michael jackson

i'm watching a recap of michal jackson's funeral with barbara walters, a glass of wine and my own broken promise - "no cigarrettes allowed in the bedroom".

when michael was alive i was one of many who called him a freak, a sad case, a crazy disturbed man. what did he do to those kids and why so many surgeries? freak!

now that he is gone the world is joining in a celebration of the talent, the genius, the gift that he was, and that is what we are remembering.

turns out the bad stuff was conjecture. never proven, no factual evidence that held up in court. all hear-say from people much less rich and perhaps more vulnerable than michael. but we are not remembering that now, now that he is dead we are feeling sorry for him, and for ourselves.

true or false, it reminds me that there are so many more sides than one to each story, and how we as humans tend to latch on to the worst side -- the alleged bad behavior, the things that someone said that someone said. we forget the talent and we forget the genious and we forget the goodness and are not aware of the legacy

until someone is gone.

and then we forget all of that gossip and feel thankful for what he or she was, gave us, and aren't we better people for forgiving him. oh forget all the bad thoughts we had -- what a great loss!

as it happens, he doesn't need our forgiveness, not any more, he's dead. but we forgive and celebrate to make ourselves feel better and hopefully he will hear us now because we were silent when he was with us and now we have changed our minds. some of us anyway, others believed in him all along.

i am feeling a bit ashamed of myself, to have judged a man who had such a sad and tortured life. rather than try to understand, to believe in the gift, to just let him be in my imagination, i joined the gossip, shook my head, and muttered about the tragedy of what he had become, all the time turning my back on the greatness.

to be human, and to cling to the human response of scandal is something many of us do, and i only hope there is a lesson here.

some stories are never truly told. lies become reality and truth lives in darkness.

rest in peace michael jackson,

my profound regrets for not truly honoring your life

till now,

now that you are gone.

S & H Greenstamps

the s & h greenstamp redemption center in west barrington, rhode island was a magnificent place, a long time ago.

when i was a kid they gave out s & h greenstamps at almacs, the grocery store in downtown barrington. i don't know what the ratio was between dollars spent and stamps issued, but after the total purchase amount was determined, the cashier would tap in the dollar amount of our purchase in the fancy stamp dispenser on top of her register, spin the wheel, and like magic strings and strings of tiny green stamps would swirl around her hands and into ours (mom's).

in the very olden days the stamps came out like teeny tiny green rectangles, all in perfect sheets of perforation-- red-"s" stamped splendor. in the nearly not so olden days, an innovation resulted into larger green stamps worth 10 each. so instead of filling an entire page with tiny stamps you could lick one column of the tenners for the same value. genius!

when i was ten and less, big sister susie and i would spend rainy saturdays in front of the tv. small dishes of water with scraps of clean sponges in them...empty "books", and plastic bags filled with stamps as we sat on the couch with tv trays licking and sticking.

the monkees and hr puffenstuff and katherine hepburne entertained us as the stickly sweet smell of glue filled those pages and turned our tongues green.

you could get almost anything you needed or wanted with greenstamps. electric blankets, silver plated candleabras, tiny backyard grills, stuffed animals, tablecloths, china and flatware, an amazing array of household goods -- all for a price. 10 books, 150 books, 3 books...

just before 6th grade i turned in my books for a floppy stuffed dalmation with a bell in his ear and i named him floppy. a few weeks later i came down with an odd and scary case of bronchitus, almost died. i spilled orange soda on him during a coughing fit and stained his left hind rump. felt bad about that. not sure what happened to him.

years later, when i married the first time ,my mom turned over a basketful of greenstamp books to me and my groom and off we went, my new husband and i. we selected stoneware dishes (service for four), an electric blanket, flatware with woodgrain handles, and, of course a toaster.

all the things i thought you were supposed to have once you became a grownup.

all my work paid off, those saturdays. i had everything i needed to be a true grown up.

all from the redemption center in west barrington, rhode island.

turns out (30 years later) that s & h didn't have quite everything i needed to be a grown up.

but there might be another redemption center someplace,

i'll keep looking.

fresh clean scent

there was a woman in front of me at the target check-out this morning. she had short silver-pepper hair and a firm stocky build, supported by two artificial legs. the waistband of her black jersey sweatpants was crooked, and both of her ankles looked different. one was a metal contraption pushed into a white tennis shoe, the other was white plastic and it was also pushed into a white tennis shoe.



out the corner of her eye she saw me plop my brand new celery green garden boots on the belt, followed by a matching two gallon watering can. she cocked her head a bit to get a better look at my selections



and i said



"i've always wanted garden boots, and today is the day!"



"good for you!" she said, and then "look! they match your new watering can. since you will be so color coordinated, i guarantee everything will bloom perfectly."



"serious?"



"call me if i am wrong."



as her items were being scanned i continued to place all of the things i didn't come in here for on the counter... three new t-shirts, citronella candles, and a small box of fabric softner sheets.



i asked her



"have you heard that if you stuff a fabric softner sheet in your pocket when you are gardening, the bugs won't bother you?"



"does that work?"



"i have no idea. i'll find out this afternoon."



"in your new boots!"



i thought about her later as i poked tiny begonias into a brand new flowerbox. i had my boots on and a fabric softner sheet stuffed in my pocket. i wondered how she lost her legs. was she diabetic? had it been cancer? was she a soldier? born that way?



i wondered what her life was like and who she loved and what she knew and if she hurt and



then i noticed,



no bugs.

cash in her bra

i had lunch the other day with my new friend, joan. she told me about her recent speaking gigs, connections she is making, and books and articles she is reading. joan is always striving to power up her content as a motivational speaker. she takes excellent care of herself and goes to the gym every day to walk the track. she has now decided she needs to add weightlifting to her regime.

joan is 87.

how we met is another story entirely, but the two of us have gotten together twice for lunch, and we plan to do it every month. i give her ideas for new contacts and she gives me advice.

"what do you want to be doing in five years?" she asked me.

"i want to be a writer. well i kind of am a writer but i would like to be published."

"what are you doing about it? are you in a writing group? have you researched magazines that would carry your essays?"

"well, no."

"Action! Action! Action! Make a plan! Set a goal! It won't happen if you don't maket it happen! DO IT!"

this is a woman who has reinvented herself many times, and will never be finished. when a divorce left her needing income, she put on a skirt shorter than she was used to wearing and walzed into dayton's to apply for a job in the fashion department, which of course she got. she was thrown out of the palmer house in chicago in 1972 because she was wearing pants. not just pants, sleek trousers with a floorlenght silk vest - an outfit that would bring Mary Richards to tears in envious grief.

last weekend, joan read a book about power -- feeling power and turning that feeling into a reality. the guy who wrote it had $5000.00 in total sum for a graduation or some such thing, so he took part of it and purchased a $1000.00 suit. he put it on and tucked another $1000.00 in his pocket, and just walked around to see what it felt like.

it changed his life. he believed he could accomplish anything - and hey guess what -- he is published!

then my friend told me she is planning a trip to chicago sometime soon. she will ride the train and and enjoy the scenery and she will go alone. several people have asked to go along but she has told them

"no, i want to go alone. i want to have conversations and enjoy dinner in fine restaurants and experience all of it! i don't want any distractions."

and, while she is there, my friend joan is planning to purchase a $1000.00 suit, and pin $1000.00 in her bra

and walk the miracle mile just to see what it feels like.

how i would love to go with her, but she does not want any distractions.

never the less,

she'll tell me all about it at lunch

and i'll keep you posted.

his gentle spirit

he was taken away from us much too soon, but now he is with god, and flying with the angels. he lit up every room with his beautiful smile, and was gentle and kind to everyone. everyone wanted to be around him, and his wonderful laugh. he will be dearly missed by all who knew him.

why do all obituaries sound the same? just once i would like to see a different kind of truth.

what a selfish bum. he was a mooch and a meanie. his mind was filthy and he was always watching out for himself at the expense of everyone else. he used people, stunk, and was basically an ugly excuse for a human being. we are really glad he's dead. wish it happened sooner, took longer, and hurt more. good riddance, loser.

i mean, come on! can all dead people be that nice? there must be a bum in there somewhere.

otherwise all the wrong people are dying.

planting wishes

i planted a wish today. actually, it was a small strip of something pink and compostable that was magically filled with tiny wild flower seeds and on it, it said "wish". it was attached to a birthday card i received on my 50th from some ones dear to me. i soaked it in a clean red clay dish of water and then dug a tiny tiny trough, soaked it some more and then covered it with an inch of potting mix, then gently swept the cedar chips back in place. i don't know what kinds of flowers they are, or if they will come up, or if, when they do they will have the proper amount of sun, or if they will be too tall for the front part of the garden. i don't know anything about them except they told me to wish and that is what i am doing. what am i wishing? i am not sure but whatever my wish is, what a perfect idea to tuck it into something cool and warm and safe, and let it reach it's tiny roots down as it pokes it's tiny head up and then we shall see what we shall see. so my wish is snuggled in and i believe in it, even though i am not exactly sure what i am wishing for. when it comes up, and when i see it, then i will know.

the proper gardner

yesterday afternoon, a tiny old lady was sweeping the sidewalk of her tidy home on minnehaha parkway. i was happy for the red light so i could sit and watch her for 2.3 minutes. she must have had her hair done yesterday - little old ladies do that on saturdays, and it was silver white, puffy and perfect. she was wearing a short sleeved white blouse and light blue capri slacks, both crispy clean with neat creases where creases ought to be. sturdy sensible shoes helped her bend and balance, balance and bend as she swept some flower dust and helicopters off her front walk with her O Cedar angler broom and pale yellow (perfectly spotless) dustpan.

in line at the garden store there were three old people behind me in the long long line. one man in a nice shirt and casual pants, leather belt and walking shoes. two women with perfect hair (of course), one darker than the other, and both wore comfy pants and bright sweaters, one red and one light green. jewelry? of course. dangly chains around their necks and matching earrings.

being the curious person i am (read: snoop), i listened in on their conversation which trailed around from topic to topic -- betty's new hip and the crackpot who did the surgery, what a whack job he is! betty should sue but she won't but she should. they wondered about the plants people around them were purchasing and marveled at the money being spent...these three with their shopping cart containing three small pots of pink petunias.

next to the check out lines ther were piles and piles of every kind of dirt and soil you can imagine...topsoil, sterile garden dirt, potting mix, moisture control...all by Miracle Grow. one said

"who owns that outfit? look at all that stuff! we oughta buy stock in that outfit!"

old man answered "scott - it's a scott company"

"well we ought to buy stock. look at all those piles. people buying it up like crazy. who ever thought we would see the day when people are paying good money for dirt?"

and finally this afternoon at garden store number 2, another pretty old lady with a fresh do was carefully placing one medium sized pot of bright red geraniums in the back seat of her car, but only after being sure the towel in the back seat was in place so as not to soil the apholstery. denim jacket, black pants (the backs of which were covered with white cat hair), large shell earrings, and again, a good pair of shoes.

when i shop garden stores and when i garden, i try my best to make sure my t-shirt is not stained and my shorts aren't too tight. it's ok to be sloppy when you are considering dirt, yes?

what a shame for me, how embarrasing for me. oh dear -- what i look like!

the proper gardner cares about his or her appearance at all times. it is the respectable way to choose plants and care for them.

and don't forget

the sensible shoes.