The Blog of d10

Oh my child, how do I help? You come to me with such an admission.  I sit stunned and bewildered.  I see, hear and feel the pain in your indecision. 

I am not capable of guidance, for I am a proven failure. I have only love and understanding to give to you. Failing you, will be my life's greatest failure. You are my only Spartan making me that Spartan woman that will defend you until the end.

Are you frightened? You are so young and should not feel that you have no where to turn.  You have me. I can listen and make a feeble attempt at guidance but, I cannot make this decision for you.  It has to come from you.  I pray for God's help and the light of the Holy Spirit to surround you to make it all clear.

You will have to live with this decision for a lifetime.  Others will try to change your mind. They are self centered, egomanical fools.   Hold firm in your conviction.   Have confidence in your beliefs.  Hold your head high for you have proven to be a man of your word.  When the passion is diminished, it does not mean failure.

Please know, I am here at your side, my child, walking with you.  I will not quit you. We are Spartans.

I hope that I find what I'm reaching for. The way that it is in my mind.

I hope that I won't be that wrong anymore and maybe to have learned this time.

Someday, I'll get over you. I'll live to see it all through.

But I'll always miss dreaming my dreams with you.

But I won't let it change, me not if I can.  I'd rather believe in love and give it away as much as I can to those that I am fondest of.

Someday I'll get over you.  I'll live to see it all through. But I'll always miss dreaming my dreams with you.

Someday.

Thrown away.  Thrown away by too many. Did you think it would remain a secret forever?  I know of all of you. Promises broken? Promises made directly to me.  How can you call yourself a man when this is what you do to those you should be responsible for? You all moved on with your lives without once considering the lives of those you left in your wake.  Will anyone step up to the plate, be responsible for your actions and yes for once, be a MAN?

I am fully aware, through my poking around, that I have siblings.  Where did you bury those bodies?  Who are they? Where are they? Are they as confused as I? Should or could we consider ourselves family? Do they need help that only family can give? Genetic samplings. How careful do I need be when it is time to go back into the world?

Who I am, has nothing to do with you.  She did this.  She, the only decent person that ever walked into your life, is responsible for who I am.  I may look like you, but I am not you and never will be.  She raised me to be responsible, loving and caring. Stand up and fight for the weak, help the sick.  She fed me, she clothed me, she educated me, she loved me. 

You all have other Shes.  Did they also carry the weight of your responsibilites?

Your pathetic blood line continues only through me.  He will never know of you.  You don't deserve him.  He will not carry your name.  He looks like you too, but he is not you.  He is hers.  He will not be thrown away.  He will be responsible, loving and caring.  He will keep his promises. He will be a MAN.

Me? Oh no, I'm the Mom. What the hell do I know about being a football trainer?

Waiting for the man boy to get home from his first double session, I hear screaming and cursing from the back yard.  I bolted to the  door thinking it was neighbor needing  help.  There in the yard, laying out straight like a plank of wood, is Stinky.  Crippled in pain, crying.  My boy, oh no, not my kid who never complains about injuries.  He is the kid who tells me on Saturday nights that  he has an issue forcing me to use doctors  that have Sunday hours.  He never misses practice, or games. 

Lumpy stands over him, helpless and ashen.  I  run and start the massage process for the cramping where I can see that he has a bruise across the bridge of his nose from one eyebrow to another.  He looks like a strange creature with this black and blue unibrow.  As he starts to calm down he tells me about the concussion.  This happened at 10:00 am.  Why am I hearing this from him at 7:00 pm and he has not seen a doctor? Not one coach, trainer or his other parent think a doctor visit is necessary? What is wrong with these people?

Lumpy has moved to the picnic bench across the yard. Outside of the family circle, again. Ashen and looking like he might faint, I ignore his egomaniacal behavior. You are a 57 year old man.  Sprout a pair of balls!  My child needs me.  Stinky continues to apologize to me.  What makes him think that I should be doing anything but attend to him? This is my job as the Mom. 

As I sit massaging, he lays in the grass getting some comfort.  Hip flexers are keeping him from being able to get his thighs worked out.  He speaks very softly and he and I are having one of those bonding sessions.  I have had to pull the car over in past seasons and use strangers lawns for this same thing, although this is the worst I've seen.  Stretching these enormous legs out for this man boy. 

We find a place to crack a few jokes about him going away to college.  "Will you come with me and take care of these when I leave for school?" "Bets, isn't going to want to do this".   I assure him that I would go anywhere he needs me to be.  "Who else would do this for me?" "I do believe they have trainers at colleges that do this for a paycheck." His gentle bruised face with those huge, tear stained,  brown eyes looking at me, still managing a smile.  He in his way, is trying to comfort me.  It is breaking my heart that he is in pain. 

We work those huge legs out enough to get in the house.  This will be a long night of massages, hydrating him and watching for concussion type issues.  He assures me he will be  fine and expects to go back tomorrow for another  round of abuse. Junior year in high school means a lot to him for highlight tapes.  He has worked his ass off to get this far.  He has convinced himself that  dedication and hard work will pay off and he will go all the way with this crazy sport.

Lumpy lumps.  Coaching from his usual sprawl on the couch.  The trainer tonight, without a helping hand or a brain, a half step behind the necessary activity.   Always just outside the circle of family. I can't pity this fool, this is his self choosen place.  If you  assume no responsibilty, you can never make a mistake.

I tease him about the dedication in the book he will write, and the interview he will give.  He had better mention the word "Mom" lovingly somewhere or he will have a charlie horse in a place that no one  will want to massage.

Stinky has found a comfort level and goes to bed.  It  will be another night of restlessness for me listening for his call.  It will be my job for yet another football season, Mom, the trainer.

Good night, sleep sweet, Stinky.

I'd been lonely for so long and then I found you.  Can we make this feeling last? How much can we give, expect, receive? Take what you can, give what you must, it will all depend on us. 

As if I could, as if I would, as if I should. You make me feel like I can do anything and everything.  Can we make this feeling last?

I want to tell the world that I'm glad I found you.  I'm the lucky girl, with you to hold me. Your kisses so sweet. Your sweet voice to calm me.  No false promise - I may have to look over my shoulder for a while, but I'll never leave your side.

Both day and night, you fill my dreams. Who should I thank for bringing you to me? Will the birds sing the answer?

Did I make you up or, are you my dream?

You've lived your life. And how you survived, I'll never know.  People talk of hardships, what do they know? What do they know, of the strength you had to show. 

To stop yourself from crying out, to keep your head above the sand.  Those times when you were in despair.  When trouble seemed your only friend, somehow you kept your spirits high.  You told him straight don't call again.

Now there were times, when it seemed I didn't care.  Don't misjudge my silence.  You had my sympathy, I had sympathy and I admired how you stopped yourself from crying.  Kept your head above the sand.  When trouble seemed your only friend. Somehow you kept your spirits high.  You told him straight, don't call again.

And now the future's looking bright, you fought alone and won the fight.  Kept your faith when times were hard.  You made it through.  Trouble seemed your only friend. Somehow you kept your spirits high.

Do we really plot our course? Am I really responsible for the path my life has taken? What are the lessons that I am to learn to achieve the final peace? Or did I just wind up with the right people for me?

I was raised by caring, giving people.  Taught not to hate or judge.  I observed this from the very beginning of my life. 

Suzie raised along with her five children, two others that had been throw aways.  She worked as a domestic, cleaning others homes and bringing in laundry that she would do well into the night to feed her children.  Janush (father of Toots), her eldest, quit school to work to help when his father deserted the family.  Suzie and Janush demanded  that the younger siblings finish school.  They all obeyed and went to work.  Together they bought Suzie a two family house so she would always have an income.  I spent a great deal of time in that ugly small house  as a child, and typical of a European home, the refrigerator would be emptied and fed to all who came in the door.  There was always a houseful at the table.

Janush and Nana continued  the giving, taking the three of us in when we were in need.  The only demand made again, was finish school.  Furniture got rearranged to bring in bunk beds, a fold up cot added here or there. Nana's family was huge and displaced family members joined into the mix when in need.  The small cape cod was always another busy place with a hot meal offered.

The three of us found a new life and again the process continued.  Toots always found some stray that needed a temporary place and our door was always opened. Dinner time there was always a extra place setting, an extra potato in the pot, "just in case".  Toots and 2nd would find  people that needed a place to express themselves, or just unload and the makeshift dining room table would have sit downs and they would just listen. Sounding boards. Never judging.  Whatever we had, was shared.  The collection of personalities that broke bread with us varied generationally.  I can remember many nights that my friends would come to pick me up to go out and we would wind up at the dining room table well into the night. Curfews extended by a  phone call  to parents that  had also sat  at  that table.  Again, education was a topic heard often.  "You need to be able to support yourself, no matter what life deals you". 

I know those people that were party to this giving appreciated the time and concern shown by the elders of my family as they came for years afterward bring their families to visit and  to show that appreciation. A cake  box, fresh garden vegetables, whatever  they could they brought and the table was  set  again.

Could this behavior have been "paying it forward" before it's time? I like to think, yes.  Is it what is missing with IPODS, cell phones, blackberries? The singular beings  we have become. Not stopping to sit down, listen and sharing without judgement being passed.

We all finished school, went onto higher education and now have our own families. This house still puts the potato  in the  pot, the place setting still put down and although it  is no longer a makeshift table it has a welcomed place.  Hopefully, one person at a time, one act of kindness at a time, we make a difference and we continue to honor those who walked before us. 

Trying to roller skate in the driveway on a cold Monday in February.  We didn't have to go to school.  It was our first day in our new house, in the new neighborhood, with our new father. Our move here was slower than expected because of the snow.  Two brainiacs, roller skates, why not a sled? 

Later in the afternoon, two boys, nasty boys, stopped at the bottom of our very long, sloped, driveway.  "I'm Hemi and he's Jimmy, who are you?" "I'm Angel and she's D, what do you want?" Angel always had my back.  These two nasty boys would be my first friends with my new family, in my new neighborhood, with my new father.

School the next day, my first day in the new school, what lovely person do I get to sit next to, Hemi, nasty boy.  He wants the world to know that he met me and Angel first, what a loud mouth show off he is! 

Angel and I walk home and have to go past their house.  A snowball fight ensues and we are in the middle of it.  These two boys haven't met the likes of me and Angel. We just moved from a block with all boys and although it was the country compared to this city, we don't take shit from anyone.  As the fight progresses we find that Hemi and Jimmy are being bombarded by the rest of the neighborhood kids.  Apparently everyone thinks they are loud mouth, show offs.  Angel and I are instantly on their side, they appear to be the underdogs in this battle.  The friendship is cemented.

There are five boys in that family and although Hemi is the same age as me, his parents hire me to babysit the three younger boys for the summer.  Angel is the eldest but I am a half foot taller and people all assumed I was the older child.  We had a great summer going from their house to ours skating, biking, swimming, playing ball.  A new gang of boys. 

Hank and Alice have a milk business a couple of blocks away and I would wind up working at the store through out high school and continued helping out part time over the years afterwards.  She was my idol, the way she played with her boys.  Turns out she had 5 brothers and no sisters.  No wonder she was roughneck.  My friendship with Hemi and Jimmy turned into a friendship with Alice, their Mom. I so admire her.

My bar closes at 3 and theirs at 2 so every Friday night, Hemi and Jimmy meet me at my place for last call.  We compare war stories week to week.  Still loud mouth, show offs, they win weekly.  Except one Friday in April.  No Hemi, where is Hemi? Jimmy is there, but no Hemi.  The bar phone rings.  It's for Jimmy, David (the next one down) is on the other end.  Cops are at the house and they are looking for Jimmy.  We are half in the bag and shouldn't be driving, let alone to meet with police, but we are out the door and drive to the next town over.  The police forward us to the hospital.  Hemi has been in an accident. 

We arrived at the Emergency Room and we told as bluntly as anyone could say "your brother is dead".  I will never forget that asshole of a doctor and the way he spoke to Jimmy. How can any human being waste themselves to treat someone like that? Jimmy just lost his brother and his best friend.  We are nineteen year old kids, I have no clue how to handle this other than take Jimmy home and make the call to Hank and Alice at the summer farm house, three hours away. 

I tell them only that there has been an accident and they need to come, now.  I can't tell them that their son is dead.  The four remaining brothers can't move.  They sit stunned, crying while we wait the three hours for Hank and Alice.  My relationship had grown to be the sister/daughter of this crazy clan.  I love this family.  I have to be there to help hold them now. 

That family had such a rough go of it, but they made it through.  Project Children and Philip saved them.  With all the sadness and sorrow they endured, the act of charity and kindness involved them into a healing process.  Beautiful Irish faces coming here to learn acceptance.  Every summer thereafter the freckled faces arrived putting life back into my friends.

Selling and retiring from the dairy business, Hank and Alice followed their boys to Arizona.  One by one each moved their families.  They have grown to be a large, happy clan surrounding the wagons when one is in need. 

Alice finally admitted to me a couple years ago that she had always wished that Hemi and I would grow up, marry and have children so I would have official status with the clan.  She is forever grateful for my friendship with her boys and she teases that she could never understand "why a nice girl like you would hang around with my hooligans." 

She is in my neighborhood for a visit today and I am so flattered that she and Hank stopped at the house to see me.  I finally had the opportunity to tell her face to face, how I admire her and loved her always. She is an old woman now.  I don't think that until today she understood that it wasn't only about the hooligans but it was about her too. 

Who is this man standing on my porch, calling my cell phone?  Who is this man with the smile that could be responsible for global warming? Who is this man that walks into my kitchen, sweeping me into his arms and twirls me around for a dance? Who is this man telling me of his day?

"Love of My Life" by Carly Simon was the first song you had memorized and would sing with me in the car.  Do you remember the words?  "I love Lucy and pumpernickel bread, The Statue of Liberty and standing ovations and falling into bed"... Are you too much a man to say yes, I remember?

Who is this man that is giving interviews?  Did you know you could be misquoted? Did you feel foolish? When did you get to be this man? "...you can drive me crazy, you can drive me anywhere, here are the keys, just do as your please, it may not always be easy"... Man, do you remember?

Do you wish you knew what was next? Are you frightened? Are you man enough to admit you're frightened? You must know that I will walk with you, don't you? "...from the moment I first saw you, the second that you were born, I knew it right away, I knew you were the love of my life, simply the love of my life, you are the love, the greatest love of my life"... Are you man enough to sing with me yet? I know you can.  Too corny, oh man, come on!  "...my heart is riding on a runaway train, you are the love of my life through all the pleasure and pain..." Not quite yet, man enough.

"...the greatest strength is in gentleness."

-- Leon Shenandoah, ONONDAGA

Our Elders have taught us many lessons about becoming a Warrior and how to think and act like one.  We have been told about the power of gentleness.  We have been told about the power of the stillness.  Physical power is about effort.  Mental power is the opposite.  It's about being effortless or less any effort.  Gentleness is one of the greatest attributes of the Warrior and one of the greatest mental powers.  It takes a lot of love to be gentle.  Gentleness is not an ego word.  Gentleness is the weapon of the Great Spirit.

My Creator, today I will be gentle with myself and with others.  I will listen to the whisper of my heart and learn the power of being gentle.

Nestled in on a one acre lot was the red log cabin. Windows trimmed with white. There is a boat house behind the structure painted with the same old paint.  They both are showing age but what potential.  The slope of the property invites you to the front of the cabin facing the basin cove of the Atlantic just down the cliff.  A screened porch, the length of the cabin facing the water. 

The leaves have dropped from the white birches leaving the expanse of the great lawn dotted with color.  The state land across the road is loaded with pines.  Downed trees are rotting in the forest.  It is so quiet here.  No wildlife moving in the forest.   

The ocean water is on the move towards the shore.  The sea grass starting to stand as the water approaches.  The only sound heard was the lapping of the oncoming water. No voices, no cars, no sounds coming from the other homes in the area.  The smells are intoxicating. 

Standing there looking out, I was in awe of the beauty of sun setting over the water.  The sun sets in the west but the layout of the peninsula allows me this treat of nature. 

Nothing needed to be said, my smile said it all.  Toots and  Dad standing quietly watching me look over this place. Finally "a better place to be."

-  have enough money within her control to move out and rent a place of her own, even if she never wants or needs to.

-  have something perfect to wear if the employer, or date of her dreams wants to see her in an hour.

- have a youth she's content to leave behind.

- have a past juicy enough that she's looking forward to retelling it in her old age.

- have a set of screwdrivers, a cordless drill, and a black lace bra.

- have one friend who always makes her laugh... and one who lets her cry.

- have a good piece of furniture not previously owned by anyone else in her family.

- have eight matching plates, wine glasses with stems, and a recipe for a meal that will make her guests feel honored.

- have a feeling of control over her destiny.

- know how to fall in love without losing herself.

- know how to quit a job, break up with a lover, and confront a friend without ruining the friendship.

- know when to try harder and WHEN TO WALK AWAY.

- know that her childhood may not have been perfect... but it's over.

- know what she would and wouldn't do for love or money.

- know how to live alone, even if she doesn't like it.

- know whom she can trust, whom she can't and why she shouldn't take it personally.

- know where to go when her soul needs soothing.

- know what she can and can't accomplish in a day...month...and a year.

- know that she needs a TWO YEAR PLAN.

After reading a story the other day, I have been thinking about my Nana.  She was the wife of Janush (king child), mother of Toots and Aunt. The oldest female child of eleven, her family held her in high regard. 

Nana was a pretty woman.  Wavy jet black hair, zaftig with legs that would make any pin up calendar.  Nana's grandfather was in the French Navy and her grandmother was a Native American, hence her beauty. 

Due to the times, Nana was not formally educated but very bright.  She was a wizard with numbers.  Born later, I truly believe she could have given Trump a run for his money.

Janush and Nana took the "three of us" in and saved us.  We lived in a very tiny cape cod home, at the time, in a very rural Sayreville.  Long before the build up and Bon Jovi. On hot summer evenings we would drive to the Staten Island Ferry and ride back and forth all night long for the nickel fare.  Nana's father was employed as a tug boat captain.  Nana would point out the stacks and knew by the markings who owned each and every boat.  She would tell us stories of learning to swim while cleaning her fathers boat after each haul.  She and the 10 siblings swimming and helping the old man get back out on the river for another pay.  

Saturday nights were poker night.  Nana cleaned up every week.  There was always another aunt and uncle to loose money to Nana.  Uncles would leave coins on the floor for Angel and I to collect the next morning.  "Leaving it for the sweeper".  We were taught to put half of our floor earnings in our piggy banks, quarter was for the collection plate at church, and quarter for the ice cream man.   A good lesson for us.

Angel was Nana's first grandchild.  Nana adored Angel.  Angel was a blonde haired, green eyed child and Nana thought the sun and moon rose and set on Angel. Angel was obedient, well mannered, quiet, a good girl.  I on the other hand, the second child was a handful.  A freak from the beginning.  I was not obedient, well mannered, quiet, or a good girl.  I was a second child, full of hell.  We are the children that push all the buttons.  Platinum haired, blue eyed, much taller than the rest, a freak.  After long hours of work, Toots would come home dragging her ass, only to hear of our exploits of the day. Nana would praise Angel but then referred to me as "the other one".  Toots came to take the under dog's side and it strengthed our relationship.

Nana wasn't very nice to Toots and I wonder if I was aware of that as a young child. I had no patience for Nana and she for me.  I would introduce her to friends as "the wife of Janush" never giving her the Nana title she so rightfully deserved. She had opened her home to us at a very bad time and saved us.  Respect is what she deserved.

Looking back from this perspective, I was nothing less than rude to that woman. She was an interesting, smart woman and a hellion in her own right.  We just didn't understand each other at the time.  She taught me a great deal. How to swim, smoke (even roll my own), pitch pennies, how to save money, what a clean house is (her's was always immaculate) and how to tolerate someone you just don't like. 

It's too bad that our timing on this planet wasn't better. We probably would have liked each other plenty as I got older and stopped being such a smart ass. 

If and when I get to be a grandmother, I would like to be called Nana in tribute of her.  I truly am sorry I gave her such a hard time. 

A week after Toots died, the phone at work rang.  Angel sister at the other end "sit down, I have to tell you something".  Reluctant for the call,  I said "WHAT"? My demeanor at the time was less than polite.  I had just returned to work with heavy heart and already had antennae up. My siblings had already begun swarming in to gobble up remains of my Mom's life.  Toots had warned me for years - "don't trust them, they are not what they appear".  "Do everything with a lawyer or they will cut you up".  I was her confidant and left to sort out the mess. Funny how she knew who was who and what was what and never let on. She had all of her kids figured out!

"I won a $100,000.00 on a $5.00 rub off" Angel was screaming through the phone line.  Sweet Jesus, that is a life changing amount of money.  "Angel, leave work and get that ticket out of there, put it someplace safe". We laughed about how Toots had sent the money and can you imagine how the negotiations would have gone? She and God having a little chat about the remaining "three of us".   

Two weeks later, I get a email from Sylvia Brown's web site.  She is coming to New York.  Toots and I were avid Sylvia fans. We have read all the books, listen to her radio broadcasts, watched the pay per view together.  This is a sign from Toots.  Angel is approaching her 50th and as a birthday gift,  I purchased two tickets to the lecture and will make the trek to Long Island.  We have to wait for months, but she will come.

As life brings many changes, 23 days after Toots died, Dad dies.  Sweet Jesus, I was truly a mess at this point.  Stop the lawyer from working on one estate and take over with the both estates.  My head was not on straight but I knew I was being guided.  Evil and Brother come at me full speed now, let alone Dad's three creeps 1,2 and 3.  Angel in the wings watching and doing her own dance. Vultures are a beautiful animal compared to what was assembling in front of me.  Now, I am not the oldest but I was the trusted one. I have always bowed to the olders of both sides but not now, I have been given the job of clean up batter.

I manage the execution of the wills to the "T".  Their wishes are very clear and what they want is what I will do.  Obedient child to the very end.  Six people got pissed on and pissed off. Not a good time for this pieced together clan. I managed to hang onto Angel but the rest have all fallen away.  No harm, no foul.  We shared only a womb and they aren't the type of people I choose for friends.

August comes and Angel and I are off to Long Island.  Funny thing about sisters.  You live a life together and the small chit chat is unnecessary.  We are one heart going to see if Toots wants to come say anything to us.  Being a very spiritual person, I need to know that she has crossed and is happy.  Did Dad find you?

A large venue for this type of thing, there are 3,000 people in the theater.  Sylvia has invited a dead people talker to open for her. I can't recall his name and that I regret.  A barber from Scotland that does not get paid for these events, he considers himself a messenger. Angel and I have good seats. As we wait people all around us chatting about this one and that one.  We don't have that chatter, we know what we are looking for.  The barber takes the stage.  Nice looking man, he had a tag on the bottom of his shoe that amused me, and as he walked around the circular stage he keeps pausing in front of us making eye contact with me, I think.  "Two women from New Jersey", I raise my hand and sure enough he wants to talk to us.  The microphone is handed to me and we begin.

"A young man passed, no need to discuss the reason".  It was Nibs.  Alcoholic and outgoing spirit he begins to bring in the remainder of the clan.  "Who is the woman showing me the sign of the cross and a crucifix"? "Tell me why".  It was Toots! She had given me the crucifix years earlier that she had gotten from Suzie.  I wore it continuously for years.  That night, just as Angel pulled up, I had taken it off and left it home for fear I would loose it and not be able to retrace my steps to find it.  "She wants it back on".  Imagine, I have been waiting for months to hear from her and she is scolding me from the other side.  We talk of Europe, California, and after the barber goes through all the messages confirming they were  from Toots, "who is Blah, Blah?" Well, we are not a creative group and that name belongs to almost every male child born in the family. King child Gramps, Stinky, Lumpy and Dad.  I guess Dad found Toots because they were here to prove it.  I was sobbing at this point, knowing they were together as they should have been.  Exhausted from the emotion, I collapsed in my seat and Angel took over.  Crying like a fool, I sat in that chair with a smile and a spotlight to let all 2998 others see the validation of this process. 

By the time Sylvia joined us with her message, I was spent.  If any of you have ever seen her, she can be quite fresh and she scolded more than one ticket holder that night.  I didn't need to be one of them because I had already received the greatest gift. 

Angel had gotten what she needed and I reaped rewards that were priceless.  I went home and put that necklace back on being the obedient child once more.

I am convinced that they are watching me and still guiding me for they allow their presence known.  I will get a whiff of cologne, a gentle breeze on my neck on a still summer day, the power tool refusing to work without a blown fuse or any other mechanical malfunction to justify it.  Generally it is notice to slow down, take a deep breath and remember them lovingly.

Bets and I have been friends forever.  True friends.  Years ago we had considered sharing an apartment.  The only argument I ever remember having with her was who would get the larger bedroom of the two in a place we had found.  Both of us are "givers" and both opting for the smaller.  We had looked for weeks and the thought of risking our friendship was not worth the arrangement. 

Late December, the phone rings and it's Bets.  She is going to look at a place in town that is available and they actually have two apartments - will I come and help her choose? A month earlier, Kate (her Mom) had heard about a DOA on her police band radio and they waited 15 minutes and called about any available apartment openings.  Poor dead Jim was getting the bums rush and he was still warm.  The apartment was now available to see.  Sure, I'll come.  Kate and Bets would pick me up in 20 minutes. 

The landlord is an old woman from Canada. She looked like an owl.  She is out of place in the basement apartment.  She is a very refined woman with lovely taste that seems stuck as if she was in an episode of "The Twilight Zone".  Turns out, her husband (an American) was the super here and he passed away many years ago.  The owner didn't have the heart to put the old Owl out. W hired a handyman for easy repairs and Nancy would take care of the rentals and rents.  For years, this was Owl's life.

Owl grabs the keys off the board and the three of us follow her to the first floor studio available.  There are 8 apartments on each floor, 7 doors opened to check us out.  Old women, all of the faces staring at us. 

Nice apartment - clean, nice size in the middle of the building, just painted white, nice.   

We then were off the the fifth floor studio (dead Jim's place).  The gate elevator opens and again 7 old, wrinkled faces peering from the doorways.  This is wild!

This apartment is a corner unit painted French's mustard yellow.  It was hideous.  Ceiling and walls just screamed when the door opened. With windows all around, the light streamed in. So bright!  I had to have it!  It was perfect!  I saw right through the ugly color and the potential this place offered.  End unit, top floor, right next to the elevator, across from the stairs, no real neighbors other than the fourth floor tenant.  Nothing a rug couldn't take care of.

Back to the basement with Owl.  Now, I am Bet's closest friend.  I can't help her choose because I want the 5th floor and no matter which way I take this conversation, it will not be in her best interest.   I told her when I was asked, "... the traffic noise on the first floor but it's move in ready, the security of the fifth floor but what a mess it is, you're the one, who has to live there, you need to make this decision."  She choose the first floor.  She would have to wait until the 1st of the month.  I was so happy for her, knowing it was her decision and now, I ask: "Owl, is there a waiting list or can I have the 5th floor apartment?" "I can, great." Dead Jim's apartment was available to me and I moved in that day.  The four of us carried on in Owl's apartment like little girls.  Everyone had something to be happy about.  Owl pulls out a bottle of sherry.  I having seen all the old faces, without any self control or thought (much to my personality) add "here's to Menopause Manor".

I slept in that mustard colored apartment that very night.  It eventually got painted and my personality took over decorating, an ecletic style that only first apartment can have. It was a beautiful, fun place for me.  Those old faces in the halls became treasured friends.  My best pal living downstairs, it was the greatest of solutions.   It was then and is to this day, my favorite place I ever lived.

Jane always wanted me to write her life story.  A movie was to be made.

I was very lucky to meet Jane at a job many years ago.  She was a leprechaun.  A girl with four first names.  Good Irish Catholic, she was the happiest human I have ever met.  She played with the ladies and flirted with the men.  Growing up in Brooklyn, she was no ones fool.  She was kind, giving, compassionate and generous to a fault.  She worked her ass off, never asking anyone to help her.  Lifting and carting machine parts - she would sing the day away.

I quickly became the "sister that she picked" and won a spot in the family.  My own family was in shambles at the time and I welcomed any port.  Married with a son she adored, I spent a great deal of time with her family.

As the weather allowed, we would spend most of the year boating on Hudson.  Learning to water ski behind the Statue of Liberty, midnight rides around Manhattan, and the best, Fleet Week.  What we did to those poor sailors. Flashing those poor guys and then speeding off in that 28' fiberfoam. We would have been adorned had it been Mardi Gras. Fireworks on the river with a boatful of partiers.  Life was a big party on that big river and Jane and I were right smack in the middle of it.

Events happened that triggered my girlfriend into a frenzy.  I could not understand what was happening.  Paranoia had a hold on her and she stumbled into a deep depression.  Sad.  How does this happen to someone so full of happiness?  Her family seeked help for her but nothing seemed to work.  The trigger event haunted her.  Many episodes of violence wound her up in a mental health facility.  Her husband died eventually and her son was not the nurturing type.  Due to the nature of the illness, she became an award of the state.

I had moved away and started a family.  I tried to keep track of her whereabouts but not being blood related, I was not permitted to visit these facilities.

I was back in the old neighborhood one day and I saw all the cars.  Shit, she did it, she finally did it.  I rang the bell thinking she had finally succeeded in her own demise.  No, again, another blow to my friend.  Tucky was gone this time.  Her beloved son - supposedly his first experience with heroin.  She looked so lost, so diminished.  She stood staring back at me with blank eyes.  Where was my friend, the leprechaun?

She begged me to take guardianship of her.  Her sisters and brothers had turned her away. Mental illness carries a stigma.  Now with Tucky gone, she had no one. How she pleaded with me, offering great gifts.  I couldn't help my friend and to this day, I wish I had been a solution to her problem. I so wanted her to get better so I could trust her to live with my son. 

Last word was, she is living in a group home in Florida.  If you meet Sweet Jane - tell her d10 lovingly remembers and is working the manuscript.

I never wanted to be married.  Came close once for the right reasons.  God had a different plan for that.

Life went on for me and I married Mr. Dewar's.  He was a very loyal husband.  He was fun, tasted good and I could find him everywhere.  Always the life of the party.  No inhibitions around him. Oh God, it was a good marriage! We worked together well.

One Sunday morning and I awoke, looked in the mirror and decided that I was not wearing my marriage well.  A divorce was immediate.  For a while, I missed him terribly.  No counceling necessary, just stay focused d10.  You must do this.  You will do this.

Forgiving myself for a failed marriage and feeling very good about it, I moved on.  I was wiser and in better health.  It amazed me that no one noticed.  Was that relationship not as damaging as I thought it was? 

I would be lying if I said  that we have not had a reconciliation from time to time.  He is still fun but doesn't taste anywhere near the same.  I no longer go looking for him.  I look in the mirror and like the look of divorce.

Being an older woman for a first birth, I had all the fears  a too knowledgeable  person should have.  Being an older woman for a first birth, was I to pay for all my past indescretions? The 70's a wild time and I had led the parade.  God, please make him healthy and happy for his sake.  Do what you will with me, but please God don't take it out on the boy. 

A wee bit early and considered a preemie he had all the right parts and the weight was good and God, I knew you gave him my long legs the second I saw him.  Christ, look at the size of that head, is he okay?  Why are they taking him away - can I hold him, what's wrong? Scooped up and into ICU - what's wrong? Neo what? What is that? Hurry up and get me out of here.  Morphine? I don't want that, I won't be able to feed him.  Won't that hurt him? Where's Lumpy? Coffee and cigarette break - oh.  He missed this? I'm alone?

Can I see him? What the hell is neonatal intensive care? Why? Just precaution? Why am I being isolated? I need to see him.  Where's Lumpy? I'm alone? Why all the tubes? What the hell is happening? I need to see him. 

How did you guys get here? What are you doing here? Did you see him? Oh, he's there? What are they doing to him? Just precautionary? What the hell are these people talking about? Fever? Both of us? 100 and what? Christ, shouldn't we be convulsing?

Please, wheel me in there? Let me touch him.  Oh my God, he is so long and skinny.  Bets, Kate, look at that, I did that.  He looks just like me.  Long legs, big head, big feet.  Weird looking, huh, Bets? Anybody see Lumpy?

Today, sixteen years later, I remember that day like it was yesterday. You grew into the legs, head and feet.  Well maybe not quite yet, but none the less a perfect specimen of the male species.  A kind heart, a good mind , a beautiful body and a smile that melts my heart.  A beautiful man. 

Happy birthday my love, I'm not alone.

Why do children have the advantage of an imaginary friend?  Is it because they can't write and can't explain their feelings?  Where do they go? Do we meet them later in life? Are they the friend that we find that understands us so well? Are they the old souls we meet that always seem to be so grounded?

I don't remember mine or if I had one, but I do remember Evil sister having Magi.  It was great watching Evil play with Magi.  We had to set a place at the dinner table for Magi, wash Magi's hair at bath time, read a story at bedtime for Magi.  Being much older,  Angel sister and I thought she was nut's! Magi went away one day never to be seen or heard from again.  Evil only knows from stories told to her but has no memory of Magi.  It's too bad, I bet she could use her more now than ever.

I can't explain it but when a young child looks at me, they seem to be looking right through me.  It's a sweet look that they give me, examining me, sizing me up.  Always results in a smile or giggle.  This has been going on for years. I don't always know the child, it could just be passing carts in the supermarket, the book store anywhere.

I have recently found or more like she found me, a very verbal two year old.  She is a beautiful child and has family in my neighborhood.  Her parents have told me that she tells them that she wants to see "the lady".   When we have a visit and are chatting,  she stares at me, (around my head) and has a peaceful smile that makes me wonder if I am bringing to her someone from a previous life that she remembers.  How do I approach that subject with a two year old? Do I ask, "who do you see, are they talking to you"?  I certainly can't ask the parents for fear they think I'm nuts and keep her away.

I am spooked by it sometimes, especially when some profound comment is made.   Things a child so young should not be able to communicate.  It is wild and I find myself wondering who is helping who here. 

The love knot in my family was the three strong women.  Suzie, Toots and me. 

Suzie was the great grandmother that arrived from Hungary with Clara, her sister.  How brave to leave everything you know and are comfortable with to come here.  She spoke of hair ribbons and climbing trees in the old country while emptying the refrigerator and making coffee. Homemade noodles draping the rack in the kitchen while they dried, those worn old hands would busy clearing the dining room table for the peasant feast.

Toots was the first grandchild of Suzie's.  She held special ground with the old woman having been born to Janush, the king child.  Toots would take us every Tuesday to see the old woman.  Like a proud peahen, she would have us minding our Sunday manners. 

Suzie had a childish devil in her and would always manage at least once to tell Toots, with a thick Hungarian accent "you shud up, this is my house and they can do as they please".  Her powder blue eyes would twinkle as she scolded Toots.  Toots too would have a similar twinkle loving being put in her place by the old woman. 

Years later, I would bring Stinky every Saturday to see Toots and hear her stories of Suzies hair ribbons and trees.  Toots was known to climb a tree or two well into old age.  Just to prove she still could.  The twinkle was in her green eyes as she would weekly say "you shud up, this is my house and he can do as he please".  My blue eyes would twinkle with the memory of Suzie.

I have a way with children, they always seem to know that they have a friend here.  Over the years, I have spoiled many and when they visit I smirk with blue eyes twinkling as I say to their parents "you shud up, this is my house and they can do as they please".

The memory of these substantial women that have influenced me has left an indelible mark for which I carry great pride. 

Life took a huge turn when Toots married 2nd father.  I was young and looked forward to the change. There were big changes, more than just a father.  Moving to a new neighborhood with a big old house, a big yard, new school and what would be a real family. Sir came along with the deal.  He was 2nd's father that would live with us. 

Easter was approaching. With spring coming and the renewal of life.  Angel sister and I were told it would be different.  What did we want for Easter? "A puppy" we cried in unison. 

2nd father scoured the papers and there it was, "free to a good home".  We were off.  Loaded into the big brown Pontiac, we headed to "free to a good home".  Toots sat next to her new man.  Sir sat in the front seat while Angel sister and I sat excitely in the back seat.

The row house that we parked in front of, was a mess.  I had never seen anything like it.  2nd went in with Toots and it seemed to take a lifetime for them to return.  Angel sister and I sat in the car with Sir.  We had already found him to be a rat - no love lost and certainly we didn't trust him.

Finally after what seemed like a lifetime, 2nd carried out this little brown puppy with his wet black nose.  We couldn't wait to get our hands on him as he was handed off to Sir who had already moved to the back seat.  Why was Sir getting to hold him, what will we name him, where will he sleep?  The ride home was going to take too long for us. 

From the front seat, Toots says "Friday", that's what we will name him. At our age, we had no idea just how perfect that name would be having no idea who Friday was.  It would be years before we would understand. 

Friday's legacy started that day as he proceeded to throw up all over Sir.  Friday got car sick and hated the car.  Sir sat there covered and Angel sister and I were forced not to laugh but we knew just how appropriate it was.  That dog became our hero five minutes into his life with us.  It was to be the best summer with our new life and our new friend.

Friday was the greatest of dogs, he loved his girls.  Very protective of us, he was always by our sides.  No visitor was allowed near us without his approval.  When playing got too rough, his big brown body would jump up and a paw placed gently ending the upset. 

As each new birth arrived, Friday was introduced to the new baby first.  2nd would sit in a chair and Friday would check out the bundle and his job description would increase. 

He never forgot his place.  He was the protector, the confidant, the 4 legged friend to all of us.  He never showed favorites, loving all of his watches, equally. .

He grew old and slowed down but had the respect of the entire family.  Over the years new animals were added to the family.  We all brought living creatures home that we had found along the way and with 2nd and Toots at the helm, helping the helpless was a lesson we had all been taught. Everyone and everything welcomed in our home.  Friday met the additions first and it was his say which stayed and which had to go. 

Our old smelly Friday had gotten ill and it was time to let him go.  It was the hardest day for all of us.  He had been so loyal to all of us that there was not a question about forcing him to suffer. 

He raised us all and there will never be another Friday.  Replacing Friday has never been an option.  There is only one Friday.