c
My Middle street received two nonprofit pleas yesterday. Only one was addressed to me, so that is the one I will write about…and it wasn’t actually a plea, per se.
I donated to the American Cancer Society during the last days of 2006. So, it was more of a thank you. If you have been reading me from before you will know what the C word means to me. I have nightmares about it, personal conversations with it. In the form of inky black smoke that curls around the organs, cancer invades limb and life and love. That chimney sweep commercial used to send shivers down my spine for that exact reason- black smoke puffing out from the actors as if the disease had overflowed their bodies into the air. Dead men talking.
The interesting thing about ACS is that they included a little blurb about leaving a lasting legacy: I can order a free copy of Dear Loved Ones and learn how to die. In my will I can include the statement, “I give, devise, and bequeath to the American Cancer Society. Inc., Tax ID —, for its general purposes all…of the rest, residue, and remainder of my estate…” What an interesting concept, to include a charity in a will. I’m already an organ donor, but there’s a way to do more.
Special recognition:
The American Heart Association asked for a donation yesterday. They sent along the Red
Dress sticker and for the first time, ever I’m paying attention to what it means, even though it wasn’t addressed to me. On February 2nd (my birthday- how appropriate!) I should wear red to show my support and help raise awareness about women and cardiovascular disease. Right on.
I am way tired of the tractable. I write something, anything. You instantly think it’s about you, you, you. You always think it’s about you. Always. Why? Really, why, why, why? Is your ego just T H A T big? I can’t take it anymore. Really. I am stepping on imaginary toes. It makes me afraid to write honestly because everything is an imprecation on you…or so you think. I can spit them if you want. All day, anyday you want.
I haven’t posted a book review in quite some time. Honestly, it’s because I haven’t finished a book since the
Preface: Last night I got a chance to give my friend her Christmas gift. A mandolin ornament for her tree…for next year. She was so gracious she said, “I’ll hang it up in my room now, because it’s perfect.” She always knows the right things to say to make me feel welcome. Welcome.
When does someone go from being All There to Losing It? What are the signs? Is there anything to be done? Alone on Saturday night I watched a biography on Marilyn Monroe. In the beginning all I felt was sadness for her, the actress. It was awful that every role she took typecast her as the dumb blond. She wanted to break out of stupid; she wanted to be taken seriously. The figures on her figure kept her just the bombshell actress. Then I felt sadness for her, the person. No one noticed her downward spiral as something cerebral; they all saw it as something celebrity. Acting up. Acting out. When she died it was an apparent “accidental” suicide. Accidental or intentional, when is suicide something to shrug off? Couldn’t anyone help her? Didn’t anyone see the signs?
I was thinking last night was going to suck. Even before I got to the 
I contemplated adding this to 
We are blurring out senses. We are losing our grip on the details. We chew without tasting. We look without seeing. Patterns rule our lives without even trying. How many times have we been on autopilot? Haven’t we started to drive to work on a day off? I’ve been wearing two different colored contacts and no one has noticed. One honey brown and one clear. Decidedly different orbs. Definitely noticeable. I expected my office-mate to notice. We sit across from each other everyday. Definitely, she’s the type to point these things out. Nothing. After three days my boss, right in the middle of telling me something very important, stopped and apparently lost his train of thought. I thought it was my eyes. I waited for him to say something, say anything. I stared back. He’s commented on my eyeliner before. He’s called me out on less than professional sweats, Simmons across the butt. I waited for the eye comment. It didn’t come. He didn’t notice. He really did lose his train of thought.
We never really know what people think of us until there’s a fly on the wall. A coworker of mine was staying in town for the holidays. Super nerved up because his wife’s family had never met his family, he was looking for distractions, “something different”, something to do that would ease the distress. Think Country family meets City family. He was most worried about Urban brother-in-law. I suggested dinner and a show. Then, for the first time in a while, suggested a band. “They are playing right down the street from you guys. I don’t know if you would care for the music, but your wife would…maybe the taste runs in the family,” is what I said.
