Signs and Wonders

A long time ago, in a marriage far away, I had a husband who pinched his pennies until they bled copper. If the last person in the room didn't turn off all lights upon leaving (even for a few minutes …), he was incensed. The offender would be chided and reminded.

The basement in this home was the place that caused him the greatest annoyance. After his son left the basement lights on one too may times, Husband took a pen and a piece of paper and wrote a note that said, "Turn Off the Lights." He then taped the note above the wall switch, in hopes it would cause everyone leaving the basement to turn off the lights.

I tried to explain to him that if any of us had looked at the light switch, we would have remembered to turn off the lights. He didn't get it. He was certain his sign would solve the problem. (It didn't.)
Flash forward twenty years.

The Jazzman and I try to be eco-friendly. Mahoning County Green Team, however, doesn't make eco-friendliness easy. I navigate to their website frequently to see what numbers are being accepted this month. You know those little triangles on the bottom of disposable containers? I'm driven by those.

I took a trunkload of packing materials to the recycling station the other day. Included in that trunkload were bits and chunks of white styrofoam that had been used to protect our new TV from bumping and jostling. Of all the recycling containers at the station, none of them were labeled "Styrofoam." I pulled my iPhone out of the car and opened the Green Team website. No Styrofoam. Absolutely no styrofoam. When I got home the styrofoam went back into the garage until we could figure out what to do with it.

The other day when we ate out, I brought home half of my dinner to be the next day's lunch. The restaurant gave me a black container with a triangle/6 on the bottom. After emptying it, I washed it out and—noting that Mahoning County Green Team now accepts recycling numbers 1-7—tossed it into our kitchen recycling bin.

The next morning I came down after the Jazzman left for work and noticed a sign on the wall.

"No Styrofoam" and an arrow down to the recycling bin.

Twenty years and three marriages/significant relationships later, again with the signs!

When he came home that day, I said, "But it has a '6'." He countered "But it's styrofoam." Bets were placed, and we waited for the end of the holiday weekend so I could call the Green Team office and settle the argument once and for all.

Alas, I lost! The Green Team lady said if the container is soft styrofoam rather than rigid plastic, the '6' on the bottom couldn't save it. It was the cursed styrofoam and could not be recycled.

Good thing I didn't make a very large wager, huh?

The Hardest Thing You've Ever Done

I'm reading a memoir written by a woman about her experiences hiking the Pacific Crest Trail. (More about the book in a post to come.) One of her reminiscences is of saying to herself, "This is the hardest thing I've ever done."

That statement made me think about things I've done, and how difficult or easy they seemed at the time. For me, completing law school and receiving my Juris Doctor degree was my greatest accomplishment. In my memory, it seems I wanted to quit each and every day. I had a friend whom I met the first day of orientation before law school began; she was my age and we bolstered each other's courage throughout the years in school.

During the four years I was in law school, I endured my second divorce, my older son being sent home from college for a semester to "learn how to study," and gaining custody of my younger son. In my third and fourth years, I worked a full-time and two part-time jobs to keep tuition and rent paid and food on the table. Now, over 20 years later, I can't imagine having the strength and energy to accomplish all that, but I did. It was the hardest and most important thing I had ever done.

Ten years earlier, I had gotten my first divorce. At that time, it was the hardest thing I had ever done. I had been miserable for the entire 10 years, married to a man who was incredibly selfish and emotionally abusive. By the time I walked out, I had twice swallowed a handful of pills, hoping for release from the months-long migraine that the situation caused. People told me I was courageous. I felt like a failure.

Five years after my law school graduation, I was newly and blissfully happily married to a unique man who understood the aches of my soul. Six months into our marriage, he was diagnosed with metastatic prostate cancer. Walking beside him for 21 months as he battled cancer was hard, but selfless. All I had to do was stay incredibly organized and focused on easing his pain. The most precious note I remember from him during this time said, "Thank you for caring for me."

Those hard times had a payoff: a sense that there was nothing I couldn't do.

I could start over and start over and start over. My mulligans were endless. And with each starting over again, I survived.

Is that what goes together—accomplishing incredibly hard tasks and surviving?

On having totally lost my mind.

It cannot possibly have been two-and-a-half weeks since the last time I posted on this site!

Let's see—there was a four-day incredibly stressful period in North Carolina, then a Saturday party to attend, then the Mt. Carmel Italian Festival, then a week of crazy shopping and sewing to get ready for a Saturday night wedding, then a Sunday baseball game, then a week filled with work. And through it all, the weather has been MIZ.ER.UH.BULL. Hot, humid, miserable.

I'll tell you about all that stuff another time. Right now I want to share that I have totally lost my mind.

Last Monday afternoon I met up with my boss down at the Lemon Grove to discuss a couple of projects. If you don't hang out in these parts, the Lemon Grove is an eclectic little café/restaurant/bar that's situated on West Federal in the heart of downtown Youngstown. It's the go-to place for air conditioning and free wi-fi, accompanied by a cup of whatever.

At the conclusion of our meeting, I walked out the front door and turned left to walk back to my car, parked a block away. And suddenly I heard a whacking sound. I couldn't imagine what was making such a whacking sound so, ever curious, I glanced around. Across the street I saw a 20-something or 30-something man in a white T-shirt and a black cap of some sort (were those really sequins?!). Nearby stood a younger-looking woman in a purple shirt. The man was holding what appeared to be a bullwhip, with which he was whacking away at the lush plants in one of the beautiful planters that line West Federal. (See the gorgeous planter on the left of the photo above? Those are the planters that have been installed on West Federal.)

I was instantly irate. So many people are working so hard to make and keep Youngstown beautiful. How dare he destroy public property like that. And, without a second thought, I started yelling at him. "Hey!" I used my loudest, most stage-projection voice. "What do you think you're doing?" "QUIT IT!!"

I had paused for a moment, and when I saw him glance across the street at me (and cease whipping the beautiful plant), I continued walking back toward my car. As I approached the side street, I started chiding myself. "Are you out of your ever-loving mind?" What was going to prevent this man for following me and using his bullwhip on me?

I scurried back to my car as quickly as possible, looking all around me, surreptitiously glancing over my shoulder to see if he was coming after me. He wasn't, and he had not resumed his whacking.

I quickly opened my car door, got in and relocked the door. Then I picked up my phone and started searching for the police non-emergency number—which was, by the way, not easy to find! I started driving down the street, toward where I last saw him, so I could sic the police on him. I saw him turn, cross West Federal, then begin walking north on the side street I had earlier crossed. He was followed at a short distance by the young woman.

I went to the next block, circled around that block to the south so I could come up the side street behind him. All the while, I was trying to watch for a police cruiser and trying to search for the phone number. I noticed him turn left and walk across the parking lot toward the DeYor Center. Now, as I watched him walk, it was clear—even to naive little me—that he was drunk or high out of his mind. He could hardly walk.

I pulled into the parking lot of the jail, turned around and drove back toward the DeYor. I pulled over to go onto the city's website to find the phone number. Once I had it, I dialed, as I pulled out and continued driving, turning to go past the DeYor Center and in front of the bus station, where he now was standing. The bullwhip turned out to be a belt, but still a device capable of whipping a poor unsuspecting plant, or my naive butt!

I finally got ahold of someone at the police department, told them what I had observed and where he was, and asked them to follow up.

Then I drove home. As I drove up Fifth Avenue, I kept just shaking my head. I've never done anything so outrageous in my entire life! What has come over me, in my old age, that I would burst out of my non-confrontational shell and yell at someone with the ability (and maybe the gun tucked in his back pocket) to do serious bodily harm to me?!

I don't think there's a moral to this story.

However, I did store the police non-emergency number in my contacts, for the next time I pop out of my shell and need to rat out some other drunk careening around West Federal!

Ever Had One of Those Days?

Let me tell you about my day.

But first let me tell you about last night. I left home at 10:45 yesterday morning for a day of rehearsals and a performance at Severance Hall. When I left the Severance parking lot at 9:35 last night to head back to Youngstown, I was astonished at how hard it was snowing. I wound my way through Shaker Heights and Beachwood to get on 271 and thought that, even with the snowfall, I'd have a relatively easy drive home. The instant I got onto 271, I knew I was in trouble. The high speed ranged from 40 down to 20. The snow was that kind that comes right at you in big clumps. Only one lane had been cleared and I kept forging ahead, thinking that the turnpike would be much better. Well, the turnpike had been cleared more than 271, but the snow was so heavy at that point I could see no lines and had to keep watching the guardrail on my right to know that I was on the road. Miraculously, no cars were in ditches causing big problems. It took me over two hours to get home, and I was worn to a complete frazzle by the time I arrived.

I woke this morning at 6:30 to see more-more-more snow, and immediately dressed to go shovel. At this time of year, I regret having bought a corner lot, as that means twice the sidewalk to shovel. When I got it cleared and walked back to the house, it was already covered with snow again.

I went to my morning staff meeting at the Lemon Grove, and was surprised to see my grandchildren. Their dad had taken them to school, after checking all the normal places where school closures are announced. Of course, with no notice, there was a two-hour delay. I volunteered to take them to school at 10:15, as I had a 10:30 doctor's appointment.

As I started on the road to their school, I realized I had almost no gas, so had to take care of that on the way.

Dropped them off, met with the doctor's PA, to learn that they don't really know what's causing my problem but figure it will wear itself out. Hmm. When I parked the car at the doctor's office, I realized my right rear tire was dangerously low.

So, after the doctor, I went a half-mile up the road to the Acura dealer and had them fix my tire problem and change my oil.

Drove through Wendy's for a burger, then to Giant Eagle for basics. By now it's 12:45 and I've only done about an hour's work today. As I'm putting the groceries in the car, I realize I need to return a bath mat to BB&B. I'm less than a mile away from the store. Do I return it now, or drive the 9 miles back home and come back another day. Yep - ran back to BB&B and got the right color bath mat.

Got home, threw soup fixings for tonight into the crockpot, and finally got to work about 2:30.

In two hours I've got to stop what I'm doing, pull my music together for tonight's performance in Austintown, trek to the basement to lug my keyboard and other accouterments up, and quickly run through the repertoire for tonight before going to pick up my grandpageturner.

And it continues to snow. The weather guy on the television I saw at the car dealer called this the "perfect lake effect storm". Great. Just Great.

As far as I'm concerned, the best thing that could happen to me today would be for the Immaculate Heart of Mary Altar and Rose Society to cancel their Christmas party tonight. Now that would make me happy!

The pictures above? The two pumpkins the Jazzman put on the back porch before Hallowe'en, and our snowed-upon mailbox.

Stay warm!

Two Hearts, One Talented Family

On Saturday morning I sat in a packed-full church in Brecksville, OH, to participate in the wedding of a friend with whom I sing in the CleveOrch Chorus. I have never been to a wedding that had so much music, all of it great! What a wonderful celebration this was!

Rather than beginning the music fifteen minutes before the ceremony, the music began right at noon, the announced hour for the wedding. There were five "prelude" numbers, including a duet sung by the bride's brothers. The mothers were then escorted to the front by their respective sons, where the mothers each lit a memorial candle to honor family members who passed on prior to the bride and groom's wedding day. After lighting the bride's candle, the bride's mother sang a solo, which was just exquisite. She sang beautifully, confidently, and without a hint of a tear in her eye or a catch in her voice. More musical numbers interspersed the entire service. The groom spoke his vows, followed by the bride, who then sang a beautiful song to him. Nerves of steel! How on earth did she do that?!!!

The minister prepared the communion table, then invited the "wedding choir" to come forward. This was a group of friends and family (including me) who sing. We sang two numbers while the bread and wine was being passed among the guests. What an honor to be included in this group!

I was so touched by this beautiful service for two really nice people( who met on Match.com. Isn't it amazing what we can find on the Internet nowadays?!)

And I was equally taken by the church and the minister. I am not into church at all, but if I were and if I lived near Brecksville, I would definitely visit this church on a regular basis.

Congratulations to Lisa and Tony, and the warmest of wishes for a wonderful and long life together.

Sadness is a Tantrum

Listening to Byron Katie on Rosie Radio (Sirius/XM) yesterday, I heard her say, "Sadness is a tantrum." I stopped to think how much sadness I've felt in my life. Then I thought about tantrums and how my mother despised seeing children in stores throwing tantrums. Were my feelings of sadness my attempts at throwing tantrums?

I don't know that I ever tried to throw a tantrum, but I know there would have been absolutely no way she would have allowed it. My children, likewise, didn't throw tantrums, but had they, I would have attempted to immediately stop it. My life as a mother was patterned upon my mother's practices—on the whole, not a very well-designed pattern.

During my years in psychotherapy in my 30s, my therapist said she was not surprised that I became a computer programmer. There was little in my life I was allowed to control, but as a programmer, I could control the computer.

Much of my sadness as an adult has centered around being alone and not having life turn out the way I expected, dreamed, or wanted. Sadness would wash over me as a marriage was ending, or when I felt life was hopeless. It would feel like a heavy, dark boiled wool hooded cape. Heavy. Dark.

The only sadnesses I've felt lately are when I feel I've disappointed someone. All in all, life now—in my 60s—has turned into a very different movie than I ever anticipated.

How unnecessary is sadness in your life?

I'll leave you with a Byron Katie quote regarding happiness:

You don't have to believe everything your thoughts tell you. Just become familiar with the particular thoughts you use to deprive yourself of happiness.

Going Outside My Comfort Zone

After pondering this action for about a year, I went to breakfast with the Traveler on Saturday by means of his new Honda Gold Wing.

I tried to dress appropriately - hiking boots, jeans, t-shirt (not long enough in the sleeves nor high enough in the neck), and sunglasses. He had bought a new helmet for his female riders to share (I don't know how many of us there are, but I was the first - she said, smiling.)

I was scared to death for the first five minutes, then started settling down, with the help of deep breathing and toeing in on the footrest, which made me feel more secure - for whatever reason.

We've been talking lately about bells and whistles on this blog. Honey, this new Traveling machine has tons o' bells and whistles. XMRadio, navigation, comfortable seats. The helmets have microphones so we could talk to each other and point out things we were passing.

The funniest feeling for me was being able to point at something or use my hands to gesture as I was speaking. I know he couldn't see my hand movement, but it just felt very odd to be behind him on the bike rather than beside him in a car.

Jaci, whose dad has had motorcycles all her life, told me that once I started riding I would be addicted.

I'm not sure I'm addicted, and I'm not sure I'm ready to ride all the way to Patagonia for breakfast (as is Lee's Sunday norm), but it wasn't bad.

And that's high praise for someone who still can hear her daddy saying, "Don't you kids ever ride motorcycles. I've sewn up too many cuts in the emergency room."