Overweight Loner, Small Bird on Inside: Characters I Have Known

She was what most would call "a big-boned woman," and she dressed in what women tend to call "comfortable shoes." She worked in the credit/collections dept. at my job with Seattle City Light. The only place I ran into her was our elevator or lunchroom, where she sat all by herself, eating daintily like a small bird. To tell you the truth, I never paid any attention to her with the exception of the elevator smile and nod.

All the other credit dept. representatives seemed to have friends, a group they hung with, but not Val. Val was a loner. Val was a forced loner, more commonly known as an outcast. Val was a male.

People would whisper when she passed, giggle---I thought it was about her almost ankle length dress and flat heel shoes, her 6 foot-something body and probably 200 plus pounds, but no, it was that Val was going through a sex change, male to female.

I have considered what I would look like as a man, and I would look "off." My hands are small, my fingers are thin, I am I fear too "pretty." Val's hands were too big, her feet and legs too large, her voice too deep (mine is way-sky too high), to make a successful trans candidate in the 1980s.
Back then the abilities of surgeons were limited. Society wasn't into "I love my big self! Accept me or shut up." Val made an awkward-looking woman. She looked nothing more than a man in woman's clothes.

When I found out the truth I wanted to really look at her. I also wanted to befriend her, because how she was being treated was just wrong. One day a memo went around telling us not to be mean to the man in woman's clothing on the first floor. Wow, talk about a crude and stupid memo. Then we heard she had been attacked by co-workers for using the women's restroom.

Most of the out-gay employees tried to be friends with her after that, and some straight co-workers too. She was depressed. No one accepted her, not her family or previous friends, and working was becoming a daily nightmare. I saw the words of hate someone wrote on the restroom mirror with red lipstick.

As years passed, Val made a couple good heterosexual female friends at work, but her appearance was only made worse by further botched surgeries. Her money was running out. She came to a "Gay Employee" group that we tried to start, but she was too shy to step inside.
Was she gay? Was she straight? There was only G, then GL, then GLB...the T for transgender came years later. Ts have a hard time fitting in the other worlds, now and then.

Val was a sweet, kind person who just wanted to live her life like anyone else...she killed herself shortly before I retired. I will always remember seeing her one day in the elevator, stockings torn, scraps on her cheeks and tears slowly running her mascara down her face. Stoic on the outside, dying alone and sad on the inside.

Floods, Ft Wayne, Cousins, Sand and Pizza

My brothers were not worth much to me, and this is where cousins come in. Cousins are the sisters and brothers you never had. My cousin, Rich, and I used to have a great time together. We were 4 years apart, so it took us later in our teens to get close. Then we would call each other up, "Wanna cop a pizza?" at any hour of the night and off we went.

We did a few cemetery raids, that means we walked among the buried and communicated when we could. We caught a few drive-in movies, across from the cemetery.

And lately, watching the floods around the states, I am reminded of the night we got together and drove out to a truck site where sandbags were being filled and loaded onto a truck. We put on big boots and jumped in to help however we could.

Fort Wayne, Indiana has the nickname, "Three Rivers," with "Three Rivers Festivals" and so on; because it is surrounded by three rivers, making Ft. Wayne quite a hub of commerce in its day. And also ripe for floods. Flooding of at least one of the rivers happens almost every year, at least it did when I lived there some 30 years ago.

So, Rich and I filled bags, loaded trucks, occasionally lost each other, and I found myself headed towards the river's ready to overflow edge, next to a small house. Very hard to see in the darkness where the river ended and land began. I just kept tossing the bags. Now, mind you, I can't swim, nope, not a lick. But when you are young, full of energy, full of the desire to help others as Rich and I always were, well---nothing to worry about.

I had to keep wiping sweat from my eyes, when I saw a person near me. It was a little old lady, thin as a rail, in a thin summer nightgown, she looked in my eyes. If the moonlight hadn't hit just right, I never could have seen her. Her squeaky voice was a whisper even when she shouted, "Thank-you so much, young man." (WOOT)

Well, we finished up at dawn, drove home for a big breakfast from our ever-cooking Aunt Vi, and we both were dog-tired, wet, and feeling like a million bucks. Yes sir, cousins are a gift. I miss my spontaneous calls for adventure and I hold them close to my heart.

Cousins are the best! And if YOU every feel the urge for an adventure into helping others, just call your nearest Red Cross, the volunteers there are incredible people who save lives every day. Now, if you want to cop a pizza, text your cuz.

When Your Brain Talks Too Much

For at least a year I never mentioned my partner's name on my blog. In fact, I started this blog in part to have an outlet for my rants and thoughts, so that I didn't bog her down with this verbal person's constant desire to...talk. But, oh no, my readers wanted to know---who WAS this "partner?" And at my blogs start, she was at work all day, so she rarely had time to sit and read my blog. It became my private place. UNTIL, you other bloggers and commenters intrigued me so, that I'd keep saying, "You have GOT to read this!" and "Zoomdoggies said..." "Zoom who? what?" Yes, I started talking ABOUT my blogging. I guess a verbal person finds a way...

I've asked my mom when did I first talk? She says she doesn't remember, "...but it was too soon." The little pink baby book my mom kept for me, notes that I said, "Ma Ma" by 6 months. By a year it was full speed ahead. And Aunt Vi, a verbal person herself, had several stories of my non-stop conversations. Apparently many were with myself, since my mom loved to tell the story of coming home from work to hear me talking with some people in my room, scaring her at first, until she discovered I was all alone with my imaginary friends. (And I had quite a few stuffed animals, or as my Canadian readers say, "plushies," which sounds much more humane, that also carried on conversations with me.)

My poor shy, mother, my poor "silent type" older brothers---many will say I was born this way, but I think far more important was the constant barrage of conversations around me in a two-story house full of relatives day and night. My quieter mom raised my brothers, but when I came along my sperm donor left and mom had to get a job; I was left with many other people. (Not to mention I had two dopey brothers that THEY didn't have, PLUS I had TV. )

There is also a non-stop conversation going on in my brain. (The very thought of this drives my partner crazy. SEE PHOTO ABOVE) Ask me what I'm thinking and you better pull up a chair, grab some strong coffee, if you really want to know. Funny, in elementary school I rarely spoke. Much like my new life here, among the retirement home natives, it is just so fascinating to listen and watch THEM!

Maybe this is why when MS slurred my speech, well, it perturbed me. Though, I did find it quite interesting and humorous, from an actor's point of view. To this day I find myself sometimes looking down at my mouth (never being able to see it, hmmm) and saying aloud, "What did I just say?" When partner tells me, I reply, "Fascinating." Very Spock like.

And now I've rambled on, forgetting what I meant to write this post about. Oh, yes, talking too much and the blog helping give my partner a break. Yeah, that worked for a couple months.

Got MS? GET OUT! Reclaim YOU. (Caution: Unsolicited advice to follow)

What was the first thought that crossed your mind after you heard you had MS? (I mean after:THANK GOD! It's not a brain tumor!) Something like, "What is going to happen to me?"





That is the one question that no doctor or test can answer. With MS, at time of diagnosis, we just don't know. So, let me offer a better question, every time that other question pops into your head, "What am I going to make happen to me?"





Although when cold feels hot and hot feels cold, when your hands stop working and your eyeballs aren't making it over home plate, it sure is easy to feel like you are no longer in control of YOU, in fact you are still in control of most of you. And that is where you begin making your future happen.





Oh, you have that other option, you can let MS make all the decisions, or your spouse, or your doctor, yes, you can do that, but I am suggesting that option is a poor one, especially if you want to live a happy life.





Nobody wants a cure more than me. Nobody wants some association to always "be there" for me more than I do. But I cashed my reality check many years ago. My life is in MY hands. Whether that glass is half empty or half full is MY decision. I suggest you choose wisely, what with the "only getting one life" and all.





The hardest thing to do is to get out of yourself. Let's face it, we all can get boring sometimes. And MYself includes MY family, i.e. my spousal equivalent---get OUT. Meet new people, start helping a stranger, not a big cause, just one person. Writing a check is too darn easy and takes just a minute. Get wholly involved in another person's troubles. Amazing how helping others always makes us feel good about us.





Start thinking about such actions, stop thinking about MS so much. MS is YOU and You are MS (contrary to what you may want to believe---"I am not my MS!" Who IS your MS? You do HAVE MS, right? "But MS doesn't have me!" Oh, ok, when you are picking out a cane...how's that workin' for ya?" Please, just embrace that you have a chronic progressive (in most cases) disease, and GET OUT OF YOURSELF. (While I agree MS should NOT define you, it sure helps explain you!) I am on Face Book, there is NOTHING on my Face Book page that says "MS." (As opposed to many others who have MS ribbons or sayings all around, some proclaiming, "MS doesn't have me!" Really? )





Best advice I ever got was from a book about MS that I purchased right after my diagnosis: "Sharpen your emotional tools." -Pepper Schwartz (I think that was the author...been 20 years ago...sounds like a detective on TV though...) You will need them to dig deep and find all the self esteem, love, compassion for yourself and others, that exists within you.





MS may not be a virus, but your whole family will be a part of your MS journey. Do INCLUDE them. Don't see this as a burden to them, see it as the gift of an opportunity for THEM to get out of themselves.

Now, go have a fantastical day, my MS readers, and same to everyone who took the time to read this missive. It really applies to all of us.

Patience is a Virtue. Just Leave a Message at the Tone.

Marathon Not Sprint of MS Awareness

As I have aged (like fine wine, uh-hem), My need to make people aware of multiple sclerosis has increased. Funny, but I expected the opposite. As my own knowledge and experience grew, MS became a bigger unknown to my worlds.

There was my work world. I was only in my thirties and full of energy! I started a disability group for employees (not ONE member had MS). I explained about MS while riding my scooter to city council meetings, to jury duty, on buses, in Starbuck's across Seattle! Then I moved to an enclosed community in gay-Seattle and began my awareness quest there. My struggle to get around with my cane was epic, and it led to many discussions about MS. I fought to make the public restrooms of my mixed retail apartment building accessible, I wrote letters to the theater chain asking for isle rails, I met with city sidewalk engineers to fix broken ramps and install new ones where needed. MS, MS, MS

By my fifties I moved to a retirement community, average age 85, and my energy for all this awareness making has run flat. Not a day goes by when eyes do not look at me in my power chair and wonder, "WHY is SHE here? In THAT?" I have considered a hand-out, the book with one of my short stories about MS located in the library here apparently is not sufficient. (Though the first one I donated was stolen, causing a bit of a brouhaha, so some residents actually wanted to read it...)

Shocking to me how many of this age group are so unfamiliar with MS. Keeps me wondering who is doing any MS Awareness for us? A once a year walk just isn't enough, and what does that do? It shows people laughing, walking, maybe a power chair here and there. But mostly a party atmosphere---how are people learning about MS from these events? (Sponsored quite often my at least one drug company.) I remember the one I went to. Finding transportation there was a joke, and the volunteers tossed me a T-shirt, "You can put this on over your shirt."

When I said I couldn't lift my arms up, they looked at me like I was an alien. Good grief. I ended up leaving after they couldn't find a place for me to sit and were having so much fun laughing among themselves about a movie they had seen...well, I just zoomed as fast as I could in hopes of catching the ne'er-do-well Access Van service before it left.

So, it seems I will be spending the rest of my life supplying MS Awareness. Fifty years ago, I am sure some other woman with MS spent her life doing the same thing. Though, when I was five years old I was hearing about MS from TV ads, magazine ads, radio, "MS. The crippling disease of young adults." A few more of those ads would make my task a lot easier.

Chonric Illness of Lovers and Happy Birthday

Happy Birthday, oh ye partner of 32 years! I honestly must admit that I never thought you would live this long. Remember our first "date?" It was in an ER and I stole the red tape label "Cardiology" from a drawer in the room I was nervously waiting. I was not comfortable in hospitals, but after that night I had a feeling I had better get used to them.

Maybe it wasn't romantic, exactly, but we were falling so deeply in love that a dark well would have looked bright to us. I will also admit that I prayed right there, again, not my usual occupation. "God, if I take this on and all that comes with it, then will you promise to never take her from me too soon? Give me a sign. Send her out okay."

She came out okay and the rest is history. I never knew anything about chronic illness. Funerals were my forte, but those people were not ill for years. I had much to learn, but a deal is a deal. And there's all that gushy stuff---I loved her and she loved me, we really were made for each other if such a making is possible. We both had big dreams, a love of films, acting, writing, arts, revolution, big dogs---what more is there?

Then you, my love, would be stuck with a chronically ill person--POOF! No warning, completely out of the blue--multiple sclerosis. All I'd promised you went POOF too. Talk about a switcheroo---I know you are not the praying type either, but any port in a storm, right?

And so here you are--55! Wow, you have lived with progressive, chronic illnesses all your life and with great grace and dignity. Your spirit is always high and ready to burst out. Thank God I found you. Thank the universe, Goddess, Dial Soap, whatever, whoever---I am just so thankful you are here, next to me, celebrating 55 very difficult years. You amaze me. You inspire me. You deserve all the years you can get. Happy Birthday, Karenlee.

You, MS, and BM

Was just visiting blogs and had to share this "code" before I could post comment:
MSUBM

hahahhahahahhaha I agree!

Sex and Maggie Hit Discovery. Why am I Laughing?

Maggie Gyllenhall is hosting a show on The Discovery Channel about why sex is fun. "...all the latest research..." I'm sorry (Notice how often people don't mean that? You just KNOW I am not sorry for what I am thinking or I wouldn't say it aloud. Hmmm, is a blog post "aloud" thoughts? If nobody reads this, is it heard? Oh NOOOO, my brain is talking to itself again.) but (and here it comes) this just tickles my (clean your dirty minds---did the word "sex" just send your brain that direction?") funny bone!

Well, I know MY kids are sitting down for this show!

Mother and Daughter Talk Alzheimer's

"Mother!"
"Hi."
"How are you?"
"Oh, fine, how are you?"
"Pretty good. I fell down a while back, but I'm ok now."
"That's good."
"Do you know who this is?"
"Diane!" (How dare I ask such a stupid question?!)
I laugh. "Yes, what did you do today?"
Pause...then with attitude, "Why do you ask?"
I am surprised at her suspicious tone. "Just making conversation, Mom."
"Oh."
"So, what DID you do today?"
"Nothing."
"What a coincidence! That's what I did too!" (We both laugh.)
"Where are you?" (Here we go again. I think I should start with this.)
"I live in Seattle."
"SEATTLE? Since when?"
"I moved here 30 years ago. You visited a few times. You flew on a plane!"
"I did? That must have been nice."
"You liked the seagulls."
"Oh." (I feel I am boring her.)
"Do you still read those paperbacks?"
"Yes. Why do you ask?" (Again, an unfamiliar tone from my mom, verging on paranoid.)
"I thought I'd send you some if I can." (This was one of her favorite gifts.)
"That would be great. And write to me." (She has said that before and I do, but she always says she never received anything. Hmmm)
"Sure. Well, that's all I got." We laugh.
"Thanks for calling."
"Ok, bye, I love you, Mom."
"Bye." CLICK

First time I recall such paranoia in her voice. My cousin visited her a few days ago and said she seemed to be doing very well, though she asked several times where he was from. Interesting.
Always interesting where her thoughts go. Some places I know well. Some she never revealed.
I am watching some residents at my retirement home go through dementia and Alzheimer's...the emotional pain is short-lived, in the early stages. Hard to miss what you never had. I am so glad I had many conversations with my mother in those early stages, the big A talk. That is the best we can do, those of us left behind. Hearing her voice still comforts me. I hope that goes both ways.

I TOOK TWO NORMAL STEPS!!!

I just had to tell my faithful blogees (?) first! I just took TWO full (that's four, out and back!) steps BY MYSELF!! (partner stood by and watched) MORE ABOUT THIS LATER....

MS WORD OF THE DAY: MSer

Do you dislike the label: MSer? I like it.

How about a handicapped stall? I like it. Matter of fact I like the word handicapped. It reminds me of golf and why shouldn't I get a break on my tally? I AM handicapped. I need a few breaks to do all the things a person with a body that functions properly can do.

I don't like "gimp," because of the tone of people who use it. And "lame" is too harsh a word for a person. Though I am okay knowing a horse is lame.

Any words you don't like or think are okay for people with multiple sclerosis?

When a Broken Heart Bleeds

You drew me in. I fell hard. But I could see no good outcome, so I held back.

You asked me to kiss you. But I walked to your bedroom window and gazed out, knowing that if I proceeded, my life would never be the same. I had a gut feeling you would leave me too soon.

With the kiss, I looked into your eyes, your soul, and told you, "NO one will ever love you as much as I will." We made 15 year old love.

You made promises. You wrote love letters. You spent many nights with me. We spent hours on the phone. You took me to horse shows, you took me in your mother's house, your employee's van, wherever you wanted to go I made sure you got there safely.

Did I ever tell you I never cried before I met you? First in front of my mom when I asked her for money for YOU, for that VW bug you wanted...I had never asked my mother for money like that. Did you pay her back? Did I? Your hard luck step dad story got my mom and me. She knew how my heart ached to see you happy. Since you dumped me I cry a lot.

You cried in jealous anger about another girl, an old friend of mine. I reassured you, but there was a moment that night that I thought of leaving you...I could feel the end was near.

My dresser drawer was filled with love letters from you. I kept them because I knew one day you would lie. How did I know? I knew you.

Then without reason you turned cold to me. I kept asking why? You said nothing.

You rode off from my bedroom to my older brother's waiting motorcycle. You were gone for hours. I cried and screamed at you, my mom in the next room, when you finally returned. You said it was nothing. but he was a me in men's attire---perfect hiding place for you, perfect transition away from me and you took it. I was 18, had the apt. we planned for after high school all ready--you picked out the couch. It ended up with you and him in the apt. below me.

At that point on, you showed me no mercy. You joined him at our family holiday gatherings. My mother knew what game you were playing. I will never tell you what she said about women like you. But she promised ME that he would never marry you. She was right.

When I found another, after years of your cutting away at my heart, you asked me to sit in your shiny new Firebird. "Keep in touch," you said. Looking straight ahead, I asked, "Why?"

"Don't you think people can change?" you said. "Sure they can," I replied, "after trauma, after they lose their father or are hurt in a car crash." That was all we said. Did you think of my words when your father died within the next 6 months and you almost died in a car crash? DID YOU change?

Whatever happened to you, you predictably erased me, us, from your memory. You rewrote our years together. I knew you would. When and where did truth begin and end with you? You broke up with my brother a few weeks after I moved out of state. It never would have worked, you both were too immature and selfish. How many husbands did you have after?

You told me you were ugly. I only saw beauty. Even with each dagger you twisted in me. I TOLD you no one would ever love you more. As the song goes: You were the best thing that never happened to me. -Beyounce

Yes, I dodged a bullet with you. I bet you are not mature enough even now to care for and about a person with a disability like me.

To say I wish I'd never met you would be a lie. You opened my heart. I just wish you hadn't left it bleeding. But battle scars form and we were not meant to be a team. You chose and I respect that. I do resent that you lied so much to so many about us. It just makes you look silly, they all knew.

Everyone knew but you.

Greek Spunky Courageous Friend--Characters I Have Known

Short and pudgy, with graying hair and glasses, she always wore a dress with sensible shoes. Her name was Selena. A plain looking person, the kind who would easily disappears in a crowd. But to me she always stood out at work. For one thing, she arrived early, like I did, a rarity at my job with the city call center. And secondly she had a deep accent. I was embarrassed to ask what it was, but I would come to find out that few people knew.





Even citizen callers would ask to, "...speak to an American!" which, of course made Selena furious. Most of our callers in the early 1990's were white, older, and unfazed by insulting anyone that didn't sound like they were all white and all American. Their beloved Seattle had grown up and away before their eyes, for some reason the city call center for utility problems took much of their rage. In fact, many callers were calling in a rage to begin with---after all, they had some problem that they were certain we had caused. I had been called every name in the sailor's handbook, but attacking a person's ethnic identity was going too far. Hard to believe in the 1990's, but people still were refusing to talk with our African American employees and our women. "Let me speak to a MAN." Seems funny now.





So, Selena was not one to just transfer those callers away,no, she would give them a talking to! I loved it. I loved sitting near enough to hear her calls. "I am NOT Spanish!" she would shout. Finally I got up the courage to display my horrid American ignorance and ask what she WAS.





Selena was Greek. She came to America in her late teens and worked her way into college. She sent money home often, a practice she continued until all her Greek relatives had died in the last few years. Her sister joined her, married a man of means, they had two children, got divorced, Selena adored her niece and nephew, but Selena never married.





One day, when Selena was working as a bank teller, a wealthy man told her that she should get into the stock market. Oh, no, Selena replied, since she knew nothing about such things. He insisted, telling her how to buy 5 shares of a stock. Well, she did, and lost every penny. The man returned and told her to try again. Oh, no, said frugal Selena, but he insisted, even offering to give her the money to but the shares. Selena refused his money, but she gave in and bought the stocks. She made a little money. So, when Selena started telling me to buy stocks, I said, "Oh, no, I don't know enough about it." (Which is a touchy subject with me, since my brothers were given "the talk" from my rich uncle, but not a talk for a girl like me. THOUGH, being a girl like me, I listened around hallway corners as best I could. At age 8, it was not enough for me to understand more than the fact that IBM dividends were what some people lived off of and a poor man works for money while a rich man has his money work for him.)





My stupidity didn't bother Selena, she whipped out her bank teller story and brought up stocks every work day. I pointed out that she still drove an older model car, still had to work overtime, still ate at McDonalds. "It takes TIME," she would tell me in that Greek accent I learned to love.





A brokerage firm happened to be across the street. Almost every day she wandered over there on her breaks. It was right next to my bus stop. I would look in the windows--boring. Then, I would lean AGAINST the window. Then I went inside. Old men were sitting on fold-up chairs, their eyes glued to the ceiling that had a row of lights, constantly moving around with letters and numbers. They looked like pathetic, lonely, old men with nothing better to do. A few would be reading a folded newspaper and bobbing their heads up and down while penciling on the page. INSANE.





"Buy some of this company," Selena said. "I've never heard of it," I replied. She got that disgusted tone to her voice, "Look! It is on your computer!" We had just gotten new computers at our job and I was focused on the screens I used to correct billing problems, but sure enough, there it was: Microsoft. "What do they do?" I asked. Again, Selena sighed, it doesn't matter! They are on every computer. Do you think computers are going away!?" That made sense. But $30 for ONE share? I had been buying U.S. savings bonds for years...I'd have to cash them in...seemed awfully risky to me. Selena persisted.





"Diane. Buy some of this stock. It is just starting a company." Again, I had never heard of it. Starbuck's. Oh, yes, I had a memory of going into a cramped store near the Pike Place Market...it sold coffee. But, stock in them? That little store? I gave in and walked into the brokerage firm. I bought 100 shares of Microsoft. It had skyrocketed to almost $100 and Selena was CERTAIN it would go much higher. Two weeks later I was diagnosed with MS and then a large tumor in my uterus. OH NO. I had bought the stocks, using much of my savings (my savings bonds), in my name only, not my partners. I had to sell before I was unable to get to the brokerage firm.

That bus ride downtown was excruciating, each bump made me cringe in pain and hold my stomach. I kept thinking what a fool I'd been.

About two years later, a hysterectomy, a benign fibroid tumor removed and my partner's hysterectomy for severe endometriosis, MS letting me get by with just the occasional cane, Selena told me Starbuck's was "going IPO." I would learn by reading on line, that meant initial price offering of a company's stock. STARBUCK'S?? That cramped coffee shop down by Pike Place Market? Come on, Selena. She told me it would be huge and everyone would want it.
Seeing "Microsoft Hits $100 a Share" on the front page of our Seattle Times, did give me pause. If only I could have kept it...my partner was not doing well, her hysterectomy seemed to make matters worse. I decided it was time to buy a condo that would serve as our last home. I didn't see how she could keep working much longer. I put money down on a new two story condo. Then I went blind.

With the help of a friend, I swiftly got out of the condo deal and into a contract for a smaller one with no stairs and a large "handicapped" bathroom. But Selena, as much as she agreed real estate was important, thought I should get Starbuck's instead. I was at a financial crossroads. My goal was our financial security. I had a sum of money, all my savings bonds---I chose the condo.

Starbuck's went through the roof, as did Microsoft, splitting and splitting and splitting---my eyesight returned, my partner was getting stronger, I had made the wrong choice.

I say I don't believe in stress, but being the president of that condo board was as close as I've come to being a believer. Our condo sold in 24hrs. We made a few thousand dollars profit. I bought stocks again.

Selena went on her lunch breaks and bought more Microsoft, sometimes just 10 shares. I tried to tell her she was losing money on commissions, but she disagreed and insisted I but more. I told her I had no more money, she told me to take out a loan! What! She did it and paid it back, she told me. Now, Selena knew very, VERY little about the actual stock market---a big laugher for us both. We had been told at our jobs to "explore and play" on our computers, in the hopes we would feel more comfortable with them. Selena and I toggled back and forth to watch every stock tick, all day long. Up, up, up; split split split. I should have taken out those loans.

One day she suggested another new company, it would sell books off the computer. Oh, now GIMME A BREAK--that will NEVER fly! Amazon.com, and I missed it again. But, not Selena.

Needless to say, Selena became a Seattle millionaire, one of many ordinary people who did, during those years. I was so happy for her. This was a woman who TIPPED at McDonald's, bought extra burgers to give to panhandlers standing outside, baked hundreds of Greek pastries for her church and the needy. She eventually bought a new house, but not a new car. Her old clothes were just fine, but she paid off her mother's house in Greece. She retired a happy woman. I missed her dearly at work, It was never the same.

Many Seattle new, young, millionaires blew their money, but not Selena. She kept that old car until just the last few years. She still wears the coat she had decades ago and no one would ever suspect her means. Oh, and she still tells me to buy stocks. She still bakes those many pastries and buys nuts for the squirrels in her yard. She is a real American success story about hard work, determination, positive attitude and generosity. I learned so many lessons from her.

Today I Am Eight Years Old

Aunt Vi is putting together a birthday party for me . My cousins, Bobby, Richie, neighbors Gaileen and Joycie are supposed to come. All I can think about is Martin Luther King Jr. and his protests. He is a brave man, a great man, I hope he becomes president one day. Mom looks sad when I say that. I think there is so much anger and ignorance with white people against black people that it might never be possible for a black man to be president in my lifetime. Look what they did to Malcolm X. The KKK is awful. I think they might kill a black man running for president. Mom says president Johnson is trying to pass laws, but attitudes of the white people I know only have gotten worse. I can't stand them!

These new cousins moved here from Ohio. Bobby is 2 years younger than me. I didn't like him at all when we first met. But now I think he is my best friend. We have a lot in common. We want to start a band together. But he talks bad about black people and I knock him down when he does. He also teases his little brother too much, then they start fighting. They really hurt each other! Their grandma is really my cousin and their mom is her daughter, Cindy. Cindy is a dork compared to her pretty sister, Candy. Candy always smiles and treats her kids real nice. Cindy frowns and argues with her mom a lot. I saw her grab Bobby real hard once. She is scary one minute then nice the next. My mom said she better never lay a hand on me. Their grandma, my cousin, pulls the boy's ears when she feels like it and they scream. The family says Cindy married a hillbilly, but he seems real nice to me. I never saw him grab the boys or pull their ears. Strange people.

Miss Larson is my second grade teacher. She is really nice. We have a kid in class who is taller than Mark! I hate gym class. Why can't I shoot basketballs like the boys get to? I shoot them at home every day. Instead we square dance and tumble and stuff I'm no good at. I am fat too, so it is all hard. The kids laugh at me, especially the girls. I try to skip school on gym days. Mom asks me WHY do I hate school so much? I say nothing. What can I say? So much to say that it is unspeakable. I was tested and I read at a Jr High level. Math is simple. I love to write. Let it go, Mom. You can't begin to understand. And unless I turn into a boy pretty soon, things are going to get groady fast.

Well, Ivah picked out a dress for me to wear. This is going to be a dumb party. Maybe we can watch Flipper after words. I asked for a G.I. Joe and I think Aunt Vi will get him for me. That would be so great!

Eight, cool! Two more years and Mom promised I won't have a babysitter anymore. I can't WAIT to be ten.

Mark is all excited about getting his driver's license. His birthday is next month. Mom and I found the neatest cake for him. He will LOVE it! It is a car, blue icing (his favorite color!) and has DONUTS for wheels. We will order it next week. I wish Mom would learn to drive. Aunt Vi wants to teach her.

I want a Mustang when I turn 16. Well, when I get a car, I want a Mustang.

Vietnam. That war seems to be getting worse. It bugs me. Why do we have to have wars? Lane is getting ready to watch a new soap opera, General Hospital. I tried watching hers (The Guiding Light) with her, but it was too boring, BUT, I wouldn't mind getting a job acting in one. The acting is not hard. Aunt Vi says they are stupid and she will "NEVER" watch them. Ivah was right, aunt Vi is really stubborn.

If anyone else tells me "You're gitting so BIG" I think I'll croak. I will NEVER understand adults.

Bedridden with MS to Death of Professor

When I moved to the assisted living/retirement home almost 3 years ago, I immediately sought out others with my reason for being here: multiple sclerosis. There was one other woman, in her sixties and I was told she was "bedridden."

Bedridden. That word always shook me and it is, I think, what all humans fear---that one day we will be bedridden and that will be the end personified. Well, I had to meet her. I had heard she was once a university English professor of great acclaim with much love and respect from students along with peers.

First I met with her caregiver. They had been a team for over a decade. The Professor was told she had just weeks to live, that was years ago. "Her will to live is so inspiring," said her caregiver.
The Prof. agreed to meet with me. I hedged my bet with the fact that I am a published author. I took along the book for her and signed it.

Her room was small and crowded, with the bed taking center stage. She had a pet canary. In front of her was a balcony and window. (I worried about the heat, but she had an air-conditioner.) Her caregiver stayed with her during the day and at night she was in "lock down," with door locked, all alone, only the pull cord from the building security to aide her in a crisis. That seemed so sad to me. But she seemed so happy.

We spoke, the caregiver trying to help her, until I we were alone, so the Prof. could speak to me in private, which she seemed to like. Her words came slowly, and breathing easily was impossible. She told me funny stories about her bird. I told her funny stories about the bird I once had. We talked about our MS, how much she missed the university life and how rarely she got visitors. On her wall were a few, poorly trimmed photos of her family. They didn't visit much, she told me.

It was difficult for her to keep her head up and her hands were both completely curled. If you cut away, trimmed neatly aside, all those obstacles to physical normalcy, you could find a well-spoken, intelligent, upbeat woman. I wish I had visited her more, but she was often , "not feeling well." She never left her room. Doctors and dentists came to her.

A few weeks ago she was rushed to the hospital and died within days. What did she die from? I'm sure her obit read "MS." I never got to know her well, but I hope she had lots of physical therapy in spite of a doctor saying, "Will be dead soon." I hope she had lots of lung/breathing exercises. I hope her family loved her in spite of MS and showed her as much love as they could. I hope her canary sang sweetly every morning while she waited on her caregiver. The love between them was real and helped fill the small room.

MS is so misunderstood. And those of us who live with it are too often written off. Even Issac Asimov once wrote that after diagnosis, people with MS can expect to live five years. THAT was the first thing I read about MS, after I was diagnosed. We are often told to "fight MS," I suggest that we must also fight doctors who sign our death certificates so soon that our family and we see no reason to keep up the job of working on getting BETTER.

"The canary sang so cheerfully, so full of life that with each note she was lifted upwards, eager to live on. And in the dark of night, if she cried, her canary chirped as if to reaffirm that life was waiting for another day to begin." -Diane J Standiford

Today I Am Seven Years Old

Another birthday. I need to get a job. My brother, Manny always seems to have a job. He is so smart. Everybody likes him. I can't stand him. He treats me like dirt. What did I ever do to him? And my other brother, Mark? He tried to bury me in a snow pile. I thought I would die. Mom was mad at him, but she just glares at them both and they do stuff to me first chance they get.
Mom told me if Mark didn't love me he wouldn't bother me so much. Sure, Mom, keep thinking that. I think she is afraid to tell them to lay off me because she has guilt about them not having a father around. Mark really wants to visit his father, Manny doesn't seem to care less, like me. Aunt Vi says Manny and I are just alike! I must admit, one day we both came out of two rooms at same time, one at each end of a long hall and said EXACT same words about a TV show that was on. I know we look alike. We both have Mom's dark hair and eyes. I wish I had Mark's red hair instead.

School is still awful. Now not only are the kids crazy but so are the teachers. I think I want to be a teacher when I grow up. The teacher I have is so awful She hits this one poor kid over the HEAD with a heavy book, just because he is playing with a paper rocket ship. She hits him several times day, every day. He rubs his head and the other kids laugh. I don't laugh and I don't see ANYTHING funny about it. "See Jane run. Run Jane, run." GOD! Over and over, each kid takes a turn reading--still half of them can't get past "Run" I like watching, but I never raise my hand. Just leave me out of it. I want out of this town. I can't grow up fast enough.

Went to another funeral and Mom got real mad that Ivah tried to make me kiss the dead body "good bye." I refused. So now Aunt Vi and Ivah are fighting. Aunt Vi told Ivah to "take one of your blue pills!" I wonder what those blue pills do.

Uncle Arthur is coming to town tomorrow. He is such fun. He and aunt Vi are so close. I wonder what that would be like...to have a brother be nice to you. He buys her gifts and treats us all to dinners out. They laugh like kids and play cards all night. Only thing I can't stand about him is how he treats black people. He brings me licorice (I guess, I never ate one) black candy that is supposed to be a black person and he talks real nasty about them. Then aunt Vi joins him. I leave when they start that. Mom says they don't know any better. Makes me sick.

My Uncle Homer is really nice. He is a farmer. I rode with him on his horse across a bridge, it was a little scary. Him and Helen (I don't know why I don't call her aunt, seems wrong, but that's how it is) bring a box of toys for me to play with while Mom visits. Mom doesn't want them to come to OUR house, too messy. Mom is too tired to clean I guess. Aunt Vi cleans for us, but that makes Mom nervous so pretty much the apartment stays messy. The boys keep their rooms pretty clean. I share Mom's room.

Two girls live next door. One is my age Gayleen, one is younger, Joycie. They go to a private school. Oh, guess who goes to MY school?! My father's daughter and she is two years older than me! How can that be? I saw her mom one day, drop her off out front of school in a big red convertible with the top down. The mom looks so young and that girl was pointing and whispering about me. And both were laughing. I just ignored them. Does it mean my father lives around here? I don't have a father, but I don't know what to call him. I can't remember his name.

Another reason to hate school. I like the quiet kids best, but they get treated so bad by the teacher. The whole school thing is a big mess.

Some friend of Aunt Vi's (most are older than her) asked me why I don't like dresses. What a stupid question. If I tried to explain, she wouldn't understand. I just shrug my shoulders. They tell me one day I will "LOVE" dresses! Well, we will see about that.

I am 7 today. March 31st. Big deal.

Today I am Six Years Old

Six years old. What a terrible year last year was. It changed my life forever. I will never forget the day President Kennedy got assassinated. Just horrible. I don't see a good future. Everything just died with him. It still makes me cry inside. I stared at the TV for days. Caroline is almost my age and John-John---I hope he grows up to be president. Mom says Caroline might too. I am not so sure anymore. I feel sad just thinking about it all.

School--gees. Those kids are crazy. It is like being in an insane asylum. They are so uneducated. We still haven't even started reading yet! They can't read, they can't do math, they cry about wanting their moms like they are babies! One mom sits next to her kid ALL DAY! One kid eats glue. EATS GLUE.

The first months were, just ridiculous. Spent at least an hour for a NAP. I had to take a rug in. Mom had to pay for a RUG for me. Then they want us to drink milk. I hate milk. I don't drink it. The first teacher slapped my hand for not coloring my pumpkin in circles. I DID draw it in circles! Mom was really mad when she heard I was hit. That teacher got fired.

Oh, and when I first started they said I had a speech impediment, that means problem. I can't say caa right! Or poople. I never noticed before. Just those two words. Made Mom cry. School says I have to have speech therapy, but it will probably get worse and stay with me all my life! I can't even hear it, so Aunt Vi bought me a tape recorder and sure enough. I try over and over, everybody tries to help me...I just can't. So I will take some special classes in the summer. God! I cuss like Aunt Vi, when I am alone.

Stopped going with Ivah to church---too many hypocrites! I can hear Mom, "Who taught you that word!?" I don't really know. We were walking home from school one day and I complained about kids calling other kids "homo." Mom stops and looks at me, shocked, "You don't even know what that word means!" I told her it is when a man loves a man and a woman loves a woman. She didn't ask how I knew, we just walked home and she agreed that was not a nice word. I wanted to tell her that I was pretty certain I was a homo, but that would have upset her...I think. I have known for a long time, years, that I was different, not a normal girl. There are no books in the library I could find about it and no one to ask. I think Aunt Vi and Ivah are homosexuals too. It makes sense.

We got a sugar cube for polio. The kids cried. We got a shot, the kids cried like somebody was killing them! What a bunch of babies. I don't know how long I can stand this. Mom says I have to go, for 12 years. TWELVE YEARS?!! I will never make it. I haven't learned a thing except that kids are stupid. And they lie. They can't read, write, add, kindergarten is destroying me.

Mom took me to see The Miracle Worker with Patty Duke playing Helen Keller. I want to be an actress when I grow up. I wish I could be one now like Patty Duke. Now that is a kid I wish I knew. Sometimes I think I never should have been born. I HATE school. My legs turn red from the cold. Girls can't wear pants. I hoped the second half of kindergarten would be better, but it is not. And now president Kennedy is gone. What's the point? My life is over. As long as I live, I will NEVER forget this last year. At least there is Bobby, hopefully he will run for president...I am afraid he will be killed too though. I know that is a stupid thought, but it all seems so fragile now, like no one is safe anymore. I felt safer when we had bomb drills. Black people cried, what happens to civil rights NOW? Makes me sick. Those outside the lines had hope. (Mom: "Where do you GET those ideas from?" I scream inside, "I AM SIX YEARS OLD, MOM!")

I have to buy a lunch box for school, for first grade. Mom said that first grade will be better. She told me not to be so downtrodden about kindergarten. If she is wrong I may kill myself. I mean it. Or run away. I hate my life. Plus I am the only homosexual in Ft Wayne. I should just die now.

Today I Am Five Years Old

Boy, is it cold today for springtime! Mom gave me my birthday present this morning, neither of us could wait. Mom is so happy that I wanted a doll, even if it was Ken. Now my Barbie will have a husband, she has been waiting for that and I can stop getting handmade Barbie clothes--yuck. Mom does not understand that I am not a girl. She will find out, I guess when I turn into a teenager like my brother. He loves cars. One day I bet he will have a job doing something with cars. He is real smart, but he is so selfish. I hope he grows out of it.





My brother Mark is just so mean to me. He hates me and I know it upsets mom, but what can she do? He is not mean to other people, just me. I don't know why, but my brothers and I just don't get along. I like most of their friends and they are all nice to me. I am not saying we hit each other, nobody hits in my family. Mom does not believe in spanking and she gets mad when she sees it. She is lucky we are good kids. We want her to find a man. A new neighbor moved in, he was so nice to us kids, lets the boys run around his yard and he came out and told us how he has a bullet in his leg from the war! I told him right off that I didn't have a dad. He is handsome. He came over and fixed our fan, then mom and him sat on the porch. I saw them kiss.





His name was John Brown and he just disappeared one day. Mom cried. The neighbor lady found out he was married, separated from his wife, but they got back together. I will keep looking for Mom, I see how lonely she is. She has NO friends but me! Aunt Vi has SO MANY friends. I want to have lots of friends if I grow up to be as old as her. Everyone likes Aunt Vi. People ask why she never married. I know why. She loves Ivah. They have been together since high school! But they sure do argue too much. Ivah is quiet. Not Aunt Vi, that makes Ivah laugh, but sometimes she cries too. I heard Ivah's mom, Lane, say I shouldn't spend so much time around them. That is just stupid and my mom agrees. People are so mean to other people just because they are not like them. I hate that. The riots on TV, just awful. President Kennedy will fix it, White people are so nasty to blacks. Black power! Most of my white family uses bad words to talk about black people. Mom and I hate that. My brothers don't use those words, but they are not into politics like mom and me. Right now Kennedy has so much to do. Cuba is acting mean to us and some place called Vietnam. I think they will blow over, but around here there are air shelters and drills. I thought it was the Russians after us. Politics is too confusing for me. Those old, white, fat, men on Meet the Press just bores me, but Mom likes to watch them. Mom walked me to see where they are, the bomb shelters. We saw West Side Story. I loved it, but not mom, she hates when actors start singing, says it ruins the story for her. So much prejudice in the world. Mark should join the Peace Corps.

Uh-oh, there goes another sonic boom. I jump a little, but I'm not scared. I'm not scared of anything anymore. I'm five now. Everyone should read To Kill a Mockingbird. They say it might be a movie next year. It is a great book. I plan to read every book in the library by the time I am ten or sixteen. Would do my whole family some good to read it. Aunt Vi acts so ignorant in black neighborhoods--"LOCK THE DOORS!" she shouts when she sees a black man. I argue with her about it, but she is stubborn. Then she gives me the old, "You will understand when you grow up." Believe me, that day can't come soon enough.

Ken looks funny. Barbie like the cowboy better, he is double jointed, but his clothes don't come off...



I start school this year, now that I am five. I want to go to Harvard. Manny will go to college I bet. Mark...I just don't know. Don't see him much. He walks by, tells me I'm fat and goes outside to ride his bike. Manny walks by, tells me I am stupid and walks upstairs to eat what Aunt Vi has made for him. She buys him a comic book almost every day. He and Mark like MAD magazine, I do too, but they yell at me if I touch it, so I sneak when they are gone. I never cared for comic books. Can't wait to see how much I can learn in school. They give you free books!

Today I Am Four Years Old

Very exciting day today. I have lived four years! Ivah baked a cake and I helped. Licking the mixer hands. Ivah lets me hold them after we are done. Cookie dough is my second favorite but this is best. Next we decorate, Aunt Vi and Ivah have so many little plastic things to decorate cakes with. The candles sit in plastic candle holders, I like the horse best, but I could chose elephant, camel, about every animal in the zoo. I like that my birthday falls in spring, all the pretty flowers. When spring comes, I know my birthday is going to come soon. I like that it is 31 and the last day of the month. I think I can remember that easy. Aunt Vi will buy me a nice present, a bunch of presents, all wrapped real nice. She already bought me a stuffed dalmation puppy from 101 dalmations, I LOVED that movie! The line to get in was around the block at the Embassy theater, The Embassy is pretty new, it has a big organ. I think Fort Wayne is a small town. New York is big. I want to go to New York one day. She and Ivah wrap so good. I want to bake cakes, wrap presents, throw a party just like them when I grow up. I can't wait to grow up. Supposed to be a secret, but I know Mom got me a rocking horse! I think Aunt Vi paid for it. Mom never has much money. Aunt Vi owns this whole house and I think she is rich. I said that once and she laughed. I love to hear people laugh. Aunt Vi laughs all the time, but come to think of it, Ivah is not a laughing person. I think it is because Ivah prays with her mom and her mom is strict. When I grow up I might be a TV actor like Lucille Ball and make people laugh, or Tennessee Ernie Ford. Aunt Vi is mad Ernie is not going to be on TV. There wasn't always TV. I got to see President Kennedy get in...in..aug a rated, sworn in as president. I love him. I think he is honest and will make a good president. Mom says I shouldn't talk about politics or religion in front of other people. That doesn't make sense to me, but lots of what Mom says makes no sense to me. She says she is shy. She tells people I am shy just like her. That is not true. I wish she would stop saying that, just because my brother Manny talks to strangers. I could talk to strangers but I don't want to, that's all. Mom says I talk all the time. Aunt Vi says I never shut up and Ivah tells Aunt Vi I am just like her, two peas in a pod. I don't know what a pod is, but if I am just like Aunt Vi that is fine with me. I love my mom but she is so afraid all the time. Don't tell I am a Democrat, don't tell I play poker, don't tell Manny has a bad foot, don't tell, no wonder she doesn't talk to strangers, how can you remember all you can't tell? I guess easier to shut up. Marge says I am verbal and that is good. I like Marge. She drives a fancy caa and lets me play with the steering wheel. I want one of those toys on TV where it is like a little caa dashboard. Aunt Vi is the only woman besides Marge who drives. Marge is young and pretty. She has a pretty daughter who is adopted, but she is still my cousin. Adopted means they had other parents who had to give them away. Some people act so strange about it. Mom says that is wrong. I agree. Mom and I agree about things like that. We agree about President Kennedy too, but the rest of the family doesn't like him. They talk bad about him all the time and Mom never says a word. They talk bad about colored people and that makes me so mad! I hate that Mom never says a word. I would, but she said it is not polite to talk about politics. Mom and I talk bad about people who talk bad about colored people. We hope President Kennedy will fix all that. Our secret. I do like my secrets with Mom. The boys don't have secrets, as far as I know and I know a lot! I like to listen to the adults. They are so interesting. I learn so much. My mom is divorced. That means I had a father but he left. I don't know where he is. Once he came over at Christmas and gave me a stupid, cheap, plastic pin ball game. I hated it. I threw it away as fast as I could. He looks like a liar to me. His smile seemed fake like a bad actor. Lucy smiles real big and that is to be funny or real big frown to be sad and THAT is funny, because they are not how a real person smiles or frowns. His smile looked half normal happy and half sad with some mean in it and he was so bored, wanted to leave fast. The boys were excited to see him, but the boys are not too smart. I won't say that to anyone because the family thinks Manny is so smart. I think he is stupid in a mean way, like he is better than everyone. My other brother, I do feel sorry for him, he is quieter and gets left out of stuff, even though they seem to really like each other, but Mom pays more attention to the younger one, just a year younger, because she knows Manny is favored by Aunt Vi. Manny is mean to me, says awful things to me, he got in trouble for saying there was no Santa Claus and that was a big deal because it made me so mad at my mom, I knew from then on that she lies to me. A lie changes a relationship, it just does, no matter how you slice it. If Mom heard me say that she would say, "Where do you get that stuff from?" I am a big surprise to her. She is FOREVER asking why would I say that or where did I hear that or how do I know that on and on. I read books, magazines, newspapers, watch TV, listen to radio and all the adults, stuff goes into my head and I think about it all. I think my mom is not too smart, but I love her anyway. She says some very smart things sometimes, what other people told her like her father (he is my grandfather, she calls him Pop, I like him a lot)(a lot, lot, is a measurement that means big, I must have read that.) said "never judge a man until you've walked a mile in his shoes." That means you can't know why someone acts like they do if you haven't led their life, so don't judge and say they did wrong. Grampa must be really smart. That makes sense to me. Gramp sent me a dollar for my birthday, He sends a dollar every year. Day I was born he gave me a SILVER dollar, it looks just like the other dollar but says silver on it. I am not spending that, my plan is to keep it until I am real old like Aunt Vi and if I am poor like mom, it may be worth more. Aunt Vi is fifty years older than me, so she is 54. I add real fast like Aunt Vi. Ivah taught me and she likes to show off how fast I add. Ivah walks with me to church on Sundays and gives me a root beer live saver to suck as we walk and talk, well, I mostly talk because Ivah is shy like my mom. I talk all the way, but in church I am quiet, somebody else is always talking. I like the preacher. He is stocky and screams real loud. He believes what he says, but the minute people leave the church they don't do what they just Amened they agreed with! Even my family, except mom and she doesn't go to church except on Easter, they go to church, say how important it is, but they don't do what the Bible says. Ivah gave me a Bible for my birthday, I like it, it is small to fit my hands and has colored pictures. How can anyone know what Jesus looks like though? The camera wasn't invented then. Just old paintings, I paint my mom and it looks nothing like her. I can't paint or draw very good though. Why must I stay inside the lines? Maybe when I grow up I will understand. Adults like to say to me, when you grow up you will understand. Oh, brother! I think I am going to die young, maybe never grow up, I just have a feeling. Aunt Vi says she had that feeling too, but look how old she is now! Fifty-four...I keep forgetting, I want to ask my mom how old SHE is. I think I asked her last year but I forgot, I hate to forget stuff, I keep thinking about stuff over and over so I won't forget. All those graves at the cemetery and even Aunt Vi forgets who some of those dead people are. That seems so sad to me. Nobody should be forgotten. I remember lots of stuff from when I was three years old. Nobody believes me, I think adults forget on purpose. I know my mom does. To me that is sad. I want to learn more about her if I grow up. I think I will die young. Mom says I should be president like Kennedy, but I don't want to tell her I think I will die soon.

Today I Am Three Years Old

You are three years old. The big ones keep saying that over and over. Then they ask me how old I am. What is wrong with them? They are a ji ant mystery to me like that ji ant bean stok. What is a ant bean and what is a stok? My mom loves to talk about them when she holds a book. I love when mom holds a book. She is happy like on Chrismus morning. I mem rised the pictures. It is a stupid story but mom loves it. I think she likes beans or ji ants.

I don't speak when they say how old are you. They keep saying three. It must be a game. I want to be big like them more than M&Ms. They no things, secret one erfull things. Not my mom though. She cries too much. I don't know why. Is it me? I don't think it is me. She smiles when she holds me up to the mirr. She keeps saying you look just like your mother. I want to sleep in bed with her but she says I have to use a pottee firs. My big brothers (they are boys I am a girl, whatever that means) use the pottee and they have beds. I have a crib. I hate it. If I have to look at that pink lam agin I will chew my pello. I want to use the pottee. What is the hold up?
They think I am stupid. My brothers told me so. They hate me. I hate them. The big one is special to big people. Aunt Vianiva buys him big bags of M&Ms ever day and Coke and pops popcorn. They say he has a good personallamy. That makes him fat. I don't want a personallamy. He sticks pins in dead bugs.

Today mom put me on the potty and I went just fine. What is the big deal. Do I have to do this all my life? I don't think so. Grunny is the hard one becuz of wiping. I can't see back there and I don't believe the big people do this anymore. I just know that when I am not so small I will be free of this stupid stuff. Mom used to put soft nice smelling power on my bottom. Your bottom is what you sit on and grunny comes out. Maybe it will make cents when I grow up bigger.

Aunt Vianiva is talking loud again. She talks the loudest. Mom gets her sad face on when Aunt Vianiva talks loud and fast. I don't know why. One day I will know what all the talk means. I think I don't know because I am little. I am the littlest. I remember when I was smaller. Mom washed me in the kitchen sink. I fit real good. Now I am bigger. When I am big like my brothers I will shoot them like the rifleman does. I don't think they make mom cry, but they don't make her stop. I think I grow up like that bean. It went to the clouds. I have not seen a people that big. But I don't go downtown. Only Aunt Vianiva has a caa, she drives her caa different places every day. She goes downtown.

Today I am three. You are three. I hear it all day. Then they say how old are you. I hope when I grow big I am smarter than all these big people.

Cooling Waters for My MS Body

One of the amenities at my retirement joint, cruises on the lake. If ever I leave Seattle, I will always remember all the water here: lakes, bays, sound, ocean, rain, mountain snow. It all cools my MS soul and body, to be near it.

God or Google?

Characters I Have Known: Limping Briefcase Man

People watching has always been a favorite past time of mine. Most of my days in school were spent people-watching. Kindergarten was the beginning. Oh, the characters. Children now , in regards to people watching, are a ho-hum, seen them all. Adults still fascinate me, even though most can be traced right back to the character types of my school days, but those ones who don't "make sense" to me---fascinating. This is the story of one such person.

The apartment building I lived in was huge, taking up almost an entire city block. It faced the Space Needle and Elliot Bay. It was close enough to downtown Seattle that in my pre-MS days I could easily walk to work. The entire side of our apt. was all windows, great view, and people walking beneath us didn't even know we were there. It used to be just a retail building and the first floor of apts. were two stories up, all that the passersby saw were bricks and tree tops. In other words, a magical place to see and not be seen. From this vantage point is where I first saw him.

He passed by at the same time every day, about 5AM. He walked with great difficulty, limping, stopping, over and over, heaving his body up on one side as if it were dead weight. It could take him 30 minutes to pass my view, often he sat on the short brick wall that surrounded the Anhalt building across the street, to take a rest.

His clothes were always askew and they were always a dark suit, dark tie, white shirt, dark shoes. Even during the hottest summer day, that is what he wore, in the rain, in the snow, that is what he wore. And he carried a black briefcase. He looked to be around 60 years old, give or take 10 years. He had white skin and jet black, slicked down thin hair, cut above the collar. His shirt was not always buttoned, his hair not always combed back, his pants were usually wrinkled and on the verge of falling right off. His tie was never tied correctly---a man askew in all ways.
He spoke to no one if passed. Every day at 6PM he returned from the direction he had headed, Monday-Friday. I never saw him anywhere else in the area on the weekends. This went on for at least a year, until I couldn't take it anymore, I had to follow him.

His schedule conflicted with MY schedule, so on a day off I followed him. Never realized how hard it was to follow someone who moves so slow! Hanging back was not a good option because of how the streets wind around, turn like "L"s, and in the midst of residential houses and apt. buildings might be a dentist or steps up to a small psychic clinic---very strange neighborhood. Besides, while he spoke to no one, it seemed everyone spoke to me! The gay heart of the city with senior low-income housing, student studio units, old money rich people, you name it and Capitol Hill has it, all very friendly. For the largest population density in Seattle, it was a tightly knit community of neighbors on Harvard Avenue. Rudely passing someone without a nod or smile was not an option. Engaging in small talk was the norm. This was in the early 1990's. Point is, I lost him! Where did he go? What side street did he turn down? Which house, apt., or building did he enter?

Of course my partner thought I was crazy to pursue this hunt. She had watched him pass a few times and that was enough for her. I don't blame her. She has put up with my stalking about all hours of the early morning in search of strange people, HEY, the truth is out there. Capitol Hill was a juicy watermelon, full of seedy people, just waiting to be cut open, how could I resist!?

Anyway, MS took a stronger hold of me and my stealth snooping came to an end. I became the strange person I once might want to know. Over the years, I would glimpse the limping, briefcase carrying man who seemed about ready to fall over dead with each step, but I would just look away. A mystery never to be solved. Then I got ovarian cancer. Eight boring weeks off work after the first surgery, spent in the beginning sitting on my balcony watching people pass by. There he was, right on time. I felt better by week four than I had in years and my MS even was working on a nice remission. "Yes, dear, I promise I'll just sit home and relax until you return from work." This was my chance! I would focus and stay closer, he would NOT slip away this time! "Good bye, my love, have a nice day!" (Yes we really do talk this way, even now, after 32 years. Corny? Perhaps, but it is more the theatrical inside us. In front of others we appear cold, I think, this romance has turned many off.) Wait for it, wait for it...she is at her bus stop by now---OFF I GO!

Since I had followed him before to a certain corner, I chose a spot ahead of that area to wait for him. Right on schedule he appeared though watching him slowly make his way towards me I doubted he would make it much farther. As he passed by the woman with a cane, sitting on porch step, he never looked up, his eyes focused sharply on the sidewalk. I saw his face clearer, it was dirty, but pure, as if a good wash would leave him looking 30. But his thinning hair, hunching back, and a suit that looked like a Salvation Army reject spoke even louder than his shoes which appeared to have traveled to Maine and back, visible holes and all. His hair was not slicked down by anything but natural head oil from months of uncleaned head exposure. He kept on walking. I followed him this time to a main drag bus stop. He could have taken a seat there, but he stood, leaning to one side. I took a seat and watched him get on a bus headed for downtown Seattle. My surgery area was starting to pain me, drat. Time for me to head home.

Life continued on for me, another surgery after just a few weeks when a new growth was spotted. Drat. I was dying to get back to my job. My focus was on that, my job had changed drastically during my absence---the city had moved headquarters to a new 62 story building, my dept., Light, was merging with Water. I had to buy a scooter to take me around such a huge new building. My life was changing fast and my MS was getting worse. I became very adept at getting around Seattle in my scooter. I knew all the secret short cuts through buildings, and that is where I saw him one day.

He was inside a fancy downtown building, the 1111 (Eleven Eleven) building, sitting in the lobby with his briefcase on the floor by his side. He looked exactly as he always had. Just sitting there staring straight ahead at nothing in particular, as hundreds of people passed by on their way to and from work. It was about 10AM. After my two hour meeting in another building, after I had eaten lunch, about 2PM, there he was, same spot.

Later that day, after I was home, there he was limping his return trip...same time as always. What I will remember most about him is how content he seemed in his daily ritual. He always had the air of a man with a purpose. Isn't that what we all want?