God Grant Me the Serenity . . .

Joe died last week. He was an old friend and a good guy and it was a shock to lose him. It was sudden and unexpected, and he left behind a grieving family and many, many friends.

I loved that the eulogy last night spoke to Joe's commitment to Jane. For Joe, it wasn't just that he loved his wife. Joe and Jane were partners, they were on the same wavelength and the playing field was level; they had a comfortableness with each other that didn't settle into complacency. It wasn't that we saw them together and thought simply, "Joe loves Jane." It was that we saw them together and felt Joe liked Jane . . a lot. Remembering them together, I realized how much they enjoyed being together. You could see that Joe was proud of Jane's zest, her sense of self and humor, her ability to hold her own when up against his unflinching honesty, strong intelligence, and dry wit.

The truth of the matter had never been so clear to me as it was last night at Joe's memorial. He was all in. Lucky couple, them . . .

We lost power during the night and it didn't come back for 8 hours. This threw my whole day off, put me behind, inconvenienced me. When the electricity kicked in and the AC jumped in to high gear--trying to battle the heat and humidity that the 87 degree, moist day forced through the four walls of our home--the AC hose sprung a leak that spit water all over clothes, furniture, food. By the time Katz walked in the back door at 5, I was cranky, cranky, cranky.

Tonight the house is cool, the AC connection has been tended to by Katz, and I had a nice phone conversation with Benjamin, our oldest child. I complained and shared my feelings about the day, about Joe, about the loss of Joe to his family, and as he sympathized, he talked to me about his love of and reliance on the Serenity Prayer. It was very Zen, helped me focus, and made me realize once again what a great young man he is. The conversation also made me realize that not being in control pushes my buttons.

No power, leaks in the basement, and a blown schedule means I lost control, yet tomorrow my day-to-day routine will be back in balance. Jane's balance won't return for a long time.

Integrating the Serenity Prayer into my thought process would make me a better person, and I'm going to work on that. But tonight, I miss Joe and I worry about Jane. Serenity may have to wait another day.

The Mystery of the Manicurist

Ever since I went back to work 14 years ago, I've indulged in a professional manicure once or twice a month. My manicurist knows me well. I've been a faithful customer, never canceling my appointments; I'm a respectable tipper and I sooth her conscious on the rare occasion when she draws blood. I don't talk politics, I ask lots of questions about her garden, and I make concerned inquiries about her health, which hasn't always been the best. I even gave her one of my coveted Elephant Ear tubers to plant by her backyard pond.

So I find it odd that she doesn't like me.

Of course, she's never told me so in so many words. She's cheerful enough in my presence, isn't rude, doesn't scorn the condition of my nails, tease or make fun of me. But she never asks me personal questions, shows no interest in my family, doesn't seem to want to know what's growing well in my back 40, couldn't care less about my work or my writing. For some reason, she doesn't choose to know me. My sense is she just doesn't like me and it bugs me.

So why don't I find a new manicurist? Good question.

I stay because she does a good job and is conveniently located and reasonably priced. Although those are weak but acceptable reasons to keep going back, I've come to the conclusion that the main reason I'm a faithful customer is a strange feeling of commitment, of loyalty.

Does anyone else out there have a dysfunctional relationship that they won't give up on? Can anyone explain why I keep going back month after month only to come away feeling disconnected and a little diminished. Are my nicely shaped and polished nails worth the price I'm paying?

Saving Time

I'm skimming this week's Time Magazine, picking and choosing what I read, trying to make short work of something that usually takes the better part of a week to get through. Two days since the magazine arrived, and I'm almost through with it. So far so good.

I stopped a very nice neighbor a minute into a story she was telling because she'd told me the same story the day before. I'm in the habit of being a people pleaser, so I've listened to a lot of stories more than once, but no more Mr. Nice Guy.

I didn't make a salad for dinner the other night. There was a touch of fresh spinach in the chicken wraps I made, and corn on the cob on the side. A nice green salad would have been perfect, but that would have taken another 15 minutes of my time.

Writing a book, getting a garden ready for the local garden tour, working, keeping our house somewhat clean and my family fed, blogging . . . there's not enough hours in the day.

A lot of people juggle a lot more than I do every day, so I'm not complaining, but I have challenged myself to find more time for writing. I can be a skimmer; I can try to have the courage to extract myself from a conversation I'd rather not be in; I can rid myself of possessions that require time to dust, clean, fix or store.

Tick, tick, tick.

Surprises

The day lilies that line the path outside the office building where I work were a bit of a mess this morning. I wondered why they had been dug up, and then I saw the big, oval rock. I like rocks and I'm not a fan of day lilies, so I thought, "Nice!" as I walked by. Once I passed, however, I realized all was not as it seemed! I stopped, looked back and was eyeball to eyeball with one big, honking mother turtle. Hunkered down, she was obviously laying her eggs. Way cool!

But nature wasn't done. A flock of wild turkeys was just around the corner, strutting and flapping their wings, putting on quite a display.

All this before 8 a.m. Wow!