Tom

I met Tom on a Wednesday night at a night-club called Lucy’s.  It was and remains a run of the mill hotel bar near the Fresno International Airport in central California; a night spot for the locals, a stay over for airline staff. My husband of 7 years had thrown me out just three weeks earlier, September 2, 1987. I went calmly, quietly and without my children. It was very important to go quietly; but that is another story, for another time. 

It had been less than a month since the separation, but my weight loss was already evident.  I was fit, played racquet ball in an effort to lose the weight gained during the pregnancies.  But now, my clothing hung awkwardly on my dwindling frame.  I was eating less, and worrying more. I decided to get a new outfit for both work and, well “out”.  Shopping when you are slim is fun, not as much when you are poor. But poorer would come later along with the slimmer until my mom told me she was worried I might “catch” anorexia.  For now, I was looking ahead to new job opportunities, new adventures and dancing tonight along with my best friend Raelynn. Rae took me out to Lucy’s for the first time that first night at her apartment.  When I left my home on that Friday afternoon I felt at the time I had nowhere else to go.  Rae took me in.  She had a one bedroom apartment that came with her apartment assistant manager job.  She didn’t have much; but she shared it all with me.

Rae introduced me to the “club” as I said, three weeks before. I remember walking in that first feeling all heads turned toward us.  I noticed on this night too, the heads turning, and that everyone was smiling and laughing.  My life had been without laugher for so long, I thought, “everyone here seems so happy”.  I had no idea that drinking made people happy. I never drank. When I did it didn’t make me happy; and honestly, I never acquired the taste.  We wound our way through the crowd to the far side of the bar, and watched the people on the dance floor.  I knew that Rae was looking for her special friend, while I was just looking with wonder at all the happy people.

Only moments passed when I felt a tap on my shoulder and a very pleasant-faced guy with curly hair asked me to dance.  The music was so loud that I could only presume he asked since I saw his lips move and he gestured toward the floor.  Sure, I smiled… I love to dance.  I looked at Rae to make sure she was going to be OK with me taking off.  Yes, she was happy to oblige my success. We danced.

I don’t remember the song and I don’t remember how long we stayed out there. I remember thinking it wasn’t like dancing with my kids at home, while ironing or cooking with the stereo blasting. There were people crowded close by, strangers bumping together, it was hot and loud. Eventually, we went back to where Rae was still standing.  She loved to dance also, but the poor thing had an embarrassing sense of rhythm; just off-beat. But she loved music; I never laughed at her. John was the pleasant-faced fellow’s name.  John asked us to his table and although Rae didn’t seem to want to join in, her friend hadn’t arrived yet. We formally introduced ourselves: John was from Canada supervising a crew to transport newly purchased aircraft for fire drops. He planned to be in town for several months on the project.  Some of his co-workers or employees were also at the table, and completely unremarkable. 

 Tom arrived.  He sat at the far end of the table and acted as if he knew John well.  I learned later they had just met but it was not obvious. Everyone was best-friends that night. They laughed at some inside joke; then Tom and I locked eyes in a way only portrayed in books and movies. It was hideously uncomfortable. I thought to myself, what are the rules in this bar-mate game? How soon is too soon to”jump ship” to “change horses”, to ditch pleasant- faced John for dashing careless Tom? His smile brightened the dimly lit room, his mannerisms easy and friendly, he caught me off guard.  I pulled my eyes away, but it was too late. He noticed. I felt vulnerable and exposed.

“John” Tom teased, “you sly devil”. Tom explained how he noticed me first, and pointed me out to John, “… and the next time I looked” Tom explained, “John was over there talking to you”. I was enamored.  A story about ME! I liked it and John was nonplused. The evening passed easily and too quickly, but I was confused. I had strong emotional desires for someone I just met… simple chemistry? This was new.  My seven year marriage had been perfunctory and coldly dismissed. I spent years guarding my feelings, staying in control, begging the god I believed in to help me make it work. It didn’t, nothing worked. I was left a little too ready for “new”.

Rae eventually found her special friend, but not before questioning everyone about their history. She was great at starting conversations. I was more of a listener. Tom was a pilot. Tom excused himself from the table abruptly, but not before announcing his flight schedule brought him back to Fresno the following week.

John and I made a date for the weekend.  We went on it, and at some point John fell soundly asleep, I went back to the apartment and to Rae’s couch.

The following week at Lucy’s was a similar routine, the small skirts, the big smiles, and a tap on the shoulder.  John hadn’t called me after the date; I assumed I was a free woman.  The tap on the shoulder this time was Tom. I danced with someone else at first, but I noticed Tom across the room… I said to the man in the nice suit, “Dance with me to make that guy over there jealous”.  He smiled and obliged.  I was thinking, he’d be a nice catch if I wasn’t distracted. Tom appeared at my side when the song was over. The nice-suit man looked a little surprised. He then smiled and said, “I thought you were kidding”.  I replied in mock sincerity, “Oh, I would never kid about this”. Tom took my hand and led me to the bar.  I felt the need to explain that I wasn’t with anyone, not John, not suit guy.  I didn’t need to explain anything. He assumed I wanted him as he wanted me, and he was not wrong.  Tom took my hand, I followed; it was that simple.

After that night, nothing was ever simple again.

No More Wallowing

Wallowing, He said I was wallowing in it.  When my mom died and I was unemployed and camping out on my dad’s couch at almost 30 years old, instead of a word of encouragement, my boyfriend said I was wallowing in it.  I decided I didn’t need him. That was more than 20 year ago. I was right, and he is gone. 

I don’t care for people who refuse to allow me or others the moment to feel our grief, to wallow in unrepentant sadness for our loss, whatever the loss may be.  Even the greeting cards know when to say less: I am sorry for your loss; simple, true and elegant.  I am sorry.  Some people can’t say they are sorry at all. They can’t feel for you. Your grief makes them uncomfortable. And some can’t be sorry, can’t forgive, and can’t let go. But I can let go. I can let everything go; every person, everything.  What wasn’t taken from me by now, I handed over in acquiescence.

Daniel, my dear long-ago boyfriend had it partly correct: don’t wallow for too long. Don’t bore the people with your sad stories and tear-filled eyes for weeks- on-end; days maybe, but not weeks.  Buck-up and move-on and get-over it; we are a people ready for the next great success story. We ditch those who drag us down.

I don’t want to be a drag. Help me up so I can stop my wallowing.

Today

Today I am giving up my Greyhound Rescue Dog Alex.  He is going back to a Greyhound Adoption Center foster home.  I can’t even wrap my head around this concept, and yet, I move toward this event piece by piece, minute by minute.  Along with perhaps millions of people over the last couple of years, I’ve been losing… everything.  Stick by stick, piece by piece, furniture, kayak, car, house… and now Alex.  I thought I had already bottomed out, lost everything, and was on my way back… around January 2011…. but, no.  I lost my health care last month, and now Alex.

My brain is screaming at me… inside… the argument rages, “It’s best for him”, “I am giving up”…. And on it goes, moment by moment, piece by piece I am rolling toward the inevitable result.  Later today, I’ll come back home to this tiny apartment, to no one and nothing; in just a few hours. 

As I write this, Alex looks at me from his cozy bed in the middle of this living room.  He wills me to take him for a walk, and I am.  But out to the car, not down to the walking trail.  He adapted to apartment living, but I didn’t.  I lost my privacy, my space, my patience.  He needs more time, more attention, more vet visits…. I have none and no resources. 

In this case he will be better off playing with other Greyhounds, romping through 2 acres, a house with a giant dog door, and retired people with resources.  He won’t be sitting around waiting for me to come home from work, day after day. He’ll make new friends.  But, I am shattered.  

Mr. Universe

We just graduated from high school, my best friend and I.  It was summer in 1979 and we are still friends today.  But this story isn’t about our friendship.  It is about this one hot, lazy, crazy afternoon, which for some reason stuck in my mind, but barely registers in hers. 

Lyn owned a car, a green mustang.  On a Sunday afternoon, we took a drive because we bored, and because we could.  Fresno was not an exciting town but we were excited for our new-found liberty from school and total lack of current responsibilities. We saw fun and laughter everywhere.  So we drove out to Woodward Park in North Fresno. We watched people play volley ball, enjoyed the sun, and chatted with some guys that asked us to meet them there the following week end for a BBQ! It was a success… we were high school graduates, although still 17, and desirable women! The world lay before us.

We stopped off at a coffee shop on Blackstone Avenue on the way home.  It was one of those diner- type places with vinyl bench seats in all the latest orange and green colors.  Today, we would be reminiscing like I am now, and the décor, retro.  But then and there, at that time in our lives we were planning: Next week, a BBQ?  We had a good laugh imagining being bored enough the following week end to look for those guys, what were their names? Would we find them or some other such interesting boys? We also speculated if Lyn’s boyfriend of two years was ever going to propose. And we discussed me leaving for Texas in the fall to attend college.  But even fall seemed a long way off.  We had the whole summer ahead of us.

In the back of the restaurant, was a table of 5 or 6 people; two men and three or four girls. The blonde man seemed interested in us, I noticed.  I told Lyn and we tried to cipher whether he was looking at Lyn or me; I hoped me.  The darker haired guy seemed older, quieter, and shorter the way he was slumped in the booth.  He was altogether, not attractive.

The blonde man approached our table and made up some excuse to start a conversation.  While he was talking, I remember thinking; I knew he was going to come over here.  How did I know?  And that may have been the very beginning of my woman’s intuition, something which served me well (intermittently) over the years.  He stood there and chatted politely, he then said, “My friend wants to know if you ladies would join us at our table”? My brain said:  Your friend?  I was immediately disappointed. He wasn’t interested in me at all; only his friend who didn’t have enough backbone to come over and speak for himself.

I looked at Lyn for a clue. She played it cool, as she always would. I was thinking “no” and I was pretty sure Lyn was too.    I no longer wanted to keep his interest or impress, I said: What for? He then invited us to come over for a drink. I didn’t know how to continue the conversation to nowhere, so I simply repeated everything he said: a drink?  He said, well… a sly smile, "... to party".  “oh, a party”? That went on for a few sentences, then I just said, “No thank you” I explained, “We don't party”.  There was additional polite conversation, about how we should join them, but I mostly remember feeling disappointed.  Adult men still send their friends to speak for them?

Lyn and I headed to the bathroom to giggle together on our way out of the restaurant.  We attracted boys at the park, now older men in a restaurant.  We were having a lot of fun for two girls who weren’t actually doing anything.  It seemed odd since I made it all the way through high school being completely invisible. Lyn had her steady boyfriend. But I suspected she stayed with him because she thought she’d be invisible otherwise.  

The ladies from the chicken-man’s table came into the bathroom. They were giggling, and talking, and hard to understand because of their heavy Asian accents.  They were very friendly… oh hey one said, “You should come with us, he so fuuunny”.  I stupidly asked where they were going. We paaaarteeee …. Hahahhaaaaa (they all giggle), “He Mista Uneeevaase, he funny, you come wit us”. 

Over and over they kept repeating that he was in fact Mr. Universe, and that was why we should go “party” with them.  It struck me that they weren’t interested in the slouching dark haired man, just his title.  Is there an actual Mr. Universe we speculated?  We had no idea. Lyn and I could barely get out of there before losing ourselves in gut-wrenching laughter. 

My synopsis: He had to use his better-looking friend to invite women to “party” with him, and the girls had to “party” to be in Mr. Universe’ world.  They all seemed happy with the arrangement. Lyn and I were just as happy to laugh about it in the car on our way home.  Everything seemed suddenly worldly all at once.

Years later when he ran for Governor of California, his partying past came back to haunt him.  Although he was better known for his action movies, the media regurgitated his Mr. Universe title, and his partying ways.  "It was the 70’s" he kept saying.

I dodged a bullet. Even if he liked me, as my dear friend pointed out, he would have ditched me for a Kennedy eventually!

Bad news for California Union Workers

Roger Neillo proposing: Public Employees Pension Retirement Act

1) Taking the state worker's pension out of the union, and putting it to the voters
2) A retirement contribution so costly, it would break the backs of the workers who have managed to hold on up to this point
3) California State workers, the new working poor
4) Retirement age: NOT before 62; leaves no room for young people, not withstanding, can you imagine a 62 year old police force, firemen/women?
5) Many changes would only effect new employees hired after the Act's implementation date, benefits/costs unknown for decades.

I plan to retire at 55. But it is not the retirement Neillo fantasizes about. I'll be working full time somewhere to supplement my retirement AND probably HAVE TO move out of state to make ends meet. At least, I won't be public enemy number one any longer.  If Neillo wants to rid the tax-payers (I pay taxes too) of incomes over $200k per year and retirements over $100K, then do it.   I don't personally know any state workers in that category; I bet Neillo does.

i938_initiative...07_amdt_1ns.pdf

Here

Here

How did I get here; to this place on the planet? As I write this, I live in one of the most beautiful places on earth. Yet I am angry. This was part of my life's plan, this move. But not for this reason, at this time or under these circumstances. It is very expensive here. Health care is unaffordable even with a good and steady income. I had imagined earning my way by investing in my home, in myself not stumbling here by losing it.  I am not alone, but I feel I am. 

I work for the State of California.  Government is never a glorious employer, but once upon a time, a consistent and steady paycheck and client based leadership.  Now almost any government job is considered waste, the same people who license your doctor, your contractor, who keep criminals behind bars, and oh yes, license bars; are now considered public enemy number one.  "I'll sweep the Bureaucrats out of Sacramento" Schwarzenegger stated in that sanctimonious accent I learned to despise.  KHaleefoorneeea, he'd say; then I would turn off the television. I am still here in government and he is gone. But I am broke and he is not, he wins. He said once and I'll never forget it, "I know the economy is bad. I have friends who had to sell their VACATION homes, their BOATS (Serious nodding all around); idiot.

Home ownership had been my dream growing up. My family moved every year or more, until I was in high school.  I was tired of moving.  I wanted a home of my own, to control my own destiny, fate, daily life.  I wanted to know where I was going to be next year and the year after that. A luxury I thought then, impossible now for so much of America's population. 

I referred to my second house as a real house because the first house I owned was a modular.  I decided modular homes weren't real houses, they were not solid. You can huff and puff, and blow those things down.  They are constructed on the cheap for the short term. Perhaps, if I had only 15 years left to live, it might be perfect. That first modular house was located in one of Sacramento's better ghettos and is a story all its own.  For now, the second house, the real house represents my real loss. 

I was in my late 30's, by the time I bought the modular, always financially challenged, but employed and credit was starting to flow a little easier for us middle-class folk.  I had sold the modular for twice what I paid for it five years earlier.  I paid off my bills and was debt free.  I gave up on Realtors to help me find a house. It was difficult enough to sell a trailer on private property in the ghetto, but I did it.  I moved into an apartment, deciding the market was moving too fast for me.  I considered waiting out the frenzy, and letting things settle.  However, I was fearful of getting left behind. If I didn’t act fast, I would be stuck as a renter.  But as luck would have it one day, after living in the apartment a couple of months I got irritated because the apartment complex would not let me have a satellite dish. I had been a homeowner for the previous five years and had grown accustomed to having things my way in my own home.  I wanted to buy satellite TV, but they wouldn't let me. 

I went out for a drive that afternoon, on the hunt for a house, my own space.  I needed a solid place to call my own, and start building toward my future, my kids college years, and my retirement.  I found my second house that afternoon, on a quiet street on the bluff over Lake Natoma. It was small and neat.  There was no for sale sign, I just noticed the lock box on the screen door. I looked the house up on-line and called the Realtor.  I met him at the house with the owner the next day and we made the deal on the sidewalk out in front. $210,000 was a crap-load of money, but I was sure.  I knew, if I could get into it, I could stay.  My career had nowhere to go but up, slowly and steadily. I bought the house from the original owner. It was built in 1972; she had grown old there and was ready for a rest home.  I would do the same, in 40 years, they could carry me out. That was December 2002. 

I moved out of my small, solid, and neat home on September 10, 2010, only 8 years later. But unforeseen factors: A career stall with promotional freezes, surgery, and the overall economy made the house impractical and impossible to keep.  Moving out was like breaking up with someone I loved because they wouldn’t get off the couch and get a job.  I still loved that house. But I was angry, disappointed and hurt, and tired of working so hard for ungrateful legislators, elected officials and the public, to go home to a house now driving me into poverty for retirement. I gave up the struggle and the bank sold it to an older couple who had never been homeowners for literally half price. The bank, my bank refused to work with me at all.

I'll never be sure if I was more in love with the house, or the garage.  I would sigh as I turned the corner of my street, sweet peace.  I felt fancy, and in charge with that garage remote control.... up goes the door, in goes my car, and I am home; secure; neat, solid, perfect. I remember smiling involuntarily those first few weeks and for the first year even, coming home to a home.  I was sure that if my new neighbors knew where I came from, well... no one on that street appreciated my home more than I did.

And I wanted to appreciate this new place too, in Monterey California, two blocks from the ocean, and certainly one of the most beautiful places on earth. I didn't want to waste time being bitter, and sad.  But some changes are hard to accept.  I am here for a promotion and a new start.  I am here to break the cycle of indecision, and financial regret.  But mostly, I am here because I am not there.  I am not in my home on the bluff, in my 1064 square feet of pure peacefulness, my garage, my yard, my piece of dirt.  And I never will be again.