tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-168797102024-03-07T18:18:30.801-05:00The Love Projectlove: what a stupid experimentGreta and Waddles!http://www.blogger.com/profile/04362792707840628428noreply@blogger.comBlogger67125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16879710.post-62023780704691702962008-12-26T12:33:00.006-05:002008-12-26T17:42:08.362-05:00Year in Review<strong>A Maudlin, Juvenile New Year That Needs to Grow Up </strong><br /><strong></strong><br />The beginning of 2008 was rather awful. This is an understatement. Mostly I slept, cried, drank too much, and threw up whatever I tried to eat. There's nothing like a close friend almost dying, then verbally assaulting you because you got sad after listening to two months' worth of his tragic stories.<div><br /></div><div>It was much meaner than that, from my perspective. But I already posted all of the truly mean event and unposted them. It was therapeutic, although I sense no one probably read what I wrote and he likely doesn't remember what he said.<br /><br />At any rate, those good times ended when said individual requested a "respite" from me. Although he has contacted me since to tell me that he's getting married and that I shouldn't forget that I'm an artist and other nonsense I don't care about, I plan to continue the respite, because I'm just maudlin and juvenile like that.<br /><br /><strong>Technology Brings Us Closer(<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">ish</span>)</strong><br /><br />This year introduced me to such wondrous technological innovations as <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">gchat</span>, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">facebook</span>, and (sigh) World of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">Warcraft</span>. (<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">WoW</span> is entirely the fault of my little sister, who hoped I would play so that we could spend quality time together online. It's always helpful to be able to lay the blame for your addictions at the feet of another.)<br /><br />Sure, I've had people discover me online that I had rather hoped would remain buried, but I've resuscitated old friendships and grown closer to several people I didn't think I would ever really get to know well. It's hard to imagine, but this year would have been infinitely more difficult for me without <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">gchat</span>. I would give <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">gchat</span> a big hug, if it had arms or a body.<br /><br /><strong>No Nebraska</strong><br /><strong></strong><br />I just couldn't do it, at the end of the day. Really, I wanted to go to graduate school in Nebraska because I had given up entirely on love, and I needed a distraction.<br /><br />Given what happened immediately after I decided not to go, I suspect that I made the right choice.<br /><br /><strong><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">Cinco</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">de</span> Mayo</strong><br /><strong></strong><br />Everything changed on <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">Cinco</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">de</span> Mayo, when my Knight in Shining Interpol T-shirt arrived. My knight's name is Chuck. (And so is his father's, and my father's, and my grandfather's.) More on this later.<br /><br /><strong>Tim <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">Russert</span></strong><br /><strong></strong><br />In May, Tim <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">Russert</span> passed away. Anyone who knows me decently well has probably heard me discussing the degree to which Tim affected my life. He was my Sunday, every Sunday. I was at my parents' house introducing them to Chuck when I learned that Tim had died. Friends called offering condolences. I cried into my new boyfriend's chest for days. I teared up seeing Tim's face on the cover of People in the grocery store. I never met Tim <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15">Russert</span>, but his intelligence and humor and compassion will be with me always.<br /><br />David Gregory is a suitable host for Meet the Press, but Sunday will never be quite the same to me.<br /><br /><strong>The Axis of Evil</strong><br /><strong></strong><br />Continuing this year's theme of betrayal, I was outed by a close friend to some colleagues at my old place of employment as having referred to them as the Axis of Evil.<br /><br />I denied it when confronted, but I'm willing to confess to it now. Because they deserved it, and it's wickedly witty.<br /><br />Entertainingly, one of the Axis felt that I was referring to only her, and claimed that she "didn't even know what it meant!" I guess this explains why she thought she could be a triumvirate of potential nuclear threats to the United States of America.<br /><br />This event reinforced for me that I will never, never, never be friends with anyone who was born on October 28 (see entry #1 for another offender born on this date). At least, they will have to provide compelling evidence that I should be their friend, and possibly cheese.<br /><br /><strong>I Quit!</strong><br /><br />I didn't really intend to quit my job and leave <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16">Culpeper</span>. It just happened. I went to visit Chuck in Richmond in the middle of June, and never went back. Radar enjoyed playing with his new friends, Charlie (who, as an adopted dog, my boyfriend did not name after himself, he swears) and Nomi. I interviewed at a community college and got the job. I unceremoniously dumped the prestigious middle school job that I had held for the past three years, and left.<br /><br />I miss my old friends who now live two hours away, and I know that I don't communicate with them nearly enough. I'll be sure to add that to my list of New Year's Resolutions.<br /><br /><strong>Good Rejections</strong><br /><strong></strong><br />After a streak of publishing success in the past few years, this has been the year of the Good Rejection for me as a writer. I was a contest finalist and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17">quarterfinalist</span>. I received a series of encouraging notes about poems that didn't get published.<br /><br />So, while I suck this year as a writer, I could definitely have sucked worse.<br /><br />In fact, the only thing I got accepted was a pedagogy paper for the annual <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_18">AWP</span> conference, which I plan on attending next February. Look out, Chicago, as I prepare to unleash my lesson plan on writing about ugliness.<br /><br /><strong>30</strong><br /><strong></strong><br />I turned 30 this year. Honestly, it wasn't a big deal. I was teaching my second day of classes at the college, and some of my students wondered how old I was.<br /><br />"How old do you think I am?" I asked.<br /><br />"I dunno. Like, 24?"<br /><br />As I grow increasingly older, I'm sure I'll appreciate these incidents still more, even when I'm getting carded trying to buy Bacardi Pomegranate <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_19">Mojitos</span> at the grocery store for the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_20">bazillionth</span> time.<br /><br /><strong>Jamie</strong><br /><strong></strong><br />When I met Chuck, one of the first things he wanted was for me to meet his cousin Jamie. Actually, what he said was, "If you want to be with me, you need to meet Jamie."<br /><br />Jamie had serious medical problems since she was born, and they grew progressively worse until she finally lost the ability to walk. By the time I met her, strokes had left her unable to speak, either. Still, she laughed watching Chuck pretend to fall down (apparently something that had entertained her for many years).<br /><br />Jamie died in September. She was 23. I'm grateful that I knew her.<br /><br /><strong>Obama</strong><br /><br />Like many others I know, I became excited about Barack Obama after the Democratic Convention in 2004. I remember sitting in Ex-<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_21">fiancee's</span> apartment listening to the speech and feeling as though, in some small way, something had changed.<br /><br />After the election was finalized, Chuck told me that he remembered watching the convention with his ex as well, feeling the same sort of elation I had felt then.<br /><br />This just goes to prove that, while love doesn't always last, Barack is Forever.<br /><br /><strong>2009</strong><br /><strong></strong><br />It's been an uneventful fall. I'm glad to be beyond the drama that usually follows me from place to place, to be sitting contentedly with Chuck's feet in my lap and the dogs loudly protecting us from squirrels (or neighbors on skateboards, or leaves, or whatever they're barking at).<br /><br />It's refreshing that, as I write The Love Project's final entry for 2008, I am actually in love.</div>Greta and Waddles!http://www.blogger.com/profile/04362792707840628428noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16879710.post-88616112597834404312008-05-20T19:41:00.005-04:002008-06-09T19:59:47.944-04:00How I didn't get killedThis is the story of how my parents called the cops because they thought I had been abducted and murdered by a stranger.<br /><br />In a way, the story begins at Cinco de Mayo.<br /><br />In another, it begins with the efforts I made to pick myself up off the floor in the aftermath of the Pseudoboyfriend Incident of 2008--primarily, venturing out in to the magical land of online dating once again. Perhaps I should have been wary, because that's how I ended up meeting Pseudoboyfriend in the first place, and that didn't exactly leave me unscarred.<br /><br />But, on the other hand, I figured that I had an entire summer before me, and I wanted adventure. I wanted to meet some new people, explore new places. Get someone to buy me lunch maybe. Nothing serious.<br /><br />(Anyone who is wondering why I would try online dating instead of meeting real-life men obviously has never visited Culpeper. But I can explain if anyone would like.)<br /><br />Long story short, I was really enjoying talking to this one guy about our dogs and music, when he stopped talking to me. When he came back, I realized that I'd missed him. In an entirely unSanuvial maneuver, I actually told him. (Normally, I might blog about it or something similarly passive.)<br /><br />We realized then that we'd like to meet each other. But he lives in Richmond, which isn't necessarily close to Culpeper, and it was going to take some planning.<br /><br />But then it was the day before Cinco de Mayo, and my friends thought I should invite him to their party. It seemed a safe bet that he wouldn't attend, since it was a Monday night and, like most people, he had to work the next day. <br /><br />And then he showed up. I really liked him. My friends really liked him.<br /><br />This could have turned out creepily, but we got along so well that I agreed to go visit that weekend, which coincided with Mother's Day. <br /><br />I turned off my cell phone to attend a comedy club and neglected to turn it back on.<br /><br />When I got home the next day, I had several very sad sounding messages from my parents, and one from my sister, explaining that my parents thought I had been killed by this marvelous man I'd just met.<br /><br />They had called the cops and everything.<br /><br />Over a month later, I am still not dead, and I am ridiculously content with my new boyfriend.<br /><br />Maybe that stupid saying is true sometimes, and love finds you when you're not looking for it.Greta and Waddles!http://www.blogger.com/profile/04362792707840628428noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16879710.post-15672786229172375612008-05-04T10:29:00.004-04:002008-05-07T21:55:20.681-04:00Happy Birthday, Tim RussertTim, you know there's no 58 year old network pundit that I love more deeply than you.<br /><br />Congratulations on your birthday, you sexy, sexy thing.<br /><br />Just so this will now be googleable: Tim Russert is sexy.<br /><br />There. I said it.<br /><br />There's far more interesting news than Tim's birthday (sorry, Tim), but it's going to take more time to write than I have before bedtime. So you'll just have to wait.Greta and Waddles!http://www.blogger.com/profile/04362792707840628428noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16879710.post-59515922867576954202008-04-21T19:07:00.002-04:002008-04-21T19:14:26.963-04:00For Those Who Are Wondering...I decided not to go to Nebraska next year, but did take full advantage of my deferment option.<br /><br />In the final analysis, it made the most sense to take some poverty-reducing measures this year, and petition for funding from every possible department in the winter.<br /><br />And, perhaps, to apply to a few other programs.<br /><br />Or do something entirely unacademic.<br /><br />Or marry a rich man, as my grandmother always dreamed I would.<br /><br />See here, Nebraska. The world is full of possibilities for me. Of all of them, you were the only one that would cost me.<br /><br />Perhaps next year will find me hidden in the corn.<br /><br />Perhaps not.<br /><br />Commenters should feel free to offer crazy suggestions for what you think I might do with myself. The crazier the better.<br /><br />I'm all ears (bad corn pun not intended, I swear).Greta and Waddles!http://www.blogger.com/profile/04362792707840628428noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16879710.post-57183522260518625422008-04-21T18:44:00.002-04:002008-04-21T19:07:31.933-04:00A Letter to Jason MrazJason, I remember the first time I heard you singing on the radio.<br /><br />I said to my boyfriend at the time, "I really like this song. This guy has a great voice."<br /><br />He said, "I think it's stupid."<br /><br />It should surprise no one that he is long gone, and you still remain, a little flame warm under the skin.<br /><br />It's safe to keep feeding this particular fire. We've practically met, now, pressed our palms against each other on a sidewalk in Richmond (and your palm was cool and soft). But we didn't really meet.<br /><br />I was standing there with my girls, far too early for your concert, when you came out with your little guitar. Who could believe it was you, so close? We had never imagined it was possible. We didn't even have cameras.<br /><br />You sang "Somewhere Over the Rainbow," (which is becoming a bit of a theme song for me these days) and even in the open air the notes rang like the purest of bells from your throat. But I couldn't tell you my name, or how I think we might fall in love, if we ever did meet.<br /><br />There was just your palm against my palm, your palm against all the other palms of all the other strangers standing there, all the intimate skin of those dozens of hands touching and withdrawing. And how safe it is to love you, whom I can never lose, who will never remember me.<br /><br />Thank you for that moment. Thank you for your song.Greta and Waddles!http://www.blogger.com/profile/04362792707840628428noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16879710.post-10743360705945317342008-04-14T19:28:00.002-04:002008-04-14T20:48:49.680-04:00My (Literal) Knight in Shining Armor<p>I have finally recovered enough from my "fun-filled" school trip to New York City to tell you about it.<br /><br />I had not been to New York since the tender age of ten. All I remembered of New York from that visit:<br /><br />1. Actual homeless people<br />2. Dirt<br />3. The world's worst pizza (Pizza del Ponte) -- so bad, I still remember the name<br />4. Taxis are real, and yellow!<br />5. Seeing buildings that were featured in Ghostbusters<br /><br />I hate to say it, but it appears that Rudy "Nosferatu" Giuliani really did clean things up. Although I do sincerely and honestly wonder where all the homeless people went. I sense that somehow they're not safe in homes now.<br /><br />Why was I in New York City, one might ask? The choir teacher at my school, who is quite lovely, decided to take her students to a singing competition on Staten Island. I play the piano for them. Last year, she announced that we were going to New York, and I thought, "We?"<br /><br />I did not precisely relish going into a large city with a batch of middle schoolers. I relished it less when I learned that I didn't really know any of the children, and would be rooming with some of them.<br /><br />But I'm not one to abandon the team.<br /><br />So there I was, emerging from the Lincoln Tunnel, with a strange sense that I was not actually in New York. It was like reading a novel about someone in my situation. I usually pride myself on living in the moment as much as possible, but I was floating above Manhattan. Children chattered. Buildings loomed. Nothing touched me.<br /></p><p>At some point, I eased back into my skin. I realized that I could probably live in New York, that it was enormous and strange and full of life, but it wasn't too large for me anymore.</p><p>We went to Ground Zero and I started crying. I tend to cry at any tragedy, but being in that place had its own weight and gravity. </p><p>Everyone else's eyes were dry.</p><p>Eventually, one of the parent chaperones befriended me (we are similarly snarky), and she spent the entire evening at Medieval Times (that classic staple of New York night life) snapping photographs of hot knights in tights for me. But that wasn't enough for her. After the show, she manhandled me through the crowds of screeching school girls, and forced each of those poor, beleaguered knights to take a picture with me.</p><p>If I ever get copies as promised, perhaps I will show you. They were lovely, those men. And I will never see any of them again. And I'm fine with that, for now. It's really the first time in my life (since puberty, anyway) when I could honestly say that my desires are directed inward and not outward. There are no men looming on my horizon. </p><p>Really, it's their loss:</p><p><br />Somewhere on YouTube you may be able to locate a video of our choir teacher beautifully singing "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" on the stage of the Apollo Theater while another teacher performs a(miserably, intentionally poor)n interpretive dance in the background. I vehemently deny that I had anything to do with it.</p>Greta and Waddles!http://www.blogger.com/profile/04362792707840628428noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16879710.post-23409244358827603412008-03-22T19:33:00.002-04:002008-03-22T19:39:45.164-04:00I Still Love You, Brian KrakowFor Christmas, my baby sister and husband purchased the <em>My So-Called Life </em>DVD box set, which I have finally gotten around to watching. Apparently, at once point I declared this to be my favorite television show, hence the gift.<br /><br />I do love it. Even though I wasn't really anything like Angela as a teenager (excepting the flannel, which--give me credit--I am woman enough to admit to), there was something so universal about her longing and awkwardness that made me believe, at the time, that I practically was Angela.<br /><br />In retrospect, I think I understand what I really liked about the show back then. Brian Krakow. Why, in my life, did I never have a curly-haired nerd on a bicycle living next door? Believe me, I would not have been mooning over Jordan Catalano if I'd had Brian in front of me. I hope.<br /><br />Random factoid: Devon Gummersall, who played Brian, guest-starred on one of my other favorite angsty television shows, <em>Roswell</em>. He married one of the actresses from that show, Majandra Delfino. (Steve, are you reading this? Brian Krakow married Maria!)<br /><br />So, well, I guess he's unavailable. Which frankly sucks.Greta and Waddles!http://www.blogger.com/profile/04362792707840628428noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16879710.post-83662922062645163822008-03-22T08:39:00.002-04:002008-03-22T08:55:11.461-04:00To Nebraska or Not To NebraskaSo, I got accepted into graduate school.<br /><br />Because such things are normally meant for public consumption, here is my pro/con list for attending the University of Nebraska, Lincoln in pursuit of a Ph.D. in poetry writing (highly useful) in the fall:<br /><br />Pro:<br /><br />1. I could leave Culpeper<br />2. I could leave teaching middle school<br />3. I could leave Culpeper (did I say that twice?)<br />4. I would be around actual smart people<br />5. I like corn<br />6. I would end up with a doctorate<br />7. I could work on my writing<br />8. I have friends in Denver and in Iowa I could harass<br />9. Jude says there are sweet pancake possibilities in Nebraska<br /><br />Con:<br /><br />1. I am currently and would likely be unfunded...again (and, no, I don't have a trust fund)<br />2. The professor I wrote to made it sound like it's extremely hard to get funding after the first year<br />3. My family is in Pennsylvania and North Carolina<br />4. I've never been to Nebraska<br />5. I hate being poor<br /><br />It is the official Month of Internal Conflict in my life.<br /><br />My thought right now is to defer my admission until next fall, and hold a lot of bake sales in the meantime. I feel confident that my constant companion, Radar the Dog, would rather be in a location with sidewalks and the potential for finding empty beer bottles by the roadside to lick, but he doesn't really get a vote.<br /><br />I am wondering:<br /><br />1. How does one beg for funding?<br />2. Do you know anyone who is independently wealthy and wants to support a nice girl who wants to be a writer?Greta and Waddles!http://www.blogger.com/profile/04362792707840628428noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16879710.post-34834459774612633352008-03-19T20:25:00.002-04:002008-03-19T21:58:39.719-04:00Judgement CallHypothetical unrequited love story:<br /><br />1. Man clearly states to woman that he doesn't want to be her boyfriend.<br /><br />2. Man continues to call every night. Woman reiterates to herself regularly that the man doesn't love her. He's just her friend. She knows she should learn to love him less, but he's wonderful. He's a miracle to her. <br /><br />3. This can end, she surmises, in three ways: A. He loves her one day (unlikely) B. They find other people to talk to and grow apart (likely, painful) C. It goes on like this forever (impossible).<br /><br />4. She decides that when he meets a woman he might want to love, she'll leave. Better one enormous heartache than a hundred small ones.<br /><br />5. Time passes.<br /><br />6. Physical distance and disease and sadness. Ugly words are spoken on both sides.<br /><br />7. He tells her he's in love (not with her) and asks to take a break from her until the summer. But she's been accepted into a doctoral program in Nebraska (he doesn't know) and by summer she'll likely be gone.<br /><br />8. She tells him she doesn't want to talk to him anymore. <br /><br />Did she do the right thing? Where should the line be drawn between being selfish and self-preserving?Greta and Waddles!http://www.blogger.com/profile/04362792707840628428noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16879710.post-70646903912797308772008-03-16T19:44:00.002-04:002008-03-16T20:27:28.960-04:00The Kite CrasherUnlike recent Sundays, I did not stay in bed and take lengthy naps for the majority of the day. Instead, I roused my friend and coworker Package (not her real name, but a pointless nickname that we actually use), and dragged her to the gym with me.<br /><br />Going to the gym is a habit with us now. I'm generally one to venture into the world by myself, but going to the gym with an associate has had definite advantages. Mostly, I'd feel like a sissy if I quit while doing something difficult. After a month of mutually imposed torture, we're both looking quite fabulous.<br /><br />I noticed at some point that a decent wind was blowing over the landscape of Culpeper. It made me think of my kite.<br /><br />I've had this kite for over five years and never opened it. It was an impulse purchase. I'll admit it: I bought it because it's a unicorn. There. I said it. I'm not into unicorns like I was when I was eight and hoped I might one day grow a horn, but it was so novel that I had to have it.<br /><br />I also strongly associate kites with my father, in the same way that I also think of him in association with zoos, badminton, and sawdust.<br /><br />I know why I haven't tried to fly my kite. I presumed that I would need help, particularly due to my status as one of the vertically challenged. But there I was this afternoon, unrolling my unicorn's wings and legs, bending its wires according to the diagram. Assembly complete (and this, on its own, is quite a feat), I ventured out into the backyard. I held the kite aloft and waited for the wind.<br /><br />There was one pristine instant, after several (dozen) tries, in which the unicorn, legs hanging with eerie limpness, ascended into the air, whipping back and forth. This moment lasted for about five seconds, before my unicorn took a nose-dive onto the thickening green of the lawn. Eventually I had to admit defeat and go back inside.<br /><br />In a way, I wish that this were a story about my success in flight. In another way, I'm even more glad that it's a story about my contentedness in crashing.Greta and Waddles!http://www.blogger.com/profile/04362792707840628428noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16879710.post-52371852781582605402008-03-15T17:24:00.004-04:002008-03-15T18:11:09.766-04:00Left BehindBecause one must have something to do after the landfill--and after the sweet high school boy who helped me stack my recyclable cardboard and asked if I needed any help, which I didn't--Radar and I packed ourselves into the car and went to the park. He enjoys the children, the smells, the geese, and what the geese leave behind.<br /><br />While navigating the pine trees and fallen branches, I found two clam shells, pearl-side-up, in the grass. I had never noticed this in prior visits to the lake, but as we continued to walk, we found shells everywhere. Since I feel confident that clams cannot climb the kinds of hills on which we found the shells, I presume birds have been lifting them out of the water, dropping them, and eating the soft parts out. I don't know why it felt so foreign to find them, but I was transported to some other place entirely. Given how things have been recently, it was lovely to forget where I was or ought to be for a moment.<br /><br />Although I know that technically it's the remnant of something that lived once, its shining bones, I stuffed a shell in my pocket and took it home, where it now sits beside me, glimmering and welcome.Greta and Waddles!http://www.blogger.com/profile/04362792707840628428noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16879710.post-29369974220906440762008-03-15T12:01:00.003-04:002008-03-15T12:35:10.467-04:00Adios, AmigoHaving just kicked yet another man out of my life who viewed me as one of his closest friends, I will now celebrate by visiting the landfill.Greta and Waddles!http://www.blogger.com/profile/04362792707840628428noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16879710.post-24488024471568488582008-01-27T21:31:00.002-05:002008-03-15T11:58:07.978-04:00Dare to Love CompletelyToday's title derives from my recent exposure to that most honored sage: a Dove chocolate wrapper. Considering that my girlfriends all acquired shiny bits of tin with such advice as "You deserve a bubble bath," I think there may be a little fate involved.<br /><br />Still, I'm not sure how good that advice is. I'm that idiot who does dare to love completely, every now and then. Now approaching the ripe old age of 30, I'm not sure that I want to take my chocolate's advice anymore.<br /><br />Not that I think there's necessarily anything I can do about it. Knowing that so much of what we feel is chemical, I suppose it's possible that I'm merely hard-wired to spring open the hinges of my ribs when I'm in love with someone.<br /><br /><em>Look at how my lungs breathe. My heart pumps blood like this. Do you like it? Could you love it? Please try.</em><br /><br />When I was last talking to a friend of mine, we mentioned about something like this. He says he tends to compartmentalize himself, and on his separate continent, has been thinking of all the things he has and hasn't told me about himself. It seems he's making an attempt to decompartmentalize in a rush of stories like needles, like breezes, although to what end, who knows.<br /><br />I work that way about ninety-nine percent of the time, parceling myself into little glass boxes, but now and then I feel compelled for some reason to allow no walls between myself and someone else. They can walk around in my backyard at 2 a.m. They can paint my house different colors, enter my bathroom without knocking. I'm starting to think, though, that I have some magical ability to choose exactly the person who will guilelessly come in, assess his surroundings, and then spill his drinks on the carpets and break the mirrors, all on accident.<br /><br />And there is this. When I'm not eating or sleeping and drifting from one end of my day to the other like a ghost of myself, sometimes my friends invite themselves over to my house wielding pizzas and cheesecake and make me watch <em>The Princess Bride </em>with them over a table full of red and silver bits of foil. I actually eat, and we drink several bottles of wine together. We dare to love, if only in pieces.<br /><br />We laugh until it aches a little.Greta and Waddles!http://www.blogger.com/profile/04362792707840628428noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16879710.post-77644026576659381722008-01-05T14:23:00.000-05:002008-01-05T15:14:54.341-05:00The Year of Living FerociouslyWhen we last left off in our story, my long-term non-boyfriend had unveiled information so painful to me that I wanted to hammer my heart shut.<br /><br />And then it got <em>worse.</em><br /><em></em><br />The day after Christmas, he called to say that he was going to England for a week or two months, or however long.<br /><br />"Fine," I said. "I could use a break."<br /><br />"What an awful thing to say," he replied.<br /><br />Then, he called me from London, asked if I still felt wrecked.<br /><br />I did.<br /><br />He wanted to know my New Year's plans, and I said I'd be alone, wallowing and drinking, as usual. He said he was skipping some wild party to catch a train out to Wales, to be alone by the ocean. It wasn't good news, but did I want to know why?<br /><br />Punch me, I said. Go ahead.<br /><br />So he told me. His last medical tests showed there was a good chance his stomach cancer had come back. He'd tried to tell me a dozen times before. He didn't tell anyone else, not even his family.<br /><br />There's a very good chance he's going to die. He told me that, too. I checked the statistics, and I'm afraid he's not exaggerating.<br /><br />He also says it would be foolish for me to go to London, in case you were wondering.<br /><br />While I was driving through the night to my parents' house, I had decided that this would be the Year of Living Ferociously. To flee my rural Virginian outpost. To explore strange and new locations, to aim for goals I didn't think I could achieve. To write and live and love as if on the edge of a precipice.<br /><br />And now I'm so full of rage and sorrow that I don't know what to do but attack, build up my muscles, to hone the razor's edge inside myself. To become as beautiful and dangerous and sharp as I always dreamed I would be.<br /><br />And staring down this cliff, dizzy, face in the wind, I'm surprised. There's nothing holding me, but I know I'm not going to fall.Greta and Waddles!http://www.blogger.com/profile/04362792707840628428noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16879710.post-7845807466508975642007-12-22T23:00:00.000-05:002007-12-23T00:03:41.691-05:00a thousand endingsIt was just that I made a self-destructive choice, and I didn't want to talk about it.<br /><br />And I felt stupid, for falling in love and being tossed aside a week later. Because I couldn't make him love me back. Because I felt somehow that I should have known already that I'm not someone to inspire passion.<br /><br />Because the night I met him, I knew he could wreck me, and I chose it.<br /><br />Because I kept talking to him, nightly, even knowing how he didn't feel, nestling into the comfortable web of his words, even though I knew I was offering myself up for injury twice.<br /><br />A decade later, I keep doing this, allowing a man to be my best friend. My epidemic. My sweet little contagion.<br /><br />By now, I should know better. When I can hear my tiny disasters creeping up the front steps, I should greet them and breathe, invite them inside. I shouldn't flinch when the walls begin to crumble.<br /><br />I know what happens when a man who doesn't love you takes up residence in your heart, how fragile it is. I know that sometimes, suddenly, he'll decide to love you. But usually, you wait, knowing one day that you will look down and find his little space in your heart vacated, all the windows boarded.<br /><br />Nailed-up little heart. The hammer in my hands.Greta and Waddles!http://www.blogger.com/profile/04362792707840628428noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16879710.post-44060786878207640072007-05-07T17:10:00.000-04:002007-05-07T18:09:31.649-04:00Dear Pittsburgh:These thoughts for you, from one of the world's most pathetically non-updated blogs:<br /><br />Today I remembered walking through the South Side, peeking into the shops, feeling the energy that comes up from the river. You know that little hot dog shop on the corner where you can get any kind of ridiculous toppings that you like? It's just that I was thinking of you, darling Pittsburgh, and suddenly I wanted to walk with him into all the secrets your streets hold for me.<br /><br />He wouldn't appreciate the hot dogs, since I've turned up yet another vegetarian. But he loves you, Pittsburgh, knows you from some restless months of driving the country, investigated your Indian restaurants and movie theaters. We love you, dear city. It is something that we have in common.<br /><br />I am being unfair, really. I could have told you every little detail about him, every sentence or thoughtful gesture. I could have told you how he teaches me boxing, or dances with me in the kitchen. How he wonders if the man who left me behind knows about him.<br /><br />It's just that I want to keep him to myself. Or perhaps that being too excited, feeling too much, might just drive him away.<br /><br />I'm being unfair to him, too. In my heart, there is a terrible, sudden spring, exactly when I expected some dramatic desert in winter. Sometimes, a fragrance, one errant bloom, will escape, and that's all I'm willing to tell him now. I spend my days negotiating eighth graders blooming into social butterflies, and this sense that I contain a rare treasure inside myself.<br /><br />In the plainest English, it's spring in Virginia, and I'm falling in love, whether I was ready to or not.Greta and Waddles!http://www.blogger.com/profile/04362792707840628428noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16879710.post-51574938100948712822007-03-16T17:04:00.000-04:002007-03-16T17:42:08.221-04:00i rilly lik him! by RadrHay evrybody! This is Radr! Im a litle dog!<br /><br />I no i havnt ritin in a wile, but ive bin bizy with feching and my othr hobys. I thot mebe i wud rite abot my mom and how shes doin. <br /><br />she is gud! yesterdy she wint to a cwier festivel with 150 middl skul studints and playd peeano. She wuz tird wen she got home! And sez shel never ride on a buss with stidents fer to houers agin. Wun of the judgis at the festivel thot she wuz a studint. Thats funny.<br /><br />And thin she got a lot of fone calls. i think it wuz the man that come hear last wekind, and the wekind before that. I hop so! Sumbuddy calls evry nite but i dont no hoo it is sins im def.<br /><br />but i wanted to rite abot this man becuz i rilly lik him! and this iz the luv projict and so this iz wut we rite abot hear!<br /><br />he throhs the bal for me and plays tug and givs me treets and pets me i rillly like him! he brot a cake and mom made us lunch and i sat on my chare and wated until i got sum to and it wu zgud. Latter i got cake too. But thats a seecrit.<br /><br />I stol the nife an licked it. Thats how i got cake.<br /><br />I lik cake!<br /><br />wen I met him frist i liked him rite away becuz he piked me up and i got him muddey and he wasint mad! he sez i am a superhero and a athleet.<br /><br />enyway, mom sez its importint to not lik him to much becuz we onlie met him a month ago. but its hard! i lik to put my hed on his chest and stair at him becuz he is nice to me. And to mom!<br /><br />So I want to no wen its okay to lik him a lot! Becuz I don't no! And can it be tommorow.Greta and Waddles!http://www.blogger.com/profile/04362792707840628428noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16879710.post-9315634681056117062007-03-06T17:41:00.000-05:002007-03-06T18:30:11.268-05:00I Miss You, Uncle RobertComing back to Pittsburgh remains a bittersweet experience for me. It's where I received my first kiss, got drunk for the first time, fell in love and out of love and into love and out of love and into love again. It seems as though every corner of every street is imbued with some hint of a memory, a scent you can't quite place. No matter when I arrive, I think it will always be home for me now.<br /><br />Before I left for Pittsburgh on Friday, I knew two things were inevitable about my visit.<br /><br />1. I was going to a wedding reception.<br /><br />2. I would have to talk at length about my ex-fiancee.<br /><br />There was also an outside possibility of The Ex attending said wedding reception, but I didn't think it was likely somehow, even though I felt he had more claim to the friendship of the bride and groom than I did. (He would be invited to their parties, and I would tag along, bearing macaroons.)<br /><br />I didn't care if he came or not, honestly--except that, had I known he would be attending, I would have worked yet harder to look absolutely fabulous.<br /><br />As it was, he was a no-show. This is a shame, since he would have really enjoyed the frosting on the cupcakes.<br /><br />After a long afternoon rolling around on K.'s floor, coating myself in dust while helping her pack her belongings and move in with her charming boyfriend, I put on my favorite dress and maid-of-honor heels (from my younger sister's wedding), and drove off. I valet-parked my car for the very first time, and felt like, at the very least, a C-list celebrity.<br /><br />When I got to the reception, no one had arrived yet. I should have learned this lesson long ago from countless MFA parties: no one in Pittsburgh is ever quite on time. But soon, everyone began to trickle in, and the storytelling began. I think that my Ex is under the impression that I am vindictive and cruel, waiting to lash out and eviscerate him, that I am secretly concocting screenplays that will portray him in the worst possible light. It's just not true. I'm over it--somehow, quickly, miraculously.<br /><br />But I did have to change my thinking a little in Pittsburgh about the character of my loss. In my own grief, it hadn't occurred to me that I wasn't alone in mourning the man I had intended to love for my entire life. I wasn't the only one who had to watch his warmth dwindle and vanish, wasn't the only one unsure whether I should try to embrace him or not. In talking about him, I discovered that I am not alone in missing the person that he once was.<br /><br />I still have a few tears to shed for him.<br /><br />I don't know whether he will regret losing me for the rest of his life, as one of our mutual friends posited. I am glad that he is communicating with the people who care about him; learning that brought me a little bit of ease, because I knew I couldn't have born having no one to rely on in the past month and a half.<br /><br />A month and a half later, and there I am, straightening Uncle Robert's tie and hearing, in the back of my head, as an echo, The Ex mocking me for my "old man fetish." A month and a half later, and I'm dancing badly among the people I love and left behind in my old city, Prince is singing, and everything just might be right in the world, if only in this place, if only for a moment.<br /><br />And yes, back in Virginia, I'm doing exactly what I do worst/best--holding out my messy heart to see if he might like it. He might, I think. At least, he said so. I would afraid if he weren't showing me a messy heart of his own.<br /><br />More later on exhibitionist love tactics and how to make candles fly.Greta and Waddles!http://www.blogger.com/profile/04362792707840628428noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16879710.post-1172539620440734302007-02-26T20:15:00.000-05:002007-02-26T20:27:00.456-05:00Open LetterDear Ex-Fiancee,<br /><br />Asalaamu alaykum. I hope that you are well.<br /><br />I'm sure, if you are reading this at all, that you disapprove of my writing to you in this way.<br /><br />It's only that I wanted to thank you. Yes, our relationship ended badly. But in the process of knowing and losing you, I learned some important lessons about myself. I've grown closer to God (although not in the way that you wanted). I learned that I could be loved for myself, in all of my ridiculousness and passion and error. I learned that I could not compromise myself--not for love, not for you, not for anyone.<br /><br />You taught me what it means to love, even though, at the end, you did so through lessons in opposites.<br /><br />If I had not been so miserable, so alone, as a result of your decisions, I could not be so surprised at my happiness today.<br /><br />Today I am happy. Even if it doesn't last, I'm happy--within myself, and in my relationships with those around me.<br /><br />And I wish for as much happiness to come to you, with all my heart.Greta and Waddles!http://www.blogger.com/profile/04362792707840628428noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16879710.post-1171786175031531482007-02-18T02:30:00.000-05:002007-02-18T03:09:35.043-05:00as if everything led to this momentIt's 2:32 a.m.<br /><br />I just got home.<br /><br />Three hours ago, I was waiting on Main Street for a man I first wrote to on Tuesday, picking out his shape from the end of the block.<br /><br />Every now and then in my life, I've felt a compulsion to do something, to go somewhere, as if it were a necessity, as though a magnet were embedded in this one moment in my life.<br /><br />While it made no logical sense, I had to go tonight, in the same way that I knew I <em>had </em>to write to him. I couldn't say why it had to be tonight, at 11:30 (or why he even thought this was a good idea), in a town where we had no other option than to walk in the cold, or go to a bar. (We did both.)<br /><br />I remember, the morning after breaking up with The Ex, asking God why this had happened to me.<br /><br />I think God actually answered me.<br /><br />I realized about an hour into our conversation that this man was trying to tell me he was a Muslim, and was desperately afraid I'd find it creepy. Given the fact that we'd both just been in a bar, this was actually rather comforting--although he initially thought I was joking when I told him that I had converted a year and a half ago.<br /><br />He also thinks that Radar is adorable (in photographs).<br /><br />In conclusion, I just went on a date with a dog-loving, liberal screenwriter who enjoys boxing, James Joyce, and appears to be the same sort of Muslim I proclaimed myself to be in my last post.<br /><br />Also, he thinks I'm really funny.<br /><br />When I awake from the coma that I must be deeply within, someone please remind me of this dream I had. I want to remember it.Greta and Waddles!http://www.blogger.com/profile/04362792707840628428noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16879710.post-1171684098189595292007-02-16T22:15:00.000-05:002007-02-16T22:48:18.203-05:00Positive Self-Therapy ResultsIt is now the fourth snow day in a row for my school district. The roads are largely clear, although the ground itself is covered in a layer of frozen slush inches thick. It looks like snow, but it is, in fact, merely a snow imposter.<br /><br />What have I been doing on my days off? Largely, I've been drinking liquids and staying in bed to combat the sinus infection I woke up with on Tuesday. But I've also been working diligently at my Getting Over Him Campaign.<br /><br />The Campaign entails:<br /><br />1. Finish CD.<br />2. Look fabulous.<br />3. Search for new man.<br /><br />Where does a girl go to look for a man in Culpeper, Virginia? Since everyone in Culpeper is either married or unappealing, I decided to look online. This would horrify The Ex, because he felt it was imperative that I look exclusively in the Muslim community for a new man.<br /><br />Right. Because that worked out so well the last time.<br /><br />(What I am thankful for, in the absence of an impending wedding, is the luxury I now have to explore my own religious inclinations without having someone breathing down my neck explaining everything that I <em>should </em>be. I never really desired to be more Muslim than I ever saw The Ex being back in the day. Therefore, that is what I am going to do, in addition to considering dating non-Muslims.)<br /><br />I figured that, by looking around for men online, I could get a sense of what was out there. At the very least, I thought I could reenter my single life knowing there are, in fact, men out there in the world who are decent, intelligent and single. I needed to have that kind of hope. After the break-up, I was consumed with the notion that all of the good men were taken, and I would be left alone, childless, and wrinkly.<br /><br />It should be noted that I engaged in a similar project in the summer of 2002, and that I know how to operate with caution. I made a friend that summer that I still keep in contact with. If I could find one more good friend, I thought, I would consider the therapy a success.<br /><br />I have learned several things during my snow days. First and foremost, there are still good men out there--interesting men with proficient grammar skills. If I play my cards correctly, I may end up wrinkly in someone's company.<br /><br />Secondly, I've learned that there are some real duds out there. For example, a man wrote to me to see if I was interested in him, even though he had listed "brainiacs" as his one and only turn-off. I responded to let him know that I was very much a brainiac, and that he probably wouldn't like me. He wrote back, "i dont care that you got brains."<br /><br />Well, then.<br /><br />The last story is superseded only by the man who listed, under three things he could not live without: Sexual Touching. Yikes!<br /><br />Lastly, I have a definite crush. I like my crush. It's like a fledgling bird that I have to cradle in my hands to protect it.<br /><br />Evidence exists that my crush is not a one-sided crush.<br /><br />More details as they become available.Greta and Waddles!http://www.blogger.com/profile/04362792707840628428noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16879710.post-1171406521938817092007-02-13T16:25:00.001-05:002007-02-13T17:49:56.623-05:00Final MixWhen I have some sort of difficulty in my life (i.e. breaking off an engagement), I like to spend preposterous amounts of time organizing music to reflect my feelings. Usually, once I can listen to how I'm feeling, I can better deal with it. This was true long ago, when I was organizing music to tell my former fiancee that I loved him without actually saying it out loud. (I skipped this phase in high school.)<br /><br />I really appreciate all the suggestions for break-up songs that people gave me here. I still have to check a few of them out. I didn't end up using any of them because they weren't quite right (it's amazing how each relationship has its own specific imprint), but I'd love to hear any more suggestions. Music is the most inexpensive therapy out there.<br /><br />Here's my setlist:<br /><br /><em><strong>Prelude</strong></em><br /><em></em><br />1. "Set Fire to the Third Bar," Snow Patrol featuring Martha Wainwright<br /><br /><em>Miles from where you are</em><br /><em>I lay down on the cold ground</em><br /><em>I pray that something picks me up</em><br /><em>And sets me down in your warm arms.</em><br /><br />2. "Hey Jupiter," Tori Amos<br /><br />3. "You Only Disappear," Tom McRae<br /><br /><em>Tom McRae is a genius--and he's British. I wonder if he's single? This </em><br /><em>is the best song no one's heard.</em><br /><br />4. "How It Ends," DeVotchka<br /><br /><em>You already know how this will end.</em><br /><em></em><br /><em><strong>Ceremony</strong></em><br /><em></em><br />5. "Last Goodbye," Jeff Buckley<br /><br />6. "Let Him Fly," Patty Griffin<br /><br /><em>It would take an acrobat</em><br /><em>But I've already tried all that.</em><br /><br />7. "Delicate," Damien Rice<br /><br />8. "Into the Ocean," Blue October<br /><br />9. "Ocean Breathes Salty," Modest Mouse<br /><br /><em>For your sake, I hope heaven and hell are really there</em><br /><em>But I wouldn't hold my breath.</em><br /><br />10. "Dare You to Move," Switchfoot<br /><br /><em>This is the song I listen to when I'm sad in any situation. It actually makes me move.</em><br /><br />11. "Sailed On," Landon Pigg<br /><br />12. "Forget It," Breaking Benjamin<br /><br /><em>Forget it--just memory</em><br /><em>on a page inside a spiral notebook.</em><br /><br />13. "Smoke," Ben Folds Five<br /><br /><em>Leaf by leaf and page by page</em><br /><em>Throw this book away.</em><br /><br />14. "U + Ur Hand," P!nk<br /><br /><em>Yes, everything that the title implies. This is the token Angry Song.</em><br /><p><strong><em>Postlude</em></strong></p>15. "Country Feedback<em>,</em>" REM<br /><br /><em>Crazy what you could've had.</em><br /><br />16. "Headlights," Albatross<br /><br />17. "Always on Your Side," Sheryl Crow and Sting<br /><br /><em>When this song originally came out, I would hear it on the radio </em><em>while driving to work. I was embarrassed that it moved me so much, </em><em>much less that I always cried. </em><br /><em></em><br />18. "The Guy That Says Goodbye to You is Out of His Mind," Griffin House<br /><br /><em>The first time I heard this song was live, on the South Side </em><em>of </em><em>Pittsburgh, just before I started my relationship with The Ex. He </em><em>was </em><em>planning on going to Egypt at the time, and hearing this song </em><em>made me think, for the first time, that its title was true.</em>Greta and Waddles!http://www.blogger.com/profile/04362792707840628428noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16879710.post-1170802400256644602007-02-06T17:48:00.000-05:002007-02-06T17:53:20.276-05:00There is Always Reason to Hope.One of the joys of being student council advisor at my school is the organization of candy-grams. Here are the (essential) contents to two cards, each sent from the same child to the same recipient, that we read while previewing them for negative or derogatory comments.<br /><br />First card:<br /><br />I wanted to ask you out today but I was too scared. I hope that you will think about it. I really like you.<br /><br />Second card:<br /><br />I'm sending you this card to make sure that I get my point across.<br />***<br />A little obsessive, but you have to admire the persistence. <br /><br />I remember when the possibility of falling in love had all of that same sharpness, all of that danger.<br /><br />Unfortunately, it was today.<br /><br />Here's hoping that all works out well for the middle school lovers, and the rest of us.Greta and Waddles!http://www.blogger.com/profile/04362792707840628428noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16879710.post-1170729732180969962007-02-05T21:23:00.000-05:002007-02-05T21:42:12.193-05:00Wind Chill DelayGiven the blessing of a two hour wind chill delay tomorrow morning, I thought I would take this opportunity to reflect on some of the events--and triumphs!--that have occurred in the last two weeks, since I've been single.<br /><br />First of all, just moments ago, I finally managed to get the sock out of the vacuum cleaner. It took about an hour of adjusting a coat hanger with a pair of pliers. That's the triumph part. I like knowing that I'm a young woman who can figure something like this out without too much assistance.<br /><br />As luck would have it, Valentine's Day looms around the corner. While I was shopping this weekend, I couldn't help but notice all the signs for bridal shows, all the glittery jewelry sales. All the couples walking hand-in-hand. But I don't actually feel angry or bitter. This may be because the best Valentine's Day of my life remains the time that I was in Toronto, eating at Burger King with my (then) best friend Mike. When the height of Valentine's Day romance for you happened with somebody who doesn't find girls sexually attractive, it's hard to be disappointed.<br /><br />Valentine's Day. The other teachers at school are throwing a bridal shower for the other two girls in my hallway who are engaged. It was supposed to have been my party, too. Hence, the guidance counselor pulled me into her office to warn me in advance, and make sure that I was okay enough to handle it.<br /><br />Of course, whenever anyone asks me if I'm okay, I burst into tears. I could win the lottery, and if someone asked me that question, I'd still cry. After getting my head examined for a while, she pronounced that I am dealing in positive ways with my hurt.<br /><br />Here are some ways that I am doing this.<br /><br />1. Eating chocolate.<br />2. Talking to my friends.<br />3. Taking mini-vacations.<br />4. Exercising.<br />5. Snuggling with my dog.<br />6. Writing.<br />7. Reading good books.<br />8. Napping.<br />9. Taking baths with fizzy bath salts and confetti.<br />10. Buying fuzzy socks.<br />11. Watching romantic comedies. And <em>Million Dollar Baby.</em><br />12. Developing an inexplicable crush on Clint Eastwood.<br />13. Cruising the internet for available men.<br />14. Planning parties for five hundred middle school students. I am not making this up. It was actually a big success.<br />15. Organizing a mixed CD of break-up songs (forthcoming).<br />16. Applying for new jobs and prestigious writing fellowships, just for fun.<br />17. Staying hydrated.<br /><br />I am wondering: A. If anyone has any other suggestions that have been helpful for them in dealing with the end of a relationship and B. If you might have any song ideas to contribute to my CD compilation.<br /><br />And, please, stay warm.Greta and Waddles!http://www.blogger.com/profile/04362792707840628428noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16879710.post-1170619807908704922007-02-04T14:55:00.000-05:002007-02-04T15:10:07.956-05:00Girl in a Pink CoatI went to the library to return my books the other day, and then to locate a copy of <em>To Kill a Mockingbird </em>for one of my students (his mother had returned it before he was finished, and he insisted that he could only read this particular copy).<br /><br />As I was turning down the K-M aisle, I noticed a little, brown-skinned girl in a pink, puffy coat entering the aisle next to mine, her black hair done up in pigtails, dragging her fingertips of her left hand along the spines of the books. In general, I'm fascinated by watching children in public, but I found myself smiling more than usual at this one. She seemed so focused on the books, so content to be in the library.<br /><br />She looked like I had imagined my daughter would have looked like, if.<br /><br />Thankfully, the seven copies of <em>To Kill a Mockingbird </em>were located on the very bottom shelf where I could actually reach them. I crouched down and started looking for the version with "big print!" that would signal I'd found my student's preferred version. <br /><br />I heard footsteps, and turned to see the same little girl, plodding her way down my aisle, still touching the books with her left hand. She seemed oblivious to my presence, so I moved closer to my own shelf to let her by. <br /><br />When she passed me, she patted my back with her hand. As if comforting me. Or saying goodbye.Greta and Waddles!http://www.blogger.com/profile/04362792707840628428noreply@blogger.com2