Testimonials

Remember these, from Yahoo 360 days?  We and our friends exchanged loving words of support, admiration and affection with each other in a public way, so anyone who came to visit could see how closely bonded we were. Remember how we deplored the fact that Multiply didn't have such a feature? Most of us gave it up without too much of a struggle, but some of us didn't.

Laci, my Indian friend in Canada, has set up a testimonial page on her WordPress site, and so I posted the poem I wrote for her when she won it for being the 5000th visitor on my Kittigory page.  It reminded me that I had saved all my testimonials from 360, as well as the ones written for me here on Multiply on Kittigory, and I almost deleted them.  Don't worry...I've put them with the blogs I have saved from both my pages here.

Why am I telling you about them?  Well, that e-mail I received earlier has been doing a number on me.  The earlier laughter with which I had greeted it has changed...never mind to what, but I have become morose and angry and hopeless.  Reading the lovely things some of you have said about me has helped to lift my spirits immeasurably.  The weight is still there, but I am no longer rubbing my chest to dissipate the hurt and anger -- at least it's bearable now.

Thanks, guys!  I love you all!  *hugs*  

Pregnancy Test????? WTH!!!!!

Today I had to have two procedures done, one of which had previously been done at Vassar Brothers Medical Center.  Today's procedures were an echo sonohysterogram, and a catheter sonohysterogram. The second procedure involved inserting a catheter into my uterus, pumping some fluid into it, and then looking around.  

(If you're REALLY interested in ole lady medical stuff, go Google them!)

What I found really funny was that, to begin, I was given a regular sonogram, the kind pregnant women are given at every visit, and after that, I was asked to provide a urine sample for a pregnancy test.

Yep...you heard me right!  A pregnancy test!  You could have knocked me over with a feather!!!  When I laughed and asked why, I was told it's part of the procedure.  I guess they have to be careful, even with supposedly post- (VERY POST-) menopausal women like me, on the off-chance that there might be a lil bambina snuggling up in my womb. They wouldn't want to pass ANY objects through my cervix, or insert any foreign bodies into my womb, unless they were taking an amniotic sample (which I wouldn't have let them do, anyway. I didn't with my last child, when I was 42.)

Still, a pregnancy test!  I laughed for a while.  And then chuckled some more.  And then breathed a silent sigh of relief when the little monitor showed one line, like the one above!  

Because I hate to say it, but if, by some weird and totally odd "miracle", I became pregnant after all my eggs have been used up (three years now) -- that's what menopause is, we run out of eggs! -- I would NOT have been a happy camper.  At ALL!

Thank God for small mercies! 

Big-hearted...that's me!

Can't argue with that!!  

Feisty, Funny, Fabulous...

...and just what the doctor ordered.

Meet Joan...old lady #3!  Were we fated to meet?  Did God have a hand in it?  Whatever the explanation, I guess I needed to hear it from a flesh-and-blood older woman for it to sink in.  I was in the little mall where the CVS pharmacy is this morning, going to make some photocopies at the Minuteman Press store.  As I was waiting to have my copies made, an older lady walked in, and the gentleman working there approached her to discuss the work he had been doing for her.  

Being the (sometimes) gregarious creature I can be, I smiled and said hello, and spoke to her regarding some general comment she had made to him.  This began a conversation between her, the woman serving me, and me, in which Joan (I asked her to give me her name and phone number, and she did!) told me her age -- she's 65, surely not as old as the two I saw yesterday, and certainly in much better shape than they were -- and her physical condition -- a smoker who eats whatever she wants, doesn't exercise, and yet has normal blood pressure and is only, according to her doctor, 15 lbs. overweight.

When she told us that her doctor said she was carrying around an extra fifteen pounds, both the woman behind the counter and I looked Joan up and down and said, in unison, "Where?" She laughed merrily and said, "Ladies, you've made my day!  I'll love you all forever!" We all laughed at that, and Joan went on to give me some advice, when I told her how I had figured out that women of a certain age (retired women) were discarded by society.

"Retirement is not easy," she said, "and you have to be ready for it.  Many retired women start their own businesses (I immediately remembered Kurt's suggestions -- than you, Kurt!). Once you retire, everyone will want you to do things for them.  You'll have to learn to say 'No!' But you must get out there and make new friends.  Your work friends will have moved on six months after you leave, so you'll need to find new people to share your life with.  Volunteer in one place -- don't do more."  

She paused, as she wrote her name and phone number (which she had to think hard to remember, chuckling as she did!), and then added, "Oh, and one more thing. Every week, put an X through one day -- doesn't matter which day.  That's the day that is only for YOU!  Do anything you want to do, or do nothing.  It's YOUR day to just please yourself, and no one else!"

I smiled and thanked her, and she asked me my name again.  "It's Karen," I told her, "but when I call, I'll remind you of who I am by reminding you of the woman you talked with in Minuteman!"

"Good plan!" she answered, smiling, and I took my leave.

Why did this make me feel better, after yesterday's 

meltdown, you ask?  It's a different day...perhaps it's as simple as that.  Or maybe it's because today is my 29th wedding anniversary, and I have other things on my mind, like how I managed to stay married to one person for so long.  Or maybe it's because Joan showed me that there IS life after retirement, and that I might just be okay as I am, and that I will be okay then, too. Whatever the reason, I was enormously cheered by this encounter.  

I think I wanna be like Joan when I grow up!  I said as much to her after she told me how healthy she was, despite her bad health behaviors, like the smoking.  I didn't feel like a loser.   Thank you, Joan!  

Two Old Ladies...

...both white haired, one in a black car, one in a red,
 gave me pause again today.

Mrs. Black Car (sorry, I was too busy watching what all was happening with her to notice make and model!) was leaving CVS (a pharmacy, FYI for non-Americans), wielding her cane like a spiffy third leg.  Mrs. Red Car (same excuse re: make and model) was arriving, unloading her snappy red walker with the handy wheels, on her way into CVS.

Mrs. BC trembled.  Heck, let me be totally frank -- Mrs. BC shook and bobbled from the neck up.  I watched her key open her car door, hands steady as a rock, while her head bobbled furiously.  I watched her get in, start the car, back it out of its spot, and bobble away, her thin, speckled arms steady on the steering wheel.

Mrs. RC did not bobble.  Dressed for the warm weather in a peasant skirt and top, she fetched her walker from the boot of her hatchback, and before pushing her extra legs ahead of her into the store, she drank daintily from a covered bottle of water (I presume -- it'd be a pretty scary thing if she were swigging liquor, don't you think?)

Tears sprang to my eyes.  I wiped them away surreptitiously (Mini Me was in the back seat, and I don't cry for anyone to see), but my fingers were chased by more tears.  I scrabbled for a pen so I could try to give words to all that I was feeling.  Because this non-incident, this little episode out of time, a drop in the bucket of my Sunday, had burst open the floodgates that I had been valiantly holding closed, fingers in the dyke, trying to keep my emotions contained, since Friday morning.

I began to chronicle the moment, and then we left, and I was too busy sniffling quietly, so as not to draw attention to myself, and swallowing the rest of the flood of tears, making sure they did not spill.  By the time I got home, I was under control again.  I emptied the dishwasher, then repacked it with the dirty dishes in the sink, talked to my friend for almost an hour, and tried to keep HER spirits up (she's the one who was not only rated unsatisfactory, but also discontinued).  I had wanted to wait till after her meeting with the union tomorrow to tell her my bad news -- no use in depressing her more, eh? -- but she asked, and I had no choice.

Conversation over, I came upstairs, changed into comfy "yard" clothes (a Jamaican expression for clothes you wear at home), and sat down to transcribe the notes I had begun to make.  Why would the sight of two old ladies make me cry, you ask?  To answer that, you'll need to come back with me to yesterday.  I am on my way to the supermarket to buy breakfast fixings -- eggs, bacon (two kinds) milk, orange juice -- and it occurs to me that in two more years, I will be a "free agent".  

Retirement is supposed to free one to move on to the next task in this new phase of life.  But it brings new questions, such as, how do I live in the manner to which I have become accustomed if no one will hire me because I'm older?  I asked myself that question as I drove out of the supermarket parking lot.  Nobody hires 56-year-old ex-assistant principals (that's how old I'll be when I leave the DOE).  Heck, no one wants to hire me NOW, for crying out loud -- witness Friday morning's cold rejection! Which makes me ask another question -- am I a has-been?  Is menopause NOT, after all, the worst thing that can happen to an older woman?  

I've never had to think about being unemployed before. When I was young, fresh out of university, I knew I would get a job.  And when I left one, another one always opened for me.  I took it all for granted, as my right, almost, for being an upstanding citizen, a dedicated, hard-working person, a valuable contributor to society.  I was strong, I was invincible...I was young.

Being rejected for a position I KNOW I could have handled has made me question myself, and wonder if I am really everything I thought I was.  I wonder why I was rejected, and all the answers make me feel a combination of anger, frustration, and fear. Overwhelming fear.  What if I can't contribute to the family coffers when I leave the DOE?  We will lose the house, and have to move...again.  What ELSE will we lose because of me?  Because I'm older, washed up, useless in a society that only values youth, that sees me and thinks "has been", "over", "past it"?

I cannot get past the vision of me, thirty years from now, head bobbling as I lean on my walker on my way out of the pharmacy.  Will THAT be my claim to fame -- that I can drive myself to the pharmacy and back without killing anyone or myself?  Will that be all my life will be worth?  What can I do to avoid such a pitiful end?  I've spent my public life defining myself in terms of my vocation. Without it, what am I?  Who am I?

I know this sounds like a self-pitying blog, a whining, boo-hooing blog, but that isn't my intention at all.  I'm just scared, for the first time since I was a wet-behind-the-ears BA beginning her first job at Manchester High School in Mandeville, Manchester, Jamaica, West Indies.  Any and all suggestions, advice, whatever, will be more than welcome.  I'm sinking fast into a pit that not even housework is pulling me from completely...

Maybe this Kenny Chesney song will do the trick, eh?

Love Story

A friend has this in the right rail on his page, and as I watched "Love Story", I remembered it.  In the movie, Jenny dies, and the pain is as bad as the one described at the end of this little reflection.  

“Have you ever been in love? Horrible isn't it? It makes you so vulnerable.  It opens your chest and it opens up your heart and it means that someone can get inside you and mess you up.  You build up all these defenses, you build up a whole suit of armor, so that nothing can hurt you, then one stupid person, no different from any other stupid person, wanders into your stupid life... You give them a piece of you.  They didn't ask for it.  They did something dumb one day, like kiss you or smile at you, and then your life isn't your own anymore.  Love takes hostages.  It gets inside you.  It eats you out and leaves you crying in the darkness, so simple a phrase like 'maybe we should be just friends' turns into a glass splinter working its way into your heart.  It hurts. Not just in the imagination.  Not just in the mind.  It's a soul-hurt, a real gets-inside-you-and-rips-you-apart pain.  But, "Don't hate love.”

I'm all shook up!  I know...I'm a sappy sod!  Here's the instrumental version...

And the song (that I can't sing now for crying)...

If you read it on Kittigory...

(...give this a pass.  Maybe this isn't a rant, but it sure reads like it!)

In a thoughtful, even melancholy mood, and wondering about a host of things.  For example...

1.  If I die, what is my legacy?

--  Been trying to decide.  Do children count?  If so, I'll be leaving four behind to grace the world with whatever their gifts and talents are.  And if people in general count, then maybe the kids I've taught -- who remember me with fondness, who appreciate what I did when I tried to show them how to love the language and the books, and the power of the word -- maybe they are my legacy, as they share what I have taught them about passion and love with the people they come in contact with.  If my legacy is about my impact on others, then the people here and offline who care about me, who share their lives and love with me -- they are my legacy, if they give love away, as I do.

2.  What is my value to others?

-- I can't speak for others, of course, but I can speak of my perceptions of their (and your) behavior toward me, and how I interpret it.  So, if I were to go by my family and offline friends, I am worth hugs and kisses, homework help, a shoulder to cry on, a listening ear, help with lesson planning and classroom management, a fountain of information, a reliable daughter/sibling.  To my true friends on here, like Tom, Babs, Barb, Tina, and Frank, I am worth your kindness, your concern, your faithfulness, perhaps even your love.  

-- To the people -- well, only men, really -- who judge me by the erotic stories I write, and make assumptions about who I am and what I want, I am a hole or two or three, a mind to fuck (pardon the vulgarity, but it suits this context!), words to jerk off to, a toy to seduce and use for sexual pleasure.  I'm not "worth" much to them, am I?  Good thing I know better...

3.  Whom do I trust?

-- *sigh*  I know you expect me to say I trust my family and those friends I have known forever. Perhaps I do, but trust is very hard for me.  Too many people have thrown my heart back in my face, probably because they don't see my true worth.  So the jury is out on this one, most of the time.  There is always a part of me that stands in reserve, watching over things, assessing and weighing, and ready to pull me back if it feels unsafe.  

4.  Have I done enough?

-- I am 53 years old.  What have I done with my life?  I've only ever had two jobs -- teacher and White Castle slave.  I love to write, but after all these years, and all this writing, nothing is complete.  Nothing is published.  I love to study, but after twelve years, I don't have that Ph. D. I started out trying to get.  I am one oral examination and a dissertation away from a degree I have wanted since I first became an undergraduate student in Jamaica, West Indies.  And I can't seem to find the will, or the time, to figure out how to do it now.  It's been too long -- getting a Ph. D. takes between 7 and 10 years -- and they will likely show me the door if I try to go back to finish it.  And there's a part of me that worries that I can't hack it anymore, that I don't have the academic or mental wherewithal to pull off my dream degree.  That is one scary thought!  

And I am also worried that when I retire from the New York City Department of Education in two more years, I will not be able to do enough to help with the bills, and that I will not find anything else to do that fulfills me, aside from write...and we have already discussed my inability, it seems, to finish anything I begin to write.

And if I take the less selfish thought track, and consider what I have done for others, it seems I haven't done enough there, either.  My sons never finished college, though now they are trying to get back on track.  My older girl is burning the candle at all ends, and doesn't understand that she needs to balance her endeavors so she doesn't burn out before age 25.  My youngest is giving me the kinds of headaches her older siblings never gave me, and making me wonder what sins I have committed for which I am now paying. My hubby is also misbehaving by not taking his health issues as seriously as he should.  I really don't think I have the intestinal fortitude to do what I think needs to be done to whip my family into shape.

5.  Will it always be this way?

--  I know, I ask the hard questions, but when I'm blue, they all come crowding in.  It's overwhelming.  I can't help but wonder if the second half of my life will be as fraught with turmoil as the first, with the expected addition of the ills that attend old age.  I'm not saying I'm old, but I'm no longer young, either.  When am I going to catch a break?  When will I see a dream fulfilled, something that is important to me as an individual, and not just something important to the family?  

Should I just brace myself for more of the same, and leave some strength of mind in reserve for the unexpected "slap in the face" or "punch in the gut"? I've sort of lived my whole life like that, expecting the other shoe to drop...and it usually does, with alarming, depressing, and apparently inevitable regularity.  How do I make the smile with which I greet the world most days a true reflection of the smile currently absent from my heart? 

Don't you just LOVE coming to my blogs to be depressed by my emotionalism?  Sorry, guys!

What friends are for...

I love you all, and appreciate your friendship.  I take being a friend very seriously, and wish those who are mine all did so too.  But I can't let what others do or don't do affect who I am, and how I treat my friends.  

I wish you all a wonderful day!  *hugs*

Monday Music Magic: "Alive"

When I am feeling most low, like I was yesterday, and trying to raise my spirits by reminding myself that I have my health, a job, a roof over my head, and the love of my family, music usually soothes my savage emotional beasts. This is a song I listen to that helps ease my mood, brings back my "feisty", and makes me feel alive again...

PP ~ "Sayings" (Much Modified)

I'm not a member of the Picture Perfect group, but I like the challenge they've put out this time - quotations.  I've chosen the one below, which is actually the first stanza of a Christmas carol, "In the Bleak Midwinter", by Christina Rosetti.  I've posted the song after the pictures - that's one of the perks of NOT being in the group: you can add your own twist to it!  

I took these pictures last winter!  And I'm eagerly anticipating winter again this year, despite the horrendous five days we had with that storm!  I know...I'm the weirdest West Indian, eh?  LOL!

In the bleak midwinter, 

Frosty wind made moan,

Earth stood hard as iron, 

Water like a stone.

Snow had fallen, 

Snow on snow, 

Snow on snow, 

In the bleak midwinter,

Long ago. 

I could have chosen the video of the Kings College Choir of Cambridge, which you can see if you go here - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U0aL9rKJPr4 - but I chose this one because it was a service in which the congregation also sang.  I love that!

And yes, Christmas time is my favorite time of year!

Enjoy!