Just plane emotions

I’ve always loved airports because we used to go to the Rochester Airport and watch the planes land when my cousins flew in from NYC. While my brother amused himself by spinning around on the stools at the diner, I’d sit by the big windows and watch the planes come in and then I’d run over to the gate and see the families. I’d see them eagerly waiting for the plane to spit out it’s passengers. Children hopping and jumping, parents trying to calm them down only to have them run off again in a flow of excitement, too excited to heed the wrath of Mom and Dad. A voice would call out “here they come, here they come” and the crowd would move as one to the doorway. One by one the passengers would come through and be swallowed up by friends and family. To a child like me this was magical.Families that hugged, people who rushed into each other’s arms. Anticipation and joy.
Slowly they’d pull away from the crowd and walk, arms around each other, to get their luggage and then out into the sunshine to go home. And I’d wander to the other side and watch the ones saying goodbye. The tears, the sadness. The couples barely able to pull apart, the families clinging together for one last hug. Promises to call when they get home, cries of “I love you”. Tears all around. Then the slow walk down the hall, stopping to wave, then too far to see anymore as arms slowly drop to the side and people head back out the doors. Soon it was our turn and we’d hop up and down and run in circles waiting for my cousins to come through the big glass doors.
A few years have passed since I was a child but I still love the airport. They should have a reality show that’s just cameras in the airport. I’d sit and cry the entire episode, every episode. Now we have metal detectors, mental detectors, gates, screening, and the ever popular probings but I still love the airport. I love watching the people appear and I feel bad for the ones no one’s greeting or meeting. I’ve even stood in the airport and cried before my own flight then walked sniffing and sobbing down the tunnel and onto the plane. I automaticaly tear up when I see a flight land. I think it’s because I’m a sap but also because we take the people around us for granted too often, coming and going out the front door in the morning and back in again in the evening. We rush through meals in front of the tv and we speed through each week without thought. But when someone’s leaving, on a jet plane, we stop to say goodbye. We hug them, we tell them they’ll be missed and if we’re blessed, we share an “I love you” or two. When they arrive back in our lives we greet them with open arms and we’re thrilled to see them. We slow down enough to see them. It’s nice that the fastest mode of travel slows us down in an airport and I don’t think I’ll ever outgrow the enjoyment I get from watching the planes take off and land.

postcards from a friend

or a relative. When’s the last time you got one? I know when mine was because I got it recently (thanks Claire) and I have it sitting next to my computer as I type. I am postcard worthy, what a wonderful thing.

I remember postcards. Whenever my family took our disfunction on the road each summer every tourist trap, State Visitors Center, Howard Johnsons, and roadside motel had them sitting on the front desk, free for the taking. And yes, I took them. I wrote on them, I mailed most of them, and I even sent some to myself. I’d address them and write something on them that I wanted to remember but knew I’d forget and then I’d mail them in the nearest mailbox. Mailboxes were on every corner then. Not dinosaurs like mailboxes and phone booths are today. When is the last time you saw a working phone booth? makes you think doesn’t it?

When we got home from where ever we’d gone, I’d run over to get the mail from whichever neighbor collected it for us and there’d be a whole stack of postcards to me, from me and even one or two from my friends off on family trips of their own. I remember putting them in my room, in my lefthand top desk drawer. I found a couple last Fall, in a box of old postcards my Mother had collected. I don’t know how they got in there but she must’ve found them after I’d moved out. My handwriting was horrific and I doubt she knew what they meant but I know. Things like “Scotty” or “nine puppies” and even a “fireflies and the lake” Little blips of memories I didn’t want to lose. I probably took pictures but film needed developing back in the day and my parents made me use my allowance to develop it so I didn’t take too many photos. I wish I had but wishes like that are just wishes and I have my tiny stack of postcards to spark a memory or two.
I saved a few of them to remind me and I’m putting Claire’s postcard on top of the pile because I don’t get many postcards any more and I wish I did. There’s something sweet about knowing a friend took the time to jot down a little note and stick on a stamp. That they shared a tiny bit of their day and time with me. I know e-mails fly faster than I can type, I know skype eliminates the need to write with a real pen, and yes, I even have a cell phone that texts and calls anyone and everyone who needs to hear from me. But it isn’t the same and I miss postcards. I like knowing someone took the time to write something to me and they bothered to get up, go out, and mail it. I rated a stamp. How cool is that?
I’m traveling soon, to visit my folks and settle their affairs but before I go I’m buying stamps and typing up a list and along the way I’m sending postcards to family and friends. They won’t be long winded and they won’t say much of anything but the message they’ll send is that I think enough of that person to send them a postcard. To be postcard worthy is a special thing. I know because I was deemed postcard worthy too

snow day

Laying in bed, listening to the wind I hear my Father’s alarm going off.

5am: I slowly pull my head and shoulders out from under my blanket to peer out the window, careful not to let the morning’s frigid air slip into my cocoon. With eyes barely open I squint to see in the darkness.. Snow, yes it snowing but is it enough? Quickly I slide back into the warmth and lay there anticipating, hoping, wishing.

5:30 am: the shower goes off and still I lay there hoping.

5:45am: he heads down the stairs as I lay there with my eyes screwed tight in prayer.
The smell of coffee rises up to me, the pans make noises in the kitchen. I hear the front door open as he brings in the paper. Please oh please let it be true.

6am: my brother’s alarm goes off. WCMF blares loudly once then twice. He’s up, it’s my turn soon. My prayers become frantic, I make promises both God and I know I’ll never keep. I’ll be good, I’ll do chores I’m not even told to do, I’ll do everything…anything.
Again the shower shuts off, it’s almost time. I peek out the window again, seeing nothing but darkness and the barest hint of light.

My turn now, I linger in my room. Slowly I make my bed, get dressed, pull my books and homework together. I head down the stairs defeated. I slump into the kitchen while my Father turns on the radio. WHAM comes to life. The newsman drones on about the President’s trip, about countries I never gave thought to. Then it’s time. The list. The list we never seem to make.

Eating my oatmeal I listen and think bad thoughts about the ones in charge.
The list is read off “Albion, Aquinas, Batavia, Brockport” It’s unfair, it’s not right, it never happens for us. “Churchville, Dansville, Elmyra” Why do we have to suffer, why are we always left out in the cold waiting for the buses that always seem to show up on time? “Fairport, Geneva” It’s just not fair, they hate us “GREECE” We look at each other, our spoons in midair. “did he say what we thought he said? Can it be true??

We jump to our feet, we yell and we scream. A snow day, a snow day!!! How lucky we are. The phone starts to ring as our friends call with the news “we finally have a snow day, what shall we do”

hit the road jack

not as in the song but an upcoming trip.

Taking the long way to Florida and along the way going to visit the folks, do some paper work for them, and spend two days in the hell that is my family.
No hate mail from my little hater please, I’m fine with my lack of endearing love for my parents. You worry about your’s, I’ll pretend to like mine.

I’m dreading this trip. I’m supposed to be there now but plans got changed. My mother has Alzheimers. That’s not the reason for my lack of affection for them, it just adds to the guilt I carry around. She isn’t a confused “gee I forgot” kind of sufferer, she’s gone the surly and rude route instead. That’s tough to handle. She was already trying to cope with going blind and this double whammy makes life there even rougher. My Father muddles through okay. My brother, aka the big fat wussy, copes by pretending everything’s fine. That’s his approach to anything he wants to avoid handling. She assists him by going from nasty to sweet whenever she hears his voice. I almost think I have the better bit of Mom. She may be rude to me but I know the reality and accept it. He doesn’t.

Her latest trick is to hang up on me when I call her. Then she turns around and complains that I never call. Luckily one of the few pieces of modern technology my Father has mastered is the caller ID box on their phone.
Now I know this disease has touched many lives and I know some of you are shaking your heads in agreement or thinking you know how I feel. I hope you do not because watching a good parent, a beloved parent go through these stages must be devastating but trying to cope with a bad parent going through it is a brand spankin’ new kind of hell. When it came to the parent lottery the odds were not in my favor…twice. Birth parents and adoptive it’s a crap sandwich no matter how you slice it and how many potato chips you serve with it.

And that’s fine, no one promised life was a rose garden so a little manure is to be expected. But honoring one’s Mother and Father is tough when one’s Mother and Father aren’t honorable. And just as I finally put my past behind me and stood tall-ish and secure in who I am…. bam! This happens and all the sudden the people I had the courage to turn partially away from I need to not only deal with regularly but I need to have compassion and forgiveness for. How’s that for a dilemma?

My faith in God is strong but my support system is weak. I have always struggled with my in-grown need to do what’s right so it took me forty six years to finally reach a point where I could remove my limb from the family tree and now I must graft it back on and knowingly and willingly face a barrage of venom and hate from a woman I have a tough time even liking let alone loving. I know what’s right and I know what to do but it’s going to be painful and it’s going to chip away at me and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.

So, aren’t you glad you asked where I’ve been and why I’m not writing?
that’ll teach you…. I plan to write as I go and maybe someone out there will nod along and say “yeah I understand” or maybe you won’t but this is real and my blog’s always been about my life so here it is, it ain’t purty and it ain’t perfect but it’s mine and it’s the only one I’ve got.

just an announcement

as promised to those who contacted me, I will resume writing in the very near future. I appreciate the concern and the friends who took it upon themselves to give me a swift kick to the tush. I have four or five topics brewing, expect to see one soon.

and if you don’t…. give me another swift kick!

my life is a chick flick

or a really cheesy country music song. For the first time in a long time I have nothing to write about because I have no crisis or upset. Life is just life. Give or take a few wrinkles of course.
I’m loved, I love. My sons are both well and thriving. No major family issues with the folks. I’m just loving the life I’m living. I think I’ve settled into my own skin finally.

If my life were a song Julie Andrews would be singing about hilltops and kittens and warm fuzzy feelings. The shocker?
I’m admitting it here: I’m a little freaked out over it all. In my 46 years there haven’t been that many peaceful ones and it spooks me to be content and almost issue free. I say almost because I’m mourning the loss of my closest friend. He’s still among the living, just not in my circles anymore and that sucks. All over an apology neither of us will give but both of us probably need to have. I know that’s all it would take yet I also need to hear one myself and I don’t think I will. So while I’m not wearing black or writing dirges, I am very sad and a little lost over it all.
And even more confused by this calmness is my world. I guess I’m so good at upheaval and getting through the tough stuff that I forgot how life was without it. I’m thinking I’ll adjust just fine though, one I get used to this.

As usual I’m enjoying the count down to Halloween. I like Halloween. I love the little kids in costumes, the almost big kids pretending they’re only trick or treating as a lark and not because they aren’t quite ready to give up their little kid days.

I love the pumpkins on my porch waiting to be carved. Two of them are mine, I’m not ready to carve yet though. I’m not sure what I’ll do them as.
I like the decorations in the yards and the excitement in my friend’s kids voices as they tell me what they’re going to be. I know they only called to get a heads up on my candy so they don’t waste a trip over for something lame like granola bars or pencils. As if I’d ever do that. Halloween is about kids and candy, not PC and good for you snacks. Halloween is about running ahead of your parents to get to the next house, it’s about fighting over who gets to ring the doorbell and then being to shy to speak when it’s opened. It’s about stopping halkfway down that driveway to see what you got in your bag. It’s about Moms and Dads saying “wait for us” and “no candy until we get home”. Halloween is about kids and candy and costumes.

I remember trick or treating, we’d plan for weeks what we would be. No store bought costumes in my neighborhood. Our parents knew that creating the costume was almost as much fun as trick or treating itself. The costumes I remember most were the ones I worked the hardest on. The year I was a miner. Not sure why I was a miner but my nieghbor’s dad brought me home an extra helmet from work and we kids managed to put a flashlight on it and cover it in foil. That year my brother was a rock. Funny how I remember that. He made his costume out of a grey garbage bag and three tomato cages. He didn’t really look like a rock but he was bigger than me so I never told him. Today costumes are judged for realism and cost an arm and a leg but in my childhood days we earned our candy corn and Mary Janes by putting together something to wear door to door. And we counted and rationed each candy corn and and BitOHoney and crappy lollypop with the string handle. A good rationer could make that candy last for weeks. A greedy child could have it gone by the next weekend. Halloween was a big deal and we looked forward to it and remembered it fondly afterwards. Msybe that’s why I’m looking forward to my doorbell ringing this weekend and seeing the little faces saying “trick or treat” or maybe it’s just that my life has hit a point where I’m enjoying all these things. Either way, I’m ready for Halloween. I have my candy, no Bit O Honeys here.. we have Snickers, M&Ms, and Twix. I have my decorations up and tomorrow night I’ll have my pumpkins carves and ready to light up. Life really is good, go figure huh?

liar liar pants on fire

How do you handle a friend who lies right to your face? You know they’re lying, they know you know they’re lying and yet the lie grows. It’s not a necessary lie. It’s a save you hurt feelings lie but the lie itself hurts worse than the original truth might’ve.
We all say we hate liars and we hate being lied to but there are those times when you know about the lie and yet you just let yourself be lied to. At first you’re amused, then disbelief sets in, then anger starts to brew. So you (or me) justify it “they are trying to spare my feelings” and after that you rationalize it “If I confront it it will hurt their feelings” but then a couple days go by and you start to wonder how much a friendship’s worth if you have to be lied to.
Liar liar pants on fire, a single lie sends a spark that can torch a friendship but there’s no way to put it out. At least none I can think of.

relationship wars

have you ever had a relationship war? not you and your partner for life slugging it out with verbal zings and kapows, a conversation with a friend that turns into a “my relationship’s better than your’s” fight?

You’re just chit chatting along and you mention something, like your weekend plans for example, and they one up you. You know you aren’t competing but suddenly they are. You say your partner did this for you, of course their’s did something better. You talk about a trip to the store to buy something and they come up with a shopping spree. You mention anything and it’s one upped.
Maybe it’s not that blatent but it is confusing no matter how big the battle gets. If you’re me, you wonder why it turns into a relationship war instead of a nice conversation. You aren’t threatened or bothered by their life, why do they need to upstage your’s? I’ve had this happen twice in the past 36 hrs. Two different conversations where I ended up shaking my head and wondering why my innocent comments about my own life made someone else feel the need to polish up their own life and shove it in my face. I’m happy in my dull little life, it suits me just fine. It’s not perfect and I never say it is, it’s my life and I’m fond of it. I’m lucky to have found someone who lets me be me and who enjoys the same boring things I do. I’d never compete with another’s life, they aren’t me so how can you compare?
It just baffles me to have a nice talk turn into a relationship war and I am guessing one of you reading this know exactly what I’m talking about.

movers and shakers

my neighbor’s in for a surprise today. Not sure if it’s him or her that’ll get this unexpected news, or even if it’s unexpected but it’s a done deal. Today from my vantage point in the garage where I was workng, I watched a moving van back up and into the driveway of the house across the street. It was followed by two pick ups and a car. They proceeded quite quickly to fill the van with furniture and other items from the house and just as quikcly left. I’m guessing either a well organized burglers or a divorce to be. Either way, when someone gets home later today, they aren’t going to be having a banner day. Maybe they’ll be relieved or maybe they’ll head right back out to where ever they were but my guess is they won’t be happy.

I have a friend who celebrated the end of her marriage. I never understood that. Whether you have kids or not and regardless of the duration of the marriage, how do you celebrate the end of something you went into with eyes open and heart full of love? Even if the marriage was a bad one or a horrific one filled with abuse and hatred, there’s still a loss of hope.
Even when you know your relationship is bad and you try to patch it and give it CPR, you have that bit of hope that it might be fixed and work out.
No one goes into a marriage looking forward to the divorce. I know someone will tell me I’m wrong and that there are those people who think marriage is a good career goal but for the majority of us regular folks marriage is a day dream. You go into it with a vision of happily ever after and even when you realize it’s over and you’re looking forward to writing your next chapter you feel a little sad at the end of one dream.
My guess is that someone across the street from me is going to feel that sadness this afternoon. I feel sad for them, been there, felt that.
I guess it’d be wrong to hope they’ve been robbed instead?

every day things

every day an old man rides his bicycle past my house. I don’t know who he is but I do have an idea which house he lives in. Every day a little before six pm he rides by. Usually with his ball cap and red jacket on. He rides an old Schwinn and it has an orange flag on the back. I automatically look for him when he’s running late, even though we’ve never met. He’s part of my every day world.
I think we take a lot of things around us for granted. I know I do. I don’t always see every thing clearly, I’m usually preoccupied or in a rush and every thing around me is a blur. But then one day, for me today, I realize that those things around me are my background music and when one part is missing it doesn’t sound as good. Like the people behind my house yelling at that darn dog at 8am or the garbage trucks on Monday morning, and the kids out back playing Marco polo when their mom’s home from work and can watch them in the pool.
Or a little old man riding his bicycle past my house every day at a few minutes to six who was running a little bit late today. I was relieved to see him go by, I missed him at a few minutes to six. He may not have a name or a face but he’s part of my world none the less.