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Mary Mother Mom Mumsy Mamacita Mi Madre Tu Madre Maritza Mary

The person who made me is gone.

Her legacy is three very different children on wildly divergent paths.

A woman who was ahead of her time yet very much part of her time left:

A daughter who is self-reliant, ruthlessly pragmatic, a veritable mama bear with her children. She left home at an early age and carved her own path

A daughter who stayed home, went to school, got the degree Mary wanted*, married a man who was definitely not what her parents had in mind, and who did not provide grandchildren

*”I wanted to be a librarian but my mom wouldn’t let me. You know, old maids and their cats”

A son whom no one understood, under-loved, determined to do his own thing while shouting loudly for a place to belong

She said in an interview that she was most proud of her children, which suprised at least one of us. I never thought she noticed.

My mom was born with cataracts in both eyes and curly untameable hair. She had a go for broke attitude and was quite matter of fact that “Dad didn’t want kids”. (This shaped her response to her own children and was really difficult for her youngest)

She and her sister worked from a young age; a notable job was in a vitamin factory. “Mom made us change clothes on the porch because we smelled so bad.” There was an extended Italian family that made wine in the bathtub and a step-grandfather who resigned from the Los Angeles City Council after accepting bribes. (He was exiled to the midwest for a few years since my grandmother worked for the head of the IRS in LA and her parent’s disgrace was a little too much).

Mom was visiting her grandmother in North Hollywood on December 7, 1941 and her parents had her return home because of fears that the southland would be under attack too. She swears that Long Beach was bombed and that it was covered up so as not to scare the populace. I think her immediate family was safe from being sent overseas and she remembers her Italian grandparents visiting the Italian POWs at Santa Anita. “They didn’t just put the Japanese in camps” This is the kind of detail you don’t learn about in school.

Post-War, she and her sister entered the Southern California Catholic Youth Marriage Mart (aka the Claret Club) where they met their first and only husbands. My mom served as secretary and fell in love with the club president. The Claret Club is also notable for the lasting friendships formed there – in Mary’s circle there were Pat and Bob and Carol and Larry and Barbara and Paul and the Dupuis….lasting friendships, and the Swift-Sands-Rizzi trio lasted until death.

Mary and Fran lived in numerous houses as Fran pursued a real estate career. Mary worked as a secretary and started her family. First up was Linda Ann Swift, a Valentine’s baby. In the Catholic tradition, she was joined by Deborah Jean Swift a year later (on Pearl Harbor Day) and as far as Mary was concerned, the family was complete. God had other plans, and sent Jonathan Moor Swift (Thanksgiving) as the heir and son. After that, Mary defied the church and went on birth control – she knew her emotional and economic limits and three children were enough!

Fran became a teacher and Mary continued to work. They formed a tight knit group with the Sands and the Rizzis and there were many barbecues and beach days and backyard gatherings with all the kids. The post war baby boom was ON but all the turmoil and social changes seemed to happen outside our bubble. Vietnam, riots, hippies and Japanese cars were present in the news but not in our home.

Mary’s career: you might think that being a secretary is a low key, boring, administrative position. But Mary was in the right place at the right time and she wanted stimulation and challenges. She learned how to send overseas documents using the “TWX” and “Telex” machines, was trained on a Wang Word Processor, had ownership of the company FAX machine, and treated her bosses like kings. Every Christmas she brought huge Tupperware bowls of guacamole made with our home grown avocados and every year the bowls were empty by lunchtime. She adored the attention. She was one of the youngest people to get cataract surgery in the 70’s and it changed her life because now she could drive Heady times.

She decided to learn how to make new friends before she retired and volunteered on the Monrovia Days committee. She moved Dad to Green Valley Arizona where his childhood friend had retired and her sister and a few friends followed. She learned to use the Internet and email and persuaded Dad to join the Elks club so she’d have a place to play Bingo. They built a new home in a new development that was filled with light inside and an eclectic fruit/vegetable/cactus garden outside. They explored Southern Arizona and fell in love with the desert. No visit was complete without a trip to Tubac or Tohono Chul or Madera Canyon.

Dad passed away in 2002 and, as she predicted, mom’s friends rallied around to support her. “I want to move to a place where they know what to do when your husband dies” she told me. And they did.

At this point, her children learned that mom was quite impulsive and just how much of a calming influence dad had been. Within six months she bought a smaller house with a tiny yard that she felt she could manage. It was the first time she’d ever lived on her own and she was determined to do so on her own terms.

Mom continued to be active with the Elks and her church. She visited her friends and family in California and supported Carol and Pat when their husbands died. She loved and was proud of her grandchildren. Linda would visit and they’d do road trips and attractions, Debbie visited and went shopping and read, Jon visited and fixed things around the house. It was a good life.

We are very grateful to Pat Rizzi who, in her last days, encouraged Mom to move back to California to be closer to her children. It was a whirlwind declaration – “I’m selling the house, oh, the house sold and I need to move out in a few weeks” – but the family rallied and got her to California. (There are stories, but they probably won’t be funny for another decade or so.)

She settled into an assisted living facility near Linda who took on the yeoman role of managing her life. Linda balanced oversight and interference masterfully and got Mom on track with finances and health.

Mom died a few years ago – she had a heart attack, called the paramedics and coded on the way to the hospital. They revived her and put her on track for a lingering, managed death. Linda fought with the doctors to change the situation and with the help of Patricia Sands, got her into a rehabilitation center where she started to mend.

I honestly think that episode was a gift because it forced her children to work together and broke down the walls that develop between siblings when they grow up. I made a vow that I would stand with my big sister and support her however I could. Mom had a tendency to play her children against each other and we decided there would be no more secrets, no hurt feelings and no brokered communication. I am so happy we came together. It’s made the last few years so much easier.

This final journey isn’t my journey. It’s not Linda’s journey, or Jon’s. The final days in your life belong to you alone as your body winds down and your soul journeys toward God. As her daughter, my role is to ensure she has the medical support she needs and that she knows how much I love, appreciate and honor her – she gave me life and I would not be Debbie without her influence.

Mary, Mom, Mumsy, Mamacita, Mi Madre, Tu Madre, Maritza, Mary. Go swiftly and easily to your home. Say hi to the gang.

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Migraine city

Some day I’ll write about my migraine journey – it’s been a hoot, let me tell you. But today I wanted to talk about my current migraine. My current painful migraine. I haven’t had pain like this in…years.

In a few weeks I’m having a medical procedure that requires me to go off all anti inflammatories for two weeks prior and 8 weeks after. So of course my head decided to play games and as I was working on Tuesday I felt my brain flip over. That’s the only way I can describe it. I was sitting in a chair and my brain flipped. There was a brief moment of vertigo and I felt a bit lightheaded and I knew that the migraine was on its way (I’m very familiar with this phenomenon so I know it wasn’t a stroke or an aneurism or anything)

I went to my first line defense: Relpax. Swallowed it and went back to work. It seemed to be working – the pain didn’t progress by much and I was still able to concentrate. I cut out of work a bit early and rested a bit, babied myself, felt the pain grow….dug out some peppermint tea to drink with honey (an old, old tactic suggested to me by a chiropractor back in the dark ages)….had some chamomile and valerian to help myself sleep. Hoped it would diminish by morning.

It did not. My migraines are generally less intense after a night’s sleep, then the pain builds as the day wears on. This was my Wednesday. I took a few tylenol, drank more tea, started pounding water to make sure I was hydrated, got a neck rub, did some yoga, dug out the essential oils…the pain continued to build and grow. I managed to join the evening dog walk but it was slow going and I had a very light dinner. Sleep was painful – I’d nod off and the pain would wake me up.

I seriously considered taking Thursday off to rest, but I had a lot of work to do and I wanted a distraction from the pain. At this point it was sharp, all encompassing – like a tight iron cap over my head with tiny thumbtacks poking into my skull. I put an ice pack on my head, drank some strong black tea and tried some biofeedback. (40 years of migraines has given me a lot of pain mitigating options.) Mid morning I asked my hubby to source some Hot and Sour Soup. This is another remedy (possibly folklore) for migraine management. The story goes that a man noticed his wife’s headaches got better when she ate spicy food so he brought it to his doctor’s attention and it made the news. Dr. Google tells me that studies have shown that capsaicin is effective in pain management AND that spicy foods can trigger migraines. Such is the way.

Two ineffective drug and three ineffective non drug interventions. Or maybe this would be much, much worse if I’d done nothing.

I had some spicy soup for lunch and felt better for 90 minutes, then the pain returned. Took a couple of non-NSAID pain pills that haven’t touched the pain. So much for that. Sigh.

So Why am I sharing this? What’s the point?

This is not a plea for pity or understanding, it’s my way of grounding myself during a trying week. If you’ve ever wondered about migraines, maybe this will help you understand the sufferers in your life. If not, aren’t you glad you don’t get them?!

So, what have I figured out about migraines this week? I’ve had to cut pain medications in the past for various reasons and I am always reminded that even though I feel like the meds aren’t doing much to treat my headaches, they ARE actually helping because there is reduced pain with medication. Going without reminds me that what I’ve been doing works pretty well.

I am amused at myself because while I know that exercise, stretches, ice, regular sleep schedules etc. will help my migraine life, I get lazy and careless and don’t do them regularly. And then when I don’t have the crutch of pain meds, I go back to the tactics that served me in the past. They may not be terrifically effective, but at least I feel like I’m doing something to help myself. They distract me. And the cat and I had a nice floor interaction when I was yoga-ing.

I always fought through my headaches and do my best not to become an invalid. I would say most of my friends have seen me in the midst of a migraine and not noticed the difference. As much as I can, I want my life to be about more than pain, more than sympathy, more than this condition. It’s my own business.

Chronic migraines – they’ve been a life journey. I’ve tried many therapies and talked to a lot of people who have the solution. My observation is that the cause is complex and combinatory and sometimes I can have a little citrus and cheese but most of the time that’s a ticket to Pain Central. I won’t even FLIRT with dark chocolate and red wine – the reward can’t begin to compensate for the damages.

Curious to see where this one goes and how long it will last. Time for another mug of peppermint tea with honey. And I give myself permission to take a sick day if I need one to kick this pain to the curb.

Day 4 – pain is better and I had a few hours of energy and a clear head. And now it’s back. Hoping it breaks by the weekend.

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New Normal

I am beyond tired of this pesky pandemic.

I am tired of masks. Tired of surveilling my surroundings at all times to make sure I’m not getting too close to others in the vicinity.

Tired of my judgey brain when a shopping cart barrels by, narrowly missing my hip.

Weary. I am weary.

So, I got one of my deepest desires – I am working from home and no longer face that miserable commute to Westwood every day.

But my neck is still tight and my sciatica still flares and I’m taking my 2.5 hours of reclaimed time to sleep and play video games on my phone.

So much for the dream.

In fairness, 2020 has been unkind. Some of us are just starting to notice social injustice, with millions of people risking their lives to protest the murders of unarmed people of color. Social and traditional media are more polarized than ever. Since we can’t hash things out in person we are lighting up the Twitterverse/Instaworld/Facebackward with memes and inflammatory posts. People have revealed themselves in surprising ways – or is it that now we have time to pay attention to how they’ve always been? And that may not square with my personal beliefs.

When I look back at this year, what will I see? I think I’ll see layers peeling off and truth exposing the lies. I will think about my failings as a friend and family member and note that my pandemic priorities have shifted. 2020 is the year that I’ve made a significant effort to be with my mom. In that sense, it’s a bonus year because everyone (including mom) thought she’d never live to 91. But she has and her needs have shifted. (My sister still carries the primary load, and I’ve done my best to support her in that endeavor which means miles on my Honda going from the SFV to Riverside County)

2020 is the year I’ve seen my husband at work – his job – and it’s been eye opening to witness his process. I don’t mean that in a bad way. The ways in which he interacts with me are not that different than the way he interacts with others. I’ve come to realize that he’s someone who works best in what I consider a chaotic and overwhelming pile of paper. We’ve struggled with this for years in our home life and I truly now understand that this is integral to his personality and I need flow with it or be forever in a state of fury.

I’ve discovered that some of my friends need to be checked on and other are great at checking on me. We’ve had to work at our relationships this year and figure out the core. The activities and busy-ness that we took for granted are unavailable, so the core values and commonalities rise to the top. We are going deeper and increasing intimacy. I do not find this altogether comfortable but it’s a journey I’m willing to take.

Most of all, 2020 has been a year when I’ve learned to let go. I choose my battles and realize that standing my ground over trivialities is wasted energy.

Who do I want to be in the future? I’ve always gotten through today by looking to the future – making plans, scheduling trips, postponing a cookie today for a chocolate sundae next week. But now, surrounded by NOW, I ask myself, what do I want?

I had vague plans for retirement and used those to endure my current situation. But I see that retirement and the rest of my life is less about activity and more about who I am. I don’t want to argue people about politics. I don’t want friction because something that should have been filed is buried in a book. I want a warm comfortable home that suits me. I want room to grow and blossom – and there is no reason those things can’t start now.

2020 is a watershed year, and as the commercial says “let’s not go back to the way things were.” It would be a shame if we canceled 2020 and went right back to careless consumption, unvarnished racism and the push pull between what’s right and wrong. Surely there is a way for us all. Surely we don’t need to double down on issues. Surely we can look at the person behind the mask and at the person who refuses to wear a mask. The change is upon us and we’ve had months to prepare.

Time to get to work.

11/20

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Blech, Change

I recently joined a service organization, was asked to serve as Treasurer, and agreed, which probably wasn’t a good idea.

But that’s not the subject of this post.

When I agreed, it was with the understanding that the group had a certain way of doing their books and they wanted to fully leverage their QuickBooks investment. There were several years of transactions in the system and it was up to date, but reports were still being copied into Excel. The Board didn’t care for the way the Excel sheets were formatted and wanted a better presentation of current and past expenditures.

I agreed, for many many reasons (which are not the subject of this post) and spent over 100 hours learning to use QuickBooks, tracking down accounts and procedures for accepting money/recording money/writing checks etc etc. Thank goodness I had a mentor! My first report to the Board, based on emails and random Excel spreadsheets was an unmitigated disaster.

I pulled my grown up panties on and kept going. I made good progress. I began to understand basic accounting principles like income and expenditure and accounts and subaccounts. I saw the relationship between subcategories of income and subcategories of donations. It began to fall into place. I felt good. My mentor felt good. I generated a financial report at the next Board meeting and it was another unmitigated disaster. There was loud outrage and pushback. They wanted their spreadsheets!

I had a solid alcoholic drink and regrouped. I set a meeting for my Budget Committee to discuss the situation and get some answers to outstanding questions I had about how some of the deposits. All went swimmingly until we got to the report. Lots of noise. There may have been some shouting. A standoff ensued of “we want our spreadsheets” vs “I’m not keeping two sets of books for you ladies.” That devolved into “If you really want spreadsheets, then you need to find a replacement.” I admit, I secretly hoped they would replace me (I’d already written a letter of resignation and it’s a beaut).

To close this out – cooler heads prevailed and the old guard started to listen and realized that everything on their beloved spreadsheets was in the new report – it just looked different! The decision was made to carry on because change is inevitable. The organization needs to modernize and take their money seriously and having multiple versions does not serve that end. As the new kid on the block, I was frustrated and annoyed and ready to chuck it all and have another drink. But for now I’m going to forge ahead.

Meanwhile, at work, I was trying to help out a local staffer who got some information from one of my colleagues, who is new, and still learning the ropes. I was inwardly indignant and snarky that the new person hadn’t followed the procedures and there were missing pieces, her work hadn’t been documented and I essentially had to start over to get my person on the road. Then I slid off my high horse and laughed at the universe for showing me both sides of the equation.

I’ve been in my job since 2011 and, honestly, it took me 2 years to figure out our convoluted processes and filing systems. I’ve been raked over the coals for not knowing something and my boss has said, thoughtfully, “I realize you don’t know this, but I don’t know how you would know you don’t know this” (Because you don’t know what you don’t know).

I understand the systems now and I’ve paid dearly for that knowledge, so changing anything up is not a pleasant prospect for me. I think of how things were and how they are now and I assume the process is so easy everyone can do it. But they’re not. Things still aren’t streamlined, and there is a steep learning curve for anyone coming on board. But I digress.

Change is hard! Learning is hard! Our brains find shortcuts and soon we’re on autopilot and we cruise along thinking we’re following the same set of rules, but we’re not; not really. We’re human and we all want things done the way we want them done.

And for many, the reaction to change, is resistance. Change is threatening. Change is different. We don’t want to put ourselves out, other people have to accomodate us. We forget that change is a constant and refusal to adapt results in others bypassing us and soon we are all alone while the world goes whizzing by.

I remember how hard it was to learn my job. I remember deciding that my purpose there is to be compassionate and empathetic to my coworkers, or as I phrase it “to be a calm and steadying influence in the workplace.” That means keeping my snark to myself.

And in my new organization, I’ve been there less than a year (oh, why did they ask me and why why why did I say yes?) I bring a fresh eye to their process and mad organizational and project management skilz to the table. There will be adjustments on both sides, no doubt. Both sides need to move.

Meanwhile, the world goes on and we’re looking at all kinds of external change. I recommend you take a deep breath, exhale, and figure out your bottom line. Then find alignment and a way through. Life isn’t going to stop while you’re screaming about the new.

/dsh

9/16/20

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Cancer cookies

I’ve been baking cookies.

Oatmeal raisin, molasses, espresso chocolate chip, brownies, blondies.

Some of this is anxiety baking – I’m so tired of being cooped up while a pandemic rages outside. I ask myself if it’s worth getting Covid over a box of stale cookies, and it isn’t. So I bake for myself and my carb-avoiding husband is also stressed out because he’s snacking too. The pre-pandemic cycle of denial and rules has been fractured. Every other week I bake my feelings and we stretch out the results.

Early in the quarantine, I did some Covid crafting and made tie-dye items for a friend. I delivered them with a dozen oatmeal raisin cookies. She loved the items and her family loved the cookies. Then her mom got sick and wasn’t eating. I delivered a few dozen espresso chocolate chip cookies without nuts because her mom couldn’t handle the chewiness and abrasiveness of walnuts. Those were well received. Her mom has good days and bad days and last week was not so good. I offered more cookies to tempt the appetite. I gave her a choice of Snickerdoodles or Lemon Bars. Her eyes lit up and she eagerly asked for Snickerdoodles.

I stood in my hot summer kitchen packing dough into balls that would be rolled in cinnamon sugar and felt the supreme satisfaction of taking simple ingredients and creating deliciousness. There is something about cooking for people, even people you haven’t met, that warms the soul. The time I used to spend on the road, at work, shopping, dining out, distracting myself from my emotions and body pains can now be used to plan and cook healthful meals. I can do a yoga workout at lunchtime or spend it reading with the cat. Time feels more elastic and forgiving.

My mind and thoughts however, are not.

I am a caretaker by nature and I want to heal the world with neck massages, comiserating chats and baked goods. I don’t really have an outlet for that right now and I worry that I’ve become the crazy cat loving touchy feely sugar dealer who thrusts unwanted home crafted tchochkes and indifferent baked goods on people who are too nice to say no thank you. (That’s not really true; the cookies are outstanding but everyone’s taste is different and maybe you don’t want my particular brand of oatmeal raisin) [I know this is psychosis]

I ask my husband if I’m overdoing it out of a deep rooted sense of insecurity or if I’m just an amazing caring friend. Is this my ego, I wonder. Or is this my manipulative nature – I’m not baking these for US (as if that’s a bad thing) I’m baking for my friend’s MOM. She’s the recipient of the bounty. You can’t complain about unnecessary snacks when they are cancer cookies.

In the end, I’m going to do what my heart tells me to do. I have friends who can’t get my healing back rubs, silly jokes or nourishing food right now. I wish I could bake for all of them, near and far. Some day I will be in need of cookies or companionship or compassion and I believe that my deeds will circle back around.

The Snick’s were a huge success….mom said she hadn’t had them since she was a girl. I had one with my tea this morning. It was gently crunchy, buttery and not too sweet. A nugget of love, baked with caring, seasoned with kindness.

/dsh; 8/10/20

#Winning

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We are halfway through the summer and the pandemic continues. Still mostly confined to home, wearing masks, ordering takeout twice a week to support small local businesses. Am I winning the pandemic? Time to take stock.

Sun ripened organic figs are a joy each summer

I am extraordinarily fortunate to have a job that lets me work from home and acutely aware that not everyone has that. So I practice gratitude for the petty annoyances via email and chat. I roll my neck as I boot up a program that I’ll use for the next hour to download data for a project. I bite my tongue when the team comes back and changes the parameters and I have to redo that work. Job? Definitely in the positive column.

I’m also fortunate to live in a nice home with multiple places to isolate. We are getting through some home tasks that have been put off for years – cleaning out closets, shredding papers, re-stucco-ing the outside. My bed is comfy and I have a few places to stretch out and read or watch TV. Home situation? Positive.

I’m not by myself – I’m married and still interacting with my spouse (I’ve heard STORIES). Tempers are a bit short and patience is something we have to dig for. But we’re civil and of like mind. He’s been heroic in taking on the job of getting supplies and interacting with the public. I’ve prepared nutritious and usually delicious meals for us and planned 3 meals a day, every day, since the quarantine began. Marriage? Positive

But there are things that haven’t happened and they overtake me in random moments making me want to rage or stomp or tantrum. Like, where is the #justiceforbreonnataylor? Why haven’t I lost 10 pounds? Why is my bicycle still lost amid clutter in the garage? Where is our vegetable garden? Why am I not meditating/stretching/excercising/praying/learning/sewing/writing in my newly found free hours that used to be spent on the 405? Where are my new crafting skills? That nuno felting kit is still unopened. I should have finished double the number of scarves for soldiers in this time. Why, oh why am I still getting migraines when I should be feeling amazing now that I am getting sufficient sleep and time to rest?

As my best friend says – there are days when we are “digging deep” to get out of the funk. And we are angry that we still need to dig deep when we should be grateful for our blessings.

I miss my friends. I miss the scent of suntan lotion mixed with grainy sand and an ocean breeze. I miss hanging on a patio drinking craft cocktails. I miss chicken wings and garlic toast.

I have a physician who gently questioned me about my mental state and asked me what I missed. I appreciate his concern and I get what he was trying to do. But there are no substitutes for lunch with my 90 year old mom. Zoom calls are difficult when one of you is mostly blind and partially deaf. We sort of expected this to be her last year, but what a way to live your last year – under lock and key with very little interaction.

Digging – My cat is a joy and entertainment all in one. He is thriving with the extra attention and the freedom to roam the house. The corgis snooze nearby, generating fur drifts that gather in the corners.

Deep – The fig tree is loaded, and figs are ripening a few at a time. Cherry tomatoes are coming in and zucchini blossoms are bright yellow accents against green leaves. My church has amazing livestream services and small group sessions (#hopeshouse). Our neighbors have posted Black Lives Matter signs and drawn rainbows and hopscotch grids on the sidewalk. It’s summer and I’ve got boozy grapefruit popsicles in the freezer made with our own organic fruit.

I am indeed “digging deep.” Fortunately there is a flinty vein of positive gold in my character. And it shines.

7/29/20

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Anticipation

I read the Lord of The Rings trilogy in about a week.

I was in high school and started The Fellowship of the Ring over the weekend and read it off and on all week, finishing up on a Friday afternoon.

The story, which started a bit slowly for me, suddenly grabbed my imagination and I picked up The Two Towers and read early into Saturday morning. It fell from my nerveless fingers around midnight that night and I snatched up The Return of the King to read just a few chapters to see what happened next.

I spent Sunday in Middle Earth and finished the book after school on Monday. My brain felt three sizes too big for my skull. I took out my contacts to give my dry eyes a break. The only words in my brain were One ring to rule them all, one ring to bind them, one ring to rule them all and in the darkness bind them. My imagination had been captured like never before, and I was dizzy from reading.

When I returned to my body I wondered why on earth I stayed up so late to finish the series. I had deprived myself of the lingering joy of a great story, rolling it over in my mind and thinking about the plot. I hadn’t savored the book. And looming ahead was….oops.

Well, looming ahead was The Hobbit and assigned reading for school and within a few months I received the trilogy as a gift and read them more slowly. But I’ll never forget the feeling of drowning in a book, falling in love with the characters, and letting myself run free in a different world.

That happened to me with with other books and I learned how terrible it can be to start a series, work through it, and then have to wait until the author publishes again. Torture! When the next book comes out the temptation is to devour it all at once, knowing that a yawning emptiness lies ahead when you turn the final page. The terrors of being a reader!!

I am in that situation now. My talented neighbor cowrote a book – The Royal We – five years ago and it was delightful. I bought it in hardcover and then as an ebook when “bonus content” was released. I’ve loaned it and read it and recommended it and loved it every single time. I thought perhaps there would be a sequel. Maybe. But I didn’t want to presume on our acquaintance.

My patience was REWARDED this week when, in exchange for a neighborly deed, she offered me an ADVANCED READING COPY of the sequel. Oh frabjous day! I never expected, I never thought, I was prepared to wait a few months and nab the book when everyone else did.

The book came with delicious chocolate chip cookies.

I finished the book I was reading. Checked the due dates on the others. Cleaned up my Kindle library and ate a cookie. Who was I kidding? Saturday night I cracked the spine and managed to close it before midnight. I’m not a teenager any more and can’t stay up reading all night. I’m about halfway through and debating picking it up again to see what happens next or moving onto something more useful, like cooking dinner.

I don’t know how she and her writing partner did it. The plot is so creative and so different than I expected. Pretty much nothing I predicted would happen has happened. It is more than a sequel that ties up loose ends from the first book. The characters are in a sprawling predicament, establishing new relationships and growing in new directions. I am delighted because the sequel is equally absorbing and interesting and engrossing as the original.

I will try not to finish all the good stuff immediately. Try not to end up fuzzy headed and distracted when I return to work tomorrow. Try not to deprive myself of all the deliciousness of a really satisfying book.

Then I’ll give it a day or so and reread the first book for the 5th time and reread the sequel for the second.

And maybe bake some cookies.

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Love/Hate

I have an adversarial relationship with my sewing machine. I can’t count the number of times bad things have happened:

the feed dogs suck fabric into the bobbin mechanism
the needle hits a pin and bends and starts hitting the bobbin case
fabric catches underneath and part of the shirt back gets sewed to the sleeve
the thread winder goes crazy and I end up with a big loop of thread poking through the bobbin
- then I have to decide if I should unwind and call it a loss or use it and see what happens
  - (I NEVER use it to see what happens because I know that would be a catastrophe)

Mr. White (he’s a White Blue Jeans machine) has a mind of his own most days, and oftener than not we do not align.

Still, I sew. I am a sucker for gorgeous fabrics, soft and liquid against my forearm. I fall in love with a store bought shirt that finally tatters and I can’t find a replacement so I buy a pattern. I am out of step with the beat of fashion and I think, “I could make this.” And then I buy a pattern and fabric and spend way too many hours pinning and cutting and then Mr. White gives me attitude and we break up.

And yet….I return.

What I’m good at:

–Home sewing – pillows, bolsters, curtains, drapes, duvet cover. I excel at at taking a three dimensional shape and figuring out how to cover it in fabric.

What brings me low:

–Anything with a pattern or precision including clothes, purses, and quilts. I once sewed a quilt patch for a charity quilt that was so misshapen they couldn’t use it.

(I took it apart and put it together maybe four times. The ladies were very kind and insisted I sign the finished quilt. I gave chair massages to everyone during the final push).

What has worked for me:

–As soon as things start going wrong, (I’m on the floor with the bobbin parts in pieces as I jiggle a stuck needle out of the underworld), I stop. I never ‘soldier on’ – in sewing, I quit while I’m behind. I gained this wisdom from a 1970’s era book on fixing your Beetle – the writer instructed that when things stopped going well, stop and have a beer and come back to it. That advice is sound.

Right now I am sewing contoured face masks with a pocket for a nose wire for better fit and a pocket for a reusable filter. I looked at several patterns and thought this was the most protective and would fit the best. I downloaded a template from the interweb and watched the video twice. I went through my stash and found a lot of unused quilting fabric that I bought to make camp shirts (I had a sew-my-own camp shirt kick a decade ago). I also had a fair amount of elastic, pipe cleaners, thread, ribbon…everything you could want to make face masks for the pandemic.

I actually thought ahead this time and decided to make a practice mask from start to finish to see how it went. The designer pegged it as a 30 minute project. It took me over 90 minutes, which included ripping out an edge (unfortunately Mr. White sewed it using a very small stitch and my thread didn’t contrast enough to make deconstruction simple). I stopped twice to take a break and eat some lunch. I found some spare fabric so Mr. White could go full steam ahead on a nice long seam (he likes to go full out). By the end of the afternoon, I had a working face mask. I snapped a picture, sent it to all my phone contacts and posted it on my ‘gram. People loved it.

I woke up and there were questions about “what other fabrics do you have?” and “I need 4”. Very flattering and good for my ego. I have supplies. I could make more. I could SELL them and make money!

Today I made four more masks – two for my honey, one more for me, and one spare. Mr. White was grumpy, but I opened a conversation, thanked him for his work, gave him a couple practice runs full steam ahead and he settled down. The fabric was unruly though – one of the masks has a wonky lining. I don’t know why – I used the same template, the other ones are fine, but it went wonky on me. Mr. White messed up the staystitching on one and when I turned it inside out there was a cave that required excavation. More unpicking of stitches. It took me about 3 hours to do four masks. And I am spent.

My husband said the results were impressive and he thanked me repeatedly for doing the work. I wrestled with my perfectionist tendencies and decided to take the win. They are functional and the mistakes are not terrible. The next batch (if there is a next batch) should be better, go faster, be easier.

I not going into business with these. To be honest, they are priceless – I am using my limited skills to make protective gear for people I love. The going rate for a mask on the street is $5.00. At that price, I’m spending at least that in materials not to mention time. I will probably donate my fabric stash to someone who is making items for local healthcare workers.

It might be different if my skills were better. I’d love to be a COVID19 warrior, sewing to save the world. But life is too short to stay in a frustrating relationship. I’ve been knitting scarfs for soldiers in my spare time and that is soothing and easy. But Mr. White and I, well, we go way back and I’m not sure we will ever be besties. I see a breakup on the horizon.

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Notes from the lockdown

It’s Sunday, not even 3 days into the “shelter in place” order that went into effect in L.A. So far, I am doing fine. The last time I was “out” out was Thursday morning, to my physical therapy appointment. I was last at a store a week ago Friday. I’m walking around the neighborhood, cooking, cleaning – might as well write.

After my store visit I came home and told my man (MM) that he is now in charge of foraging. He has agreed without hesitation. He has a strong protective bent and we both know who has more tolerance for lines and silliness (I was going to say stupidity but that seems harsh). Silliness in terms of stores not posting directive signs – This way to add to your Toilet Paper hoard and This way if you just need some bell peppers. Silliness in term of completely full parking lots. Of small children holding paper towels to get around the limits. Empty store shelves. That stuff.

I, meanwhile, am the at-home logistics officer. I like to cook and enjoy being creative with leftovers. (I just wish I could recreate some of my inspirational leftover dishes, but they never taste as good the second time around). I’m extremely conscious of not wanting to waste food and of planning meals that will incorporate ingredients on hand. It’s triage meal planning. Do I really want to use 5 cups of flour on Irish soda bread or should I use the box mix of Beer Bread in the cupboard? How can I sneak in more vegetables? Answers: not yet, yes, throw some spinach into the soup.

We are fortunate – our tap water won’t kill us and we have a whole house filtration system so we’re good for hydration. We had a decent stock of hand sanitizer. We have enough TP and paper towels for few weeks. We have home projects to work on together and we’re really good under pressure so I think we will weather this okay.

In other news:

Arti the rambunctious teenage cat veers between utter obnoxiousness to warm purring sugar. He has developed a talent for identifying my bathroom needs before I do. Within a few minutes of his sugar I inevitably have to disturb him for a bio break.

Louis the former show dog (but still and always a champion) is bravely hanging out in the hallway so he can keep an eye on us. He is a frequent target of Arti’s boredom and they haven’t worked that out yet. We break up any bullying and give the cat a time out when needed.

Fiona, who has been featured in this blog, is getting home based physical therapy and massage (really, not just pets; I’ll post a photo next time she’s in session). She alerts us to intruders on the sidewalk and heaven forbid a delivery person should come to the door! The dogs still get walked twice a day which is beneficial for us all.

MM and I just celebrated his birthday with lobsters – not an essential store trip, but it felt essential to our emotional well being. I used 13/4 C of milk to make a lemon pudding cake. He feels special even if his birthday present (Peter Sagall at the Soraya got cancelled).

And me? I’ve got chicken Avolegomo soup planned for dinner (lots of lemons around here) and I’ll make the beer bread to go along. I’ll sneak some spinach in there too. Tomorrow I’m planning an Ina Garten recipe of pounded and fried chicken breasts on a bed of fresh spinach. I spent some time reorganizing one shelf in the linen closet and put away the pile of completed books on my nightstand. And I’ll write. See you soon.\

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Authenticity

My dad used to say “too soon we grow old, too late we grow smart.” I can relate to that. I’ve spent a lot of my life in a self-centered haze, not thinking about other people and what they might think of me or measuring my affect on them. But a few years ago I took a few steps back, and then a few more, and then decided to change the way I relate to the world. One of my actions was to live more authentically and to be more transparent about how I feel.

I started reaching out to people in my life and explicitly telling them what they mean to me. I’m more open about what I need in our relationship and if someone is unable to meet my needs, I’m adjusting my perception of our friendship and moving on. (I’m not denouncing them or cutting them out, I’m adjusting my expectations).

I’m also working on discernment and how one person may talk the talk but someone else is actually walking the walk, and THAT person is my ride or die partner.

I recently went to a retreat and came out with some revelations. You probably already knew about this, but they stood out for me in a fresh way.

Everyone wants to be happy – this rocked me. I know people who are profoundly unhappy and they hang onto that with every ounce of strength. Do even those people want to be happy? I guess they do. I suspect that life experiences have soured their perspective. Some may have given up. But deep down in their core they do want happiness. It just doesn’t look that way from the outside. How can this alter my behavior and demeanor?

Since I can’t change anyone’s behavior or outlook, I need to focus on MY behavior and outlook. I can put my thoughts and intentions toward a different outcome and that will change my demeanor and behavior.

There was a woman in our class who wanted to know if she should TELL the person about whom she’s meditating that she is doing this – and our instructor said she could, if she wanted, but it really wasn’t necessary. The point being that you can only work on yourself and you can’t change someone else.

I just had a milestone birthday and I was clear in my own mind how I wanted to celebrate. I had a lovely party with an eclectic group of friends old and new. And in the process, I received some lovely tributes. One person completely surprised me by their behavior and I thought – wow, it’s true. I changed my outlook and expectations and moved out of my comfort zone and we have moved into a brave new country. That gives me hope for the future. I will bravely step out and be authentic, present, and honest. I have no idea what that will look like and I expect surprises!