The Evolution of Crushes

My very first crush , about age 5 , was on my dad...I wanted to marry him, he could build me shelves for my Barbies and fix my bike ... my mother told me I could have him ... and all his laundry too.

Age 7 , definitely Paul McCartney...the Beatles had invaded America, I wrote him a fan letter and invited him to dinner...just don't bring Ringo.

Somewhere in between, I thought Ken was pretty cute, although a bit plastic...but he did exactly what I told him to do, and I liked that.

By 10, (1967) I was torn between Davey Jones of the Monkees (it was a Brit thing) and Carl Yastremski....he was left handed like me and that pretty much ended at that.

Junior High school found me turning my crushes in towards my own social strata...the football captains and the errant bad boys both had my heart. In a bit of James Dean vs. Johnny Unitas.

By high school, it was James Taylor and when I was feeling rebellious, Jim Morrison...but a word of warning, never have a crush on a man whose hair is nicer than yours, or a smaller butt, it can only breed contempt.

In my twenties, I stopped having crushes on unattainable men, and developed crushes on guys my age ...mostly musicians, and romantic poetry writers... they all were jobless, aimless and I saw that as freedom..instead of just dumb.

Although somewhere in there there was a bodybuilder, Corvette driving insurance salesman (he did play guitar)... but I think that was an extension of Ken.

In my 30's , my crushes turned to men who had some kind of power, politically, financially, socially... I knew by then, that money was a bit more important , especially in the shoe department...'nuff said.

Tick, tick, tick, what's that?? Ohh the ol' biological clock.... it hits big time in the early 40's...if you haven't conceived by then... plus the sing song voice of your mother saying "A woman only has so many eggs, dear"... starts resonating in your ears like a stadium horn....

sooo the crushes go to good breeding and fatherly stock.... Mel Gibson (pre Oksana) and Harrison Ford, and of course Paul McCartney, whose loving, monogamous, musical, progeny heavy, marriage to Linda was the bomb!

Now I am in my 50's, and gone away are all the romantic ideals...and I am faced with the stark reality that all I really need is a man who can plumb a toilet and find the stud in the wall to hang my new mirror

...they have all been replaced by Mike Holmes

...that's right gals, that's what it comes down to, a crew cut overall wearin' Canadian handyman. He fixes everything and gives you a big hug and leaves.

So now we have come full circle haven't we, we just want our daddies after all...

all that money wasted on therapy, you could've just read this.

....

The Green Turtleneck...and other things I can't find.

We live in a house that measures around 2000 Sq.feet...not tiny but not a McMansion by any stretch...there are only 3 of us and I am pretty organized.

So why, WHY, can't I find my green turtleneck sweater?

I'll tell you why, because I live in a state of unconsciousness ... auto-pilot so to speak.

As a female I multi-task like a whirling dervish... that's why women make such good news producers, they can write, edit, take a phone call while making a comment to someone down the hall and get the story live on the air , no problem.

It dates back to the hunter, gatherer, raise the little Neanderthals, and kick that sabre tooth in the butt, gene pool. We are meant to multi task...

which means we are masters of the dual circuitry in the brain that teaches, and moves. Cognitive and action, one takes over as needed...here I'll let the experts e'splain:

http://www.livescience.com/health/brain-habit-learning-autopilot-100609.html

Which brings me back to my green turtleneck...I know already that it's somewhere in this house, and unless the dog has decided she looks better in green than in brown, then I am the culprit.

We do so many things on auto-pilot...driving being one...how many times have you been so deep in thought as you drove to a familiar destination, to find yourself there and parked before you can blink?

How any times have you checked a email or text (that required an action from you) in the middle of doing something else, only to see it a day a later and cringe at your in-action?

Once again, we are brought back to the turtleneck; I know in the process of the mundane ( as in laundry) the mind wanders...perhaps to a sunny golf-course in a day dream, and the folding and putting away is on auto....and my concern for my green turtleneck is waylaid until I want to wear it...as in TODAY!

This is were it gets fun...

I need to retrace in my mind, the last time I wore it and if I had travelled during then and will it involve a phone call to see if I left it somewhere...once again solidifying my forgetful base.

I search all the usual places, once twice and three times until I FIND IT, right there, on top of the dryer under the mess I call my son's, I-can't-find-my-dresser-or -I-would-put-these-things-away pile....and I want you to know, I looked there two times already.

So apparently my COGNITIVE part of my brain was not in charge while my body was in ACTION on auto pilot looking for the green freakin' turtleneck.

And the lesson in all of this?

Well, it has nothing to do with memory, dear reader...

so sorry for the red herring....

Nooooo, it has to do with career choices...

because this is exactly why I do what I do and NOT work in a nuclear power facility, because you never want to hear me say...

"Did I remember to cool the rods in the core today?".

.....

The Chances we Get

I am writing this through tear clouded eyes. I admit it, I am a weeper, even commercials get to me, but today, today was one of those days only a morphan (middle aged orphan) can understand. An event at the grocery store triggered such a moment of mourning for my mom and a grateful feeling for the chances we get.

I am also wondering why in heaven's name do I always have these moments at the grocery store?

Really.

Today I was doing a little weekly shopping and preliminary stock up for Thanksgiving, it was crowded, lots of senior citizens...social security check day no doubt. The aisles were crowded and moving slow and cranky babies were cranking in the usual cranky way. These are the days that I put my stereo headphones on, pump up the iTunes and proceed to hunter/gather in my own little world of lush harmonies and guitars and oh my, are those free cheese samples?

I found my things without event , even had the guy at the seafood counter do me a solid on some scallops for dinner, yeah scallops, I now like them...and I slid up into line and removed my headphones to join the real world ...I was reading the tabloid headlines about Will and Kate when I heard someone yell "Help her , help her , she's falling".

I look back down onto the aisle to see and elderly woman whose legs had failed her and given out , she was hanging onto her cart for dear life, terrified that she might fall to the floor and hurt her head...I was four deep in line at the register and was quickly trying to figure how to snake out and grab her, when a another woman came up from behind her and held her, voices were yelling "Get her a chair, someone help!"

This woman was so small and frail , her hair a mass of white, she was barely taller than the shopping cart, which was filled so high it must have been a monumental labor to push.

The look on her face was one of complete fright. She was so scared and alone.

Within seconds there was a wheel chair, she was whisked into it and someone was calling 911.

I became a bowl of jello.

Tears were streaming down my face all the way to the car.

It took me back to a year before my mother came to live in Pittsburgh in assisted living and how she told me she had experienced low blood sugar and her knees gave out on her in the grocery store. She recounted how the clerks helped her and sat her on the bench and gave her some orange juice to drink...it was so disturbing to hear this. They asked her if there was anyone she could call to pick her up, she couldn't come up with a name, her husband was dead, and her daughters lived too far away....okay you can kill me right now.

These kind strangers where doing my job.

That moment marked the beginning of the move here. She needed help to shop, to bath, to even walk. It was time to say goodbye to the behemoth of the house and head to the burgh.

For 4 years I shopped every week for her...she hated the food where she was staying, and it becomes an obsession, not much else to focus on ya know...so in the midst of a full time job and taking care of a family, I became Delivery Girl...there should have been a hat involved, I'm sure of that.

Mom would call me several times a week to add things to the list, Equal was on it several times. Packets of Equal are like crack in nursing homes, they hoard it and use it to curry favors.

I pushed carts full of strange items only seniors need and I made sure I proclaimed at check out , those diapers aren't for me ...sometimes I cranked about it, sometimes she cranked about it , but it was a connection for us as I delivered and stocked the groceries in her fridge...and I would cook her favorite foods and bring those over too.

She was diabetic and wanted all the wrong foods, but here's a tip for those out there caring for an elderly parent at the end of their years...lighten up...let them have the damn cookies...you're not going to reverse the diabetes and what are we talking here, a few years left? Better yet, sit and eat the cookies with them.

I'm glad I had the chance to shop and care for my mom, and yes, caring for her turned some things upside down for awhile...but hey, I imagine I rocked her boat pretty much straight through the 70's and well, you know the saying about paybacks ...the routine became so ingrained that after my mom passed, I couldn't bring myself to go into a grocery store for quite awhile, because I was falling into tears at the check out each time.

But if I hadn't taken the chance to take care of her, what would I be thinking about when I saw that woman today?

Even though the sight of her little hands hanging on so tight to the cart reduced me to my usual quivering crying self , a voice inside me kept reminding me that for the last four years of my mom's life, she never had to rely on the kindness of strangers in a grocery store ever again because someone was there for her, taking the chance.

...