The Record Player

Time suspended, sleep escapes me. My body, muscles, heart- feel heavy and burdened, not quite right. Not unlike many who have gone before me, and will walk beside me, many who will yet have to walk this road.  My Dad died a week ago tonight, and I feel even more disconnected then I did then. The Funeral is on Saturday, and I want it to go away.  Some of the bonds that were formed with family members are further damaged, while others are miraculously healed. Who would know or believe. Today was the first day in two weeks I have had time to just be, cruise in my car and feel by myself. I am not even sure what it is I was looking for- I just kept looking, searching for something. Some sense of balance.

I am listening to Carole King, with my head phones on. Ray sits beside me  on his computer and all feels right with that. He is my North Star. "Child of Mine," by Carole King is on right now. I have been spending a lot  of time at my mom's house this past week, more time than I have in such along time. I went into my Dad's room. I sat on the chair..... he  slept in a chair the past three or four years because he had to sleep upright to be able to breathe. I looked around his room. It looked so sad. I wanted something to hold onto, a memento, a feeling, a thought. The Quiet was deafening. My heart felt so empty, yearning for something that wasn't. I roamed upstairs, where I spent my twelfth to end of sixteenth year. It wasn't a long time in this house, it is not warm and cozy and welcoming for me. Simply a dwelling I visit.

I searched for something up there.... perhaps a piece of my past that I let me know that I existed.  I rustled through the Christmas Stuff in Joe's old room- found a box with my Grandma (on my Mom's side) stuff. Found a few old pics but it kept my heart yearning. I meandered out to the garage, a true no man's land. I looked at my Dad's old Florist Stuff and felt such pain and exasperation. "Why in the hell did you keep all this crap, Dad. What memory did you leave for me to hold onto?"

I looked over to a bunch of old record albums on the side of the garage. My heart let out a sigh. Music- maybe he was leading me to comfort after all. My brothers old albums, all my favorites. Beatles, James Taylor, Beach Boys, Gordon Lightfoot, Simon and Garfunkel. Those and more were the ones that got me through as a teenager and on. I asked my bro if  I could borrow them, and my heart lifted. Raym said he would pick me up a record player  this week. It has always been the music, writing.

I have been very angry and frustrated at the father I had. I forgave him, which was like peeling an onion over the past couple of weeks at the hospital. The pain of what wasn't .... and now allowing what possibilities in from another dimension are the most difficult. Just letting it be, letting the forgiveness soak in, and let him be a true father from where he is now, without all the baggage. That is where the steel around my heart crumbles.... the little girl comes out, and I suppose the true healing really will take place. I guess honesty is all we really possess.

I look forward to my new record player, my records, and hours of my past love of music and song merging with who I am today..... and just let it all be.

The Counter

Ok, I am sitting here watching Dr Phil- and this dumb b---- is sitting on the stage making excuses why she  allowed drugs and drinking  in her teens home, then blaming the kids. The kids feel insane as she keeps saying "no," it is everyone else's fault.  The kids, cops, other parents -as she stares blankly. Okay- this isn't even what my story is about,  way too much work, don't even get me started. I will never stop! What did get me revved up was actually tongue in cheek humor from this broad. Dating back, you guessed it:


Clare's School 101... From a Sixteen Year Old- All you need to know and more. 

I was thinking about when I started waitressing, and what I learned about peoples behaviors, and how it has served me to this day- when the red lights go off. Run don't walk. Now this is the real me.....
so if you aren't into my story at this point of the game, best be closing up shop and read something else,  I feel like letting it fly. Anyone who really knows me.... knows how tame I have been writing.  I love words, usage,  tone, meaning, shock value. Yes- "shock value".
 Too much Catholic School that never leaves me.  Pleasures me to no end. So here goes and if you think I am not grinning from ear to ear, hmmm.

So, back in the days of waitressing at sixteen, I was learning all about life - and people's behaviors.
First I will talk a moment about mine. I have something that I don't know what it is called- numbers dyslexia?  To this day I get numbers mixed up. I can't even explain it, but they get jumbled up in my head. So, back to waitressing. In the restaurant I began Hostessing first- and couldn't remember where all The Stations in the restaurant were.
It was a big place and all the girls had there favorite customers. They wanted me to put their regulars on their Station, but couldn't get the numbers straight in my head. The first four or five were fine- but past that they would get jumbled. These babes thought I was doing it on purpose. First of all, I wasn't smart, angry or cunning enough to pull off such a feat. I had not learned the female ways of the world to pull off such sabatoge. To calm my jilted nerves from these savage beasts, I would bring whole pies into the bathroom, place them up on the unit that held the paper towels for drying your hands. I  kept a large spoon there and would dig in when I got stressed. I am an interesting gal pal,  I know.

Can you imagine customers walking in, seeing this yummy pie perched up high, with a huge spoon rakishly laying in it? I would feast on that sucker until it was history.
I moved around a lot- I have always been hyper, and the sugar probably made me even more nervous and forgetful. These chicks were older and had worked this place along time, they were not having it with me, complaining constantly. Who could blame them? The managers had many "talks" with me. "I know you can do this if you just focus." Um, no, trust me, it's not gonna happen. By the time I became a waitress it was a million times better, I only had to focus on six stations. My life became  much easier, not to mention these gals got their perfect worlds back.

I had to do a lot of night shifts first, the morning shifts were the much coveted ones.
Working the Counter was the job no one wanted and that is pretty much where  I started.
Whoa- interesting crew. Now I know why one of the girls always unzipped her uniform way down in the morning and let her jugs fly a little more freely than usual, and they were some big bazookas.
She tripled her tips. I was sixteen, went to Church a lot and pretty much just stared.
Of course it was mostly men who sit at  The Counter. Now when you are very shy, come from an extremely Catholic Home and have no idea how to talk to boys let alone men- you do a lot of observing. I had just turned sixteen, starting Junior Year. This was my first real job after just coming off of a Summer of being a Camp Counselor at a Catholic Girl's Camp in Wrightwood.

I worked until 9 pm and management would try to push it later and later. The Counter People that came in as the evening grew later were very interesting. The Hells Angels Bikers, interestingly enough were the ones I feared the least- even to this day.  Again: Clare's everything you learn at 16.
They  very nice and the type that would have walked me to my car late at night. The gents that actually scared me the most:
The TV Preacher type that came in with their families on Sundays dressed nice and proper. Good family men. Then the same men would slither in some weekday evening as if I hadn't just waited on them , their lovely wife and children.... and tell me how"They liked my bedroom eyes."  First off, I had no idea what the hell they were talking about,  but it had bedroom in it, and second it was gross.
I was sixteen, they were a lot older, married and TV Preacher slithering in.That was one of my greatest lessons about trusting my intuition. Those kind always said the grossest things to us.
They looked so clean cut- but said the most repulsive things. To this day.... Ray can see it coming from seven years of waitressing. Okay, that's "One of them."  I just can't help myself sometimes. It is a look. You can just spot it. "Would you like some dessert?"  " Yes, you baby on the counter." By seventeen I wouldn't blink an eye and just say you are so original. By twenty I would say," Yum, how about you on the counter for dessert ," as I was bringing out my other orders, ringing up the register and clocking out.  I would be fired in two seconds now for what would fly out of my mouth. I  like words, very descript words. I met amazing people, and it wasn't just one type- but that was the type I am laughing about today. Believe me there were many!

For Halloween we used to dress in Costume each year. Some girls dressed as Playboy Bunnies. I would rather have shot myself. Even wearing my long hair down out of a bun was too much of a reveal for me. I dressed in twenties style one year. I don't think people got the romantic look. I did and loved it. I will post it. Believe me.... I was as wild child as they came.
I just didn't like gross, invasive and still don't. I am private- even though I am very public at times.
I learned so much from waitressing, I never realized  I would learn so much about life and keep applying it today.
I used to wait on Kenny Loggins Dad at The Counter.  I didn't really care or pay attention all that much, to be honest. I am pretty sure I was too interested in getting back to my pie in the bathroom.

Reinventing The Spencers

The past couple of days have been a  nightmare and heavenly. My darling has begun his vacation,
letting down after such a large scale project has not been easy, to say the least. The feelings of  coming back into the family, integrating again after being emotionally in another space for so long- it takes Raym awhile, and probably me to let the drawbridge back down.


This time around we realized some major changes took place from this particular project.We both changed so much. This was the biggest project of his career, and the Introvert had to come out of his shell and become a different person over the past few years, lead in a way he wasn't used to. I delved into writing in a way I had not before, and even deeper into my life. Dug in - tore it apart to find out where I needed to go, who I am all, the way through. Whatever that meant, and wherever it took me. We were both in foreign lands.  Our kids are grown, but  all still live under the same roof- we are a very close family, and communication is a very big part of our lives. It is always very evident when someone is out of step, out of tune.

Ray had to trust himself, that he was making the right decisions at work. Use his gut, raw instinct which he has always lived by, this time it was very large scale.  I was using this time, letting my instinct delve into the deepest part of remaining skin that needed to be peeled away. The past few months as deeply as we respected one other, our worlds seemed so far apart. Our love always there, but sometimes when you are so "in it," getting through challenges, white knuckling it, beyond grateful you make it through.

That's what the past six months have been like for both of us. It finally materialized the past few days, when there was time to come together and feel, release emotions that had built up. Things we didn't even know existed. As with our relationship- this can go way back- to the beginning. Until it is done, cleaned up... it is never done. I will never care what any theory is said about this. Remaining residue is just that- if there is still hurt, pain, stuff hanging in the air that is still incomplete- it stands between you.

The depth of love we share-  burns so intensely. We have always stated to one another we want to die in each others arms. The thought is unbearable not to be together. It is just how we feel. I say to him, "You better stay healthy and live a really long time, since you are eight years older than me.You are the best part of me, I have fought harder to find out who I am, because you  have stood beside me. Behind me when I have fallen. I continually reinvent who I am , as you do. It is who we are. The gift of  our children, this family makes me work harder every day to be more, better."

The advantage of stripping life down to the bone-  feeling clean. It takes everything, and feels like you will never be done walking through the fire. Today I feel like I am finally beginning.


What do you think break ups and divorce are all about, by the time they get there. Over spilt milk, I don't think so- there are so many things leading to that spilt milk or socks left on the floor. It is usually raw pain of not being heard, misunderstood, not feeling loved. We  were no different. The pain coming from growing up with parents who were not present. This is not about "poor us".  It is about understanding, those of us, any of us who grew up with Intimacy Issues. Letting down and letting another in, trusting. It doesn't matter if you have been in a relationship six months or thirty years- letting down all the way, fighting fair- opening your heart in your deepest pain and knowing, believing that person standing in front of you will still love you for you. Not looking at you in disgust as the tears start, and  roll through like a steam rolling train with no end in sight. The shaking, the anger, the grief. Showing this and more, all of me, my vulnerability, will you still want me? If I don't say the words perfectly what are in my heart in the heat of the moment- am I forgiven?

This has been the past two days, reinventing The Spencers on the deepest level. Telling the truth, but wait haven't we done this one million times? Oh, but this one went deeper. Ouch- do you still love me when the truth is less than pretty about the beginning? My neediness, your unkindness? This is the price we pay of uniting with no roadmap from either side, just love and a whole lot of hope.We wished, yet had no plan- I liked you and you liked me. We married and had babies and life felt like bliss because all we need was love until.....

I didn't understand how to balance a checkbook and you had no concept of time. I figured out family and you figured out work....  never a plan we just stuck to what we were good at. Time went on, we realized what we lacked. I need more in the Work Department - I want to find my way. It is time for you to be less Workaholic and participate in Home Life.We both feel so ill equipped, and shed more tears the past few days, realizing the changes that need to occur. Our shortcomings, what we had to overcome just to get here. A life time. Now the reinvention, the love, the one thing we know for sure that always gets us through.  Forgiving ourselves for our perceived imperfections, each other for hurting one another, never on purpose, it is because we are so close. I have never been as ready for this next adventure wherever it leads. We're both more than ready to turn the page and see what is waiting for us.

Marriage and All That

I  have been writing stories in my head since last night, which is nothing new, but what is new- is
wanting to write about marriage. My marriage and marriage in general. I was thinking so much about life, as Ray was sleeping so peacefully next to me until I  finally drifted off to sleep.
I was thinking- why are there manuals and classes for the dumbest things in life that you will never, even use. But the most important ones, relationships, marriages, parenting and  raising children- how did that get left behind in the mix? At least when I was saddling up my Dinosaur back in the day- Mrs. Ruthie Reader was teaching us Home Economics in High School.  I learned to fake sew and fake cook. Do a  Fashion Show with a polyester shell top I think- or was that when my mom put my sister and I in Sears Sewing Class? It all gets a little muddled.
 Not that I learned to be a  cook and wife from that. In the early days I  still  left  all the insides of the chicken in while cooking it. I was twenty one, just made sense to put it in the oven- guts and all. Sure it was yummy. I have a pretty darling husband , he has never said, "Your food tasted like hell- I forgot to mention "We have known each other thirty years. In December we will have been married twenty nine.
We were both definitely Clueless when we got married. I was twenty two, he was thirty. I believe our sense of humor is the strongest thing that has kept us going through the tough times. Sometimes you just have to laugh, and believe it or not we do with each other every day over the most ridiculous things. We usually try to out shock, out- whatever each other. Love and support is always there.

To tell you the truth, we both try to rack our brains about some "Romantic Proposal", neither of us can remember. The  thing I do remember, I knew he was the one for me. What we did know- we wanted to be together more than anything. Neither of us were particularly great prospects on the outside looking in. I was getting married again for the second time at twenty two, ( first time at eighteen) and wouldn't get a divorce until Ray pushed it, and took me down to City Hall.  I didn't get it, I was twenty one and immature, I couldn't see why or  how that could affect Ray or anyone else.  I was dragging my feet, but the truth was I liked Ray so much- I was scared to get a divorce and didn't want to make a mistake again. I knew I had found the right one- but how could I explain that to anyone at that time?

He was living in a Bachelor Pad- not terribly motivated and you know when I was making more than him at times as a waitress..... well, the truth is I never let him leave the Coffee Shop I worked at, I was a smitten twenty year old. He  was renting office space in a depressing building,  having just left The Bradbury Building downtown. The economy was in a recession, and little work was to be had. I still thought he was a regal beagle. We moved in together- and were honest about it with both sides of our family. No secret keeping- that went over big!  His mother disowned him, and mine did the equal version with me.

I think the reason Ray and I are so similar ( even though it appears on the outside we are different as night and day) is that we both wanted the same things. We both wanted normalcy after coming from insanity.  The benefits for us  having similar backgrounds-  an understanding and forgiveness
for behaviors that others might have abandoned ship long ago. Even we wanted to abandon ship on each other at times. There has always been this underlying forgiveness, love, understanding, even and especially when the rage, anger, tears, " I'm divorcing you look" comes out.
Right- anyone who has been married along time doesn't know that look- than right on to you!
Overcoming things together, just as every couple learns- is just part of the ride.

I think sometimes we expected more hurt, more pain to chew on- gave us more character to build.
That became the biggest BS myth, it just was more pain we became conditioned to from past experiences.We could not allow the good, success,  love, and support. The challenges, the fear, the mayhem became our way of life, living.We had to let go step by step, who wouldn't want to let go of all of that? When it becomes part of who you believe you are, your identity, there is sorrow in saying goodbye. In the final parting- saying goodbye to the beliefs, myths and people  as well.

This is where Ray and I now stand,  changing,  growing,  learning, feeling like babes- in -the- woods- of- life at times. It is time to welcome this new skin we are shedding. Just as all marriages, relationships must to move forward, grow - stay current, or face wilting. A rebirth takes place constantly, sometimes for one, or both. Other times inevitable endings. Marriage is that secret place no one tells you- where change is the only constant to thrive. It is that big wave you ride,sometimes  watching a beautiful, golden sunset together- other times falling under a riptide where you can't breathe, panic. Middle road is good, walking along the beach dipping your toes in the water. I am ready to do some soaking up the sun, playing in the waves and just seeing where the day takes us.

The Mount Charles

Patience is a virtue....  I think that is the number one thing I was put on this planet to work on. My darling hubby said he would get around to writing this story,  I do believe him in his Libran sort of way. He will think about it, weigh it, mull over it- ruminate. I however am a true Lioness,
Leo through and through. I think about it, and that's that. Let's do it NOW. That's pretty much how the average Leo rolls. We  don't let any grass grow green under our feet. Much to the detriment of ourselves many times- we are reactors.
Well, the Libra has spoken... and has joined in on this story, This is a collaboration and we are laughing as we retell this story of our lives together. First time collaboration on writing a story.

The "Mount Charles" has a lot of names that Ray came up with. It was originally  a Chevrolet Monte Carlo that I bought  at eighteen years old with the first hub.  I thought this was a very regal ride, after all, I was sporting a  blue Ford Pinto perched in the driveway.
Now with so many choices of cars, why a brown Monte Carlo at Hertz Rent A car you might ask yourself? I have no idea but perhaps I saw it on a commercial or thought it was super regal.
I wheeled out of that used Hertz Rent A Car place like I owned the road. I can't tell you how fancy I thought I was, all eighteen years old, Farrah Fawcett wanna -be- do and all.

That is how our story begins. Flash forward - selling it to my parents two years later, trading it in for a red 240Z and the single life. I was one happy gal pal. Flash forward once again  about  five years, married to my Raymond with two kids in tow.  One of our cars had broken down- blown engine, and we need another pronto. Enter The Monte Carlo, Mount Charles, Carlitos Way, as Raym had renamed the beast.
Out of desperation we bought it back from my parents. I was no longer eighteen, now twenty eight, how did that happen?  I am very hip to the fact that this car is very uncool. No way in hell I am driving this beast, I have a four year old and a new born that I am toting around in this ride. No way, Raym is doing this, I will drive the Subaru wagon.
Raym had started working in Culver City at a film Company, after always being self employed. This was twenty five years ago, and his first  step into the entertainment world  after working for Doug Trumbull, who had  originally started the company. This was Ray's first gig as an Art Director, so most things were new and he was winging it, feeling a bit out of his league. What was with this entertainment world?

One day as Ray was parking "The Carlito," at  work-  (by this time he had figured out to park it across the street in the Carwash Parking Lot, so no one would be the wiser) the headliner dropped even lower than usual on his head- dropping the beautiful fairy dust that it produced from above. If anyone has ever experienced a drooping headliner -this silt stuff falls out and doesn't stop getting all over your head and shoulders. It doesn't stop raining on you, especially in older cars.
Other drivers just see you with this veil of lining draped ever so gently all around your head and shoulders, like the warmest shawl.   It is a sight to behold.
 On this particular day the headliner decided to detach completely from the roof and do a super low rider on Ray. When he came back from lunch, however there was no more parking in the Car Wash across the street. What to do what to do?  "No one will notice if I park it in the corner,"  brave young Spencer thought. Later in the day a coworker said to Ray "Who drives that super ---- ---- car, a busboy?  "I don't know" he said, slinking away.  Later it was quitting time,  Ray usually beat feet out of there at a carefully scripted time..... before or after the rest of the crew to avoid being detected anywhere in the vicinity of the Mount Charles, let alone inside it,  especially  by the higher ups!
Unfortunately on this particular day the executives were chatty, (the president and VP's etc) decided to walk Ray out. What else could he do but fumble with his keys next to the closest BMW. That was like playing russian roulette, what if the beamer was one of theirs? All was well, they drove off.... and Ray shuffled over to "Carlito's Way." "I art directed this move " he thought triumphantly,smirking for sure at getting away with this accomplishment.
After leaving the parking lot, and driving round the corner, he stopped at a red light, looks over at the car next to him..... a shiny new Jaguar,  the carload of VP'S  he just left in the parking lot are just staring at him nodding and acknowledging his presence -  now the headliner is permanently draped over his head and shoulders- where did the BMW go?   The headliner foam was now raining, pouring down on him it's remaining contents. Staying the cool cat, he nods a friendly wave- turns bright red, slinks down and  drives off as the signal changes to green, acting cool but dying inside, as though this is an every day occurrence. Humility knows no bounds.

This makes me laugh thinking about him acting cool- I would have run out of the car screaming, explaining, laughing, I don't know.

We all start somewhere,  everyone has challenges with each stage of life.
We always will. I think it is about being able to laugh about them along the way.
Constant circle of reinventing ourselves-and just appreciating every step!

By the way the Company went bankrupt so who had the last laugh? Maybe the VP's are driving the Mount Charles now!

Watermelon

I have not felt like writing in awhile and the last few stories have been so serious that it is time for something that is humorous- at least this one makes me laugh!
Matt reminded me of this one as we were sitting here eating watermelon..... so here goes.

Back in 1980 at the tender age of 18 I was waitressing at a restaurant in Pasadena on Arroyo Parkway, a recent newlywed, and I actually thought I knew what was up. Hmmm....
My oldest sister and I worked together, she was the manager and we worked the morning shift.  She came in at five a.m., me at six fifteen. I was the laziest sloth imaginable to mankind at that age. I probably crawled out of bed at five thirty, powdered my greasy hair ( because I am sure I  allowed no time to take a shower) and I bet I put on a wrinkled uniform. We had to wear our hair in a braid, bun or pony tail- (pretty sure that is why I still wear my hair back to this day)

I lived about twenty minutes away, so I was always late-  this did not go over well with my sister/boss. It would get very busy in the morning,  and with only two gal pals working the whole place, you had to get going. That is where I learned my people skills, how to juggle many things at once,  and deal with hungry, angry people. It still comes in handy, especially now.
 
I never appreciated the skill it took to work half of a restaurant  the first  four hours of our shift without a hostess, while my sister took the other half. (It was a large place. ) It is a well oiled machine when it works, when it doesn't it is complete chaos. We liked it because we made most of our tips that way, before the other gals came in to work, but the hustling was intense.

We would have fun in the mornings and crank up the tunes. Disco was very in at the time, so we would just rock out as it made our mornings very entertaining and fly by. When the Restaurant Manager came in by ten, we would turn it down again. We had many regulars that came in once, twice, sometimes three times a day.
Some we didn't mind.... others, hmmmm.

The lingering gents always sat at the counter, and somehow had a "sixth sense" when we were the unlucky waitress working that section. Such a thrill to pour seven thousand cups of coffee to the same person all day. And no way-they would be back four times by noon, not to mention the afternoon. You're kidding.....

There was one special gent that took a liking to me.  I was  just a year out of high school, and as I said newly married. This fellow had a Gas Station next door to the Coffee Shop, and I would gas my lovely blue pinto up every week there. He started coming in more than usual it seemed, but I didn't really pay attention, until  he started parking  himself on my station everyday.
He was a rather interesting looking fella. I can't say he would have ever been my type, married or not.
It wasn't just because it appeared he didn't bathe frequently, or sweat profusely. Or..... stare constantly.
That didn't throw me off. Did I mention his breath? Or hair?  Oh, guess not- maybe later.
Maybe it was the way he would seductively shout my name..... "Cuuuuhhhhlllaaayyyrre."
All the while trying to get close to me with the smell of patchouli oil, B.O. and other stuff going on .

But alas,  there was one constant with this sexy beast- he ordered watermelon everyday, rain or shine.
He was watching his waistline..... but this is just a guess, I am pretty sure he may have been partying on something else other than watermelon when not at the Coffee Shop.  He was a  bit of a big fella,
and not on the tall side. I am pretty sure I was a few inches taller than him- which made it even worse when I was near him. It was okay when he was sitting down in the booth, but at the gas station he would get as close as humanly possible to me and  be level to me and my neck, or quite possibly a little lower. I could feel his dragon breath on me.  At this point of the story you are saying, "So why didn't you just beat feet and get gas somewhere else?" Well, I was still a very good obedient Catholic Girl, and he was a pushy,  strange as hell man that I just felt like I was supposed to get gas from and fill my pinto.

One day "Watermelon" decided he was going to leave more than his buck or two tip.
He left two- one hundred dollar bills. Well, that watermelon must have been pretty darned good I guess.
He said I deserved it- I felt a little uncomfortable, but okay Mr. Watermelon whatever you say.
Next time I go to get gas..... by this time I usually had to pay some type of penance like sit in his office and hear him talk and stare- this time he decides he wants to tell me something. Hmmmm.

He cuts to the chase. I know I hadn't eaten nearly enough rice pudding yet, or was it tapioca?
"I want you to be my vwoman." No I didn't add a "V", that's how he said "vwoman."
I wanted to snarl, chuckle,  yelp, gasp......

"I give you credit cards, apartment,  car, money... you come to me two, three times a week."
Okay, I really have not described this dude. He was wider than he was tall...... with the greasiest  hair slicked back. Yum.  I just sat there in disbelief wanting to laugh so hard.  I am friggin' eighteen.  He has to be in his late thirties at least, not to say that by twenty I didn't go out with a forty five year old-  but that was different.  He wasn't Watermelon, and he wasn't proposing I be his what?  What was he going to be my Sugarmelon? I tried reminding him I was married, with my plush pinto ride and all. That didn't sway the fox, he was married too. Things were starting too get a little uncomfortable and a little too real.

He gave me a really hideous gold necklace  and   some other jewelry that I threw away.
 Consequently I didn't go into Watermelons Gas Station anymore.  The final  joke is when his wife drives up in his big, red corvette. She hands me the keys and asks me if I want the Mercedes or the Corvette for the weekend.  I said neither- but they would not take no for an answer. It was the most uncomfortable situation I can tell you. I gave my brother-in-law the keys and  I am sure he had a rocking weekend.
The humiliated look on this  woman's face.... the horror on mine.

Watermelon gave it one more shot when he brought this older, very freaky man with bulging eyes staring me over like I was a steak dinner. I didn't get what was going on- Maybe in retrospect they had a thing for waitresses and wanted a harem.  Couldn't I at least have had a looker?  These fellas were an interesting crew, I just couldn't get into their style anymore. They knew it wasn't happening-some secretaries across the street I now noticed were sidling up to them. They were older gals.....
probably in their thirties,  but when you are eighteen they may as well be one hundred.

I think I will write more about some of the interesting customers-  had I not worked there I would not have met Ray two short years later. By then I am sad to say I was pinto-less. I sold that beauty to my sister, had to keep that gem in the family. I did have a fine brown Monte Carlo right after that- that I actually picked out and thought was as cool as a cadillac. Hmmmm. The next story must  be written by Ray, because that car got sold back and forth between my parents and us..... and he ultimately inherited it.
Now that story can only be told by him and it is pretty funny.
Memories are good.... we can look back and see how far we have come and have a good laugh at the ridiculous!

I Will Follow

How can it be seven thirty? Where did the day go?  It feels like it has been one of those lost days.
I am laying down on the couch with the computer on a pillow propping it up," Hoarder's"Marathon is on the television and Ray is watching. That is when I know my hubby is stressed, I  am starting to get into the groove of it today. When I am tired, I am like a restless,  irritable baby,  having no clue or ability to comfort myself in the moment. I decided in my delirium it was a great idea to organize the kitchen and have a bake-a-thon.

Why rest when you can be a whirling dervish?  It's just that it takes me hours to figure this little bit of info out to calm down. I just have to work it out and my family knows it. I did whip up a killer spinach-lentil soup.While I am in this mood, I grab for the chips to console myself, and get very salted out. Hmmm, by now I look like I am ready for labor and delivery.....

I have been writing all week about the situation with my younger brother. He overdosed on pills the beginning of the week, and has been in a facility - what the aftermath has been. Last night Ray and I went to a Preview Party for his work. It is a very busy and exciting time in his life, yet between the two of us, it was very difficult to get up with the people and celebrate. He is absolutely exhausted from his schedule,  and I am wiped out from this family situation.The turning point was when we met up with our dear friend who flew in from Pennsylvania last night, to celebrate his part in  the work he has done.  This was a real treat. The second treat, our daughter was coming to meet us later in the evening.

Ray went to meet up with Katie to let her know where we were, so I sat and just chilled out and chatted with our friend. He is a very sensitive man, and I am so grateful  he understood where I was coming from. (I didn't have to over explain myself) Ray and I  had such a great time with him in Pennsylvania,  we felt so welcome- it was wonderful to be at this party and just let down. I was telling him what the week had been like, and for some reason I just started talking about my parents. We were sitting at such a busy place.... so many people at this shindig, and I just didn't care. Life is just real when it is, and opportunity comes. You take it or you don't.

He and Ray have a lot of similarities, so I feel very comfortable with his personality. Every time I see him, I tell him he looks like Kenny Loggins ( he does) this time without the beard. As he talked, I realized how they both have had to modify their behavior - as artistic personalities to succeed. He  along with his brother  now run the company their father started. He is a very artistic, thoughtful, soft spoken man. The industry he works in is very rough, burly, masculine, manly man.When he gave me a tour with my hard hat on- through the facility last time I was there, I had to really put my game face on. It is very male dominated..... and I felt it every moment I walked through it.

I realized the same for my hubby,  how much he has had to change. From the  easy going artist sitting in his studio painting, having his own schedule..... (music  playing, shorts on, us just cruising around together when we felt like it, ) to- being responsible for huge projects, many people, and getting so far away from painting, drawing, quiet. Meetings, presentations, speaking in front of Presidents of Corporations,travel, heavy expectation to succeed.  Striking a balance.... and finding their voices. That was the point exactly what my friend was trying to tell me about my parents. It is time to find a different voice in myself with them.

I have always come so much from my heart, much to my detriment. I have worn it on my sleeve.The conversation with my friend last night about being so angry, frustrated with my mom. It has been all about my expectations. I thought I was always adjusting them, but listening to him last night.... I think I finally got it. Just as Ray and him have had to put their game faces on when they have to take the lead, that is what I now need to do with my parents. Take my emotion out, do the the best job I can.... and just be kind.

Ray has told me this throughout the years, my sisters have said the same thing- but my heart always gotten in the way. Why is it I have had so much patience with Hospice, dealing with someone else's family members, but no patience for my own?  Hearing from a non family member simplified it. I hear how lonely my mom is - she just wants to go for a drive, or out to lunch. I can do that. I am behaving no differently than her, if I am constantly commenting and judging her on her behavior,her negativity. It isn't working- she knows how I feel. My friend is right. He simply stated, "How about just trying to love her?"  I don't know how and what I have done hasn't worked in the past. This has been a week of total surrender. Surrender of my expectations. Of the past, what never was.If I am going to put my money where my mouth is- it's easy to talk about this when I am in the environment I am in at home, surrounded by love. Time to open my heart in a different way. I don't even know what that means as I write this, and it no longer matters. What I do know.... I am willing. And with that willingness- I will follow.