An "Ants in the Syrup" Kinda Week

Last Monday I went to pour syrup on my daily breakfast of waffles and strawberries when I discovered what looked like zillions of big, thick, black Carpenter Ants scurrying for cover on the floor of my pull-out cupboard!  Shocked, I quickly closed the door and suantered to the sink, practically hyperventilating!  Never before had I seen anything like this in my home.  My home, not an ant farm!

After taking a few minutes to console my rapidly beating heart, I peeked in the cupbaord, and, now, only saw dozens of ants scurrying for cover.  Carefully, I slid the syrup bottle out, as if it were filled with nitrogen about to explode, slowly poured some onto my waffles and set it on top of the counter.  As I put fork to mouth, I noticed something on the side of my plate---a big dead ant drenched in thick goo.   So started my week.

Tuesday, I received notice that my IRA account was down greatly-in ONE month!  Recently, I'd met with a young upstart, imeccably dressed, well-schooled jr. account executive at Fidelity Investments.  I've had an IRA there for nearly 20 years and had never met with anyone to discuss account management.  But, as I approached retirement age, I started wondering if I was in the best accounts, earning the most bang for my buck, so to speak, and so made an appointment with someone to discuss my "portfolio."

We met three times and "Dan" convinced me to move most of my funds into a Freedom Account.  Said it was less risky than my Blue Chip Money Market.  I thought about it for a while and then deferred to his expertise.  After all, he'd just graduated from a business program and was trained in picking the best funds for folks, so, I figured he knew more than I did and would give it a try.  That was in early June.  Now, I find out that, only for the month of June, 30 short days, my account plummeted by over $1000--in one short month!

More on this, later.

Wednesday was the wost day of the week.  My neighbor's cat, who was my cat to begin with, got loose and wandered into my yard.  He hates it over there and only wants to be with his relatives, all of my kits and me. So I played with and talked to him, kissed and cuddled him and welcomed him home.  His true home.  Yet, I knew my neighbor would be back from her vacation by Saturday, and her nervous cat-sitter was having a fit looking for him, so I left it up to a Higher Power to see if he would stay in my yard or return to hers.

About 10:30 that night, the hysterical cat-sitter started whistling and cooing to him, luring him onto the deck and into her clutches.  Innocent and trusting, the poor cat came and was immediately whisked back into the house, entombed again.  Never to see the light of day or play except within her prison walls.

Thursday, I sank into a depression over what'd happened the first three days of the week.  Cried and sighed, moped and lost hope.  Add to that my niece being in trouble with the law out in L.A., my other niece not responding to gifts and a musical medley of darling photos of her kids that I created just for her, my Mom approaching her 92nd birthday and feeling more confused, unhappy & anxious by the minute, no one to go see a play with that evening, my hair losing its elasticity and growing thinner and frizzier by the day, my blood sugar 2 points away from being diabetic, and various other sorted and sundry wails and woes that were beyond my control.

Friday I needed a break so didn't schedule much.  I called "Dan" for the second time, about my plummeting IRA, and left a message.  Still haven't heard back from him.  The "Terminix" man came and sprayed my cupbaords, basebaords, attic, basement, and total foundation of my home outside with ant-killing spray.  He said, "I'll take care of ya" meaning the ant problem and my anxiety about it.  Took my pup and kits for a walk later in the day, lost my appetite, but thats all right, as I'm overweight and have high choloesterol.  Oh, did I forget to mention that, too?

Then, last night on 20/20, I saw a moving story about a minister who killed his wife in order to be with his girlfriend, then the girlfriend went and snitched on him in court.  Now, he's serving a 65 year sentence.  He smothered his wife to death, wrote out a suicide note, rubbed it against her dead hands and left her lying on their bedroom floor--note nearby-- plus, their two little children in the bedrooms down the hall.

Horrible story.  In the end, the dead wife's Mom took the stand and, weeping, she spoke to Minister Baker.  She said she thought he was a monster for killing her daughter.  She read him the riot act but then concluded with this:  "What you did was hainous and horrible.  You will pay for this crime by going to prison where you belong.  My daughter will never see her children grow up.  You have robbed them of their Mother, my daughter, who loved you.  Yet with what you did and the wrongfulness of murdering my daughter, we forgive you, for that is the only way we will ever be able to heal and move on and, I believe, show that always, in the end, love trumps evil."

A powerful, moving, unforgettable expose on a crime of passion.  I was speechless and thought about this story all evening and woke up ruminating about it, still.  For aren't all hurtful deeds, no matter how small, how insignificant or how subtle, crimes of passion?  Of someone's will against yours?  Acting out in passive and aggressive (and sometimes passive/aggressive) ways?  Crimes of slights (like from my niece) or ignorance (like the neighbor imprisoning the cat) or blunders (like my investment counselor just messing up).

And what about the consequences?  When these, seemingly minor crimes are committed, surely no one will go to jail, be fined or "pay" in any way.  Yet the one who has been hurt will.  No matter how small, pain will be inflicted and felt.  Happens all the time.  Quickly and often. 

Yet, are we not all victims and perpetrators?  Through our thoughts and actions?  Our Speech and slights?  Our omissions and comissions?  Are your words gentle & understanding or strident and judgmental?  Are you at peace within your heart or angry & defensive much of the time?  Does your energy speak of togetherness and connections or distance and separations? 

This week has been a revelation in many resects, an eye-opener.  A wake-up call.   My antennae are up.  My eyes and ears alert.  Heart wide open.

My ground zero.

Passion and Compassion

Compassion is not religious business, it is human business, it is not luxury, it is essential for our own peace and mental stability, it is essential for human survival.

Tenzin Gyatso

14th Dalai Lama of Tibet

Keats' Love Letters to Fanny Brawne

It was on this day in 1819 that John Keats (books by this author) wrote one of his most famous lines: "I love you the more in that I believe you have liked me for my own sake and for nothing else. I have met with women whom I really think would like to be married to a Poem and to be given away by a Novel." It was part of letter to his beloved Fanny Brawne, a letter that began.


"My sweet Girl—Your Letter gave me more delight than any thing in the world but yourself could do; indeed I am almost astonished that any absent one should have that luxurious power over my senses which I feel. Even when I am not thinking of you I receive your influence and a tenderer nature stealing upon me. All my thoughts, my unhappiest days and nights have I find not at all cured me of my love of Beauty, but made it so intense that I am miserable that you are not with me: or rather breathe in that dull sort of patience that cannot be called Life."


It was one of the earliest of his famous letters to Fanny Brawne, though the two had met almost a year before, in the autumn of 1818. Keats was in love with another woman, Isabella Jones, at the time, but by late spring of 1819, he'd become devoted to Fanny Brawne.


The two became secretly engaged, but never married, and Keats died of tuberculosis a year and a half later, at the age of 25. She lived for another 45 years after his death. Keats' now-famous love letters to her were unknown until 1878, when they were first published — more than half a century after he wrote them.

Sizzlin' Weather

The 5th of July brings heat, heat and more heat!  You might say, the heat's ON! 

For sure.  Tonight Sweetie Sue and I went for our evening stroll and took the following pictures.  Nothing special to report, so I'll sign off and hope you enjoy the pix!

Happy Independence Day

What more befitting of "Independence Day" then this quote from Writer's Almanac:

On this day in 1845, 27-year-old Henry David Thoreau (books by this author) moved into his cabin near Walden Pond, a mile and a half from Concord, on some land that belonged to his friend Ralph Waldo Emerson. In exchange for rent, Thoreau worked on the land, clearing away brush and planting trees. He planted two and a half acres, mostly with beans — scholars estimate that Thoreau planted 24,750 bean plants by hand the first year, hoeing them from 5 in the morning until noon each day. He spent 26 months there, keeping a journal of his thoughts, activities, and observations. Years later, in 1854, he published Walden, or Life in the Woods, based on his notebooks from those years.

I've always admired Thoreau.  From the time we were introduced (when I was about 15, in high school) to now, I think of him as one of my mentors.  He lived life on his terms, & I greatly admire that quality in a person.  Once, I walked around Walden Pond and felt the vibes of freedom and independence in-the-air.  Maybe it was just my imagnation, but I felt a kindship with the man who lived there so many years ago.  We both value liberty and living life to the fullest. 

This morning, as I awoke, I had thoughts of folks I've known throughout my life who are no longer with us here on Earth.  Why, such a macabre thought, I don't know.  But I thought of Soupy Sales, Paul Newman, Jack Lemmon, Marilyn Monroe, J.D. Salinger (whom I dearly wanted to meet and, probably, could've during one of my many trips to Cornish, New Hampshire), Marlon Brando, Charlie Chaplin, Erik Kunsel, Gene Barry (spoke at one of my classes at UCLA, won a Tony Award for La Cage aux Folles--now, gone--and so many others.  Why I'm thinking of all these dead people, I'll never know.

Maybe a sense of time gone by.  Going by.  Gone forever.  A sense of my own mortality, on the dawn of my Mom turning 92 next month and bitterly complaining about her life as it is, and, even, was; feeling angry, bitter, regretful and unsettled about the state of her health, her emotions, outlook, friends and family.  What more is there?

Erik Erikson developed the "Seven Stages of Life" and said that, in our older years, we either feel "generativity" (meaning fulfilled or, at least, somewhat satisfied with our lives) or "regret."I can strongly say my Mother feels total regret.  Not for having 3 daughters but for just about everything else.  And, that trickles down to me, her youngest, and I feel bad, too--for her and for myself (somtimes.)

Then at times like those and on holidays, like today, when I'm alone, again, I try not to shine the light on those dark thoghts and solitary nights.  I try to focus on the good, the healthy, the sublime.  Like my pup and kits.  My health, close friends and people who matter to me.  Life is good.  Celebrate!