Notice Love

You’ll be relieved to know that a stay of execution has been granted by HMNHQOTIR (Her Most Noble Highness, Queen of the Immediate Realm, that’s me!) so my husband will live a while longer. He mentioned this morning, like it was nothing at all, that I should get my hair cut “the way it was when you cut it yourself, do you have a picture?” I melted. I didn’t know he liked it, or that he even noticed it.

We are killing ourselves on a project that is larger than anything we’ve ever done. I can’t tell you about it yet because I don’t want to jinx it. I see you scratching your collective heads, wondering how a gawdless person like me can be superstitious. It doesn’t matter because I have a very long title, which means I get to make the rules as I go.

Back to my husband- I love him more than air and I just want to live a simple, happy life. Sometimes, I think the two are diametrically opposed. I spend a lot of time believing that I am nothing more than a business partner in this chaos that I did not create; furthermore, there is no one taking care of me and you know why? I don’t need anyone to take care of me, if I need something I can take care of it my own damn self! That’s what it’s like inside my head as we work 7 days a week.

One of the reasons we work so hard is to try to secure a future for my husband’s sons. I go along with it because I hope my husband will reach a point where he is satisfied that he has done all he could do. He is a good father. I know that because I have firsthand experience in what a bad father is. I know it too because the boys have become responsible young men all of a sudden. They do sweet things for their dad, things that say they love him and notice who he is and what he likes.

That’s what it’s all about, really, being noticed by the people we love. I have a picture of the haircut that I did myself last summer so when I make an appointment, I’ll take it with me. I’m going to try really hard to remember that he notices me even when I don’t feel like he does and that being noticed is being loved.

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Desperate Pleas

Please keep me from killing my husband today.
Please help me be nice to him even though he’s driving me crazy.
Please don’t allow my editorial thoughts to escape the filter and become indelible words.
Please remind me that I don’t like cinder block walls, bars, cement floors or hard beds and that orange has never been my color.

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Here Now

As I tell the kids, “I’m not very important but I’m damn busy.” These are the things that are trending in the World of Elroy-

  • The Wedding with the internet conspiracy involving Kate Unger, Saks, and unidentified undercover fashion operatives who are trying to drive me crazy in the search for an age appropriate dress. I spent 8 hours, alone, with the bride. I like her very much (again). She is beautiful in THE DRESS, more beautiful than any bride I’ve seen anywhere else in magazines or on film. I think you know how I feel about the excessive pageantry as well as the patriarchal symbolism of the entire affair but I’ve had my turn so I’ll do my part to make sure the kids have theirs.
  • A psychic who said quite a lot to the happy couple and revealed some things that he couldn’t have known about.
  • Intrigue and espionage in the business world, can’t say much now but would like you to know that good guys win. Appalled at the way the tax code is structured to encourage borrowing.

Unfortunately not all of the young people in my life are happy. I found it necessary to post this on my fb page-
Mum used to tell us girls when we were young and heartbroken, “For every man who goes astray, there’s another man another day.” She was right and now I offer the very same adage to the heartbroken girls in my life.
To borrow Martin Briley’s immortal words- “He ain’t worth the salt in your tears.”

Love is NOT drunken black-outs and recriminations.
Love is sacrifice and responsibility, sharing the load, growing together to reach combined dreams.
Love is kindness and consideration. It’s trust and admiration, it’s respect and loyalty. It’s comfort when people die, it’s joy in celebration.
Love is NOT a meal ticket. It’s hard work and devotion.
Love is accountability. It’s more than wanting to be a good person because the person you love brings out the best in you, it’s being your best possible self, day in and day out, even when you don’t feel like it. It’s taking one for the team over and over and over again because the team is bigger, better, and stronger when two people contribute to it.
If it makes you feel bad about who you are and what you’re doing, it isn’t love. Believe it.

Back to work, can’t wait until the dust settles late this fall and I can get back to reading and writing.  Miss you.

Posted in Human Condition | Tagged , , | 12 Comments

Unbelievable News

I watch FSTV every so often but never before bed, too scary. It’s human nature to be concerned only with individual survival. Paying attention is laborious. Excess hasn’t done anything for humanity. In the US we’ve become a medicated nation because consumption hasn’t made us happy. I know more people on prescribed drugs than I do on illegal ones; although, I’m close to the medicated in both camps. Maine, where I live, has meth labs. Meth labs here in the Hinterland, traveling meth labs no less. Go figure. A noir twist on Good Humor.

Sometimes I just feel like “Fuck it, nobody else cares, why should I?” Yesterday, my friend, John told me we’re just a bunch of hairless monkeys so we can’t expect too much. Technology has advanced far beyond our abilities to comprehend the information available to us. Most of us just scratch ourselves and look for better bananas.

I’ve lived most of my life with less than what I want and, more often than not, with just a little bit less than what I need. I can discern the difference between want and need. I grouse a lot about how hard I work and the fact that, to my way of thinking, we’re just getting by. I spent last Monday through Saturday at this desk for 16-18 hours a day. I’m working, if I weren’t you’d be hearing more from me.

Fossil fuels are going up again. They won’t be coming down. We’re running out of natural resources faster than publicized; whether you want to believe it or not, we are. If we weren’t, the 1%, here, wouldn’t be spending our money on drilling to install vertical geothermal systems in their summer “cottages”. Windmills are sprouting like dandelions and, looking at the Public Utilities Commission website, I see a lot of solar panels have been installed. They know what we don’t want to believe.

It freaks me out to think of the toothbrushes and disposable razors in the landfill, a proportionate number were mine. I used to use razor blades in a conventional razor, then, like the Today sponge, they stopped making razor blades. It’s making me ill to think of where all those Today sponges ended up. They were disposable too. We don’t need to have a conversation about proportion in that regard. Let’s not consider what the residual chemicals are doing to the women who paid for the likely disproportionate convenience.

Now, I notice commercials for women my age and older who may or may not have the inclination to have sex. Apparently, those Viagra bathtub commercials were a huge success but the women are lagging due to declining hormones. The commercials for replacement hormones are enticing. Old broads, grinning like hairless monkeys, as they swirl around the Tv screen, clad in their bed sheets and birthday suits. Have you listened to the side effects? I’d rather take my chances on a hit of purple microdot- okay, not really.

I’m told Affirmative Action is passéBig ruckus over the bigoted basketball team owner, seems he forgot himself and believed his own delusions of grandeur.  The basketball players have negotiated contracts. If affirmative action wasn’t necessary, they’d have real jobs. What ails the attractive young woman who took up with that wrinkly, old windbag? Her life will fly by and she’ll be swirling in her bed sheets, supplementing her waning hormones, wondering why she wasted her youth on money.

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Making sandwiches

Making sandwiches. Freshly Pressed for good reason. I’m not a big “How to Write” person but his analogy is terrific.

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Conversations In Bars: The I.R.A.

Conversations In Bars: The I.R.A.. Well worth your time, makes you feel like you were there too, particularly the part about beginning afternoon drinking while it’s still morning.

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Last Words

My only remaining brother, A.B., owes a small debt to me. I make interest free loans to my siblings from time to time, unlike my sister, the loan shark, who charges 100% interest. I’d like to have the money he owes me, it’s not much but still I’d like to have it. I couldn’t think of a diplomatic way to approach the arrearage.

A.B. is hyper-cognizant of the fact that he is the last sibling of his gender in our family. He wonders aloud if there is a plot afoot to eliminate the brothers. He has laughed, nervously, and requested advance warning of my impending visits to his home. If he falls ill he wants me to stay AWAY.

A.B. is the oldest brother. It has been his lifelong frustration that he will never be first because I am. For a while, he tried to advance his cause by claiming certain wild hallucinations as truth. He has told me that our dead relatives liked him the best or didn’t trust me because they told him so before they died. As you can imagine his pronouncements didn’t sit well. I implemented a strategy to remedy his derangements when I became the official Vigil Sitter.

I called him yesterday.
“Hey, I’ve got something I’ve been meaning to tell you. As you know, I was with Joe when he died. Just before he breathed his last, he opened his eyes, looked up at me and he said, ‘You’re going to have to keep an eye on A.B., he’s a cheap crow-bag. Whatever you do don’t fall for that poverty tale he’s always telling. He’d stretch a quarter till the eagle shrieked. Oh, one last thing- Gramp, Gram and Mum told me they loved you the most and YOU were their favorite. They also told me to tell you to be wary of A. B. because exact words, I swear right here on my death bed, he’s a cheap crow-bag.’
Then he turned his head away, made a little sputtering noise, and died.”

A. B.  called me this morning, still laughing. As soon as he finishes paying for his son’s summer camp he’ll pay me back. I know my brother Joe is laughing too.

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