The temperature has fallen to a cool 81, and we’re having a thunderstorm. I answered that age old question I never knew I asked: “would I risk death by lightening to take the garbage trolley out of the yard, about 75 yards to the edge of the court where it will be picked up in the morning?” Apparently the answer is yes. Our garbage is picked up once a week and I had lots of half eaten containers of various salads of the mayonnaise variety.

I brought the cold cuts to a place not far from here where I know homeless people live. It felt as if I were doing something illegal as an organization likes to be the group to feed them but the New Yorker in me couldn’t just throw it out or bring it to a far away food bank when I don’t have a car, and am really feeling that lack right now.

I called my best friend, almost crying, and said that if there were a housing market I would put my house on the market though normally I love it here. She gave me an unsettling answer: “don’t you dare. It’s going to be worth a ton once the beaches further South go.”

That answer of course made me totally tear. I hope she’s wrong. Not that I don’t want my house to be worth at least what it was when I bought it plus the cost of the renovations but I can’t bear to think about what she said.

The day began horribly when I called the AC company as a vent sounded as if it were a jet way at Kennedy Airport. Well I didn’t know somebody closed the vent. I wouldn’t mind having paid the $80 (which I do think is excessive) if several months ago I hadn’t called to say that there was an AC leak and I smelled something more. The leak turned out to be condensation. The man said it was my fault because I had a door partially open and didn’t bother to look further. It smelt like mold and old people. I didn’t consciously think that the old people smells were from my childhood–and really my grandmother, of The Bronx, Miami Beach and Monticello–the woman didn’t have a cent to her name but she did live well and had a ton of mildewy suitcases I still can picture.

About a month ago, I brought some suitcases into the crawl space and discovered all the insulation falling off and tons of water. I had Eldon fix it and bought a dehumidifier which has been filling up with water every damn day. It’s good for my upper deck plants, the water that is. The company told me today that they would have paid for it then had I called.

Why do I listen to Eldon? He’s the king of passivity. Today I told him that it’s his responsibility to call the plumber to fix the shower that I spent way too much money on, can hardly use and it flooded due to the plumber both inventing a flood and fixing it wrong. Only cost $850 to fix. I wouldn’t use him to fix the shower but I’m so damn tired of spending money on this house.

Now of course Eldon’s angry at me. Not angry as much as wants nothing to do with me.

And sadly I both like him as a friend and need him for all the little things my friend’s husbands attempt to do, and for rides when I don’t want to call a friend or take a taxi. I can’t believe I live in a place where public transport doesn’t exist and isn’t a priority. You have no idea how infantilizing that is. There are buses to Charleston, but I’m going with a friend in the fall. Trains run from Marion or Florence (I get the women named towns confused.) Both are about an hour and a half from here, and Eldon said he would drive me if we have a hurricane. That and my huge closet that opens both into the bedroom and bathroom are my entire hurricane/tornado plans.

I don’t make a good dependent type person. Too ornery.

I haven’t been very productive for many reasons and I’m scared that I lost my will after all these years of wanting to do nothing but write. I’m joining a writing group that meets in the library. It’s been a long time,actually never, since I’ve been in a writing group where you don’t have to be selected.

My reality is that I find myself boring. I know the story. I need encouragement. I need a lot of things. It’s funny that I live at the beach and yet really feel that I need a couple of days just being at the beach–I go after everything else is done. I do love it this time of year though yesterday I began sweating when I walked into the water which was certainly strange and stranger since I’m the glisten not sweat type.

I have no idea where I’m going with this post. So encourage me to do other things such as be productive. Tell me you will buy a copy of the book though if you comment here you will probably get one because just because…..

I would take this down. Needed to vent. But know it will live on in readers so….. A large part of me feels like an idiot for writing this. Spoiled. Not thinking about people who really have it tough. Self-obsessed. I need somebody to yell at me and tell me how horrible I am for writing this. But therein lies the problem…
I put the rest in draft as this was horrible and self-loathing and let’s just blame it on the heat. I’m sweating; not glistening and my face was sweating as I walked into the ocean –something that’s never happened to me before
My reality is that I’m an incurable optimist who thrashes too many things out for too long. I thought I was over that but moving and everything that’s happened in the past three years has brought too much to the surface.
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Then I walk four blocks to the beach, actually sit in the fierce gray/brown waves with teal teasing at the horizon and forget everything but how incredible the world is.

I’m not sure this post makes sense. My mind’s abuzz with laundry and house guests and getting to Costco or learning to make the perfect roast chicken in a day. I used to know how however that was followed by too many years of speed dialing food in or stopping at Fairway.
This weekend and the following week belongs to me and too many houseguests, here, and guests at CLo’s. CLo and W are exploring their Hispanic/White redneck roots and going to a Dave Matthews concert in New York.

When CLo married W, two cities, Atlanta and New York, were abuzz with talk of CLo, who thinks she’s more Black than most African American’s and other Blacks, marrying a man so white he has to use SPF 50 on a low sun day!!!!! CLo, is Hispanic Caucasian though when she tans.

He taught her to appreciate The Stones and other white rockers; she taught him Black culture.

They’re perfect together.

One of my goddaughters–they both will be here this weekend thought she was Black until she was ten. It was an honest mistake. Her cousins are all blonde or Black. Yes we live The Jerk Always been one of my favorite movies.

Her mother, Lucia, placed her at a mirror and asked her to look at herself. She’s so pale she “failed” the Apgar skin test at birth until Lucia unanthesized herself, and said to the doctor: “Look at me. Look at her father. We’re whiter than her.” The doctor changed the score.

I had lived in a perfect world of my own imagination until then. I thought people of all colors really could attempt to understand each other and get along. At least in New York. This was an awakening. There had been earlier ones, but I thought we were better than that and it was a “class thing” that people like me who worked in social services could help change.

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It was rainy yesterday morning and afternoon and then the humidity was so delightfully thick my body felt wonderfully embraced but the laundry couldn’t dry outside. Which is how I began the great laundry debacle of 2010. Don’t ask.

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My blog has been so heavy recently as has my writing. Yet really the stories are ones of hope and happiness for I am both hopeful and happy. Except for the recent foray into the affliction of the gifted. Amazing how much better one feels when the problem is “under control.”

So maybe it took me until this milestone birthday to get it together. It’s been difficult watching so many blogging associations and social networks gain importance and think “but where do I belong?” I belong where I have always been with a little blog called Courting. When I am ready for my book to be publicized it will be. I’m doing it the old fashioned way. Writing, writing, writing and not caring about being known. I was. I will be again.

It’s not that I don’t believe in social networks. I think they serve a great purpose. But I need to work unobstructed without thinking “am I popular?” “Am I not?” What the frig is this? Junior High?”

I’m vain enough to believe that I can attract people when I need them. I’m old enough to understand that work comes before pleasure and while social networks are an integral part of work, product comes first. And so I trudge on my product.
I’m not going to BlogHer though it will be in Manhattan in August. I have ideological difficulties with it for a start. It seems that mommy bloggers rule and I ain’t. I don’t do product placement.

I have always thought of my blog as a place to practice writing and to get to know some wonderful people but not an entity onto itself. Perhaps I was wrong. Perhaps I began at the perfect time to become famous for blogging itself. But I also took this time as a journey of self discovery and maybe for me that’s more important.
And that’s my manifesto. I’m counting on you, my blogging friends, my friends from all areas of my life, my family, my family of friends to help when I need it and I know you will know when as I will.

I have to edit these pictures. But I’m the tall one with my sister and cousins, and the other picture is of my parents before any of us were on this planet.

Have a wonderful not quite mid-summer weekend. I won’t let it be mid-summer!!!!!! In some ways it feels as if it’s gone on forever. In other ways it feels as if it hasn’t begun yet

Our Wal Mart made a million dollar profit last weekend. That would be a good thing for our economy and is. But we did it on the backs of all the people who aren’t going to the Gulf and that is horrible.

My blog. My rules. I have been writing very personal stories that aren’t easy even for me to read. But they have a happy ending and middle and are interesting….

Anyway, I don’t close comments on old posts as I have some dialogues that have literally been going on for years and treasure them.

All comments are owned by me. That means I can quote them, trash them or do whatever I want to them.

This is a personal blog. The First Amendment doesn’t apply, and I hold the First very close to my heart.

If you’re going to comment on an old post and trash me, think. I don’t answer and we all know there’s no fun in that.

If you’re going to trash my blogging friends I will defend them when the time is right–and the time is when the post is fresh.

Yes if you comment more than once a day, it’s obsessive unless you’re one of my best friends and saying great things…..

Telling me to get over myself, “Ms Blogger” is very funny as anybody who reads this blog knows I suffer from thinking too little of myself. I have a blog that people actually read. I have never been a comment whore and I’m not into publicity right now.

I’m sorry if you can’t get a blog together or think that writing hate filled comments makes you a better person. I will continue deleting your comments. I don’t scare easily and a long long time ago in blogging years got over nasty venom filled comments.

The end!

I wrote this for Redroom

It’s the first half-decent thing I have written since April.

I don’t believe a disability is an ability turned backwards or whatever that expression is. I have spent my life seeking help. I don’t know how many hundreds of thousands of dollars first my parents then I spent on therapists, testing and much more.

It reached the point where I would write people famed in various disciplines all dealing with either work or mental health or both. Anybody who knows me just a bit knows how hard it is for me to reach out. It’s much easier for me to help others. And I have had career success. It was I who always thought I could do much better even when my evaluations were near perfect.

They either ignored me or told me to find work in a sheltered workshop. I’m more educated than many of them and certainly write as well or better. The later (sheltered workshop) would have killed me and I know that.

So much was happening in my personal life it never occurred to me to look for jobs the normal way, or the way I had before my life became encased in tragedy and uh blogging which for awhile I thought would lead to so much. I had the stats, the readers, the writing–everything but I was “difficult,” not young and trendy. I didn’t blog about one subject. I did everything wrong and yet I created something wonderful and will always be grateful for this blog. I think I tell good stories.

I hope to have years more. While I truly don’t have a desire to write a memoir as I like writing in other forms more, I know that knowledge about non verbal learning disorder (NLD) is lacking. I aim to change that.

Many people with NLD have a difficult time conceptualizing order and I understand that’s what’s been holding me back. Understanding is just part of the solution though. So I found me a great editor!

The long hot summer continues and beginning Friday I will have a house filled with people for a week. I need them–Godchildren and significant others. I feel so lucky that people who are related to me through friendship actually want to visit me!
Comments are off here as once again this is a totally self-centered post.

I have my joie de vivre back! And love for this wonderful South–politics and all.

I hadn’t been feeling well since Mid May which coincided with the stock market going to the not good South; wondering if I had made the right move and obsessing over ever possible scenario that could have, would have, didn’t happen, the heat, and my closest friends here being away.

To make a long boring story, both less boring and long, I finally went to the doctor who said I suffer from the affliction of the gifted which is a wonderful tactful oh so Southern way of saying I make myself sick. As if I didn’t know!

I didn’t go the doctor sooner as I’m phobic and a large part of that phobia peripherally
stems from NY doctors, a bit too familiar, telling me that my heart problems are panic attacks. Hello! I know that but someday they might be heart problems. Nobody really knows the cause and affect yet. Trust me I read enough about this.

Were I bipolar or plain depressed, NY doctors would be more empathetic. But me thinks extreme anxiety’s too close to home or the opposite–out of many doctor’s who do believe they’re perfect–in their dreams–range.

Extreme anxiety’s a lot like being a drug addict. You even get the hollow face and pinned eyes while walking back and forth expending many many calories. Though if you’re me and seriously ate at the most a banana a day much of the time–for the frigging potassium and because they go down well. Later you added Greek yogurt then anything. Anyway for most people this would have been a period of extreme weight loss.

However, the doctor and nurse said in tandem, “honey, you live in the South now.” Must be something in the air…..(You, you of all people, call people “Honey,” and “Miss so and so,” so you’re used to all the “Honey’s.”)

The thing is your insurance coverage, for which you pay double, won’t cover the affliction of the gifted, no matter how it’s coded.

You feel stronger now. You will get this straightened out And you can’t help but be impressed by how reasonably priced doctors are when they know insurance won’t cover it or you don’t have any. And the price of meds. Honey you’re not in New York anymore. And you think that’s a wonderful thing.

You will of course be in New York in September because May to September is about the longest time you have stayed away.

And your test results were good. Very good. None of that pre-this, pre-that, maybe this will happen in ten years….
But at heart you’re a New York Jew. So kinehorah!

Last fall I was asked what I was going to give up for boot camp, and health. I gave an appropriate answer.

Lil Red (a brunette that I call Lil Red for other reasons) said she was going to give up the tonic in her gin. She caught me trying not to laugh as everybody applauded. Had she said she was going to give up the gin I would have understood the applause. She doesn’t really drink that much and honey this is the South!
Thus began one of the best friendships I have ever had. She has me in committee after committee.

She’s from New Orleans and moved here for that most satisfactory and not reason–love man love. Tall Husband Suitor (THS) is worth it. I think they’ve made me part of the family!

On the Fourth in 09 I had a barbecue for friends from Atlanta. Then we went to the Cherry Grove fireworks, known as the best on the Grand Strand. This Fourth I went to a barbecue at Lil Red’s and THS’s. I’m not a meat eater but had two small pieces that were incredible and could have converted me if I didn’t spend half my time obsessing about food put into my body.(Have to work on that one.) Fortunately we decided not to go to the fireworks. They started an hour late and weren’t great or so everybody says.

I’m working on getting my mojo back. Moving from everything known and a giant support network that I did take for granted hasn’t been easy. I wasn’t feeling well in June. It wasn’t the weather but a confluence of things such as “this house is really nice. Now where is my city apartment.” I know the move will be worth it, in the long and short run, but will never take people for granted again..

Last night I went to a memorial service in a club. It’s not that I have spent my life wanting to go to memorial services, but yes I have wanted to go to one in a club. People were dancing,talking, crying, looking at slides, listening to music, and as always eating and drinking.

As I have a pivotal birthday in about eleven days, I’m thinking too much about everything that can go wrong–in life, death and everything in between.

This birthday’s making me wish I were a praying person. I’m not so all I can do is throw great thoughts everywhere and hope many good things–if I sound obtuse, well, the book won’t be. I finally understand, and am able to rectify, what’s been holding me back! Or I hope that last sentence is true. I hate being so Woody Allenish. I would settle for Seinfeld but I’m afraid he’s too optimistic for me. Then again…..