The "Aw" Car

The light was turning yellow; I slowed to a stop and waited.  A familiar shape appeared on my left. I knew the color, year, make and model. I could see the Michigan Tech and United States Maine Core Decals still remained on the rear window.  It was rustic beige 4 door late model VW Jetta.

The windows were rolled down. I knew why on this hot summer day. The air conditioner had been disconnected long ago; deemed a gas saving move by an eccentric mechanic. My eyes roamed from bumper like a woman eyeing a pair of diamond studded shoes.  I may have been hanging out my car window, I don’t remember.

My longing gaze caught the attention of the driver, who looked in my direction and then quickly looked away.  The light continued to hold us in suspension.  I wanted to reach out and touch the car, hoping to bring back something, something lost to me.  I looked at the light, still red.  I looked back at the car; the driver was looking at me, a strange expression on his face.  Did he think I was trying to pick him up?   No not him, just the car.

Suddenly the light change, he drove away and with it the tangible reminder of my Father’s eccentricities. 

Daddy really liked that car. It had a manual transmission so not just anyone could drive it. It was the best car for teaching a new driver; something we insist upon in our family (I’m saving that for another blog). He liked to fix it himself, until his hands gave out.  It looked like Hell.  He never washed it, never. The decals on the back window were his Pride and Glory:  Michigan Tech and United States Marine Core.  He had put these here to represent my twins and whenever anyone asked he proudly told them about his grandchildren.  He would go on forever about their accomplishments.

When Daddy died we made the hard decision to sell it, we were not sure anyone would actually buy it.  It sold quickly.  I was shocked and saddened.  I hoped that someone would take care of Daddy’s car just as he had.  A few months ago child #4 and I were putting groceries in the car when he said “There goes Grandpa!”  I looked up to see Daddy’s Car cruising down the road with a pizza delivery light on the roof.  It was an “Aw” moment that was shared with the family.

Yesterday’s sighting sent me into that “Aw” moment again.  I drove to the grocery store with misty eyes.  I was missing my Daddy more than ever; the car was a painful reminder.  At least someone was taking care of that one eccentric memory and has not fixed the air conditioner.

Peace.

NEPb

The Me Ride

Everything came together perfectly: there were no children, no pressing chores, no personal commitments, no personal injuries, and the weather was perfect.

We have a bike friendly town, two bike repair shops, a University campus with more bike racks than parking places for motor vehicles. Any where you turn there are paved paths for walking and as I see it, BIKING.  An old railroad line has been paved and turned into a trail connecting our town to the nearby town.  It’s extremely popular for biking and hiking. 

  

This morning I found myself in the best possible situation.  I could go for a bike ride my way.  I didn’t have the children with me complaining that one was going too fast, the other too slow.   There was no complaining about not wanting to take this trail,  or being hungry or tired.  It was my bike ride, all mine.

As I hit the first long hill, breezes blowing in face, I started thinking about writing this, and then about other projects I was writing.  “Darn, you are procrastinating again.”  And then again to myself “But you need this time to clear your head.”

Do we ever get over the self loathing, the guilt of leaving things unfinished when we are out treating ourselves to quiet time?  I had to clear my head of all guilt to enjoy my ride, my quiet time.  Focus on me. 

We all, no matter our circumstances must remember that we need a little “me” time.  Time to gather thoughts, clear the cobwebs and get ready for the next challenge that life throws at us.

Personally days like these are rare for me.  I savor them like that Key Lime yogurt  I eat every day.  I’m going to take full advantage of it and feel no more guilt and have no more battles with myself for the rest of the day. 

Now where are those tees?  I am heading for the driving range to beat up a few balls.  I hope I don’t hurt anyone.

Peace.  nepb

Daddy's Authority

Our parents teach us many lessons through the years: many we didn’t know we were learning at the time they were being taught.  My father was a Chemical Engineer; directions and rules were to be followed pretty much to the letter, there was no room for the ridiculousness. My mother worked as a secretary, her career was more about customer service and seeing that people were treated fairly and politely.  Thursday, rules, fairness and the ridiculousness went head to head with my Mother leading the fight.

Now about Mom: As a child I would cringe when she had something she had to return.  She never backed down from a fight. If it was defective, hell or high water, she was getting her money back.  I remember particularly an Aigner purse. It was the early 70’s in Durham; the maroon dye was coming off and getting all over anything that came in contact with it.  She took it back to the store.  I walked out into the mall, too embarrassed to stay in the store while the manager and Mom went round and round over that purse. She was never rude or used foul language, but she argued her case, and won. 

Thursday evening picking up my daughter, she informed me of her visit to the local Cable Company. She was paying her bill and picking up another digital converter box that she discovered she needed.  Six or so months ago the company had switched their system and everyone was required install this device. The only information needed at that time was address and account verification: Easy. 

This time was not so easy.

The clerk on duty Thursday took Mom’s check, checked her account and informed her that William, the account is in my father’s name, would have to come in and sign for the box. My mother was astonished.  She informed the clerk that William had been dead for 3 years, and had never, in their 30 plus years of being clients, signed for anything in that office.  The clerk told my mother she would have to come back with a death certificate at another time.

As I’m sitting in my mother’s living room listening to this story, my mind is racing back to the past.  All those times when she gave managers, clerks, wait staff, anyone who provided bad service the “what for”.  And Daddy, what would Daddy say?   I pointed to the bookcase where Daddy’s ashes resided.  “Well there he is.  Take Daddy with you tomorrow, that’s what Daddy would say if he could talk.  Let him sign for their little .50 cents box of plastic”.  Before I knew what I had said she was laughing and agreeing with me. 

I wondered to myself if I was setting her up for time on the sixth floor.  Would they lock her up as some crazed old woman?  Gosh, I hope not.  “Better take someone with you Mom, It’s not every day, that someone walks into a cable office with a dead man’s ashes”. 

Now I can see financial institutions, real estate dealings, and other legal matters needing proof of death, but this was for a 3 inch piece of black plastic.  An elderly woman who has had an account for over 30 years was asking for one more box. What did they think she was going to do with it? Sell the secret technology to our enemies?  Contact alien stink bugs?   The whole situation made me mad.

Mom took “Daddy” for a ride Friday morning.  She took my son with her as well.  She picked up the little box.  The women in the Cable Company had a really good laugh, as did Mom. They will get many miles out of this story.  As for Daddy, I know he would have done the same thing.  He taught us lessons about ridiculousness,  not to put up with it.  Mom still has some lessons to teach me.  I hope I am good student. 

NEPB  peace.

The Invisible Microphone

I fully admit I am critical: of others, strangers, friends, family and myself.  I too often put that invisible microphone to their face and ask “Did you really mean that?”

What gives us the right to be so overly judgmental of people?  Is it the blaring broadcast of media?  It is handed to us shiny exquisite devices so we are never out of touch with media’s judgment:  So we too must judge, right?

Click the comments section of any online news article today and you will find hundreds of people judging others for their comments. Many of the harshest comments are made back and forth between people who do not even know each other: Strangers judging strangers in a heated online battle ground.  It is a cruel view of the world.

I sat on the steps the other morning judging myself, contemplating this blog.  I had asked tough questions of my friend, I wondered was I too critical, was I too blunt?   Isn’t always best to wait until someone ask for your advice/judgment?  Have I become an abuser of the invisible microphone?

In my professional life, I have attend classes on Critical Thinking, that is how NOT to be so critical.  I do this very well in my professional life; I have work hard to apply it to my private life.  One of the biggest lessons learned is to listen:  Just listen.  You don’t always have to put that microphone to their mouth, you don’t have to comment, criticize, or judge, just listen.

There is so much criticism and hate in the world today; it’s no wonder we are caught in the trap of the invisible microphone.  Think before you speak, think before you pass judgment and criticize.  

 Put away your microphone for just a day and feel the freedom and relieve of being a kinder, gentler person.

Peace.

Weight and Stereotypes

We are a society obsessed with weight and appearances. Sadly we stereotype others by their weight. One of the most common is that overweight people are lazy and unintelligent. I do have to concede right from the start there are health reasons for maintaining a certain weight, however judging ones intelligence and motivation is where the line needs to be drawn.

I have been steadily losing weight to the point now where those around me are keenly aware of the change in my appearance.  The comments and questions are annoying:  How much have I lost?  What size do I wear now?  What plan am I on?   You look great now. (Because I was so ugly before????)   I have not answered the questions nor commented.  I have simply diverted their attention to another subject matter, that’s the beauty (quirk) of my personally, they don’t know what hit them and they moved on easily forgetting they didn’t get an answer.

Stereotyping is dangerous.  If you categorize someone according to small set of standards and you don’t take the time to get to know the real person because they don’t meet your standards you may miss knowing a person of great importance. This could be the next person to cure Cancer,  solve World Hunger or develop a clean water system for all the world, or just help you with you little personal problem.  Why let your stereotypes of ANYTHING lessen your chances to enrich your life or the life of another?

Back to weight loss questions:  So I lost weight, am I smarter now?  I don’t think so. Give me a math problem I am sure to fail. I lost weight, am I less lazy? If looking at my domestic skills is an indication, you would have to conclude that I have become lazier. (Weight loss = messy house)  

What plan am I on? This question probably irritates me the most.  I refuse to give into the almighty Commercial Diet Giants. The advertisements are everywhere with their celebrity endorsements. It’s what they don’t tell you that bother me.  So what program do I follow?  The read program:  I read everything I can about the right foods and then I eat, yes I eat.

What size clothing do I wear?  The size that fits of course, now that is a very silly question.

Look past your stereotypes and see the person within or you may be missing out on something wonderful. 

Indifference

Sometime this past this past month, I past the 5 year anniversary of my diagnosis of Breast Cancer:  Honestly I don’t remember the exact date, although I have thought much about the past years. I experienced a range of emotions: relief, success, gratitude, paranoia and a lot of indifference.  That last one may seem a little strange to some.  I've talked to some of my friends, friends  like myself who were diagnosed  in the later stages of the disease but continue to live and they also feel this indifference.  

Indifference is probably the most difficult for many to understand. It grew just as that first diseased cell grew, quickly. It grew because of experiences, words spoken, friendships made, friendships broken, lives entwined.

I personally have hardened myself (and become indifferent) by comments made by people who over the years, thinking they know the disease.  They think by watching those tissue grabbing commercials, they have become medical experts.  They have from the beginning and to this day continue to diagnose and predict outcomes because of what they saw on television, read on the internet, or heard from a friend.   My disease is an individual as my fingerprint and therefore so is my prognosis.   If you haven’t read my medical chart you can’t possible know what my future holds.  Hold your tongue and be happy that I am here in this moment.  I am.

In the past 5 years, I have come to accept many things I may or may not see in my life time.  Much of this acceptance has come from those friends I have lost to the disease. Gratefully they have taught me many lessons, lessons that I cannot possibly make clear to you.   We sat for hours together in the Chemo Lounge, some with me for entire 2 years I spent in treatment; discussing our hopes and dreams. They taught  me how to appreciate life’s little victories, one gift at a time.  We reached out to each other, strangers turned friends by Cancer. 

I talk regularly to friends and acquaintances, who have been diagnosed with all forms of the disease; we are all living with the disease.  We all stand firm in our dislike of the term survivor, call us:  Managers of the disease. Every 6 months I challenge my Oncologist to a duel of words: redefine the term “survivor”.  A friend of mine living with the disease, tells him she feels like she is being “Stalked” by Cancer, (we share the same Oncologist)   He is stumped to define it better.

This week I questioned I questioned my Oncologist, “Now what and I do I dare ask that?”  He leaned in, looked me right in the eye and said “Why of course you dare.  Dare to ask or do anything you want.  The risk will always be there. When you are 85 you can stop looking over your shoulder.”  I scoffed, I understood, I know my prognosis.

I realize how lucky I am to be here. I will continue day to day, keeping up with the children, working, writing the darn book, the articles, riding my bike, supporting my favorite coffee chain and fixing my Feng Shui.  I will still keep dreaming of watching my youngest graduate from College (she is 8), taking that trip to Italy and  getting lost in an ancient  vineyard with my Significant Other.      And dream,  I will dream.

You can help support the fight for a cure by donating to the American Cancer Society or Relay for Life.

https://www.cancer.org/involved/donate/donateonlinenow/index?gclid=COPuhoC5yK8CFQTd4AodWkATbw

http://www.relayforlife.org/?gclid=CIjN8rO5yK8CFUGo4AodXy-xaQ