Life on a 3x5 Card

What have I accomplished in life that cannot be captured on a 3x5 card? The list of the things I’ve done is long, the list of the places I’ve been much shorter, but the person I am seems to be one big question mark. By the time I reach my life expectancy, I’d like to be able to write at least one full sentence on that 3x5 card, a sentence that captures who I am, rather than just list what I did.

I am the child of parents who both are dead; I am the sister of siblings with whom I have no contact; I was the wife of a man who is my “ex”; I am the mother of children who live too far away; I am the grandmother of a grandson who knows me through pictures, presents, and infrequent visits; I am a friend to people I've know for many years and friendly to others I've known a shorter time. But when I stand in front of the mirror, who is the person who looks back at me? That is the question for which I have no answer, not even the rough outline on a 3x5 card.

Have I done well in life? Yes, based on the yardstick society uses to measure such things. I am self-supporting; I still work and do at least an adequate job; I maintain my domicile; I pay all my bills on time and usually in full; I am naturally thrifty, turning off unused lights in my home long before it became green; no one will ever remember me as a clothes’ horse or a shoe whore; I have a good sense of humor, yet show kindness to my fellow inhabitants and lend a helping hand where and when one is needed. But are these lists of what I do the definition of who I am?

On my blog, I once wrote that my life is a journey to discover the person within, to figure out who I am and what me, myself and I need to be content with life. When the time comes to look The Big Guy in the eye and answer for the years He has given to me, what will I say? It’ll start with “Man, I have screwed up so many things that I wish I had handled better,” but He already knows that, and I don’t think that is the information He is seeking. There are no excuses, there are no apologies, there are no explanations that change how I’ve lived my life! I’ve tried not to harm anyone intentionally, but even in those earnest efforts I know that I have hurt others I never intended to hurt.

I remember turning 40 and making decisions that many people thought were bad decisions. I knew at that time of my life that I had made so many past mistakes that continuing to live the life based on them would simply not work for the rest of my life, and I did what I could to start over. I hurt people at that time, but sometimes wrenching free does that. A decade later, someone else took everything I thought I was from me, deciding for me what next direction my life would take. I knew the hurt I had given to others from the inside out, and, at times, I did not think that I could make it through the healing process. I did, and learned more about myself and my life in the process.

I know that I have walked away from those who have asked for help from me because I feel that “God helps he who first helps himself,” but I have given far more to people who never asked me for anything because I could give to them that which they needed to do it themselves. I have always believed that what we do not earn by the efforts of hard, honest work is not valued. There is pride in working hard, in trying, failing, and doing it again, a pride that is stripped from us when anyone thinks that we are incapable of achieving it on our own and hands it to us. The effort is the foundation for the achievement: if I do not try, how do I know that I cannot? If I am trying and failing, how can anyone step in front of me, do it for me, and expect me to thank them for taking away the feeling that comes when I succeed? If I truly cannot do what life asks of me, I’ll ask for guidance, for help, but not expect that someone else will do it for me. I need not just to be self-sufficient, but to know the thrill of shouting at the top of my lungs, “I DID IT!”

As I am coming to a significant birthday in my life, I have to accept that I am now at that age when others will want to do for me, to make my life easier because I am … old. My mother always used to say that it’s a shame we cannot put an old head onto young shoulders, that we cannot, when we come to the age where we do know more about life than those decades younger, share that wisdom with them. As a late teen, after my father died, I recall shouting at my mother to let me make my OWN mistakes! I knew then that I may make MY mistakes, but that did not necessarily mean that I would make my mother’s mistakes. Now that I am on the other side of the definition of senior citizen, I still want to live MY life, make MY mistakes, fumble my own way through what is left of the journey begun so many decades ago.

A recent newspaper article included the “fact” that most Americans share an average lifespan of 78 years, which started me thinking not of a bucket list, but of a personal list of pleasures I’ve denied myself that I’d like to indulge before I die. It’s sort of like the gal who decided to cook every one of Julia Child’s recipes one year, but mine is not restricted to cooking. I have already taken the first steps, replacing the window in the guest room with a glass door, bringing the outside in, something I had thought about since I moved into my current home in January 2000. I also traded in my beloved Camry and my truck for the RAV to par down what I have into what I need: a comfortable passenger compartment with lots of load room. I’ve already agreed to buy a friend’s huge sectional couch and replace the two couches I bought about 25 years ago with something else, even though it means that I have never spent the money to purchase my own, brand-new couch. I still want to make a delicious chocolate cake with rich, creamy chocolate icing and a fruit filling, but I’ll save that for the upcoming birthday.

The trip to Greece? I have other places to go and other people to see and other things to do, so we'll see.

Doin' What Comes Naturally

Daisy is sulking. Usually, she sleeps curled up next to me; last night, however, I actually got a good night's sleep, but didn't know why. After I tracked her down, I realized that Daisy slept in the guest room. She rearranged the afghan to make herself a little nest, curled up, and spent the night sulking, a definite sign that she's still upset with me for what I did yesterday.

While I was outside doing a bit of yardwork, I noticed a steady stream of water coming from a pipe next to the house. I called B, who came over to see what was causing the water stream, and it turned out to be a split pressure guage. He fixed it, we played with the dogs, B noticed that birds had made a nest in the eves, and all was well with the world.

A couple of hours later, Daisy sneaked into the house quietly, not her usual flying object approach. When I turned my head to greet her, I noticed that she was carrying a dead bird between her teeth, head down, and steadily moving toward my living room carpet.

"Oh, no! That is not going to happen! Daisy! Drop the bird!"

Sure, that was effective. Daisy planted her front paws, lowered her head even more, and started that low, intense growl that clearly sends the message: step away from my bird. It's mine.

I shooed her outside, but she was determined to keep the bird. I limped along behind her all the way around the house, until I cornered her at the front gate, where we had been working on the broken water line. I was able to fling the bird over the fence into the front yard using a stick, but boy, was Daisy upset. She started leaping straight up, trying to get over the fence, and I actually thought she was going to make it!

After limping all the way back into the house, I went out front to bag the bird and saw that B had left half his tools from the pipe repair, which made the whole bird incident a bit better because had I not gone to retrieve the dead bird, I would not have seen B's tools. And, after depositing her kill in the garbage can, I petted Daisy and told her what a good girl she was, yada yada yada. Made me feel better, but she's still pissed.

Daisy was just doing what her natural instinct tells her to do, but I took away her prize for doing well. It's not easy to hunt down and kill birds, but Mia takes out a pigeon about once a month, and now Daisy is demonstrating that she, too, can provide for her master. As much as I'd love to allow both of the dogs to play with their kills, it isn't going to happen on my watch or in my living room.

So, Daisy is sleeping in the other room, clearly sulking. She'll get over it the next time I haul out the bag of chicken-flavored doggie treats, but every female deserves a good sulk now and then, so I'll wait her out.

Say It Isn't So!

Can you believe it? The ex-girlfriend is now telling the media that Jake (yeah, I know: who????) was only in it for the money! I cannot believe her accusations can be true. Jake obviously went on this season's The Bachelor because he cannot find a girlfriend any other way, and, according to his numerous appearances on the talk show circuit, he looked everywhere! However, after knowing a woman for (let's say) a few weeks and having sex with a whole bunch of other women at the same time he's allegedly falling in love with that special someone, he cannot be so shallow as to only do the gig for the money.

No, I'll bet he was counting on this series to slingshot him into a media career! It's far out, but maybe he could even appear on ... hm, let me think a minute ... oh, got it: Dancing With the Stars!! (Are the dancers the stars or the novices who dance with them? I forget, since I seldom recognize anyone in either role). After all, it worked for Jon Gosselin, and for OctoMom, and for that Jersey gang of social rejects, the Housewives of several different coasts, and anyone who needs to lose weight: why not Jake? Why not put yourself out there, let it happen, escalate the lifestyle, pretend that a reality show is real?

Ya don't need talent; ya just need a good publicist and a new vocabulary word: sycophant. It's kinda like your own posse, but you pick up the tab for your sycophants because you're the only one with money and that's all they need from you. But, if it makes you feel better, you can pretend that they really, really like the real you and are your friends -- at least until you no longer can support them in the style to which they have become accustomed, thanks to your generosity and transient fame.

Oops: my bad! YOU call that person a fiancee! Whatever. Make it work, people.

Just Askin'

In CA, all drivers must be both licensed and protected with automobile insurance: it's the law. However, I pay a monthly fee, called "uninsured motorist" coverage, to protect me from motorists who are not insured. Thus, in spite of the law, MY insurance has to pay for HIS/HER failure to comply with the law. If neither party is insured, the public pays for the costs of whatever may befall the unlicensed driver and/or the uninsured motorist, including medical costs, property damage, and funerals.

Rather than taking a step forward, we have nailed one foot to the ground and will continue to go around and around and around, giving the illusion of making progress, but staying in the same place we've always been. The people aren't going to continue to pay for their own medical coverage -- and pick up the tab for those who refuse to purchase medical insurance. The medical institutions aren't going to continue to operate if they have to continue to provide services for those patients who do not have insurance. The doctors aren't going to continue to see patients who refuse to purchase insurance when the law clearly states that every American will have medical insurance. Who's going to defend the doctors, the medical facilities, and the insurance companies when the lawsuits clog the courts because medical services are denied to individuals who do not have insurance?

A person who does not have a valid driver's license still drives, and a person who does not have automobile insurance still drives an uninsured vehicle, so why does anyone believe for even a moment that everyone will purchase medical insurance because it's the law?

Mutant Dog Toys

This morning, the dogs left a pile of toys at the doggie door. Daisy is the one who snatches a toy from Mia's mouth and then runs like the wind, bouncing out the doggie door, to hide the toy in the shrubbery. I'm not sure which of the girls brought the stash to the door this morning, but I've been mending them for about an hour now.

When I see a pile of fluffy toy filling scattered across the living room carpet, I know it's time to put together what remains of another toy. There is no use in spending more money to buy new toys as the dogs can chew them to pieces faster than I can replace them. I've sewn shut the holes where arms/legs used to be, attached rear ends to heads without the missing body, and held Swiss cheese toys together with masking tape. Some toys that began at a foot long are now mere inches, being whittled away as part of the daily play.

I still have a few new toys stashed in the cupboard, which I'll pull out when I can no longer salvage the current crop of chew toys. Meanwhile, I kinda enjoy the display of mutant dog toys!