Saturday Speaks: Them Bones Gonna Walk Around

After hearing from Loraine Despres, I checked out her blog and found a quote there that seems to speak to the sort of week I've had:

(from wpcontent.answers.com)

"If you cannot get rid of the family skeleton, you may as well make it dance."
~ George Bernard Shaw

Off to shake, rattle, and roll the rest of this wedding weekend!

Friday Sabbath: Matters of the unfaithful

Namely me... and things like this weekend make me wonder if believing in something might actually help calm my nerves.

I'll give the scenario:

I'm neurotic, as I've admitted before, about my cat. It's pretty silly, I guess, if you're a normal person reading this and you have, or have heard of, normal cats. Normal cats are pretty solitary creatures (so I've been told). Even when you're home, they choose to sit alone or sit with you without looking at you. My cat, on the other hand, follows me around like a puppy. Yes, she has her moments of wanting to be alone, but this mood emerges once a week maybe. Overall, she wants to be where I am. She prefers sitting on my lap as I'm reading (or blogging) or watching a movie. If she can't do that because of where I am, because I'm standing, or if I'm moving around, she'll find some place close to me and perch.

So, since I have this abnormal feline, I have attached similar feelings to her as I have to the dogs that were raised alongside my childhood. They were more like people who are happy to see you when you came home... you felt like it made their day that you were alive and loving them. She makes me feel just as loved as a dog would. This sentiment sends me on a whirlwind of worry whenever I have to leave on a trip. Now, again, normal people with normal cats know that the cats are highly self-sufficient and largely take care of themselves. All normal cats need, say during a four day trip, is someone to come in once per day or every other day to clean out the litter box and put out fresh food and water. It's not like dog-sitting where dogs need to go out, at a minimum, every 8 hours. Dogs need attention, exercise, food and water twice per day, etc.

Minerva is a happier cat, from my observation, when she has someone to play with her in the morning and at night, eats light meals three times per day, and has someone with whom to sit and relax. What I've done to compensate for my dog-ish cat is ask my willing and less-allergic brother to stay overnight with her the nights that I'm gone and then ask friends who live nearby to check on her during the day.

Sounds reasonable to normal people (even excessive), right?

But, I still have the most awful anxiety leaving her. I have those bizarre mother-type nightmares of all the terrible things that can happen to my defenseless baby while I'm gone.

My point is that I've often wondered if I could comfortably leave the house if I believed in something... it could work a number of ways. I'm not able to always commit to the idea that Gd exists. Let's say I did. Let's say I decided that I agree with the notion that Gd exists AND is the kind of deity who would step into my world despite His overwhelming schedule with crime, genocide, etc, just to watch over my cat if I ask really nice... from my tone, I guess you can tell this isn't going to work. But, then I could assume Gd doesn't exist and that everything is up to chance and I've logically done the best I can to provide for my cat's well-being and safety. But then... that's not very satisfying or comforting either.

This fearful issue does actually extend beyond my cat, believe it or not. I've actually come to a point in my life where I feel like I do something I've decided to call "Lucky Charm Living." It's sort of like superstitious OCD. There are certain things I have to say to the house and to my cat before I leave and after I shut the door that, for some reason, makes me feel like it protects my family. It's almost as though I think that if I don't say these magic spells, then it means I don't worry, and then something evil will happen.

It's twisty, I know.

But, I guess that's what I mean. Maybe if I believed in something, I could bypass the spiritual OCD and just live with some hope that things will... see? I can't even write it out. I don't want the powers-that-be to see me not worrying. My pastor and I get together once per month and we have talked about this funny Jesus-complex of mine often... he seems to think that I choose to reject faith because I only trust myself to get things done, that I can "save the world." This, of course, is absurd since, he and I agree, I have no special powers other than being (typically) responsible. He has never suggested that faith will fix this issue or protect my loved ones (this is part of why I talk to him... his faith is not the typical cotton candy spun rhetoric spitting out fluffy things like, "It's just Gd's will..." or "Gd works in mysterious ways.") Instead, I think he means to insinuate that I relinquish my grip on a desire for control since I don't actually have any control...

Yeah.

I'm sure I can get in line. I know even normal people worry about their children or perhaps elderly family members out-of-measure. I guess today I'm searching for a way to take a pill and relax without feeling like I'm betraying my loved ones and setting them up for danger. I don't know how to shake this... very upsetting for a person who prides herself on her use of logic. I mean, I know that this is no way to live long term... I can feel the worry lines burrowing in my forehead if I don't cut it out... but I don't know in my heart, where I do and don't "believe things," that whether or not Gd exists and intervenes, all I can do is my best.

Thursday Kitchen: Moving too fast for my cat

Today's been a cluttered chore with an opening and mid-way break. I'm off to Michigan tomorrow to attend the wedding, so I'm running around like a crazy procrastinator doing my packing, cleaning, etc... Mostly, I'm psychotic about making sure my people will take extra good care of my precious cat...
On days like this, I only eat when something is offered to me. Anya made me a fabulous around-the-world lunch of Greek yogurt, vegetarian/Indian patty, French lentil salad, beets, and some sort of Mediterranean bread. After a breakfast of water and a fig bar, this was both entertaining and very satisfying. When we're hungry, we (I mean "we" in general) tend to pick up something cheap, fast, nasty, and unhealthy. I'm pretty stubborn about what I eat when I'm hungry because I will feel physical pain after eating particularly greasy or processed foods. For these reasons, my lunch was perfect.

Later, after finding a few gifts and maneuvering about lazy store workers who don't know how to check their displays for missing books (my sad days of B&N haunt me...), Jo made borscht. Aaaahhh... more veggies. She also made a very interesting and sweet-ish beer bread that soaks up borscht juice oh-so-well. I can't say that even my Russian friends made borscht as good as Jo's... there's something hearty about her version and something... I don't know... pink water about their's.

I have to return to my packing and cleaning tasks... it's quite funny... I'm running around in my new pewter heels to try to break them in for dancing at the Jewish wedding on Sunday. To sum up my last two days, both full and busy, I did much better today. Yesterday Mom and I went to P.F.Chang's around 6PM after I'd failed to eat anything at all earlier that day (I have a bad habit of getting up with only enough time to shower and go). Though what I ordered was reasonable for avoiding things that harm my system (lightly sauteéd shrimp with snow peas over brown rice after lettuce rolls) I feel much better today with more vegetable combinations than I could have imagined... in my gratitude, I currently have zucchini bread forming in my bread maker to thank those who are watching my cat this weekend. Veggies, Glorious Veggies!

Wednesday Valuables: In Appreciation for the Little Things

Today was one of those days when it pays off to have the kinds of friends that support you for "the little things." I persuaded my mother to come out with me today to shop in Richmond to find appropriate attire for a dear friend's white tie wedding (need to be a good guest and I'm singing a few tunes during the reception). It's good to have dear friends for whom you'd do something you can't stand to be a part of their festivities...

...In my case, that something I can't stand is shopping.

I get it honestly. My mother hates to shop, too. I have awkward everything, so I have trouble finding things that fit. I have small parts hidden behind larger parts. My feet are odd, too... I've heard I'm not alone in this department, but it doesn't detract from my frustration. Depending on the design or the brand, I wear either a 7 or a 7.5... and in one surprising instance, I picked up a pair of 6.5s. It's confusing, it's boring, and tiring. I also don't like trying on things... it's like being five years old and changing twelve times a day to feel like you have costumes for every occasion...

So, to try and make things easier on myself, I have people on stand-by waiting for pictures and ideas or questions via text messaging to steer me away from unattractive things and towards eye-popping brilliance. Because I tire of the activity quickly, I'm known to make a bad choice just to get the hell out of the store.

So, in attempt to illustrate how my phone looked at today's shopping excursion, here's sort of what happened:

ME to ANYA:
(These pictures are borrowed, approximate to my choices, and not of me... Mine aren't perfectly suitable for the internet)
Here's dress one. What do you think?

ANYA to ME:
that one is pretty :)

ME to ANYA:
Dress Two...

ANYA to ME:
um it's interesting. I think I'm more partial to the first one

ME to ANYA:
Dress Three

ANYA to ME:
looks more like me than you. ;)
is it dressy enough? what's it made of anyway?

ME to ANYA:
I could use it for the rehearsal dinner... not the wedding itself I guess. I don't think there's a natural thread in this dress.

ANYA to ME:
okay i can see that

ME to ANYA:
I think I'm getting the first one and I'll use the third one for another event. What do you think?

ANYA to ME:
Sounds like a plan. Are you happy with your choices?

ME to ANYA:
I think so. Considering the time issue and my thing with finding a blue dress, this will do. Thank you for helping me out.

ME to JERUSHA:
Is this dressy enough for your Mom's wedding?

JERUSHA to ME:
Totally! Its so pretty!!

ME to NORAH:
Is it appropriate to wear a dress above the knee to shul?

NORAH to ME:
Yah absolutely!

ME to ANYA:
Can I get away with this for temple?

ANYA to ME:
With the right necklace yes

NORAH to ME:
How r you? Getting excited for the weekend? It's gonna be great for us all to be together!

ME to NORAH:
I'm certainly looking forward to seeing my step-sisters! ;)

NORAH to ME:
When do you get in?

ME to NORAH:
Afternoon-ish I think... I'll tell you for sure when I get home.

ME to JO:
Do you have a bag to match this?

JO to ME:
Yes

ME to JO:
Eureka! I'll bring the dress over tomorrow night before dinner so we can play with the options. Thanks.

ME to MIKE and CARO:
Do you think you could take us to the airport Friday morning?

MIKE and CARO to ME:
What time to do you need to be there?

ME to MIKE and CARO:
8:30... I know that's early.

MIKE and CARO to ME:
Sure. We'll be there to get you at 8.

ME to MIKE and CARO:
Thanks so much... that helps a lot.

My poor little phone is tired... but my friendships have kept me sane through one of my least favorite activities. I feel tuckered out but fortunate. Thanks, guys.

(images from www.dillards.com, prom.net, and kaboodle.com)

Tuesday Hobbies: Green Thumb Wanna-be

I think I'm learning the sad truth that I'm not a "green thumb" like my grandmother. Now, I'm not the type to look at a plant the wrong way and kill it outright, but I don't sprout flowers wherever I walk like fairies in Fern Gully either...

I know what basic things I should notice when caring for plants... like when the leaves turn a sort of bruised color, it's usually a sign you've watered it too much. This always freaks me out since I tend to start planting things in unpredictable Tidewater Virginia weather; so, I can't understand it when it's been blistering hot and the plant starts to bruise. Inevitably, I'll back off the wrong day and dry out the whole plant making it brittle and uninterested in survival.

For example, my tickseed was bright and lovely when I planted it. It's supposed to attract bees (that's a selfish desire on my part... I want to supply the bees with whatever they need to keep making local honey for ME) and it takes full sun. Once the leaves bruised under the watering can, I backed off and watered its neighbors (I have cat mint and snowdrop... also bee-attracting flowers) only to find this week that the whole plant has dried up. When I watered it, the water fell straight through its hanging basket onto the neighbor's porch downstairs.

I'm not so bad with herbs for some reason. I have a mint plant that has threatened to swallow the herb dome on my porch. The dome looks very much like a large strawberry pot (similar to the picture here to the right) or maybe a time capsule designed to survive exiting earth's atmosphere. I'm growing basil, cilantro, parsley, lemon verbena, aloe vera, oregano, and thyme. I like to use fresh herbs when I cook... I also like not having to buy them in those plastic coffins from the grocery store.

When I bought the mint from the Farmers' Market, the lady in line ahead of me told me in the tone of a great feminine sage, "Put it in its own pot. TRUST me. It will take over." I thanked her for her advice, and as she walked away, Anya smiled at me and said, "Just plant it in its container... it'll be fine." I have to say that they were both right actually. The mint has not yet strangled the other herbs, but it has certainly grown the fastest, tallest, and widest.

I also have a plant I couldn't resist called Jupiter's Beard. It does sort of have the look of an old man's beard from first glance. What creates the illusion is the bundling of little flowers in an elongated oval. I've learned tonight in my reading that I need to be kinder to this plant... it needs to be "dead-headed" to promote growth. I enjoy the concept... the need to clear away the dead pieces of ourselves to make way for more attractive possibilities. Reminds me of Job... "Speak to Nature and It Shall Teach Thee... (Job 12:8)"

My garden is very modest... I live in an apartment, so, I don't have room for all the flowers and vegetables I'd actually want. There's something very healing about digging in the dirt... and if there's nothing to heal, the activity is simply calming. Perhaps there's also a connection to where we all come from... there's a motherhood in evolution that I think pulls my heartstrings when attempting to grow things. So, when I fail, I don't take it lightly. My poor dried up bee buddies are breaking my heart... I'm pretty frustrated. However, I do rejoice in the fact that my other plants are hanging in there... like my zucchini plant. It's still blooming these very alien looking, yellow umbrella flowers that apparently you can use for cooking (Anya, one of these days we'll make those beer-battered squash blossoms). I haven't quite figured out when to pick the green tubes that should be sprouting sometime mid-summer, but, one should pick them young... so I've read.

I'm the epitome of an amateur gardener with hardly any space to play... but there's a silent interaction with the green sprouts that excites me. I appreciate learning how to speak without speaking. All these plants can ever gain from me are my actions (it's not like they're reading my blog). I very much feel life is to be lived this way... there are many pretty words exchanged among friends, family, lovers, co-workers, siblings... but it's what we do that does all the talking necessary to know we are loved, not-so-loved, admired, missed, and cherished.

(photos from http://photos-by-reagan.com/, www.shrubs.co.uk, and http://farm1.static.flickr.com)

Monday Review: Louisiana Charm

I have a little book club. It's really a close assembly of my friends who have agreed to share books they want to read with one another. During the first session (6 months for 6 six girls), each girl chooses a book and hosts a meeting. We had a lot of fun linking books with meetings... We read Angela Carters' Burning Your Boats for a themed Halloween meeting, D.H. Lawrence's Mrs. Chatterley's Lover for an elegant Christmas meeting, W. P. Young's The Shack for our January Pajama Party, The History of Love by Nicole Krauss for a Valentines' Day themed meeting, a fantastic Russian tea after reading Mikhail Bulgakov's The Master and Margarita, and finally, we read Coraline by Neil Gaiman and met under the covering of a sheet tent to relive our fun childhood memories. For summer, we teamed up, two girls per the three summer months, to choose a graphic novel, a chic lit book, and a non-fiction title. We read Neil Gaiman's Season of Mists from his Sandman series and combined the book with Coraline to discuss Gaiman's short works.

This month, we had a beach meeting for our chic lit pick... Loraine Despres' The Bad Behavior of Belle Cantrell.

Briefly, the story takes place in Gentry, Louisiana during the 1920s and focuses on a young Southern widow named Belle raising a teenage daughter on her late husband's farm. Two years after his death (which took place on the night of his homecoming after a long tour overseas during the war) Belle feels prepared to move on with her life. She hacks off her hair (the "bob" had just appeared on the hip scene) and starts a new series of complications... dealing with her reliable farmhand getting run off by the prejudice of white men, feeling forced to accept a new, smarmy farm manager at the recommendation of a lazily corrupt sheriff, falling in love with a Jewish store manager, and combating a freshly organized chapter of the KKK. All the while, though she tries to maintain her Southern niceties and rules of lady-like, good-old-girl behavior, she finds that following her heart seems easier and truer to who she is than following the rules.

This book is a little harder to find than it was when it was first published. The few times I've found it lately, though it belongs in the fiction/literature section, is in the Bargain shelves. It is the prequel to what was briefly a bestselling novel (and more easily located in book stores even now) titled The Scandalous Summer of Sissy LeBlanc (Sissy is Belle's granddaughter). I guess our trends are pretty predictable... we love a One Hit Wonder without much openness to other explorations a writer/artist cares to express.

This book will probably be most enjoyed most by those who want to nod in remembrance and agreement. It's a novel for other good-old-Southern gals or those who have witnessed the magic of New Orleans and the elegant warmth of Louisiana. I couldn't help reminiscing on my travels in Louisiana with Anya. The book mentions places that I've seen... I could smell the powdered sugar melting on a heavy white plate of beignets and the thick, earthy chicory in the café au lait from Café du Monde. I could hear the train whistle and feel the floor rumble from the railway engine galloping on the tracks outside the shops in Hammond. With all the books about New York and Nothern America or the West, I've only had a chance to read a handful of stories about Louisiana and Virginia. It was nice to travel back to some of my favorite places and fondest memories.

For others who have not gone to these fantastic and quaint areas, the appeal of this book should be to relax. It's not exactly Shakespeare, but it's light and honest. There are some very personally real and feminine moments... the urge to cut your hair and shake up your image after an emotional blow, fighting with attractions to both the right and wrong kinds of men, worrying about how your children see you as a mother or a person, internal battles of inadequacy in the faces of those we love most, and the passion of feeling significant as a woman and a person.

One of the best moments that I came across in the novel is Despres' imaginative picture of women hearing for the first time that they are finally recognized as voters. It also adds a little depth to Belle's character giving her some conviction to back up her "bad behavior". I wanted to be there in the room hugging or kissing a total stranger due to feeling wrapped up in a moment of such victorious happiness.

You can argue that there's not much depth to the other characters or that the writing, in places, gets to be redundant. Loraine Despres' writing repetoire largely includes screenwriting... a style that requires one to write every little thing that is seen, that actually happens, while expecting the talent of directors and actors to bring across the meaning, the reality. In considering this, I could see this story as a mini-series on TV and not wanting to necessarily change the channel. The tale itself works for wanting to kick back and simply feel entertained or reminded of youthful romping. This is still decent fun... reminds me of daydreams we have that we know can't happen as we imagine it.

Despres attempts to at least start a discussion on a handful of hot topic issues. Her stand against slavery is very honorable and very familiar. The novel initiates this talk with a pillaged church built and run by her own farm manager. He had been using texts outside the Bible to put ideas of equality in the heads of his fellow slaves (specifically W. E. DuBois). Some ignorant "rednecks" tear the place apart and, no matter how Belle pleads with her manager to stay or demands the sheriff to do something about the terrorizing, the slave picks up his family and moves during the night. Belle sends him some letters of recommendation to a new employer as well as money given to her by her friends to help him and his family survive. However, the situation remains as it is; no one who wronged him seemed to learn anything, and he seems worse off even. Yes, he has a job and can take care of his family, but the friendship and affection he received from being employed by Belle is lost entirely. His new employer treats him like a low-class employee and that's how what we know of him ends.

Belle's love interest is a little too good to be true. He is described as having some serious emotional darkness... his wife apparently has cheated on him, he has trouble recovering from things that remind him of the war (he was also a soldier), and putting these things together makes it impossible to trust his own feelings about others. Magically, Belle seems to be the one to open the trap doors in his heart. There's not but so much detail on her incantation to make the voodoo work. After she gives in to her physical attraction to him the day women received the right to vote (she got caught up in the moment and kissed him right on the mouth) he doesn't speak to her for a week, shows up at a party in New Orleans, says to her plainly, "Dance with me," and it's all over. All of a sudden, he starts to pursue her. Don't get me wrong, I like him, but it's because he's a fantasy and unlike anything that could actually be... he suddenly has fetching one liners, satisfies her physical needs unlike anything she's ever imagined, and in the end, he divorces officially from his wife and brings his non-Jewish girlfriend to meet his family... It's all too good.

Belle's daughter has a boyfriend with whom the daughter is very in love. They have similar interests, values, and stars in their eyes for one another. He and Belle have some pretty typical parent/child's love interest rivalry. This doesn't receive but so much development other than Belle taking down her usual comic guard against his wishes to marry her daughter until he helps her against a violent struggle with the KKK who targets her Jewish friends. Not the most graceful change in their relationship. The situation is similar between Belle and her mother-in-law, Miss Effie. Miss Effie is the quintessential Southern Lady and lets Belle know it everytime Belle wears the wrong clothes, says the wrong thing, makes the impolite assumption, etc. Without a progression to follow, Miss Effie tells Belle close to the end that she's proud of her daughter-in-law and her sense of right and wrong... I personally would have liked to have seen more into that particular relationship.

More interesting is Belle's relationship with her own daughter. Belle is protective of her and aggressively so at the moment Bourreé LeBlanc, the burly sleezy farm manager, is hired on and starts winking at people. She hears herself saying things to her daughter about staying out of trouble, but then the reader has an opportunity to see how it works when the table is turned. Her daughter catches Belle making-out in a closet at the New Orleans party with the Jewish store manager. It takes a morning café au lait in the French Quarter to explain herself to her daughter as a woman rather than the mother that advises her child for her own good. This relationship encounters many growing pains and generates several conversations that satisfies the need of some readers to see some character development.

But character development, as I already said, is not Despres' priority. Instead, she provides a relatively realistic portrait of a small-town Southern community. The information Despres offers about the pretty large number of people she introduces is about all you really ever know about these neighbors and groups in such places. You know they are there, and you know who their Mama is, but you don't know all the time what they believe, what matters to them, and whether or not you can trust them. Closeness is not the point. The point of this sort of community is to be polite, have a pretty porch, and make sure there's something cold to drink in the ice box for company.

Despres most certainly captures that aspect of Southern living.

So, writing style and choices aside, one can evaluate her in terms of apparent goals. I don't think she was out to write The Great American Novel. I think she was writing a grateful tableau for the place she considers home. Though originally from Chicago (another place that features briefly with great affection in her book as the hometown of Belle's love interest), she grew up in the heat of Louisiana. She was the only Jewish girl in a Bible-belt town. She borrowed from this aspect of her own life to create the Rubinstein family for this novel. In the very specific episode when Abe Rubinstein suffers a cardiac event forcing him to bed rest and the town churches gather together and pray for him, its reflection displays a chapter of Despres' life in Louisiana. Her perspective on that experience, as a Jewish person, is of gratitude and respect. It seems that the goodness from that action, in her opinion, played a large role in her own father's recovery. Likewise, the episode of the KKK group attacking the Rubinsteins forcing the family to defend itself comes out of Despres' family history (her bedroom growing up was shot up with bullet holes from the incident which occured during the time her great grandfather was living there).

As someone who enjoys stories about real people, I appreciate and enjoy what this book has contributed to my collection of stories. May this Southern tale kick off the book club's pick (an anthology of oral histories recorded for publication) for the July meeting.

(photos from www.booksamillion.com, www.discoverblackheritage.com, and www.illinoisauthors.org/)

Sunday Reflections: Today does not belong to you

I'm thinking about a woman who made my day during a particularly difficult weekend last summer. I can't recall her name now, so I'll refer to her as Dorota (Polish for "Gd's gift").

It was the weekend of a family wedding and I was in New York. I had driven from Virginia on my own... pretty traumatizing experience actually. After a rough night recovering from my travels, I had an appointment before the wedding for a pedicure that David was kind enough to hunt down for me (I asked him to find a salon that didn't close up his lungs due to the fumes). I was feeling anxious... I get uncomfortable in large crowds of strangers and this was my first time meeting David's father's fiancé and her kids. I guess I felt I had a lot coming on all at once. I walked with David to the salon and then was asked to wait for Dorota.

A substantial dark haired woman with bright eyes and spectacles eventually came out and led me back to a room where one sits on elevated pillows while dipping the feet into a whirlpool of warm water. I almost reached for my magazine, but she was very warm and talkative. She and I exchanged knowing glances while listening to the privileged woman next to us complaining about her recent trip abroad, services, common people, etc. Once the woman left the room, Dorota and I fell into an open discussion about gratitude and life's gifts.

It was strange to feel so comfortable talking to a perfect stranger. We found mutual interests in healing touch, Reiki, chakra healing, and even astrology. She gave me some advice on remaining calm at the upcoming event or any other stress... just counted breathing. She said we have to remind ourselves to breathe sometimes... so when it's intense, we should breathe in through the nose on a long four count (whatever you use... hippotamuses or thousands or rock beetles) and then exhale for at least a long six count. The point is that the exhalation takes longer than the inhalation. Something about this practice helps slow a nervous heart beat and calm the mind.

I still had to muddle my way through some "incidences," but overall, that woman made the event worth suffering... don't misunderstand me. These are wonderful people... but so many at once causes some bewilderment for me.

Having that random encounter with a stranger who took the time to care about me, build me up, and chat with me without strain, well, I was so very grateful and touched. There was potential for me to wrap up in a wet quilt of despair after the stress of the ride, the hardships in trying to assimilate into a new group of people, and the tension of clearly being the odd girl out. I know now what "goy" really means... the traditional Jewish wedding was a new and almost alarming experience... I had not been warned how different it would be from a standard Christian wedding. There was "heckling" and loudness... things that stand for celebration and happiness in the Jewish tradition but would get you kicked out of church. I had simply had been dealt too many shocks to have survived the event without Dorota's kindness and "goodbye"embrace... the kind that makes you feel like you will be missed. I told her I'd be back in New York and would love to see her again and she smiled and told me that would be wonderful.

So, naturally, the next time I went to New York to help David move back home, I asked David to make me another appointment with Dorota.

I had flown that time and was feeling a little more comfortable getting around the city. On the day we planned to drive back, we took that walk again with a lighter load (I left my reading material behind since I would have the warm and welcoming Dorota to talk to...). I walked in alone and waited.

It might as well have been a total stranger. She was clearly stressed and pressed for time. She was curt and short. She didn't seem to remember me and I had no idea how to broach the subject with a woman I met once... much less this tense, flustered person before me...

It wasn't until she was painting that I brought up our conversation about breathing... she seemed to remember something about me by that point. "I'm sorry if you are disappointed," she sighed. "I'm not," I lied, " I just hope you're okay. You don't seem at all as you were when we met."

"Well..." she shrugged and looked me in the eye as if to say Listen up because you'll need to take this with you, "...sometimes we are different."

She said she was sending me positive energy and thanking me for reminding her to breathe ("I'll do that when you leave before my next appointment," she told me with the first smile of the whole two hours... I still use her technique today and think of her). I tried to send it back without judgment for her foul mood. She confessed that she had been overbooked that day and was feeling frustrated and physically run down. I shook her hand as I left.

I think this goes for most of us... sometimes we are different. May I learn the value of needing to conserve your "you-ness" sometimes as well as respect others who are recharging under the canopy of "being different today."

(On that note, thanks to Beth for being the one to make my weekend this week...)