But can I really know you?

I woke up this morning to the realization that something a friend told me many years ago should be my mantra.  I had once more been disappointed by someone I trusted and I said, "I really thought I knew him better than that."
 
To which he replied, "You never really know anyone.  You just know of them.  You know what they let you see."  And he was right.

I deal with many people, some more closely than others.  We talk and with some of them, we talk for hours.  We share secrets.  We share our inner most thoughts, hopes and dreams.  Do we really?  As I look back over the trail behind me, I am  astounded at how many of my friends have only let me see the outer veneer that covers their tortured soul.

We are placed on this earth by some divine plan to live our lives, hopefully, in peace and harmony.  Some of us have more peace and harmony then others, I have found.  It breaks my heart when I lose a friend to suicide.  Suicide is defined in the dictionary as "the intentional taking of one's own life."  It does not tell us why.  And yet the why is the first question we ask, isn't it?

And we search our memory and we recall the relationship we had with that person.  At least I do.  I remember the last time I saw him.  Right here at my table not very long ago.  He was a computer genius and he worked really cheap for his friends.  He loved cookies and I had his favorite kind.  I will make them again for his memorial service.

We can read all the psychology books and watch for the signs, but we never see them.  Is it because I let my guard down, or because the signs were never there, or did I just not want to see them?  Hind sight is 20/20 looking back, isn't it?

Many years ago when I was a Senior in high school I had a friend in Stenography class whose name I can not recall right now.  He went home one afternoon after school and hung himself in the garage.  Were there signs?  I never saw them and looking back I still don't.

Kenny and I had a friend 30+ years ago.  Kenny was working in Denver and was gone all week, leaving me alone.  He called every night and this friend knew that.  He would show up every night and set at the counter and drink coffee and reading truck books.  When Kenny called, he would talk to him for a few minutes and then he would leave.  It was never a conversation, really, just a "hello how are you?"  One afternoon he went home and put a bullet in his brain.  We never saw it coming.

So as I set here contemplating another memorial service I wonder about the very act of suicide.  No one ever says, "Well, I am just going to put my head in the gas oven and be done with it."  That would make it too simple.  So I shall do what I have always done, put one foot in front of the other and blindly go where I have always gone.  Maybe today I will make a difference to someone looking into that abyss.

Maybe not.

The hands of time are kind.

Has it really been 15 years?  Thanksgiving is a bad time for me, but then most days are anymore.  It was a couple days before Thanksgiving 15 years ago when my husband was taken to St. Mary Corwin hospital, brought back to life and started the journey to death.  There is no other way to put that and it was what it was.  I could not find his DNR so the rescue squad did what they do.  This has been a lesson well learned.  I have a copy of mine stapled to my head.  This began 3 weeks of ICU and then transfer to Colorado Springs to try to wean him off life support.  Needless to say that did not work and 2 months later I was a widow.  It has been a long 15 years.

I look back  on those years and it is almost like it was yesterday.  We had adopted Bret, so that kept me busy.  He was 10 or so when Kenny passed.  I sent him to public school.  I sent him to charter school.  I sent him to private school.  The little fellow kept me very busy.  I would have no doubt went nuts had I not had him, so for that I am grateful.

Being a 60 year old widow with a 10 year old son was not conducive to dating, so I did not do it.  After 9 years I put my toe in the water and met Sherman.  We know how that turned out and 3 years later he was gone.  I miss having someone to lean on, but I get by with a little help from my friends (I heard that in a song.)  There was one guy that I cared about, but he turned out to be not at all what he presented himself to be, so that fizzled out.

I think about dating some times, but not very often.  It would be nice to have someone that would call a couple times a week and maybe take me out to eat once in a while.  Or a walk along the levee.  I really miss that.  I have lady friends that I go to lunch with on occasion, but I still miss having a man to open a door for me.  I miss having a conversation where I say something and then he says something and then we both laugh.  A sense of humor is so important to me.

Kenny and Sherman were both very intelligent and witty.  They both loved me although not in the same way.  Kenny was fishing, bull riding, family, cooking, gardening, and country music.  Sherman was more high brow, sipping wine and old motorcycles.  We watched a movie once a week and one night we were watching "Cheech and Chong", which was my choice and he told me "Fiddler on the Roof "  would be wasted on you!"  I laughed at him, but I never chose Cheech and Chong again.  I did try to watch Fiddler on the Roof, but it bored me to tears.  He was right about that.

If I could meet someone like either one of those two, but I think God  broke the mold after he made them.

So, Thanksgiving is over for another year.  I had lots of company and they are starting to leave now.  Patty is going to stay a couple days extra so there is that.

I am changing my life and the process is already started.  I am sorting my possessions into 3 piles.  One is to keep and one is to sell and one is trash.  I guess there 3 more piles.  Those piles are "stuff" that belongs to other people.

There are books that belong to the college and are supposed to leave when the book sale is held in the Spring, but I hear the sale is not happening this year. Ever hear of a "book burning".

 Another pile belongs to a guy in Pueblo West and is stuff he wants, but not enough to take it home.  It has been in my garage for about 9 or 10 years.

 And then there are 2 piles that belong to a kid on the west side.  He wants his stuff, too, but not enough to come and get it.  I call it "garage sale shit."

I want to downsize.  Frank and Cliff brought me a roll off this summer and I filled it.  I may need another one of those.  Right now I am sorting and boxing.  I have a pile in the garage that grows every day.  In the spring I am going to have a junk sale and get rid of it.  What does not sell goes to the ARC.   My dogs are old.  If they make it to Spring it will surprise me.  When they are gone, I am gone.  This house will be put up for sale and since it is prime real estate, it will sell quickly "as is, where is, with all faults and weaknesses."

Some where there is a place for me in this world.  Course I come with a cat.  That cat and one suit case is about all that I need.  I suppose I can not completely change everything and I am sure wherever I am and what ever I am doing, I will pause for a run out to Los Pobres to see Sister Nancy and Rosie.  I expect I will still be gathering wax for the candles for the homeless.  I expect I will still have a crochet bag to work on, but who knows.  I guess I will just set back and see where the tides of life blow me.

In the meantime, if you see me on the street, I can sure use a smile and a hug.

Louella is still in there!

It is sad that after all these years I finally realized that the little girl on Strong Street is still in there and still hungering for acceptance.  I thought she would have learned by now, but she hasn't.  The saddest part is that she comes out at the damnedest times and I have to talk her back in.  Always craving acceptance and validation.  I think I may have read somewhere that we have to confront and comfort the inner child before we can be a complete person.  Maybe so.

The world sees the fascade that I present.  I tell it like it is.  I am dependable.  The "go to person" when something needs done.  I am honest to a fault.  I would give you the shirt off my back (as momma used to say) and the last dime in my pocket.  But under all that callousness and crap is still that skinny little girl back in Nickerson watching from the sidelines.  While the other girls went to the parties and cheered for the boys on the baseball team, I stayed inside and drew pictures on the black board with the "nerds."  We were drawing fins on Cadillacs before they were even thought of by the company!

I never doubted for one minute that my mother loved me.  Dad was a different story.  Grandma Haas and  Great Grandma Hatfield loved me.  They never kissed me or hugged me, but they fed me and smiled at me sometimes.  Touching didn't used to be a big deal back then.  I wonder why?  Aunt Mabel and Uncle Goll used to come see the grandma's from Coldwater and Aunt Mabel would let me rub cold cream on her face.  Once she sent me to Hinshaw's General Store to buy a towel so she could teach me how to do textile painting on fabric.  When I got it home and opened it up there was a brown "shelf mark" on it.  I wanted to take it back and get one without the "wear" mark, but she told me it was "good enough" for me.

And thus set the tone of my life was set.  I married a man because he was the one who asked me.  I stayed with him because that was what we did back then.  I had babies because that was the way it was.
When I divorced and was a single mother with no child support I survived.  And I married several times thinking that was the answer, but it was not.  I came to Colorado.  I divorced.  I married. I divorced and then I met my last husband, Kenny.  He did not know about my hungry inner child and he loved me for who I was.  When I opened up enough to share my childhood with him, he laughed.  And when I told him my first husband called me a "nickle bred gutter rat" he found that hilarious and began to call me  a "gutter bred nickly rat."  Life took on a new perception when I looked through his eyes.  But now he is gone.

So here I set crying over some slight that happened at church, or not having someone to hold my hand when I go walking, or wanting to run an idea by someone, and no one is there.  Nights get cold and lonely and very scary sometimes.  That is when I close my eyes and feel the wool blanket against my cheek and hear the coyotes yip in the distance and sometimes, the lonely scream of a cougar down on the river.

I guess it is all coming full circle.

You have got to be kidding!!

Oh, now this is more than even I can fathom!  I am used to receiving the dating sites advertisements in my spam box through my email.  But wait a minute.  Do you know what LinkedIn is?  Well what I thought it was and what it is may be two entirely different thing.  Again I blame my naivete!  See I thought it was a place where professional people could meet like  minded people and maybe pick up a referral for a service they or I offer.  I know my son has made great contacts through there and gotten his resume in the proper hands.  So I carefully filled out my little profile and listed all the things I can do and just finished that update a couple days ago.  Today I received a list of 4 groups I might want to join. 
First one was for the Millionairs Club which I was pretty sure was out of my league, but hey, a girl can dream, can't she?  I clicked on that sucker and was amazed to find it was one of those dating sites that usually ends up in the spam filter.  I was just a  little disappointed to find that cause I thought hob nobbing with millionaires might be kind of fun.  So with a sad little sigh, I went to #2.
That was a dating service as well.  Same with numbers 3 and 4.  Give me a break here!
So the question here would be this; why does every place I go think that because I am single  and domesticated, meaning I can cook and sew, that I am therefore looking for a mate?  Or is the mere fact that I am a warm blooded being enough to qualify me as "eligible"?   Is the fact that I am living alone a desperate plea for someone to save me from this solitary existence?  Did I say that?  If I wanted a man, trust me, there are plenty of them within reach. 
Do I need to be constantly bombarded with pictures of the lonely fellow gazing in profile towards an empty window?  Looking for love?  No, not really.  Sure I would like to have someone to shovel the walk when it snows, or run the tiller in the spring, or clean out the goose house and tank, and wash the car.  Send me that ad and I will be all over that one. 
I can see that one: "Very handsome and healthy single male looking for a short, fat woman in her waning years to pay bills for, do yard work for, general handyman duties to include cleaning the car and changing oil.  I love to clean house, do laundry and entertain grandkids on occasion.  Sucessful applicant must be intelligent, selfish, cook occasionally, and go to bed early every night and get up at 4 AM because it is the best part of the day and sunrise won't happen if she is not there to jerk it out of the ground.  Age is not a factor as long as she is breathing, little over weight is preferable, bad breathe is a plus,and slovenliness is a necessity.  I require no attention, no attaboys, and sex only when she deems it necessary."
Send me that one and my name is all over that dotted line!  Not really, but it sounds good, doesn't it?
Just wanted to vent my fustrations a little bit.  I am very happy with my life just like it is and I can send that stuff to the spam box all day long and set right here and enjoy my sunrise, sunset and the weeds sprouting all day long!