What the hey?

I've been thinking a lot about two friends I met back in the 1980s -- Mindy and John. In those long ago days, we talked about movies and music and bars and boys.

Today we talk about angioplasties (Mindy's husband) and heart failure (John) and dementia (Mindy's mother) and c. diff (me).

Barb and Kathleen entered my life in the 1990s. Back then we talked about our careers and our love lives. Today we talk about oncologists and gastroenterologists and our prospects for retirement.

Suddenly, it feels like we all got old. I don't like it and want it to stop.

"Old age is a shipwreck"

My friend Mindy is one of the nicest people I've ever met. She forever sees the best in people, and has almost infinite patience.

Over the decades of our friendship I've come to know her family rather well, and I see how she became the woman she is. Mindy is the younger of two daughters. Her older sister would've made a great hippie. Sis doesn't care for makeup or fashion, is happiest in jeans and a t-shirt riding her horse or playing with her dogs and cats. Sissy got good grades and graduated from a Big 10 college, but when she married she chose a laborer. Last I heard, her husband was a carpet installer. The couple scandalized Mindy's and Sis' mother by getting married in the park. (People sat on folding chairs!) Sis and her husband now live in a working class suburb with a median HHI of $73,000.

Mindy followed the path her mother wanted her to take. She dieted religiously and still watches every forkful that goes into her mouth so she'll stay thin. She married a boy from a good family in a huge ceremony (I was one of the bridesmaids). He's in banking. She's in PR. They have two sons, and live in an elite suburb with an HHI of $110,000.

Their mother has never bothered to hide that Mindy is her favorite. This has defined my friend her entire life. She has always felt a tremendous responsibility to live up to her mother's expectations.

Mindy's mother is now dying. Her lifelong smoking habit, problems with her legs and dementia have caught up with her. She's in hospice, and she's a handful for the caregivers.

Tuesday Mindy confessed to me that she hates visiting her mother. It's disconcerting to see how much the old woman enjoys being fed like a baby. Mom complains that the nurses aren't attentive or fast enough to help her into her wheelchair or, preferably, carry her when she gets bored and wants to get out of bed. She's bitter that her daughters do not spend enough time with her -- they each visit once/week. Yet when they try to reminisce with her about her husband of more than 50 years (dad died 9 years ago), she barely remembers him. Mom has no interest in hearing about her grandsons anymore, either, and seems to resent it when she isn't the topic of conversation.

Mindy knows that much of this is meds and disease. But it's difficult for a daughter to see. And it hurts Mindy that her mother has forgotten her father and ignores her sons.

Sis also hates spending time with Mom but Sis doesn't feel guilty at all, maintaining that this is how their mother has always been, it's just illness has left her unplugged and unfiltered. Mindy fears that Sis might be right. And this makes her feel even worse.

What kind of daughter reassesses her mother like this? What kind of daughter resents visiting hospice? Certainly not the good daughter!

I reminded her that, after visiting his father who'd been debilitated by stroke, President Kennedy said, "Old age is a shipwreck." No one wants to see their parents this way. No one enjoys time spent in a care facility. I told her that what she's feeling is perfectly normal. I confessed how angry I was (and still am) at my own mother for some of the choices she made at the end of her life, but that at the same time I still love and miss her.

So it was clear I was not shocked by anything my friend said. I told her that any time she wants to vent about this, she should vent to me. I promised her I won't even bat an eyelash.

Liz and I are back together!

I don't like smelling like anyone else. As I make my way through the cosmetic department I swat away the testing strips of Coco Mademoiselle and D&G Light Blue. If a cologne is popular, I don't even want to try it.

Until recently, I've been wearing Exceptional, a scent I've only been able to find at fragrance.com. I discovered it when they included a sample with an order. I've been happy with it, but I ran out of the small size so I couldn't replenish it after I worked out or late in the afternoon. I'm trying to economize, and placing another order right now just isn't in my budget.

Monday morning I grabbed the lonely little bottle of Elizabeth Taylor Black Pearls body lotion that had been, literally, gathering dust on my counter for years. I wasn't sure it would still have any scent at all. That little frosted bottle was at least 10 years old.

It smelled wonderful, just as I remembered. Spicy, vanilla floral. Very unique. I tossed it into my purse and wore it happily all day, occasionally stopping to sniff my own wrist. I tried to remember why I stopped wearing it ...

Oh yeah, Liz discontinued it. I recalled that I went on a buying binge, snapping it up wherever I could find it and then not wearing it because I didn't want to use the last of it. (Really, that makes a kind of twisted sense.)

I found my stash in the closet, in a dresser drawer. Bottles and bottles of it. Even though it's cool and very dark in the closet, much of the eau de cologne has completely lost its scent and I had to toss a few bottles. But all the body lotion, in various sized bottles, is still good.

I'm so happy. I have enough of it to make my new scent one of my favorite old scents. And I discovered that since Miss Taylor's death it's been reintroduced and is now available again on Amazon. The bottle looks a little different than it does in the ad above -- from its original introduction in 1996 -- and I've read online sniping that it's been reformulated. On the other hand, I got the Amazon link from the official website. So when I run out of what I've got, I may buy some more.

Or maybe I'll go back to Exceptional.

It's scary how much thought I give this, isn't it?

At any rate, I'm happy to be wearing Black Pearls again.

Sometimes they haunt me

Sunday afternoon I saw a homeless man in front of my local movie theater. His right arm was mangled, or misshaped, or something. I couldn't see it clearly because he worked so hard to tuck it off to the side. I think he was afraid it was offensive to the passers-by he was soliciting.

I had, ironically, just left a bag of canned goods in the local food pantry's drop box and was regretting the little can of mandarin oranges. It had a pop-top, it's content doesn't require heating, and I could have just given it to this gentleman. There was such a sad dignity to him. After I ran my errands I slipped a dollar and some change into my jeans pocket and went looking for him, but he was gone.

Then this morning, on a very busy corner downtown, I saw a husky man in a pink tutu, holding a sign that said, "This is the most humiliating thing I have ever done. But I'm hungry as fuck." I know why he was trying to stand out. It's a competitive corner. On the other side of the street was a man in a wheelchair, holding a sign that says he's a starving disabled veteran.

I went out at lunchtime to buy flowers and saw him again. Here I am, with money to buy flowers, and he's reduced to wearing a pink tutu on a cloudy day. I dropped some silver into his Big Gulp cup.

They're everywhere, the unemployed and homeless. Just as I often don't hear traffic noise, I often don't notice them.

And then there are those who burrow into my imagination and take up housekeeping. I'm grateful to them. They remind me I'm human.

I don't want to hover

I can be something of a drone friend. If I don't think you're doing your life right, I can be quite persistent and bossy and ubiquitous.

I resent when people treat me this way, so I try to do it sparingly. And I have been resisting the impulse to do it to my friend, John.

But I am scared. When I spoke to him Saturday, he admitted that his health was precarious and that he needed a cardiologist's care. He also promised he would go to the ER on "Monday morning."

I thought Sunday afternoon was a better idea.*  I told him so. But I also tried to be respectful of his feelings, of his autonomy, of his dignity. So I didn't say, "Don't be an asshole. Go Sunday!"

But then all day Sunday, I could see him dead. Alone in his apartment. I could actually imagine getting the call from his Cousin Lori Monday afternoon. I was regretting my impulse control.

Complicating matters is that John's younger brother has gone all bossy pants, which rattled John enormously. Kid Bro told him things like, "You can't live alone anymore. Get out of your lease, sell all your belongings and move in with us." This frightened and humiliated John. He has a life here in Chicago and he doesn't want to leave it. He doesn't like seeing his life reduced to a spare bedroom with his brother and sister-in-law in Attapulgus, GA (or wherever the hell it is they live).

So this afternoon I called the hospital and received confirmation that he did, indeed, go to the ER and he's being seen by a cardiologist. Now I can stop worrying for a while.

Tomorrow I'll call the hospital to get his room number and talk to him -- or at least a nurse -- in real time.

I don't want to hover.

But I don't want John to be sick, either. I really, really don't.

*If we lived anywhere but Chicago, I would have told him to go Saturday. But Saturday night in a metropolitan ER? With gangbangers and other assorted shooting victims? I agreed he was better off in his own bed Saturday night.

Sunday Stealing

Doodley Doo

Do you keep notes, drawings or letters that people give you? Not anymore. I used to save greeting cards, but then I realized I never took them out and looked at them. Now I send my old and unused cards to the St. Jude's Ranch Recycled Card Program. Children at the ranch use the cards they receive to make and sell new ones.

How many true best friends are present in your life? Two or three.

Do you currently have a significant other? No.

Would you be able to stand being in the same room as someone you hate? I do it all the time.

Do you depend on people at all, in any way? Oh, for heaven's sake, of course I do. I depend on my neighbor's to pay their taxes so our sidewalks don't fall apart. I depend on Com Ed for my electricity. Questions like this annoy me. Remember that silly manufactured controversy over Obama's statement about how people don't build their business alone? Yawn.

Have you ever lost a close friend? Yes. I had to cut a close friend out of my life after decades.

Has anybody ever held a grudge against you for a dumb reason? Probably. Though the grudge didn't/doesn't seem dumb to me.

Have you ever stayed up late talking to someone you like on the phone or online? Yes.

Have you ever felt backstabbed by a close friend? Yes. The aforementioned "close friend."

Have you ever regretted ignoring anybody? Yes

Has a friend of yours ever confessed their love to you? My close friends and I tell one another "I love you" all the time.

Have you written or drawn anything for somebody else? Yes! For my friend John's 60th birthday, I worked with an art director to create a card listing all the famous people he'd outlived. It made him very happy.

Do you tend to hide your emotions from certain people? How do you hide them? I'm very bad at this. I should work harder/more successfully at not wearing every emotion I feel on my face.

Do your friends know how to make you smile in tough times? Yes. I'm lucky that way.

Could you picture yourself on a reality TV show? Sometimes I already feel like I'm on a reality show.

 Are you better at drawing or coloring? I'm not especially good at either.

Do you prefer meat or seafood? Depends on the seafood, but generally I'd choose meat.

Have you ever read the Bill of Rights / Declaration of Independence? You mean like Article 6 of the Constitution? I must ruefully point out that the same members of the Religious Right who demand to know (and somehow manage to judge) exactly how Christian a candidate is are the same ones who maintain they are Constitutional absolutists whenever Obama does something they don't like. They conveniently ignore that every time they demand to know about a candidate's personal relationship with Christ, they are violating the spirit of Article 6, which states, "No religious test shall ever be required for President."

Would you rather become a police officer or a firefighter? I'm too chickenshit to be good at either one.

More bad, more sad

2016 continues to insist on being the worst year ever.

My friend John and I were really looking forward to our trip to Springfield to see the Lincoln sites. It was amazing to both of us that he had reached the ripe old age of 60 -- 40 years of it spent here in Chicagoland -- and he's never walked where Abe (and Obama) walked. Because I've been there so many times, I was prepared to play tour guide. Since we always have such fun together, he was looking forward to the road trip aspect of it. "The times in my life I've laughed the hardest, I've been with you, Gal," he said.

We were going the second weekend in June. We considered it his 2016 birthday celebration. Now it looks like we aren't going at all. Because John had a cold last month.

You see, John suffers from heart failure. While his April cold came and went, the fatigue and shortness of breath continued and worsened. To the the point that he took the last week off work to do nothing but sleep.

I didn't hear from him at all last week, and that's not like us. I emailed him at work and got no response. I called his house, but he didn't pick up. Finally today he called me back, and the hoarseness and shortness of breath was startling and disturbing.

He hasn't called his cardiologist -- as he said he would two weeks ago! -- because he says he knows what will happen. He is sure that with his symptoms, which also include swelling of the ankles, she's going to tell him to check himself into the ER and then she will admit him. They talked about a defibrillator years ago, and he's sure she's going to insist on one now.

He is afraid. Afraid of going into the hospital and not coming out. Afraid of losing his job. "I can afford to die," he said, "but I can't afford to be sick." His brother, a nurse, has been pressuring him to quit his job, give up his apartment, leave Chicago, and move in with them. That makes him feel like an invalid. He responded to all this tumult by doing nothing.

I tried to be the voice of reason. I told him that he cannot legally be fired for going into the hospital. While his medical insurance doesn't sound great, he does have it, and I'm sure he has short-term disability, too. He says he doesn't know, but that's just the fear and panic talking. He's still a responsible adult. He knows. He's just forgotten.

And that's just it. I'm not treating him like an invalid. His kid brother is doing that and it's debilitating him. When John told me not to worry, that he would reimburse me the non-refundable $187 for the hotel for our trip (as he was always going to do), I lightly said, "I've never been worried." I admit my first impulse was to tell him to forget it. But he has been mentioning to me that he has the money set aside for months. He knows I have my own money worries. And I don't want to infantilize him. He is a responsible adult who can handle his own affairs and make his own decisions. He's just forgotten because he's under pressure.

John and I have been close friends for more than 35 years. Together we've had our career ups and downs, bad breakups, and we've buried our parents. We are superficially different in every obvious way: he's black, I'm white; he's gay, I'm straight; he's tall, I'm short; I'm Christian, he's agnostic. Yet the bond between us is strong and he's dearer to me than family.

I love him, and I'm scared for him.

I'm scared for me, too, because I don't want to imagine life without him.

We love them, yeah, yeah, yeah

Saturday I had lunch with my nephew. We talked about how excited he is about school ending (he hates math). We talked about American history (his favorite period is post-Revolution). We talked about the Presidential campaign (we're both still shaking our heads over Trump). We talked about Captain America: Civil War (we're both big Iron Man fans).

But most of all, we talked about The Beatles. Our favorite albums (he votes for Abbey Road, I'm White Album all the way). What we'd ask Sir Paul, if we could (he wants to know if the break up was really inevitable; I'd ask which of John's songs is his favorite). The Lads dominated the two hours we spent together.

My nephew was born in this millennium. The Beatles broke up in 1970. Two members of the group are dead. The passion he and his classmates feel for the Fab Four is really astonishing.

I work in a very busy part of downtown Chicago. Lately one of the ubiquitous sidewalk musicians has been playing the xylophone. Every time I pass, he's playing a Beatles tune. (It was "Penny Lane" on Friday afternoon.) He's doing this to get tips from business people and tourists alike. Clearly he chooses these tunes because they are fun to play and familiar to people from all walks of life, from all over the country and all over the world.

Sir Paul is on tour again. He was just nominated for a Grammy last February. He's still working, still creating new music, still performing to sell-out stadiums a staggering 52 years since The British Invasion.

If I could ask him a second question, it would be, "Do you feel the love?" Does he understand how much he means to everyone from millennials to boomers?

I think it must be really lovely to be Paul, and know far his reach is, how much joy he's brought.

Saturday 9

Saturday 9: These Boots Were Made for Walkin' (1966)

I dearly love this video.




1) In this song/video, Ms. Sinatra's boots make a serious fashion statement. Do you choose footwear for comfort or fashion? Comfort. When I was a young and leggy girl, I chose for fashion, and I got heel spurs and bunions in return.

2) This is by far the biggest hit of Nancy Sinatra's career, which includes 6 top ten hits. Can you name another? "... and then I go and spoil it all by saying somethin' stupid like I love you." With Papa Frank. "Sugar Town." "Jackson."

3) Nancy recorded it on Reprise Records, which was founded by her father, Frank. Did your parents give you a leg up in your chosen career? Nope.

4) Professionally Nancy has been involved in espionage, singing the theme to a James Bond movie and appearing in an episode of The Man from UNCLE. Do you enjoy spy/secret agent stories? I suppose so. I enjoyed the Bourne movies, and some Bonds, and the UNCLE TV show.

5) Nancy maintains the official Sinatra family website, which includes a link to the site of Mia Farrow. Ms. Farrow was, briefly, Nancy's stepmother, and obviously they are still on good terms. Do you have a big, extended family? Nope

6) Nancy's music -- and posters -- were very popular with the troops during the

Find out more

Vietnam War. Nancy continues to return their loyalty and affection with her efforts on behalf of the Vietnam Veterans Memorial Fund. Here's your chance to promote a cause that's near and dear to your heart. What charity gets your support? I'm a big fan of food pantries. Every time I buy food for myself, I pick up something for $1 or less and toss it into a bag for the hungry in my community. In no time I have a bag filled with pasta, condiments and canned soups and vegetables. People eat, and I don't even notice the expense. Some food pantries prefer cash contributions. To find the pantry near you, go here. BTW, today is the USPS Stamp Out Hunger Drive. In my neighborhood, the mail carriers mess this up, so I don't participate. But in case your local post office is more together than mine, here are the details.

7) Nancy hosts a Sirius radio show devoted to her father's music. Do you have a subscription to a satellite radio or podcast network? Nope

8) Nancy has said that she and her sister Tina had a more comfortable relationship with their famous father than their late brother, Frank, Jr., did. Do you think it's easier for mothers to get along with their sons, while fathers have an easier time with their daughters? I only had sisters, so I can't answer this first hand. But watching the couples in my life, I see that they are parents to lots of Mama's Boys and Daddy's Girls.

9) Random question: Tonight's dinner is on us. Would you prefer to eat at a casual restaurant with exceptional food, or an exclusive restaurant with so-so food but a celebrity clientele? I think it might be fun to dine with the famous. I had a great time in Beverly Hills, eating at the famous Ivy. I'd do it again. But partly because I didn't have to dress up. If I have to dress up to go exclusive, I'll settle for the hoi polloi.

I mean a lot to him

My cousin is a very talented man who has followed his heart and managed to make his career in music. He gives private music lessons to kids and plays in a big band on weekends and, until recently, was a professor at a local university.

For reasons a bit too complicated to go into, we grew up separately, even though his mother is my godmother and we lived not far apart. I'm a little older, and apparently, he always thought I was pretty neat. Five years ago, we had a reunion when his mother returned to Chicagoland for a visit and looked me up. Ever since, he has been very good about reaching out to me. Whenever he plays gigs in my neighborhood, he invites me, and we trade messages on Facebook all the time.

He got a job playing in the orchestra for the touring company of Chicago during its short run here in ... Chicago. This is put him in pretty elite company and he was proud to get the job. And nervous, very nervous. He kept sending me reminders about the short, one-week run.

We've been crazy busy at work and instead of seeing Chicago again (I've seen the play at least twice on stage and then, of course, there's the movie) I really wanted to sleep. Plus, I'm broke and spending beaucoup bucks on a play I know so well just wasn't on my agenda.

There was just something about the way he asked me that got under my skin. And so on Thursday morning, when I found a $30 ticket on StubHub for Thursday night's performance, I snapped it up.

The production was very entertaining. John O'Hurley is a most talented old hand at the role of Billy Flynn, and both Roxie and Velma were very good.

Best of all, in this production the orchestra was on the stage, not in the pit. So I was able to watch my cousin at work all evening.

Afterward he walked me to my train. One of his sons saw the production ... and me. That was it. Not his wife, not his other son (his daughter lives in New York). This is probably because the show was only in town for a week, but still. He thanked me for coming and repeatedly told me how "sweet" I was for coming out. Having someone in the audience there for him was a big deal.

I felt very good about having gone.

So often, when I think about family, it's easy to fixate on what's wrong with my relationships. Instead of concentrating on the love I don't get, I should stop and feel the love I do get.

WWW.WEDNESDAY

WWW.WEDNESDAY asks three questions to prompt you to speak bookishly. To participate, and to see how other book lovers responded, click here.

1. What are you currently reading? The Litigators by John Grisham. A declasse Chicago law firm, whose partners literally chase ambulances, gets a jolt of fresh blood from a hard-working new young associate just as they decide to "punch up" and go after big pharma in a risky class-action suit.

I'm really enjoying it. Grisham is known for his plotting and pacing, but I like the unique sense of place he creates in this one. I feel like I'm in the backseat of the cab with Wally as he takes off on his tawdry and predatory mission to drum up business by visiting funeral homes. I can hear the glasses clinking in the dive where David is hiding from the world. What's missing so far is the tension, but since it's Grisham I'm sure it's just a few pages away.

I'm so glad I'm into it because the last novel I tried, Mother by Linda Ann Rentschler, left me cold. Not only didn't I finish it, I barely dented it because the writing felt so soapy. I know it's chick-lit, but there's plenty of fun chick-lit out there. (It wasn't that long ago I was immersed in my Marian Keyes period.) This read like a treatment for a Lifetime movie. I may try to pick it up again, but not any time soon.

2. What did you recently finish reading? Three Witnesses by Rex Stout. I adored this charming trio of novellas. It's a Nero Wolfe volume, and if you're into mystery series I highly recommend the adventures of Archie Goodwin on behalf of that rotund genius, Mr. Wolfe. But I wouldn't start with these short stories, charming though they are. This book is #26 in the series, and it does depend rather heavily on the reader's familiarity with the characters. 

3.  What will you read next? Not poor Mother!

You better let somebody love you before it's too late

I know this is very lowbrow of me to admit, but of the music icons we've lost this year, the one whose work I felt greatest affection for was Glenn Frey. I know, I know. Prince and Bowie were the artistes of the first order. The Eagles were just Top 40 crap.

What can I say? I like Big Macs, too.

Anyway, the Glenn Frey-Don Henley composition that means the most to me is "Desperado." Because it's me. I do always want the one I can't get. I do prize my independence above all else. I do often isolate myself so much that "my prison is walking through this world all alone."

So while I was blue today -- for a variety of reasons, not the least of which is that it feels like I'm the only one on the entire planet not celebrating Mother's Day -- I also didn't reach out. This is a weakness of mine, this reluctance to let others see that I'm hurting and that I need help. My self sufficiency isn't a gift to anyone, I see that. It's just that it's a hard habit to break.

Two acts of kindness meant a great deal to me today. The first happened first thing in the morning and came from an unexpected source. My neighbor Sally, whom I've helped over the last year or so, shot me an email with this attachment. She's both a mother and daughter, in addition to being a doting dog owner, and yet someone sent this to her and she was kind enough to send it to me. Not to a long list of email contacts, just me. It made me very happy.

And then my friend from Key West called. I owe him an email, actually, but he's not one to keep score. He and his partner are the most casual of Facebook users and just the other night caught up with my posts of the last month. They just now saw the one on April 26 where I shared the unfortunate news about my big special assessment -- $4,500 for the new elevator. They considered that a big bill and were worried about me.

We talked ... and talked ... and talked. We talked about my aborted bathroom renovation. As a fellow animal lover, I appreciated his take on my predicament with Reynaldo and Connie. We talked about their three dogs. We talked about my job and his job(s). About the car accident that injured no one but nearly totaled their car. About my health problems, about his partner's health problems.

We talked and talked and talked. It felt sooooo good to feel so connected to someone. I'm so grateful that he's willing to put in the effort it takes to keep a friendship intimate and vibrant, even across the miles.

I have to remember, too, that I can be the one to pick up the phone, too. I'm comfortable reaching out to my oldest friend, but she's the only one. I need to widen the net.

I need to remember to let people love me.

Sunday Stealing

Monsters in the Closet Meme

Do you usually sleep with your closet door open or closed? Depends on the closet. I keep all the closets shut except the walk-in closet in my bedroom. That's where the litter boxes are tucked away, so that door must stay open.

Do you take the shampoos and conditioner bottles from hotels? Always. And when I collect enough unopened shampoos and conditioners, I send them to Operation Shoebox, an organization that puts together boxes of small goodies to cheer up our troops.

Have you ever ‘done it’ in a hotel room? Of course. Hotel sex is best.

Where is your next vacation? In a matter of weeks I'm off to Muskegon, MI, for my niece's college graduation. Alas, it is highly unlikely that I will have hotel sex.

Have you ever stolen a street sign before? No. Because it's a stupid and dangerous thing to do.

Who do you think reads these? The other people who play.

Do you have a calendar in your room? I have a kitchen calendar at home and a wall calendar at work.

Where are you? I'm just where you found me.

What’s your plan for the day? It's after 4:00 as I answer these, so the day is just about gone. However this evening I plan on doing some work and watching The Good Wife series finale.

Are you reading any books right now? Why, yes. I found a Grisham I'm really enjoying in my neighbor's Little Free Library. This makes me happy because the previous two books I cracked open really didn't grip me at all.

Do you ever count your steps when you walk? No.

Have you ever peed in the woods? No.

Do you ever dance even if there’s no music playing? Sometimes I sing badly, acappella, and dance. Does that count?

Do you chew your pens and pencils? Yes.

What is your “Song of the Week?” For some reason, an ancient old song, "Call Me Irresponsible," has been stuck in my head. Residue, I suspect, from the Sinatra book I spent months reading.

Is it okay for guys to wear pink? No, they should be arrested and held without parole. Actually, Wrigley Field appears to be awash in pink as I answer these questions. The Cubs gave pink t-shirts to fans in the bleachers today. It's a promotion to support breast cancer awareness for Mother's Day. Some of the players on the field are wearing pink shoes for the same reason.

Do you still watch cartoons? No.

What's your favorite love movie?



What do you drink with dinner? Depends on the dinner.

What do you dip Chicken Nuggets in? I like barbecue or honey dijon.

What is your favorite food/cuisine? American. I like beef.

What movies could you watch over and over and still love? So many! The aforementioned romance, A Hard Day's Night, My Man Godfrey and The Natural all spring to mind.

Last person you hugged/kissed? The woman at work who told me she was pregnant.

Were you ever a boy/girl scout? Yes, for years and years.

Would you ever strip or pose nude in a magazine? HA!

Saturday 9

Saturday 9: Mama (2015)

1) Gamal Lewis got the nickname "LunchMoney" in 10th grade because of his round cheeks and because lunch was his favorite part of the school day. What do you recall about lunchtime in the school cafeteria? Food fights. When I was a sophomore, the junior boys instigated some good-natured and delightful sorties. The school wasn't as amused as I was (the expense, the mess, the wasted food) but I thought they were great.

2) His father and uncle were members of the band Inner Circle. Their song, "Bad Boys" was the theme to the reality show Cops. What reality show have you seen recently? I'm ashamed to admit that it was The Kardashians. It came on after E! News and I was brushing my teeth and couldn't get to the remote in time. I do find myself fascinated by Kourtney's consistently dull, monotone voice. She sounds the same when she's "confessing" directly to the camera as she does when scolding her mother or sisters.


3) In this song, Mr. Lewis sings that his mama taught him

how to put on pajamas. What did you wear to bed last night? My Titanic boarding pass shirt. It was a souvenir from my trip to the Titanic exhibit at the Luxor in Las Vegas. It was fascinating, educational, moving and respectful.

4) He claims he can't ever lie to his mama because she'll hear it in his voice. Are you a convincing liar? Frighteningly so.

5) LunchMoney sings that his mama made him chicken soup when he was sick. Do you eat soup all year around, only during winter months, or just when you're battling a cold? I used to really enjoy soup. But I had to eat chicken soup almost daily when I was on my restricted diet and after three months of it, I'm ready for a nice long break.

6) The lyrics tell us that when her son was hungry, Mama reliably whipped something up. What's the last food you prepared? I had two grilled hot dogs (no buns) and a side of corn for dinner last night.

7) He also sings that his mama always made sure he had a few dollars in his pocket. Let's talk about you and money. Did you more recently lend or borrow it? I gave it. There's a fundraising page for a coworker whose brother is battling cancer. And today I'm making a donation in my mom's memory to her favorite charity.

8) Mother's Day is for grandmothers, too. Sam grew up calling her grandmother "Grandgran." Did you have a nickname for your grandmother? Within my family she was known as "Mimi." Behind her back I called her "Icky Grandma," among other things. The old girl drank and had a bit of a temper. Now my OTHER grandmother, "Grandma," she was the Norman Rockwell sweetheart of a grandmother. She's the one I think of on Mother's Day. But she didn't have a nickname.

9) To celebrate Mother's Day, Sam is giving away her own mother's favorite candy: Hershey Bars. Would you prefer milk chocolate, dark chocolate, or milk chocolate with almonds? Oooh! Milk chocolate with almonds.

Flipping the script

I don't like the way my life is going. I haven't like the way my life has been going all year.

A lot of it is health related. Battling a lingering illness took a lot out of me, and I wasn't prepared for the impact it would have on my mood and outlook. But waking up every day for three months and finding I was still sick really weighed on me and depressed me. I can see this now that I'm (blessedly!) on the mend.

Much of it is because of those I love. Losing my dear Joe and learning bad news about both Connie and Rey has been very painful for me. Confirming that I am capable of loving beings that don't have fur, I've been worried about John ... and Mindy ... and Barb, of course ... Heart disease, hospice, cancer and the specter of death are part of my daily conversation in a way they never were before.

Some of it is work. My boss is being a moody dick these days. I understand why and could explain it, but I don't feel like it just now. Knowing the reason doesn't make absorbing it any easier.

Tons of it is financial. I'll be receiving a HUGE special assessment before year end. $4,100 to $4,500. I don't want to charge it or take on a loan, so there goes my long, long awaited bathroom remodel. Plus I've got my niece's graduation coming up ... and John's trip to the Lincoln sites in Springfield ... and my oldest friend's big 60th birthday celebration that includes me flying her back to Chicagoland ... Yes, I'll enjoy all of it and I'm happy to be able to deliver so many smiles to those who are close to me. But it will be expensive and time consuming and means no solo spa getaway for this gal, not this year.

So now what? All of these things are real. All of these things must be felt and dealt with. Ignoring them doesn't make them go away. Instead it causes them to fester and they can become very toxic to my heart and soul.

But I don't have to let the sad dominate me. I refuse to allow that. So I've been concentrating on my Cubs, of course. My Cubs never let me down. I enjoy them in losing seasons, so you can just imagine how much I'm loving this season.

Two other things I love are my birthday, and alone time. And so I am combining them and giving myself the perfect gift ...

I'm going to Graceland, Graceland, Memphis, Tennessee, I'm going to Graceland. Like Paul Simon, I am simply drawn to it. I have reason to believe that for my birthday I will be received at Graceland.

The flight will be free. I'm using my American Airlines miles. Since my birthday falls during Thanksgiving week, I was surprised by how easy it was to get an ORD-MEM free flight.

I am splurging on my room. I love hotels, and I'm tickled that I'll be one of the early visitors at The Guest House at Graceland. This new hotel, run by the Presley family, will be opening in October. So it will still be new, but hopefully all the kinks will be worked out, by my late November birthday.

It bills itself as a luxury hotel just walking distance from the mansion. There's a free airport shuttle for guests, and plenty of dining options on the grounds, so if I want (and I may) I can spend my entire 3 day/2 night trip surrounded by the faithful. If that starts to feel like a little too much Elvis even for me, there's a shuttle to Beale Street. Memphis has a rock'n'roll museum I may take a look at, too.

Is this a silly solo adventure? Yes. Of course it is. And I need a little silly right now. Also, I truly do love Elvis. You can't be a fan of The Beatles and Bruce Springsteen and not hear his echo throughout. Plus I love his movies. I find his early ones touching, because you can see Elvis working hard and displaying genuine acting chops. And I love the middle technicolor ones because they are so good-hearted and empty-headed. And I love the late concert films because they show The King on stage, being The King.

Elvis did all he did -- from the sublime to the silly -- before he died at 42. That realization makes my head spin. Maybe it's the thoughts about my own health and the mortality of many of those around me that draws me to this. I don't know.

I'm just glad I'm going to Graceland.

The two best teams in baseball played tonight

Guess who won.

The Cubs usually win these days. We're now 21-6.

I'm in shock. I knew we were good. I just didn't realize we were this good.

Cancer sucks

That's not a very daring statement, is it? You never find anyone speaking up for cancer, do you?

But the terrible illness is terribly top of mind right now because of Katie. She's a charming, hardworking young member of our team, about 25. And so sweet! After one of our former coworker's lost her husband in a tragic plane crash almost exactly one year ago, Katie and her husband took it upon themselves to go over to the woman's home and cut her grass when they cut their own -- just because they knew it was a chore the late husband handled and they weren't sure the widow, a working mother, was on top of it.

She's newly wed, with a new home and a bright future ahead of her. So this should be a wonderful time for her, but it's not. Katie's dear older brother is losing his battle with a fast-moving form of cancer. Despite chemotherapy, it's moved from his kidney to his chest and liver.

Her brother's treatment began five months ago in the small town in downstate Illinois where the family lives. Then he moved up here to Chicago's premier comprehensive cancer center. Now he's moved to the Mayo Clinic and is undergoing more targeted therapy with a new and very expensive drug.

With her brother in Minnesota, Katie simply can't spend the time she wants to with him. She's distracted, naturally, and her work has suffered.

But we're all on her side. At her request, the agency made up some #TEAMJIM shirts for her brother's nurses and techs to wear. Individually we've kicked in about $200 to her brother's YouCaring fund, and a more formal fundraiser is being planned here at work to get more money to the family.

Katie doesn't deserve this heartache. I suppose no one does, but especially not Katie.

I seem to be surrounded by so much hurt these days. So many people in my life are plagued with worry, and I worry about them.

I'm tired. Physically and emotionally. I want to help but I lack the resources and imagination right now to help anyone.

Rey, too.

Got the test results back yesterday. Reynaldo has the FIP titer, too. His level is much lower than Connie's, but it's there.

So many emotions! He is my baby, he is my responsibility, and I brought a disease into our home in the form of Connie. I did it unknowingly -- she was up on her vaccinations and so were Reynaldo and Joe -- but I did it all the same.

Yet Connie deserves a good life, doesn't she? Her early years were pretty brutal. She came to the shelter from the home of a hoarder. She was emaciated, with mushy gums and a chronic eye infection and a litter of stillborn kittens inside of her her. Today this sweet cat is solid around the middle, lively and chatty, trusting and affectionate. Rey and Joey and I made her feel welcome and safe here. I can't really regret that.

The vet spent a great deal of time with me on the phone Monday. I should take precautions but not overreact. Reynaldo is very healthy for an old (now age 12!) man and is more likely to die of his kidney problems than FIP. The FIP will likely complicate it, but not cause it, and there's no reason to believe we can even see that on the horizon yet.

Connie -- playful, loving Connie -- is also strong and healthy right now. Her levels are high enough that the FIP is likely to cause her problems. But not right now. If I just love her and enjoy her and keep her on the high qualify diet she currently snarfs down, it's not unreasonable to hope for 6 years with her. Maybe more.

And so that's what I'm going to try to do.

The times they have a-changed

My friend John isn't feeling well. Battling a tenacious spring cold took a lot out of him -- more than it should have -- and his energy still hasn't returned. He's feeling so run down that he isn't sure he still wants to get together Thursday night for drinks. Since John battles chronic heart trouble, this is very concerning.  I mean, John turning down a shot an a beer (or two)? It's unheard of! He's calling his cardiologist this week.

Here I am, just now sufficiently recovered from my months-long battle with c. diff that we can party like we used to, and now he's sick.

It makes me sad to think of how old we are. How we're talking about our hearts and guts and his cardiologist and my gastroenterologist.

I saw Facebook photos of my oldest friend, celebrating Administrative Professionals Day with her office staff and at a party at her cousin's home. I haven't seen her since last November, and was shocked by how much bigger she is. It doesn't help that she was wearing a matchy-matchy lime green pantsuit that made her look like two big scoops of sherbet. She, too, has long had heart trouble, so this additional weight gain really disturbs me.

What about me? In addition to gut trouble, I have high blood pressure and now wear a (gulp!) size 16. (For perspective: until I was about 40, I wore a 6 or 8.) I also know I should work out more. I must work out more. But I'm so slammed at work this week that I can barely squeeze in sleep. That's hyperbole, of course ... but not by much.

I'm trying to keep all this in its place. Yes, these are my friends. And yes, since I have no spouse or siblings (really), they mean a great deal to me. They are my comrades and my support system. So considering their frailties -- and my own -- frightens me.

But I have a big presentation on Thursday morning and this is Wednesday morning. The work's done but it's not yet letter perfect. I'm afraid I don't have time to completely feel this right now.

Yesterday was not the day I wanted to have

Things didn't go well yesterday, despite my best intentions. Unfortunately, the outside world impinged. I have important news to document, but I don't feel like it just now. Repeating what's not good and not really within my control will not help me get everything done that is on my plate right now.


I am still determined to be positive. Sliding into depression serves no good purpose. Of course, neither does denying and insisting that all is well when it most definitely is not.

And so today, I am seeing myself as The Little Engine that Could. I have a long train to pull up a steep mountain. Other engines may have more advantages, but I have faith in myself. "I think I can ... I think I can ..."

I will take care of everything that's presented itself personally and complete the big assignment by end of day tomorrow. Because "I think I can ... I think I can ..."

PS And the Cubs keep winning, so there's that.

My attitude going into Monday morning

I've decided I'm going to have a good week. I insist. And I believe this is largely within my control.

The weekend was rather dreary, weather-wise. The Cubs lost one game in extra innings and the other was rained out. I had to work, so I didn't get as much done as I wanted to around the house. I hate how I look in the mirror these days -- too many chins! -- and I'm afraid I won't have opportunity to work out.

OR ...

Since it was unseasonably cool, I was able to keep the windows open. Yes, the Cubs lost one but it's a 160-game season and this team still has the best record in the major leagues (YEA!).  So I had to work. At least I didn't have to go into the office, I could work from home. I may not be able to get to the health club this week but I can return to Livestrong's Daily Plate and track what I jam into my gullet.

My anthem will be my favorite cut from Sir Paul's 2013 Grammy winning album. He's on tour again.  Over the weekend he performed "Blackbird" in Little Rock and met with members of the Little Rock 9 after the concert. He's living this, clearly, and so should I.

At least it's about the work

I had to work this weekend, and I'm kinda grumpy about it. Not because it impinged on my time off -- I'm in advertising, I know that the hours are unpredictable, they always have been. It's because I don't believe in what I'm doing.

It's a little too inside baseball to go into here, but from the start I have disagreed with AD and his rather ditzy minion about the timing and direction of this project. The timing we got resolved rather easily. AD got us two more days and was conciliatory about committing us to an unmeetable timeline in the first place. That's fine. Account and creative are learning how to work together.

It's the direction the project is taking that is making me uncomfortable. The client gave us an offer they want us to promote. Is it the wisest, most compelling offer? No, but I can make it work. That is, after all, what the client pays their high-priced Michigan Avenue agency to do.

AD and minion changed the assignment by completely changing the parameters of the promotion. I think that's a mistake -- they're narrowcasting without considering our target audience -- but that's not the point. They've done this without letting the client know.

Since the client needs something in market by a specific date, this means there may well be a lot of tension in the room if the client doesn't like what we present. This is a risky gambit. He (the client) could review the creative concepts on Thursday, and may very well say, "What the fuck? Where's the offer I sent you?" (Except he'd never say "fuck" because our client is a very nice boy.)

My boss, who has been out of the office for over a week, will be back tomorrow. Maybe he can talk sense to AD. If not, then I guess we proceed down this unwise path. And who knows? Maybe I'm wrong and AD and the ditz are on to something brilliant.

The good news about this situation is that we're all getting along, we're all respectful. When The Chocolate-Covered Spider was in AD's job, it was all so fucking personal. With Spidey it was about control and keeping score and who was right and who was wrong. AD is upbeat and easy to work with.

He's also wrong. But what the hell.

Sunday Stealing

A to Z Meme

A) What does the last text you sent say? And to whom? I'm on the platform and no trains in sight. Color me chilled and very late. To one of my coworkers on Thursday morning.

B) What does the last text you received say? And from whom? Then go get a hot chocolate. Nothing much going on here. From that same coworker on Thursday morning.

C) What time do you wake up most mornings? 6:00 AM

D) Are you afraid of walking alone at night? Depends on where I am and whether or not I'm alone. I don't like to let fear dominate me, but I don't want to be foolish, either.

E) What do you do to relax at the end of a stressful day? Go off in search of alone time. I find that being quiet and cuddling a cat does wonders.

F) Where did your last kiss take place and with whom? I got kissed a lot at Christmastime. Not since then. Lots of hugs, no kisses.

G) Do/did you get into trouble a lot at school? No. I was a good kid.

H) Do you enjoy your job? If unemployed, are you content being so? I'm a writer and I enjoy writing. Sometimes I hate my job, but I usually enjoy the task at hand.

I) Do you often pick up on double entendres and innuendos? Yes.

J) Have you ever been offered drugs but declined? Yes.

K) Have you ever met someone who has completely altered your way of thinking? Yes.

L) Have you ever been offered drugs and accepted? Yes.
 
M) Tell us something weird that turns you on. Really old TV shows. Lately I've been hypnotized by episodes of What's My Line? from 1960 or so. I am fascinated to see America in this sleepy time, before the assassinations and Vietnam war and riots and protests.

N) When did someone last admit romantic or sexual feelings for you? Was the feeling mutual? God, it was 100 years ago. But yes, it was reciprocal.

O) What is something you have given a lot of thought to lately? That I don't understand how people can actually vote for a crass bully like Donald Trump. My uncle suffered from Parkinson's Disease so this cuts very close to the bone. That Serge Kovaleski can do his job while battling a congenital condition should be applauded, not mocked. Ugly, ugly, ugly. I can't believe people applauded this. I can't believe people voted for him.

P) When did you last swallow your beliefs to avoid an argument or confrontation? Not that often. I try to stay true to myself.

Q) Do you usually initiate hugs? No.

R) Are you a very affectionate person? Perhaps not.

S) Can you roll your own cigarettes? No. I try to literally never touch tobacco because it, literally, stinks.

T) What are you looking forward to? Cubs and Braves tomorrow.


U) Do you have any tattoos. Do you want any/more? No, and no.

V) Are you mentally strong? Less so with time.

W) Are you physically strong? WAAAAY less so with time.

X) Do you think you’re a good person? I know I am, and I try to be better all the time.

Y) Name one thing you wish you could change about your life right now. My chins. I'd like to see fewer.

Z) What do you usually eat for breakfast? Milk and an apple.

Something else to worry about!

First I lost my dear old cat, Joey.  Then I got the disappointing -- though not imminently fatal -- news about sweet little Connie. Today was Reynaldo's turn at the vet.

He was very agitated before we even left the house. I attributed this to his having to fast -- no food after midnight because he was having bloodwork done. He was angry in the car, which surprised me because travel has never bothered him before. While waiting our turn in the vet's waiting room, he started to chill and so I took him out of the carrier.

He was tense, of course. His entire body felt like one lean, taut muscle in my arms. But that was because of all the new views and smells. When a woman came in with a poodle mix -- a rather old dog with a bloody paw -- I decided to put Rey back in the carrier. He was fine with the dog, but the dog, who was already in some degree of discomfort, seemed way too interested in him and I was afraid something sudden and claw-driven might go down. So I put Rey back in the carrier. At which time he hissed at me.

He hissed at me! This has never happened in our 12 years together!

Do not be fooled.

And that, folks, was only the beginning. In the waiting room, the veterinary assistant got a loud purr when he put Rey on the scale. (The skinny beige demon weighs just over 7 lbs.; same as last year and the year before.) Rey merrily flipped back and forth on the table like a fish on the bottom of a boat, giving the assistant two sides to pet. I thought the whole exam would go well.

Ha!

Reynaldo, who lets me do whatever I wish to him whenever I wish to do it, suddenly took umbrage. How dare the vet open his mouth and check his teeth! This procedure was met by wrigglings and low gutteral mutterings.

Then came the vaccinations. Rey has been getting shots, without hardly noticing, for more than a decade now. This morning he acted as though an evil knight was running a sabre through him. They took him back to draw blood and after a few minutes, the vet assistant came back empty handed.

"He really doesn't like this," the assistant said, taking Rey's carrier back with him, thinking it would be a good way to both restrain and comfort him.

When the vet himself brought Reynaldo back, he was covered in beige fur. "Fire. Cracker." Those were his words as he placed the carrier in my hands.

We chatted for a few minutes, more about Connie than about Reynaldo. He's a very nice man, new to the practice, and very sensitive to my concerns. He reiterated that Connie is fine right now, and with careful care she can remain fine for a long time to come. He says that Reynaldo's vitals are all strong, his eyes and teeth and gums look good, and we have no reason to believe that his bad behavior was do to any more than Rey being, "hangry."

I'm not so sure. This aggressive and angry behavior is not like my little man. Active, yes. Hell, manic is his customary mode. But not angry. I hope it doesn't mean that something is wrong. I wish it didn't take 48 hours to get bloodwork back!

Let's revisit this post from two weeks ago: As I was settling our bill at the front desk, one of the vet techs -- the one who actually drew Connie's blood -- came over to tell me what a sweet and special little girl she is. Finding a usable vein was a little harder and took a little longer than was customary, but during the process Connie maintained eye contact with the tech and kept on purring. "I thought, 'this is one I want to take home!'" the tech enthused about my gentle and trusting girl.

The tech remained invisible and in the back room as I was settling Reynaldo's bill.