Men are from Star Wars, Women are from the Matrix

I took the day off today to address my huge “to do” list. One of my friends, who hadn’t heard from me all day, wrote me at 4pm and asked, “Are you still to do’nting??” I told my friend I was.

I had spent most of the day getting medical records and trying to make doctor's appointments; yes, I dropped a dime and called Dr. Colon. My last task today was “Call Dell Technical Support about Nathan’s lack of wireless on his laptop.” I told my friend, “I’m currently in Dell Hell.”

It was our third call to technical support. Nathan gave up after his second call, because he couldn’t “understand” the person on the phone. I was ready to fight the Dell battle, and I fought it for two hours this afternoon.

After restoring Nathan’s laptop to the factory settings, I was assured that his wireless would now work. He would also never have a low signal problem again. Did it work?

He now had wireless, but it didn’t fix the low signal problem. Was I surprised? No. Will I be the first person to write Michael Dell and ask to return the laptop for a refund? Probably not.

Anyway, when the Dell laptop owner gets totally frustrated and stressed out, the Dell laptop owner goes out grocery shopping in order to make herself a kick-ass hamburger for dinner! At 6pm, I went to the supermarket. Funny, but the whole time I was out, I felt like I was missing something; when I thought about it harder, I was missing the feeling of the phone receiver pressed against my ear.

After I gathered a pound of coffee, two 9-volt batteries, a pound of 95% lean hamburger, and a frozen pizza, I was ready to pay for my purchases. (And, yes, what do those odd purchases say about me?! Believe it or not, there is a "story" to my seemingly shopping madness.) Alas, something caught my eye as I wandered down aisle 6. It was a bag of food; no, it wasn’t a bag of cat or dog food.

It was a bag of squirrel and critter food.



I know what a squirrel is, but what exactly is a “critter?” I didn’t need to buy squirrel and critter food, but I did. What possessed me?

Well, of course, it was because I went shopping when I was hungry! Hey, if the world ended tomorrow, I might eat that stuff. The peanuts still in the shell looked appetizing right then and there.

So, I thought I could experiment by putting the food out and seeing what kinds of critters went through my critter food drive-thru. I know that sounds crazy. But, people do crazy things after being on the phone for two hours, especially if it's a two hours that ends in even more frustration!

Anyway, I plunked my groceries and my “critter” food down on the conveyor belt. I always pick the wrong line, because the cashier was asking the man ahead of me if he needed to “phone home.” No, he wasn’t ET, but he was definitely from Mars.

Another cashier guided him over to the service booth, and he began to dial. I asked the cashier in front of me, “What’s going on?” because, at that point, any amusement unrelated to computers would be good amusement for me. She said, “His wife wrote detergent on her list, and now he’s not sure what she meant.”

Probably bored and intrigued by the male-in-distress’s dilemma, she asked me, “What would you buy if the list said detergent on it?” I said, “I’d buy laundry detergent.” She exclaimed, “That’s what I said, too!”

We both raised our hands into the air and laughed out loud. She then pointed to his plastic grocery bag, made a Matrix frown, and said, “He bought dishwasher detergent.” I said, “Oh, no. Detergent definitely means laundry,” and the male-in-distress, who still hadn’t reached his wife but had overheard us, asked me, “Not dishwashing detergent?”

I said quite matter-of-fact, “No. Laundry.” He frowned, and then he said into the phone's receiver, “Oh, hi, I’m here at the supermarket. What exactly did you mean when you wrote detergent?” There was a pause, and he then said, “Ohhhhh, for washing clothes.”

The cashier and I laughed again. The male-in-distress then smiled at us. He then asked his wife in a Star Wars tone, “Well, are you sure we don’t need dishwasher detergent, too?”

The casher then whispered to me, “Oh, now he’s trying to save face.” I laughed, and then I said, “We’re all wired differently.” And, while we're all human beings, women and men most definitely star in different movies. ♥

Snatch the Pebble From My Hand

Lately, I’ve been wallowing in a sea of North, East, South, and West, failing to plot a course in any particular direction. Feeling so frazzled about both my professional and personal life, I found it ironic recently when a friend asked me for some direction. It was not direction in felines, shoes, vintage clothes, or Sephora; it was direction in relationships.

Stop laughing. Actually, thinking about it now, I’m probably laughing harder than you are right now. My friend was quite a bit younger than me; I guess at my age, one that much younger might think me wiser when she didn’t think me goofy because of my very minor infatuations with pink, felines, shoes, vintage clothes, and Sephora.

Anyway, she was delving into the currently calm yet always potentially stormy relationship waters. It appeared she needed a floatation device to grab onto. There I was, a Hello Kitty inner tube in the Pink Sea.



Despite thinking “Hello Kitty” and “pink,” I currently saw myself like this.



Quite miraculously, she saw me like this.



I prefaced her request to listen to a scenario by saying, “I’m no relationship expert!” She knew my history; however, that didn’t scare her off. She presented her scenario to me, and I tried to offer assistance.

After talking to her, I realized that after being in total un-relationship for the last 8 years, I really had no idea how to make things work between two people anymore. I was rusty and somewhat jaded. And, I wondered if by giving her my thoughts, I was pretty close to practicing Relationship without a license, even though I was way beyond the marriage license point of my life.

A few days later, I fielded some more questions. Actually, given her young years, she was very wise. Lately, I wondered if I couldn’t learn a few things from her during these exchanges.

At one point, she asked me something that I knew I could answer well. I said, “That’s simple, Grasshopper.” I had called her “Grasshopper” a few times before, because I was beginning to feel a bit like Master Po from “Kung Fu.”

Before I could bestow my wisdom upon her, she asked rather perplexed, “Why do you keep calling me Grasshopper?” I laughed, and a woman nearby who overheard her question asked, “Don’t you know the TV show, Kung Fu?”

I said, “I doubt she does. She’s a bit young for that.” I told her it was a TV show about the adventures of a monk named Kwai Chang Caine in which there were flashbacks to when Kwai was a young boy getting advice from a Master Po, who always called him “Grasshopper.” Yes, she didn’t say, “Oh, that show!”

Instead I redirected and asked, “What year were you born?” She said, “1976.” I said to the other woman, “See, she totally missed out on Kung Fu,” to which the woman said, “1976! That was the year I graduated from high school.”

Anyway, when the woman was finally out of earshot, we continued our discussion. In some ways, I thought that while I wanted to help my friend in any way I could, this was also a good trial run for those years when Iz would come to me to ask advice, which I hoped wouldn’t be in the form of the question, “Mom, which should I pierce first? My tongue, my bellybutton, or my nipples?”

So far, Nathan had only really come to me to get him out of school early, ask for money, request the car, or give me a huge bear hug when I was sitting at my desk. He was not one to share, especially his feelings nor any of those related to women, who he had already deemed entirely too difficult to deal with. I still had hope that Iz might come to me for all those things and relationship advice!

Today, I had mentioned “Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus” to my friend. Of course, I had read the first two chapters once upon a time; she answered that she had already listened to the audio book. Well, she was already way beyond me; Master Po had some catching up to do, and at this point in my life, perhaps it would be a good time to try and read the whole book.

I’m sure our relationship conversations will continue. To tell you the truth, I look forward to them. I’m not sure if she’ll learn much from me. She’s very insightful all on her own, which is something I’ve always admired about her.

I do think I’m going to learn a lot from her or perhaps even relearn everything I had forgotten so long ago. Even though I currently only had questions about my own life, it was nice to know my friend thought I might have some answers for hers. And, if I didn’t feel like Master Po in my own world, it seemed like Grasshopper was going to remain in my Master Po world until she could snatch the pebble from my hand. ♥

WIZY's Birthday Weather Forecast

I love you, Sis. ♥

Love, Izzy

Does every potential Mom want to have a girl, or was it just me? Actually, when I found out I was pregnant with Nathan I hoped he would be a girl. Yeah, yeah, we say we just want something “healthy,” but who are we kidding? We all have a secret gender agenda.

After Quinn and I found out I was pregnant, we did what any normal couple does. We immediately made a $100 bet on whether we were having a boy or a girl. I know that’s strange, but it’s true; Quinn said we were having a girl, and I said we were having a boy. I reasonably decided early on that if I wanted a girl, I had to pretend that I didn’t want one.

Second, and more normally, we compiled a list of baby names and posted them on the refrigerator. After coming up with one boy name (Nathan) and about twenty girl names, I knew it was inevitable. Nathan was coming in eight months.

I could pretend all I wanted, but the refrigerator, as if a large neon Ouija board, announced “Nathan, coming soon to a crib near you!” There’s something to be said about mother’s intuition, too. Not being that close to either my brother or father when growing up, I felt that a boy might just be divine being both godly and fabulous.

Perhaps I needed to get dirt under my fingernails instead of putting polish on top of them? Hadn’t I always wanted to know the difference between a train’s hopper and gondola cars? Didn’t I want to understand the rules of hockey? (Okay, after 13 years of hockey, I still haven’t mastered that one.) Disclaimer: Yes, I know these are all things you can do with a girl, too; I’m just sayin’ these were things I imagined doing with a son back then.

When I was two weeks overdue, my doctor ordered an ultrasound. The technician asked, “Do you know the baby’s breech?” I responded that I had no idea, and then she said, “The cord is around its neck. And, if you wanted to know, I can’t even tell you the baby’s sex because of its position.” I said, “That’s okay. I already know I’m having a boy,” still hoping that reverse desire psychology would bring me a baby girl, who would mostly likely be named a week after her birth due to the fact I was still pondering twenty girl names.

So, I was scheduled for a c-section the next day. Early the next morning, my healthy baby arrived complete with penis; I think Quinn still owes me the $100 from that bet too. And, as you all know, I am blessed to have such a good man like Nathan in my life.

Anyway, a few years after my divorce, I began to think that my chances for a daughter were slim to none. It seemed the only girl in my life would continue to be the one that walked on four polydactyl feline paws and answered, when she felt like it, to the name, Rover.

Somewhere during that time, I had seen one of my favorite movies, Crossing Delancy, in which the main character’s name is Isabelle; I especially loved her nickname which was Izzy. I knew then that if I ever had a girl that would be her name. And for a while, it seemed that Isabelle might end up being a feline until I met Iz’s Dad, John.

I was 40 when we got married. Again, I thought the chances for children, let alone a daughter, were slim. After returning from Martha’s Vineyard one weekend, I was standing in the parking lot with Nathan waiting for a shuttle bus to the satellite parking lot. As the bus pulled in, I remember smelling the fumes and getting a bit nauseous.

I thought, “Hey, what’s the date?” I then thought, “Nah. It couldn’t be.” And as we waited to board the bus, I saw a car with boat trailer swing around and drive onto the ferry. The boat’s name was “Isabelle.”

I stood there frozen. Nathan said, “Mom, let’s get on the bus.” I then drove home thinking over and over, “Nah, it couldn’t be.”

I dropped Nathan off at Quinn’s, and I headed to the supermarket. I picked up dinner, and then I bought a bottle of red wine. As “Nah, it couldn’t be” replayed one more time, a tiny voice asked, “Could it be?” I made my last stop at CVS where I picked up two pregnancy tests.

When I got home, I unpacked my bags, and I began dinner. I looked at the bottle of wine. I looked at the pregnancy test.

Shaking my head, I opened the pregnancy test thinking it would be a test I would surely pass. After opening the bottle of wine, I went into the bathroom thinking, “Nah, it couldn’t be.” There it was – the blue line; at 40 years old, I was knocked up!

Shocked, I did another one. I paced the kitchen floor and actually thought, “How did this happen?” I guess I knew how it happened, but I was wondering how it happened so fast at 40.

I checked the test again. There was the blue line. It said, “I told you so!” And, I put the cork back in the bottle of red wine.

So, a little over a month after marrying, I was pregnant. I don’t know who was more surprised, me or my doctor. In fact, I continually surprised him during my pregnancy by being able to sit “Indian style” on the examination table through my ninth month; he once said, “It’s like nothing has happened to you!”

Once again, baby names were pondered. I only had one, and it was Isabelle. I tried hard to think of even one boy name, but it was no use; nothing came to me.

Being an old pregnant lady, I opted for amniocentesis. Being that I had always been impatient and impulsive, I knew I wanted to know who had taken up residence inside me. Was it Izzy or baby_boy_who_will_most_likely_be_named_by_the_hospital_staff?!

One afternoon, the phone rang, and I could see from the caller ID it was my doctor’s office. The nurse said, “Everything is fine, “ and I did a little dance and thought that I was on my way to a “healthy” baby. She then asked, “And do you want to know the sex?”

I answered, “Yes!” half excited and half dreading trying to come up with at least one boy name. She said, “It’s a girl!!!!” I said, “Wonderful!” and after I hung up, I thought, “Welcome to my world, Izzy. I’m so glad you’re not going to be a cat,” and so was Rover for that matter.

This past Tuesday night, I rushed home from work to attend Isabelle’s second grade orientation night. Before we left, I asked her to sign a birthday card. I handed it to her, she wrote her name, handed it back to me, and I glanced down at the card which now read, “Love, Izzy.”

For some reason, I smiled. It wasn’t because the penmanship was neat nor was it because she cooperated in less than a minute on a task. It was because she loved that name, Izzy, like I did all those years ago when I sat glued to “Crossing Delancy” on a lazy Saturday afternoon.

We headed off to the orientation; okay, after ten years of orientations, I’m rather tired of them, especially because I’m facing 10 more years of them. (This is probably the only downside of having two children ten years apart; you’re in school forever!) Though, I really have nothing to complain about, because Suze recently informed me that she had done 24 orientations with only two remaining, and to quote her: “What a sobering thought!”

When we arrived at the school, I had flashbacks to my elementary school like I always did when I went there. Why do all elementary schools smell the same? The smell is a cross between stale paper and white school glue with a pinch of canned peas thrown in for good cafeteria measure.

The one thing I love is how small everything is. The water fountains are two feet off the ground making you feel like you’re in Munchkinland. The thing that amazes me is those tiny chairs; I ponder the seats all night wondering, “Was my ass ever that small!”

Anyway, as we walked through the library on the way to visit last year’s teacher, a little girl walked by us. She smiled at Isabelle and said, “Hi, Izzy!!!!” Totally surprised, I asked Isabelle, “Is that what everyone calls you?” She smiled and nodded yes.

Then I had a “Jean moment.” (Brenda and/or Steve coined this term, and I define it as a situation in which you are struck by thoughts, emotions, or actions when and where you least expect to be struck by them.) It’s no matter that I’m not where I thought I’d be at this point in life; I’m fortunate to be surrounded by most of the people I want to be at this point in my life. Sometimes things just don’t go the way you want them to, and even I don’t hear “I love you” a lot anymore, I will always love hearing “Hi, Izzy!” ♥

What About the Blog?

When I first told one of my friends that I got my new-old job back, she immediately asked, “But, what about the blog?” Yes, this was before, “Congratulations!” I think it was my neighbor, Ellen, who is the best husband in the world, but I can’t be sure. Anyway, I really loved the fact that she was more concerned about me being laid off from my blog job, the one that is definitely my passion, than about me having a “real” job.

So, as many of you have noticed (okay, just a handful of you), I haven’t written anything in a while. I thought when I got my job that I’d be able to do both. While I have done both, it’s taken a toll on me.

I love the toll it’s taken, because I want to be here; however, I can’t do this blog with the intensity that I did it with once before. I love to write like I do here. And, someday, I’m hope I am able to pay my mortgage by doing just that; but for today, it's just not going to happen.

Actually, I don’t know what happened, but I hit a wall. Was it pressure at work, pressure at home, or pressure I put on myself? I don’t know, but I realized that before 2011, I have to get my life (read "shit") together.

That being said, I have to make sure I’m healthy; there are medical records I need to pick up and doctor’s appointments I need to make. Of course, I need that dreaded colonoscopy, too; no, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with me. Given my Dad died of colon cancer at 69, I should have had one when I was 45; however, I’m shy in that area and have put it off too long as I have with other things in my life, like general happiness.

Quite unsurprisingly, one of my friends has hounded me about the colonoscopy for the last few weeks. He has even promised me shoes if I go soon; I asked, “Ah, so Manolo Blahniks?!” He asked, “Can you get those at Payless?” And, no, I will not let him buy me shoes, though it might be nice to have him drive me there if I need him to.

Lastly, I have a house and a relationship I need to let go of. For the last two years, I’ve been hiding under a rock, well, I’ve somewhat been pinned by a rock that has “unemployment” spray painted on it. I need to address that, too; however, I’ve been afraid, and I don’t want to be afraid anymore. I so want to be happy.

So, I am still going to write here, but the frequency might not be the same as it used to be for a few months; I will write when inspired. Lastly, I wanted to thank Tomas, Georgie, Brenda, Steve, Nancy, Suze, and Cathy for being my most devoted readers; if I missed someone, it’s not because I don’t adore you, it’s only because my CSI-IP-address stalking needs to be improved. I love you all. ♥

Battle of the Bands

Blog soundtrack:



I have a 17-year-old son; naturally, we differ in a lot of areas like politics, clothes, sleeping habits, and especially music. When Nathan was younger and impressionable, I tried to gently push some of my music his way; of course, my thinking was flawed, because Nathan was never impressionable. He had always had a mind of his own; I only had to remember back to seventh grade when he proudly announced he was the only one in his grade to vote for the Libertarian candidate in the school's mock election.

About a year ago, Nathan started making CDs of “his” music for the car. He and I would often squabble about whose CD we were going to listen to when he was driving the car with his learner’s permit. Since Nathan got his driver’s license, he started making more CDs to listen to (read "blast at such a high volume that I could hear him coming home a mile down the street") while driving on his own in Big Red (a.k.a, his Dad’s 1995 red Suburban).

Somehow this 2” by 2” laminated card that said "driver's license," given to Nathan by the state of Massachusetts, had made him King of his Driving Domain even if his name was not on the automobile title of said domain. One day, I went to drive Nathan to his Dad’s house. He quickly said, “I’ll drive,” and as he climbed into the driver’s seat he proclaimed, “The person who drives gets to listen to his music!”

I got in the passenger’s seat and said, “But, but…” Nathan said again to me as if I had suddenly sprouted two hearing aids in each ear, “The person who drives get to listen to his music, Mom!” I was waiting for him to say, “Period,” after that, but he’s not a fan of punctuation or writing in general, never mind the verbal punctuation.

So, I sat there waiting for the “noise.” Some of it wasn’t too bad, especially when a song came on that I actually knew. I was pleasantly surprised by a Journey song one day, but within 5 minutes, the pleasant memories were replaced by audio anxiety when Metallica began to shriek.

These were difficult days, because I knew then that I was old. I had flashbacks from 1981 when I arrived home from Brandeis armed with music by the Pretenders and the B52s. I remember my Mom having a listen and then rolling her eyes; God, if I hadn’t already, I had truly become my mother when it came to music with Nathan.

Somewhere along the way, Nathan took pity on me. When we happened to have to drive together, he would skip songs he knew I wouldn’t like. He’d stop at a particular song and say, “You might like this, Mom.”

I know the teen years are years when you really have to reach out to your children. What struck me was that it seemed that Nathan was trying to reach out to me with his music. I didn’t say it, but I thought, “How sweet,” because I didn’t want Nathan to think that I was thinking that he might actually be trying to find common ground with his mother of all people.

Then, it happened. I actually loved two of “his” songs that he had played for me; in fact, I was fond of blasting them at high volume in my car. One night, I walked into his room and proudly said, “Nathan, I’ve got two of your songs on my iPod.”

Of course, he looked at me like I was crazy. While common ground could be reached, you should never verbalize it to your teen. He must have been feeling generous that night in matters of the Mom. He asked, “Which ones?”

I told him and then said that I was on my way to liking a third song. He asked which one. I began to hum it, and he said, “Oh, that’s 1901 by Phoenix.”

Anyway, I put the song on my iPod last week. I then said to Nathan, when he wasn’t “bouncing” (leaving) or sleeping, “I’ve got that song on my iPod now.” He mumbled something, and I knew he was thrilled and was probably going to tell all his friends how cool his Mom was; okay, so I could dream about that and that he might let me be his Facebook friend again!

Last night, I downloaded the whole album by Phoenix. I was bopping around the house listening to them. And, I thought how proud must Nathan be of his old Mom, the woman unloading the dishwasher to his music; again, I could dream!

I even went so far as to see if they were touring. As it turns out, they were going to be at Agganis arena on October 19th. So, I sent a text to Nathan that asked, “Phoenix playing BU on 10/18. Want to go? Or is it not cool going with your Mom? Or do you want me to get tix, so you can go with a friend?”

I knew I overstepped the common ground. It was good Nathan and I had common ground. But a second after I pressed "Send," I had the feeling that “going with your Mom” was putting me too close to Nathan on the same common ground.

Nathan was surprised that tickets were still available. He asked how much they were, and I told him. Then Nathan placed Lake Chaubunagungamaug between us, which for me roughly translated to “You listen to music on your side, I’ll listen to music on my side, and we won’t attend concerts together.”

Nathan said, “I’d rather go with friends.” There was a sad smiley face after that. I don’t know if he was sad because he felt like he was hurting my feelings or sad because he really wanted to go with his friends.

No matter, I took it like a Mom and said, “I will get a date and go.” I put a smiley face after that. True to 17-year-old form, Nathan responded with “Ewww.”

I told him that if he wanted to go I would help him get tickets. I guess I always knew that Nathan wasn’t going to respond with, “Oh, I’d love to go to a cool concert with my Mom instead of my much cooler and unrelated-to-me friends.” Hey, you can blame me for trying to spend whatever time I could with him!

In another year, he’ll be off to college. I’ve only felt old three times in the last few years; they were when Nathan became a freshman in high school, when he went to the prom, and now knowing he is a senior in high school. Anyway, I will keep trying to work my way into his life, which I seem to be slowly dropping out of, but for now, I am happy with our common ground, even if it is only in the car and every now and then. ♥

Five Paragraphs

Last Saturday, I attended a family gathering for my neighbor, Eileen, who passed away on September 3rd from Alzheimer’s. It was from 1pm to 3pm; and, I didn’t know what to expect. I guess the expectation of the event wasn’t really my concern; it was my expectation of sadness and grief.

While I’m well acquainted with loss and feel like sometimes that I am an expert, I didn’t like Death at all. I know; who does? No one has “good with death” or “excels in grief” on their resume, though sometimes I felt like I should given my life experience.

At 1pm, after I dropped Iz off at Ellen’s, I arrived home, and I promptly avoided going across the street. I cleaned the litter boxes; I emptied the dishwasher. I even rid the refrigerator of all vegetables green and furry, which is something I hate to do!

At 1:15pm, I glanced across the street. I knew I could no longer pretend to be “good with sponge” or “excel in dusting.” I knew that some of the expectation that I had was how I would handle my own grief, grief I still carried, in the face of another’s loss.

While I wanted to be there for Barb, Eileen’s daughter, there was a part of me that didn’t want to be there, because I was Ruth’s daughter. I felt selfish for feeling my own loss that occurred so long ago. I went upstairs to change my shirt, yet another small stall tactic, and I picked up the picture of my mother on my bureau.



She was only 15 in the picture. The funny thing was that lately, every time I looked in the mirror she stared back at me. When she stared back at me this time, I realized that no matter what I would always miss her; and that it was okay if I went to Barbara’s and grieved Eileen and silently grieved Ruth, too.

I walked across the street and tapped on the kitchen door thinking of Rover yet again. Somehow I would always feel like my beautiful little Tabby Mackerel polydactyl tiger at their back door. And, somehow I knew I would always feel my losses; but, I knew it was okay, because life was always about feeling whether it be good or sad or any other number of emotions.

I entered the kitchen, and Rob said, “Oh, here’s Jean.” I asked “How are you doing?” Then, I said to myself over and over, “Oh, jeez, that was so stupid,” but after a minute, I gave myself a pass. While it had taken me only twenty minutes to get to this gathering, it had felt like it had taken me years to walk across the road; I had to cut myself some emotional slack, as we all should most days.

I walked into the dining room; food was spread out on the table. I glanced under the table, half expecting to see Rover asleep there like I did the nights I picked her up early. There was no Rover. And when I entered the living room and saw Harold and a few guests talking about Eileen’s parents, I knew there was no Eileen here either.

I sat down on the couch. Tiger, Harold and Eileen’s fuzzy gray tiger, sat in a chair begging to be patted. She rolled around, she showed her tummy, and she said, “Jean, I know you’re feeling out of sorts. Come here and love me, and I will love you.”

I got up and patted her tummy. After a few minutes, I sat back down on the couch. She jumped off the chair and began to roll around on the floor in front of me; I said, “Thank you, Tiger. I don’t know what I’d do here without you.”

More guests began to arrive, and Barb introduced me to each and every one; I noticed that Tiger jumped up onto a side table and then said to me, "You're going to be fine. I'll see you around the neighborhood, kid." I met Rob’s Mom, his Aunt, and two of his sisters; I told them what a great guy he was.

I then sat there, knowing I had already asked one silly question, and I wondered if anyone might say something more inappropriate One guest approached Barb’s sister and said, “I’m so sorry about your Mom.” Barb’s sister thanked her. The guest then said, “But, it’s probably for the best.” I cringed; is the death of anyone really for the best?

As the room became more crowed, I got up. I chatted with Barb’s sister and found out that she and her dog are part of a rescue team. Ironically, they were trying to find an 86-year-old woman with Alzheimer’s in New Hampshire who had wandered away from her home.

It was fascinating listening to her stories about how the dogs didn't sniff a trail. These dogs sniffed for scents that were out of place in a particular place. She then glaced at someone else listening to the conversation and said, "I think my Mom would have liked me doing that," knowing that for the last several years her Mom wasn't fully aware of her life but knowing her Mom's life always involved humanitarian and environmental causes.

I then noticed a small table to the right of the dining room table. On it was a guest book and a little remembrance book that Barb had made for her Mom. Inside the book were many poems one of which was this one.

Not In Vain

If I can stop one heart from breaking,
I shall not live in vain;
If I can ease one life the aching,
Or cool one pain,
Or help one fainting robin
Unto his nest,
I shall not live in vain.

~Emily Dickinson

I loved that. I turned to the last page, where there were five paragraphs that summed up Eileen’s 79 years. After I read them, I wanted to cry. They were not selfish tears; they were tears for a life that like my mother’s ended all too soon and also tears for a long and mostly good life that could be summarized in only five paragraphs.

I had a bite to eat. I chatted with Harold’s nurse. I asked, “Did he like the haddock on Friday night.”

She said, “Oh, I forgot to tell you. He loved it.” I said, “I’m so glad.” She said, “He asked if you caught the fish?” We giggled at the thought of it, though not at Harold for thinking it. (Hey, I caught a Cod last month!)

At 3:15pm, I headed home telling Barb to call me if she needed anything. I walked down the driveway thinking about Rover, especially after she spent a day wallowing in the love of good people like I just did. I walked in my house, and I went into my living room.

I glanced at a picture of my Mom. I then took a picture of my Dad off the bookcase; as I looked at it, I remembered writing my Dad’s obituary. I wrote it with his girlfriend.

We had his life summed up in about five paragraphs. I remember reading over what we wrote and feeling that five paragraphs could not significantly tell his life story. I said to Anne, “Can’t this somehow just say what a great guy he was?”

I put my Dad’s picture back on the bookcase. I sighed, and I thought of Barb's sister wondering if her Mom would appreciate her work on the rescue team. I then realized that five paragraphs does not make a life; the book of a loved one’s life is written in our heart, and we read it over and over again each day of our lives. ♥

You're the Best Mommy There Ever Was

I don’t think I spoil my kids. I think I’m pretty even-handed when it concerns most things. Of course, I’m not perfect, and I do have areas in which I spoil but not rotten.

I love music. Did everyone get that memo? This is one area where I spoil my children.

I don’t spoil them with music lessons or fancy instruments. I strongly encouraged them both in that area. Perhaps I didn’t encourage enough or my kids just didn’t get their grandfather’s talent in that area; I know I didn’t.

Nathan played the trumpet for about nine minutes. I could tell early on that he was not a musician. He didn’t breathe it the way he inhaled Pokemon cards and his Game Cube.

As soon as Nathan seemed remotely interested in listening to music, I bought him an iPod. I don’t think it was for a special occasion. Okay, in my calendar it was; today is the day Nathan loves music!

Of course, music loving chick that I am, I had one of the first iPods. It was a pink Mini; are we surprised it was pink? We better not be.

Nathan started with a shuffle; however, he then graduated to a Nano. Actually, he went through two Nanos. Recently, his Nano died.

I asked him what happened to it. He said he hugged someone and dropped it. Wondering if he hugged Megan or Kelsey, I pushed my question limit (from one to two) on Nathan's personal life that day by asking, “Who were you hugging?” He said, “Donna wanted me to give her a hug when I saw her, and I dropped it on the floor.”

Donna was our hair stylist and a good family friend. At least, I confirmed something else. I would not be having grandchildren anytime in the near future – phew!

I told Nathan to give the Nano to me. I thought the protection plan I purchased was still in effect. I always buy the protection plan for any electronic item that will be used by any person under the age of 22; many of my life strategies haven’t worked so well, but this one always has.

Before I knew it, Nathan announced via Facebook that he purchased a new iTouch. Okay, I admit it. I was stalking him when I discovered that tidbit of information.

When I picked him up at his Dad’s one evening, he showed me his new iTouch. I thought he bought a new one. He bought it used from a friend for $150; he was disappointed because it was first generation and not in the condition described to him.

After some buyer’s remorse relayed to his friend, his friend offered to give him his money back. Nathan’s friend mentioned that unfortunately he spent Nathan’s money, so it would take him some time to refund the purchase price. Nathan, being a lover and not a fighter like his Mom, told his friend that he’d keep the iTouch.

Feeling Nathan’s disappointment, too, and having received a Best Buy gift card for Mother’s Day, what was I to do? Nathan had worked hard all Summer at his job, I now had a job, and I wanted to spoil my kid for being a wonderful guy and for not drinking, smoking, or doing drugs and for having no tattoos or odd piercings.

Impulsively, I went to Best Buy and bought him a new iTouch. When I got home, I walked into his room and said, “I have something for you.” I handed him the bag, he looked inside, and he asked, “What’s this for?” I answered, “Because you’re such a good guy.”

Nathan thanked me. I expected a bit more adoration; however, he was 17. Adoring your Mom when you’re 17 isn’t cool; and I think I need to have that tattoed on my forearm.

Meanwhile, Iz happened onto the music scene with a pink shuffle earlier this year. Unlike Nathan, I had a bit more hope for her in things musical. She didn’t show any interest in an instrument; however, she loved to sing and had a wonderful little voice so said her impartial mother.

I mentioned to her that we might be able to replace Nathan’s old iPod. Note to Self: Be careful what you mention to a seven-year-old. I said that she might inherit Nathan’s old-new Nano.

Of course, I knew it was an expensive item for someone her age; however, I thought she was ready for a responsibility challenge. She loved her Shuffle. Though I found it lying around the house in places it shouldn’t be, I knew she loved using it but met with frustration over its limitations like not being able to see a list of songs.

After you “mention” something to Iz, she turns into a ghost. That is, she haunts you. Every other hour I was asked, “When are you going to Best Buy to see if you can get a new iPod?” I told her sternly that this would occur sometime in the next week and that she was not to ask me again or she would have that Shuffle until she was 17!

Last night, I picked Iz up and told her we were going to take Nathan’s busted yellow Nano back to Best Buy. She squeaked with delight. She said, “So, I’m getting a new one.” I told her I wasn’t sure what they’d do for us and warned her not to get too excited; she squeaked again and squirmed in her seat. Obviously, my warning fell upon deaf ears.

Once at the store, we headed to Customer Service. I presented the Nano. The sales associate, who’s name was “Hooty” of all things, punched a thousand different things into the register, and five minutes later, he asked, “What color do you want?” Iz squeaked.

I turned to her. She looked up at Hooty and said, “Blue, please.” He said that he’d check if they had one in stock; they did, so he sent us to the back of the store to fetch it.

Iz practically skipped to the back of the store. I smiled, because she was so excited. I also mentally high-fived myself shouting, “Damn, it’s always good to get the protection plan!”

Once we bought a charger and matching blue ear buds, we headed home. I waited for the ghost in the backseat to haunt me again. Iz asked, “Mommy, when we get home, can you put music on it for me?”

I said I would after I took care of everything else like the trash, the pets, the school lunch, and the litter boxes. Mid-tasks, Iz asked, “Mommy, now?” I told her to wait patiently in the family room, and when I was done, I poured myself a glass of wine and said, “Ipod, Iz!”

She sprinted upstairs. It’s funny how she never beats me upstairs when I say “Tubbie time, Iz!“ or “Bedtime, Iz!” We plugged in her iPod and named it Izzy. As a treat, because this iPod didn’t cost me anything (okay, we know that is not true but we all lie to ourselves in some way), I bought her a movie, “Marmaduke.”

After the blue Izzy was good to go, she headed downstairs. As she sprinted down the steps, she said, “Mommy, you're the best Mommy there ever was. You’re greater than the moon and the stars and….” I said, “Thanks, Iz. Stop. Go watch your movie.”

The rest of the evening I was a Goddess to Iz, Anything I asked her to do was greeted with “Yes, Momma.” I had to laugh; I knew the window of adoration was small yet I wallowed in it.

In some ways, I had bought this adoration. In other ways, it was well worth the price of admission. I would savor it and remember it well for when she was 16 and thought me the most evil person in the universe for not letting her get her belly button pierced. ♥


Happy weekend. ♥

I Never Really Been but I'd Sure Like to Go

Blog soundtrack:



The other day, something unusual occurred at work. I was stopped in the hallway by a man I didn’t know, and then his first comment was about my clothes. That doesn’t happen to me a lot, especially at work; I had been stopped at work by women I didn’t know and had them comment on my clothes, but this was a first.

When asked by my friends about what I wear to work, my usual response is, “Oh, I could probably show up naked and no one would notice or care.” Of course, upon reflection, I’m sure a few people would notice. I’m also certain a few people would care; however, I was just trying to impress on my friends that I didn’t work with a lot of “fashion” types.

Given my body, which I, probably like most women, have a love/hate relationship with, I thought it was a far better strategy to be clothed and complimented than be unclothed and laughed at. When next asked, I would be sure to change my “line.” I would say, “Oh, I show up in my vintage finery and people I don’t even know stop me to comment!”

Anyway, I had seen this engineer before; in fact, he sits in an aisle across from me making him part of my little cube neighborhood. He’s always on the phone, so I assume he’s in support; I know he’s always on the phone not because I hear him. Whenever I head toward the restroom, I see him standing up in his office talking on the phone; ah, my months of unemployment spent watching CSI and Law & Order were not wasted, what a sleuth I am!

So, I was making my way toward the restroom the other day when I passed him in the hallway. He stopped right in front of me, making me wonder if he was a hall monitor and going to ask me for my restroom pass. He didn’t and instead he asked, “You know those tops you wear?”

It took me a moment to process the fact that a man was asking about my “tops” and then another to think about the “tops” he was referring to. My tops varied from Ann Taylor Loft to 40s Japanese pajama to 60s embroidered sweater to 70s polyester. He then gave me a clue by adding, “The embroidered ones.”

I figured out he was referring to my Mexican embroidered tops, and I could see why he’d remember them. When I liked something, I didn’t get one of them. I had about five of those tops, and I usually wore at least one a week.

He asked, “They are from Mexico?” I told him that I thought they were originally, but I had bought them all from eBay. Going off on a little vintage tangent, because I was so excited to have someone who was remotely interested, I told him that it appeared to me that most of my tops were dresses that had been hemmed and made into tops by their owners.

He asked me if I had been to Mexico. I said, “I never really been but I’d sure like to go.” Okay, I didn’t say that exactly, but whatever I said had the same gist!

He went on to tell me that my tops reminded him of his mother. He was from Oaxaca. He told me that the type of top I wore was prevalent there, and his Mom wore them frequently.

I told him that I loved all my tops. The fashion bond overwhelmed me so much that I totally threw caution to the vintage wind and asked, “Have you seen my purple embroidered Mexican dress?” I then quickly wanted to retract that question when he shook his head “No,” because I didn’t want to imply that he might be fashion stalking me.

I told him how much I loved my purple dress and again felt a bit goofy saying so. I said, “It cost me about $80 on eBay.” He laughed and told me how inexpensive they were in Mexico.

I told him that all my other tops were about $30. He laughed again. And, a moment later, he smiled, said it was nice chatting, and he headed back to his cube.

I stood there in the hallway. I somewhat felt like I had just been in a fashion hit-and-run. I was still amazed that he took the time to stop me and then begin to tell me very fondly about his Mom. Every time I see him now, he says “Hi,” and he gives me this big smile that I think is one quarter for me and three quarters for his Mom.

When I arrived back at my office, I thought it was funny how I randomly run into people sometimes. I made friends with a security guard at an ATM machine, two engineers who crashed in front of me on the rail trail, and now with an engineer over a vintage embroidered top from Mexico; my world never ceases to amaze me.

Yesterday, I wore my white embroidered Mexican top.



I left my office to go the restroom, and when I looked across the aisle, I saw him standing in his office. I looked down at my top, looked back up, and I smiled at him; he got my message and he smiled broadly. As I walked off, I thought how nice it was to have a "friend" who always smiled when he saw you even if he didn't know you very well and if only because you reminded him of a place he once called home and of a person he loves. ♥

Meals on Wheels

As I wrote previously, my friend, Barb, lost her mother last week. It would seem that my reaction to most events, be it happy or sad, is always with flowers, food, or both. I might be feeling good about life, so instead of sporting a “Life is good” t-shirt, I go to Stella’s, the local florist, and “Life is orchids.” When Nathan is bummed out about something, it’s “Life sucks, and then I bake you brownies.”

On Saturday morning, I went by Barb’s parents’ house, knocked on the door, feeling somewhat the same irritation Rover must have felt when she wanted to get in most mornings but was at a loss without the power of a hand and a knock, and Rob answered. I asked, “If I was going to send Barb flowers, what address would I sent them to?” Previously, I had only ever had a post office box for her.

He said, “Well, you can send it here.” I said, “I’d rather send it to your house.” He said, “Well, we’re going to have a place to donate to like an animal shelter.”

I said, “I’ll contribute to that, too.” He seemed baffled. So, then I said, “I really want to send Barb flowers.”

He gave me the address. I thanked him, and I waddled home just like Rover did a million times before me. I thought he must think me crazy, donating to charity and sending Barb flowers; however, in matters of the heart, especially where grief is concerned, you must always respect the way in which someone needs to grieve for you, because more often than not, they grieve for you and also for themselves, even if that grief is from years past.

I went home. I got on the Internet. And, I ordered a dozen red roses for Barb with a card that said, “Thinking of you. Love, Jean and Rover.”

Over the course of the weekend, the food volunteering came. I signed up to bring food to the service, which was tentatively being held at their house this Saturday. The food offer extended to bringing dinner over for Harold, her Dad.

Barb called me the other night to confirm that Eileen’s service was at 11am this Saturday. She then said that the dinner offer for her Dad was most appreciated. She said, “He’s on a low starch, low salt, low sugar diet.”

I stammered. Barb said, “Oh, you’re working now, so if it’s a problem….” I said, “No. It’s no problem. I just don’t know if I can accommodate that diet.” Barb quickly said, “Oh, don’t worry about it. We’re not that strict.”

Phew. Because I had issues getting a “meal” on the table by 6:30 every night for my family, let alone wondering if it was “good” for them! I asked Barb what he liked; it was settled that Wednesday night would be spaghetti and meatballs and Friday night would be haddock.

Pasta and fish were good for me. I had what my friend, Tom, liked to call a “recipe vault.” I could make about twelve things well, but everything else I needed a recipe for; pasta and fish were in the vault.

Though, given that I was busy at work and totally in single-parent mode, I panicked a bit after I hung up the phone. Older people liked to eat early. How would I get dinner on the table before 6pm?!

I made a good faux marinara sauce; however, I had never made meatballs. I emailed my friend, Nancy, and asked her if she had a quick and dirty recipe; she called me immediately with her secret ingredient – meatloaf mix. After I talked to her, I thought about all I hoped to accomplish today, and I knew that I had to cave and buy meatballs.

So, yesterday, I went to the local supermarket in hopes of finding the perfect meatball. I had bought meatballs before, and they had been horrible. I perused the prepared food aisle, and there I saw on a might-as-well-be neon food sticker “Italian meatballs!”

Sold! I grabbed the container along with the spicy tuna sushi I loved, and I headed to the cash register. Once out in the car, my tummy grumbled, and I thought, “What better time to try a meatball?”

I rummaged through my bags; I pulled out the container, and then I plucked out one cold meatball. I examined it – round, covered in tomato sauce, and sprinkled with cheese. It looked like a meatball, but did it taste like a meatball?

I bit into it; I chewed it. Jeez, it was pretty damn good. Sold again!

Today, I left work early in preparation for Harold's dinner. I fetched Nate and then Iz. Iz, happy meal? Cool. Nate, you’re not hungry and you won’t be ‘til tomorrow cuz you feel like you’re gonna puke post-soccer practice? Cool.

When I arrived home, I immediately went into to Harold-dinner mode. He would be having a salad, garlic bread, and pasta. I made my sauce, added the meatballs, boiled the spaghetti, cooked the bread, cut up the tomatoes, peeled the cucumbers, put parmesean cheese into a container, grabbed a bottle of Italian dressing, and by 5:45, I had a meal wrapped up in five dishes that were covered in tin foil and saran wrap.

I said to Iz, “Get the wagon!” She ventured outside, and then she screamed, “Mom, there are leaves and water in it.” I said, “Just dump them out. We’ll put a towel down over the wagon bed.”

Two minutes later, Iz screamed, “The handle is gone.” I peered out the bay window into the backyard. It looked as though the handle was gone; so, I said, “Forget it. I think we can carry it all over.”

Iz came back inside. I handed her the bread, the salad, and the salad dressing; she seemed to balance it all well. I took the rest.

We walked over to the Harold and Eileen's retracing Rover’s every step; we crossed the street, went up the driveway, and we waited to be let in. The nurse let us in, and I then explained dinner to her as if I were Rachel Rhea. She thanked me profusely, and then I realized I forgot to include her.

I said, “Oh, I’m so sorry. I should have brought more for you!” She said, “Don’t worry.” I said, “No. On Friday, I’ll make enough fish, couscous, and carrots for you too. Do you like that?” She answered, “Yes, thanks.”

Iz and I left traveling down the path Rover had made between the two homes long ago. It seemed like it was a well-trodden dirt path we were destined to walk over many times; however, in reality, I knew we had paved Friendship Road long ago. And, though, our meal tonight didn't qualify as low starch, low salt, or low sugar, it was full of love. ♥

P.S. As it turns out, the handle to the wagon wasn’t broken. It was under the wagon. When I discovered it, Iz said, “I’m sorry!” I said, “Iz, it’s okay. It doesn’t matter how the love gets delivered as long as the love gets delivered.”

♥ Red Shutters ♥

I have often fondly talked about the neighborhood I live in; it’s a neighborhood in which the homes vary in age and style as much as its occupants do. I’m living in a home built in 1929, which is fitting, because we all know (thanks, Suze ♥) that I was born in the wrong place and at the wrong time. One thing I really love about my neighborhood is that all houses are so close together; thus, if I scream, I can be certain someone is going to come running or at least yell "Hey, Jean! What the hell is wrong with you now?!"

When you live in a neighborhood that doesn’t separate you by acres from your next-door neighbors, you do tend to meet a lot of them. You also get to know them well and grow fond of them. I’ve introduced many of them to you in this blog.

You’ve met Susan, who’s the neighbor I occasionally hold a board up for, I accompanied when she had to put her cat, Pumpkin, to sleep, and whose Mom died recently. You met Ellen who’s the neighbor I borrow a cup of sugar from, go to the beach with, and who has been the best “husband” to me the last ten years. And, then you met Barb, who is the neighbor, along with her partner, Rob, and her sister who cares for her elderly parents, Harold and Eileen, in her parent's home.

Harold and Eileen are both in their 80s. Harold is a WWII vet, and he once recounted a story of trying to capture a few German soldiers by telling them in his elementary German what turned out to be “Quit f*cking around, because I have to take a sh*t!” Harold for his years is in good physical and mental shape; however, Eileen has suffered from Alzheimer for the last several years.

I got to know Barb better when her parents needed more care a few years ago. Barb told me that they had tried to put her mother in the nearby nursing home. But, Barb felt the care was inadequate, so they decided that they and an around-the-clock nursing staff would care for their parents in their own home.

Both my parents died relatively quickly. While it was devastating and the time spent caring for them was intense and difficult, I somehow thought what Barb was doing for her parents was far greater when measured on any scale. She told me that it took a financial toll, but this is what they wanted for their parents.

I didn’t get to chat to Barb a lot. Every now and then, she’d stop her car when I was walking Monty and we’d catch up; I’d always ask how her parents were. At one point, during home renovations, our discussion turned to “things left to do,” and I said that I needed to pick shutters. I chose my shutters for Eileen, so she’d always know that she was home.

It’s funny how things work out, because when my cat, Rover, passed her 20th birthday, she slowed down quite a bit and the vet told me that I should consider Rover nearing the end of her ninth life. Oddly, Rover still longed to go out, and when she did, she made her way directly over to Harold and Eileen's house, where they let her in, and as it turned out, cared lovingly for her as she were yet another elderly soul traveling along the geriatric highway looking for a little kindness, peace, love, and tasty food (understanding).

Every day, I let Rover out. She crossed the street, climbed the driveway, and she waited until she was let in. She stayed there for the whole day sleeping under the dining room table. At 3pm, the nurse let her out, and I went over to get her and bring her home, and so it went for many months.

It was uncanny how Rover knew that’s where she belonged. Is love a scent? Because if it was, it wafted through the air in the neighborhood every time I saw Barb wheel Eileen out to the car for a doctor’s appointment, every time I saw Rob mow the lawn and trim the hedges, and every time I saw the door open and Rover walked up the steps and disappeared inside the kitchen door.

After much heartache, I decided that it would be best to put Rover to sleep last November. I went over to tell Barb; she started to cry. When the time came, she went with me, and I loved her for that.

Having already lost my mother, father, and a good friend, I was unfortunately well acquainted with loss. When I saw Barb crying, I knew Rover meant the world to her; however, I couldn’t help but wonder if Rover had meant that much more to her in another way. That is, soon she knew there would be a time when she would have to say good-bye to another lovely woman in her life.

Anyway, every now and then, the town ambulance would come by to get Eileen and bring her to the hospital when there was a serious issue. Wondering if we’d lose her, I always fretted by the window until the EMTs left. Later, when I’d see Barb, I’d always inquire about Eileen.

Last Saturday, the ambulance arrived. I saw them gently wheel Eileen out, and for the first time, I began to cry as I sat by the window. Not seeing Barbara, I couldn't asked; however, I later found out that Eileen had sepsis.

I was working now, so unfortunately, it was harder to catch Barb at the house. I noticed the nurse still coming over, and I thought I’d pop over on the weekend to check on Eileen. This afternoon, I found out that the red shutters won’t be bringing Eileen home this time; she passed away last night.

My heart goes out infinitely beyond the confines of my chest for Barb, Harold, and the rest of her family. I cannot tell you when I’ve ever seen more of a commitment to parents than I witnessed the last several years by watching those children from my window. I know that some might say it was a blessing; however, today, as I sat there at my desk in tears, I couldn’t find the blessing.

Like Barb perhaps with Rover, Eileen’s passing (and the passing of Susan’s mother recently) had taken me somewhere. I had been taken back to a still seemingly very recent and emotionally raw place. I felt so much for the family, yet selfishly, 18 years later, I still felt the sadness of my mother’s loss like it was yesterday.

When I arrived home tonight, I pulled in the driveway, turned off the car, and looked up at my red shutters, and I cried. As I sat there, I knew I had been fortunate to have a wonderful life with many incredible things in it (people, places, and experiences); and upon reflection, perhaps one of the most incredible experiences was the red shutters which opened a world that opened a door and made a home for a feline named Rover and a woman named Eileen. And, tonight, I hoped that Rover had found way her way into Eileen’s lap, and that when they looked at the red shutters, they both knew they were home. ♥

To live in the hearts we leave behind is not to die.

~Thomas Campbell

The Goddess Thursday Night New Math

New hairdo…





glass of wine…





…a well-deserved night off to be a party animal or to party with an animal, who has already embarked on his 18-hour slumber.



♥

Bagram Plan, Oh, Yes, We Can!

When I first returned to my new-old company, I reconnected with wonderful people like Tom, Amrit, Barbara, and Lisa. Lisa is employed by a food service company that my new-old company employs. Anyway, she and I don’t technically work together; however, we do spend a lot of time bumping into each other either in the kitchen when she is refilling the refrigerator with Fresca or in the cafeteria when I go to buy my salad from the abfab salad bar.

The week I arrived back, she filled me in on all the company gossip; if there’s anything going on, Lisa always knows it first. Anyway, somehow the conversation turned to her stepdaughter; Lisa told me that her stepdaughter, at age 39, decided to join the Army and become an MP. She was currently stationed at Bagram Air Base in Afghanistan.

I thought her stepdaughter’s story was pretty phenomenal, and then I said, “Hey, I know someone who is a Lieutenant Colonel of an MP outfit there. We should try and see if we can get them to meet.” Lisa told me her stepdaughter’s surname, and I told her my friend’s name. Lisa was going to tell her stepdaughter my friend’s name, and I was going to tell my friend Lisa’s stepdaughter’s name; the Bagram Plan was in motion or so we thought.

Lisa doesn’t have a computer at home. I know that in this day and age it seems crazy; however, at the same time, it’s reassuring that some people can still survive without one. Lisa told me that she had to go to the library that week to use the computer there to set up an email account in order to send her stepdaughter email; she would mention my friend’s name in her email.

I went home and gave my friend Lisa’s stepdaughter’s name. I was then asked what unit she was in. So, when I saw Lisa a few days later I asked, “What unit is she in?”

Lisa said she’d have to check. She also said that she heard from her stepdaughter; however, her stepdaughter had no reaction to the mention of my friend. A few more days passed, and Lisa gave me her stepdaughter’s unit number, which I relayed to my friend.

A week or two passed. Lisa’s stepdaughter continued to send emails, but she didn’t mention any interest in meeting my friend. My friend was happily married; so, we weren't trying to make a love connection just a connection.

As the days and weeks passed, making this connection seemed to become that much more important to us. It was less about networking and more about giving Lisa’s stepdaughter a seasoned ally in a dangerous place. I, liking Lisa and her stepdaughter (without even knowing her), felt that my friend, being career army, might look out for her a bit and lessen the worry at home.

Lisa finally came by my office one morning on her way to stock the refrigerator with Fresca. She was holding a piece of white paper in her hand. Our receptionist, Barbara, printed out Lisa's emails for her, which I thought was really sweet.

She handed me the paper and said, “Read this.” I read the email; apparently, her stepdaughter was confused thinking that I wanted her to find my friend. Lisa and I had a good laugh; after all our efforts, our Bagram Plan had stalled a bit on the Afghanistan end.

Meanwhile, I heard my friend was going to try and find her. Apparently, Bagram is quite large, and Lisa’s stepdaughter was quite literally a needle in a huge khaki haystack. Three weeks ago, I was buying my salad when Lisa said, “Someone at a FOB was injured, so my stepdaughter is going to take his place at the FOB.” A FOB is a Forward Operating Base, and it’s usually the most dangerous place there is.

Lisa looked distraught. I sighed and touched her arm, because there was no way to verbally respond to news like this. Lisa said, “They’re sending a Special Forces guy with her. She’ll only be there for a few weeks.”

Two weeks passed. Lisa came by my office on Monday morning. She handed me a piece of white paper.

I read the email; Lisa’s stepdaughter was still at the FOB. Another FOB had been attacked, and she was at the infirmary giving blood. Three soldiers had been hit by an IED; her stepdaughter went on to say that one had lost a hand, another’s face was “messed up,” and the last was having both legs amputated. (What were we fighting for again?!)

Her stepdaughter said she was leaving the FOB soon. After rereading the descriptions of the wounded soldiers, I wanted to cry. Lisa looked upset and said, “When I showed this to her Dad, he started to cry. He’s so worried about her.”

This morning, Lisa came by. She was beaming. She handed me a piece of white paper.

I read the email. Her stepdaughter was back at Bagram. I looked up at Lisa and said, “Thank, goodness!”

Then I read on…

Yep, I am back. I had a visitor tonight, Jean’s friend. He was on his way to the terminal for a flight and he came in. I had received a note and his business card the other day and did email him. He is really nice and told me that I can stop by his office anytime. He also said he would drop in from time to time to make sure all was going good. It was really nice to meet him and nice to have someone of his rank checking in on me!
All is well!
Chat with you soon,
Love and miss you.

I shouted, “Oh, my God! We did it!” and Lisa and I high-fived eachother on the spot. Lisa laughed and said, “Yeah, finally!” Then Lisa said, “I can’t wait to show this to my husband. It’ll make him feel so much better.”

Today was one of those days when the unexpected part of life is wonderful. Two people in Afghanistan brought Lisa and I closer; Lisa and I brought two people in Afghanistan closer. My friend and Lisa's stepdaughter were two strangers yesterday when all along they shared two loved ones, thousands of miles away, that they never knew about. And, I ask you, how frickin’ cool is that?! ♥