I am hungry for people.  Maybe it’s a combination of things but I suspect that being able to reclaim the love I had for my dad, back when I thought he was Mr. Wonderful, I think getting some of that feeling back warmed me up in a way.  And this is really scary but I thought about Henry the last time I masturbated.  Sorry if that’s offensive to anyone but guys talk about it, I don’t know why it’s off-limits for women.  Anyway, as I’m revisiting the love:) I used to have for these men in my life, even though it’s pretty tarnished, the essence is still in tact.  And I am left with a feeling of being grateful for what I had or what I perceived that I had. 

For the time I had no Internet, just Word, the first thing I did was start back on the book.  But that brought up painful memories of lost love and after cranking out a couple new chapters, I had to take it in to get fixed anyway.  So then I started calling friends, getting out more.  And again, this group of women I’ve been meeting with every Monday night, the grief group, something about the intimacy there has opened me up, too. 

 I went to this crab feed with my brother and his girlfriend, over the weekend.  You know, where you sit at long tables with strangers and eat with your hands.  The guy running the fundraiser was a friend of my brother’s and so we were lucky recipients of some of the “water” [read ouzo] that he divvied out to a select few.  He’d walk around with a water bottle full of clear liquid and give his friends a little splash.

Then I went to the Home and Garden Show by myself and had a great time people watching.  I don’t seem to have the itch like I usually do this time of year.  I ended up sitting on a bench, eating my sack lunch, when a guy my age sat down next to me.  Pretty soon some friends of his came up and it turns out that the guy next to me is in charge of the huge lake of a display that was the focal point of this year’s show.  Without being too obvious I turn to get a better look at him.  Sure enough, he’s tall, handsome, and I suspect gay.  GORGEOUS with a starched white shirt, jeans, and black loafers with no socks.  Damn.

Today I went to lunch with Marla.  It’s been a while since she’s got a new job where she goes to New York a lot.  She’s the one I met at Weight Watchers when I moved over here.  I named my first daughter (in the book) after her.  She’s about a size 8 now and beautiful as ever.  There’s something about her that’s familiar, even though she’s a lot younger and I’ve only known her a year.  Being with her is what it used to be like being with Melissa.  That’s my estranged realtor friend I grew up with.  I guess we’re not estranged anymore but we might as well be.  So, yeah, I am enjoying being with real live bodies:  humanity.  I am hungry for humanity.

I got my computer back from the shop Friday afternoon. 

Okay I wrote that sentence a minute ago and couldn’t think what else to say.  Me.

I’m not feelin it.

I thought of something after all.  I did the collage on my dad tonight and I’m alarmed to realize that he and I are somewhat alike.  I bought two men’s magazines after I found a picture in each one I could use.  Once I got them home I found all kinds of stuff I never would have thought of.  Like when he was married to wife #2 he discovered he LOVED Arizona.  I found a perfect picture of the kind of rock formation he liked.  I found in big bold letters, in just the right color, “OUR PLACE.”  We used to go to this old Italian place for lunch all the time.  My cousin told me how much he looked forward to those lunches.  I found a big, red i which I placed in the middle of the page.  There was a full page spread of a beautiful ski slope and at the bottom I put “the path of least resistance.”  I found the word sex in red bold font that seemed perfect.  My dad did most of his thinking with his dick. There was a picture of a guy golfing whose stance reminded me of my dad’s.  And I found a really tan guy showing off a watch, which I covered up with a plate of spaghetti.  My dad had a lumberyard and when he wasn’t in and out of the yard he was on the golf course plus he had olive skin like me so he was always very tan.  I also found the words “Simple Elegance,” which seemed perfect. 

My dad was this handsome, friendly, kind-hearted, easy-going guy who everybody loved.  Especially women.  And he liked them.  The part that I related to, besides the ease thing, was that he had all these hobbies he was passionate about.  He loved jazz, all music really.  He built his own speakers and would lie in the dark on the living-room floor, exactly in the middle of his woofers sp?  He and his buddies built a golf course and every Wed night he’d play golf and then bridge with them.  He took up jewelry-making between wife number 2 and 3.  Another thing that’s like me is he was a health nut.  Even before Adelle Davis he was eating fresh food and whipping up drinks.  He loved to eat but had a perfect body,  He also had great hair.  He was one of those healthy, attractive people who didn’t much care what kind of car he drove or how much money he had.  He didn’t seem to pay too much attention to anything besides having a good time.  Who does that sound like?  Actually, I’m not so much like that anymore.

I saw a trendy-looking picture of nails — The kind you hammer — and remembered how he built my bedroom in the basement.  And I’d forgotten how he’d taught us how to ski and for two winters, my junior and senior year, we’d go up every weekend, during the season. 

The grief counselor said something about when that person dies, if they were close to you, part of your identity dies with them. That stuck a chord with me because when I found out what a schmuck my dad was and then when he died right away, I felt like part of me was gone.  I didn’t have a dad and the dad I thought I had wasn’t really him.  But looking at those pictures, remembering all the good stuff, seeing myself in him — I’m proud to be his daughter again.

Drunkpunch’s comment was right-on. I’m now at the hospital where I paid MONEY to get into Xanga.  When I was here that time my daughter had surgery I got on to check my stocks.  Oh, how I miss Bob and all his advice.  I tried to play his Podcast at my sister’s and I swear I heard his voice but my sister insisted her speakers weren’t loud enough.  My youngest sister told me today that she thought maybe I was spending too much time on the computer.  How I was the one who was “so charming” and to be “hiding behind a computer” instead of getting out with friends just didn’t seem right.  Whatever.  I miss you guys.  I tried to call you, Ellen, but I don’t have your number.  I thought I’d saved it in my address book but I didn’t.  And I tried to call Drunkpunches, too.  I was hoping he could fill me in on some of you.  The reason I’m at the hospital is Monday night has been the Journey Through Grief Class.  I’m almost at a place where I’ve forgiven my dad.  So that’s huge.  I got my TV back today and the guy even gave me a remote.  That’s number four and unless Bridget figured out how to get the cabinet open it will be there when I get home.  Still no computer.  They sent me a new modem but that did nothing.  Gotta go; sorry I’m not doing comments.  So one-sided.

This is so rude but I’m at my sister’s and were were having a meeting to decide what to do about my mother.  Then we ate and after an hour or two talking about stuff I finally couldn’t stand being this close to a computer that worked.  So now they are talking and I am typing.  It’s a little distracting but I just wanted to check in.  I’m taking my computer in tomorrow to see if they can figure anything out. 

I made crab and corn chowder for this dinner and it was great.  We all got along and other than me sitting here ignoring them it’s  been swell. 

The wine and cheese was unproductive,except that I met a good financial advisor.  I kind of already have one but this new guy might be better.  What I thought was going to be a chance to meet people was really a sit-down dinner and power point presentation by a f’  woop. my brothe rsays we’re going   bye

At the library, trying to type on an ergonomically correct keyboard, in the time I have allotted.  HELP.  Dish Network can’t come until Mon so still no tv or computer.  But that leaves me with the book.  Good progress there.  I went to another fab class last night:  spring tonics to cleanse the liver.  The woman runs an herbal school on her farm out in Yamhill County.  I think it’s a 30-minute drive but unlike the school here in town, it’s live.  The other one was on-line.

I’m going to use her talk as the basis for my next article.  I was looking to see if I’d already done something on detoxing the liver — I guess, as with all the traditions, spring is the time when the focus is on the liver.  The plants that are good for this all grow in the spring.  The trinity is dandelion, burdock, and yellow dock and you can do a tincture or a tea or both. 

The woman looked like hell but she sure knew her stuff.  Plus she teaches with a botanist and they have it all growing on their farm.

Emily, you are the only big tea drinker I know of here.  I will share with you a great recipe she gave us.  No time now, though. But you may like this poem I found in my files.

I can’t decide if life is good or bad.  I’m at the library because my modem is broken.  First it was a power surge problem because of the storm.  That was replaced and I was up and running for a few days but yesterday my modem broke, according to the telephone company who handles my DSL.  The only problem is that my computer doesn’t recognize my D drive — I’m starting to bore myself .

So I went to the model club meeting last night and watched how they do things.  I don’t think I’m cut out for it.  It was agonizing to listen to them present stocks, for one thing.  They use something called Valueline, I think it is.  Kevin, if you’re reading, I remember you use that too.  They had it up on an overhead and between the guy’s gravelly voice and facts I had no interest in, I was missing Bob.  The thing I did like, though, was that these people had been working together for some time and they balanced each other out.  The fact that they had an audience might have made a difference but they still managed to quarrel a bit over buying.  There was a lot of testosterone at work, which was fun to watch.  Only two women were present, in the existing club.  One was the secretary and she put out the fight.  The other was 90 something and very sharp.

In the audience there were three women and three men, including me, and I suspect we might be a good group but I related better to the existing group.  Because it was Valentines day there were people absent but they had sent their proxy so that when the vote was taken to buy Exxon, they were counted.  That’s what the fight was about.

I have a hard enough time fighting with myself when it comes to buying a stock so it was nerve wracking to watch them.  But it’s not like it’s all coming out of any one guy’s pocket if things don’t go well.  Over the years they’ve done very well, and I liked their stocks.  But the whole purpose was to find people I could commiserate with and by the time I got home all I wanted was a drink. 

Tomorrow night I’m attending an introductory “model club” meeting of the NAIC.  National Assoc. of Investment Clubs is what I think it stands for.  That is coincides with Valentines Day should be telling.  I’m hoping I meet a woman who lives over here, who’s been trading a while, who I like.  I’m especially looking forward to hearing about everyone’s strategies.  And after the “blood bath” we took today — I’m listening to Jim Cramer now, on his show “Mad Money,” and that’s what a caller just said — I want to know who’s holding, who’s selling, and who’s buying.

He had me laughing so hard I was snorting, talking about “feeding at the trough” and “late-stage rapacious capitalism.”  He was promoting a stock, trading on the pink sheets (highly speculative),  and for the first time ever he was breaking his rule (about staying away from the pink sheets).  Of course the background noise is the heart monitor stopping.  He was really worked up this afternoon, when I saw him on “Closing Bell”; downright pissed.  So the stock he was pushing was Motient, and the metaphor with the pigs was because the FCC sells off portions of Spectrum to “their rich friends.”  Spectrum is “in short supply and high demand,” or so the government would have us think.

I like Cramer’s style.  I like his sense of humor.  I’m not sure I agree with his politics but he tells it like it is and instead of getting mad he gets even.  He better watch his back, though.

Why Open Spectrum Matters
The End of the Broadcast Nation

http://www.greaterdemocracy.org/framing_openspectrum.html

2002 (c) D. Weinberger. May be copied, reproduced and distributed without permission in whole or in part, with two restrictions: You must include attribution and this copyright notice, and it cannot be part of a commercial project., If in doubt, ask me.

I am reluctant to divulge this latest idiosyncrasy but I am dying to know if anyone else has this happen to them.  As you know, I am on a path, several paths it seems like, but they are converging.  Whether I am in a class or talking to some stranger I’ve met, I find tears come to my eyes when something important is being said, something I’m supposed to know. 

It happened when the lady in leopard was talking (I had written ”the Jewish lady” but I was uncomfortable with it)  I think it might have been when we were talking abut screenplays.  Yes, that was it.  I remember now because the guy standing next to her booth recognized the name of the teacher at Portland State she was telling me about.  And I remember hoping he wouldn’t notice that I’d teared up. I liked this Byzantine necklace of hers but I couldn’t afford it so she said she’d barter.  I tried to think of what I might do for her and “edit” is what came out of my mouth.  Her eyes got kind of big and that’s when she told me about this screenplay she’d written. 

The tearing-up happened in the last class I took, something I haven’t mentioned because it’s too complicated.  I mean the theory isn’t.  I took notes for two solid hours but in one sentence she nailed the theory and that’s when the tears came.  So I know this ancient Mayan practice called The Four Shields, which goes back 40,000 years and which was rediscovered in the 1900s is going to be important to me.

It’s getting to the point where I need to have a pen and paper ready ALL the damn time because I’ve already forgotten the other times this last month when it’s happened.  I know it happened at the garden class I took last weekend because I remember hoping the teacher didn’t see.  I was sitting right in front, as usual.  Oh, wait, I just remembered what it was.  Wow, once again, it was the one, defining sentence which summed up the method of designing a garden.  Holy shit.  These tears — And I don’t want you thinking I’m crying or anything.  You know I don’t cry.  There’s not even enough for two tears.  One gets half-way out and before anyone notices I pull myself together.  But really what I want to do is sob at the joy; revel in the beauty of this divine knowledge.  Oh, how I could go on about that garden class.  And the next one is organic gardening 101.  But I digress.  I must tear up, not only when the subject matter is important but when the sentence is key.  God’s hitting me over the head with it. 

Up ’til now I’ve just taken it as a sign that I was on the right track.  I kept wondering why I seemed to get off on all these tangents.  Like I should just finish the fucking book instead of buying more notebooks and filling them up with all these class notes.  I don’t seek these classes out.  I get emails and either they’re free or less than $20 and always something I’m interested in.

So now you know one more weird thing about me.  Does this happen to anyone else?

I think I should have been Jewish.  Being brought up in the Unitarian church, I was cheated out of any culture.  That whole Kabbalah thing would be such a good fit. 

I had an amazing conversation tonight, when I went to a trunk show that Corbow invited me to.  She lives here in Portland and we read each other so she Emailed me about her jewelry show. 

I liked her jewelry but when I made my way around the room, looking at the other three or four jeweler’s stuff,  I ended up talking with this woman about the death of her parents.  She explained that most of her jewelry had been made at the bedside of her dying parents. 

She was a big woman, wearing a leopard-skin print shirt, but what caught my eye was the shape of her lips.  She had great lips.  I think she had glasses but I’m not sure.  I vaguely remember her hair.  The shirt was good on her.  This was a powerful woman who made elegant, understated jewelry that packed a lot of punch.  Just like her. 

Something she said caught my attention but due to the delicate nature of it I had to wait until the two woman, admiring her work, left.  Then I asked her: 

 ”What do you mean about being Jewish and getting the body ready?  Do you have special things you do?”

“Oh, yes.  Someone has to sit with the body, from the time of death to the time of burial.  And there must be a special cleaning.”

She explained the historical and the spiritual reasons.

Then she added, “And we don’t believe in embalming so the funeral has to be within 48 hours.  We have special funeral parlors that only Jewish people go to”  Actually I shouldn’t quote that because it’s not quite how she put it. Apparently she’s from an old Jewish family in Portland and four Rabbis came to her father’s deathbed to decide if they should take the breathing tube out. 

“It is against Jewish law to prolong death”  Her dad was in a coma so it was decided the rule about how you weren’t supposed to do anything to shorten a life didn’t apply.

When I asked whether they had something like a wake, she explained that the first couple nights people bring food over.  You are not allowed to have a meal alone for some time. 

“Also you must put sheets over the mirrors so that you are not distracted from your grief.  Every day for 11 months I had to go to the synagogue, first for my mother and then with the death of my father.  It is believed that when you grieve fully, it is healthier.”

I told her how I was taking that class on Journey Through Grief.  About this time Corbow came over and wanted to know if we knew each other.  It kind of felt like we did.

Edited to add:  The reason I don’t go out and look around back there is that my knee is bad enough that I only walk on concrete these days.

I can’t figure out what’s going on around here.  Over a week ago, Bridget, my German Shorthair, started going outside all the time.  I figured because I’d hurt me knee and we weren’t walking anymore, she finally just got so bored she was willing to brave the constant rain on these little tours she’d take.  I could see her making her way around the perimeter of the yard, starting in an area she’d never shown much interest in before.  The backyard is probably half an acre with old-growth firs and suddenly she is spending all her time between the trees and the fence.  In and out all day long. 

She thinks she’s a lap dog and in the evenings when I get in my ratty old Lazyboy, she likes to cuddle on top of me.  But lately, even when I think she’s asleep, suddenly her head will pop up and she’ll look outside.  Sometimes she’ll leap off and growl, standing by the door out to the patio.  She’s always been such a pussy.  Before Bella died, the old Brittany, and there was some reason to bark, Bella would charge out the dog door, way too old for that sort of thing, while Bridget would lean up next to me and whimper.  So she thinks there’s someone or something out there that’s not dangerous.

The really upsetting thing is that she’s not eating like she used to.  When I went to the mountains there was a dog that could have been her sister; same age, same size.  They fed their dog more so I came home and upped her food.  She gobbled all that down like it still wasn’t enough.  But when this whole going outside all the time thing started, she quit showing much interest in eating.  In the morning her dinner would still be there and now when I put food down she eats it later.  After she spends a lot of time outside.

Two nights ago I thought I smelled fish and sure enough when I smelled her breath it smelled like cooked fish.  And Saturday, after I’d been gone all day, instead of being wired like she used to be after a day of sitting around all alone, she seemed exhausted. 

Right now she and the cat are trying to catch a shrew the cat brought in.  It’s hiding under the treadmill and  — Uh-oh, the dog caught it.  That’s the first time they ever played together.  Maybe that’s part of it.  Maybe they’ve started hunting together.  That seems unlikely.