i've died and gone to dayton's

the name has changed three times in the last several years but it will always be daytons to me. thirty years ago when i was new to minnesota i had heard about this department store temple, mecca, icon...i had no money back then and my college debt was mounting, but i could share a cup of wild rice soup with a girlfriend in the skyroom. it came with a free popover, cold ice water in thick glass goblets and service that made us both feel fabulously wealthy. all for under ten bucks.

in my early 30's my best friend, frank and i would go to daytons and breathe the perfume, play with cosmetics and browse the sale racks. we would usually end up in the men's department where my darling frank would buy smoothe new packages of white polo briefs (easier than doing laundry). we would look at the jewelry and choose a new scent for him so he would smell good for his new boyfriend. and on our way out, even though i was still strapped for cash, he would pull me to the clinique counter and insist i purchase something because it was give-away-time.

and then we would walk down the center aisle, flanked by lancome and estee and chanel and we would feel so rich under those magnificent fairy tale chandeliers. his boots and my flipflops slapping on the white marble, with beautiful people in pastel smocks behind glittering counters smiling at us; have a great day!

frank and i thought we should design a logo that said

i've died and gone to dayton's

dayton's!



no one did christmas like dayton's. decades ago, the window displays were temporarily given over to puppets and holiday scenes. shiny dollmaker elves tapping a smile onto a doll in one motion, and placing it in a box the next. mrs santa taking cookies out of the oven, then winking and putting them back in. fluffy snow and tiny brass bands -- a wonderland of windows at 8th and nicollet.



i bought my first pair of contacts at dayton's. and pair of faux snake pumps when i could wear that kind of thing. a pink silk suit for a keynote presentation in front of an international audience; and the best little black dress that ever was.



it was a thick jersery material, off the shoulder with a belt and circle skirt -- i looked at it and looked at it and looked at it and it was finally 40% off and in my closet shortly thereafter. we went to the theater together, that dress and i, and out to dinner, and to weddings, and it was that kind of dress that fit me no matter what and looked almighty every time.



it was a sleepy at dayton's today, when i stopped in to pick up a few things for vacation. i wandered all over the 4th floor (lingerie, women/children's apparel, better dresses, bridal salon, beauty shop), choosing items here and there. as i packed up my things in the third or eight dressing room i noticed something was missing.



my purse.



the sales associates who caught me as i blasted from the fitting room went into immediate action.

where were you? which department? did you use any other fitting rooms? let the other sales associates on 4 know that a purse is down! for the love of god, call security!

and most importantly

OMG it was a COACH - we have to find it!

we found it. a very nice woman in one of the fitting rooms picked it up and told me she was going to bring it out to the desk after she finished trying on this one blouse, but she heard me so "OH SHIT". she peeked out the door and said "lose your purse?"

i was so relieved, i thanked her profusely and told her that color looked great on her (which it did).

walking out of daytons up the center aisle i smelled citrus and musk, lilacs and roses, clean linen and pineapple. i had my purse, i had some new shorts and a new bra.

but i can't remember what ever happened with the little black dress.

the devil is in the details

i have long envied those people you see sitting at coffee shops in the middle of the day. they sit there with iced lattes and italian sodas and chat or read or facebook or write or just sit. how can those people be so lucky to be sitting at an outdoor cafe on a gorgeous august day in shorts and straw hats? don't they work? maybe this is their day off or maybe they are on vacation or unemployed or rich.

i was one of those people today. after several weeks of thinking i would be one of them sooner, i finally felt well enough to take my place at the neighborhood coffee shack, order up a tall cold one with lots of ice and put my feet up in the shade. ah, this is living!

there were plenty of tables next to mine but the two friends who were there to catch up with each other chose the one right next to mine, and it was RIGHT next to mine. there was plenty of room for me to slide my table over or for them to, but i did not want to appear rude so kept on sipping and faking a good read.

they were in there early 4o's and a bit hippie-ish, maybe i felt that way because i spent 4 hours watching woodstock this weekend, but he did have a very long ponytail and she, a mass of long curls. they wore simple t-shirts and shorts and rugged sandals and her toenails were too long and painted mauve. he sipped a hot beverage and nibbled on cheesecake, she had a root beer and they both smoked marlboro lights.

being a sometimes smoker myself, i would not have expected to be annoyed by their puffs but i was. it wasn't just the cigarettes, she was loud and i mean loud and did i say loud. they talked about being unemployed and possible job opportunities, they shared bar gossip and then he talked about the new book he was starting to write. evidently it will start in a coffee shop. there didn't seem to be much to the plot but she was oo-ing and wow-ing over every phrase, leaning and and telling him how proud she was of him.

they each had cell phones and who doesn't these days, and i wondered if cell phones are partly responsible for people being so public about all of their their conversations. voices are louder and bigger than they used to be. it feels intrusive to me, and a little bit rude. no more quiet tones and private sharing, just lamplified sentences colliding over coffee.

there was a woman in the grocery store yesterday who stood within an arms reach of the spice aisle with her cart and she was having a long conversation with someone about this and that who would be at the party and did she really say that? she was standing solidly and did not react to an excuse me as i tried to get in front of her in search of a good rib rub. spice i mean, i was not interesed in rubbing her ribs although i suppose we were close enough.

last week it was a jewish man with long grey curls cascading from his yamaka, standing so close to the dvd's at half-price books i could not see the middle of the alphabet. excuse me...no reaction. pardon me...nope. he talked about who was picking up which kids and how did that all turn out and what time whatever whatever.

i'm an observer. it is what i love and what i do best and i am still trying to figure out how to make money at it. i remember useless but sometimes interesting details -- and even so, it annoys me that i can't just ignore these people and their details and go back to my browsing or reading.

in the meantime, human beings are so much more intimiate with conversations they have in public with people they cannot see than they are involved in what is happening in their own space in each moment. what is it about being able to connect with anyone any time that washes away any self consciousness we used to feel when we called people from a phone booth? a booth! a whole tiny private room!

but here we are chatting up everything from the mundane to the most serious comparisons of the human condition, and we do it on the lightrail, or on the sidewalk, or at gate 35 on the green concourse or in the spice aisle. privacy does not seem to matter, and with that, good manners sometimes disappear, too.

oh well, like i said

this is living.

it's a johnny bravo world

you remember that episode, don't you? greg brady thinks he is getting his big break and will be a hip rock star. they give him this groovy pantsuit - elvis inspired - lots of sparklies and he thinks he is the coolest cat ever! all that talent wrapped up in polyester and sequins...what a dream come true. but after his recording session he is so confused -- "hey that doesn't sound like me at all!"

well of course kid. we don't really care how good you can sing, cuz we can make it sound however we like. point is, you fit the suit.

my new friend and i were talking on the phone the other afternoon, she 5 weeks further into her recovery than mine, so each of us trying not to laugh but making each other laugh anyway, and bonnie pointed out that people seem to get famous for no apparent reason these days -- case in point, paris hilton or the kardashians. the suit fits and it looks great on camera so AFTER that, they figure out how to move around in that suit and how to talk and what to say and how will it play on camera. in some cases it does not matter who you are or what you have to say in the first place - if the suit fits everything can be changed around to satisfy the designer.

lately i have been obsessed with the beales of grey gardens. i missed the hbo movie but got my hands on the orginial documentary, thinking it would be interesting to see how those two crazy broads justified what seemed like outrageous behavior to the rest of the world.

oh my, was i surprised.

we all are characters of one sort or another, but some of us are much better at it than others.

nothing was really crazy at grey gardens, in fact it was refreshing and touching to see two women who were so unashamedly authentic. big edith sits sunning herself naked but for a towel in one scene and later sings old songs in a strong voice from her bed. little edith wears turbans with brooches and marches to a dance number in the hall. she chose her outfits with such care and orginality that she inspired a layout in Vogue magazine. several cats and piles of piles might not be something most of us would call "homey" but these two women were as real and true to themselves and to the world than anyone who creates a persona only after finding out what it should be used for.

it is a good and valuable lesson.

edith says it much better than i....see what you think, and thanks ladies!


http://http//www.youtube.com/watch?v=vWEeJbuF3bM

where everybody knows your name

even thought they know your name, they ask you all the time anyway, and then what is your birthdate, just to make sure you are you but they all know your name. hi linda hi linda good morning linda how are you linda...

there is much to do in pre-op, lots of questions and a new outfit with vacuum cleaner hose holes and fuzzy socks with treads, a cap for later. i was uneasy and nervous when the double doors outside my cube burst open and a gigantic man with big blue jeans, a black polo shirt and a worn out canvas brief case barreled his presence into pre-op. he tried to sneak by my bed but nice nurse tammi nabbed him and there he was towering over me grabbing at my right hand. he was the pillsbury dough boy crossed with an old ray bolger with a little bit of jack nicholson attitude.

the nurse said "we were just going to find a good vein but then we saw you and you are so much better at it"... and without even saying hello he flicked the top of my right hand hard with long knockworst fingers and then smacked it again and within a second the needle was deep in my vein and i was iv ready. this big old grumpy grampa in a black polo shirt did it almost with his eyes closed, taped it all down and that was that.

off he went and nice nurse said "he just happened to be on his way in and i grabbed him, he's the best. he will be your anesthesiologist"

uh oh.

i was crying when they wheeled me into the operating room which has become my habit and it comforts me that no one notices or is bothered by it. there are so many of them and there is so much to do and they each have their special tasks. the way they took charge of every piece of me was so comforting. i had no idea what was happening, but to them, it was just a wednesday morning.

ok linda we're going to slide you over, put your bottom right above that hole. we're going to wrap you up and tuck your arms under you. now we are wrapping your legs with these these pressure cuffs to keep your blood moving nicely and we are going to put lots of stickers on you, sit up just a little honey, ok lie back down linda now you are going to start to feel relaxed...

bring it on dr b.

many hours later, in the middle of the night, a storm rolled in over downtown minneapolis and i was so glad it was all over. time for a check of vitals and a dose of an iv blood product, which of course required the nurse to ask me my name again.

what's your name honey?

mariah carey.

:)

eviction notice

i can't believe i ever called her my friend. that bitch. she showed up when i was 12 and terrified me. i didn't know who or what she was but there she was, in front of me, a part of me and i have never liked her. my sister told me who she was and how long she'd be staying and then finally gave me her copy of "growing up and liking it" which she had received when she was a girl scout. i never received my own copy, having never made it past one season of brownies.

i have had it with you, old maid. we have spent approximately 2,736 days together these past 38 years and i haven't enjoyed one of them. not one!

remember the time you showed up unexpectedly when i was just starting to teach a class on leadership in st cloud? it was my birthday and i drove through the thickest scariest fog to get there and you followed me. i wasn't ready for you but you SO didn't care. i was already so stressed but you just laughed out loud and made me feel self-conscious.

or what about when you marched your ass into the dressing room opening night of "into the woods" at theater in the round? you didn't peak around the corner this time, or give me a coy little poke and wink saying "here i come...i'll be with you soon..." no -- this time you fell from the sky in a heavy drunken thump and freaked me out because again you were not expected till next week and dammit my costume - my GOWN-- it was white and you almost ruined my evening.

so you old hag, a couple of weeks ago notice was thereby issued that i am to be rid of you once and and for all and i told you there was nothing you could do about it.

but you, in your tenacious, stubborn, SNEAKY way, decided to have one last hurrah, didn't you. you tangled yourself up at 4 this morning and then you twisted and punched at the tangles and woke me up to torture me one last time. bonus for you -- i can't take ibuprofen for the next few days because of you know why, and you are delighted! listen ragsucker, that is a super mean trick.

i'm trying to think of something nice to say about you, and about the time we have spent together but, sorry aunt flo, nothing is striking me. instead i am remembering the days before over-the-counter medication that actually worked was available. those days of lying in agony with a hot pad on my stomache and the only thing that that did was burn my skin and make my hair sweat. you made me cry and you made me ache and i have hated you and you need to GO!

wait a sec -- there might be something. give me a minute.

ok, here's one: whenever you visited in the seventh grade, you were my "no questions asked" excuse not to have to take a shower after gym class. i hated that ritual and i was never sweaty anyway but those mean old coaches with pleated skirts and tanned varicose veins insisted we get nude and rinse off. god i was glad when you were there!

and you know what? nobody craves a better feast than you. today, in preparation for our parting, you drove me to porters for a gigantic cheeseburger and fries and two cold beers. midafternoon you lured me into the bedroom, presented me with a pile of fresh pillows, a glass of wine and a great chick flick, and you gave me permission -- no! a directive -- to lounge for a couple of hours even though so many things needed doing.

and what about those times that i paced the floor waiting for you - sometimes for days, and i worried i might not see you -- not for several months! those were crushingly tense days and nights. but you always did arrive, and when you did i cried my eyes out, so relieved that you decided to come and only sorry about the pain after my joy had subsided.

OK OK, we've been through a lot together. but listen cousin, time for you to go. we are getting along worse than ever these days and it isn't good for either one of us.

wednesday is the day, so be sure and say everything you need to say before 7am on the 29th. go ahead, say what you need to say.

by the way, thanks for ordering up spaghetti and garlic bread for dinner, my friend,

and brownies for dessert.

if there is anything else, i am listening.

edna's dreams

to eliminate any confusion, "edna lizard" is an annagram (spelling?) for my real name. some of you know that....

even still -- she is a real someone, that edna - a switched up mixed up, more enlightend me, and i adore her. and her lessons.

in the entries here, i typically try very hard to make sense out of an observation, a thought, a conversation, a fear...

but on edna's blog, she just describes what she sees and smells and feels when she is dreaming.

love that about her. edna says

"things don't need to make sense right now. patience child! just keep observing. the meaning will come if you don't try to make sense of it, so stop trying".

ednadreaming.blogspot.com

madonna in the poop

a young hispanic man went outside to wash his truck yesterday and noticed some bird poop on one of the mirrors. miraculously, the poop had drizzled itself into a perfect vision of the virgin mary (they super-imposed mary over the poop spot on the news and i mean i totally saw the holy mother in that poop!!!!!).

it has become quite the spectacle! people are stopping by and kneeling in front of the rearview mirror shrine and praying and crying. one woman who was interviewed at the scene said "when i first saw it, i started shaking. it is such a miracle!"

i'm fascinated in learning about what people believe in. in the book "the magic of believing" claude bristol talks about his studies of various religions, cults, and spiritual practices around the world. he found one common denominator in all of them -- and that is that every person believes. some believed they would be safe and unharmed walking across fire, and for others it was commiting their souls to heaven, others still, praying for rain -- whatever it was they were believing in...

it worked.

is this an example of the power of our minds to accomplish things? the power of the connection between our hearts and the universe? the tendons stringing our mortal will to our own destinies?

belief in itself is a mystical thing. it brings comfort, assurance and quiet. in it's purest form, it eliminates all doubt from the things we hope for and dream of...all of those thingsthat we know are right and true and necessary.

the guy who owned the truck said he has removed the mirror and will preserve the stain so people can continue to stop by and look at it

and believe.