Tiny Orchid Brings Hope to the Weary

This orchid looks kind of gimpy because I've been really bad at watering lately. Like really bad. Like I think 3 weeks might have gone by. But despite all that, this little guy just keeps blooming. In fact, it's been blooming SINCE JULY. That's like 4-5 solid months of blooming. Holy orchid.

I have no idea why this tiny beauty has decided to come into my life and give me flowers month after month. I'm amazed that it has tolerated my negligence. One of the leaves yellowed and fell off, but it just keeps blooming anyway. Leaf schmeaf, it says.

My father called me an orchid once--many years ago in a birthday card before I ever was interested in them. And now I suppose I am like an orchid--resilient, strong, and able to bloom even when everything seems to be falling apart.

Bye Bye Gardening Goods

I miss my flowers. They were so beautiful and green. This weekend, I dumped all the pots and hacked down the leftover sunflower stalks. I burned a huge barrel of yard debris and paper from my home office. I stirred my barrel as the sun went down like a witch before the fire. Bwah ha ha!

So now the stairs are clean, the potting table's goods have been moved to the shed, the lotus container has been dumped of its water, and the yard swing is gone until next year. Sigh. Old Man Winter, here ye come.

Last year, I brought in plants before the first hard freeze and kept them alive all winter long in my home office. So now I feel kind of lonely without my passion flower and fuchsias in here. Yes, I still have orchids galore and a spattering of succulents. They will have to tide me over.

This year's garden just didn't do it for me. The marigolds did well and the sunflowers were all over the place, but I wanted more. I wanted all those seeds I bought to really give me a show. Sadly, the weather played a huge part in it. It was just too rainy with not enough sunny, warm days. The farmers know it. They are still out harvesting on a later schedule than they normally would be. We all missed out on our dog days.

Note to self: Next spring, buy established plants. Forget the seeds (except for Mother's marigolds). Rock out a giant garden. Show 'em what you've got.

Thoughts on Friendships

I've always been rather envious of my sister's relationships with her girlfriends. When she was in high school, I tried to eat lunch with her once and she shooed me off. By the time I met up with her in college, she was in a sorority and I was a GDI (God Damn Independent), so I no longer cared about her friends or what she was doing. I was ready to make my own mark on the world--a mark that had nothing to do with my sibling. Ah, rivalry. Independence. The sweet smell of freedom! College represented breaking out of Farmsville with a vengeance. I was going to go and conquer the WORLD!

(snickers)

Anyway, this weekend, Dorothy is spending time with her girlfriends for Stephanie's baby shower. Stephanie has been my sister's BF since they were wee tots, so I've known her my whole life. I can't attend the shower because it's on a Sunday afternoon far away and there is just too much work to be done. Plus, I know Dorothy is going to have a SPECTACULAR time with her girlfriends and, even at our ripe old ages, she still doesn't need a little sissy tagging along for the ride.

As I looked at the post my sister wrote today, I realized that she has spent many years nurturing the relationships she has with this set of girls. They were from a few different sororities, but they all lived together in an apartment. For a while, I lived with some of them before inviting my own group of girls to live in the house when they all started graduating. But I never wanted to live with large amounts of people. I had about 15 different roommates throughout college. By the time Dorothy's friends left, I was craving solitude. So after my friends moved into the big house, I moved out and into a tiny apartment by myself.

Beyond the living arrangements, there were differences in our friendship circles. Dorothy had mostly girlfriends and one boyfriend. I had all guyfriends, no boyfriend, and a few girlfriends. From the start, I bonded with some boys who lived down the hall from me in my dorm room. There were 7 or 8 of them. As the years went by, I spent all of my time with them. Fell in love with some of them. Got in fights with others. After college, I visited a few, saw them at random holidays now and again, and then they drifted to the four corners of the world and I never saw some of them again.

My ex from Chicago--the giant EX of Tales from Clark Street--was one of the boys who lived in the house I used to frequent. We were friends for 4 years before we ever started dating, and only hooked up that last year of my schooling. By then he was already in Chicago, and I was getting ready to move to Oregon. So because of that relationship and some other fallings out amongst the boys, I doubt we would EVER have a holiday weekend reunion together. There will be no baby showers for us.

I still look back at college as some of the best years of my life. I refuse to believe That Was It though--I know better days are to come. Sure, I had fun when I was young, but now I'm old enough to have wisdom. I think wisdom is better. But man did I have fun. I loved My Boys. We spent so much time together and made so many goofy memories. I have picture boxes filled with them--diaries and journals loaded with our hijinks. When I think about them now, I miss them so very much.

But it's true what they say--that men and women often don't make good friends. You can be friends with whatever guy you want when you're younger, but when you hit a certain age, people become suspicious of mixed friendships. Girlfriends, boyfriends, or spouses get jealous. It becomes an oddity to hear that you sent an email to an old guyfriend (even one you never smooched). Lines get drawn in the sand. And that is how I've lost every single one of them--My Boys. The Boys I thought I would know and have in my heart forever.

I am not without fault. I picked some fights. I crossed some lines. My youth carried me away a few times. There are some relationships amongst the boys that I don't miss and wouldn't want back. And then there is the ex, who I'll probably never see again, and that's probably for the best. We are strangers now. And the boys picked their own fights with each other and drew their own lines in the sand. I have no idea if they even talk to each other anymore. I hope they do. Men need other men they can trust.

But don't I wish... Just for one moment I wish that we would all take a vacation to Florida like Dorothy and her girls. OK, not Florida. We're not really Florida people. Maybe some place cooler where we can all wear hoodies and build a fire and they can play acoustic guitars. Yes, that is more our style. Quieter, simpler, with less designer clothes.

I can't see this happening, however, so I turn away from my Core Boys from College, and look to the other relationships I built. I look to Sea Wee and Buttercup and Featherplume--My Girls. The girls I actually HAVE stayed in touch with. The girls I've watched get married and buy property and have babies. The girls who still love me Just As I Am. Perhaps I will see if they would like to have a holiday weekend with me. Somewhere simple. Somewhere in between all of us. In the spring, when we can see the flowers blooming. Yes, I will hold onto those relationships instead. Because there is something about girls--they will never really leave you.

More Lessons from Stephen King

Last night as I was drifting off to the Dreamtime, I came upon a passage in The Stand by Stephen King that was just SO TRUE.

The premise (without giving away too much): There is a superflu that knocks out 99+% of the population. Two of the survivors have run into each other, and one of them is waxing philosophical about society. This guy Bateman--right now he prefers to be alone. He wants to be all by himself. But he admits that at some point, he'll probably long for human contact again:

That is the curse of the human race. Sociability. What Christ should have said was "Yeah, verily, whenever two or are three of you are gathered together, some other guy is going to get the living sh*t kicked out of him." Shall I tell you what sociology teaches us about the human race? I'll give it to you in a nutshell. Show me a man or a woman alone and I'll show you a saint. Give me two and they'll fall in love. Give me three and they'll invent the charming thing we call "society." Give me four and they'll build a pyramid. Give me five and they'll make one an outcast. Give me six and they'll reinvent prejudice. Give me seven and in seven years they'll reinvent warfare.

My mind immediately flashed to middle school. Oh, middle school--they great destroyer of all innocence. When I was in middle school, suddenly it was a totally big deal to have a Best Friend. Before that, I didn't fully recognize the meaning of the phrase. Suddenly, I was asked to write my Best Friend's name in Slam Books (oh man, those were horrible) and publicly display my Best Friendedness to all with jewelry. And to be really cool? You had to have TWO Best Friends. So at some point, a couple of my girlfriends and I bought one of those break-apart BF necklaces. But ours had 3 parts. I was sure to take the middle piece, solidifying myself as the Uber BFF. I think I actually still have it in a baggie somewhere...

But anyway, the point of this is that once you start adding people to your "group," it begins to fall apart. Stephen King's take on how a society emerges struck home because yeah, I've seen it go from good times to warfare quite easily. In middle school and high school. At jobs. Within friendship and family circles. It's all too easy to go from BFF to Mortal Enemy in no time at all. Oh, Stephen. You give me so much to think about.

The really interesting part of all of this is that the survivors of the superflu in the book are mostly alone. Some might have one other person they are with, but other than that, the world is devoid of human life. And so the aching horribleness of Really Being Alone starts to kick in. You'll take just about anyone. Just another human face. Someone to hear you scream.

So many people believe they are their own island--I did for years. But slowly, I started to realize how much I needed the other people in my life. I needed to see them and hug them and really be a part of something. That's how I find myself back here in Farmsville after all these years. And oddly enough, one of the girls who had part of that necklace--my dear friend Potato--actually called me last night to see if I want to get together next weekend. And I was so happy. Because Being a Part of a society truly is a huge part of survival. Just don't let your little group get too big...

I Don't Care About Your Warnings. You Can't Scare Me.

I'm so tired of receiving warnings everywhere I go. Each day when I open up my Internet browser, I'm bombarded with alerts: why I shouldn't use a credit card, a debit card, a banking account, a certain retail store. Why my clothes might suddenly burst into flames. Why something in something I eat or drink might KILL ME. Why my cell phone might KILL ME. Why opening my eyes in the morning and doing anything might KILL ME.

And then there are the forwards. Purse snatchers. People slitting your ankles under your car. A man with a hook hand waiting on the side of a dusty road at night waiting to KILL ME. My dishes might explode in my microwave. Bill Gates might give me money if I forward something to all my friends. I might DIE if I don't tell 7 people I love them within 10 minutes of receiving a text message forward.

Sigh.

My BFF in the battle against most email forwards is snopes.com. I can easily weed out a lot of things that way. But seriously, most of it is garbage even if it is true. Something HORRIBLE happened to like 135 Americans. Um, that's a really low percentage of Americans. I won't do the math because I don't do math. But you see what I'm getting at.

Today, I looked at Yahoo news and learned about foods that would make me fat, why I shouldn't use my debit card for large purchases, and how Rihanna finally realized it was not a good idea to stay with someone who beats you. Seriously? This is NEWS?

My mother is obsessed with news. It's like crack to her. If she doesn't get her fix, she gets all twittery. I avoid the news at all costs. I gave up after being told that coffee is good and then bad and then good and then bad. Same with red wine. And then how hormone treatments for older women are good and then bad and then good and then bad. And how this miracle diet is so cool and then OOPS it killed thousands of people. Meep.

I do all kinds of crazy things. I microwave Pyrex dishes. I wear my safety belt when I drive. For the love of GAWD I drink soda that has bad stuff in it!!!!!!! I MIGHT DIE TODAY.

But I don't care.

Because the sky is blue and the birdies are chirping and I love bacon that is almost burned even though IT MIGHT GIVE ME CANCER (along with everything else I eat, drink, or wear).

So there.

The Price of Mental Health

Last night I stopped over at my parents' house for a visit. I had just stopped by the pharmacy to get my Happy Pills and realized something horrifying--my Cobra insurance is running out very soon. I've already applied for my very own health care package through a local group, but most self-purchased health insurance policies do not cover pre-existing conditions, and my anxiety and depression sadly fall into that category in the mental-health bracket of their giant list. Greeeeat. So while I was at the pharmacy, I casually asked how much the pills would cost if I didn't have insurance and promptly wanted to DIE.

I take Effexor XR. There is no generic for this, yes? So, um, we're talking hundreds of dollars a month. Xanax has a generic, so we're good to go there. But then we come to my Raging Insomnia which is exacerbated by my Raging Ear Whooshing. Recently, the generic for Ambien that I'd been taking stopped working like it used to. So my doctor switched me to Lunesta, which has given me--I kid you not--the best sleep I've had since I was a child. I love Lunesta. The problem? I paid $40 for my monthly supply yesterday. But when I asked for the price with no insurance? $179.99. Uh huh, right. The generic for Lunesta? Comes out in 2012. Right when the world ends. I guess I won't be sleeping with the Luna Moth after my Cobra runs out after all. Perhaps I just won't sleep at night ever.

I'll get it figured out. I really will. The problem is that Effexor XR really does balance out my anxiety and depression in a way that makes me feel really good. Before this, I took Lexapro, which made me feel like a zombie and added 50 pounds to my frame in roughly 3 months. Yes, it kept me from feeling anxious, but it also made me feel like my a$$ should be permanently attached to a couch. With a blanket.

What I'm trying to say is that I'm not going to f*ck with my mental stability by switching up medications just because my Cobra is running out. The worst case scenario would be to send myself on a roller coaster of emotional mayhem right in the middle of the holiday season and a major work project just because health care in the US is such a joke. I'm actually quite lucky when I think about it. What about people who have really BAD diseases? The people who take like 50 pills a day? I am not them. So I am lucky. It's all about keeping a positive mental attitude!

But because of all this health care chatter, while I was at my parents, I decided I wanted to start my own country. The main problem is that it's really hard to start your own country these days. All of the land is already taken. You can no longer go out on a boat and discover a whole freakin' continent to just TAKE. Pa suggested I float a boat somewhere offshore and claim it as my country. Um, no.

So I decided that I could go find a deserted island somewhere (perhaps Bikini--if the radiation has cooled off now) and start my own country. I could make my own rules, Constitution, etc. I could design my very own flag and write a tune to be played if we ever make it to the Olympics. Of course, on my island, I would not have the capability to develop mental health drugs, so the purpose is kind of moot, but it's still fun to think about. Ma told me I would immediately need my own military. I said, "Why does it ALWAYS have to be about having a military?" And then Ma reminded me that if I didn't, other people would come take over my country. Oh yeah...boo.

But I think I would best like to live in a village setting where everything is basically communal and everyone pitches in. The great Utopia of legends and lore. Does that make me a Communist? Or a Socialist? Heck, I don't remember my college courses on these things and it's only 8:30am. Whatevs. Speaking of time, I need to go do my job now. In my real life with my real issues and rules and health care woes. But I will allow myself to fantasize a bit while I'm working--about my little island out in the middle of nowhere where I get to make all my own rules. And Kingie really would be the King.

Why Are Other People's Houses Always Clean?

Once upon a time, I started a little thing called "No Work Mondays." The premise was simple: I work hard on the weekends to get the house cleaned up and get all the chores done, so on Mondays, I get my Night of Rest. After my day-job work, no housework is allowed. I get a free pass. This doesn't always work, of course, but I like to try to stick to it to keep my sanity.

Sometimes, it seems like all I do is try to keep up with housework. I'm often bewildered at what a mess I can make of my own home. It's just me, so I can't blame it on a roommate or a spouse or a kid or anything. I wear the clothes, dirty the dishes, and toss the mail onto the dining room table with wild abandon. And it just keeps coming.

I wonder how many years of my life I've lost to cleaning stuff up? That would make an interesting statistic.

I have no qualms about throwing away stuff I don't need. I've gotten over it. Trash it, I say! But still, I accumulate.

This is what is on my dining room table right now:

• coupons I've forgotten to use
• newspapers I will never read
• a box of business cards
• suet cakes
• old catalogs
• a random bag of socks from my mother
• Halloween leftovers
• books
• more books

I don't actually EAT at my dining room table because I hate the chairs I have for it. It's an antique table from my Gran with 4 antique chairs. They are awkward. Stiff. Unloving for my tushie. I keep claiming I will buy nice chairs to go with the table some day. But next to the table is the giant stack of cat food for the meows (who just HAVE to have their special food thanks to Kingie's dietary issues) and there is really no other place to put the table thanks to the random placement of windows and gnome-house-like doorways here at Farmhouse Villa.

Hrumpf.

I really wish that just once I could mega clean and have it stay that way for like a month. But then I would be naked and hungry and behind on all of my bill payments. Sigh. I need one of those organizing experts from Oprah to show up and knock on my door.

But it seems like no matter how many kids or jobs my friends have, their houses are always clean.

How do YOU do it?