Keeping warm in the 1950s

In 1949, my parents moved out of my paternal grandparent’s house in South Bend, Indiana, where they had lived since my father returned from WWII. They moved to a post-World War II housing development for young veteran’s families on what were then the outskirts of the city’s west side, between the Studebaker and Bendix industrial complexes. South Bend was an industrial town back then, a company town, and these were two of the biggest employers. Our house was a small, 2 bedroom, wood-frame house with a breezeway connecting the house and the one car garage. As more children arrived, my parents eventually turned the breezeway into a third bedroom. 

We had a coal burning furnace throughout the 1950s. I'm relying on my memory here, which is always a crap shoot, but I remember it as large and imposing. In my mind's eye it is taller than my father. The furnace lived in the middle of the basement, and I could see the red hot coals when my parents fed it. We had cast iron pokers and shovels, and scoops my parents used to replenish the coal. 

There was a small room in the basement that we called the coal bin. Up at ground level there was an opening big enough for a coal chute door that was opened from the outside for the "coal man" to deliver the coal from a truck once a year. When that happened, it was loud, dirty, and disruptive of normal routine. Of course that was very exciting for young children! 

A world away now. Funny the things that come to mind as we age. 

 

Two cantankerous old friends

I know anger, only too well. It is the death of the spirit, like burning in Hell. It also feels pretty good at times, quite seductive. I indulge from time to time.  Some of my best posts have been about anger.

Rigidity, that's a harder nut to crack. I've lived a pretty open and unpredictable life, railing against convention more often than not.  I don't understand a rigid adherence to social norms. I'm not putting it down, I just don't I see the world that way.  

I have a friend who is as different from me as could be. She is extremely private and conforms to all sorts of "rules." I struggle to understand boundaries. I drive her crazy. We bicker. I try to respect her boundaries and the way she lives her life. I'm not going to lie, sometimes I fail.  She doesn't hold back, she's honest and direct and I admire that. If she was passive aggressive, I wouldn't have found her interesting. We often tease each other and try to wind each other up. Our shared friends don't really know what to think. Sometimes they laugh, sometimes they step away.  

I would miss her unique perspective if we stopped being friends. I would miss the bickering, if truth be told. I've learned a lot about myself by trying to understand our differences. I think we are both better people for accepting each other for who we really are. Plus, there are plenty of things we agree on and relate to each other over.

I'm pretty sure writing about her is against "the rules." However, I have no fear that she will see this and get mad at me, only because she won't see it. Years ago when I started writing this blog I asked her to read it. She told me she only reads things that have been written by professional writers and published. I laughed. I have a somewhat different perspective on blog writing. That's just the way we are.  

Dressing up

We went to our grandson's wedding in Louisville, KY last weekend. You know, the wedding I searched so hard to find the right dress for. Sadly, the red dress didn't look good on me. Instead I found a teal colored dress to wear to the rehearsal dinner.  I wore a blue dress for the wedding and reception.  

I was a bit sad I couldn't realize my fantasy with the red dress, I put so much time and effort into finding it. Still, it looked terrible on me. Try as I might, I couldn't muster up enough denial to make myself wear it. The other two dresses were better, and I felt like I looked reasonably good in them. No, I'm not sharing pictures of myself. I didn't look THAT good.  

I wore jewelry, a bit of eye make up, lipstick, new pointy shoes, and even shape-wear, for crying out loud. I had a bit of trouble walking even in short heels, but I managed. I have the blisters to prove it.  

Wonderful wedding, by the way.  

Edgy

The rainy season is here. It's hot, humid, and wet in Central Florida. It's been raining the past couple of weeks, so the ground is mushy. Up north we would not have mowed our lawn in such a state, but down here we must.  

The sun came out the other day, and although the forecast projected about a 40 - 50% chance of rain for the rest of the day, we went out early to mow. The grass and weeds were SO high. Tom mows and I edge. I use a Black and Decker string trimmer that runs on a rechargeable battery. It's not the best, but it's good enough for me. I wish I had a gas-driven metal blade trimmer because they are so cool; however, they are worse for the environment. Plus, they are lethal and I don't want to cut my toes off.  

When it is wet and mushy, the string kicks up mud as I slice and dice our wayward grass. I am often splattered with mud at the end, all the way up to my sunglasses. It's kind of thrilling.  

We already need to mow again

Can you love when you don't like?

I received the following comment on my last post: "I have no idea what the participle "loved" means in this context."  

Good question. Here's my answer:

It's love, rather than loved. I feel love for my Dad currently. He's dead, but I'm not. I put myself first. 

What is love in this context? A deep caring? An ancestral connection?  An ineffable feeling that can't be fully erased? I don't know.  

Before I forgave him I was angry, burning in Hell kind of angry. Consequently, his actions continued to hurt me. I was a victim. That made me more angry. There came a time when I understood that in order stop being a victim, I had to let go of my anger and leave him behind. It seemed like the best thing I could do for myself.  

Forgiveness doesn't mean I think he's a great guy. It doesn't mean I accept his brutality as a good thing. Forgiveness means I stepped away and left his meanness with him. Sometimes forgiveness is the meanest sucker punch of all. You know, "yeah I have some bruises, but you should see the other guy."

It wasn't being hit that messed me up. The real damage was the feeling that I was unimportant, unloved, and somehow at fault or deserving of such treatment. In fact, his actions were never about me. I was an innocent kid in the wrong place at the wrong time.  

Once I detached, I could see that he was a sad, pathetic person. I left him and his problems behind me. I no longer expected to have a good father. There was only ever going to be him. He had his own story, and his own father. 

It's not a happy, feel good kind of love I feel for him. I'm sad for him, but that's not it. I know his story, his own tortured childhood. I know his father once beat him so badly his mother didn't know if he'd live through the night. No hospital, no calling the police, just the resigned maternal vigil.  

Having said all this, I do believe there are some "sins of the father" that are unforgivable. Thankfully, he was no worse than mean and brutal.  

I don't like him, but that's not an absence of love.  

Oh well

When I was little I was a Daddy's girl. I adored him. Unfortunately, he changed from a loving father to a scary alcoholic when I was about 6. Yeah, it was super confusing.  

He was disabled in a motorcycle accident when I was 15. He never drank again, but that didn't make me want to spend time with him. I was too used to staying under his radar; some habits are hard to break. If I called the house to talk to my mother and he answered the phone, I hung up. If he was in the living room when I visited, I stayed in the kitchen. I avoided him as best I could. 

I do feel love for my father. I have long since forgiven him. I understood violence was his weakness, not mine. I left the sin with the sinner, but forgiveness doesn't mean we could have a relationship. Emotionally, I walked away. I never had any desire to be around him. That dog don't hunt, as the cliche goes.  

I'm not writing this for consolation. This is just the way it was. Don't worry, I've had lots of therapy.  

Waking up

I remember waking early to an alarm, jumping up half asleep to start a day that was rarely mine.  Nowadays that alarm only goes off when we have to take an early flight, which rarely happens.

I get a thrill out of staying in bed after I wake up.  I doze, I try to remember my dreams, I think about people.  I feel gloriously self-indulgent staying in bed.  

I also try to make room for the cat, who wants me up, not because he needs food.  My husband, an early riser, gets up hours before I do.  Murray the cat has already been fed and has been outside.  He just thinks he can determine the schedule for his humans.  

It's no use fighting with him.  He is big, orange, and has claws and sharp teeth.  Plus, he's relentlessly cute.  

Here's a video of him saying hello to my friend, Judy:

https://youtube.com/shorts/CHm_bvRXOR4?feature=share

Window to the soul

I have my mother's eyes. They are small and slant upwards, and as I age my eyelids droop. Just like Mom. I also have her mouth, and her body type. My nose is more like my father's. Parents, family, DNA; it's all so interesting.  

Who do you look like?

Where have all the heroes gone?

From 2016 through 2020, the U.S. was a hotbed of women warriors fighting the good fight. Caught off guard by that traumatic 2016 loss, there was an awakening of women's political consciousness. We worked hard over the next few years to ensure Trump only had one term, and to elect a new generation of progressive leaders. Florida was no exception. Women (and men, too, of course) spent heroic amounts of time involved in political actions. It was a beautiful thing. 

In 2018, it seemed we might flip Florida "blue" (i.e., Democrat). Andrew Gillum was a progressive leader. Honestly, it really seemed like we were going to win the 2018 governor election. We only lost by 1/2 of 1% of the votes cast, about 32,400 votes of the 8.1 million votes cast. 

In 2022, the Florida Democrats ran a former Republican governor, Charlie Crist, who had switched sides to run in 2014, although he lost then. For obvious reasons he seemed like a safer candidate, a moderate who might be able to win in Florida. But he didn't, he lost to Desantis by 19.4%, or 1,507,897 votes of the 7.8 million votes cast. 

Many women warriors have left Florida since 2022. Some moved their families to states where the educational system wasn't threatened. I watch them go, reading their hopeful posts on Facebook. I get it, especially for those who have school aged children, trans children, or children of color. I wish them the best.  

When I first moved here there were more registered Democrats than Republicans.  Here's how it stands now.  Keep in mind that research tells us that the NPA votes are pretty evenly split between liberal and conservative.  

https://dos.myflorida.com/elections/data-statistics/voter-registration-statistics/voter-registration-reports/voter-registration-by-party-affiliation/

Reflecting on Florida and Disney World

I like my Florida retiree life, but I realize Florida is creepy. Republicans have dominated the state senate, house, and governorship for about 30 years. Wacky retro laws are being passed daily, and the educational system is headed for disaster. Hate and intolerance are the rage. Women, children, gay people, and people of color are under attack as the white GOP machine struggles to turn back the clock and put everyone back "in their place."

I also know Disney represents all that is wrong about capitalism, but holy smokes folks! They stand up to DeSatan DeSantis and the repressive Florida GOP.  Currently they are in an epic battle with Desantis because of his stupid Don't Say Gay bill. Disney is big enough, and arrogant enough to fight back on behalf of their LGBTQIA+ employees and guests. The other day at Epcot I saw an entire section of PRIDE merch in the main store. It made me smile. Our granddaughter Melanie, who died in a car accident last summer, was gay. She loved Disney. I wish she could have seen that display, it would have made her smile as well. What I wouldn't give to see her smile!

Sometimes you have to choose a side even though there are no perfect choices. It's all very confusing. When I was a New York liberal, everything seemed so simple and clear.  Down here in Florida, not so much.  Life is really much more complicated than I thought.

https://www.shopdisney.com/collections/the-disney-pride-collection/