High Praise

The other day, I walked into the TV room to hang out with Velvet.  I can't remember if he was watching Attack of The Show on G4, his favorite network, or if he was playing Zelda on the Cupcake's Wii, which has landed in my TV room.  Either way, he was sprawled on the couch under a very soft, leopard print faux fur throw Buzz Kill brought home from work years ago.  I'll say this for Buzz Kill, he really did bring home nice things to wrap our baby bunting in.  If you consider the amount of expedition quality outerwear Velvet sports around town, he still does.  But the point isn't that Buzz Kill is a pretty good father when you ignore the IRS factor and the Anxiety Disorder.  The point is that when he was snuggled up under that leopard print on the sofa with a remote control in his hand, Velvet looked a lot like he did when he was taking a sick day from middle school.

Velvet has been feeling depressed lately.  Not full blown, clinical depression - just the down in the dumps, hang dog, mopey kind of depression that naturally accompanies flunking out of school and being unemployed.  Overall, Velvet is totally fine and, to his credit, he's doing his chores without being asked and he's accomplishing the daily tasks I set for him satisfactorily.  For example, I can leave him $15 and go to work, and Velvet can go out into the neighborhood to fetch milk, Half & Half for my coffee and batteries like I told him and even remember we needed lightbulbs on his own, and get those too.

It may seem like an insignificant accomplishment, but he never had to do things like that when he was a kid.  He had to come with me to tote stuff while I gave lessons in comparison shopping.  That's why he could hold up a bag of Oreos in the grocery store when he was in first grade and say, "But Mom! They're on SALE."

He's off today earning 80 bucks for doing some sort of market testing involving smells.  We can only hope the corporate dicks paying for this testing have already abused some animals to determine that the smell doesn't burn the hair out of human noses.  In any event, Velvet is getting paid today and will hopefully secure part-time, low-wage employment very soon.  He spent the night last night with Hawk-Eye, the friend he met the summer between 5th and 6th grade at Hippie Dippie Quaker Camp.  Hawk-Eye is the one who is like a giant cuddle bear, has a glass eye he used to enjoy sticking pins in for the entertainment of his compatriots, and who watched his father die in a diving accident when he was about 13.  Hawk-Eye and Velvet have both been loosing themselves in Dungeons & Dragons periodically for years and years.  D&D can be an indication that they are both stressing and need an escape.

Hawk-Eye lives way downtown in some luxury building with a view of the East River where a bunch of rich parents have stashed their terminally adolescent kids.  Although we love Hawk-Eye through and through, he provides a cautionary tale about what happens when parents get swallowed by their own grief and despair, leaving kids to flounder alone with their trust funds.

Anyway, when I walked into the TV room the other day to hang out with Velvet, he looked up at me and said, "Hi Mom!"

I thought he could tell I'd been on the phone with Woody smoking copious amounts of weed and was making fun of me by calling me, "High Mom."  I looked so stricken, guilty and busted that we determined my new X-Man name would be High Mom, and my superpower is Chill.  All I have to do is exhale and everyone in the vicinity will suddenly Mellow Out.

It's almost as nice as when he said I could handle the Samuel L. Jackson role in Snakes on a Plane.  When I heard that one some years ago, I felt like it proved I had achieved a fair amount of parental authority.   The Power of Chill must mean that even though the world feels out of fucking control sometimes, Baby feels safe at home.  For a homemaker who has devoted my life to creating a harmonious environment - both at home and in my classroom - that's high praise indeed.  I'm declaring it Thing of Beauty #47-101.

For my next trick, I have to secure the mortgage on the new place.  I think it's all good since the mortgage broker gave me a letter stating I was pre-certified for a greater mortgage than the one I actually need, but this process still makes me nervous since (1) my ancient credit history sucks on account of Buzz Kill but all that foreclosure stuff was nearly 10 years ago and (2) I'm a preschool teacher who doesn't make a hell of a lot of money.  Such variables never stopped predatory lenders in the past, and I doubt they'll stop predatory lenders today.  I just don't want to be preyed upon - and if I must be, I hope things shake out so that I can comfortably make the payments.

I also hope America doesn't deteriorate to the point where we're all living like it's Planet of the Apes on account of collapsing infrastructure, homelessness, food shortages and general mayhem caused by our Corporate Overlords.  But, if it does, at least the new place is up on a bluff so that when the river rises due to global warming, we won't flood.  We can run across the bridge if we have to Escape from New York - or our friends can get to us easily if we need to house Red State refugees.  The best part is that we can transmit a clear radio signal from the front room in case the Feds fuck with the internet so badly we have to rely on old school communication to stay in touch with each other.

Most likely, we'll be stuck with the same old shit for the foreseeable future so that Velvet and I will continue to hang onto the bottom rung of middle class life in the big city.  And in that case, there's a coffee shop and a pizza joint on the corner by the subway station and the bus stop.  That's about as good as it gets.

The Preacher and The Pagan

Remember when that Preacher named Jack Daniels came down from the mountains to my living room a couple of  years ago?  Well, if you ever wondered what actually happened - from my point of view anyway - the story is up this morning at RoundTree7.  It's close to the version I'll be reading this weekend in the East Village at Bad Date Great Story.  As I mentioned earlier, Gwen is giving me time for a Dress Rehearsal tonight at 6:00 on her blogtalk radio show Here Be Monsters.

You can get straight to the show by following this link:
http://www.blogtalkradio.com/here-be-monsters/2012/02/05/occupy-everywhere-the-sunday-show
Straight to the story by following this one:
http://www.roundtree7.com/2012/02/the-preacher-and-the-pagan/
and straight to the bar on Friday by taking the 4,6 or F train.
http://baddategreatstory.com/?p=2000

http://baddategreatstory.com/

Real Estate Developments

Let the record show that sometime near the end of April or the beginning of May, Menopausal Stoners World Headquarters will officially move to Riverside Drive.  Barring complications, anyway.  There are still engineering reports and coop board minutes to be reviewed by my attorneys.  I have to secure a loan, although I already was pre certified.  Now I have to actually do the paperwork.  I have to be approved by the coop board, and before that happens, I have to have a document drawn up outlining the way the money situation between Buzz Kill and me will unfold over the next few years vis a vis Velvet.

As per our original divorce agreement, Velvet's child support runs out as of his 21st birthday in April.  Buzz Kill is required, as stipulated in the same agreement, to establish a college fund for Velvet.  I'm required to contribute to this fund as well, with me at 25% and Buzz Kill at 75%, but we've never agreed on an exact amount although there has been an agreement around a conceptual number.  When I talked to Buzz Kill today, he took the position that since Velvet was not currently in college there was no reason to tie up his own money.

I did not threaten to take him to court.  Buzz Kill always talks like that the first time I bring up money. Buzz Kill is of the opinion that as a 21 year old, Velvet should be paying his own rent.  I do not really care what Velvet should be doing.  I care about my personal bank account which will be substantially emptier as of Velvet's birthday.   Hopefully the man-child will have a job by April so that he's responsible for his own spending money, clothing and transportation.  I'll provide room, board and medical.  And transportation, clothing and spending money until such time as he can swing it.

Buzz Kill can kiss my ass on the court house steps.  He can either work with me now, or he can tell it to the judge when I haul his ass into family court and say Velvet needs $40,000 per year for four more years since he clearly needs a Do-Over at a private college for kids with learning issues.  Somehow, I have a feeling we will reach an accord before I have to resort to drastic measures - especially since Buzz Kill is still paying off the result of the last time I had to resort to drastic measures.  Fundamentally, however, Buzz Kill is a good father which means, in my book, that he is actively involved in all aspects of his child's life.  All I really have to do is show him my arithmetic, and he'll be on board.  It's just that Buzz Kill was expecting his monthly expenses to be ZERO so he's not happy to find out several hundred dollars a month will still be finding their way to my house.

And a fine house it is.  It's modest, but it's totally mine (and the bank's).  Even if it is small-ish, and there's no doorman or anything, I've done it on my own which is a Mary Tyler Moore kind of moment.

Then, of course, there's the view:

Napping in the sunbeam is essential to my quality of life - but in New York City, a river view is a big deal, even if there is a fire escape in the way.  We'll have the sunset over the George Washington Bridge, and that's cool.

I'm hoping that Mr. Wisdom and I will have an opportunity to enjoy the view together.  I'm not going to be seeing much of him for a month or two because he just got a job as a muckety muck on some cable TV show that will take him out in the field - if places like Cincinnati count as "the field."  Could be places like Cincinnati are "on location." It seems like there should be wildlife in "the field."  I'm sorry to say it's the kind of thing that I wouldn't turn on in a million years, but then, I barely watch TV anyway.   From what I know about Mr. Wisdom so far, I suspect the cool thing for him is that he'll be entirely in charge of the story, and he likes stories.

I like stories, too, which is why I'm pretty sure the one about me and Mr. Wisdom will continue to develop.  I wish I weren't the lady wandering around in the tower again, but that seems to be my lot in life - and I do like that tower.

I don't actually work in the tower.  I work on the top floor of the newer wing, and my classroom faces the city - but you can still see it easily any time you're on a plane landing at LaGuardia.  In the springtime, the falcons swoop over the playground on their way from the tower to the park and back, finding food for all the babies.  I like the falcons too, even if they do drop pigeon heads onto the playground sometimes.

What I like best right now is the way I don't feel a bit clingy with Mr. Wisdom.  I think that's because we cling to people or beliefs with some kind of fever when we need external validation for one reason or another.  Eckhart Tolle talks a lot about it in The Power Of Now, and I can't remember a lot of what he said because it's been a while since I read it.  I remember how to breathe in the moment, though.  And to be glad for all I have instead of focusing on bullshit that I lack.

Living in the moment, in Love instead of Fear, has been the greatest transition in my way of being.  Certainly I get pulled off course from time to time.  That's what happens when you live in the World - but you can get back in line with a breath.  It may be easier for me than for many people because I spend so much time with very little kids, and in the kid zone, there is nothing but the moment.

The kids are so young that they haven't even been on the planet for 1,000 days - which is kind of weird to consider.  As a woman of a certain age, I have plenty of shit in my past, but the thing is that when something is in the past, the only place it lives anymore is in your head.  Even Vietnam, and Fat Man and LIttle Boy are all gone, gone, gone.  There have been far reaching repercussions, but the events themselves are over and done.  As usual, that reminds me of a song:



Fill your heart with love today
Don't play the game of time
Things that happened in the past
Only happened in your Mind
Only in your Mind,
Forget your Mind
And you'll be free
- Biff Rose

In the Hands of God

I've been on pins and needles for about 36 hours, which means I've been playing solitaire on the computer and eating too many snacks, waiting to hear if my second bid on the apartment across the street from Little Cutie has been accepted by the sellers.  Right now, the outcome is entirely in their hands, which means it's (1) beyond my control and (2) nothing personal. Maybe that's why I feel like it's in the hands of God, as He is perceived by those who insist God is Grandpa in the Sky.

If God loves me, then I'll get this apartment.  Of course God loves me - but how does that have anything to do with the people who are selling this apartment?  That's the trouble with the whole notion that God is Grandpa in the Sky, or Santa Claus - besides the fact that tying Christmas to Consumerism supports the idea that we know God loves us because we have lots of stuff.  It's all part and parcel of the same bunch of Bull Shit where the Church works hand in hand with The State to keep the serfs in line.  Back in the olden days, like when Robin Hood was in Sherwood Forest, the State and The Church might have been wrestling for control of the cash, but we seem to have gotten that straightened out in Modern America.  The Church and The State work together to support the 1%.

Be that as it may, I'm eating too many Trader Joe's Dark Chocolate Covered Almonds with Sea Salt & Turbinado Sugar:

At my house, we mix them with cashew bits, which are much cheaper than whole cashews, so that the snack mix stretches much farther.  I may not be immune to the forces of consumerism in America, but at least I can be frugal.

God is on my mind at the moment because I've been re-working a story I wrote a while ago called, "The Preacher and The Pagan."  It's the story of what happened when that preacher came down from the mountains and into Menopausal Stoners World Headquarters on Central Park West.  Some might say it ended badly - but in my view, it only ended badly for the Preacher and that was because he could never admit that God, as He is known in The World, is a social construct so that any authority a preacher has in the community is not now, and never has been, arranged by The Divine.  Even though that particular preacher spouted progressive politics, his connection to The Divine was much like Michele Bachman's.  Delusional Thinking is not Partisan.

Anyway, that's what I'm reading on February 10 at some bar down on East 9th Street, and I've got to keep it to 10 minutes, max.  Fortunately, my dear friend Gwendolyn Holden Barry (from Roundtree7 and Daughters of Isis) has decided to give me some time on Here Be Monsters this Sunday, February 5th at 6:00.  I'll get a chance to read the story, then we'll be discussing miscellaneous connections between Institutionalized Religion, The Patriarchy and Politics, with anyone who calls into the show.

This link should lead straight to the Sunday show:
http://www.blogtalkradio.com/here-be-monsters/2012/02/05/occupy-everywhere-the-sunday-show
It would be fun if you guys called in from Blogland because then we could talk in real time like real people
(213) 816-0357.