Brothers and Best Friends

I had started writing a whole thing about this...but it was dumb.  Suffice it to say, I am lucky enough that I have both...and today, they felt like the same person.  My brother lost his best friend this past weekend, and my heart hurts for him.  And I have my junk going on, and he cares about me, too.  He is my friend and I am sad that he lost his.   

When a person is over 50...

So today I heard words spoken to me that were as stunning as a glass of water in the face.  They shouldn't have been since they are as true as true can be.  They were also not new news or anything I didn't already know.  I think it was the way they were said...just so matter of factly and so unappologeticly...(yeah I don't know how to spell that word at all).  The words were spoken by my new eye doctor.."J.C."....what kind of name is that for a dr?  "Hi, I'm J.C."...and I am supposed to take that seriously?  Anyway.."J.C." was examining my eyes and while checking me for glaucoma...thank you mother dear...and without even looking up at me sympathetically he said."When a person is over 50...blah blah blah".  I didn't even hear what he said after the word fifty...I stopped right there and my mind went in a totally different direction than "J.C."'s did.  He could have told me I was dying of cancer or that I had just won the Publishers Clearinghouse Sweepstake...I have no idea what he said.  Now, I know I AM over 50---52 to be exact.  I usually feel over 50.  This was not news to me, after all, even if I was in complete denial, I did just fill out 4 sheets of paper with my birth date on it in the waiting room.  But hearing the phrase "When a person is over 50" and then suddenly realizing that you are the only person in the room it applies to (because let's be honest,..our friend "J.C." is just 30 minutes out of High School and probably still has his prom pictures on his dresser at home)...is just dumbfounding.  It really is.  (let me just interject here that I am FIGHTING  the urge to go back and change "it applies to" to "to whom it applies"  but I am told you are just supposed to free think here in blog land and not worry about grammar or structure...but it is killing me.  I just wanted it noted that I am aware of the grammar error and I apologize.)  But back to being over 50...In his defense...J.C. is a very nice young man, and seems to be a very thorough eye dr. and I will gladly go back to him and even refer him to my friends...yada yada yada,...I guess I am more surprised and stunned at my own reaction.  The words that hit me in the face like a brick just flowed off of his tongue with such ease.  Why did they stun me so?  I have been wondering that all afternoon.  And I still don't know the answer.  It was hard enough to realize that I qualified as at risk for gallbladder trouble by satisfying the "four F's"  Female, Fertile, Fat and Forty.  And that was 12 years ago!!!!  I don't even qualify for gallbladder issues anymore...no longer fertile and waaaay over forty.  Who ever thought that would be a disappointment?
So, what is wrong with being over 50?  nothing...except everything.  Realizing that when I have been married as long again as I have been now...I will be 83!!!!  Did you hear what I just said?  83?  I think we all know that everything goes faster when going down hill instead of up hill...and I am definitely on the down hill slide of life...and it is going to go faster and faster...on the bright side, I won't be pushing up a hill any more which is a whole lot of work...and I am too tired.  But still....over 50 hurts a little and makes me feel slow....I hope he didn't tell me anything too important after he said that because I didn't hear it.
I wonder if babbling is a sign of over 50?  must be...

Happy Hallmark Day

I used to fantasize about Valentine's Day...romance, flowers, candy, big teddy bears, the whole schmultz.  Then, I actually fell in love and found out it is just a tv commercial.  Valentine's Day sells everything from pajamas to laundry detergent.  But it is not real.  It is, I have determined, a ploy begun by the Hallmark company to sell cards, candy, stuffed toys and silly glass figurines that we would NEVER otherwise purchase.  That is fine, it is capitalism and that is what a business is supposed to do...however...it has nothing to do with love.  Nothing at all.  A couple of Valentine Days stand out in my past.  Both have everything to do with love.  I will share.
February 12, 1987...Milwaukee, WI...what should have been a normal 20 week check up at the OBGYN for expected baby #4.  Husband is in medical school, children 1-3 ages 6,5,and 3are in the waiting room while I am examined.  No biggy.  Except...I don't feel pregnant any more.  Just stressed I am told.  But the scales indicate that I have not only not gained any weight in 4 weeks, but I have not gained the usual 5 pounds gained between weeks 16 and 20 in all three previous pregnancies.  Just worried and not eating enough I am told..."see!  there is the heart beat"  thump thump thump...only problem is it is NOT the baby's heart beat. It is mine.  Let's just get an ultrasound to be sure I am told.                       gone.
February 13, 1987....procedure to remove the "remains of products of conception" performed.  WHAT????????   Remains of products of conception?????  Are you kidding me????  Okay, so the baby is gone, the promise of the child is broken and the with it my heart.  Now what?  Who cares?  I don't. 
February 14, 1987...Valentine's Day....Mt Siani Hospital, Milwaukee, WI....hospital room where I bleed, and cry endlessly and with no control.  So what.  Who cares?                   he does, he did, and he held me.

February 11, 2011...Savannah, GA....dinner with husband and child #4 (5) and her husband....shoe in air waiting to drop....world turned upside down.
February 12, 2011...nothing worth doing, nothing worth saying except I am sorry I let you down, I am sorry I didn't do my job correctly. 
February 13, 2011...fasting, praying, pondering, seeking comfort and answers....gratitude for eternity
February 14, 2011...promises of hanging on, promises of finding a way...worry, tears, fear.  So what.  Who cares?                                                                                                    I do, I will and I will hold him.
Valentine's Day has nothing to do with love.  Life has to do with love.  Loss has to do with love.  Holding has to do with love, sharing has to do with love.  A heart shaped cookie (though uneaten) has to do with love. And a sweet paper note of love and commitment left on a lap top in the morning has to do with love.  I hope Hallmark and pajama-grams makes plenty of money today.  This is America and that is their business.  But it doesn't have anything to do with love.  My Valentine knows what does.  And I love him so.

I swore I would never...

I swore I would never enter the world of blog...I thought it was stupid and useless and quite honestly, I figured that anyone who was at all interested in my life either already knows what is going on, or knows how to find out, ie by calling, emailing or---heaven forbid---speaking to me in person.  It is much the same way I feel about Christmas letters.  I can't bring myself to do them.  I tried, I really did.  But the pressure to be clever, cute, creative and condensed was more than I could handle, especially at the holidays, so I quit.  And to be honest, there are precious few I actually take the time to read when they are sent to me...for much the same reason.  So, on the extremely remote chance that anyone actually ever reads this...if you send me a Christmas letter, and it is more than a couple of paragraphs long and in a font smaller than 16....forget it.  I am sure you had an event filled and spiritually satisfying year of weddings, births, travel and graduations....but I probably am not going to read it.  Besides, you probably also sent me an announcement of all weddings, births and graduations, so save the stamp or the ink on your printer....I don't mean to be rude, but that is the truth.  Which brings me back to the blogging world.  I am not a "scrapper" (as I am told they prefer to be called), nor am I a very good journal writer.  I am a terrible photographer (outdone only by my mother), and my creative side shriveled up years ago with my smooth skin and tight knees.  So this blogging thing really felt wrong to me.  Until lately.  I am not sure what changed truthfully.  In fact, I am not sure that it actually HAS changed.  I still feel awkward and dumb and like I am wasting a perfectly good Saturday morning.  But, since events of this week have left me feeling like I just want to be in my jammies all day, and I have a lot on my mind...I decided to give this a go and see if venting some of my thoughts out would help organize them  in my brain.  I will probably post like twice a year...if I can remember the name of my own blog....so don't look for regular updates,...(who the hell do I think is even reading this to care?)  And the reality is that I sat here at my kitchen counter for almost 30 minutes just trying to decide on a name...again the clever, cute  thing was over whelming.   Amazingly enough, when I came up with Kapenta Fish, it was an available name...what?  no Kapenta Fish lovers out there?
Why Kapenta Fish you might ask?  Who knows.  That's the truth.  They are completely nasty little fish that are left out in the sun to dry--scales, eyes, innerds and all---then eaten.  Crunchy and extremely salty (or so I am told since I never had the nerve to actually eat one), but nutritious too I am told.  And cheap.  I was introduced to Kapenta Fish in Africa last summer...only a life time ago.  My favorite little kids eat them.  Mostly because they have nothing else to eat I am guessing.  They are a necessary evil...(a blog name I tried but was taken, thank you very much).  And yet, these darling kids gobble them up like they were candy with gratitude and enthusiasm.  I am trying to take that lesson into my head today.  Gobbling up the nasty, salty crunchy yucky part of my life that I am sure is nutritious for me on some level, and doing it with gratitude and enthusiasm.  It is harder than tasting those fish would have been, but somehow, I feel necessary.
So, Kapenta Fish it is and Kapenta Fish it will remain.  A place where I can try to examine and then gobble up the nasty, salty and yet "good for you" stuff in my life.  Maybe, like my sweet little Alice, I will even grow to love the Kapenta Fish of my life...who knows?  But today, my plate is full of Kapenta Fish, a huge pile of it, and I am not hungry, and I didn't order them, and I don't want them...and yet...like my mother did when I was a young girl, LIFE is standing over me shaking it's bony finger in my face telling me to eat them anyway because they are good for me....and I can't get down from the table and play until I do....
While I am not at liberty to name these fish at this point in time (on the completely off chance that somebody I know actually reads this), a day will come when I do. Suffice it to say, they are nasty and I don't like them and I don't want them.  And I am struggling to see how and why they will be good for me.  And quite frankly, I don't even feel like getting down from the table to play...I am content to sit here in my jammies and stare at the Kapenta Fish and wonder how they got here and how in the world I will ever be able to eat them...let alone with gratitude and enthusiasm.  But eat them I must...just not today