I’m going to buy a Maltese (house trained) and name him/her Toto. In my dreams–though my coop is friendlier to dogs than people.
We have red sequined slippers somewhere in our massive shoe collection.

Then we’re going to stay sort of safely at home forever.

We’ve always been famous on the Upper West Side for the quality of our doggie treats. Not me, personally–the building staff and coop board.

I’m famous for saying–in the elevator, “get that dog–or dogs–out of my crotch.”

Well, I don’t actually say that last part.

At way past three in the morning–yesterday? Today? It felt so good to walk into my spotless, beautiful 630 square feet.

The first five days of my mostly ill fated trip to California, it rained. Then I got bronchitis.

It’s hard to appreciate other places when all I could think about was–nothing actually.

A few things: how women complain; men opine. That can’t be original to me–it’s so clever, but I’ll accept credit.

Men get to be columnists and talk about their navels. They’re applauded for their bravery and openness. Women are called bitches for thinking anything that’s not cute, acceptable or introspective. Oh did I say introspective? Meant cute or cloying. Think the worst fridge magnets or sofa pillows. Think any sofa pillow. they’re acceptable.

Thought about that a lot. It felt like my brain had a rewind machine going through it and only the same five thoughts were allowed to penetrate.

The first five hours of the flight home were fine. Then the last hour was constant nose diving turbulence.

I’ve been in so many “almost hijackings,’ almost plane crashes,” that I was about the only person not scared.

Then we landed at Kennedy. It was an hour late; four full plane loads converged on one luggage carousel. That scared me.

I didn’t realize my luggage was so good looking, and admired it profusely as it passed twenty times. What can I say? One black suitcase; one red one–and I had forgotten to put something that would have easily identified it on.

It didn’t really matter as people (who were very nice and well mannered) were having the same problem and everybody seemed to grab somebody else is luggage. It was hard to get to the correct luggage, as there was so much luggage on one carousel. Nobodies fault–well maybe the airlines, but I’m not into placing blame here. I don’t celebrate Easter, and hadn’t realized that I was coming home on Easter Monday. Guess that’s what it’s called.

But I think all luggage eventually went to the right owner. That took about an hour and a half .

Tried calling some car services. They rightly told me that I should have made the reservation before arriving at Kennedy.

Used to love Kennedy when I was a kid. It meant–why it meant flying somewhere!!! Or picking up family and friends. Used to be able to watch people arrive from above Customs. There was a kind of glamour to flying then. I could stay all day in airports; and there was a great Chinese restaurant my family would go to on our way home.

Last night there was the cab line. By the time I arrived at it; my luggage was sopping and my bronchitis had decided to come out of hiatus.

Did talk to the most beautiful, sweetest man. Actually he was the most beautiful man I have ever seen up close but not too personal. His skin matched the Carmel of his jacket. His eyes–I couldn’t stop staring into them, and I can’t even describe them now. I wanted him to change sexual preferences at once. A girl can dream.

Then the limo drivers descended. Pretended I didn’t speak English or any known language. That usually works. But they were like flies on dead meat–well by that time nothing except for the man in back of me was pretty. Wouldn’t go with any on general principle. The more they begged….

When I finally got a cab, I told the cab driver my street and made him repeat the street number. I couldn’t see out of the windows too well as the sides were all fogged. He went two blocks too far. At that time of night it felt like twelve hundred blocks.

But he finally found the right street, and …I couldn’t get into my building!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The doorman (need a graph to keep up with all the new ones) was otherwise occupied for what seemed like forever. If he asked me for ID I probably would be in jail right now. He didn’t so I over tipped him.

It was so good to be home. But my land phone had died while I was away–have phone company voice mail, so I never miss a message. My desk top’s half or two thirds dead, and no, I haven’t tried the TV or stereo yet– a bit scared to.

It was four thirty by then, and soon the sun (such as it is) began to come up.

My bronchitis is back with a vengeance. I took a two hour nap; I have driven some of my favorite people crazy, and should be apologizing but…

Lucia’s daughter, the best most beautiful smartest fourteen year old on the planet sold a design for a perfume bottle to Tommy Hilfiger. Can’t decide whether her new name should be Ghettogirl or Phat girl.

Oh hell, she gets to decide as very soon she’s going to be supporting us all.

I’ve known since she was an infant how special she was, and that she would be supporting us in our dotage.

Just didn’t think that my dotage would happen so young.

Little Luce is fourteen and more successful than I am. Not really, but it sounds good. I do so like to whine.

May this be the first of many many successes.

Oh, Toto I’m so glad we’re home.

“Toto where are you?”

“Toto…”

So sad when I lose my own imaginary Maltese.

Stumble it!

Now that my vacation’s almost over I’m beginning to feel great. Guess there’s a lesson in that somewhere. My e-mail problems have finally been fixed and I can go back to New York feeling good.

The Schindler family says that Terri’s end is near. Let’s hope that’s true.

I’m on vacation and using a public though cheap machine, so I can’t show the cites now but will be glad to when I get home and after I get myself to my doctor to see if sinus infection really has cleared up.

Terri’s on morphine, not because she’s feeling pain-if she is it’s vestige–but I truly doubt that she’s feeling any. She’s on morphine to make her parents and siblings feel better, and I’m for anything that will help them get through this.

I will always stand by what I have written about artificial hydration being the worst thing for a person without a feeding tube or any other way of eating. The reason people are always told to put “no artificial hydration” in their health care proxy and other documents is because drowning in your own fluids is the most painful way to die, if you’re at all cognizant. Terri passed that point a long time ago.

She is being given ice chips and her lips and mouth are constantly being moistened. If she can feel this will make her comfortable.

I have experience with people who chose to die without artificial hydration and nutrition. Somewhere in the Courting archives is an article I wrote for a national publication. One of the major players in that article is a woman who chose to die that way. Her daughters were in disagreement, and like most mothers, she only wanted them to get along.

She finally chose to go the no artificial hydration or nutrition route. As I wrote in that article, she perked up and became the person I had heard about for the final few weeks of her life.

She was very cognizant and had capabilities–I will get into what that means in a later article. She was satisfied with her decision. The woman was not uncomfortable at all; a nurse was constantly giving her ice chips and moistening her lips when she was parched. I was shocked to find out that she was parched less than I was watching her.

Before that experience I would have agreed with all of you who believe that withholding artificial hydration is horrible, but I saw it for myself, and it changed my view point, and maybe my life.

When my mom died not that much later I wished that I had the opportunity to feed her ice chips. But I didn’t.

I did learn the importance of siblings getting along and learning to sublimate individual desires for the sake of the parent.

Please if you learn anything from Terri Schiavo’s life and death learn that Advanced Directives should be in place a long time before anything happens.

Learn that family members must ultimate individual viewpoints, and respect the view of the patient.

Honestly I don’t know what Terri Schiavo wanted. But fifteen years is too long to live in a state of suspended life–life with only a brain stem working is no life at all.

One last point: many people are confusing “persistent vegetative state,” and “minimal brain activity” with a coma.

Many people now, are put into artificially induced comas so that they won’t thrash or hurt themselves while recovering from a traumatic injury.

When you hear about miracles, it’s not people in persistent vegetative states or minimal brain wave activity, that you hear about, it’s people who were in comas. If you think of a coma as the body and mind shutting down, it’s easier to understand.

Yes many people in comas, come out of them and require much rehab.. They’re the people who can go back and live a full life. People who are in persistent vegetative states or with minimal brain wave activity will never have that opportunity.

I was watching CNN this morning, and there was a poll where even Evangelicals supported Terri’s right to die.
The Reverend Falwell was trying to say that the poll was biased and the facts were presented wrong.

But they weren’t. They just weren’t presented to Reverend Falwell’s liking.

This might surprise you. I have two close Evangelical friends. I’m not against religion. I just don’t want people trying to force me to their beliefs. My friends asked me to explain the Terri case to them. If CBS or CNN or whoever had done that poll had questioned them they would have been two of the people to support Terri’s right to die without artificial hydration or nutrition.

On this Easter Sunday, I wish for Terri’s body to leave this earth and go to what I hope is a far better place.

Again I’m putting this Courting because I don’t think it should be political but philosophical, ethical and moral.

Again it’s raw. Again there are misspellings.

I wanted Courting to be a purely literary and fun blog.

But there are some things that are bigger than us; and Terri Schiavo’s life and death is.

Vaya con Dios, Terri.

Stumble it!

I’m on a supposed vacation. It rained all week; I have bronchitis, my laptop is dying, and I even managed to crash a public Internet machine. Though I think that was the machine not me. I will take responsibility for all the rest of the world’s problems.

I was going to write about my experiences at the Bates Motel in San Francisco which gave me bronchitis at the least but that will wait until I get home. Shouldn’t call it the Bates Motel as Psycho was a great movie.

I would like to thank everybody who has commented on my first Terri post.

I don’t want Courting to be a political blog. (Delusions of literary writing.)

The Thing about Teri Schiavio is that her case shouldn’t be a political one. It’s a medical issue, an ethical issue, and a family fight.

Yes there have been great medical advances in the past 15 years. From the years 1950-2000 there were more medical advances than in all of history.

It wasn’t enough. I’ve been told that I personalize everything. I’ve been told that I’m the whiniest person on the Internet. A badge I wear proudly as I consider myself one of Woody’s children-Woody Allen that is-except for the sex with minors part.

I’ve been told I talk about New York too much. Having been born there and having lived there virtually all my life, I don’t’ see why that’s horrible.

Okay that’s all a prelude to talking about my parents once again before I talk about Terri. My dad had the massive stroke fourteen years ago tomorrow. I consider that his true date of death.

Since then there have been great advances in stroke care. However, that’s only if the person gets to a facility that’s equipped to treat stroke victims within a certain time frame. Yes there are medications that might help stave off a stroke for a while. Then again the medicine might not.

My father’s stroke was massive. Even with all the advances he would have been severely brain damaged. For a person who never wanted to die “old and decrepit,” that would have been worse than death. I can’t imagine seeing my father in a rehab center learning or not learning to do simple tasks. It would have killed my mother, sister and I.

As it was it was very difficult. My mother had wet Macular Degeneration. It became worse constantly until a very independent and very bright woman was reduced to depending on others for help. As she was my mother, and we’re an ornery family, she refused most help. Keeping my mother independent became a full time job for my sister and I.

For so many reasons it shouldn’t have had to be that we. We infantilize older people rather than help them live with dignity. Stem cell research which might have led to a cure was stopped.

WE HAVE THE MOST SCREWED UP PRIORITIES. INSTEAD OF CONCENTRATING ON GREAT MEDICAL RESEARCH, WE MAKE EVERYTHING INTO A POLTITCAL BALL GAME. AND WE SAY THAT WE DO THAT IN THE NAME OF GOD.

My God would want people to live good lives; my God would want as much medical research as possible. My God wouldn’t judge people, and tell them that they have to do things in a certain way.

My mother never became demented but people treated her as if she was. The most social woman in the world began to hate going out or doing anything that called attention to her in any way. A month after 9/11 she fell and died fifteen minutes later.

Those pivotal fifteen minutes–would they have made a difference if security from the “Companion button” company had come in two minutes and taken her to the hospital down the road from the apartment she had moved to? It probably would have, but again what would the quality of her life have been? Like my father she dreaded dementia more than anything–except dying. She told me that she couldn’t sleep at night because she was scared wouldn’t get up in the morning. But she wouldn’t have wanted to have been demented, or in a persistent vegetative state, and for that I’m grateful that she died.

My parents lived long lives. Terri Schiavo was cut down in the prime of her life. That is a much bigger tragedy.

Every doctor who examined her–every last one–agreed that she’s in a persistent vegetative state. The ones who say that she has minimal brain functioning never examined her.

And lets get real. What’s minimal brain functioning anyway? Will she ever be able to appreciate a sunny day? Will she ever be able to appreciate anything? No, she won’t.

Maybe if our country–the most resourceful and abundant on earth had its priorities straight–maybe there would have been really meaningful research into persistent vegetative states and minimal brain functioning in the past fifteen years.

But we would rather allocate our resources elsewhere.

We all saw what Christopher Reeves did for spinal cord injuries; what Michael J Fox is doing for Parkinson’s. But even with all their clout, not enough has been done.

Because we allocate our resources to other things that our government considers to be more important.

And since I’m talking about resources. How much money did it cost for the special Palm Sunday session of Congress? To transport Bush from his vacation?

Let me say something that will make the most hated person on the Internet. How much does Terri Schiavo care cost? Of course life is precious; any meaningful life should be preserved at any cost. Is Terri Schiavos’s life at all meaningful at this point.

Oh yes, she’s here for a reason. Maybe that reason is to remind us that we should allocate resources so that when brain injuries happen they can be made better.

I’ve read that if we let Terri Schiavo die we’re no better than Hitler. That is so wrong. God or nature or whoever wanted to take her fifteen years ago; we let her exist. Is that right?

I’ve read that once we let Terri Schiavo die we’ll begin killing profoundly retarded kids and people with severe handicaps. How is that analogous? That’s fear talking; fear plain and simple. More than that it’s people with an agenda; people who want to scare you into thinking that you’re a horrible person if you think that Terri Schiavo’s feeding tube should be out.

Maybe Terri Schiavo’s purpose in this world these past fifteen years was to make us think, and to regroup our priorities. Maybe we should be putting as much resources as possible into studying the human body.

We’re so goddamn proud of ourselves, and our medical advances. But have we found a cure for cancer, AIDS, Parkinson’s, Dementia–the common cold? Why are we so proud when we’ve been holding the dike up with a finger?

One more thing: an IV filled with water is one of the cruelest things we can put into a person’s body. It causes the body to bloat–think edema–and the person can very probably drown to death.

I hope that Terri Schiavo’s death isn’t in vain. I hope that we can begin an intelligent dialogue about life, death and medicine.

The next person to go into a persistent vegetative state might be you, your mother, husband, wife, child. Would you want them to live a life where their awareness is nil? Because no matter how much you might want Terri Schiavo to be a thinking person, she’s not and never will be.

Unfortunately it’s as simple as that.

I’m going to try to keep comments open. As I’m having e-mail problems they might not take. I won’t be home until next week and plan on really having my vacation now as the weather is better and I’m feeling somewhat better.

The spell check isn’t working. I’m writing this from an Internet machine. It’s raw; I’m raw. This is a subject that will always make scream from the rafters. But I can’t; I have bronchitis. So….

Stumble it!

I am very behind in answering comments. This is due to many different factors and I apologize. If I don’t find the time to answer them this week, and I hope I don’t, (as I’m away) I will answer them next week
Thanks
Pia

Stumble it!

I said that Courting Destiny wasn’t going to have a political slant. I meant it and continue to mean it. This is a very personal story.

My dad had always been a big believer in talking about death, dying and other unpleasant subjects. When I was 25, in 1976, he thought that a great father/daughter activity would be taking Elizabeth Kubler-Ross’s course on death and dying at The New School.

I might have considered taking another class with my father, but that one sounded morbid to me. Also The New School was a great place to meet guys, and being seen with my dad, would have been a definite impediment. We compromised; I agreed to go out to dinner with him every week, take another class and go to one of Kubler-Ross’s with him.

My dad believed in talking about death, dying and all other unpleasant subjects. Later we would have family drills in what to do in case of his death.

Fourteen years ago this month, my father suffered a massive stroke on Tuesday March 26. My mom wanted life to go on as normal. She couldn’t accept that my dad wasn’t cognizant. I guess I couldn’t either.

She asked me not to come to the hospital that night. I worked for Social Security then, and listened to my mother. The next day I went to work and wondered why I was there.

After work, I went to the hospital on Long Island. My mom was strongly holding onto the belief that this was just a minor stroke and he would soon be cognizant.

My dad was 77. He was an athlete, a practicing CPA, and had always been in excellent health. The doctors told me that he was in a persistent vegetative state.

But he took my hand, and held it. I refused to believe that he wasn’t cognizant; this wasn’t one of the better hospitals on the Island but a HIP hospital close to my parents home.

They wouldn’t let my family bring in outside doctors. I can be very persuasive when I need to be. My father had resources as did my mom, sister and me. We would have spent anything to keep my father alive and to get him into rehab.

Every doctor agreed that he was in a persistent vegetative state. My mom, sister and I refused to give up hope.

That Friday, Good Friday, and Erev Passover, they told us that there was nothing that they could do. We were told that we had to begin thinking about putting in a permanent feeding tube. I knew almost nothing about feeding tubes then, and even less about persistent vegetative states. My mom wanted one put in immediately. For the first time I overrode her.

Yes we live in New York and have access to leading specialists. I’m not going to apologize for that. My sister and I talked to the doctors and began to make our peace with my father’s dying. My mom didn’t.

We spent the first night of Passover eating left-over diner chicken in my parents dining room table. My mom was still talking about what would happen when my father woke up. It was difficult not to want to agree with her.

On Sunday, doctors were fluttering around all day. It was Easter Sunday, Passover, a holiday week and that wasn’t a good sign. My dad’s breathing was shallow. I would later learn it was the kind of breathing that Native Americans associate with the soul leaving the body.

We stayed until late. Even my mom began to become resigned to his dying–just a little. My dad was a very proud man; somehow we felt that he wouldn’t die until we left. Within a half hour after we left, he died.

Later my mom would tell me how glad she was that she listened to me. He was in good health; he could have lived like that for a long time. 77 isn’t really that old, when a person has never smoked, kept in shape and had certain other factors that my dad had.

In my family when we don’t understand something we research it or take classes. I went one step further. Two and a half years later I went back to school to get a Masters in Social Work. I asked for my field placement to be at a certain Irish Catholic nursing home, and told everybody that it was to explore my Irish-birth roots.

Not.

Catholics are pro-life, in the anti pro-choice sense. This doesn’t mean that they want to keep people alive at any cost. Far from it. As I said this is a personal essay and I’m not going to talk about all that I learned in my two years as a student there, and when I was a paid social worker at the home.

But I know a lot about Advanced Directives, end of life procedures, why IVs filled with water and antibiotics can be dangerous–a person can drown in her own fluids.

It’s very easy to put a feeding tube in. It’s never easy to take one out, and I won’t go into all the reasons why–aside from the obvious, Terri Schiavo, who has existed because of one for the past fifteen years.

I would counsel families on end of life procedures. Even in the best of circumstances (a family in agreement, which was rare) it was never easy. I would never tell a family what to do. That decision was never mine to make. But under New York State law, I had to explain DNR’s, and Health Care Proxies. I made a package, of articles, that was then used by the other social workers on the different options available, and how each option might affect the patient.

I can’t imagine what it’s like to out live a child. Kinehora, that nobody I knows ever goes through that.

I don’t know if the courts have come to a decision yet.

I’m far from home on vacation. This is never an easy time of year for me.

I was just going to put in light little fluff type pieces in Courting, when I got around to it. But this is too important, too personal.

I can’t imagine what Terri Schiavo’s family is going through. I only know for sure what my family felt. I know what the families told me.

As much as Ms. Schiavo’s family wants to believe that she can comprehend them, its virtually impossible.

Reflex actions are a wonderful and horrible thing. They give you hope when there isn’t any.

Please, if you’ve never discussed this with your family, discuss what you want if something was to happen to you. Make your parents talk about.

DNR’s and Health Care Proxy’s are easily found on the Internet. Fill them out. Make sure that in your Health Care Proxy you write “no artificial hydration or nutrition,” if you want to die when your brain virtually stops functioning.

This is a personal essay. For more scholarly posts please go toBring it on!

I debated turning the comments off. I won’t for now. I’m not going to be moderating them or answering for awhile, probably, I am on vacation. But I couldn’t stop thinking about this. I had to write it. For me, if for nobody else.

I will add that anybody who believes that ending life by taking a feeding tube out, and not giving artificial hydration, has never been involved in a Catholic long term care facility or hospital in the New York metro area.

I’m not editing this; not rereading it. I’m putting it out there.

I’m trying hard not to keep my political feelings in this. They become intertwined, and do to anybody who has ever been in this situation or worked in any facility where people die.

For a more political view:

It’s not about Terri Schiavo

BRING IT ON!

I will ask if you believe that existing is living?

Stumble it!

I used to be a much more sophisticated traveler. I used to think nothing of going to Europe for a weekend or a month.

Now I go to California because I’m in love with the vastness, the unknown, the noirish quality I find from having read too many mystery books set there.

Frankly Europe’s become too expensive for me right now, and I know the east coast like the back of my hand

I realize that there’s a great heartland in between coasts but I need the ocean. I live for the ocean. It calms me down and makes me appreciate everything in life.

I used to be a beach snob but a couple of years ago I wandered into Sheepshead Bay and walked to Brighton Beach then Coney Island.

I fell in love with Brighton’s Russian quality. Women with flab hanging out of their bikinis–okay that wasn’t a high point.

But it’s just a subway ride away, and on those days when its too cumbersome to go to Long Island or somewhere else, it’s perfect.

I shouldn’t have qualified that. It’s like a trip to another world; the boardwalk and streets are bustling. It has some of New York’s best and (to me) weirdest night life. The night clubs are perfect Russian–lots of vodka, lots of toasts–have no idea what they’re saying but who cares. People dress up. Women wear very expensive designer gowns as a matter of course. It’s like being transported across worlds.

I have Russian friends so I go along for the ride. It’s a New York and a life style unlike any other part of the city.

I also bring out of town visitors there if they know New York and want to see something really different. They love going to the beach during the day, and the night life.

It did take my friend and I nine hours to get home after the black out, but that’s a whole other story. In retrospect it was fun.

What part of your city, town, area, do you take people to that’s not on the usual tourist beat?

Stumble it!

Yesterday in my post I said that I was angry. That was true for a hot second. I can get all fired up when writing.

Truth is I hate being angry. It’s a waste of time. When I walk down my block I always have this stupid smile on my face because everybody I don’t personally know who lives in my building looks alike to me. Building resident! Say hello!

I do get fired up about things and totally riled. But I try to save my anger for causes and even then try to look rational. Because the truth is nobody likes, respects or wants to work with an angry person. Nobody ever had to teach me that about the work place. it’s just places like New York streets when they’re crowded, or my always mentioned store from hell, Fairway, that I sometime dream about killing people in.

Fairway, the only in New York grocery store from hell has everything a person could possibly want at a small, small discount. Well extra virgin olive oil for $7.99 a liter is a big discount but olive oil tends to go rancid so unless you have a family, and use it every night or entertain constantly and actually cook, it’s not worth it.

Fairway is a store that can easily anger a person. The check out lines can go down through the aisles. They have expeditors to tell you what number cashier to go to. Many people pretend not to see the lines, and try standing near the checker. Bad move as at least 20 people will tell them in no uncertain terms where to go.

The other day the store was so crowded people were stepping on each others toes. I couldn’t get to most aisles that I wanted to go to. I felt like screaming but I had my smile on-sort of like putting on lipstick, it’s become a don’t leave home without it thing.

I was the first person on one of the aisle lines. The woman behind the woman behind me, kept on screaming that I was letting people go in my stead. That’s something that might happen in another lifetime.

All I could do was smile and point out the expeditor. Didn’t help. I was holding up the line. End of story.
Kept on saying: I’m not going to lose it; not going to lose it, not in Fairway. The woman behind me and I went to cashiers at the same time.

For some reason we looked at each other and couldn’t stop laughing. You really don’t want to lose it at Fairway because it’s so easy to and such a cliche. Also you never know who is shopping in the store. There could be everyone from an old lover to the coop board president to the agent you want to pitch a book to, to Broadway stars, to a relative you haven’t seen in years.

Ever since I decided on the smile my way through life approach, I’ve been a much happier and calmer (usually) person. It’s true that putting on a smile though faked can make you actually feel better. Maybe because people can’t help but respond to a smile with one of their own. Even in Fairway.

Stumble it!

Maureen Dowd thinks she’s pretty hot.

And she is on politics.

But face it, not most women from Dowd and my generation, was a daughter of the policeman in charge of the Senate, and had several older brothers, who could pick up a phone, and get us a job or show us how to be more like a guy. That’s Dowd’s background.

Dowd was brought up to be ballsy. Yet even she had a hard time when she first became an op-ed columnist.

I have a younger sister, and was her role model. Our dad was a CPA who wanted us to experience everything but also wanted to protect us from everything. I was brought up in strict lady mode as were many women of our generation.

In this past Sunday’s New York Times column, she talked about how the paper couldn’t find another woman with the balls to be an op-ed columnist. Can’t dish it out and take the flack.

I have long believed that she’s an elitist who has lost any touch with real people.

There’s a whole new world right here where women are willing to take on politics and people. It’s called blogging, and some of us aren’t just smart good writers, but are willing to fight for our beliefs. Continue Reading »

Stumble it!

It’s 29 degrees but sunny and looks like spring.

On Friday I’m going to San Francisco–unless we get a bad nor’easter–which is currently forecasted.

I go to California often but was in San Francisco once with my sister.

Sometime in the 1980’s, my friends Lucia and Helena wanted to go to The Limelight on Christmas Eve. The Limelight’s a club in an old Catholic Church, and I felt strange. I wouldn’t go into in an old converted Shul to dance on Passover–even though it’s a holiday where you’re actually allowed to do things. It would just feel strange. But Lucia and Helena are Catholic and assured me that you can do these things.

They came over around 12:30. We indulged in some pre club enhancements, found a taxi and went. I still felt strange, though there was a long line. I felt as if were committing some sin against humanity.

I never thought of myself as a club type person but I seemed to know many club owners, managers, doormen, and bouncers.

We didn’t have to wait on line and a group of French people stopped us and offered us some coke. I said no, and went up to the balcony, and began dancing by myself. Soon I wasn’t. Lucia came up, and said that the really cute Frenchman wanted to meet me. Told her to send him up.

He came up. We danced.

The next night we met for dinner. Dinner turned into a night; the night turned into…

Lucia was going to visit her brother in Manhattan Beach for New Years; the French people were going to LA. I hooked them back up.

Two weeks later, they met me at the San Francisco airport. We went for dinner in Chinatown, and then drove to Sonoma

This is a bare outline from a series of stories I’m writing: working title–met him at a club

Stumble it!

No I’m not. But I am going on vacation this Friday for ten or so days. Will have lap top and digital camera that I hope to learn to use this week while I’m doing a zillion other things.

So please forgive me if I haven’t answered your comments. Blogger doesn’t seem to want comments, and I realized that I forgot a whole post that had many!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Someday I will explain my love of excessive usage of !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!which I hate in most contexts but seem to be addicted to. Guess I’ll have to find a twelve step program for!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

There really was a reason I became addicted. Guess there’s a reason for every addiction.

I will be posting this week. Pithy posts; that won’t get me in trouble with anybody or anything

If you want to see me beg trouble, please go t0:
Bring it on!
where we can never have enough !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Very acceptable there

Stumble it!