Lost in My Shirt.......or "Dazed and Confused"

I got stuck in my tank top this morning. No kidding. My neck was twisted inside the spaghetti straps, and there was a bra-type thing inside that did a straight-jacket hold on me.  It took awhile to get it back off, then moments to study it before I tried to put it back on......brave of me, actually............and I still didn't have it right!  Eventually, with glasses on,  I found a label, so I could figure out which was front, back, and inside. I need written instructions to wear clothes.

My plugs on electric cords always need to be turned around at least once before they will go into the socket. Wasted motions! I could bet money that this will happen. What are the odds? Is anybody else bothered by this?????

The grocery self-check-out machine at Giant Eagle keeps accusing me of bagging items that weren't scanned. "Please return the item from the bag!"  Eeeek!  They were scanned! It's humiliating to be called a thief by a machine. I've begun to yell back at the thing, "I DID scan it! LOOK! Check the receipt!"

The movie ticket clerk told me I'd earned a "Free $2 Popcorn" with my ticket. When I tried to redeem it, the popcorn clerk told me I owed $2.  I asked what was "free" about my coupon, and he told me I got the six-dollar popcorn for ONLY $2.   SIX DOLLARS FOR POPCORN?  I could fill a ballroom with six dollars worth of popcorn kernels, folks!   I passed on the "reward."

In over 90 degree heat, I tried to buy a bottle of water at a machine. I saw a slide place for credit cards...............for $1.50........??......and couldn't figure out how to use it, and I already had the dollar fifty in my hand, thank you very much.  After two bifocal changes, I managed to find a place to insert the bill and coins.  Children were staring at me. (Must have been the muttering.....)

Lately I feel a bit as if I am the square peg trying to fit into the square hole, but the hole keeps changing while I am doing it.

I know that the world is moving quickly, but I think that I am, too.  Apparently I am not moving quickly enough to keep up with it!

For example:  It was announced that all the Borders Booksellers are closing down.  Was it because nobody was buying books?  Nope!  It was because so many people apparently are buying cyberspaceinvisibletotheeyesofpeoplewithoutthemagicreadingmachine "books" that some of us (and I am not including myself in that word "us...") are not buying the real thing, called BOOKS.

I've SEEN one of those gizmos, by the way.  I touched it. I walked around it and glowered at it suspiciously........... (Picture the scene from Planet of the Apes when the apes see the Statue of Liberty.........)  I looked at it, heard its owner glorify it and deliver a sales pitch to the rest of us there that we all needed one, too.  Sour grapes.

Imagine not being able to walk up to a stranger on a beach and say, "I liked that book, too!"

I am NOT about to give up real books with flapping pages, coffee-stained covers, notated margins, grocery lists inside the front covers, and the feel and smell of a real, honest-to-God BOOK!  This square peg would only go into that hole if I were hammered into it.

To my credit, I did manage to rent AND return a DVD movie at the "Red Box" nearby, with no glitches.  Using the DVD player was the hard part, actually, since the words "play" and "pause" are written in such teensy letters on the remote control that several eyeglass changes had to occur for restroom breaks.  BUT  I did get it OUT of the "Red Box," and with trembling fingers managed to put it back IN to the "Red Box," and the screen said "Thank you. Movie has been returned."  Like I couldn't figure that out..................

Here I sit in front of my computer, totally self-taught.  I am sure this gizmo would do a lot of other things, given opportunities.  Right now it keeps photos, plays Scrabble, sends emails, and lets me write down these ingenious thoughts to share with you. 

I remember our first computer. It had a separate disk drive, weighed more than I did, and we spoke in hushed tones around it.  It didn't have pictures on the screen, only words.  We thought it was brilliant.  I learned to use it by using it.

I may have to go back to the "Red Box" and use it again. Perhaps practice does make perfect!  I need to forgive the Giant Eagle's self-check-out thing and try it again (without yelling), and maybe I could mark the electric plugs with nail polish on the big side so I could overcome that little issue. (Of course, I'd have to mark the big side on the wall, too.............)


It will be a cold day in Hell, though, when I use a book-reading-device to read a BOOK.







copyright: KP Gillenwater

Retirement Looms, Tantalizes, and Taunts,......... or, "Our Day Will Come"

I had an appointment with a retirement counselor at the State Teachers Retirement Association.

My God.  Am I really going to be THAT "EXPERIENCED" in another year?..... or so.....  There were hints.  I've felt the pitying glances from co-workers for all of this past year : Sweet young things with shiny new teaching certificates, going to set the classrooms afire, save the world, and imbue the Youth of America with KNOWLEDGE.

I remember that!  I was one of those sweet young things, once, myself!  I had a smile on my face every morning, never missed a day of school, and thought I'd LOVE every student, they'd love ME, and every day would be full of calm, joyfully-instructed knowledge.

 I got past that the day little Tammy rolled full-body down a sheet of art paper I'd laid on the entire length of the hallway floor. My excited students had used many colors of chalk to draw a picture of "Our Early City." Once completed,  Tammy, adorably dressed,  chose to rollllllllll down the long masterpiece, coming up tie-dyed when she finished. Three custodians scrubbed down the hallway.

The older teachers in the building laughed and tittered (old word, look it up) about "that new young thing" trying to teach fourth grade and having no clue.................

Instead of looking UP to them, perhaps I looked at those teachers with disdain. Maybe I did not appreciate their years of experience, their talent, their calm way of doing things honed by years of experience.  Today I am getting that same "look" from the youngsters with whom I've been sharing the copier.

At any rate, I made an appointment and drove to our state's capital to find out if I can retire next year, or not.  Who knew? Their website was elusive and mysterious. I needed a human being to explain it all. (Actually, I'd had a "human being" who "explained" it LAST year, but he did such a poor job that I was still in the dark.............)

 I took twenty years off from this profession to raise my OWN children, you see.  I believed that raising MY children took precedence over teaching OTHERS' children, and I still think I was right.  I'd never take back those years of reading to my own kids and sending notes in their lunch boxes for anything. I tried to be the best mother I could be. I was the PTA President, vice-president, secretary, and committee chairman (not all at once), the President of the Friends of the Library, the Sunday School teacher, and anything else I could volunteer for, to help my kids' world be perfect for their learning environment.

This week, I sat quietly in the office of a very good communicator, a retirement specialist highly  recommended to me.  I learned about the cost of supplemental health insurance, the small percentage of my now fantastic salary that I will receive if I sign my name on the paperwork, and the little-bitty amount that will be left over after taxes.  This was a shocking moment.

I didn't sleep all last night.

I was up at 3 AM, mentally budgeting this pittance.  I've also now mentally removed the cable TV system from my home.  I have figured out what I can save by cutting out the newspaper, the land phone, and only flushing once a day.  I've calculated the cost of toothpaste versus baking soda, sleeping in the car in Walmart parking lots so I can still travel,  and using McDonald's wifi.  I've turned off lights all day, cut the air conditioner down one more degree, and used the speed clean cycle on the dishwasher.

OH MY GOD.  Could I live like that?  FEAR is fearsome, and if I continue to let it alter my thinking, it will take all the joy out of knowing that I wouldn't be getting up at 5:00 AM on frigid Ohio mornings, except for one more hideous winter, maybe.

"Off-season travel" is a truly beautiful phrase, and I think that if I utter it like a mantra, it may help me to overcome these fears.  I'm muttering it as I walk, shop, and cook. It seems to be working well enough...

I've always had ENOUGH.  Even when I didn't KNOW that I was not rich, I always had ENOUGH.  I know that I will be OK, and still get to use toothpaste and read a newspaper............somehow.

I can squeeze a nickel until it bleeds, find a bargain on nearly anything I'm looking for, and know that I'm at that crossroad in my life when it is time to think of ME.  Am I going to sign up for this?  The paperwork is sitting on my desk, calling my name, softly and mesmerizingly............

Will anybody miss me if I leave my job?  Will those sweet young things cheer?  Maybe. Maybe not.  I still have one full year to make this decision.

I certainly don't LOOK old enough to retire, right? 

Maybe they'll all be shocked and surprised at my age!!!  They'll talk about how they "didn't know"........., wish they'd learned more from my expertise..............miss me...........

and maybe I will write more fiction in my retirement.............


Wow!  I can turn those proverbial lemons into lemonade already!



copyright:  KP Gillenwater

Travel Journaling or, " Moments to Remember"

 I just finished a travel journal, ran out of pages, and stacked it up with ten others.  A person who writes for fun cannot just do it a little bit..........it is a compulsion.

My travel journaling began when I married Randy, ten years ago, and got a mate with my same itchy feet and love of history. We were off and away, any time school was out.  No historical location, beach, winery, or oddity goes unvisited when we're "on the road." We've spent afternoons traipsing through cemeteries, battlefields, hiked city streets, walked beaches, and climbed lighthouse steps.  As we go along, for sure, I don't want to forget where we've been or what we've seen!

 I collect ticket stubs, post cards and brochures, paste them into journals, and write about what we see, in between the pasted-on items. Once I began this,  I couldn't control my need to tell MORE about what we'd seen, details of each event, people we'd met, food we'd enjoyed, places we'd stayed, and interesting facts we'd learned about the sights we'd visited.

Randy and I travel hit or miss.  We used to get in the car and let the driver choose the direction. That worked for awhile, but we drove all over Alabama once: north, south, north, south, and wasted some gas, before we decided that a better plan was to AIM in one direction, and then stop along the way to see what we could see. Getting off the major highways is what we do best.  There are all kinds of fun things to see off the interstates! Choose an exit, get off, and just see what I mean!

For ten years, that is what we've done.  We have a wall map of the United States on which we've marked the routes we've covered.  Colored lines with dates cover most of this map. Dotted lines mark cruise routes. Anything unmarked is saved for retirement. We've gone east, west, north and south. We've retraced routes to beaches many times, revisited cities and sites we didn't get enough of the first time, and gotten off the beaten path to discover little-known (but oughta-be) places.  (Who ELSE liked the "World's Largest Frying Pan" in North Carolina enough to go back a second time?)

 This is not to tell of the places we've been, but to explain my travel journals.  Once I started writing about each day's events, I was hooked on keeping notes for posterity.  The books piled up, one upon the other. Sometimes we get one out to look up the name of a restaurant or town that we've forgotten.  On a quiet day I will open one and relive a special vacation or short jaunt, and enjoy reading what we did and what I thought about a particular day.

Randy and I pack lightly for our trips, but I carry my "journal bag" on the back seat. It's a small gray sack holding markers, scissors, glue stick, pencils and pens.  I gather things to put into my journal as we go along. I used to write the text out, longhand, but recently I've taken to recording the days by blog each night.  I  began to share my travel blog with friends and relatives.

When a trip is over, I print the blog, paste the writings and memorabilia into a blank book, and that journey is "saved" for us to enjoy again later.

We take joy in having our travel history written for perpetuity.  We know that as long as one of us is alive, the remaining one will keep reading them, re-enjoying trips by heart. Then they will be handed-down to my adult children.

Today I played catch-up: I was months behind in the pasting process. I glued in two trips this afternoon, filled a trash basket with leftover brochure scraps, and still have a weekend and another vacation to finish up before we start out on our next trip. 

Is this a chore?  Not on a bet.  Today I RE-travelled to Nashville, attended, by memory, the Grand Ol Opry at the Ryman Auditorium, and recalled a lovely dinner and people we'd met.  It was all vivid in my mind as I pasted my writings, post cards and photos on those pages.

Travel Journaling is joyous writing.  While personal journals are generally meant for only the writer's eyes, I share my travel journal because I've always been the kind of person who wants to SHARE with others when I've found something grand. Frankly, I wish I could do travel writing for a living. What a combination of my two favorite activities that would be!

My minimalist children might want to dispose of my journals some day. Before they do that, I would hope that they'd look at that map of the United States, figure out the colored lines criss-crossing our marvelous country, read them, picture the places in their minds, and set out on their own journies and adventures.

The passion for travel might be the best inheritance I leave to them, and while it takes no space in a suitcase, it's the most important thing to take along!




copyright:  KP Gillenwater

My Stuff, His Stuff............or, "Bits and Pieces"

In the eighties, there was a pair of crazy sisters who called themselves "The Slob Sisters."  They wrote a book* about how to clean a house and do it right.  I howled with laughter, and kept a file box of day-to-day household duties on the program.  It worked, and it was delightful fun at the time. It felt good to keep my home orderly, clean, and working like a clock.  A number of my friends embraced this program at the same time, and we worked in our homes, laughed a lot, and enjoyed the system.

We wore aprons with pockets filled with dusters and screwdrivers, used a 50-foot cord on our vacuum cleaner, had spray bottles of cleaning fluids hanging from the loops on the sides of our aprons, and virtually laughed ourselves silly as we cleaned.  It worked. My home was organized, clean, and uncluttered.

Occasionally I would don my "cleaning fairy suit," and stop in, unannounced, at homes of friends on the program, do a white-glove inspection, laugh a lot, and have coffee afterwards.

You notice that we laughed a lot. That's because back then we didn't have a lot of STUFF.

Now, I HAVE STUFF.  Lots of it.  My beloved Randy reminds me every day of my stuff. He says I have too much stuff, and he'd really like me to de-stuff, or at least to organize it to his satisfaction.

Recently we passed a shop named "The Stuff Store."  I laughed uncontrollably for days over that.  Randy wouldn't stop the car to see what stuff they had in there, so I had to imagine it. The visuals I  concocted probably were better than the store's actual stock..............

We ALL have "stuff."  (and if you don't, then what's wrong with you?)

George Carlin, the late humorist, said, "A house is just a place to keep your stuff, while you go out and get more stuff." I've had four houses, in ever-expanding sizes, and the stuff has increased incrementally, too.  I think, and Randy agrees, that I am just about overstuffed.

My major problem is that Randy keeps MOVING and HIDING my stuff! If we're having company, he seems to think that it will offend these people.  I keep telling him that THEY HAVE STUFF, too, but he moves it, and sometimes it doesn't show up again for years!

Fortunately, I have a room for most of my stuff, with shelving, boxes and labels to control this collection.  It is fairly organized. I can find anything I am looking for, because it's my stuff, and I take care of it.  Even I amaze myself, sometimes, when I need Aunt Helen's pewter candelabra or a striped ribbon, and voila..........I can produce it because I know my stuff!

The NEW stuff that hasn't yet been categorized and found its "place," is where it gets a bit sticky. You know that old phrase: A place for everything, and everything in its place?  Whoever wrote that bit of drivel must not really DO anything !  He probably just SITS, looking at his stuff, never USING it!!

When I bring home a new piece of stuff, sometimes I am not quite certain how it is going to fit into my life.  This new item might linger on the kitchen counter for a day or so before I "locate" it to its new destination. This is the danger point. After I disappear to work,  Randy picks it up, puts it on a chair or carries it to my stuff-room, where it gets lost under random papers or projects; or worse yet, he delivers it to the location HE thinks it should live! (Wrong!!!)

Entire collections of valuable stuff have been misplaced in just this way. My tax receipts for twenty years got burned up when I moved boxes, to relocate them. I just happened to set them near a fireplace. Mr. Johnny-on-the Spot incinerated my entire tax history!!! (Guess what? I haven't needed any of that stuff yet, either.....but I don't mention that part, much.)

Part of the problem is that I get side-tracked in the never-ending quest to position my stuff in the best possible spots, and sometimes I don't move fast enough for Randy. The tax info was destined for another shelf, and never got there. If I lay a knife down when I've sliced a tomato, to pick up a pepper, the knife might get washed while my back is turned! I've actually taken mustard out of the frig, and it has been replaced while I reached for the loaf of bread!

I bought thirty-six CD boxes a few weeks ago. (Don't ask why.)  I put the bag of boxes next to the cabinet where the box-less CD's awaited their new homes.  Imagine this:  Randy was INSULTED when I called home to ask him if the bag was still sitting where I'd put it!  (This was a test.....)  He denied even THINKING of moving it! And when I got home, there it was, where I'd left it. (He probably had to search the house while I was gone, retrieve it, and replace it before I got home.....)

He wonders why I attach sticky notes that say, "Leave this here!" on things.  He became peeved when I wrote "Do Not Remove," on defrosting chicken. Vacuum cleaners are labeled, "Not done yet. Walk around this."  Newly-washed underwear that is hanging up to dry needs a sign that says, "TEST FOR DRYNESS BEFORE FOLDING."  (I kid you not....)

Does HE have stuff, too? Of course he does, but he doesn't call it that.  It's a "collection" of wood, windows, doors, shelves, nails, nuts, bolts, twine and other building materials. He calls it "work equipment."  Periodically, I threaten to go to into his workshop and rearrange HIS STUFF, and put things where I THINK THEY SHOULD GO.  The look of terror on his face is that of pure fright when I say that.................. and I haven't done it...............yet.

This is not about de-stuffing. I already know I can't do that.  I need my stuff. I just hope that if anything happens to me, my family will look it over well before they trash it, maybe find a treasure or two, and THEN yell, "Why in the Hell did she keep THIS?"

I just visited Amazon.com and ordered a copy of that book. I could use a really good laugh while I shuffle through my stuff, and maybe I can clean the house with joy in my heart and laughter in my soul........as long as the fifty-foot vacuum cord doesn't get wrapped around my neck........but I know that if it did, Randy would wind the cord up quickly and save my life. 




copyright:  KP Gillenwater

* The book is titled Sidetracked Home Executives,  by Pam Young and Peggy Jones. It seems to have been reprinted, and it's on Amazon.com.

Your Deepest Secrets Revealed ! or, "Do You Want to Know a Secret?"

I saw a news item on CNN titled " Did Cell Phones Unleash Our Inner Rudeness?"

  I DON'T THINK SO!  But for truly rude people it would be a great excuse.

I think there have ALWAYS been rude people amongst  us.........We just didn't think they were cool or fun to be around, and we were not forced to interact with them...........until now.

The cell phone has made everybody's business everybody's business, apparently!

 I don't really WANT to know about strangers' elimination schedules or  dental visit details, but lately the entire world is sharing that kind of information via the cell phone that might as well be surgically implanted onto their ears~ and while you might not even BE on the other end, YOU get to hear all about it!

 The first time I encountered a true cell phone publicity hound, I was attending a book sale at a library and a fool got on his cell phone. He roamed the library, talking loudly about his ex-wife and what she could do with herself. Details of the yelling match they'd had were re-yelled into his cell, so we all got the picture. We patrons stood open-mouthed in aisles of books, in horror, listening to intimate details of the screamer's private business. We pretended to be interested in old National Geographic Magazines! None of us had the nerve to tell him to take it outside.  I suppose we presumed he might be intuitive enough to hear our gasps, see our mouths opened in shock, and translate that to a big "Whoops!" but he did not.

I heard one woman betray her best friend's most private secret while she waited for a doctor appointment.  The entire waiting room was treated to this, by the way.  No one interrupted her or pointed to the door, but I wish someone had.  We heard the details, dirty as they were.  Some friend!

I love the signs at fast food places or banks that say, "Please finish your call before we wait on you." I bet those tellers and servers have heard more private conversations and verbal foreplay than they can stomach.

I've learned more about diseases, rashes, divorce and family dysfunction from complete strangers than I knew existed.  I heard sex-talk as I waited in line at the post office! I was party to a final break-up of complete strangers, as one yelled, and those nearby listened. I politely turned away. 

I remember when we didn't even mention distasteful issues. Colonoscopies were private! We didn't know what you ate or threw up, then.

My hubby won't even speak to me if I call him when he is standing in line at Home Depot.  "Later," is about the sum of his conversation then.  I make my cell calls outside of stores or in the car.  A personal talk should BE private! 

I would like to see a national defensive action by those of us who still have a sense of propriety:  Join me, so I don't feel alone in this, by stopping dead in your tracks during the next private conversation revealed.  Let's all stand stock still, mouths gaping, and give full attention to the speaker!  On Stage! Let the speaker be a star! Let's applaud if he hangs up! Or grab pens and tablets and take notes! We could croon "ahhhhhhhhhh," or "Oh no! or No way!" when the details get really juicy. Do you think that those subteties would get the point across?  Would he hang up, crawl away mortified and embarrassed? Probably not.

 I actually believe those people don't KNOW any better!

What I'd like to say to these people is simple: Please keep your private calls private!  Don't tell about Aunt Lulu's bowel obstruction in the grocery line.  Your daughter's broken engagement details should stay in the family.  Tell people off privately, so we don't hear your @##!!!* words!

We really DON'T WANT to hear it!!!


copyright@ K P Gillenwater

Reading on the Run, or "You Can't Always Get What You Want"

I just finished a delightful book, The Jane Austin Book Club, by Karen Joy Fowler.  It was 250 short pages long. (There were some extra pages that explained Jane Austin's books, and some other stuff at the end, but the book itself was 250 pages.)

It took me TWO WEEKS to read this book.  I teach reading.  There is just no excuse for this slowness for a person who is literate, has read hundreds (no, thousands) of books in her lifetime, except that I DON'T HAVE TIME to get deeply involved in a book! Not that I CAN'T get deeply involved, mind you.I just can't sit and read, uninterrupted, until the book is over, the plot has been resolved, the dog has died, true love has won out, or the killer is behind bars.

I have to postpone my reading until I can eke out a few minutes for myself to just READ and let myself "get lost in a good book,"as those posters in my classroom say.

I got to wondering this afternoon if anybody else has this problem???  I also realized that it is truly a MIRACLE that I finished this book in "only" two weeks!!!! (As if that isn't pathetic enough, I have to make excuses for myself, now..........)

For a woman who drags a book to bed with her every night, wouldn't you THINK that I might be reading before I starting making those z sounds?  Sometimes I lie there, look at the book next to me, try to warm up the bedding, and feel too weak to even reach out and OPEN the book!  And when, and if, I do pick it up, I have to prop the book up onto the pillow next to my sleepy head, just to put it in front of my eyeballs.  Then, SLEEP GETS IN THE WAY, and most nights the bookmark drops out and I find the unread object right where I left it when my eyes closed.

Here is how the "miracle" of completing a book in "only" two weeks happened, actually.  I sneaked-read. Not with a flashlight under the covers. (I would only have fallen asleep and burned out the flashlight batteries, after all.)  Not by dragging the book to the bathroom and staying in there until someone shouts out, "Have you taken up residence in the bathroom????!!!!"  That doesn't work, and that's not a very comfortable place to read, anyway.

I HAVE FOUND ALMOST 18 MINUTES AN HOUR to read, simply by using the mute button on my TV when a commercial comes on, and reading until the actual program comes back on!!! (See my post about "Hit that Mute Button," and you will know what I think of the persistent commercials for pharmaceuticals, anyway.)  I have discovered that I don't need to watch advertising for automobiles, banking, fast food, ANY food for that matter, or ads advertising the program that's coming on next.  Not ads for movies, diet remedies, or those beautiful new chocolate ice cream bars (which I confess was the  only ad I had trouble muting.....)

OK, so the plot gets a little disrupted.  I put my finger on the spot where I looked back up at the TV and just hold it there until the next "reading session" begins. Since the actual SHOW is shorter than the commercials (or so it seems) I can still maintain the train of thought.  Try it!

As a proponent of sustained silent reading (that post will show up after I retire,) and reading in general, it has been hugely upsetting to me that I have so many diversions that my favorite pastime has been neglected.........

ESPECIALLY SINCE I HAVE SHELVES AND PILES OF BOOKS that I "plan" to read.  I am celebrating a birthday this week, and in order to read all of those books I would have to live for another fifty years, and read, non-stop, for all of them. As this is NOT my twenty-fifth birthday, that is not a probability. Besides, I keep buying more books, so the piles keep growing...........................

What else do I do to find some literary time?  I never leave home without a book in my possession.

I am NOT sitting at stoplights, reading, by the way. But I AM reading in doctor's offices, standing in long lines, waiting in the car, during any "spare" minutes of my half-hour lunch period, or waiting to meet up with someone with whom I am having lunch.  Standing in a line at the post office goes a lot quicker with a book, and I've seen jealous stares from co-standers, wishing that they had brought THEIR book along!

I've also begun to have the library reserve the audio version of a book I want to read, and use the driving time to and from work to "listen/read."  It makes the trip shorter.

Once I retire (I dream.) I plan to spend a portion of each day just sitting and reading. I want to SIT and read.  Not read while I walk or watch TV. I want to have TIME to read, and not to have to fit it into something else I am busy doing!

As a child I used to sit in a tree at the end of my street, nestled into large limbs that held me comfortably, and just READ.  I loved the solitary-ness (is this a word?) of it.

Yes, I am a people-person, but sometimes just being quietly alone with a good book is the best company, and the time to read, without interruption, would be wonderful......................

Grief.............................or, "Cry Me a River"

Yesterday, April 30, it was five years since my thirty year old, first-born child, Philip, died. Today is  the day of the week it was, and  I will spend today watching the clock, knowing where we were, what we were doing, what we talked about, and what we ate, as the day progresses to the time when I watched him drive out of my driveway to die of heart failure a short time later, that Sunday evening.

I know how today will pass, because I've lived through four other days like this one. I know that I will cry, and I know that I will be exhausted when I go to bed tonight.

Grieving is very hard work.  It means opening up your heart and letting the pain of loss truly permeate your soul.  It is, as they say, "the price of love."  It is, also, as Stephen King said, "...like a drunken houseguest who keeps coming back over and over again, to say goodbye."

It does not leave. But it does change.

I had three years of grief counseling after Philip died, and attribute my knowledge of Myself and Grief to this counseling.  There were times I just cried throughout the hour-long session, times I expressed anger, hurt, resentment, and God only knows those feelings that losing one's child evoked.  But the good news is that those feelings were expressed.

Right now you are probably saying, "Why is she writing about this?"  I am writing about grief today, because it is, now, a part of who I am, and who I will be for the rest of my life.  Losing one's child changes a person, and it can be for the better or for the worse.  I believe that my counseling experience has made life livable for me.  My counselor also formed a support group for some of us.

A group of grievers meets, and the support from these other parents and spouses, who are also grievers, has been a huge part of my wellness.  We know how each other feels.  We've shared stories of people who have said things like, "Get over it!"  or, "You mean you're not over that yet?" or "I cried all day yesterday when I buried my mother, and now I am going to just go on with my life."

We've shared stories of the "signs" that we've received and interpreted as coming from our departed loved ones, and taken joy and hope from the experiences that we've shared.  We've truly come to believe, as a group of grievers, that life is eternal.  (We've also been amazed when we shared those tales of "signs" with others who say they believe in Eternal Life, and act as if we're crazy when we mention that we've had proof! )

We've cried together, gotten good advice from our grief counselor, our leader, and become dear friends in the process.  They say that "grief can change one's address book," and we've also shared some of those stories.  It is true.  Some friends may have found me gloomy, some co-workers found me less interested in my job, and some people just really don't know what to say, or write, to someone who is deeply grieving. (Which is why they have sympathy cards.)

My address book has changed over the past five years. I have stopped trying to maintain family relationships with relatives who said nothing after Philip died. I wonder if they missed my newsy Christmas letters. (And yes, they did know about Philip.)

Today, this Sunday, is not like a year ago, in that TIME has moved on.  The rawness of the grief has healed, somewhat.  I calculated that I have now lived for 1,825 days since then.  I've gotten up every single day and "put one foot in front of the other," as we say.  I've gone through all the stages of grief, on and off again, and finally know that I've reached acceptance.  I've had the "magical thinking," had some yelling sessions with God, and cried more tears than I ever knew were humanly possible.

Interestingly, I have grown as a spirit, and as a spiritual person, because of this grief. I've reached out to others who have lost a child:  We understand each other.   My address book has grown to include a list of like-minded friends, who "get it," when we stare into space for a few minutes, skip a Christmas Eve service, tear up over music, or bring up the name of our loved one during conversation instead of pretending that he or she never existed.  This has been my gift from this five years. I have embraced grief, and become a better person because of this, I think.

I have also deeply appreciated my friends and family who have supported me.  I've understood that I have reasons to "keep on keeping on," in part, because of the love they've shown me.  My beloved husband has heard it all, and he has held my hand, and me, and let me weep. He never told me to stop feeling what I was feeling, as if I could have stopped.  He has listened for countless hours about those feelings, and loves me yet.

My friends (the ones still IN the address book) have been wonderful.  I cannot name them all, but they know who they are. One sat quietly by my side for an entire day, not talking, while I slept in a chair, early on. Her quiet presence was reassuring.  Others sent cards on days that they knew were important to me.  Phone calls.  Hugs. Meals. Emails.  Invitations to be together for dinner, art walks, and coffee.  My friends have held me up. To paraphrase something Philip once said,  I am rich with friends.

It is now 10:30 AM.  Five years ago on that Sunday, at this moment, I was sitting on the porch saying a prayer for my son's health.  I know exactly what I prayed for, and how I said it. Philip and Randy were sitting in the kitchen, watching TV and having breakfast.  Today I will mark that day, hour by hour, not to be sad about it, but because I had that day.  I've come to see it as a gift, that I got to spend that last day of his life with Philip. 

We are all touched by grief at some time.  It is inescapable.  If not, then it would mean that we were solitary individuals, without people who we love, in our lives.  Or it would mean that we denied our true feelings, and did not allow ourselves the right to grieve.  Stephen King was right.  This grief comes back over and over and over again.  Many times it slaps me in the face when I least expect it.  I know that it will continue to do that.

I've known since I began this blog that I would someday have to write about grief.  It is the most awful feeling in the world, without a doubt, in my opinion. When our country's worst enemies' sons and family members have been killed in the turmoil of war in recent years, I have actually felt sorry for those enemies. That's probably part of the lesson of this experience in my life:  compassion for others.

Would I change this, in my life, if I could?  IN A HEARTBEAT.

But since I have gone past that stage of "magical thinking," and I know I cannot do that, probably what I need to do is let others know that they can live through grief,  and more than likely, even when it doesn't seem possible, you will.




copyright:  KP Gillenwater

All My Children................or, "The Times, They Are A-Changing"

I heard the news about All My Children's cancellation with the same horrid feeling I get when I hear about  misfortunes of someone I know.  In this case, it is many people I "know" dearly who will be leaving our lives, as my favorite soap opera is eliminated.

Thirty-five years ago, or so, when I moved with my still-relatively-new husband to begin our lives away from my hometown, I had no job, no friends, and no money to spend the day shopping.  Voila!  Soap operas filled the void. I could literally watch soaps, I figured out one day, from 11:30 AM until 4 PM.............and the time flew because of them. I learned to keep one eye and both ears on the TV while I cleaned, did laundry and cooked.

All My Children soon became my favorite "soap," and I was caught up in the life and loves of Erica Kane, Tad Martin, Palmer, Opal, Adam, Dixie, Haley,  Greg and Jenny..........(I actually wrote a letter to the show about the frustration over Greg and Jenny's never-ending engagement).............(That's a secret.)

 I "attended" weddings dressed in my best clothing, cried at funerals of characters who had met their demise, laughed aloud more times than I could say at the over-the-top antics of Opal, my all-time favorite character........(she wore her mittens with those little clips on the ends of her sleeves, for God's sake).........she talked with a twang that was more deep South than the map could go, had mile-high red hair, killed a husband in the throngs of passion, and was risque' enough to let a bored young housewife get caught up in her craziness and be diverted from routine.

I even named one of my children after a character, although it was just the NAME I fell in love with............remember Philip Brent?  The name Philip "stuck" in my head, and when delivery time came for my first baby,  I used that name. (I also borrowed Stephen Foster's first name, for another, lest you think I was addicted to soap operas..........)

When my kids were little, I nursed them during All My Children, then later fed them lunch at 1:00.  They could eat while Erica and her latest love interest conversed.  In the summers, we would leave for the swim club at 1:30 and I'd leave a small tape player in front of the TV, set for thirty minutes, so I  could listen to the rest of the show while I cooked dinner.

These people were "family" to MY family, which had few true blood relatives nearby.  We conversed  about the characters as if they were just ordinary people we knew well, and sometimes folks would ask  "Who is Tad?" or "Where does Erica live, and why haven't we met her?"

My son, Philip, continued this connection by watching AMC  when cable TV made the Soap Network available.  It took me awhile to figure out how he knew so much about events in our "other family," when we were all working.  He was watching in the night!  (He always did appreciate the value of "family!")

I confess that I have not watched AMC faithfully for the past decade or so, since I went back to teaching.  I defend myself, however, by telling you that on summer break I watched it, hit-or-miss, and was able to pick right up a story-line without any problem.  I noticed that Tad got a little grayer, however.................. he was always a heartthrob..............(sigh)

I never felt that I had divorced these characters, though! They were "family," or stand-ins for vacancies, and added volume to our real numbers.  I knew their innermost secrets as well as what motivated their actions. If it were only so easy to understand REAL people, huh????

I am not going into mourning over All My Children, but I do feel a pang of "another loss" at its passing.  I keep noticing that life seems to be full of "passings," and these get replaced by things that I either do not understand, don't "get," or don't have the technological skills to use. 

In my guest bedroom is a blanket with the map of Pine Valley, the setting for All My Children, on it.  It was a gift from Philip, his last Christmas.  It's blue, pink and yellow, and has "All My Children," and "Pine Valley" written on it..........and shows where Pine Valley exists in relation to the rest of the world.  Ironically, it shows Pine Valley as the center of the entire country.............and the rest of us sort of revolve around it.   That seems to say it all, doesn't it?    Great gift, by the way.

They may do away with All My Children, and take Pine Valley off the soap opera "map, " but there are those of us who will always live there in our hearts, will never forget the joy, tension or agony we experienced as we sat, glued to the set every day at 1:00.  The theme music is in our heads on "replay" at our mental recalls. 

No, I am not leading a letter-writing campaign to save AMC, as I am sure that the TV Powers That Be have done their financial homework before axing a well-loved old program.

But I WOULD write a letter if there WERE a campaign.  I'd sign a petition...........wear a sandwich board........and possibly stand on a street corner waving a sign that reads "SAVE ALL MY CHILDREN!"

I'd do the same for any endangered family member ...............................





copyright:  KP Gillenwater

Gifts.............or, "From Me to You"

We just gave a friend a bar of delicious-smelling soap for her birthday.  I felt sort of guilty, in that it wasn't something "lasting."  Once she has used it up, it will wash away down the drain and be GONE. (Oh my God........gone!) Then I realized that THAT was part of the gift!.............it will be GONE. (Down the drain, no need to store it.........!)

THERE WILL BE NOTHING LEFT of the gift!  No monument.  Nothing for my friend to look at twelve years from now and say, "What the hell am I hanging on to THIS for??? Oh. Yes. It was a gift from X and Z, and I can't toss it out."

While I was standing in the shower tonight, I suddenly had that horrific feeling of, "What if she doesn't LIKE soap???? What if she'd rather have a trophy with her name engraved on it, saying what a good neighbor she's been!!!??  The thought lasted only a moment. (I was, after all, in the shower, watching my own soap go down the drain to Neverland.)

I think of gifts I've given to my best loved people: The fake parrot on a perch that I gave to Pop when I was fourteen.....it hangs over my computer desk, reminding  me of the chuckle that I heard from him when he saw it. I never look at it without remembering that chuckle, but it takes up space in my home, as well as my heart.

There was the white scarf  I knitted, laboriously, when I was ten, also for my beloved father. I ran out of yarn somewhere in the midst of the knitting, so when I gave it to him for Christmas it only JUST made it around his neck. It was so wide and tightly-knit that it was inflexible.  He wore that wretched piece of knitting, tightly pulled around his neck, to work every cold day for the rest of his working life, as if it were a crown jewel............and every time I pull it out of my hope chest and hold it to my heart, I love that man more for HIS loving me, and IT, than I can tell.

I sent a college friend, who had lost both of her parents within forty days of each other, a figurine of a red cardinal. She had seen a cardinal after their deaths, and knew that it was their "sign" to her. She "got it," and knew that I had sent her LOVE, not just a statue.

I sent a roll of toilet paper with Nancy Pelosi's face on every single square, to another friend...........one "outside of the box" friend.  She laughed until she cried.  I LOVED that she laughed.  She hates Nancy Pelosi.  She used the toilet paper, gleefully,  I KNOW. (It, too, is gone, I'd bet.)

My favorite "gifts" these days  are what I call "experiences:" Lunch out, dinner, a play, a movie, a trip to somewhere together.

I gave my son,  Philip, a summer day at the Motown Museum in Detroit, where he sang "My Girl," in the very studio where "all  the music" was made, at Hitsville. The smile on his face while he sang and danced there, that moment, will be with ME forever. He was happy!

My son and daughter only want  checks for their birthdays or Christmas, now. It takes the fun out of giving, for me.  One declares himself a "minimalist," and the other says she doesn't want any "clutter."  I get it.  (Just write the check, Mom, and don't clutter our lives.)

On the other side of the coin, I've received some wonderful gifts in my lifetime: a rabbit coat that was totally unexpected,when I was in college (quite in style, then,)  a trip to Europe to celebrate my college degree, (accompanied by the giver, of course,) an old used Ford Falcon so I could get to my first job, and a sewing basket on legs that I have filled with any number of things other than sewing equipment over the years.

Randy has caught the "experience" bug, and he gives me wonderful surprises: a ride during which I was blindfolded, to a theatre for a play, a trip to a Virginia resort for a birthday, a weekend in a state park for another event.  Great gifts, great memories: No "stuff" to fill up the corners of our rooms. Just memories.

Everyone's home is full of "stuff." Enough, already............. I want to give gifts that make a difference!  If only it were so easy to give the gifts I'd really like to give to the people I love: The ones that I see while Magically Thinking.  Oh, that I were so powerful! 

My friend's daughter,  another's husband, and one's mother would regain their health instantly!  Unemployed would find dream jobs. Unrequited love would suddenly be reciprocated.  None of those "gifts" would take up any space, but would be everything to the recipients.

 These gifts just cannot be given by lowly mortals such as I, try though I may.

Imagine the JOY and happiness I would feel, to be able, willing, and happy to deliver to loved ones their hearts' desires, instead of a check or a gift card.

It's just not gonna happen, folks.

All I can do right now is give you a bar of good soap, a ticket to a decent play, a short trip to a "happening," or a memento to remind you of something or someone you love.

Just know that if I could, I would, without a moment's hesitation make everything all right in your world. (And I know, that if you could have given me what I wished for most in my life, you would have, too.)

But the "want to" is there, the wishful Magical Thinking goes on.......... and that's partly what love is about, isn't it?






Copyright:  KP Gillenwater

Goodbye, Oprah, or, "I'll Be On My Way"

I've decided to give up my subscription to "O Magazine," Oprah's publication.  I've been a loyal subscriber for about five years now, but I am about to let my subscription lapse. Even those last chance offers I am getting in the mail are not able to lure me back. It has become more of an "assignment" than a joy, for me.

Why?  Well, let me tell you.  I SHOULD be telling Oprah herself, but I guess I  don't think she would "get it." She'd never get my email, either, I don't think.

It has to do with the "billowing shirt" that sells for only $350 and the "ruched dress" for $550 that appear in one recent edition. It's not just this one time. It's month after month that I've been reading price tags of the pictured clothes, so don't accuse me of "walking" because of a one-time happening. Oh sure, there is a cheap dress in that same article for only $18 at Walmart, to try to make me and others on a budget feel as if we belong in the clothing market promoted in "O," but I am not buyin' it!

I don't mean I am not buying the clothes.  I am not buying the whole thing.  Oprah Winfrey came from humble beginnings, and is, in fact, one of my favorite famous people.  I admire her more than I can say. Her photo hangs on my classroom wall, along with a quote about doing her best to be successful.  I watch her program religiously, and will truly miss coming home to her, once her last show is broadcast.

I know Oprah doesn't write the magazine, okay?  I know she has people who do this for her.  I guess I just feel that those people don't realize that readers are not going to rush out and spend the heat and water money on a "ruched dress" any time soon.  I am sure that there is a woman somewhere who WOULD, of course, so I will eat my words here and now, but MOST of us are not going to do so.

Reality is what this magazine needs a dose of, I think.  Those writers and clothing-selectors need to find out a little more about the subscribers. ASK us if we have a skirt that cost over $900..........(there was one in there recently.) 

My husband tells me that these pricey clothes are in there so that "O" can have advertisers, and that is what pays for publishing the magazine.  He's probably right.  I just don't care, frankly.

I am going to receive my final issue of "O" in June.  I will miss Dr. Oz's articles and the questions and answers to Dr. Phil.  I will miss the uplifting messages telling me that I can achieve and succeed if I only believe in myself. I will miss finding out what Oprah "Knows for Sure." Maybe I've read enough of those messages, though, and I know some things for sure, myself.

I HAVE achieved and succeeded. I love myself.  I am a work in progress, getting better each and every day! I know, for sure, that a hugely expensive dress is not necessary to make me who I am. Oprah knows that, too, I think.

................and even if I COULD spend $900 on a skirt, I WOULDN'T.  I'd spend it on food, electricity, water, housing, transportation, books, travel, gifts for my family and friends, and still be able to donate something to benefit people who have NO clothes or food. (Besides, I can spill a cup of coffee just as easily on a $50 skirt as on a $900 one, thank you very much.)

I am not waiting for Oprah to call me, by the way.  I know she won't even know I've left "O."  But now YOU do, and you know WHY.






copyright: KP Gillenwater

I Mean,You Know, Uhhh......, or," Over and Over"

 I am going to express an opinion to try to persuade my readers to fix something that might make it easier for them to communicate.  It may help them to do well in a job interview.  It certainly will make them seem to be better conversationalists, and to come across to listeners as educated and intelligent.

"YOU KNOW, I MEAN, UH,  LIKE."

For some reason, vocalizations are filled with these phrases!

We listeners are TRYING to know what people mean, but they keep saying, "You know," and "I mean," in every sentence they utter!  Sometimes people even say, "You know, I mean," all in ONE sentence!!!!  Then they will throw in, "Like," for absolutely no reason whatsoever!  Like WHAT????

We'd like to believe that they think we DO know what they mean without having to hear it constantly.

I have heard conversations interrupted with, "You know," so many times that I have taken to sitting silently and counting the speech pauses to find out how many times a human being can interrupt himself with this meaningless phrase.  In one conversation that lasted no more than ten minutes, I counted thirty "You knows,"  and fifteen "I means!"  The rest of the conversation was lost, as all the speech pauses directed my mind away from the gusto of that conversation.

"You know, I mean, like, it's sunny outside today."  Duh.  Cut to the chase:  "It's sunny outside today!"

"Uhhhhh."  Hillary Clinton manages to squeeze this voice-pause, repeatedly, into every speech she delivers. It ruins her delivery, makes her seem less than the brilliant woman she is, and detracts from what she is telling the entire world, (and the world is listening.)  I wonder if she hears those long "Uhs" when she sees herself on TV after the fact, and if so, why doesn't she repair this?  It is an annoying habit. No one tells her?????  

"Uh, you know, Uh, you know, like, Uh......."

Have you heard the super sports stars being interviewed?  "Ya know, ya know??? I mean, I mean, uh, uh."  If there is anything intelligent inserted within those trite fill-ins, it is hard to figure them out. I am not belittling those sports stars, as they may not be famed for brilliance except on the field or in an arena, but perhaps they shouldn't be interviewed at all.  It would spare the fans from realizing that they cannot communicate, except athletically.  The announcer could simply yell, "Great game!" and the athlete could yell back, "Thanks!" and leave the screen looking fairly smart, instead of this scenario:  "Great game!" says the interviewer. "You know, thanks, I mean, like it was like good, like I mean, you know, like, uh, you know, we like won, you know, " replies the athlete.  Huh? One moment before this, he was a hero, and now he becomes illiterate.

If I have insulted you by this, just stop reading. It is not aimed at any one person in particular. As I said before, IT IS AN ANNOYING HABIT, but unfortunately there are many people who have it these days. Habits can be changed, but first one has to be aware that it is being done habitually. As Dr. Phil says,   "You cannot fix something that you do not first acknowledge."

Advice?  Yes, (of course.)  Listen to yourself when you speak.  If you catch yourself saying these phrases, STOP IT! 

 I feel certain that we are all guilty of "speech-pauses," but, you know, I mean, can we just, like, fix them?





copyright: K P Gillenwater

Vanity Plates, or, Loco-Motion

I have become somewhat mildly obsessed with reading license plates on cars.  The plates are generally referred to as "vanity plates," in that the driver wants attention from the rest of us, and is willing to pay for it.  I used to just read all the plates, numbers and letters, but now the stories that these vanity plates may tell are far more interesting!

I've driven around for several weeks, pen over my ear, notebook on the suicide seat, writing down these plates as soon as I get to a stoplight or pause behind a turning car. I found out that I forget the ones I think are cute or funny by the time I get home, so there are six wrinkly pages of writing filled with license plate titles next to me right now.

My psychological study of these drivers and what they are telling the world entertains me, and the why these drivers want us to know these tidbits about themselves keeps me wondering, behind the wheel. (I do listen to audio books, also.......and think truly deep thoughts............I am not just driving around reading license plates, lest you think so, for God's sake!)

 I've divided these people into several groups and subgroups, and analyzed what they are REALLY saying to us............

There are those who want us to take note of their automobiles:

Every new Lexus in our city apparently leaves the dealership with a plate that says LEX on the front of it. ("Look at me! I've spent more for my car than the rest of you guys!") I liked a truck that said BD MACK on it ("I'm tough!"), and one car that said HOT ROD, ("Wanta race?) Then a cute little Volkswagen said GRRR to me!

 There are the religious ones:

 HEAR HIM, and  ISAYA 61,( which I had to go home and look up. Isaiah 61 is also a ministry that heals the brokenhearted.  If I see that one again, I may have to stop the driver and get more information.) Another plate told me NO EVL........(as in hear no, see no, speak no.....)

The most common (oops! I didn't mean to insult anyone who spent so much by calling him "common!") are the ones that proclaim who or what the driver perceives himself to be:

 KING TUT (This was a big Cadillac with Texas plates....woo-hoo!), NUBBINS ("I'm small, but cute.")  WOW PHIL ("Excited to see me?") ,THE KING (Yes, someone is actually driving around with this on his car.....) LDY POET, ("I write") MUZISHAN ("I am a creative one...."), NUTMAN (This has too many connotations to even go there..........),  3 DE FAN (This was at a movie theatre. Surprised?) CRAZY WID (a new widow, apparently, telling us, "I got the insurance money, and bought this car"), M N M NUT the candy guru,  CHEEZ 4 U (This was on a van that was delivering cheese, but I liked that the driver let me know it!) FROG  (??),  DIVA D  ("I sing") , I MISS EV (This might be other woman in Crazy Wid's life.....) D CUP (a total braggart!) 19 FT 9 IN  (Whatever..........!) LV 2 REIN (might be married to The King?) FAB HATS  (an entrepreneur), and then the two physical specimens: FOUR PAC and AGILE.

My favorites are the ones that seem to show a sense of humor:

STOP DIS (a dare for the cops?), GOT Z (I sleep well, thanks) GT SET GO (" Get out of my way.......") and my very favorite one:  C KAYAK.  I sat behind the car bearing this, puzzling, then realized that the top of the car had a rack where a kayak probably perches in fair weather, and the guy wanted to be sure we saw it.

So what would I put on MY license plate, if I were inclined to spend $40 extra to tell the world about myself?  Trying not to give away information, or to brag, I thought of:  MRSG  (But my students would then know which car to key....), I TEECH ( which lets you know that I teach reading.........), BKWRM (my personal favorite, but not everyone can translate this...), GTOFFTAIL (nothing bothers me more than someone riding my rear bumper......but those are nonreaders, I believe),  4EVRDIET (but who wants to know this about me?).  Then there are Randy's suggestions: CHEAP, THRIFTY, GSALER....but I don't want to advertise that stuff.

The other day I was behind a city bus with a huge sign on the rear that read ONE IN FIVE ADULTS HAS A DIAGNOSABLE MENTAL ILLNESS. It appeared to be a huge plate behind that bus.  I loved it, but it won't fit on my license plate, alas. A plate can only have a few letters. 

I might be able to settle for IM THE 1.



copyright:  KP Gillenwater

The Wine Group, or, "We Are Family"

Randy and I belong to a wine group. Have I mentioned this?  It's a collection of seven couples who have gotten together every single month for the past ten years to "taste" wine.  I say "collection" because our getting together in the first place was all happenstance.

In the late summer of 2000, Randy and I signed up for a college course called "From Vines to Wines" at our local university. We had drunk some wines and wanted to know how to pair them with foods. For six Saturdays we went to a nearby winery for a two-hour class. The vineyard owner told us how wine was made, types of wines, hosted a tasting event, and taught us the vocabulary that goes along with wines. We sat, each Saturday, with the same group of people of varied ages, but never actually spoke with them, as the "wine guy" did most of the talking.

At the last lesson, when some of the classmates brought their mates, the wine guy suggested that we might want to form a group, get together occasionally, and taste some wines. Right then, one of the women in the class passed around paper and had us write our contact information, so that we might taste wine with people who were as knowledgeable as we now thought that we had become. I suspect that we envisioned ourselves as potential "wine snobs," at that point.

A few weeks later, we went to the home of the organized woman, each bearing a bottle of wine of the same type and an h'ors d'oeuvre.  We tasted, took notes, wrote down our tasting results, swirled the wine in our glasses, and began to talk with each other as we did so.  All we'd had were our first impressions of each other from sitting quietly in the same room for twelve hours.  I am sure we were all curious about each other, and we'd been given an opportunity to investigate!

The collection included eleven people ranging from middle twenties to mid-fifties. We interacted well, got to know each others' names and basic information, and someone said they would host the group the following month, which meant that we were going to get to know each other a little better.

I will not go into detail of the next ten years, 120 months, 120 tastings with this group which we named The Wineos. Nor will I mention the hundreds of bottles of wine that we have drunk.  I will, however, tell you that we have tasted just about every flavor of the grape that exists, and we've only poured one or two bottles onto a bush. (Hence came the term, "Bush Wines") We even had Fortified Wine Night one time...........terrible stuff.............We have also eaten some delicious foods to accompany the wines, and shared recipes with each other.

I will tell you some of the things that have transpired over these ten years, during which these people have become our "family."

We have had four new marriages. Along with Randy and I getting married the next July, one couple got a divorce, and then each got remarried within a few years.  The wineos all danced at one of those weddings, and we were happy for both new couples.  Both of these newlywed couples have remained in the Wineos, remarkably, and everyone gets along beautifully. Our group had grown to thirteen people, with this. Wedding showers accompanied the wine group events!  One cold December, we sat as a group at the wedding of our youngest member when she married a former Marine: member number 14. We celebrated with wine made by the bride's mother!

One young couple adopted twin Russian orphans, and we have watched these two boys grow up. Two of the couples have delivered new baby boys,  and we have had baby showers along with our wine.

Two of us have suffered the death of beloved sons by accident and health issues.  The wine group sat together in a synagogue for one, and drove sixty miles to pay condolences for the other.  The Wineos were there for both grieving families.

Two members have lost  fathers, and one a mother, as well.  We attended the only funeral that was local, but hurt during the others for the grieving son.

There has been the death of pets, celebrations of degrees and passing of the Bar, job changes, health threats, thousands of  jokes, and anything and everything that a normal "family" goes through over the course of ten years. One couple has recently moved out of state, and we are tossing around ideas for a field trip to visit them, as leaving town does not mean leaving the family.

Do we still take notes on what we are "tasting?"  No.  We are too busy sharing our lives with each other, catching up on what has happened since the previous month, caring for each other, and being "family" for one another.

Each December we have a gift exchange game..........same game........and even some of the same gifts are exchanged each year, since it's a white elephant gift game. At Halloween, we've had marvelous costume parties.  We contribute to a fund throughout the year to finance one really big Anniversary of the Wineos event, when we buy finer wines than we normally taste to accompany a lovely dinner. The hosting couple each month usually invites a guest or two to add to the conversational mix. No two wine events are the same. We've visited a winery together for one, a wine bar for another, and know our way around each others' homes and kitchens pretty well by now.

The Wineos "met" at our house last night.  We had a table covered with appetizers and six bottles of wine.  We ate, we drank, we laughed, and a few of us shed a tear or two.  Last night we had "Cabin Fever Night," and each of us brought a poem to read aloud.  Just like our group, the poems were diverse: limericks, Beatles lyrics, light fare and dark, all delivered around our fireplace by and to the people in this patchwork quilt of a "family" that we have put together so lovingly for these past ten years. We truly are family.

L'chaim!




copyright: KP Gillenwater

Starting at the Starting Line Again, or, I'm a Loser

I did NOT make any resolutions, however one thing I really love about the New Year, January, an upbeat calendar, and a magazine page that says "IT'S A NEW DAY!"  hanging over my bathroom sink, is it's truly a FRESH START.

It's sort of like a starting line.  Here I am today.  Twelve months from now I get another fresh new start, (although the sign tells me I get one EACH day).............but I am taking this January to try to get myself back into my clothing that I have "outgrown."

I have been on some kind of weight program ever since I was fourteen years old, I am sad to say. Then,  Twiggy made me feel fat, and I gained many pounds during a summer in Alabama where I ate grits, fried chicken, hush puppies, gravy, butter beans with real butter.......(Oh, God, it was glorious.........), on a regular basis.  I returned thirty pounds heavier, and my mother said she didn't recognize me. Neither did I.

In high school, I ate the same bowl of chili and tuna sandwich every single day of my life until I had lost 38 pounds and my father told me I looked like a survivor of Auschwitz.  I was elated.  I was also too thin, and looked like a large head on a tiny body.  (I cut my hair like Twiggy, though.)


Having delivered three children and learned how to cook,  I developed a passion for Weight Watcher cookbooks, and that is how I cooked for my growing family. I also walked four miles every night, so for a number of years there was no problem other than losing "baby weight" after my children were born. I had a hypnotist who "suggested" three meals and nothing in between for the baby weight.  It worked.

My children were raised on chicken to the point that we all clucked at the dinner table. 365 chicken recipes are in my file!  We ate Oprah's cook's oven-fried French fries and loved them. I cooked healthy food, and my children left my home trim and slim and full of wheat bread and yogurt.

BUT, for me.................over the past ten years, in a new marriage and no children to feed........it has been a struggle.  Randy brings me chocolate, and he hides pastry in the cupboards.  We belong to a wine group, and we imbibe freely. There are chocolate bars in hiding places that only I know about. Good 'n Plenty boxes turn up as surprises.  He knows what I like!

Five recent years of attending Weight Watchers like a religious fanatic kept the problem at bay, until earlier this year when I decided I was HUNGRY, dammit.  I wanted some cheese sauce, gravy, REAL French fries, a hamburger made with MEAT, and some Mexican tortillas holding gooey stuff.  I went hog-wild.  No kidding.  HOG WILD, like a wild hog......  I have eaten every delectable thing that my eyes encountered for the better part of the last half of 2010.

I was down to one pair of slacks that I could actually button and zip.

It's not a huge number of pounds, when I take into consideration how much I've eaten, but I knew it was there. My unused closets knew it was there, and I knew that Randy knew it was there, too.

I have to tell you that my cookbook collection probably contains a hundred low-fat cookbooks, so it was not lack of knowledge. It was lack of impetus.  I actually remember thinking, "Oh well, most of America is overweight. What's the difference if I let myself go a bit, too?!" 

The difference is:  I DON'T WANT TO DO THAT. 

Then came this New Year, the gift of the fresh starting line, and I discovered a web site that I had played around with a few months ago. I log in, and I can track my meals and snacks EASILY on it.  It tells me how much I've lost, gained, and even how I'm consuming nutrients, fat, sodium, and so forth.  It also measures any exercise that I might do.  Pretty good stuff!  I still love Weight Watchers.  It's all good there.  I just am tired of counting points.  I needed to shift gears.

This web site doesn't yell at me or make me feel bad if I go over the caloric intake I have chosen as "ideal."  It just turns the numbers RED to let me know it, like a little hint.   I've been using this website  for two weeks, now.  (Did I mention that it's FREE?  No membership, no costs, just free help.)  I am not going to advertise for them right here,  but I can tell you that there are several out there in Cyberspace, and I found another one that was nearly as good.  I chose this one based on how many foods are in their database.

I have lost 4 pounds.  I really don't want to lose too much more, but anyone who has ever been on a diet, (or a "live-it," because it's a life-long process,) KNOWS that those last few pounds are the most stubborn.

Randy and I are devout Biggest Losers fans.  We cheer for our favorites, feel amazement for those people who go through all of that grueling, torturous exercise, and then get voted off the show.  We have pulled our own treadmill out in front of the TV, set up the rowing machine, and have made some half-hearted attempts at working out a bit.  Not my thing, but I will try.

My cookbooks are ready, and I am motivated once again!  I WANT to keep up the positive eating that I've been doing for these past two weeks.  Food is delicious, and I am back to savoring it, since I am not piling it into my mouth on huge forkloads lately.  I sort of wonder if the last half of  2010 was a mini-vacation of sorts for me...........I think I let myself see how it felt to JUST EAT for the first time in many years without carrying the mental burden around of what it would do to my body.  Alas, it DID do exactly what the magazines and my Weight Watcher leader had told me that it would do. Living in this era, how could I be surprised by this? There is no excuse, at this time, to be ignorant of nutrient or calorie content. We are saturated with information.

This has been a life-long battle for me.  People have told me I didn't look as if I needed to lose any weight, but they had no clue that my slacks button was cutting into my skin, or that my pedometer, small as it is, made wearing pants difficult.  They didn't see me undressed! (or WANT to, either..........)

This was not written to lecture. It is sharing one of my life's issues with you.  I am working on this particular issue right now, and I suppose that I always will be.  My cyber coach is helping me.

 I just wish that website would make some really loud cheering noises when I log in a weight loss!




copyright:  KP Gillenwater

New Year 2011, or, "Oh Promise Me"

  The New Year is here! 


No written resolutions this year!

 I have found all of the tear-stained, wrinkled lists with notes of promises I have made over the last few New Years.  Almost none of them were accomplished, so why disappoint myself again?

 I do not weigh 115 pounds,  have not given up wine, do not feel appreciation for the folks I told myself I would "try to love," and I still have negative thoughts when my alarm goes off, so, apparently, I am not waking on a positive note each day, as I had said I would do. Case closed.

HOWEVER:  If I were to make some New Years resolutions this year, this is what I would write:

1.  Love my job:  I will get up and smile as I drive to my workplace, enjoy every productive moment of each and every day, and know that I am contributing to the betterment of civilization by doing my job.

2.  Love my coworkers:  Even if some walk past me and do not speak, I will say "Good  morning!" with a cheery smile on my face.  I will gladly chip in to any fund for which one of them is collecting. If they volunteer to do more work, I will jump right in there, too, and use up my lunch or planning time to be sure I give my fair share of "extra," also.

3. Lose those extra pounds:  I will give up wine, butter, cookies, cake, ice cream, cheesy Mexican food, all things delicious and chewy,  pizza, The Macaroni Grill, and the Food Network.  I will not watch the Barefoot Contessa make something yummy and then rush out and buy the ingredients.  I will forego reading recipes in magazines, and no longer leave drool marks on those pages.

4. Exercise:  (Oh yeah........)  I will spend an hour a day doing some form of exhausting physical thing to pump up my heart rate, burn calories and get my metabolism up "there," wherever that is.  I will actually SWEAT............but just a bit.  I will not only WEAR the pedometer, I will keep on walking if it has not hit the magic 10,000 steps per day, instead of just sighing and saying, "Gee, I only went 4,000 steps today. It seemed like more."

5. Forgive people.  I will wear the badge of acceptance of others, and if one offends me in any way, I will hold myself to a higher standard and LET IT GO. I will not allow myself to become ill by carrying a grudge around. 

6. Become organized:  Every desktop, home or work, will have no piles of unfinished clutter.  All paperwork  will be filed immediately instead of laying in stacks awaiting "the right time."  Dead pens will be tossed out.  I will not keep that old pencil with the dried-up eraser just because it has  sentimental value. Clutter, begone!

7. No more shopping for extra stuff that I don't need.  135 purses is enough and I will NOT bring home another one, no matter how cute or roomy it is or if it matches that odd-colored outfit and I will never see another one like it, or it's on sale even...........

Those are sounds of muffled laughter that you just heard. Guffaw, guffaw...........

THANK GOD  I am not about to write this stuff down, making myself miserably guilty for another year! If I did accomplish those resolutions, a halo should appear over my frizzy head!

Alas !  I am dreading going back to work at the end of vacation.  I do not adore all of my coworkers. (And, I dare say, they don't all love ME, either.)  My desks, both at work AND at home, have mounds of lumpy piles,  and I am NOT givin' up that old pencil from Mount Vernon!  And as for my purse collection: It is what it is: a thing of joy and beauty, giving me pleasure.  If homeless purses call my name, SO BE IT, they may join the crowd!

That one about being cheerful in the morning, though.............I might be able to TRY.  But don't quote me.






copyright: KP Gillenwater