Being alone and being happy about it.

 A friend called me a few days ago to read a quote from Hunter S. Thompson about being alone and about self respect. Because this subject has been my obsession lately, it was like a lucky star just dropped into my lap. That someone else out there in the wide universe read a few sentences and knew that those words were meant for me was humbling and validating. 

We are all unique individuals, even if we are with someone. Our society puts such emphasis on "partnering up" that sometimes one can feel like an outsider when one doesn't want a mate. Whether it's a long-term partner or a short-term relationship, it's what is expected of us in our culture. How many times has someone said to me something like "...but don't you want to meet someone?"  Meaning, of course, don't I want someone in my life, in my house, in my bed, for the long term.  The answer, for me, is a strong NO. 

I have long-term mates. I have friends I have known for over 50 years, I have kids and siblings  and I have known them forever. These are not casual relationships: they mean the world to me. No one can or should go through life without friends, without contacts. But these friendships are enough for me right now. I can see the people I want when I want. No one needs to be with me every hour of every day. No one needs to be my companion on more than a now-and-then basis.

Sometimes I wonder if my childhood prompted this need for the solitary life. We had 8 people in a three bedroom house and there was never a chance for privacy or alone time. Until I was in my late 40's I never lived alone. Three of my six siblings live alone like myself. Maybe there's a genetic (or environmental) reason some of us are solitary beings, living alone quite contentedly. 

There is a huge difference in being alone and being lonely. Being alone is a choice to not have someone else around. It doesn't mean I am lonely, it means I am happy by myself. And if I am not happy, another person isn't going to fix that.

In the words of Hunter S. Thompson:

We are all alone, born alone, die alone and we shall all someday look back on our lives and see that, in spite of our company, we were alone the whole way.  I do not say lonely - at least, not all the time - but essentially, and finally, alone. This is what makes your self-respect so important, and I don't see how you can respect yourself if you must look in the hearts and minds of others for your happiness.

Life is for the birds

Hours of entertainment!  Toss some birdseed on the ground and watch what happens. I guess this would happen anywhere, whether you have a large yard or just a patch of dirt near the sidewalk; once birds know there's food around, they will come.

There is a bird feeder hanging near my kitchen window but watching the birds jockey for position at that feeder is not nearly as enjoyable as watching them roam all over the yard, nipping on the bird feed I toss out every morning. (It's cheap and even Safeway carries it.)

Different birds have different eating styles, of course. The little birds, about the size of a tangerine, just get in there and peck away, sometimes getting a big piece that requires them to fly to a tree and nibble on it. But usually they look like typical eaters: little heads bobbing up and down, moving from tiny seed to seed. The gray morning doves are different. They are slower, gazing over the ground like they are at a Las Vegas buffet, figuring on what's the best and making their selection carefully. Then they stand in one place and peck away, not moving around much. 

The woodpeckers are very quick, flying in, scaring the small birds, their bright red heads gleaming. With their shiny white breasts and their black tuxedo-jacket wings, these guys seem formal, like they just stopped off for a bite before going out to a nightclub to listen to jazz. 

And then there are the blue jays. Everyone scatters when these characters show up. Not only are they bigger in size, but they are bigger in sound and fury as well. The jays just chow down, no finesse, just gobbling as quick as they can and they eat a lot! All the little birds hang back about a dozen feet away, hoping the jays will leave them something.

If crows show up, I go outside and tell them to leave.  Yes, everyone thinks crows are so smart and clever.  I don't care. Crows are even more bullish than the jays, walking around in their black overcoats, strutting like they own the place. They can get their own meals, I am not feeding them!

Watching the bird action early in the morning makes my day. The little juncos, the titmouse with the little mohawk haircut, the cute chickadees, there are so many different species. The humming birds don't come and eat the birdseed, oddly, but they are always around, flitting from bush to bush, flower to flower, dipping in and out of the water fountain. Every now and then a squirrel will join in and then I know it's going to be a very good day.

Life now or in the past

One thing you get with a weeklong storm is down-time. Intermittent showers quickly turn into a downpour, which means taking a walk in the park is dicey. Driving anywhere is troublesome because of water on the road and the danger of a huge tree limb falling on your car. (Yes, that's a big personal fear. Call me crazy, but still.) There's lots of time for reading but even that gets old by the sixth day. Luckily, in my neighborhood the power has not gone out, so there's the dismal joy of too much TV, another thing I tire of quickly. And bottom line, how many on-line Scrabble games with strangers are really necessary?  

So, back to the concept of down-time. Alone time, for those of us who live alone. Time to think. At this juncture, the beginning of a new year, thinking carries the danger of deep and possibly insightful rumination. Rumination sounds heavy and bleak. Maybe pondering the past would be better. Or even pondering the future.

At this point in life, past when one can claim to be "middle aged" and has advanced into the category of "elderly" (and how the hell did that happen?) the ponderings are usually about life in the past. Not future plans, although that should be a factor, but more about "how did I get here?"  Especially, how did I get to be in this elderly category when my mind still pretends to be 55.  

It is baffling. Not the mind part but the age part and the past. Too much time is spent thinking about what happened when and why. You always think you will remember things, the important things, like the baby's first step or buying the first house (or the second or third) or the time, the only time, you won a game of Scrabble with your brother. You hope you will remember the first time you fell in love, the first time you had sex, the first (and hopefully the last) time you were in the back of a police car. The first time you went to Paris.** When you graduated from college, when you bought your first real car, not the junker you could afford, but an honest car, and the first time someone called you "Momma."

But we don't remember all that much and it is now becoming apparent that the fact is just that: our memories are falling to the side of the road, like melting ice chips: just there, look!  And then, gone.

Of course, most of the things mentioned above I do remember because how could I have listed them if I didn't? But so many years of my kids' lives are just a blur to me now. There are years in my life that I can't reconstruct time-wise and to try and reconstruct the reasons why I did certain things is impossible. 

We all know the Faulkner line:  The past is never dead. It's not even past."  We are a culmination of everything that has happened to us and thus our past is never dead, we are living it. We can't change it but we also can't unlive it. Our past is us.

It's almost like there are two parallel universes here, one that we live now, our day-to-day life and another, the life that we chose a long time ago and it is still walking next to us, every day.  What if we had chosen the 'other' thing, made an opposite decision?  Those options are still ranging around in my mind, probably because they were not the ones I picked at that moment.  Once you make a decision and your life takes that course, those other decisions don't simply vanish. They are still hovering overhead, tempting you, irrationally saying "hey, I'm still here, you can still pick me." And I believe they never leave.

This is not to say that I wish I had made different decisions along the way. Nope. Each choice made me who I am now. The things I remember, the results of those choices, are good. But all those other options are like a pillow case full of lofty air, not weighing me down but not letting me go either. I think they're there as a reminder: nothing is past. Everything is now, everything is present.  Live it.

** To be honest, I do remember the first time I went to Paris. As I stepped out of the taxi from the airport, and put my foot on Rue Cler, I was overcome with this thought: "I have been here before. I will be fine."  And I was.

More of the canines: Part 5

The past three Wednesdays have been good with the SPCA dogs. I finally figured out how to get the dogs I want and how to not be pressured into walking the really jumpy and large dogs. There have been a lot of small dogs at the shelter for some reason, and all of them are so, so cute.  But if they are there on a particular Wednesday morning there is no guarantee they will still be there the following week. The little guys get adopted quickly so one should not get attached to them. 

Yesterday at 7:00 a.m. it was pouring rain.  Taking the little dogs out in the rain was almost painful: they get soaked and cold very quickly and for most of them it wasn't how they wanted to spend their morning. Dry and warm and in their kennels sounded a lot better, but out they go to pee and poop and then to either go for a walk around the property or pop into an unused training room so they can play and run around inside. The big dogs cared less about the rain, they were happy just to have a 15 minute reprieve from incarceration. And to have a person dry them off and pet them. All the dogs are so needy for love and attention.

There are dogs at the SPCA that are simply too big and jumpy and thus it's almost impossible (for me) to harness them. After attempting to overcome the size and jump factors, I just gave up on walking these dogs. Since I am the only volunteer over the age of 60, it's easy to play the "old" card and that card seems quite acceptable to everyone. Honestly, the people in charge are so happy that I show up at 7:00 in the morning. There are only two (sometimes three) of us early morning volunteers and I let the other person take the dogs I don't want. No one cares. 

There will come a day when I fall in love with one of the dogs, I am already sure of that. Yesterday there was a small, adorable dog that I could have easily taken home, but I am not quite ready. When I return next week I am sure that this little guy will be gone to a good home. There is also a big dog who looks like a ceramic piggy bank, very round, white with large black spots, incredibly friendly and grateful for any and all attention. If I lived in a larger space he would be a contender as well. 

The greatest thing would be to show up some Wednesday and have almost no dogs to walk! To know that these needy pups found a good home would make me the happiest dog walker ever.

More to follow, I'm sure.....