The Milk Party had taken over my house. My sister was over as were my parents. My father found out that my sister thought she was eating chicken dipped in Panko and incredible spices. In reality the chicken was dipped in uncooked pork. He had to warn her.

I looked at the ottoman. If they opened it, I couldn’t imagine the consequences. There was coffee; both beans and fresh ground; French roast and pecan. Both made from the darkest best beans. This was especially unacceptable. Having coffee in the house meant an instant death sentence.
8
I woke up panicking. It was the third night in a row I have had one totally horrible dream followed by two great ones. In real life I have reached a point in my work where it’s finish the frigging thing before I kill myself by panic attack. I hope to update Courting more frequently, but first I have to figure out what I did to Iphoto or pictures probably that makes it impossible for me to put in images. I really really have to do that for Psychology Today also. It sucks having a disability that makes the little things so hard!

I have been sick all week. It began innocently enough.Though I say last Friday I now realize my voice had sounded, all week, to me like the voice of a person who never speaks and I speak a lot. But nobody else caught it and people here will catch everything though in the sweeter than cotton candy sweet tea Southern manner.

On late Friday afternoons I meet with a group of women for cocktails. They find me funny. Lil Red makes me repeat stories I told her such as the time my next door neighbor, known far and wide as The Professor because he actually was one at The Citadel, had his girlfriend visit for a couple of weeks. They would never use his pick-up that was parked in the communal court lot while her MG was in front of his house.

I watched in fascination as a spider-web grew from a tree to the MG. Then I went away. Eldon, the contractor turned handyman/friend was guarding my house and I told him about the spiderweb and about how the Professor, in his 70′s, diabetic, brilliant and a functional alcoholic, and the girlfriend never left the house. The Professor never walks anywhere; he’s a one man advertisement for staying in or getting into shape. Eldon didn’t believe me.

The first thing, the very first thing Eldon said to me when I came home after ten days was “go look at the spiderweb.” It had tripled in size. For some reason Lil Red and then the rest of the girls–Lil Red’s the youngest then me–found this hilarious. I have a growing audience for my stories here.

After drinks last Friday I didn’t feel well but assumed it was a quickly formed hangover. I’m not a great drinker. But the next morning it felt like a migraine that was getting worse all day–and it was damn beautiful out. By Sunday I realized it was evolving into something bronchial and was so happy when Clo called to cancel the barbecue I was supposed to have and had done nothing for.

Monday, Memorial Day, I couldn’t get out of bed. Kept telling myself what a gorgeous day it was, there were two chaise lounges with new cushions, a swing and a glider just calling my name. But I couldn’t make it the 20 steps from the bed to the chaise though I knew the hot drenching sun would dry my sinuses, nourish my spirit and soul. Though dry sinuses sounded very enticing it wasn’t enough to get me outdoors. And I moved partially for a yard! Couldn’t care less about spirit or soul except in the “if I die and there is a sweet hereafter, I hope…” Cynic that I am I couldn’t even muster guilt about never having believed.

i had been to the doctor Friday morning and spent a lot of Monday cursing him. I thought about going to an Urgent Care, something I had never even heard of four years ago, but couldn’t muster the energy or the will and the thought of the wait to see a doctor on a holiday when everybody would be coming with heat related problems, fire cracker accidents, grilling accidents, too much time in ponds and the ocean…..The whole world was out having fun and all I could think of was what an encumbrance they would be.

Eldon called. Apparently I now had laryngitis. About every third word I said was coherent. I told Eldon to call about 9 in the morning on Tuesday and I would tell him if I needed to go to the doctor.

But it came out that I wanted to go to the doctor the next morning at 9. I didn’t realize that until Eldon showed up the next morning….I wasn’t fine then but was sure that I would live and antibiotics weren’t necessary. I believe one day something horrible will happen and only antibiotics will cure it and only if I hadn’t taken them in years.

After I bought new cushions for the pub table chairs and upstairs glider, I spent the rest of the day, lying on a chaise or the downstairs swing, reading Scott Turow’s Innocent. It’s a truly beautifully written book with characters I actually cared about. It’s mature writing and I enjoyed it. Now I have to reread PPresumed Innocent which I do remember but it’s been awhile.

I would check my computer every hour. I wish I could get away from the computer for a week. A month would be perfect. But so much of my life’s on it.

I quickly came out of the feeling of suspended animation. I’m just sick enough to be in a bad mood if that makes any sense.

I feel badly that I haven’t been to the beach but the thought of carrying my Tommy Bahama beach beach backpack on my back (it’s virtually weightless) is too much. On the other hand I have spent a lot of time watering my plants and vegetables. By next week the vegetables should be popping.

I missed the limitations as the thought of being near liquor and cigarettes doesn’t sit well with me right now. Lil Red doesn’t smoke; the rest do.

On Thursday I’m getting my first group of summer visitors. It makes me happy when my house is filled. It does.

My latest Psychology Today post

My latest post for Psychology Today

I know now why I only usually eat omelets for dinner. Sunday morning I was cooking one. The phone rang and I was distracted. Which is a shame as the perfection of my omelets are only surpassed by–well I don’t cook anything else as beautiful.

The smoke alarm went off. I thought I cut the security system quickly but the monitors, I guess you call them, called me. They asked for my password. So I gave it to them. Five minutes later my friend CLo called–they had called her. Apparently I was supposed to give the nickname to my password. Well uh ask for that!!! Not that I remembered. I called the security company back.

It was too late. It felt like half the fire and police departments came to the court. To the wrong house! If it had been a true emergency and I was stuck in the back of the house and they couldn’t see fire….Thanks to CLo’s call I was dressed and ran out to call the police department over from the house Eldon calls “house of redneck country monied trash.”

They were engrossed in a laughing conversation with the police and firemen. My neighbors across from me had lent their house to her son, a middle aged biker with Willie-type hair and a trike cycle, and ten of his nearest and dearest–all of whom were out enjoying the spectacle as were the people who were renting the house next door from the Obama family (the parents voted for Obama, yeah!!!!) My other next door neighbor was asleep or being kind and staying in but his dog, Crazy Dog, was enjoying have a real reason to bark madly.

I continued calling the police and fire over to my house until finally somebody heard me. It was their second smoke alarm call of the morning. They really liked my house, and I almost gave them a tour until I thought about how absurd that was.

I do have to admit it brought back sweet memories of the summer between my freshman and sophomore years of college. Apparently I had a lot of boys visit me. Apparently my father tried grilling. Apparently the entire Jericho volunteer fire department liked coming over. We ended the summer on first name bases with all of them. Good times!

II refuse to be embarrassed by the spectacle I made of myself and can never forget the nickname to my password as I out clevered myself. It’s perfect yet nobody would ever guess it.

This weekend was Mayfest It’s funny as it’s the ultimate beach music weekend but very few shaggers come. Lil Red and her husband have been living here forever and went for the first time yesterday as I forced them invited them nicely!!!
We had perfect seats. Our beach chairs were on the side near the entrance to a hotel bar and bathroom. We could see, drink and….Perfect! And only four blocks from home.

Then this morning for the fourth Sunday in a row my New York Times didn’t come. Yes. I. Am. Taking. This. Personally. I already gave up the other six days of the week as the delivery person only delivered on Sundays. Then she/he stopped. Jobs are scarce here so it really angers me when somebody has a job with a guaranteed salary plus tips and doesn’t deliver. Or am I supposed to be understanding? Does the delivery person only think liberals read The Times and therefore delivery isn’t important? Or did the person notice the Mezzuah on my front door and actually know what it is and dislike it?

When the paper claims they assigned a supervisor to investigate and the paper still doesn’t come–nor does the replacement copy you start asking yourself all sorts of stupid stuff. I don’t want to open my computer on Sundays but need the number and then need to twitter my complaint.* So on Sunday’s I’m a regular Debbie Downer! God do I hate cute and cloying expressions. When did women begin receiving visits from Aunt Flo? It’s the stupidest expression I have ever heard. Just had to get that out.

I know somebody who lost his home to foreclosure this past week and have been both sad and upset. My inclination is to help but I can’t lend money. I was giving this person work but I want to go on vacation. I want to spend some money on myself. I, I, and more I. It’s all about me.

I understand that times are tough and we have to help each other. But what happens when you have helped and helped a person and the money doesn’t go to the mortgage? I was taught that you pay rent, mortgage, whatever keeps a roof over your head first, then I guess anything to do with a car, then electric.

Oh hell I’m overly responsible, and almost offered to pay this persons bills for him but that wouldn’t help in the long run and I hate paying my own bills. So I’m sad and feel guilty that I can’t help more when he ignored the problem for too long. Round here and in some conservative blogs I read it’s assumed that Republicans are responsible and God’s gift to the world when Democrats aren’t responsible.

Well he likes Palin and Bachmann and I am very proud of President Obama. Bin Laden and stem cell research all in one week!!!!!!!!! Even Bill Clinton couldn’t get government funded stem cell research passed. As I said on Facebook where I’m actually funny when appropriate and clever when needed, if stem cell research had been passed years ago I might be bitching about having to celebrate Mother’s Day instead of wistfully remembering my mother as her only problem was macular degeneration and they kept waiting for stem cell research.

My Mom was always ahead of her time. She made motherhood look like a walk in the park, was older though looked younger and I miss her everyday.

I finally made it to the front page of Psychology Today though it might not be by the time you read this!

That’s three essential reads and one front page which is very rare for Personal Perspectives so I’m proud. But I thought that a post about a birth mother–separating the reality from the fantasy–would be well received. And it’s an indirect homage to the only Mother I care about and no longer feel guilty about that!
So I think my Mom would like that post. Actually she loved most things I wrote. But she only read my researched articles which were pithy, factual and she claimed, fascinating!
*I realize how absurd that statement is. Many people here don’t have health insurance. Tourism is the only industry. Many people are a paycheck or less from eviction or foreclosure. So when a person has a job they should do it and be glad to. If I knew I wasn’t going to get the paper I would read the magazine and other sections during the week. But I always think “this week it will come.” Never pays to be an optimist or relax about anything–and I moved here to optimistically relax

There was a time when I would have rushed to my blog to say that Bone is fine. But as he’s one of the few people who reads this blog these days…..I’m well read on PPsychology Today so don’t cry for me…

Now I’m on vacation–had visitors, for Intersession, of the college student kind. Little Luce who isn’t so little anymore and her incredibly wonderful boyfriend. They give me faith….

So does Bone coming through this unscathed. I can’t believe how scared I was.

A friend of a lifetime went into the hospital last week with Multiple Myeloma. Then Phoebe Snow died who I don’t even know but….Then the tornadoes.

I first became close, to Bone, during Katrina when I noticed how genuinely kind and good he was to people who were directly affected. One woman had a son in Iraq and a son missing for a time in Bayou Country. I thought he was worth becoming friends with and never regretted that. Need him around to blog about life in Boneville with the Bonefamily&friends–he’ll have a celeb abbrev for that, I know.

We’ve always joked about his father’s insistence on getting into cars and driving around during tornadoes. I was never going to laugh at anything tornado related again however I heard from Bone last night when he got sporadic cell reception and now he has electricity. His family and weather–OK his father is worse, than me on keeping on top of weather, if that’s possible. Though he doesn’t get moldy, soggy, languid and sometimes depressed in spring rain–but come alive in summer humidity as I do,

This weather spate–I don’t know; it’s crazy, uncontrollable and scary.

But for now I’m just glad the Bone family is alright.
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Places to help for Alabama Please in the name of one of the least prejudiced people I know, Bone, we’re all purple today and don’t say you don’t want to help a racist. Then they’ll look at color, political party, home ownership–does the person have insurance and finally relgion. We need none of that now!!!!

After 9/11 they didn’t allow concerts downtown for a few weeks. WFUV had a free one and I can’t believe I can’t remember the venue or most of the performers. But there was Phoebe Snow in her first performance in years. I remember every second of her performance; I watched the glasses on the table to see if they would break k or sing though I knew they weren’t crystal

Here’s an article from Peoples archives. When Phoebe was young, pregnant and didn’t know that a doctor would smother her baby who would be severely brain damaged. Valerie was only supposed to live a few years but Phoebe gave up her career to care for her.

Phoebe was from Jersey and here’s an article that has several of her songs

I truly believe that the world is a slightly sadder place today. Though she had a brain hemorrhage in January, 2010 and never really recovered. Maybe it’s a better thing.
I apologize for my writing. Really feel sad right now. Phoebe Snow was two days older than I am and….I always thought her beyond talented.

I originally wrote this in 4/05. Apparently even Bone didn’t read me then!. My Dawg in shining armor, Doug did read Courting. I guess it was before Google spell check and I wasn’t as good a writer as I am now. Aside from all that I love this post.

I no longer focus on Courting as I write for Psychology Todayabout a disorder I suffer from but had never heard of when I wrote this post

Why is this night different than all other nights?

Because I have to go out to Long Island as it’s so much easier than coming to my apartment in Manhattan. LIRR is the acronym for Long Island Railroad. I hated with a vengeance the first ten minutes of the Jim Carrey/Kate Winslet movie, because it took place on the railroad.

I will never know the joy of celebrating a family holiday in my own apartment and I have resented that for a long time.

” Your apartment is too small,” “Too much work.” “We don’t want you to go to any trouble.” “Where are you going to put the turkey?” Oh wrong holiday–”the matzoh kugel.”

I admit that my sister, who I love so much, is a great cook with great dishes, and does wonderful presentations.

So do I. Hardly anybody cooks anymore, and I’m so practiced at the art of presentation, or taking food bought and cooked at some of the best take-out establishments in the world, and making it look really pretty.

Now there are great take-out places on the Island, so my only real argument is moot.

Tonight it’s at my sister’s in-laws.

Tomorrow it’s at my sister’s where I will sleep tonight. I’m usually a first night, no day person, but I promised my niece. Actually I promised her Mom–but a promise is a promise. This brings up many other issues.

My sister’s house used to be my parents house; we moved there when I was twelve–which would have been child abuse–had they have been aware of the consequence of their actions.

The house looks great. It no longer looks like the house I spent the most miserable five years eight months of my life in. Not that I counted the time or anything like that.

I love visiting the house now.

But holidays always make a single woman who is not the host–or the mommy–feel demeaned. They’re designed that way.

It doesn’t matter what you’ve achieved or not achieved in life. It doesn’t matter what people are really thinking or that once you actually get to the dinner you have a good time. It’s the day leading up to the dinner that’s a bitch.

You think that people who have known you all or most of your life are going to silently nod their heads (and later discuss with spouse) “she had so many opportunities; was such a knock out–how could she have let them all slip away?” As if success in life is measured by first the amount of marriage proposals one has had (I’ve had many,) and then by being and staying married.

You think that the people who are going to meet you for the first time or have met you once or twice will think: “She’s a great conversationalist; not bad looking–actually almost pretty. What could be wrong with her?” You know that they’re going to spend the next two hours dissing you. Though rationally you know that you’re not worth two hours of their time. They have kids. They have really important jobs. They have a 5600 square foot house; your entire apartment could fit into their master closet. Though your apartment is worth as much as their newly married daughter’s 2800 square foot house.

Who cares about your accomplishments? Or that you’ve traversed much of the globe by yourself; have never been a single/divorced/whatever person to sit home and pout over your single status. Since it was by choice you really can’t.

Oh that’s a lie. Not the choice part; the pouting part. I have sat home very very occasionally and pouted, because I will do almost anything to get out of taking the LIRR on a holiday.

It’s me, the 20 somethings, a few people in mismatched plaids (who aren’t making a fashion statement,) and some couples of all ages who whine at each other.

Passover happens to be my favorite holiday, though I have no idea if I believe in God or not, and don’t want to hear about how a belief in
God would make me a person who doesn’t complain and is much happier. I even find reading the Haggadah comforting. Though I didn’t go to my first real Seder until I was fifteen, and we visited relatives in Mobile Alabama.

Yes my father found his religious Jewish identity in the deep South.

Holidays were fun then; I felt secure and loved. But both my parents are gone now, and holidays bring up every unresolved issue in my life. As soon as I get to where I’m going, the issues become resolved until the next time.

I am a happy person who loves to complain in print. I know many singles of all major religions who do believe in God, and complain twice as loudly as me about how unfair holidays are.

Two major differences: They only complain to other singles.

Second difference: I don’t want to get married so that I’ll have a Saturday night and holiday date.

Boring. Stupid.

I really would rather read a book, or travel where I want to.

I mastered solo dining in swank restaurants many years ago. If I want to, I can always find somebody to take me or go with.

Truthfully I’m more satisfied with my self and my life than many married people I know are satisfied with their lives

But on the day before, or the day of a major family holiday I turn into a disgruntled childlike idiot.

Excuse me while I go pout.

I’m beyond exhausted. My last two posts for Psychology Today delved deep. The latest took me a week to write. I kept thinking that some people would have a book written in that time.

The editors chose both as “essential reads” and yes I am proud.

I looked up “lucky” foods and on New Years Eve made salmon, kale, collard greens, spinach and blacked eye peas for dinner. Only one of those foods isn’t an everyday food for me so it was a little disappointing. Until I realized that means I eat for luck every day. And I am very lucky. I get to walk five miles on the beach every day except on days like yesterday when I swear it was raining things, not just rain. The air was filled with dirt, leaves and more. I’ve never seen a rain like that before.

On Saturday night we had torrential lightening. It was incredibly beautiful and yes I felt lucky to see it. Though old friend who called sorry I was so distant. Writing non stop for weeks with massive rain coming–makes me want to curl up on a couch or daybed and wait for the lightening. Then I run from room to room to see where the best lightening’s coming from.

I bought a three person swing with cushions and cover at Kroger. Eldon put it together. It’s on the downstairs deck and I can spend endless hours swinging as fast as I can. Well not endless hours as it makes me dizzy but in a good way. Then I let myself fall asleep on it. Had to force myself inside when it began raining because as much as I love watching lightening I prefer to be indoors.

I usually walk with a friend and we end up at one of North Myrtle’s few beach bar/restaurants. It has live music–not shag music usually–and I finally feel as if I’m in a real tropical beach town.

All this is a long way of saying I put copies of all the sentences, paragraphs, pages I don’t use in my PT articles here. A friend–the one I was accidentally and regrettably aloof to on Saturday is archiving Courting. When I was going through the posts I put in a Blogger blog I couldn’t believe some of the lines I have come up with.

And now there’s a swing I haven’t been on in a couple of hours. I think I’m turning my house into an amusement park for me.

My latest PT post
Part Two of Not Quite a Hoarder: Clear Pathways