What I wanted to say...

I want to help you, but I’m not sure I’m the right person to do what you want to do. I develop very good relationships, but I don’t want to persuade everyone I meet. I’m not wired like that. And I don’t really like to be around people who are wired like that.

You’ve known me for a long time now. You pretty much know what I am made of. At some point you are going to have to decide if you are satisfied with what you’ve got. You are going to have to accept me as I am or move on. There may be things I want to work on, for myself, but the days of my responding to your every whim are over. I know you will say this is good, but the first time I turn a blind eye to your frustration, you will realize you didn’t mean it.

You’ve known there are those you can’t change, but I’ve been putty in your hands. Was that the right decision? I allowed you to have that power over me. And I don’t think I am any worse off for it, but I’ve grown tired. We’ve all grown tired.

Maybe this is where it gets good. Maybe this is where the rubber meets the road. Will I stand strong? Yes I think so. I think I will. It’s something about having turned 40.

Born in the Wrong Decade

I was born in 1966 which means I was just a little girl throughout the 70s. Somehow I've always felt I was born 10 years too late - that I was meant to come of age in the late 60s and early 70s. Well, I got my chance this past weekend as Missouri Bank celebrated the holidays with its' "Lost in the 70s" party. Sam and I found our inner hippies and spent the evening being especially mellow. I've posted more photos from the party here.

(By the way, Sam won 1st place for best hair. )

Snow Fox

Unbelievably, the weather folks got this one right. The snow is coming down hard and fast and it’s accumulating quickly. It’s the perfect kind of snow - light and fluffy – the kind of snow you normally only see in the movies.


I saw another fox tonight on my way home from work. I had never seen a fox in my life until 6 weeks ago, and now I’ve seen two. This little guy was bounding through the snow crossing the very wide median of Ward Parkway. I was stopped at the light and so got to watch him for quite awhile. It was dark already, but the street lights illuminated his bobbing tail, and he left a line of tracks in the snow to mark his path. Beautiful!

A lot of living to do before I die

Visiting with my 82 year old neighbor Charlana yesterday…

Me:
How’s Bob?

Charlana:
Not well. He’s not coming home – he’s going to die in that nursing home. (tears up) I’m sorry. I get emotional about it.

Me:
Oh Charlana - don't apologize. I would be emotional too if I were in your shoes. It’s ok.

Charlana:
They think I am a mean old woman down there at the nursing home.

Me:
Why?

Charlana:
They asked me if I wanted to move in with him, live there with him in that death row place, you know? I told them No I Did Not Want To Move There. I told them I needed my space. I told them I had a lot of living to do before I died. I do! I have a lot of things I plan to do before I die – a lot of living still to do.

Me:
I think that is cool Charlana. You have to take care of yourself too.

Charlana:
I love Bob. He is my husband. I mean – it’s not like wild, hot passionate love or anything like that. It used to be, but that went out the window a long time ago. I wish I could still have that, but we’re old now.

(note – Charlana is without a doubt the spunkiest and sexiest 82 year old I have EVER seen)

Charlana:
But he is my husband, the father of my children. I married Bob because he had all the qualities I wanted to pass on to my children. I knew I needed someone to balance out my headstrong nature. He is a good man. (she tears up again)

Me:
Why did Bob have to go back to the nursing home? I thought he was better?

Charlana:
He fell and broke his other hip. He didn’t even tell me about it at first, and when he did tell me he fell, I just said “oh – inside or out?”. I didn’t realize. But later, it got worse, and he couldn’t walk and I couldn’t lift him, so he just laid down on the floor.

Me:
Did you call an ambulance? I didn’t see it come. Sam and I could have come over and helped.

Charlana:
I didn’t call the ambulance for a couple of days.

Me:
A couple of days?

Charlana:
I know. They were really upset with me at the hospital. Bob knew. He knew that once he went he wasn’t coming back home. He knew, and I knew. We weren’t in any hurry. He just slept on the floor for a couple of days. They made a big deal about it at the hospital. They thought I was so mean. I wanted to tell them it was nothing - just like camping.

Me:
Is he upset about being there? In the nursing home?

Charlana:
He wants to come home. Every time I visit he thinks I am there to take him home. It’s pretty hard. And then one of the nurses will suggest I just move in with him. She doesn’t understand. I’ve got a lot of living to do before I die. A lot of living to do.

Two Muses

What a day. I’ve spent the last 8 hours in my pajamas with my computer on my lap running numbers, playing with projections and writing a proposal for the redevelopment plan for the building Sam and I are buying. And I’m still not done. I love this kind of work, it doesn’t really even feel like work, but man does it take a chunk of time. I’ve worked with real estate developers (as a lender) for years and thought I had a fair understanding of how the world of real estate development worked, but instead I find myself feeling as if I am drinking from a fire hose of knowledge and trying to fit it all together feels like playing a 1000 piece puzzle.

I finally took a break to see “Shut Up & Sing” – the new documentary about the Dixie Chicks and their slam at President Bush on the eve of the Iraq war. It was a great film, and I for one will be buying the new “Taking the Long Way” CD in support of the band’s courage and willingness to stand their ground in the face of strong opposition from their country music fan base. Natalie is one very strong woman and damn I admire her fiestiness.

I am sitting in the Westport Coffee Shop now, waiting for movie #2 to begin, and thinking about how my two muses have both been whispering in my ear today. One is soothing me with numbers and spreadsheets as I work through the puzzle of our building. I know that must seem weird, but I really can so easily lose myself in numbers. The other is urging me to hit the road. Sam and Katherine are out of town for the next two days and I am overcome with the desire to move to India, study in an Ashram and grow my own food. Of course I would want to be back home before they return tomorrow night, so I guess it’s out of the question for now. How shall I reconcile these two halves?

The Church of David Stringer

Friday night I went for the third time to see David Stringer perform Kirtan at Maya Yoga Studio in the Crossroads. The first time I saw Stringer perform, several years ago, I didn’t know what to expect. I’d seen a flyer advertising the performance and was intrigued enough to attend. I couldn’t find anyone to go with me who didn’t think it sounded weird, so I went alone.

The dark room was filled with people sitting cross-legged on blankets and pillows. Twinkling Christmas lights dotted the exposed beams of the old warehouse space giving it a magical feeling. The performers, 4 or 5 of them, sat on blankets at the front of the room with various instruments – guitars, a tamboura, hand drums, finger cymbals, shakers and David’s harmonium – arranged around them.

The next hour and a half was spent chanting Sanskrit mantras to beautiful melodies in a form of call and response. David Stringer and his musicians called out the melodies (the mantras were projected overhead) and we, the audience, responded in kind.

I had expected to watch the performance, and was instead pleasantly surprised to find myself a part of the performance. The distinction between the performers and the audience quickly dissolved and instead we all became musicians, offering up the most beautiful music together.

I only vaguely understood the meaning of the mantras we chanted, but the intensity and purity of the energy in the room was palpable and I found myself deeply moved by the experience. Spontaneously I found myself lifting my face and palms upward in deference to the great mystery and wonder of life. My palms tingled with electricity. I felt intoxicatingly joyful and at the same time, profoundly at peace.

Incidentally, I get the creeps when I see people do this “lifting their hands to the Lord” thing at church. (I’ve often imagined the pandemonium that would ensue if I could drop a small mouse in someone’s outstretched palm - but I digress.) Yet here I was doing essentially the same thing – and feeling good about it. I remember thinking this was as close to the feeling of what I thought “church” should feel like for me as anything I had experienced.

So, on Friday, I attended the “Church of David Stringer” again, for the 3rd time in as many years. I’ve gotten to know a few other faithfuls and even know a few “hymns” by heart now. I also made an offering this time, but it turns out I got a CD in return, so it didn’t really count.

If I could go every Sunday, I would.

Warmer Days

I found this photo taken this summer when we cleaned our garage. All this stuff actually fit back inside AND there was room left over to park both cars. Winter is not even officially here and I am already tired of the cold - and longing for the days of garage cleaning weather. I remember when my friend Vicki left Kansas City in search of warmer climates. She landed first in Phoenix and then in Laguna Beach, CA and hasn't had to bundle up since. Lucky girl.