True to Form: My Art class

I actually did get on the road and felt a graceful peace settle on my soul.  I was listening to the music on my iPhone.  Lately, it has been finding songs I haven't heard in a long while.   I do like to drive and listen to my music.  I also had the google maps going which interrupts the music.  I was headed south down I-17.  I was to take that to the I-10 to 7th St.

Now, this is a path with which I am very familiar, having traversed it numerous times to visit family south of Phoenix.

As the voice came on to tell me to take I-10, I purposefully stayed in the left two lanes, confidence soaring through my hands on the wheel.  Life was beautiful, the songs were great.

Then 'she' told me to take the next exit...exit, exit now, I smiled to myself, I am, dear disembodied voice of instruction, just watch me.  Suddenly she said, take Jefferson, the next exit on 1-17S and make an exaggerated U-turn to get back on 17 north.

In my confidence, calm, and peace, I sped past my exit.  Yup.  This cracked me up, as closely as I was 'paying attention' to the instructions, I still missed my exit.

I checked the estimated arrival time - 1:10 still - no worries.  I whipped around and got back on I17 north this time to take the exit I had missed.  Followed the prompts to find out that she set me 'somewhere close' to my final destination.  I had to drive around the block again to reach my final destination.

The class was good, it's a six-week course on acrylics and oils.  We started with charcoal and perspective, moved on to mapping out a still life which we will start painting next week.

I like the longer courses I took at Monterey Community College, there was more time to practice technique, but it was a re-introduction that brought me back to remembering how much work I had done.

I don't hold high hopes for the finished product, but for me, it has always been about the process of creating.

Immediately after, I met my cousin and his wife for a movie and dinner.  It was one block over and two blocks south of where I was.  Darn google tried to put me on I-10 again, even after I set it to avoid highways.  Google maps - it was the exact wrong time to ask me for feedback...



ps. iloveu

Soooooo....it was scary for me...

My George! the greyhound who is my sweet companion and calm and ever present - we were both dealing with whatever was in the air in Arizona at this June 2019.  

It had been a cool spring - cooler than I remembered in my whole two years here - I really have no peg to hang my hat on except to say this was a cool spring.

And I felt congested.  I laid on my right side.  My right sinuses are clogged but I felt the same, on the other side if I laid on my left.  So I was on my right side again reading my kindle.  Tented up with its cover providing me readability.  If you aren't addicted to reading you won't understand.  I would go out at 10 o'clock at night to the grocery store to pick up a book because I had read everything in my house.  So the ability to have the kindle propped up so I could read has been priceless.

The light in the room was darkening.  I long learned that my best bet for waking and sleeping was a mood light like the Philips Light.  One that simulates sunrise and sunset.  It was a dusky dark in my room with a dark peach hue on the walls and ceiling and my eyes were heavy.  I shut them unknowingly as I "read" a Peter Grainger book.  That DC Smith haunts my dreams.

Suddenly through a half asleep haze I heard haaaa......  haaaa....... a deep breathy voice you would only hear if you were watching a horror movie.

And here I was with my eyes shut.  I knew that in a second.  It was in my room - at the foot of my bed.  I am on my right side, eyes closed and I had heard it as clear as day. Haaaaaa..... haaaaaaaa.... deep breaths

Crimmeny Jickets I felt my whole body tense.  What do I do?  Okay - Stop.   All doors locked? Yes, for sure.  How about the windows? Locked? Yes, for sure.

Laura - there is no one your house.  There is no way anyone got into your house.  Settle (as I say to George! sometimes - settle).  Settle.  haaaaaaa...... I heard.  My ears had inadvertently moved.

l did have a moment of clarity - take a deep breath so you can scream I thought.
Breath taken I opened my eyes and flung the comforter and saw no one there.

It was George! mouth breathing which he rarely does unless there has been a late coming summer and he is feeling congested...

At least I think it was George!...hmmmm...


Laura

psiloveyou

Riding my high-horse...

So here I am riding my high-horse.

Yuppers.  Years of condemning people who don’t pick up after their dogs.  

I had my first hound in San Francisco where I would go out of my way, back to my loft to get a dog bag to pick up after my dog.  Yes, that was the one part of my life where I couldn’t be criticized.  I was fastidious in that arena.  I always had bags for me and anyone of my hundreds of neighbors. 

Fast forward to Arizona, past all the conversations with Ohio residents as I stood there with full dog bags hearing about how other owners don’t pick up after their dogs.  “ I agree, it sucks when dog owners don’t pick up after their dogs” but do you see my full dog bags?

Arizona, I live in a beautiful place.  But again here there are folks who don’t pick up after dogs.  Argh.  The guy with the great dane who I know has moved out because there are no longer giant piles in the green space in front of my apt.

Yup, good riddance to the guy who acted like he had his sh%t together.  He didn’t, and his dog was there to show us all how inadequate he was with his sh%it.

So here I am riding along on my high horse *priding* myself on my poop pickup disparaging recklessly those who don’t pick up after their dogs, only to realize that George! is dropping turds while I am not looking. 

Yes, he does his business and I from my high-horse pick it up.  But if I stop daydreaming for a minute I see he is dropping logs in the sidewalk.  Geroge!

The hound who has taught me fun, the hound that taught me life is to be lived in the minute, the gentle hound that stands solidly next to me when I put my shoes on to go for a walk, is asking me to get off my high horse and pay attention.

Dang nabbit.  It would be so easy if I was only talking about dog poops.  But no, I am talking about a wider world. George is dropping turds to remind me that while I may be picking up on the 'big things' I am missing the smaller picture.

So tonight when you kiss your loved ones goodnight, thank God that they have you, and are not looking for asylum or housed in a refugee camp. Thank God that your children are safe. Thank God.  Be grateful.  Don't look to put someone else down.  When I am threatened by someone else's success, I know that I am frustrated and not living up to my potential.  

I can’t promise to be aware at all times,  I try and fail.  But I hope that I am blessed with the opportunity to try and fail again until I can love truly love my neighbor as I might try to love myself.


Laura

ps. iloveu

Purple Mountains Majesty

Imagine the desert —(please pause for dramatic effect, close your eyes and what do you imagine?) 

You may think the desert is one big beige brown drab color but it isn’t.  

Now, imagine three hundred sixty degrees of mountain’s sharp pointy peaks surrounding a flat desert valley.  Violent purple, creamsicle orange and a dusky brown, warmth… those are the initial colors.  Purple peaked mountains, yes the purple mountains’ majesty - this is where ‘that’ is found.  Have you ever seen a purple mountain?  No? Come to Phoenix, until you have seen it, it is unimaginable.  Orange skyline against a dusky brown with cacti and hills silhouetting…And cue music… no actually cue the sun setting, the sky darkening to a darker dull blueish color, and a breeze.  A warm dry breeze that kicks your hair gently from your forehead; flips your skirt from your knees, tugs at your shirt collar, and brushes your naked toes….

The horizon is lighter but the sky fades to a darker slate blue until the lights on the stage are the only lights visible… and then… then is Eroica set to Beethoven’s third symphony.  Beautiful athletic bodies, set to beautiful athletic music, and the stars are out and the breeze is pulling and the music is calling… and I am spellbound as heroines and heroes are caught up and cast down and the masses move through the upheavals, and always there is another force to come next…this is the Eroica I experienced at the Desert Botanical Gardens…go if you can…it’s soul catching and heart freeing experience.

Christmas Eve - heavy peach moon

I saw a peach moon, waxing crescent, tonight, hanging heavy over the mountains in the West.  It was beautiful and large.  So large it stopped me, in its tracks.  Larger than I have seen it in a long time.  And it was beautiful to behold.

I was with my friend George.  And as he is a dog, a greyhound, a trusted companion, I walked towards the moon.  But as I went around the buildings the moon ducked behind the mountains.

I thought the moon was playing hide and peek-a-boo, but I realized it was hide and head to sleep.  It was sinking into the horizon.  I was left behind longing to see it one more time, as an orange glow disappeared in the dark.

I saw a moonset on Christmas Eve, and was thankful for the gift.  Which brought forth, as always on Christmas Eve, the thought of the wise men traveling to see the babe in a manger.  I, incidentally was looking west, but needed to head east back to home.

In the story of the Christ child’s birth, I believe I resonate best these days with the wise men.  I don’t have the bravery to be a Mary or a Joseph; to stand up and be bold in one's time. I don’t have the wherewith all to take on the responsibility of a herd of sheep or group of any people, and know that I could protect them on a long journey. 

But the stars and night time.  I don’t know for sure if the wisemen followed a star in the East.  If this is truth, they had to travel at night.  Well, I seem to be a night traveler haunting their steps.  The sun sets and I awake.  I love the night time, the quiet, the anonymity, the peace, the mystery…the stars and the moon.

Or maybe it’s a youthful memory of safety.  Tucked in bed at night. Safe under the prayers said with mum and a kiss on the forehead.  “Pretend your asleep” my sister and I whispered to each other, as we huddled under the blankets, eyes closed and big smiles on our faces, quivering and trying not to smile before mum came in.  “Pretend your asleep”.  I will have to ask my mum what she thought as she came in to tuck us in…but this is a digression.

The real story is in the searching.

Searching, using stars or messengers…  searching for a place.   Searching for a place in life, a place in the stars, a place in the manger, a place we can call home.  And no truer words were said than home is where the heart is.  Where is your heart?  Where is your home?

And if you find yourself searching at Christmas, and you have heard the story told for generations, with whom do you reconcile? Mary, Joseph, the shepherds the wise men? Do you find comfort, a 'place' to call home in the telling of their journeys? 

I am called to an intimate place, a quiet place past birth - where it is mother, a child and comfort of wisemen, angels and animals...

I have often thought about the drummer boy*...a hymn that filled me with joy as a child on Christmas without even a drum...

'...I have no gifts to bring pa rum pum pum pum...
...I played my drum for Him...
...I played my best for Him...
...Then He smiled at me...
Pa rum pum pum-pum
Me and my drum'

What gifts do you bring?  I always  wished to have a drum...something - anything - but I find that I am lacking, always lacking, but showing up, hoping I will find my gift to contribute.  So that is my simple message.  If you know your gift, share it.  If you don't know your gift - keep showing up until you find it or someone recognizes it in you.  Follow the wisemen and show up.

ps iloveu

*Little Drummer Boy - lyrics

Come they told mePa rum pum pum-pumA newborn King to seePa rum pum pum-pumOur finest gifts we bringPa rum pum pum-pumTo lay before the kingPa rum pum pum-pumRum pum pum-pumRum pum pum-pumSo to honor HimPa rum pum pum-pumWhen we come

Little babyPa rum pum pum-pumI am a poor boy tooPa rum pum pum-pumI have no gift to bringPa rum pum pum-pumThat's fit to give our KingPa rum pum pum-pumRum pum pum-pumRum pum pum-pumShall I play for youPa rum pum pum-pumOn my drum


Mary noddedPa rum pum pum-pumThe ox and lamb kept timePa rum pum pum-pumI played my drum for HimPa rum pum pum-pumI played my best for HimPa rum pum pum-pumRum pum pum-pumRum pum pum-pumThen He smiled at mePa rum pum pum-pumMe and my drum

I need to pay attention...

It was a beautiful day here in Arizona, started in the 70s got to the 80s and back to the 70s again.  I took my beautiful happy hound George! to the dog park.

We have tried to get there a couple of times but it was always occupied.

This evening we were home free and George! got some sprints in.  My black beauty flew across the grass a few times. We were there till the sun set and I retrieved the leash from the smooth concrete table.  I was ready to leave but hadn't told George! yet.

I called him, he hesitated then he came running, big smiles prancing my way.  That was a first - he is usually a call me and I will come in my own time kinda guy.  Sometimes I wonder why I bothered to name him.  This time we were in sync and he came loping, held up in front of me and waited to get clipped onto the leash.

We walked home in the past twilight dark.

I knew I had to wait to feed him so I took the time to run to the grocery for a couple of things.  I was back in 15 mins and he was still a little breathy - it could  have been me being gone and his excitement on my return or it could have been him still worked up from his run.  I sat and waited to see if he would calm.  He did for a bit  -- then he got up drank water -- looked into my bedroom and whined.

It was an odd whine - like there is something wrong.  What's up bud, I asked.  He looked into the bedroom and came to me, tucked his nose into my armpit and enjoyed some lovings.  Then laid down.  I didn't investigate.  It was an odd moment that I passed off.

I fed him -- late, I got distracted -- he gave me the stink eye as I put 2 cups of kibble into his bowl, but when I put hot water onto the tripe I had spooned into his bowl, he leapt up and ran to the kitchen. They have very good noses these hounds.

I took him out for the last walk and when we came back he stared into the bedroom, ears up.  I looked at what he was looking at and Simba was on his side, motionless, on the floor between the bedside table and the box that is at a cockamamie angle to the bed and beside table.

I held my breath for a second then called Simba, SIMBA! He didn't move and I thought Oh Lord, not now, not tonight please...I called once more and he slowly opened his eyes, one at a time and gave me a look that appeared to be ?what?  I pulled him up, checked his paws and ears and belly. He was okay.  Gave him  treats, treated George! and wondered what I had missed.  Simba always sleeps on the box next to my bed in the evening.  During the day - he is invisible and late afternoon he has been on the chair in my living room on his blanket, but after dark he is on the box by my bed.

These guys don't have a cuddly relationship but they are aware of each other.  Simba is 14 years old and has twitches.  I wonder if something happened and George! sensed it.  Or maybe he found a new place to sleep, which would have been odd to me and now maybe odd to my George!?

Simba leaps from my bed to the box and back again as he gently plays me awake.  He is a wonderful hoot at that.  My little furry friend who keeps time for me.

I hope he is fine.  He appears to be.  But he is 14 and George! almost 9.  I appreciate George's attention and this evenings reminder to me to pay closer attention to the odd moments.

I know - a somewhat erroneous post - but I realize I spend time swimming in the future at the expense of the present.

Best,

Laura


p.s. iloveyou

Jungle names

My poor mug-muffins.  Today was vet day.  

And today, I realized I had inadvertently named them with jungle names.  

How did I come to this mundane realization?  

George was alone with me in the exam room panting as he does when he has been too long in a place he doesn't want to be, while Simba was getting a blood draw.

George walked towards the door from time to time, and returned when I asked if he was leaving without me.  

Chocolate brown, liquid eyes, glanced at me nervously as he stood behind the loveseat mouth open breathing into the wall.  

He doesn't trust me, because I let him go for a blood draw.  I told him I was there for him , as he was for me when I had to climb over snowbanks in Ohio, when I am slipping on my LL Bean shoes he holds me in balance, when I need a pal.

None of that worked so I fell back on my default -- sang him a song.  Singing a song to any of my animals has never calmed them down, but I try it every time.

George, George, George of the jungle brave as he can beeeeeeeeeee, George, George, George of the jungle pal to you and meeeeeee…

Now those of you of a certain era, who know the song, know I have the lyrics wrong.  I just looked them up and listened to the song - I totally had the song wrong.  But that’s who I am; the gal who can’t get the song quite right, but sings in the spirit of the song to my companion George who holds steady at 82.6 lbs.  

Now some of you may be thinking 82 pounds!  That dog must be huge.  No, he’s a skinny dog, with lots of muscle, the biggest of which is his heart.  He is gentle, always near me and doesn’t pull on lead.  My George is a Prince.

But back to the jungle.  Simba came to me as King Earl.  He is indeed the ruler of my universe.  I gave him the name Simba because he had the square jaw of a lion.  He is one of the most intuitive animals I have ever had.  Regardless of the daylight savings time that occurs in states, other than Arizona - sky scraping beautiful desert mountain views - he is always on time.  7 am (Daylight Standard Time or Standard Time) unless I had a 6 am conference call in which case he would start tapping me at 5:45 am.  Yes, Simba.  

The cat the house sitter never saw.  The cat who wouldn’t come out for anybody, but John.  This magnificent creature was howling in his crate, and yet, somehow I think it was more “why aren’t you petting me mortals” than “I don’t want to be here”.  He was happy to be out of his crate; he wanted the attention justified for one who is King of the Jungle…. 

And that’s when I realized…I have named both my animals jungle names.

A Prince and a King, how lucky am I to spend time with these creatures…

Edvard Munch, you painted me perfectly today...

Me today.

When I decided at 4:39 pm to go to the grocery store for cat food as I was out. See previous post Hell hath no fury...

I also wanted to check how many gas points I had since I was below a quarter of a tank. I don't normally let it get that low, but when I know I have some gas points - maybe close enough for 10 cents off per gallon, I will push it a little.

I wasn't thinking about 'the storm'.

Not only was I cattle shuttling with all the folk getting off work, we are expecting snow tomorrow. 1-2 inches -- enough to send the world to the Kroger in my neighborhood.

No one in the grocery store had a plan, including myself. I had a list of 5 items which I couldn't seem to keep in my head, so I couldn't plan my path. I did get the cat food first, however, I was doing the unthinkable, inadvertently.

I kept trying, unsuccessfully, to leave my cart in unobtrusive places while I got bananas, while I stood for at least 2 minutes waiting for a jam to clear, while I got crackers -- that time I had left my cart next to a display and effectively blocked the lane. Arghhhhh!

I picked up 2 small containers of half and half because they were out of the bigger one, perhaps sensing a run on half and half, and tried to get the heck out of dodge...

I bring my own bag(s). Well, I have yet to learn that I should bring all my bags because when I only bring one I inevitably buy more than one bag full. My one bag that I did bring wasn't filled, it had a handful of things in it. So I left with about 8 dreaded double bagged bags with handfuls of things.  I will recycle but Arghhhhh...

I finally got out. I got out and made my way to my car with less than 1/4 of a tank. But I now had over 100 Kroger points so I could get 10 cents off the gallon. Off to the Shell station in the Kroger parking lot.

There was a jam and yes, my car ended up blocking part of a lane.

I was the car, behind the car, behind the car that was taking forever... As I was pulling up I saw a woman get out of said car, in front of the car, in front of me, and instead of fueling up she went to the Kiosk...then was gone for a long, long time....Argh.

Long enough for me to scroll through Facebook. Long enough for me to watch and take a picture of a fellow fill his car with gas, then proceed to fill 6 gas cans in his trunk...finally, the woman is gone and I can pull up behind the lady in front of me. She doesn't start filling her tank, she goes to the kiosk...

My turn, and I am getting 18 gallons of gas...I am now that person taking forever, but at least I didn't head to the kiosk. I didn't, however get my credit card out in all that time I was waiting.  Oiy, Argh for the person behind me.

When I was done, I scramboney-baloney to get away from the gas pumps and then there were three of we cars, all facing each other. Making a triangle of headlights. Somebody move I thought - finally I did. Apparently I was the biggest car? I wasn't the first but after that I made it through the oh so crowded parking lot again and finally to the light to get out and get home.

At this point I was frazzled by the chaos and crowds, but oh so happy to be back home until I had to lug in a million Kroger bags that had a handful of things in them...argh.

Edvard Munch - you painted me perfectly today.

Laura

p.s. iloveu

What is it about human nature...

I found myself without power last night.  It was just before nine pm and the lights flashed, TV went off.  Then a few seconds later the lights came back on amidst beeps and clicks as the house came alive again.   Flicker the lights are out, on for a second then off again.

I sat for a couple of minutes waiting for the lights to come back on again.  Feeling a little disappointed for the first time that evening, that I wouldn't see if oh-so-handsome whoseyding and very-pretty-whatshername would ever get past their false assumptions and miscommunications and become the star destined couple they were meant to be.   But it was a Hallmark movie so it's a solid bet that they did, with style, beautiful Christmas trimmings, flawless smiles and lovely music.

The thing that struck me most was the silence.  It was completely silent.  Inside and out.  No sirens, no cars, complete and utter silence and darkness.

I finally realized this wasn't a quick outage and used my phone to light my way to my little basket which holds my ever handy head lamp.  They call it stylish.  It doesn't give me any cat walk confidence.  Maybe it's just the way my hair bunches up into a Herman Munster square head.  Or the fact that when I look at myself in the mirror my brows are pushed down and my eyes seem to cross a little...but it has lit the way when I have walked George! at night.  Those few times I have remembered to use it.

I lit my light, got my one, almost done Yankee Candle in my favorite scent, Wild Sea Grass.  Also lit my small tea-light dragonfly candle holder.  With my headlamp facing the ceiling, and the two candles lit beside me, I was pretty comfortable.  For a little bit.

I reached out to a friend a block up to see if it was just my street.  No, it went up at least to the next block.  She had received a robocall from Duke Energy that the power would be on at 11.  It was just after 9 pm.

My new neighbor across the street called.  It was about 10 by now.  She wanted to know if I had power because my window candles were still lit and my Christmas swag on my porch was still lit (answer — batteries). We spoke for a while.  I told her about my fabulous headlamp.  Recommended it as a convenient light incase the lights go out.  It's a hands free tool.

I asked her about her new puppy...puppies and dogs went to the differences between dogs and cats.  She mentioned her uncle's cat would bring presents to the door.  Cats bring presents, dogs just want to hang with you.

It brought up my memories, which I shared with her, of Cheshire, my tortoiseshell cat.  Chess, Chester-bunny, the buns, bunny-hop. The buns brought me two spectacular gifts.  The first was one Saturday morning.  I was dozing and felt a puff on the pillow behind my head.  Ha, I thought the buns is here, lying on my pillow.  I rolled over to say hello and was eye to eye with ...  a dead bunny.  Yup lying on my pillow was a dead bunny that was half the size of my wee cat.  I jumped up and was speechless.

The buns was so happy.  She strolled and curled around my legs as I stared at the rabbit waiting for it to move.  I have a deep fear of reanimation.  I will jump a mile and cross the street if I see an abandoned dead mouse on the sidewalk; because any minute it could reanimate and run up  my leg to my shoulder to my head.  It's my phobia.

I was renting a room in a farmhouse.  I had two roommates.  Melissa! MELISSA!! — She was the other room renter.  She came in saw the rabbit and praised Cheshire.  She was smiling and said, 'look how proud she is.'  Me thinking, 'look how freaked out I am.'  Melissa took the bunny out.

The next time, again I was just waking up, and William "Bill" Shakespeare, my 2nd cat, was at the foot of the futon.  Completely focused.  Focused, tense and ready to pounce.  I looked up and Chester was sitting on my desk staring at him.  He was stalking something.  I saw he was stalking, and thought it must be a great toy.  I lay down again and suddenly something ran from my ankle up the length of my body to my arm pit, inside my duvet.  Yaaaaaaiiii!!  Prone to standing in a split second.  No one has ever moved faster.

Bill was clearly disappointed, Cheshire was either amused or intrigued...  I couldn't quite tell.  This time I was home alone.  I took the duvet outside very carefully and flipped it inside out and there was... a live ... lizard.

After I shared these two stories my new neighbor brought up snakes.  She hates snakes, I'm okay with snakes they don't move so fast, the snakes I had met.  Spiders. Yes, spiders — going right toward you head.  I know they are always moving towards your head I said.  Mice... yikes!  Or when there is a hair on your arm...you don't realize what it is.  On and on we went.

Suddenly I laughed...Why?  Why when we were sitting in our respective dark cold houses, in the small flickering lights, no heat, no human companions, we were talking about the things that give us the extreme willies!?!  She said "it's like sitting around a campfire telling ghost stories..." Why?  Why do we do these things?  Human nature?

I don't know.  Maybe there is safety in numbers.  Having someone on the other end of the line to share fears to show how fearless we can be when we have a pack to belong to.  We hung up talking about how cold the houses had become and I watched as 11 came and went.

I took George! for a walk.  Set the red light on my headlamp and looked at the crystal clear sky.  It is the coldest it has been since last winter.  24 degrees, earlier it had been -8 with the wind chill.

I left Geo with his coat on, loosened the belly belt and put a down blanket on him, filled my hot water bottle and wrapped myself in a blanket.  I decided the best book to read at that moment was Laura Ingalls Wilder - Little House in the Big Woods...it was an appropriate choice.

No spiders in the vicinity that I could see in the flickering light, cat at my feet and another two hours without electricity.  It came on around 1:15 and my room was flooded with light and sound.  I couldn't help but feel my second round of disappointment as the silence disappeared.

Funny thing about that...perspective

I was laying in bed this morning, contemplating the day and the activities I have planned.  First up is to clear my desk of all the paperwork that has accumulated.  I am actually kind of excited about that as I have Christmas cards to write and need a place to write them.  I have one table/flat area in this house and it's my desk.

A passing thought floated through my head as Simba was patting me on the forehead, "it's going to be so magical that first day I get up and look out of the kitchen window and see snow coating the world."

I got up and lo and behold it wasn't as I daydreamed.  I looked outside and there was snow on the roof next door.  But not enough to be magical.

It hasn't coated the ground, there are leaves all around and grass is visible, I walked George and giant flakes flew out of the sky, but they are the wet kind of snowflakes, not the light fluffy snow-globe snowflakes.  Giant wet messy flakes of snow.

As I laughed at my disappointment, it came to me that either my expectations are too high, my imagination of the moment is too great, or my perspective is off.

I had thought it would be 'that magical moment', but instead of appreciating the wonder of the fact that I had 'sensed' the snow without seeing the outdoors,  perhaps it was in Simba's howl, I sighed at the less than spectacular scene outside.

It really is about perspective.  It really is how I choose to approach life.  How I choose to approach situations, big or small.  This morning was a reminder to me that,  in spite of expectations, there is magic in each moment.

Things may not be exactly as imagined but, there is still something good to be squeezed out of each breath.  Breath itself?  A roof, a hound, a cat.  A house, heat, running water.  These are things for which I am  grateful.  

The snow?  the snow will takes it's own time floating from the sky, being it's own self, light fluffy, or heavy and wet.  It will follow and yet at times appear to defy the rules of gravity.   That in and of itself is fun to watch.

I was reminded today to try to keep a positive perspective in spite of the gap between expectations, imaginations and what I ultimately experience with my own two eyes...

And I can’t stop crying…

And I can’t stop crying…

I was at the grocery store today for 4 things.  Batteries for my outdoor Christmas lights, there is no plug for outdoor lights at the front porch; cottage cheese, leafy greens and 1/2 & 1/2 for my coffee.  In addition I picked up a whole host of other items, $134 worth.  I laughed when I was rung up.  Typical me, but I hadn’t expected that!

Before that, I had purchased 19 gallons of gas, I was running below 1/4 of a tank, which I don’t usually do but I knew that I had Kroger points so I would get .30 cents off the gallon.   Score!

As I went into the store whistling I saw a woman sitting on a bench outside.  She looked a bit lost and I ungraciously thought to myself - she’s going to ask me for money.  I live in a depressed neighborhood.  She didn’t, she just glanced at me and went back to her thoughts.  I went on my merry whistling way into the store.  

I whistled, hummed and sang as I went about my business.  I do that.  I enjoy being happy at the grocery store.  I find whistling and humming and smiling and laughing with strangers in Kroger fun.  There was an employee who was singing as she was working - I thought - that is so happy, that is a good thing.  I am glad I am not the only one to sing when in the grocery.

It’s who I am.  It’s how I grocery shop.  It may be the giddy feeling of spending money, that shopping therapy thing.  I don’t know, but for a good time, invite me grocery shopping.  :p

Anyway, on my way out I smiled and said a big hello to the Salvation Army Bell Ringer, who helped me separate my mini-cart from another a couple of weeks ago.  She taught me the secret to separating stuck carts, which I have used a couple of times.  A good turn and I pay it back with recognition, change if I have it, and a big hello and smile when I see her.  I am flirting with showing up with my violin someday to keep her company, but I need to do some practicing before that happens…

As I walk past the bench, I see the woman is still there.  She looks up at me and starts to cry and says, I am from Hamilton…and my mind immediately goes to the scam of - I ran out of gas I can’t get home, I need money for gas, I need money for the bus, I need money to get money…I have seen it in action.  

A fellow stopped me in downtown Cincy.  I had street parked.  He told me his wife was in the car with his kids, he ran out of gas, he needed money to get gas.  I asked him where the car was, concerned of course if there are kids involved.  And he looked around then pointed to a random car across a parking lot.  They are there? I asked, ‘in that car over there, can I talk to them?‘ The car was empty as far as I could tell.   He just walked away from me.  

A few hours later,  I drove to a parking lot for an event a few blocks down and the same fellow stopped me.  His wife was in the car around the corner, he had kids.  I called him on it and told him he had already stopped me and I said, ‘this is a scam isn’t it.’  He gave me the same time of day he gave me before.  I drove away, and parked in another lot.  Of course there the niggling feeling maybe he couldn’t get money in the time I was gone, maybe people were as suspicious as I.  Maybe he did have a need.

But, I also go back to the time in San Francisco where my roommate and I were going to Chevy’s for a rare meal out.  The meter was maybe a half hour long?  I don’t recall exactly, except we were talking about having to remember to come out again to put money in the meter.  A street person came up and said ‘do you want me to watch the meter?’  Patrick said ‘yes, can you do that?’  

‘Of course, no problem, I’m going to be here anyway’  he said smiles and a helpful attitude, and Patrick proceeded to hand him his pocketful of change.  I was buoyant.  How lucky was that!?!

You have already guessed it.  We came out to a ticket on the car and the fellow had absconded with the change.  I laugh at the irony and naiveté.   I like that story.  To this day it brings me joy, not because we lost money, which at that time was pretty precious, but because we were trusting souls who got conned by a clever person.  It was an ‘honest and clever’ con.

I have given people bus money and fares to get far away from San Francisco, but it’s in the giving.  Knowing that there is that off chance, the hope that the money is of service.

Back to the woman on the bench.  She was wearing a thin purple fleece coat and looking up at me with tears in her eyes.  Her friends hadn’t come back to get her.  Can I give her a ride to Hamilton, which isn’t around the corner from where I live.  The thing I noticed were her teeth.  They were white.  Her eyes were blue and bloodshot from her tears.  She had a desperate look on her face.

‘Okay’ I said.  ‘Okay.’   We walked across the parking lot to my big ol’ van that I bought for my aging greyhound Izzi.  I relate to animals.  I relate less to people.  I believe from being single and living in the city, that it has made me suspicious.  And from growing up - animals are not as judgmental, they are safe. I am questioning my decision.

She goes on to explain that her friend who drives a white car asked her to come along to get some money from her friend’s boyfriend.  Her friend was going to get his card?  Her friend hadn’t come back and it had been over an hour.  

I was again suspicious.  She was crying and cold.  I almost said, ‘Let me go home and unload my groceries then I’ll be back’.  But I didn’t.  I put the groceries in the car, handed her my cell phone and asked her if she wanted to call her boyfriend.  She had mentioned him and that he didn’t drive.  We tried twice and she couldn’t get through.

I know it wasn’t the smartest thing to do.  Give a ride to a stranger.  But I did.  

And I can’t stop crying.

I received a text from a friend.  I texted back ‘I am giving a stranger a ride I will call you later’.  And that was it.  My protection in case anything untoward happened to me.  I then put the address into my iPhone and we proceeded out. 

I knew from talking to her that she had trusted this person to get her home and they hadn’t arrived back.  I probed a little but it sounded like the person might have been more of an acquaintance than friend?  She was a simple soul?  She was taken advantage of?  I don’t know what her story was, but - ‘her friend had asked her to come along while her friend got money from her boyfriend.  She was dropped off at Kroger in NCH, because her friend’s boyfriend would get jealous’  This is what I know.  And I am suspicious.  Is she going to take me some place to be jumped or robbed?  That suspicion was in the back of my mind.

I asked for her address and plugged it into my phone.  At least I had a ‘paper trail’ of where I was going.

She was pretty far from home and said if I take Hamilton Ave till it meets Pleasant Farm, did I know where that is?  No I don’t.  I asked if it was okay to use what the GPS had mapped out?  Yes, she said.  I don’t want you to be lost.  Okay, so off we go.

In the back of my mind I am wondering what makes a woman get into the car with a stranger.  She had told me in the parking lot that she took a chance on asking me for a ride because I was whistling and seemed happy and jolly.  And God dear God!. I wish I were actually that person…

And I can’t stop crying.

As we hit Colerain Avenue we hit traffic.  She had asked if there was always this much traffic, and I said I don’t know.  I don’t usually drive this way.  I tried to figure out the time in my car which is now an hour and a half off, and military time (i like to practice my math).  

Then check my phone which is also military time and from 16:00 to 18:00 hours I seem to have a black hole.  So 17:40 wasn’t making sense, until I saw that my iPhone clock had an analog dial, it was headed towards five.  I hadn’t realized how late it was.  Ah, when I figured it out I explained.  I imagine it’s always busy at this time as people are getting off work.  ‘Rush hour’ she said.  ‘Yup rush hour. ‘ 

At this time I am thinking she is probably uncomfortable because she is in a car with a stranger, doesn’t drive and the route I am taking might be different from how she came.  I talk about my parents in Maine, that I have travelled in this car a lot.  Is she comfortable with the seat heat, is it warm enough.  I am trying to give clues that I am human and not as lonely as I appear.  She is grateful for the warmth.

I suddenly realize that I have no socks on.   Weird thought.  If they find my sockless body somewhere what will they think?  They won’t be thinking that I ran out to give George a short walk but he seemed so happy that I extended it to the long walk, then went to the grocery store…

We get thru the snarl of Colerain and head onto more freeway.  I am conscious of my being un-talkative.  I say, I know, let’s put on Christmas carols.  I change the station and tune into 93.3 christian radio, Christmas carols.  I have been saying short prayers to God to get me home safely. I start singing as I do and say you can sing too…but she doesn’t join me.  

Now if she were writing this narrative, I am sure it would go something like this…

I got into the car with a stranger, I don’t know exactly where I am, and she has put on Christmas carols and has invited me to sing… I am desperate.  I am human.

And now, I can’t stop crying.  

We got closer to Hamilton.  It had been a long quiet trip.  She had mentioned a few times that she had her Christmas tree set up at home and her daughter’s presents underneath the tree.  

How old was her daughter I asked?  11 she said.  Her sister had custody for her child, and she and her mom and daughter were getting together on Christmas Eve.  Where do I go with that information except to say, It’s nice you can all get together.  More silence.  I talk about my dog, George! Who I am waffling between wishing my precious was here with me to give me a boost of confidence and glad that he’s not here because if anything should happen to me, it should be me alone and not my innocent companion.

And now, I can’t stop crying.

Coming into Hamilton at the Columbia bridge, she told me about the three bridges, I was in the wrong lane.  I slowed traffic in my lane, while two yahoos, kept me out of the correct lane, and waved twice at the person who let me in to the B Street Lane.  While we were waiting for the light, which she said was really long, she showed me a picture of her daughter that she had on the lanyard around her neck.  

Her daughter had dark hair and a very sweet face.  I had to remove my distance glasses to see the picture clearly.  And while I wish I had told Tanna this - her daughter looked just like her, she has sweet face too.

We are in an area she recognizes.  She recommends I deviate from the GPS instructions and take the left after Main St.  Main St. has so many lights, Park is one way and has fewer lights.  I say no problem knowing my GPS will re-route and it sounds legitimate.  Low and behold.  I am re-routed.

We come up to her apartment building, she is quick to show me her drive way, ‘there, there, there!’ she saids.  She had asked if I wanted to come in to meet her boyfriend early on in the trip, I said, ’no, honey, I can’t do that.  I need to get home. ‘ 

‘We could say a prayer for you.’  I am thinking, give a stranger a ride home?  If I arrive there safely, go inside?  Nope, not happening.  Not alone.

‘You can still say a prayer for me.  I don’t have to be present, the Lord works in mysterious ways….’

She had also said, “I can never pay you back’.  I said , ’You don’t have to.  I am happy to bring you home safe and warm.  I hope you don’t find yourself in this situation again.  Just be careful.  You don’t know who is out there.’  Thinking also to myself, I don’t know who is out there….

She says,  ‘This is such a relief to my heart to be home.’  

I am glad for her, I am still a little wary for me.   I drop her off in the parking lot to her building and turn my van around to head home.  I feel like it was - okay.  I am glad I am safe and I am glad she is home safely.  I spent time getting my home address up and head off.  I realize at this moment of typing.  I didn’t give her the courtesy, I would anyone in my vehicular care, make sure she made it to the front door.  

And I am crying….

I called my friend John Dolor, who had texted me as I got in the car.  John, one of the kindest people I know.  I was glad to speak with him for most of my way back home.  

The closer I got to home the more I felt like crying.  Deep heaving sobs….

For the people who are lost, I include myself in that group, not in a bad way, but since I have left home I don’t feel like I have a home.  I have a place that I live from which I journey out, to find family.  That is my home.  I am grateful for that.  

And I am crying…

For the people who have to rely on strangers like me who know for sure they are not up to the task.  

I am crying…

It goes further, for the people who live in refugee camps for example: local homeless, rural poor or international refugee camps you see online.  

I am crying…

The people who have nothing, and I have more than I can fit in this little 650 sq ft house.  

I feel deeply, I am crying deeply for the people who cold and hungry.  For the people in this world who are crying out ‘Lord where are you?  Humanity, where are you?  People where are you?”

God was with me?  God was on my journey with me? Yes.    But, God was truly with Tanna.  God got Tanna home.  

I was a dumb instrument of his good, of his grace.  I was suspicious, but happy that my extension of grace didn’t include giving my life.  Sounds pretty dramatic at this point, so no,  I don’t feel like an instrument of his peace.  

I am having a difficult time reconciling my good gifts with what is going on in this world.  There are people who need help and if they are asking me for help it they must be in pretty bad shape, because the bubble I live in has a roof, four walls, heat, running water, a gorgeous hound name George! and a cat named Simba who is anxious to keep me warm and clean.  :)

At this point I am crying and can’t stop for the hurt in the world.  The best I can do each day, for now, is to pray.  That is the absolute best I can do for now, because I don’t know how to solve the hurt…

And if you have actually read this far, pray for Tanna, because she gifted me with 1000 deeds for what I gave to her, for which I am sorrowful to say is a suspicious ride home.  Pray for her that she has 1000 deeds of kindness…

And I am crying…

Pray for the homeless, pray for the needy, pray…just pray for people to stand up and do good in this world, even if it isn’t you.  Because it wasn’t me.  Honestly, it wasn’t me who got this lost woman home.  With all my suspicion…it was a warm car and a warm ride she needed, it wasn’t me.  I was too lost in my thoughts to be of any help, but somehow I was of service.