should refrain from neckties. I also was very lucky to live in a community that made it a point to afford him with resource education. After my daughter was born I initiated some rules while he lived in my home; I told his mother he was welcome as long as he did not pose a threat to my daughter. At 16 this imploded. He tried to hurt my daughter. He was booked on the next flight back to his mother. I was lucky. I had somewhere to send him when he proved to be a threat to my other children. Most families don't have this option. Liza Long was left with "we have an emergency plan if your brother threatens to kill you" for her children. Lock yourself in the car. What. the. fuck. Slate, shame on you for perpetuating the "let's hide the mentally ill person and not talk about their needs" because....well, yeah, we don't get it. Better moms, tougher parenting will fix it? No. They need help. And acceptance. And resources.

The pain we want to forget....

Today...a very good friend posted about a photographer who lost his wife to metastatic breast cancer.  That's how I lost my mom almost 30 years ago.  Yes, I was only 22. And motherless.

Here's the website: The Battle We Didn't Choose

I found the link because Wendy Blyth was pissed off.  A Cancer support facility had an Art Gallery and was prepared to present his show.  But then decided to cancel; because it was too painful for some of their patrons.

I will tell you, I clicked over to his website and photos when I saw Wendy's post.  I was at work.  And crying.  Every thing was flooding back into my brain.  Watching someone physically die from cancer is nothing I would ever wish even on my worst enemy. It's devastating.  And guess what? I didn't die or feel the pain...I just watched...helplessly. It's a pain that you never recover from.

My reason for this post is this: Nothing creates positive marketing like negative viral internet attention. I would have never seen this website or their struggle in life without Wendy's site . I think the Gallery is dick for not honoring their contract.  But Angelo will be more widespread and popular for this setback. This I know.

 In honor of Carole Ann Nelson (my mother)

Reason #a bazillion why I love her so much...

 

Last night's conversation:

photo: Jann Bond

Me: I can't find your passport.

Cee: mmmkay.  Remember when we moved?  I handed it to you as we were taking apart my desk and said "keep this in a safe spot" (said without malice or judgement).

Me: no, I was in a state of shock that day.....

Cee: *sigh* I know, I kinda had to takeover.

Me: let me think; it's in a leather thingy, right?

Cee: yes, it's red leather.

Me: ok, I'm gonna try and remember where I would have considered "safe place" that day.

Cee: mom, this is important...I'm going to Spain in 3 weeks.

Me: I know.  Let me think.  I'll call you back.

NEXT CALL:

Me: Tell your mother how amazing she is.

Cee: OMG, you found it???? I was freaking out. You should see my room; we were tearing it apart thinking I might still have it.  Where was it?

Me: you know that black leather zipper book where I keep your SS card? (Franklin Planner). In there.


I don't know what possessed me to look in that Planner.  But score one for the low-tech approach to storing important data :)

Be Happy.

That Girl...

I grew up in the late 60's, early 70's watching "That Girl"with Marlo Thomas.  She epitomized every thing I wanted to be.  Independent, beautiful, adventurous and sought after.  She comes with a few quirks I am afflicted with as well - but we will leave those to your guessing.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Zoh1LGADKI8&feature=related

It's funny how one stream of media can define you,  later, in my teen years, I totally connected with Mary Tyler Moore on her show.  Somehow, I always knew I wanted to live in an urban neighborhood and on my own.  Not with the absence of a functional relationship (Ann Marie always had Donald and Daddy to be there in a pinch).  I would like a Donald.  He was cool and handsome.  Her Dad was a bit over-bearing - but perfect for the time-culture.  My Dad isn't too involved, but he's a generous guy, I'm glad he's not trying to tell me how to live my life at 51. But, here I am, downtown, more like "in the 'hood" and without "Donald"...this works for me momentarily, but I really would like to fall in love some day. I never have to worry about my Daddy walking into my apartment to find my "boyfriend" walking around in his boxers (very risque for TV land in the late 60's) . But I do wish he would get to meet Mr. Right.