One Less Secret

I visited my parents earlier this week and I started talking about marriage. In the process I learned that my grandfather was once married to someone other than my grandmother. This revelation came as a mild shock. Both of those grandparents are now gone, but I knew and loved both of them, especially my grandfather who died about eight years ago, out living my grandmother by about five years.

Yesterday afternoon I stopped by my parents' house yet again and in a moment of casual conversation I confessed that the previous marriage of my grandfather came as a surprised to me. My mother calmly stated that such a thing should not come as a surprise; after all, she had once been married to someone other than my father.

For a moment I paused to evaluate what I had just heard, I then asked my mother to repeat what she had just said. As instructed, she did, the second pronouncement coming with a tiny, slightly contrite smile on her face. Then while I was still reeling from the shocking, never-before-heard news, my mom went into some detail concerning the marriage.

She was married at 19 against the wishes of just about everyone on the planet who had anything to say about it. She knew the guy for about a month and as my mom will freely admit, she had a wild crush on him. The marriage itself did not last longer. It did not make it through the third month. Apparently the marriage was annulled and in due time the whole thing was all but forgotten. My mother went back to college and within a few years she lost track of the guy. When asked why she never told me any of this, Mom kind of shrugged and said that she hardly ever thinks about it and when it comes right down to it, she really did not think it was worth mentioning. My guess is that a third factor may be that my mom finds the ordeal just a little bit embarrassing.

Now 24 hours later I have had time to make sense of it all. The two primary ingredients are; my mother is somewhat religious, and; she has a pretty healthy libido. Consequently, to scratch the itch caused by the libido (and exacerbated by this guy who was probably cute and charming), my mother felt it necessary to follow her religious beliefs and marry the fellow. Of course once the infatuation wore off, there wasn't much remaining. 

Now I am left to wonder what other secrets my mother hasn't told me. I want to ask, but then again, I'm not sure I'd have the courage.        

The M-word

A few days ago Marty, my boyfriend, spoke the M-word. He spoke it to me. I knew it was coming, I knew it was just a matter of time. That's okay, I was ready for it so it did not shock me.

I do not think the human species was ever meant to be monogamous. Mother Nature did not make us that way. I actually want to be faithful to one partner, but then again, I don't. It's not like I am promiscuous. Every healthy human adult feels the same way. All of us have the same instinct. I want to be sexually active with other guys, but I want the warmth and reassurance of one loving, devoted man. The latter of the two options wins out, and it always will.

Still, I do not like the thought of marriage. Perhaps it isn't so much marriage, per se, but the image it conjures in my mind. I see the suburbs, the kids, and all that goes with them, which is a lot; more than I currently want, and quite possibly, more than I will ever want.

Marty just kind of mentioned it, marriage. He did not propose. It came into the conversation in this manner; "Someday we might want to think about it." I told him very gently that I've thought about marriage many times.

It's funny, a few minutes later he smiled and said something like, "There's this phrase guys use, 'why buy the cow if you are getting the milk for free'." Marty said that he does not want me to ever think that he is just getting the milk for free.

Marty can be so cute. I mean, I thought I was the one getting the milk for free.

A Not-So-Divine Website Glitch

The other day I was at Huffintonpost.com. There was a blog article about the death of Westboro Baptist Church leader Fred Phelps. If you don’t know; Westboro Baptist Church has protested other churches, funerals, etc. Most of the protesting is anti-gay in spirit. Anyway, the blog article’s author stated that people should not celebrate the death of the hateful Fred Phelps but rather use their energy to speak-out against other religious leaders who display open hatred towards gays. She named Scott Lively (http://www.motherjones.com/politics/2014/03/scott-lively-anti-gay-law-uganda) as just such a person.

I wrote in the comment section that directing wrath at Scott Lively and his ilk for their hatred of gays is like prosecuting the murderer but allowing the many hostile bullies to go on without confrontation. I then named the bullies; the Catholic, Mormon, and Methodist church, as well as perhaps the biggest offender; Islam.

For some reason my comment did not get posted the first time so I tried again, rewording my comment just slightly. Again it was not posted. Meanwhile other comments, poster after mine, appeared. I have posted comments at Huffingtonpost.com a few times before and never had a problem. In other words; I know the procedure. I never use foul language or sound at all threatening. So, I am left to believe that there was some sort of divine intervention preventing my comment from seeing the light of day. God did not want my comment to appear. 

When I was a little girl there was a Catholic kid, Thomas, who lived down the street. He insisted that Catholicism was the only “true religion” and that before I die I ought to join his religion if I wanted to see heaven. Maybe I should have left the Catholic Church off my list of offenders. It might have saved me fifteen minutes of pointless work, and who knows; when my life is over I might have been bestowed heaven. On the other hand, the other religions I named make pretty much the same guarantee. True to my beliefs, I'm thinking the problem was not God but rather a website glitch. Sorry about that Thomas.                 

Upward Financial Indicators

I think my number one financial objective is to buy my own condo. Right now it is a condo rather than a house because I do not like the idea of worrying about the condition of a roof, or the siding on a house, things like that. I’m not too keen on shoveling snow either, come to think of it. I would not need a fancy condo, but I would like something half decent. My second financial objective would be to buy a new car. That is; a car with no previous owner. First, however, would be that condo.

I’m still a ways away from amassing enough money for a good down payment. In terms of time, it is still a few years away. But I have recently looked at my current finances and I’m getting closer. I’m feeling more comfortable with my money situation. In fact, I found evidence of that comfort earlier today. This morning I was standing in front of a vending machine looking at its granola bar, when a dime dropped out of my hand and onto the floor. It slid under the machine, just out of sight. I bent down looking for it and I finally saw it in the dusky shadow about eight or ten inches under the machine. I had every intention of retrieving it but then I realized that I could not get my fingers on it by just kneeling down, extending my arm and reaching for it. Going down on all-fours was required. Well, I would not do it. I was wearing clean, light-blue slacks and I decided that I did not want either the slacks, or my bare hands to touch the tile floor. Ergo I sacrificed the dime. Somebody either more desperate, more agile, or with dirty pants could claim it, I was releasing it from my possession. Believe it or not; the ten cent sacrifice did not bother me.

To be honest, forfeiting coins in such a manner is not new to me. I have not picked up a penny off the ground since high school. I was once told that, on average, the time and energy required for a human being to pick up a penny cost more than one cent. Therefore retrieving a penny from the ground was an ill-advised venture. About a year ago for the first time in my life I intentionally failed to reacquire a dropped nickel. To be honest, the situation had a lot to do with it. The nickel fell out of a pocket in a women’s restroom stall and came to rest alongside the toilet. I decided I did not really need that specific nickel. However that decision seemed to initiate something of a habit. Since that first deserted nickel, there have been perhaps four or five that I have sacrificed to either a floor, the earth’s soil, or some form of outdoor pavement. The common factor in the later lost nickels is that I was both walking, or in one case jogging, and in a hurry.

Three years ago my financial situation pretty much demanded that I repossess all of my wayward coins except for pennies. But that is not so true anymore simply because things have improved on the economic front. The reality is; I can almost see that condo… well, at least the front door.          

Not Quite All Is Lost

Yesterday I saw a movie from last year; All Is Lost. To sum it up as simply as possible; it’s about a guy who sails his small boat out into the ocean and finds trouble. The only actor in the movie is Robert Redford. Robert Redford is something like 75 years old. About forty years ago my mother had a crush on him. She has freely admitted this enamoration a couple of times over the years. Forty years ago my mother was 20 and Redford was in his mid-30s. It makes me think that there could be something hereditary about my appreciation of older guys.

Anyway, in the movie All Is Lost, Redford says nary a word of dialogue. I think his one brief line is when he speaks over the microphone of a malfunctioning radio. Through all the things that go wrong on his voyage, and the few things that go right, he doesn’t utter a syllable. I found this strangely unrealistic. When I am alone I am constantly talking to myself. In fact, come summer time, I either have to forgo the self-chatter, or make sure the windows are closed because anyone hearing me would think I was crazy.

When something goes wrong I will often insult myself or call myself some name. Many times the name comes from my childhood. I could use “birdbrain” or “dumbbell”. Sometimes some long-forgotten derisive label will pop out of my mouth and I’ll get a chuckle just hearing it again.

When things go right I will sometimes compliment myself, give myself positive reinforcement. If it’s a day when I am really into talking to myself, I’ll compliment myself for almost anything. About an hour ago I gave myself a manicure. I did a nice job on my nails and I cheerfully told myself as much, right out loud. I could have given some lessons to the Redford character. Not only could it have helped him psychologically, but who knows, it might have made for a better movie.           

Remembered Fondly, If Not Quite Accurately

I got excited and wanted to write about this at noon today but I just could not find the time, so I’m going to quickly write about it now…

There was a visitor at my workplace this morning who recognized me. He asked me if my name was Katie and with surprise on my face, I told him it was. For the next few seconds I was left to guess who he was. I thought the guy looked familiar, but I could not come close to coming up with a name. He finally told me his name is Eddie. It turned out he was a fellow schoolmate of mine when we were kids, though technically I don’t know if we ever had a class together.

He told me that he remembered me for one specific reason. It seemed that when we were about 13 years old we both went to the same dance that was being held in a church auditorium or reception hall. While at the dance Eddie asked some girl to dance and she rejected him, in Eddie’s words, “emphatically”. I can’t remember now the exact phrase Eddie said the girl used to refuse his offer to dance but it went something like, “Wooo you’re gross, get away! Get away!” Eddie was smiling and shaking his head as he recalled. I found the recollection, given the way Eddie told it, mostly funny, but in a painful sort of way.

Eddie told me that he was just a kid and was crushed by the girl’s harsh rejection. He sort of chuckled and said that he was almost in tears. But according to Eddie, a few minutes later I asked him to dance and instantly he felt better. Eddie said that he had always believed that I overheard what had happened between him and the other girl, and my asking him to dance was an act of amazing kindness.

I told Eddie that I remember going to a dance or two in a church back in those days but I could not remember asking him, or anyone, to dance. I kind of smiled as I said that in all likelihood I had not overheard the rejection he remembers so well, and when I asked him to dance it was probably for selfish reasons such as; I wanted to dance.  

Eddie grinned and said that he would have to give it some thought, but that he was probably going to continue to believe that 15 years ago the 13 year-old Katie was so humane and sympathetic that she felt compelled to ask a forlorn 13 year-old boy to dance. I have given this whole thing a few hours of thought and I have decided that if he wants to remember it that way, I have no objections.          

Home Alone

This is a rare Friday night in that I will be home alone. Marty is going to a guy-only party. He says the festivities will go late and he’ll just head to his apartment when it is over and that he’ll see me tomorrow. I am full grown (pretty much, anyhow), and I spend a few days a week by myself anyway, but it has been several months since I have been alone the entire Friday evening.

It’s just after 6PM as I write this and hopefully I will be leaving to go to the fitness center by 6:30. I haven’t gone to the fitness center on a Friday in a long while. I’ll get in a good aerobic exercise and then I won’t feel guilty when I have some less than healthy food while I watch TV. I might watch the Celtic game, but I’m kind of leaning to taking in the movie Eat Drink Man Woman on TCM at 8 o’clock.

Later I’m going to have to get back on the Net and visit a few sites such as Massbird.org to see if there have been any bird sightings of significance in the immediate area. I won’t go clear across the state, but I’ll travel a couple of miles for the chance of seeing some unusual bird. So that could be on the agenda for tomorrow.

Marty has an opened bottle of scotch liquor over here at my apartment. I might partake in a sip this evening, if the mood strikes me. In about a forty-five minutes I’ll be earning that sip; I’ll be puffing away on an elliptical, my face flush and shiny with perspiration.