How does that make you feel?

It's a soft, coolish gray morning here in South Fort Myers; kind of refreshing.

How does the photo make you feel? It nearly made me laugh out loud, it made me feel silly and light. It's the canine version of the intro for Sex and the City.

Our bodies tell us what we need to know. I never thought of that until I was coming off my years of emotional abuse with the exBF. (A beautiful man I will always love who cannot get out of his own way and will ultimately crush anyone who attempts to get close.)

I first learned of the concept while reading "The Emotionally Abusive Relationship." The author says when a victim starts dating again, they should pay attention to what their body tells them. Your body will alert you to danger.  I've started practicing this body awareness with a lot more than dates.  These are stressful times, we're all on overload. Some of what we take in is unnecessary. 

Try this new awareness with acquaintances, phone calls, all communications really. Do a body check - queasiness in the tummy, shoulders headed up towards your earlobes?

Does the intereaction make you feel better or worse?

Is it essential or can you let it go?

After the election, I went from political junkie to political hermit. Well except for some health care skirmishes that strike me where I live - and would like to continue living - in this body for as long as it lasts.

But mostly, post election it was time to put my head down and let the shrapnel fly. I knew change would take time; you don't turn an aircraft carrier on a dime.  It was going to get ugly because a lot of people would be angry for a very long time. I would wait it out.

I had no idea that so many of my friends, while growing older, had become bigots and haters. I guess it's like nose and ear hair, the reality of what's in a person's heart is revealed with age. Some cloak their waning "personal power" by embracing Christianity, which - to some - grants instant implied spiritual superiority with a hot steaming side of judginess.

I continue to remove those people from my life. It's a painful process. I'm up front, I give warning before I close the door, but ... well, at this age, people are pretty much who they have chosen to be. I was feeling like crap about it until I read this in one of my buddhist books, The Dhammapada (this thousands of years old text translated by Ananda Maitreya with foreward by Thich Nhat Hanh):

"Should a traveler fail to find a companion equal or better, rather than suffer the company of a fool, he should resolutely walk alone."

I think the two concepts - how a thing makes us feel and who we should associate with - are crucial to our emotional well being. We should associate with equals or better - people who make us feel good. We walk away from these people feeling the warmth of love and acceptance. The lessers wear us down.

It's the same with media. The media we choose is "a companion".

This morning I did what I did pre-election - turned the TV on the second I woke up. Meredith Viera, my favorite, is looking too thin, gaunt. Much older. Has it been that long since I watched? I guess so. I hope she's not sick.

The stories were either sickening, saccharine or stupid. I wonder if the Today Show's planners have those three in a pie chart every night before the next show. Today it was the little girl who has been lost for a year - her father's girlfriend was arrested under drug charges and they're hoping to get information from her. The ex-girlfriend (now ex-wife) looks like a little girl herself.

And there was some silliness about office irritations - dirty microwaves, food stealing and the like.

And the scorned other woman who was plastering photos of herself with her married man ex BF on BILLBOARDS ACROSS TOWN! It did not escape notice that the scorned woman is a model or actress - what a great way to screw your ex one last time while promoting yourself. Sure, throw his wife under the bus and ruin his life while you're at it.

What a horrendous waste of my time. What a crappy way to start the day. And how did I feel? HORRIBLE after watching the little girl's grandmother cry. TWITCHY with empathetic discomfort at the stupid questions she was expected to answer. AWFUL for the cheating man's wife. DISAPPOINTED at the Today Show for granting the conniving ex-mistress priceless press coverage.

The last time I watched a few minutes of the Today show was in the aftermath of the earthquake in Haiti and there was the man whose daughter (?) was caught there somewhere. He was pleading, yelling at Obama to do something about it.

That made me ANGRY. They kept cutting to the man ranting ... you know what? If my son went to a foreign country and there was a natural disaster, I wouldn't assume MY country had an obligation to go in there and find him. Our children make choices; are their choices the responsibility of this country? I don't think so.

Much of the media is lesser. My role in actively WATCHING the programming left me nauseated, depressed and hopeless. Here's the quote again:

"Should a traveler fail to find a companion equal or better, rather than suffer the company of a fool, he should resolutely walk alone."

So, Today Show, two strikes and you are out. I will get my news online and from NPR. NPR gives the news in an informative way that keeps you apprised without making you feel like a quivering mass of hopelessness.

I turned off the TV and took the dogs outside. You know what? QUIET is a beautiful thing. Birds. The breeze in the trees. No radio, no cell phone, no TV. That feels really good.

The hopelessness a lot of us feel sometimes? It goes away when we help someone else.

I was driving out to the beach yesterday and there was a skinny, bearded old man (my age probably) with a cardboard sign "veteran needs help". There were about 8 cars at that light. I scrambled in my purse for a few bucks and honked to get his attention. I gave him the cash and he said "God bless you" - I said "God bless you too."

As I drove away, I realized he looked a lot like a man I had seen lying on the grass on San Carlos one morning. Passed out, drugged out or homeless? Would my little bit of money go for food or booze? If it goes for food, it sustains him. If it goes for booze, it will numb him from the shameful reality of a country that really doesn't take care of it's veterans. I'm ok with that.

Helping one person eye to eye in my little world made me feel really, really good.

The Last Republican

Nature's answer to Southwest Florida's wild hog problem; photo taken on River Road, next to I-75 & U.S. 41, just south of North Port, Florida. That's within an hour's drive from South Fort Myers.

 It's a warm, lovely day after a long cold spell. This is welcome after a difficult week spent brooming or alienating more "friends" than I unfriended in the whole of last year.

My New Year's Resolution is simple; if your words or actions make me feel inadequate or "less than" in any way, you are ushered back to "acquaintance" status. If your actions were mean spirited or deliberate, you are out of my life.

Seth Godin's blog helped me understand the national mindset:

http://sethgodin.typepad.com/seths_blog/2010/01/the-false-solace-of-vilification.html

Author and marketing guru Seth says:

I've never once heard someone say, "things are really lousy, but I got a chance to really devastate someone today, deliver some choice barbs, some personal attacks, some baseless innuendo and ruin their day, perhaps even their career. Boy, I feel great."


People don't remember how you behave when everything is going great. They remember how you behave when you're under pressure, stressed out and at wits end.

Emotional maturity is underrated.

He ends his blog with:

"The long term solution for marketers (and those that believe in civil society) is to make it socially unacceptable to vent like this. Acknowledge the rage but cease to engage, whenever possible."

I've been doing that. I think. OK, sometimes I get pissed.

Then again, maybe I'm more sensitive than most - I did come off seven years in an emotionally abusive relationship. Maybe I DO have more buttons than a West Point cadet.

I blogged about my first love who came to visit for five days this past December and drove me completely nuts. In the 70s he was a mega-hot Wise Guy; today he's a bloated white Republican with an almost undetectable rug who has found Jeezus and (of course) Fox News.

The two go together like ... kkk and lynch mobs.

I didn't want an old white guy in the White House; and I don't want one in mine either. They are OUT OF TOUCH.

When he was here he belittled me for being a Buddhist as compared to his having Jeezus and me the animal lover/vegetarian to his carnivore/animals belong on our plates mindset.

He had prostate cancer, so I suspect he's shooting pool with a rope; I have not been inclined to check it out. Although he wanted me to.

I locked my bedroom door at night and right now I'm throwing up in my mouth a little.

After blowing up at him at the Sunshine Cafe his last morning here, I thought ... hoped ... we were done being friends. But no, he started calling every few days again like we were an item or something. Like he has some kind of ownership.

He had a project for me, so I told me "this is business - be nice, put up with some shit." The last time I did work for him he waited a year to pay. But we were friends. So it was ok - then. Based on his constant shots, it's NO LONGER OK.

In between talking business - waste management and recycling, what else?? - he has been making subtle accusations that I'm a cougar (I never liked younger men) and he has accused me of looking for Mr. Goodbar. That outdated 70s reference is the story of a sack hopping nympho who came to a bad end. When I met him, he WAS Mr. Goodbar.

I do go out with friends and I would love to meet a wonderful man but I do NOT engage in those behaviors. I remind myself that he's overcompensating - typical behavior for a man whose oak has turned to balsa.

Like the guy on POF who came onto me. His screen name is ORALALAN.

Throwing up in my mouth a little again ...

Note to men: we see through that shit.

Well, Mr. Waste Management Recycling Professional should know a thing or two about recycling. He never heard of the plastic sea. When he was here I promised I'd send him links. This past week I was being nice, creating his recycling promotions while laughing at his shots through grinding teeth.

He called on a Sunday from a bar and told me he needed the brochures Monday morning. I called him a mothereffer and pretended I was joking. Many a truth ... we laughed.

Late Sunday night I sent his brochures as promised, then I sent him a link about the plastic sea. A link that showed birds dying of starvation from ingesting plastics that look like their natural food source. I see it as one of the planet's worst tragedies, unfolding before our very eyes.

How did he react? He wrote back that it was all well and good that I care about animals but he cares more about the people who are dying in Haiti. This is the guy who asked me if I had to choose between my granddaughters dying and my dogs dying, who would I choose. WHO ASKS A QUESTION LIKE THAT?  I would choose the person who asked the question.

Well, in that one last self-righteous superior holier than thou email I was done with his shit. I sent an invoice and said pay as much as you like in monthly payments if that's convenient.

And I sent another email that said I was not a cougar, never was a cougar, that he had been Mr. Goodbar when I met him, that I was not looking for Mr. Goodbar (and in fact had "world class" sex right here from a mega hot Greek God of a guy whenever I wanted it) and that as a RECYCLING PROFESSIONAL he should know a fucking thing about the ENVIRONMENT. Although I warned him the people who CARE about it tend to be the people he hates most - animal lovers and democrats.

He responded with a few emails and I won't even open them. FUCK him. Put a fork in me, I am done.

There seems to be a theme here.

I'm on match. About a year ago I met a man who was very handsome in his photos. I drove out to see him and pretty much needed a machete to hack my way from the car to his front door. I was afraid to get out of my car. (Note photo ... it was taken pretty close to where he lives.)

He was six years older than his photo. They had been very hard years, including the big hurricane ripping through his house, hurting him (as he protected his elderly mother) and wrecking his boats and cars. The insurance company screwed him over, paying a fraction of the true damage.

He and his property look like it all happened yesterday except that he has aged at least 10 years.

And - aside from beating hearts and opposable thumbs - we had nothing in common.

This is where that accursed Michigan politeness forced me to stay JUST AS LONG as was socially acceptable. I followed him on his tour of the vegetation and inwardly beat myself up for not wearing jeans, boots and DEET. Who knew???

He had bought steaks for dinner - fairly presumptuous, but generous. I believe I lied about having other plans and said well sure, we'd have to do this again. When hell freezes over.

Did he get a clue? No. He kept writing as if I cared. (I know how mean that sounds, but "polite" should have a recommended shelf life of two weeks or something.)

For a year I have heard almost daily about the weather and the vegetation and what he's repairing. It has been horrifically boring and excruciatingly irritating. But I thought to myself "this man has no one. I should be kind."

But then we all know I'm a heartless bitch who only cares about animals.

Well, then it got cold down here. Early in the week he wrote what a bunch of assholes those people who talk about global warming are. He laughed about the polar bears and made some insulting comment about the black guy "those fools" got into the white house.

And I wrote back "Do you realize you've been talking to a liberal Buddhist Obama supporter all this time?" Note to self - just start saying that up front.

I haven't heard from him since:-)

Let me say here and now that when I cast my vote for Obama, I knew there was no way he could turn this country around in a few short years. Too much damage has been done. I also knew less intelligent people would have unrealistic expectations. I just didn't realize the social ugliness would amplify to this degree.
 I finally met a fascinating guy this week - I mean really fascinating. He initiated communication. Sounds like a forensic psychologist who works with the police. He bared some of his soul and before writing back I checked his profile. His says Conservative. Mine clearly says Liberal.

I shared information and added "by the way - I'm a liberal Buddhist whose car was slathered in Obama bumper stickers pre-election.

That's the sound of crickets. Haven't heard back.

Talked to another friend today. She said "could that be the reason I get weird emails? Is it because my profile says liberal?!" And I said "yup."

I don't know whatever happened to respecting other peoples' differences. But I do know a friend is someone who makes you feel primary, not secondary - adored, not tolerated - better about yourself, not worse.

One of my last Republican friends jokes and spars while making it clear I'm someone who matters despite our differences. His take? "People are watching too much Fox or too much NBC."

I wrote back "I'm watching Celebrity Rehab because it makes me feel fortunate."

Thanksgiving, 2009; Lessons Learned. (Humor)

The Safe Place

Sunset from my bedroom window, January, 2010.

It’s about 65 degrees outside. The sun is shining, the palms are making swishy noises in the breeze and the squirrels are up in the trees chattering like apes. I am off a sleepless night after IMing my goose farmer friend. She is one of two friends on this planet I trust enough to tell anything.

I will start at the beginning. That's usually the best place.

I was with my singles group before New Year’s. I am lonely. I never meet anyone. And if I do, there is no click, no spark. Not since … well, he knows who he is and he will read this.

Someone was talking to a blonde member of my group that night. I was lonely in the crowd, trying to hide my despair by forcing myself to flit from person to person, working at being social and involved. It was a stretch.

I heard a voice high above me say “don’t you ever LAND? You are a social butterfly.” And I thought “well, I have one person fooled.” And I looked up from a geeky plaid elbow and I got that open-mouthed, OMIGOD HE’S SO CUTE ball of discomfort in the pit of my stomach. It doesn’t matter whether you’re 15 or 59, that feeling never changes.

To make a long story short - every remark was a direct hit, like it was scripted. Brilliant, writer, been here three years, dabbling in Buddhism … well, the writer thing concerned me because we are all weird as hell. And then came the name. “Randy.” The discomfort in my stomach became sick queasiness. The name always does that. I shrugged it off.

We exchanged cards and agreed we would both love to go out. I had company coming for five days, we would meet after my company left.

I emailed The Goose Lady later that night and said “and worst of all his name is Randy.” Because Randy is the one man on this planet who tore me up and made me question everything about myself. He nearly destroyed me. And I have trouble getting past it. The surgery is complete but the wounds have not healed fully.

I heard from New Randy the next day. No big deal, an excuse to get in touch right away. Which I love, which is so thoughtful, so NOT game playing. And the next day I get an email from the member of my group, the blonde he was talking to before we connected.

She has “Randy” in the subject line of the email. My heart stops.

She writes that she knows I was talking to him, but he had invited her to listen to guitar music somewhere and did I mind. I was instantly jealous and immediately ashamed of myself. I wrote back that he was a sweetheart and that she should go. That I had no hold on him but if/when he asked, I WOULD go out with him! What refreshing honesty, I was so proud of myself. Acting like a grown-up, dontcha know.

The morning my company left, I got a call from New Randy. We would be going out the next evening to a nice dinner. I was beyond excited. The date was awkward but fun, he spoke in multiple syllables (so refreshing) and the attraction in the parking lot afterwards was … wow.

I am ashamed to say, when I got home the first thing I did was go upstairs to my bedroom, slip into something comfortable and - yeah, google him. To my dismay, he has more google references than me! Then, on a whim, I decided to google myself. Which feels dirty and nasty somehow.

And what turns up? Me on the Yahoo “End Verbal Abuse board” from April 10, 2007. The night after Old Randy threw me out of his house lock stock and Shih Tzu. The night I was afraid he was going to hurt me. I had never seen him like that. It was one of the darkest 24 hour periods in my life and reading my posts - especially this one - brings it back.

http://health.dir.groups.yahoo.com/group/End_Verbal_Abuse/message/43934

So I think to myself “if New Randy reads this, he won’t be interested in me because I’m damaged.” Then I tell myself "who am I kidding - we're all damanged." And I am more than a little upset that part of being a writer is being an emotional exhibitionist. And I wonder if it serves any purpose beyond just making you look like a fool.

I wonder if there’s any way I can go back in there and delete those posts, but … well, everything happens for a reason I guess. Even stuff we feel stupid about.

And it turns out I needn’t have worried about New Randy because we are strictly buddy material. His demons are bigger than mine. In a shared space, we'd probably make a whole 'nother dimension explode.

That was weeks ago. I emailed New Randy yesterday because I needed to learn more about a specific type of writing. He recommended a book. I wrote the name on a sticky, put it in my jeans - and, naturally, changed jeans before I went to Barnes & Noble. Well, whatever, I found an alternate book, met a friend, drank the good Starbucks and came home.

I turned the light off around midnight. The dogs were curled up on the bed snug as a bug in a rug. It’s weird to need three quilts here, but it feels wonderful. And damned if I don’t pick up my Blackberry to see if I missed any emails.

And there in the subject line is “Randy.” My heart stopped. Only it wasn’t about NEW Randy.

“Hi there,

It matters not how I found you. What matters is what you shared almost 3 years ago about your experience with verbal abuse.

Well put my sister. I will consider your words every time I'm tempted to call. And the man you speak of is the man I've been in a relationship with for, well, I guess, more or less since you.

Thank you. It would seem that the Universe has intervened on my behalf. But, then again, it always does....

Kathy “

Shocked speechless, I forwarded her email to TGL, the one person who would understand my extreme emotions.  TGL IM’d within moments of my sending the response. She asked "did you notice he chose another woman who's as smart and sensitive as you?"

We IMd until 3:30 in the morning. By the end of it I was crying. For both of us.

She helped me sort out my pain. She is now caring for the mother who beat her as a child. We both agreed that somewhere somehow we want to be to blame for the shitty things the people we loved and trusted did to us. Because we’d rather believe it was something we did than believe they were ever that bad.

She thinks that’s weakness on our part. I don’t know. I think it may be extreme compassion.

We talked about when we were children. I don’t remember people because I was always painfully shy. She remembers watching them like a hawk because she was in constant danger of physical attack.

TGL is snowed in in her valley. Her life is sheer hell, from a dying mother and management of a farm with dogs and geese and ducks to her own poor health and what the cold weather is doing to her 20th century luxuries like mobility, heat, water and toilet. (All four have failed her and her mother in the past week. Her despair is palpable.)

We talked about feeling safe. I said “at least you know where you’ll be a year from now. I’ve started telling people I’m on vacation with my furniture because I never know when I'll run out of ways to pay for life here."

Where is the safe place? Chances are good we are either in that place where the big scary decisions sent us or that purgatory of not having the balls to leave something we KNOW is awful and face the unknown.

Sometimes when we let the world see our naked pain, we help other people.

TGL and I went to the darkest places in our souls until about 3:30 a.m. Then I turned on Celebrity Rehab so I could have one shot at feeling fortunate before I went to sleep. Yes God - Jumala - The Universe - I do thank you for my roof and my heat and my functioning toilets and healthy family and furry friends. Yeah, blessed. In a safe place right now and now is all there is.

The REAL safe place is that place in the soul that trusts a higher power or karma to prevent life from becoming unbearable. What is it they say in AA? Sometimes you have to Let Go and Let God.

The Chance Not Taken

Every once in a while life gives you a second chance; mine came the week before Christmas.

My first love was calling me just about every other day for the past six months. Years ago he was dark, dangerous and mysterious - straight from the cast of Wise Guys, the exact opposite of my Jehovah’s Witness elder ex-husband. It was 1975 or thereabouts. I was 25, still about as naïve as naïve gets and he said he was 26.

He was Italian, connected - one time I hugged him good-bye and was surprised to find he was packin’. That’s hot stuff for a former Bible thumper. Very hot.

There is Type A personality that is gogogogo … there is Type B personality, which is laid back like me. He was Triple A. He jogged, he played tennis and racquetball. Charlton Heston could have used him for a body double in Ben Hur.

I dabbled in fitness, but it bored me. It didn’t matter so much then - I was young.

He gambled, he hung with da boyz. And he lied about everything. He lied about being single (said he was in a relationship that would take “some sensitivity to get out of”), lied about being faithful to me, lied about his age (to the tune of about 9 years) … whatever he was dishing out, I was buying hook, line and sinker. I was living episodes from the Sopranos.

We had a wildly passionate relationship that lasted just under three years. Well, if you subtract the time I spent watching him watch football games he had bets on, maybe it was two years. Towards the end we were living together and I was pressing for commitment. One afternoon he called me at the office to say he’d gone to my apartment and packed his things.

I was a wreck at work. It was going on a month when my boss explained "that's what happens when you lose your first love." Hafe Kerbawy was like a father to me. He said "You need a vacation." I said “I can’t afford to go anywhere.” He said “pick a place - I’ll pay.”

It was a wildly generous thing for Hafe to do, but a total waste of money. A week in Acapulco did me no good.

It took three years to get over that first love. Maybe I never did get over it because four years ago I looked him up online - and found him, of course. He had married about a year after dumping me and that relationship was starting to decay. I was battling Lyme Disease and my relationship was failing too.

We met for coffee and he cried. He told me about his battle with cancer and said “I thought I might die without ever seeing you again.” In the months and years that followed, he kept saying his life would have been much better if he had married me.

Over the years he became a completely different guy. He had turned into an honorable and faithful husband to another woman. He had actively involved himself in raising her daughters and they’d had a son together.

We became friends. When you go from lover to friend, there is no loss - there is actually gain. Because friendship lasts. He got buddies to help move me out of my bad situation and we all supported him as he tried to decide between trying to work things out with his wife or give it up. In the years that followed, I repeatedly left and went back with my ex-boyfriend. Then, finally, I moved to Florida.

During that time he reconnected with a daughter he wasn't sure he had, moved in with her and her partner, got a divorce and found Jesus. We never got out of touch. When I went up north for Thanksgiving last month, I spent some time with him and his friends and family. It was great fun.

When you’re my age, female and single, you like to be able to think of one special person that you could potentially spend the rest of your life with. In this case, we were long past lovers - but maybe my feelings would change if we built on our strong friendship. I told my daughter-in-law “I think I could live with him for the rest of our lives and we would never exchange a harsh word.”

It was time to test the theory.

He had been asking me if he could come down for a visit. Not asking so much as hammering me. Here we are, both between relationships. So I finally said OK. He was glad, adding “we never got a chance to cuddle when you were up here.” And I thought to myself “that’s because I didn’t want to.”  It's very rare for me to click with guys these days. I've become a bit of a loner. I’m used to solitude - just me and my bitchez. They are so much a part of my life that I’m incapable of using the term “dogs”.

I am also a slob in my solitude, so I cleaned for two days. The place sparkled. He arrived around 3:00 on Thursday and gave me a big hug. I do not exaggerate; I was in pain from cleaning. Within a few days of arrival he made some comment about “some things never change; you need a laundry basket.” I winced. If he had any idea how hard I’d worked to make things perfect for him he would have been ashamed. I even washed the sheets for his bed the day he arrived so they would be fresher than fresh.

The day he arrived, he asked where he should take his bag. I pointed to the upstairs guest room, just past my bedroom. That first night he gave me a hug in front of my bedroom door as if to say “let’s both sleep here” and I patted his back like you pat a drunk uncle, shook my head and said “I have emails to catch up on.”

Living in Florida is wonderful. I get far more exercise now than when we were together and I love it. He works out … pretty much not at all, and he's proud of it. He’s a guy and - direct quote - "towns like this are crawling with desperate women.” He said it like he hoped it would bother me.

I was his chauffeur. I drove us to the Seminole Casino … and he dozed off open-mouthed in the passenger seat like my Grandma used to. I always feared her teeth would fall out and land in her lap.

When he wasn't on the phone, he was dozing off. He put his feet up on the ottoman when we watched TV and his ankles were as poofy as his rug; that was my chance to sneak up to my room and lock the door for the night. 

When he was awake he was sharp and I guess I never noticed how black and white we are until now. There is no gray.

I'm vegetarian and he's veal.  

I'm Stephen Colbert and he's Glenn Beck.

I’m Buddhist and he’s born again. He walked in, saw my Buddhas and suggested we “throw some crosses in here somewhere.”

He sees the way I love my girls and it makes him sick. He thinks there is something essentially fucked up about people who love animals. “God put them here to serve our purposes - to bend to our will, plow our fields and fill our plates.”

He is on the Tony Soprano diet. I offered to buy groceries but he insisted on eating every meal out - and every meal came with unwanted conversation. He sees vegetarian as cultlike and stupid.

On Sunday he asked me to direct him to a good sports bar and I was relieved to have some time off. He called around 5 and said the game was almost over, come on up - then we’d go out for pizza. I came up and the game went on ad nauseam. I joked “this is just like old times.” Except that I didn’t want halftime sex and I have a Blackberry to keep me occupied. 

Dinner at Starz in South Fort Myers is a very pleasant experience and fussy Mr. Pizza Afficionado LOVED the pizza. However ... I don’t know which behavior is more rude - to text at the dinner table or talk to someone else on your cell phone at a restaurant, voice raised with Wise Guy-isms and profanities that had the meek white masses cowering with eyes as wide as his 70s lapels.

I kept hoping he'd take his calls outside, but ... I dunno, maybe he enjoys making a spectacle of himself. At one point he bellowed into his phone “I’D LIKE TO KILL THAT MUTHAFUCKER!!!”

I slipped down in my side of the booth and muttered “nice Christian”.

We were out for greasy breakfasts at the Sunshine Café every morning. It’s a local legend for great inexpensive breakfasts and our waitress was a riot.

We didn’t have lunch so much as we had pre-dinner before dinner and on and on and on and on. He was extremely generous. I went out more in the past five days than I've been out in five months, but I missed my simple life, my peace, my quiet.

Some people have a personal theme that lies at the core of all conversation. His was anti-pet - “animals are here to serve US, not vice versa.” I was a good Buddhist for five days. Then I blew this morning at the Sunshine Café. It was our last greasy breakfast before he headed to the airport.

He put $40 on my dining room table before we took his bags out to the car. He said it was for dog food. (Yeah, I don’t quite get it either. Is that a pre-apology? Men - the new women.)

So we’re sitting there at the Sunshine Café and Dash is waiting on us. (I want Dash’s wildly outgoing personality in my next life.)

She was hanging out with us a bit, then she wandered away so we could eat our breakfast.

Him - "I really do like animals."

Me - (joking) "Yeah, sauteed or blackened."

Him - "My dad had a hunting dog ..."

Me - (blowing) "YOU MAY NEVER TELL ME THAT STORY AGAIN!!! YOUR FATHER'S ACTIONS WERE DESPICABLE."

He has told me this story about five times in the past year. It makes me sick.

His father had a hunting dog up in Michigan. It was never allowed in the house except for ONE BITTER COLD WINTER DAY when his mother convinced his father to let the poor thing in so it wouldn't freeze to death. When the dog had puppies, his father DROWNED them because he couldn't sell them or give them away.

He always ends the story with "that's just how things were then. Dogs are just dogs." In the past I've always sat there seething as he blabbers on. I know damned well my family never treated their dogs that way before I was born - or after.

This particular morning I was off the leash - not with volume, but with choice of words and waving my finger in his face. I can’t believe I did that, I think it’s genetic. He got the expression of vaguely remembering that level of rage from our past. Except I don’t remember having anything like balls when we were together. Now mine are bigger than his.

I raged “top of the food chain means we’re smart enough to choose whether we NEED to take the life of one of God’s creatures or learn how to do without.” Rant rant rant … silently mouthing all F-bombs because I know the demographic in South Fort Myers and I respect their right to not hear my profanities.

Nearby tables went stone silent.

I was a HORRENDOUS Buddhist. When I was done he looked at his napkin and said “I’ve noticed I push buttons more than I used to.”

He joked I would be glad to see him go. I don't remember coming back with a comforting response.

In answer to my own question - no, I could NOT spend the rest of my life with this man. Time has changed ME too much.

And - until I meet the right person - I really do like my life the way it is.

A real life Christmas story; getting past grief.

My granddaughter Emma and her dog Buddy

mesmerized at the beaver dam this past Thanksgiving. 

I was going through clothing racks Christmas shopping for my granddaughters last week when I saw a little purple fleece jacket. Three years ago I would have bought it for my Granddmother. At 96, the tiny woman weighed her age. She had dementia, so there were only two joys left; colors and textures. She would have loved that jacket. The pangs of pain and loss were sudden and fierce.

If I were up north with family today, we would take a beer to the cemetery at the end of Himanka Hill and share it with my Uncle Jerry, who passed a few years back. A few sips for us, a somewhat generous pour for him.

I would have put something on my Great Grandmother's grave as well. A flower or a coin. She is not forgotten.

One of my friends is in mourning; this is his first Christmas without his father. He is inconsolable.

My friend Connie is caring for a dying mother and can't bring herself to imagine life alone. She is in love with a man who also has loss issues. This morning she sent me this email. What a wonderful way to start Christmas day.

(Connie started a goose farm in Missouri three years ago after a physical and financial fall from grace. Her communications always have a way of putting my own worries into perspective. Somehow the universe - or human spirit - pulls us through.)

I have to add that Connie was beaten by her mother as a child. So remember that when you read the words of the woman who now cares for her mother as if it never happened. She is one of the strongest, most honorable people I have ever known.

This is pure Connie with just enough editing to remove personal stuff. Gary is her boyfriend.

"Hope you are doing ok. And hope the Christmas holidays are not fucking with you, like they are with some people. You know what I am so slowly realizing? That people who address their fears and failures and mistakes and disappointments in life are brave. You are brave. We are brave people.

Gary. He is like a Greek tragedy. There is so much sorrow and loss at every turn for him. This Christmas, his daughter wanted him to host the Xmas Eve get together that his mom always had for the grandkids. That sounds so innocent. Until you realize that its his first Xmas without any of his family. So for him, that was like getting punched in the stomach. He cant think about his mom without tearing up. She was the last to leave him. I cant even think about that...how did she feel, dying and knowing she was leaving him alone, without his brothers or dad or best friend. My heart clutches thinking about that family.

I kept asking him about it as the time grew nearer. God, I hated bringing it up! To not host it was to ignore the grandchildren's loss of their grandmother and their tradition. Even if they are all teens now, they need traditions to look back upon that continue beyond deaths. What a loss for them if he decided to not do it. Not hosting it would deepen their losses of their dads (Garys brothers) and their grandparents as well. They expect him to be an adult, a parent and do what's right for them and protect them from the sadness of the holiday without their family.

But what about Gary and his extreme grief that is so horrible that he cant face it? What is fair or right about forcing him to face these things before he is able to? He couldnt even think about it. As soon as Id ask about it you could see the iron walls slamming down. All I would be able to get out were tiny sentences at him like, "Buddy, they think you are superman.... they rely upon you to be superhuman" "Remember it is their traditions you are involved with also" "Try to understand they cant know your pain. I cant either. But you cant know their's." "Don't make decisions now that you will regret later on"

After 2 weeks of this type of tiptoeing, whispering and touching on his pain and wondering if he was angry or relieved that I kept it alive, he hosted the kids at his place tonight. He had his daughter put the tree up, he built a fire in the fireplace, he put presents under the tree for them and made lasagne and home made bread for their dinner. My heart almost broke when he told me that. I called him later, just after Lauren (his daughter) went home. He was so OK Micki. His nephew came. He got to spend time with Lauren, his bad boy son was home spending the night and he got to feed them. And they got to walk into their grandparents house, smelling of a fire in the fireplace, lasange cooking and fresh bread. That had to be healing for all of them.

We all have these choices to make and...... I dont know. We all have demons we have kept fat and fed in our heads because they were too painful to face. They remind me of the "unknown".. you know? The anticipation and fear that is associated with the unknown is what can paralyze us. Like my deciding to hug and tell Mom every night that I love her and will see her in the morning, after we got the cancer diagnosis. This is a woman I never hugged in my adult life! She scared the hell out of us. Like my sister - who bit me when I hugged her- why take the chance showing my family any love? But, it's that slight chance that it might make things better. And knowing that I would regret not trying it. What could it heal? What could it hurt? What's the worst thing that could happen?

I wonder, how having done this brave thing Gary did, how it will affect him. And what it did to those kids. I swear it "made" my Christmas hearing his happiness afterwards..I didnt know how much it was weighing on me.

I dont think men are very brave in the heart area. Especially men who have been thought of as brave physically- policmen, firefighter, EMTs... prison guards...So their sadness doesnt surprise me at all. They have made decisions worthy of regret. Probably many that they can never change or go back to and re-examine.

I have been looking and looking for this fossil I own. It is a fossilized horse or camel tooth. It's just cool. I found it in a bag of petrified wood pieces Id bought from a local guy who digs them out of the fields by the rivers. I like the petrified wood pieces because they look just like wood chunk mulch- except they are stone. Kind of a stupid visual joke for a landscaper like me, to have a bowl of mulch on the table. Anyway, I really wanted to give it to Gary for Christmas.

I finally found it today when I was cleaning my mom's place.... so he is getting a feather bed and fossilized camel tooth. I think he will like that tooth a lot for some reason."

(End of Connie's email.)

Gary gave Connie a clumsily wrapped gift for Christmas. She IMd, laughing that "a screwdriver" is sticking out of the wrapper." She said "he bought me tools". Most women would be furious.

I wrote back "what other man would give such a gift and what other woman would love that he did!"

Connie's mom will not be here very long and Connie will be alone on that farm. I am so glad Gary found her, I know he will be there for her when the time comes. And I hope he enjoys his tooth:-)

Merry Christmas; love the ones you love and try to tolerate the ones you don't.

A little more health care rant before I shut up.

A study by the Institute of Medicine estimated that one American dies every 30 minutes from lack of health insurance. David Himmelstein, a study co-author and associate professor of medicine at Harvard, said. "Even his grim figure is an underestimate—now one dies every 12 minutes."

LET'S TALK VETERANS.

According to the U.S. Census Bureau's March 2009 Population Survey, 1,461,615 veterans between the ages of 18 and 64 were uninsured -- that is, they neither had health insurance nor received ongoing care at Veterans Health Administration hospitals or clinics -- in 2008.

In January of 2007 Michael Baranik was told he had terminal cancer. As if that wasn't bad enough, he was also told that his veteran's health care insurance wasn't adequate to cover the number of chemotherapy sessions he would need.

Over the next few weeks, Jennings went from one doctor to another, hoping to find one who would give him the needed treatment. In a letter to the non-profit, National Nurses Organizing Committee he wrote "Luckily, I begged and begged a doctor, who said he would only give me seven treatments because of insurance". But his efforts weren't enough. Jennings died a few months after he was diagnosed with terminal cancer.

Liz Jacobs, of the California Nurses Association, said Jennings was "very ill" when he contacted them two years ago. In the letter he wrote to the National Nurses Organizing Committee he said, "This is what I get for serving my country for 24 years. If I had known this when I joined, I would never have joined. "I would have left this country, given up my citizenship and lived in a country where they respect the men and women that protect their freedom."

Harvard Medical School said lack of health insurance claimed the lives of more than 2,266 veterans under the age of 65 last year. That number is more than 14 times the number of deaths suffered by U.S. troops in Afghanistan in 2008, and twice as many as have died since the war began in 2003.

Dr. Steffie Woolhandler a professor of medicine says "Uninsured veterans are a stain on America's flag. It's particularly striking that a combat veteran who has already served his country is denied [adequate] health care."

In 2007 Woolhandler testified before the House Committee on Veterans Affairs. He said "Like other uninsured Americans, most uninsured vets are working people - too poor to afford private coverage, but not poor enough to qualify for Medicaid or means-tested VA care."

LET'S TALK CHILDREN

According to a study by the Johns Hopkins Children's Center, lack of adequate health care insurance may have contributed to the deaths of some 17,000 hospitalized U.S. children over the past two decades. The research was compiled from more than 23 million hospital records from 37 states between 1988 and 2005 and concluded that "uninsured children are 60 percent more likely to die in the hospital than those with insurance. When comparing death rates by underlying disease, the uninsured appeared to have increased risk of dying independent regardless of their medical condition."

Lead investigator Fizan Abdullah, M.D., Ph.D., a pediatric surgeon at the Johns Hopkins Children's Center says “If you are a child without insurance, if you're seriously ill and end up in the hospital, you are 60 percent more likely to die than the sick child in the next room who has insurance."

Co-investigator Peter Pronovost, M.D., Ph.D., director of Critical Care Medicine at Johns Hopkins and medical director of the Center for Innovations in Quality Patient Care says "Thousands of children die needlessly each year because we lack a health system that provides them health insurance. This should not be. In a country as wealthy as ours, the need to provide health insurance to the millions of children who lack it is a moral, not an economic issue."

OK, I'll shut up.