CAN SELFISHNESS, SELF-CENTEREDNESS BE A FORM OF SELF-PROTECTION?

    I was recently involved in a conversation with a group of my friends that was trying to understand selfishness, which has a very negative connotation.
    A better term, it was decided, was self-care. We talked about it and though it was stimulating it was also distressing.
    You see, I was told by both my parents, shortly after my divorce, that I was selfish.
And my current husband has told me I am self-absorbed. This morning.

   Not nice labels to be given. Even if think them to be partially true.

   After the talk with my friends, I tried to think back to when I began to be a selfish person. If you recall, I don't recall much of my childhood.

baby me

   I do vividly remember when my mother had the talk with me. Not the birds and bees talk. The "your sister has epilepsy and so we aren't going to be able to treat you equally talk."
  It went something like this.

 Mom: "Your sister has a condition that makes her different. She has petit mal seizures, where she blacks out for a few seconds. When you walk to school be mindful that she doesn't walk without looking."
    "She also has problems at school and making friends. Not like you. You're good at whatever you do. Therefore, in order not to make her feel bad, we aren't going to praise you or make a fuss when you do well. We don't want her to feel worse than she already does.  We know you'll understand and help us."

Me: probably shocked silence. I was 8 and not exactly prepared for this type  of talk. If I responded, I have no idea how.

Jan's Sweet 16. Polka dress, me at 14

     I don't know how long after that, the hurt and resentment began. It was also the reason that I never took art lessons because that was the one thing Jan was good at and I didn't want to take that away. Or maybe I wouldn't have. She most likely was better at that and I wouldn't have liked that. Does that make me a bad person?

     It was like I had a non-compete clause in a contract that I was forced to sign.  Since I was a minor, my parents signed off for me. I had no choice.

    I'm thinking that what occurred appeared to be selfishness, but was actually self-protection.

   When I look at myself I can see through several lenses.  I'm several people. In many ways I am very generous. I like to give gifts, or buy things for my friends, husband and grandkids. I have given my professional hours to some patients pro bono or at extremely cheap rates, because I knew they couldn't afford therapy but really needed it. I have compassion for others and my husband gets angry at me because I am too empathetic.

    I'm not trying to pat myself on the back. Just trying to show some of the sides of who I am. I have given my time and energy to organizations I belonged to and activities at my places of work. I trained three interns at work and was asked to mentor another one or two.
    Several years ago I learned to ask myself what my motives were in doing certain things. An example would be,  when I first started to buy my husband clothes, it was because I didn't like the way he dressed.(sorry hon)   Then he started to appreciate style and developed his own. I still buy him things, only now with his taste in mind, but I do it because I know he likes to get presents. I do it the make him feel good, and that makes me feel good.

   Giving makes me feel good. Which could be seen as selfish in the sense that I'm doing it for me. It's like a no win game.

Benny Boo Boo

  I give to one charity that does dog rescues.(Southern Comfort Maltese Rescue). I know the woman who runs it, as we adopted Benny from her. And I know that she needs every penny she can get because she takes in animals with such special needs that cost lots of money and I want to be helpful to her and the dogs she takes in.

  I've given to many charities over the years, but since the Goodwill thing, I now have to do research. It's a two fold thing. I want the income tax benefit, but I also want to help.



me and cousin George's daughter Jessica

  Usually, I have what I consider more than enough, so sharing it seems like the right thing to do.

  So, how am I selfish? I suppose it's because I put my needs first. And the need that is the biggest issue is my need for my own time. Also, my trouble switching from one activity to another makes spontaneity an issue. If I'm reading and my husband wants to talk to me I get annoyed. I learned to put the book down but I can't do it all the time. I keep myself busy when I'm home so he's always interrupting something. At least that's how he sees it. And that is how I feel it.

   Am I self-absorbed? Sure. I am trying to understand who I am, where I'm headed, sometimes how I got here. I get that not everyone cares about those things, but I do.

   But aren't we all self-absorbed?  Even when we're obsessing about someone else, it's really not about them. It's about us.

   And it usually comes from a place of fear. What will people think of us? What do I think of myself? What if someone really knew me? What can I do to make people like me? Why can't I like myself? What am I afraid of?
   The answer to that is slightly different depending on who you are. A common theme is being unlovable. Unworthy. Not good enough.

THEORY:

FEAR

People who lack confidence come off as being either selfless or selfish.
Fear creates personas that we learn and become over the years. We take as Gospel what people tell us. Especially if it's negative.

We become what we are told we are. We don't question it, except as adolescents and then revert back to our younger years by the haunting voices of our parents, teachers and peers.

WHERE I AM RIGHT NOW:

   I think I am pissed off. I'm tired of being labeled. If you think I'm self absorbed, look in the mirror.

   If you or I think I'm self-absorbed, why should I care?
   Why should I care about what anyone thinks except me?  I'm tired of listening and accepting  the proclamations of all those wonderful people around me who have no problems at all. Except for me.

  So, please take a good hard look at yourself before you go telling other people what their problems are.
     THANK YOU.

BESSARABIA OR WHITE RUSSIA OR USSR OR, UH MAYBE ROMANIA?

I've been doing  genealogy research on and off for a couple of years. I've written before about how difficult it is for me. I wonder how many other people don't know enough to get information.

I did get lucky when I found my grandparents marriage certificates. I purchased them and they had each listed their parents names. Holy Cow. I now know more names. Except for one.
 Damned people with fancy handwriting. One of my great grandmothers' was named X-ali. The X is in lieu of whatever letter it is. I can't make it out. It might be a G, or a Y or some other letter. That, is of course the least of it, because I don't know where she was from. Ah you're thinking. She is finally getting to the point.

ONE OF THE POINTS

Just an aside, one point is never enough. You know me by now.
This point starts with geography. My mother's father, Grandpa Joe, was allegedly born in Bessarabia. I never met him, but the tales I recall aren't that helpful. When he lived in Europe, the place he lived was called Bessarabia, or maybe White Russia, but it was part of Romania. The main reason I know this difference in his home country was because of the mamaliga he made. ( I hope I'm remembering the right name.  Especially if you remember that I consider cutting up a cantaloupe as cooking.) And so I just did some research. I looked up mamaliga and it is Romanian polenta, usually served with black beans.  So, it is a Romanian recipe. I don't remember any beans, but knowing the word confirms the Romanian connection. At least it's good enough for me. 

HAIL THE CONQUERING HEROS

Papa Joe was born in 1882 or thereabouts. Now I am having to go back to look at the world map for that year and see what it says about Bessarabia.

Bessarabia (Romanian: Basarabia; Russian: Бессарабия Bessarabiya,Turkish: Besarabya; Ukrainian: Бессарабія Bessarabiya) is a historical region in Eastern Europe, bounded by the Dniester river on the east and the Prut river on the west. Bessarabia occupied the region where modern-day Moldova and Ukraine are located.
In the aftermath of the Russo-Turkish War (1806–1812), and the ensuing Peace of Bucharest, the eastern parts of the Principality of Moldavia, an Ottoman vassal, along with some areas formerly under direct Ottoman rule, were ceded to Imperial Russia. The acquisition was among the Empire's last territorial acquisitions in Europe. The newly acquired territories were organized as the Governorate of Bessarabia, adopting a name previously used for the southern plains, between the Dniester and the Danube rivers. Following the Crimean War, in 1856, the southern areas of Bessarabia were returned to Moldavian rule; Russian rule was restored over the whole of the region in 1878, when Romania, the result of Moldavia's union with Wallachia, was pressured into exchanging those territories for the Dobruja. (Wiki)


Wow. That's a lot of turmoil in not so many years. If my Grandpa was born around 1882, he would have been a baby during the last upheaval. His parents would have been Bessarabians, but he would have been a Moldavian? or Russian? At least now I understand why he said he was from Russia when he immigrated or emigrated. I know which is which, but I'm talking about both.

I believe he left when he was either 11 or 13 and came to the states with a brother. His older brother/brothers? were already in the States. It appears that he did not pass through England like the only two relatives I've located. I don't know if his parents ever left either. He fought with his brothers and he was dead before I was born. Lots of mystery and intrigue. Okay, so I can be easily intrigued.

Which leads me to a topic.
How many times has Europe been chopped up?

Clearly, I have no intention of answering that question with an actual number.

It's not just Europe. I don't know enough history to know about the conquering of the Far East, Near East and Africa. Or any country, land mass or other place I may have missed. I know that people from all around the world follow this blog, so if I missed you, let me know. It was not intentional.

And that leads to another topic
How many forms has the earth had?



I hear tell that the actual land has chopped itself up as well. The Lady Gaia has a mind of her own.  Volcanos erupting and spewing and forming land masses. Whole continents that drifted apart. Seas appearing and disappearing. Freezes, Hot spells, catastrophic disasters of all kinds.
It may not matter what your belief system is. At least it doesn't matter to me. The part that matters is that here too, we have no control. Not that we shouldn't have been more careful in our treatment of our planet. I think we treated her very, very badly. Did we speed up some destruction? I'm not a scientist. Perhaps a philosopher. In any event, it's just another thing for which I have no definitive answer. 

THEORY?

We know that people/governments/crazy mother fuckers change the borders and boundaries of the lands we live on. Theoretically, we should have some control over that. Generally, the people who are involved are not happy with the changes. When the world was less populated, if you were able to, you left, and went somewhere else. Hopefully a better and more stable place.

Now, where do you go?  Besides the fact that the governing powers won't let you leave, when you do, what are your choices?

It should seem fairly obvious that not too many countries are willingly taking in immigrants. Well, the fact that so many may be terrorists, does make it a little harder on the average Mohamed.  Even so. Where could you go?

The changes in how we live are a huge  factor. Who wants to go the an island that doesn't have cable or cell towers? Running water? Electricity?  Food?
And what's to say that should you go somewhere like that, you won't have a tsunami?

It certainly seems like the odds are stacked against us human beings. And most other living creatures on the planet.

SO WHY AM I SEARCHING OUT MY ROOTS?

Perhaps I am a bit afraid of looking forward. I'm at an age where I have time but not all the time in the world. When I was younger I would have been out there rallying, trying to change things. Making a difference.

There comes a time in one's life, at least for me, to put down the gauntlet and let someone else take over the fight. If you want a future, you have to be active in creating it.

And so, I am looking at the past. When I see the dates of my great-grandparents and grandparents births, I try to imagine what it must have been like for them.

If I'm doing some arithmetic on my Grandpa Morris, his dad Zelman was possible born in 1830 in Poland. Possibly Lublin. Wow. What was it like?
Obviously, by the time my Grandpa left it couldn't have been too great. He was born around 1883. He was 20 when he arrived in England although I can't find a record of his immigration there. I do know that he just walked out of Poland and across Europe to leave. I don't know what port he left from, but I know he walked there. Was it France? Germany? I'm looking.


I am now appreciating how hard life was that long ago. Hatred and poverty are powerful motivators.

QUESTION FOR US ALL?

Will we ever learn?

As Dr. Phil, whom I don't like, but will quote anyway, has said.  "The best predictor of future behavior is past behavior."

Boy do I pray that he is wrong.



As usual, I had no idea where this would end up. I'm rather surprised at where it did. I had no idea that I was thinking about this.
Reminder to self:

1. Stop leaving the house.
2. Don't listen to people talking politics.
3. Leave the house but use noise deadening earphones.
4. Don't talk to people.
5. Don't talk to self. But the voices won't stop. yes they will.  no they won't, oh shut the fuck up.

I'M STILL HERE

I watched a video on You Tube to find out how to use social media. I didn't find what I wanted.
This video did advise that you post a blog on a consistent basis. Otherwise, if people don't see your posts, they will forget about you,
That would break my heart.  So, even if I am really really really bust, I will post something. Anything to not be forgotten.

So, Here it is.

I've told you about some of my bad/disastrous blind dates. I always wanted to ask what the matchmaker was thinking. I didn't because what would be gained? Don't bite the hand that feeds you, even if the crumbs suck.

The QUESTION is:

WHAT IS THE CRITERIA TO INTRODUCE TWO PEOPLE ON A BLIND DATE?

I have come to the conclusion that there are only two things.

1. You both have to be breathing.

2. You should be of the same sexual orientation.

THEORY:

Misery loves company.

BEST DATE EVER no number necessary because this was one of a kind

  The funny thing is that this was a set up by my ex-friend Dot.  Quite a number of years before our fallout. No person is just one dimensional.  There are the good parts and the bad. Sometimes we can see the imbalance and the good is heavier and accounts for more. And then the scales can change.
 If we can only see one or the other,  we may have a problem.  There is a psychological term for it. It's called splitting. It's as if you can't integrate the both parts into one person, so you see them either all good or all bad. Infatuation does this. When it wears off, you should have a balanced view. If you don't, you and/or your partner will have a rocky road. And not of the Baskin Robbins variety.


BACK TO THE STORY WHICH I DIDN'T ACTUALLY BEGIN YET.

 I think I was around 24. I was living in a studio apartment in Park Slope, Brooklyn. I was working for a dress manufacturer. Dot had given my number to a guy named Fred who lived in my neighborhood.  He was some type of salesman so he traveled around the country frequently. That made getting together a challenge.




I had spoken to him on the phone once and we had a nice conversation but that was it. Okay. That's the way it goes. No big loss. It was nice of Dot to think of me.

This happened a long time back. Maybe a dozen or so years before we had our falling out. We had actually been close. And my mom was too.  Dot had worked with my mom for a year of so when she was out of high school. At 17 she made friends with my mom. Looking at it today, it may have been a sort of replacement of my sister. And Dot's mom was old and Dot being the youngest was saddled with her when her dad died. Families. Families. They make us and break us.


Dot was Italian and had a big family, although they were scattered here and there. Over the years we got to know most of them When there was room at the table, she would invite me and my mom for Christmas dinner and it was always a festive, happy, food and wine fueled occasion.

The year I'm remembering, obviously, we got the call. This is where my memory blurs, but I don't think it will really matter.

I picked up my mom and we drove to Bay Ridge. We were lucky and found a parking spot not too far away. We walked to the building and were greeted in the small apartment by Dot, her mom, a niece or nephew or two. I don't think she had been married and divorced with her baby yet, but if she were, it wouldn't make a difference in the tale.
 She was the baby of her family so her siblings kids were closer to her age than her sibs were to her. That's a reason I can't remember who was who.(at least not now. Then, I knew)  It was warm and crowded and I remember that nice feeling of family. We started drinking and nibbling the antipasto and chatting around.

Some time later, another person showed up. His was introduced as  Renaldo and he was Italian. Short, dark and handsome. And tres chic. I asked Dot what his story was and he was visiting the family bla bla bla. Okay. That's nice.

Renaldo and I  spent most of the evening drinking, eating and chatting. He had a wonderful accent and I was able to understand him, no problem. We got a long really well. Of course we did. He didn't live in America, so why wouldn't we?

It got late, so my mom and I left. I'm sure I would have liked to stay, but what was the point? When we did go out the door, Renaldo kissed my hand. I know. Totally cliché, but at 24, it was quite nice.(at 66 it'd still be nice, maybe. now I'm not so sure. humbug!) He had taken my number but what good would it do? Remember, we girls wanted relationships not one night stands. Or anything long distance.

Hell, back then if you met a person in Manhattan, and you lived in Brooklyn and he lived in Queens, you were considered GU..  Geographically Undesirable.  Ha on all you young people who think you invented initials.

After a few days, I got a call from Renaldo. I'm happy, but sad. We're talking and he suddenly starts to laugh. Big laughing. At what, I am clueless. Suddenly he blurts out, "it's me, Fred".  No accent. Shock. I'm trying to grasp what's going on. I actually had to ask because I was so flummoxed.


He told me that he and Dot decided that we should meet, but not on a blind date. Instead. since he was good with accents, he'd meet me under false pretenses and see if we clicked. It really was clever.

You may have put it together because if I didn't mention Fred before, it'd be like watching a mystery show and the perp is not someone they've shown or mentioned and you're like, "where the fuck did this come from?  How could they do that?"  I would be especially pissed because I want to figure it out.

Fred, was actually an Egyptian Jew, which may have been one of the reasons he was quite good with accents. I think he spoke three languages.
We dated for a while, but as for why we stopped seeing each other, I have no recollection. I probably wasn't ready for a relationship even though I thought I was.
I certainly wasn't ready for the good ones yet.

THEORY

Why is it bad to have expectations?  Because you create a mindset and set yourself up for disappointment.
Should you have expectations?  Yes, but keep them reasonable and realistic.
But never, ever give up. There's always hope.

ELECTIONS AND VOTING JUST ONE MORE THING

I think that says it all.

FREEDOM TO CHOOSE "BLESSING OR CURSE or IS CHOOSING A DOG HARDER THAN CHOOSING A PRESIDENTIAL CANDIDATE? DECISIONS ARE HARD. YOU MAKE ONE, BUT WHAT IF IT SUCKS?

This was never meant to be a political post. And it wasn't. I mean choosing a dog is a very personal decision. And, you don't need a primary or caucuses to get to a place where you have a few possible candidates to either buy or adopt.

Actually, it is sounding like the same thing the more I think about it. Shit. Why can't anything be easy?

I absolutely believe in freedom to choose. Pretty much, everything we really do is our own choice. Even if it's not to make a choice.

My problem is when there are too many choices and I get overwhelmed.
I was not overwhelmed in my choices of who to marry. I guess I'm really, really grateful for that. My high school grades weren't that good, so I didn't have many choices of where to go to college. That too is another tale which will be told by the idiot who made those poor choices back then, but not now.

You usually are constrained by some factors when choosing. Some are financial. Money always plays into your choice, like can you afford to do or buy what you think you want? Time. Have you got a time frame, or one  you must meet? Like you'll be homeless if you don't find a house or an apartment? Or your eggs will slowly decay and that's not a nice thought.

Preferences are big. What is your taste? What do you like? Do you know why you like it?

Chloe helping dad

In my case, physical issues come to play. Allergies, infirmities, age, all play a role in the decision process.

the dog I didn't get

Also, if you are anything like me, you've been told that you think too much. Like that's a BAD thing.

I am now back. You didn't even know I was gone. 14 hours later. I've lost the flow.
The day really sucked, but, sometimes it does.

So, back to choice. I want a dog. I want the love, the companionship, the fluff, the special bond. I don't want to have to walk it in the rain, clean it's butt (non-allergic dogs are generally white), clean up when it has accidents. Take it to the vet when it's sick and then, lose it. Although, if I were to get a puppy there is a chance it could outlive me. Then what?  That's how we got our Benny. His very old master died and no one in the family wanted him.

Benny at Christmas

And of course, my husband. He wants to wait and not get a dog as small as Chloe. Maybe bigger than Benny. But my allergies, and my heart. That's what I want. I think.

We were very lucky. Chloe was not at all yappy. She was really well house trained. She was a bit aloof and so in ways she was like a cat.
Benny only yelped if you hurt him. Otherwise, no peep. He either couldn't or wouldn't bark.

What if we get a yapper? Or a bad personality? I always said I was lucky with Chloe. I couldn't claim responsibility for her good temper. Just that I hadn't ruined it.

And now for the politics. It might be simpler if we did a Westminster Dog Show for the candidates.  Have someone put each one on a leash and walk then around the ring with the announcer talking about their breeding, pedigrees and so forth. I'd especially like to see when they get lifted on the table by their balls. Hillary would have a one up on that at least.

I mean, really. Where did these candidates come from?  Did they fall out of the sky? Land on their heads? I have lived through many elections where I felt it was the lesser of two evils. But now, it is likely to be the lesser of two weasels.

I like Hilary. Don't crucify me. I'm a woman. I'm practical. I believe that anyone who has made it anywhere it the political arena is a liar and a cheat. I think it's a joke that each one calls the other one names and gets offended when it gets hurled back.

So, a puppy or a rescue? It has to be a rescue, but do I have patience to deal with whatever issues it will have? Probably.

Can't we pick a rescue for President? Someone who's been misused and would appreciate the love and support they'd never known.?

I know. I'm being ridiculous. Oh yeah. That's my name. No matter.

THEORY:
   When people are given too few or too many options, they cannot make a choice.
   This is because people are easily overwhelmed. We were not created to make these kinds of decisions. Survival meant knowing what was edible and what was not. Who was friendly and who was not. One mistake and you learned what the proper choice was.
   I again cite human evolution being far behind the evolution of man. We are going to think ourselves out of existence. Unless, of course, I'm thinking about things in the wrong way.

 

THAT'S ALL FOLKS

FREEDOM TO CHOOSE: A BLESSING OR A CURSE. I JUST HAD A WEIRD DEJA VU. AND NOT BECAUSE IT'S PART 3. GAVE ME THE CHILLS.

I know I have to get to this part. It's why I started this post in the first place. Should we get a dog now, later or never?

 

 

I returned from the Florida trip a very upset woman. Then, my car kept dying and I sold it and decided to lease. After what I had been through I was going to treat myself. A Honda Accord EX with most of what I wanted. And get it, I did.

I was so excited when I picked it up. I stopped by my friend's house and took them for a spin.  Then I went home.

I got up the next morning to get an alarm put in. I know, nice irony there. I walked down the block looking for my car. I thought I'd lost my mind.

I went home. Told myself, no, I parked it up towards Bell Blvd. and went back again to look. I went all the way to the corner and back. No car. No broken glass. No nothing. I ran back and forth for a while before I could let the reality set in.

 

I called the police and insurance company and did what I had to do. The men at the Honda dealer laughed when they saw me come in the next day. Just like they laughed when they saw me pick it up with the "Club", the anti-theft device.

I no longer cared what I leased. So I got a Civic. Plain and serviceable. Again, was there some irony in that? Was it Dot's plan that I should have a Civic?

HERE SHE IS IN HER CORNER.

I was bereft. I didn't know what to do. Labor day week end was upon us and I'd be going back to work. I was driving a rental until my car came in and I thought, "I should get a dog. Just like Muffin."

I knew nothing of breeders or puppy mills back then, so I called a store in Flushing and asked if they had any Malts. They did, and I drove right over.

 

There were three little balls of fur in the pen. Two boys and a girl. I knew in my heart I wanted a girl. I had no children, had had a sister and thought it would be better for me.

They picked up each separately and put them into my arms. The boys were both full of fire. Then, came the girl. She lay on my chest and looked at me. I thought she'd be dull, but I wanted what I wanted so I adopted (bought) her.

I remember the drive home. She was lying on a pile of newspaper on the floor of the passenger side, looking terrified. I couldn't believe I'd done it.

I set her up in the little bathroom and put out wee wee pads and set up the crate and her food. She was still shell shocked.

That lasted for two days.

After that I had my hands full, and I had to go back to work.

 

 

 

eating one of my shoes which she could almost fit in.

When I put her in her crate, I felt like a jailor. I put it in the bedroom, but she moaned and I caved. Her name was Chloe. My two Goddaughters helped me choose it. Perfect.
I read books. I thought if I put her on my bed, she would not pee or poop on it as it was her space. I wasn't wrong about that. However, she'd only stay on at night when I was in bed. And, she apparently liked to eat hair. Mine. Or nibble on my fingers and toes. With those tiny baby teeth with the other set waiting to come out.

 OUCH!

 

Those first few months were a nightmare. I slept completely under the covers or she'd bite me anywhere that she could.

She was not easily trained. She would stand on the wee wee pad with her front paws, and pee on the floor in back of it.

I remember wondering about giving her up. Then I thought about people who adopted kids. You can't give them back. Well, not usually and that too is another story I know but won't tell.

I decided I wasn't a quitter and I'd just have to keep at it.

miss thing up north in Great Neck.

On top of this, my neighbor had moved because her apartment, the same as mine, had been burglarized. I had put in for an apartment in Great Neck that was rent stabilized, but hard to get into. Except that the woman who owned it all was a pet lover. She would give priority to people who had a pet whose landlord was not letting them stay. So, I kind of fudged that part. But she was the reason I got the great apartment in Great Neck.

 

Packing and training her at the same time was awful. One time I didn't know what to do with her, so I had her on a leash and put the handle under the coffee table so I could pack. While I sat there, I thank God noticed that she'd spun around and was choking on the leash. I panicked and tried to unclip her lead, but realized all I had to do was pick up the table and she was free. Off she went.

 

I had hundreds of boxes and put them across the living room so she couldn't go in and poop or pee on the rug. I wanted my deposit back.

I came home from work and she had disappeared. I was frantic. I looked everywhere and then I heard a yelp. From the living room. She had nosed aside some boxes and gotten in, but couldn't get out.

By the time we moved we'd made progress with her training. Although I had to go walk up and down three flights of stairs every time I had to take her out.

I'll tell one more story of how we finally bonded. Even though it's a bit gross which is one of my reservations about getting another dog.

 

Chloe and Honey. My fearless baby.

 

It was Christmas and I had up a small tree. I came home and she wasn't her peppy self. (peppi was one of her nicknames). I couldn't figure what it was, but I knew something was wrong. She looked uncomfortable. I noticed something shiny by her butt. Yes. My girl had ingested a long strand of tinsel.

the red was supposed to be a cross. she was a nurse for Halloween.

So I did what any loving parent would do. I put her on the bed, and very slowly and carefully extracted it. I could see the relief in her eyes when I was done. We locked eyes and she paired me with the relief. And that was it. She was truly my baby.

 

My husband fell in love with her too, although men and little floofie dogs don't match.

 

We had her until she was nearly 17 years old. She in some way, even made her death easy for me. I wasn't really given the decision to put her down.  She went out at 5 am. She was taking too long to come in from the lanai so I went out and she was at the end of the pool.

I grabbed her and brought her in screaming. We thought she was gone, but I found a pulse. We raced her to the emergency room, but the doctors told us she had too much fluid in her lungs and the best we could hope for would be her suffering for a few days. So we did what had to be done.  That was probably 8 years ago and I can still cry. Well, you who understand will understand.

 

Benny lying between two of his beds.

I have a lot of photos of her, but not scanned in. I'll just find some of the ones I have and post them as a memorial. And tell you. I still have no answer.

It took us two years to adopt a rescue. A ten year old poodle named Benny Boo Boo. We had him for nearly four years. He took was a precious little bite of love.

He had one tooth, was going deaf and blind and then got dementia. But he was still a bundle of love.

We had to let him go two years ago at Christmas. My husband's mom was dying in NY and we had to go back and he should have been put down but we couldn't. There again, our hands were forced. And again I'm crying.

 

And these are all the pros for having a dog. Well, maybe not the dying part. That really sucks.

 

Benny and his friend Tigey.

blind date I don't know what number and it's a tie in with the story I'm in the midst of. so this is part 2.5

It's amazing how many memories are stored and get triggered once you start down the trip of memory land. That was a typo, but I kinda liked it.

Two years prior to my visit with Dot, I had gone down to Florida to spend a week with an Israeli couple who had moved from NY.  They were also in Boca, but not yet so fancy shmancy.

What a completely opposite type of trip. They took me all over, fed me gave me their daughter's room and wouldn't let me put a hand in my pocket. Really dear, dear people.

They had American friends who had also just moved down as well. Into the Boca Polo Club I believe it was called. It was arranged to have dinner with them and a friend who was staying for the week end who they also had know in NY. At this time he was living south of Miami.

It wasn't exactly a blind date, but we were the two single people out with two married couples. As it happened, we liked each other a lot.  His brother-in-law was the head of a department of school psychologists on Long Island and we knew some of the same people. I was a good person and didn't tell him the rumor about his sister's husband having an affair. Not my place, but it's a small world.

We went back to the friends house after dinner and hung out in the pool. My poor friends were exhausted and wanted to leave, so Rich and I had to say good bye. He was staying over night but, well, we'd just met.

We got back to the house and the phone rang. It was two am. It was Rich on his friends mobile. His friend's had a condo that was empty and he invited me to spend the night. I wasn't going to but my friend's said I should go for it. So, I did.  He picked me up and we spent the night.

YOU KNOW WOMEN. ALWAYS EXPECTING A DATE TO END IN A WEDDING.

The next day we went back to his friends and hung out in the pool.  He was kind of aloof and I didn't quite know what to make of it.

I finally called my friends to pick me up and I left.

Rich called and we spoke a few times and he invited me down for the Jewish New Year which fell on a week end. I was pretty excited.

Long story short. He was fricking Jekyll and Hyde.  The first night was great. The morning not so good and he dropped me at the pool so he could work out.
We went to dinner at my friends, and the next day was fine, as was the evening. Then in the morning he was all cool and somewhere else. It was so bad I asked him to take me to the airport early because I'd rather sit at the airport than be with him.

Of course I was so disappointed. I'm sure I asked my friend to talk to his friends but whatever was said is not in the land of memory. It was something really banal, that I'm sure.

I bet you don't know that I love to read greeting cards.  When I have the time I want to find the right one. I was in a store and I have no idea what section I found this card in, but it was so perfect. I had to send it to Rich.

       It's late and I don't feel like drawing, so I'll use my words.

          On the front of the card is a woman at a bar with some males buzzing around her. The are all cartoonish characters.

She's looking at her drink and says to no one in particular

"I should have been a proctologist".

 

You open the card and inside she finishes by saying

"I meet so many assholes".

 

I sent the card but didn't sign it.

 

 

Where does this fit in the tale of choice? When I was visiting Dot, we and another friend of hers went to a singles bar in Fort Lauderdale.

 

We were sitting at a table, but I got up to go to the bar to get a drink. I'm standing and waiting and a guy I don't know comes over to me and says, "I bet you're a psychologist. And your name is Gee."  I'm, like and how do you know that?  And he points down to the end of the bar and there, in all his glory is Rich. And let me tell you, it was Rich.   

He walked over to me and asked how I was. I was floored. I think I asked him if he got my card. He asked why I didn't sign it and I said, "and yet you knew who it was from".  So, stupidly, I asked him what his problem was. And he said it was a long time ago and he didn't remember.

Yeah. We human idiots always want closure.

 

I've learned as a shrink, that the only closure you can get is when you yourself take it. Whatever the other person's reason. It will never make a difference. We have this need to know.  Like if someone tells us why he didn't like us, we can fix it and we'll be okay for the next one. We know that isn't real, but we keep on asking.

 

THEORY

 

We want to believe that if someone hurts us, there is a real, plausible reason. That way we can have some control over our lives. But the truth is, it's not true.

No matter what we are told, we will still hurt. If the person lies we don't learn, if they tell the truth, we don't learn. The only one we can learn from is our self.

So the next time you get burned, don't ask why the person lit the match. Ask why you put your hand in it.

 

THE END OF THIS PART

 

 

FREEDON TO CHOOSE A BLESSING OR A CURSE PART TWO

We last left off with me getting overdosed by a possibly perverted allergist and being rescued by my good old family physician. He put me on birth control pills when I was 17, but shush. Don't tell my parents.

The second time he  (the allergist) overdosed me, I stopped going for shots. They may have helped a bit, but not enough to keep my risking my life.

BACK TO THE STORY   WHATEVER THAT WAS

Hmm. I believe I was seeing if I could make a decision. I was also trying to understand how the decision wasn't only mine.



FLORIDA

I believe it was around when I turned 40, after I had visited a friend in Florida that I finally got my first dog. The story of my visit is also a sidebar*(or Another Digression) but I think you will enjoy it and of course, question my judgement in friends. Although she was friends with my mom and that's how I met her.


Anyway, Dot had moved to Florida with her daughter who was maybe 16. Yeah. She was driving so she had to be around that.

BEACH

I was thinking of relocating to FL because of the slim pickings in NY for single women. Dot had just bought a house in Boca Estates or one of those fancy places. I do not know exactly where or how she got her money but she always lived on the edge. She sold used cars, out of her home. Yeah. Probably a bit shady. But, I didn't have a lot of cash to spend and she told me to come down for two weeks. I could stay in her daughters room and use one of the cars she would have on hand. And I wouldn't have to swallow.  Her story. hmm  At the time she was missing NY. She wasn't by the time I got there.

When I arrived, her daughter was still there since her dad had cancelled their visit. Of course he would. I'm not sure if he was not good husband/dad material or Dot wasn't good wife material, now that I'm looking back.
And of course  I couldn't sleep on the white sofa in the living room (the only piece of furniture) because I might "soil" it, so I could sleep in the empty room with no bed, cot or mattress. I went out and bought a futon. I never really liked camping and I think the ground would have been softer. Me? Sleep on tile? No thanks. (by the way, she kept the futon and didn't pay me for it).

Dot had met someone romantically, after we had made our plans. I already had my tickets so I guess she figured she'd make the best of it. She wasn't so keen on having me there, but I served a purpose.

The first part of the trip I remember  running around to the motor vehicle bureaus to register or unregister cars. Of which she had none. And her daughter who had a car smashed it after I was there a couple of days.  Yeah,  when I got there I had to rent one.  I know. This is what happens to a person who is using someone else. That would have been me.  You know, hoping to freeload. And her too.  Only she had had lots of practice and I didn't.

Then, her new beau who of course was there, had to go back north and she followed. I got to drive her to the airport and of course she was late. I remember driving  in the left lane doing 90, and praying not to be stopped by a cop while she's telling me to hurry up or she'll miss her plane. We made it. I can't quite recall how it went down but it was something like she might have had me drive further south so she could pick the flight up as it was doing like a West Palm, Fort Lauderdale, Miami run. Apparently I could drive faster than a plane.    

I got back to her house and got to spend time, and money with her daughter for the week end. She left her kid ten bucks. I also had to feed the dog and cat.


Ah. Finally the part of the story you are wondering about.  I'm getting to it.  She had a cat, that thankfully stayed out most of the time, and a little Maltese dog named Muffin.  She was so cute. And she really took to me. I mean really really took to me.



futon no frame

I was sleeping on the futon on the floor and there was no locking door to the room. Just  two panels that closed shut, but didn't lock. I would go to bed and Muffin would come in and sleep on my head. It was really precious, except that Muffin snored. Very Loudly. I couldn't fall asleep. Dummy that I was, I would wait until she fell asleep and think I could sneak around to the other side and not wake her. It's obvious I knew squat about dogs.

Every time I turned, she woke, got up and moved back  to my head.

Next, I tried to keep her out of the room. I pushed my suitcase in front of the doors. She pushed her way in. Later, to let me know she wasn't happy with that idea,  she shit in my suitcase. The good news was that my allergies were okay. And she was a small dog. Not that I planned to get a dog, but wow. She was just so adorable.

if you see your name, it jumps out at you. try looking

The visit did not end well. Not that the beginning was exactly high on my list for a repeat visit, but when I was checking my flight, I was at the kitchen phone above the counter. Those were the only ones we had back then. I glanced down and saw a ledger that had names and cars and dates on it. I was on hold, and wasn't looking but when I saw my name, my maiden name with Civic, which wasn't the car I  had been driving I got shocked. I didn't look at the rest. And off I went. But I stupidly asked Dot what she was doing with my old name in her ledger when I returned home.

The best defense is a good offense and boy did she take offense.  She yelled at me for snooping in her things. I tried to find out what my name was doing there but didn't get a response. And we haven't spoken since.  No. I didn't have a Civic ...yet.
Now I remember why I got the dog. I needed a car and I leased a new Honda Accord with all the bells and whistles. I had it one night. It was gone when I went out the morning after I picked it up. Bloody Hell.




And this too will be continued.......

FREEDOM TO CHOOSE A BLESSING OR A CURSE? BTW, I AM NOT TALKING ABOUT ABORTION. THAT TOO, IS YOUR CHOICE AND I HAVE NO SAY IN IT. PART 1

Part of being a human being means we have the ability to choose. It doesn't matter where you were born, what kind of government you have or whether you are male or female. There are still decisions we make that are strictly personal.

Of course, living in the United Stated of America, we are taught that we are free. Since the only other country I lived in briefly was Israel, I can't say what it would be like to like in a land of dictatorship, chaos or socialism.  I only know what I know. And, of course it's been slanted in the direction my country wants me to see. No matter where you live, that's the truth.

This is or at least, didn't begin as a political treatise. I can't decide on whether or not to get a dog. And, apparently the decision isn't entirely up to me, as my husband has decided that it can't happen until we take our trip to Italy and Israel sometime in 2017. We have a Bar Mitzvah to go to and hubby wants to see the land of his roots.  That's not the issue.

We are a couple, so we are supposed to make decisions together and if needs must, to compromise. Not one of my strong points.

BACKSTORY:

I am allergic to animals, flowers, trees, perfume, my own sweat and various environmental properties.  If you can breathe it, I can wheeze it. I have also developed asthma and am on an inhaler.

The allergies to pollen dates to childhood. The animals to approximately age 16. We had a cat when I was a kid and I was okay. I choose to believe that his death triggered the allergy. He had been injured by a car and made his way home. We had the vet come. Can you believe that? Anyway, he was too far-gone. I was probably 12 and don't know why we weren't able to give him to the vet, or why my parents didn't take him to be put down.  When I think of it, this was barbaric.  In any event, someone came to the house to pick him up. During the day. Both my parents were working and I just couldn't do it. And so it fell to Janis, my sister who was barely two years older. I still feel guilty at leaving her to do this by herself and I'm starting to cry.