Our 15th Valentine’s Day Together!

I originally wrote this letter to Mary for our 11th Valentine's Day back in 2014. A lot of changes have happened since then, one of them is our upcoming move to New Hampshire! 

To the only woman who I will ever love…

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My Darling Mary,

Our first contact was in March of 2001, when I started working for your brother as his Office Manager for his consulting firm in Leesburg, Virginia. He named the various family members who would be calling him at the office. When he came to you, he described you as “my gay sister, Mary”. I found it very interesting that he didn’t put any type of labels on your two sisters. It didn’t faze me that you were gay, and it didn’t stop me from enjoying our phone conversations for the next two years. We discussed your partner of many years, my husband, and the unexpected obstacles that happened while on our life’s journey.

We didn’t meet until March 2003, when you flew down from Massachusetts to celebrate your brother’s 60^th birthday. I have this habit of greeting the people that I treasure with my arms straight out, and a huge grin on my face. That was your very first official encounter with me, do you remember that moment?

We had so much fun that week! I felt I had found my “best friend,” and it was such a wonderful feeling. I enjoyed your humor and your infectious laugh. I also liked it that you enjoyed my company. You even invited me to come visit you in the Pioneer Valley area, and all the wonderful things that make it so special.

So you went back to Massachusetts, and your partner of nine years broke up with you because she had found the “love of her life.” You had no place to call home so you moved to Leesburg in the fall of 2003 to work for your brother. In October, you changed my entire life with a single kiss. I’ve never regretted that kiss or any of the upheaval that was caused by the ending of my marriage.

In 2004, we moved to Northampton with our dog, Chloe, and began our lives together as a family. We purchased a home with good “bones” though it needed a lot of work to get to our standards. I wanted a dishwasher, you wanted central air conditioning, and, Chloe wanted a puppy. We all got what we wanted, plus much more.

So here we are - still together and it is now 2018! At the end of this year, we will legally be married for 14 years! Wow!!!

Love you with all my heart,
Sharon

Who’s Carson?

We had the privilege of taking care of Carson for five weeks. You might be asking yourself “Who’s Carson?” Did they get another dog? No, Carson is a Siamese fighting fish, also known as a Betta. They are very territorial and are prone to aggression towards other Bettas, so they need to be kept in separate tanks if you have more than one.

Carson was extremely friendly and outgoing for a fish. We’d go up to his tank and say, “Hi Carson” and he would swim over, and his little flippers would vigorously flap up and down, this was his way of saying “Hi.” So adorable!

We would move his tank around, so he had different views to look at. During the day and evenings, we would have him on the table near our living room window. Also, he could watch us as we sat on the couch watching TV. We’d say, “Hi Carson” or wave and he’d swim over to our side of his tank and his little flippers would go up and down like crazy.

At night time, we would move him over to our china cabinet and put a doggie blanket around his tank to keep him warm because the furnace would go on and off during the night.

Feeding him was an event at least for me it was. He’d get two tiny little pellets twice a day. They were hard to get out of the container. Many times, I’d have lots of them lying on the table in my attempt to get two. When dropping the pellets in, it was important to get his attention, or they would sink to the bottom of the tank. When I opened the little door on his tank lid he’d usually swam over to it. If he didn’t come over, then I would gently tap the water where I wanted him to be.

Carson needed his tank cleaned about every two weeks. His owner provided us a turkey baster to siphon out the water. The baster was also used to suck up Carson’s poop at the bottom of his tank. We only needed to remove about half of his water and replace it with fresh. Carson also had his own mason jar for water which sat for a while before being added back to the tank. This all had to be at room temperature and there were special Betta liquid drops that went into the water as well. 

Doing all of this eliminated the need to remove Carson from his tank. This resulted in a healthy and happy fish! This may explain why my previous Bettas didn’t last long in my care. I didn’t clean their tank often enough, plus I removed them from their tank with a net which always seemed to traumatize them when I cleaned out the tank.

I got the call on a Thursday from Carson’s owner saying he was back from Winter Break and would like to make the arrangements to pick Carson up. I knew the call was coming but I was devastated that our guest would be leaving us. How can one fall in love with a fish? Well, I did.

Carson left us on a Saturday morning. Later in the day I went into the living room and was alarmed that his tank wasn’t on the table. I took a moment to breathe and my brain then kicked in and said, “Hey dummy -- he’s gone back to his real owner which you aren’t.” So true, but sad nevertheless.

I have contacted Carson’s owner several times to see how he’s doing. I have mentioned at least twice that we would be more than willing to take care of Carson over Spring Break. Hopefully, his owner will decide to go somewhere and not stay on campus. Only time will tell!

THOUGHT FOR THE DAY

A Betta or a Puggle?

Carson the Fish:

When I put my face right up to his tank and called out his name he would swim over and his flippers would flap up and down a lot. If he was resting and I called his name, he would start swimming around.

Fast Eddie the Puggle:

When I call for Eddie or pet him, he just ignores me unless I have dog treats to give to him, and only then does he respond to me. Basically, he ignores me 23 out of 24 hours a day. 

My Mother's Obsession with My Hair

I originally wrote and posted this in August 2008 on my old blog. In my lifetime, I have gone through more hair stylists then I have men or women for that matter! I have  never found the person who could handle the fact that my hair is very thick on one side, that I have cowlicks, and I my bangs hang at a funny angle.

Just the other day, I found my person who understands what my hair is doing and what needs to be done to make it look normal! So this story is for Kari. My new best friend. She can be found at "to dye for." in Easthampton, MA.

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My mother had many obsessions and one of them was about my hair. It never looked like the Shirley Temple image she had in her mind. It all started out innocently enough when I was 2-years old. We were living on a military base on the island of Okinawa where my father was stationed. It was very windy and, at the time, I had baby-fine curly strawberry blonde hair. It was always getting tangled, so one day my mother couldn’t take my wiggling and crying any longer from the comb getting stuck in the knots in my hair, so she shaved my head. 

Oh yes, she did! There I was - bald. Hair grows back, so what’s the big deal you ask? Well, it grew back very thick, very straight and no longer blonde! God forbid! And that was the beginning of her obsession with my hair.

Starting at around the age of four (remember my hair had to grow back first), I got the first of many perms that I would have over my lifetime. One of my first memories was sitting in a chair in the Beauty Salon on a stack of telephone books, trying not to fall out of the chair. I truly believe this is where my fear of heights came from. It was several feet to the floor and I could have gotten really hurt. If I had fallen it wouldn’t have concerned my mother - as long as my hair came out curly. Also, I distinctly remember the strong smell of the perm and how my eyes always watered during the process.

I was blessed with extremely thick hair and the perms I received didn’t react well and my hair became all frizzy looking. Our hairdresser at the time just didn’t know how to handle cutting it. My mother started taking me to the Barber Shop on the base. One of the first pictures taken of me when we came back to the States was of a little white girl with an Afro! That and my speaking a mix-mash of English and Japanese was not well received back in 1958! Oh, the traumas I went through as a young child!

Now both my parents lived through the Great Depression and were scarred for life because of that. When we came back to the States, they both continued to work and save money so we wouldn’t end up in Debtors’ Prison. My mother was a Civil-Service Nurse (she worked at the clinic on base) and my father was a Chief-Master Sergeant stationed at the Air Base in Lincoln, Nebraska.

One of their money-saving ideas was for my mother to start perming my hair at home. Impending disaster! She left the solution on way too long which resulted in huge clumps of my hair falling out. On top of this, I was growing like a weed and they weren't replacing any of my dresses. During the early 60’s, no decent little girl wore pants to school! There I was looking like Little Orphan Annie, (this must be where my obsession with red hair began) with dresses hitting above my knees, which was not fashionable back then, and with very frizzy hair with clumps of it missing. Oh, what a sight I was!

Fast forward to the late 60’s, when the Beatles (the band, not the bug) and flower children were having their moment in history with their very straight, long hair. Yep, for a brief while, Mother left the perm obsession and went to the straight-hair obsession. Which was fine with me. I learned to blow dry my hair using one of those domed hair dryers designed for home use. It looked like a huge blue helmet! I flipped back the arm that connected the dome to the electrical unit and made my own blow dryer. It wasn’t very small, nor very portable, but it worked!

Now I always tried to be the good little girl and live the way my mother wanted me to, which is how I developed my neuroses and obsessions that I have had to battle with over the years. Ah, think of all the future blog postings you'll get to read!

One of the many rebellions I went through with my mother was when I was a  teenager and it was about my hair. Go figure. In the fall of 1971, I decided I wanted to wear my hair in a Gypsy Shag which was all the rage back then. My mother would not even consider that as an option for me. One day I snuck off to downtown Lincoln. Thank goodness for the bus system! I went to Swanson’s, which at the time was a very swanky clothing store in town with a salon and had my hair done. I remember coming home and yelling for my mother from the first-floor landing that I had a surprise for her. She flipped! Oh my gosh, she had a bird. She was so upset! She never forgave me for going against her wishes. Years later she would always shudder at the mere mention of the Gypsy Shag hair episode.

As the years flew by I found other ways to upset my mother, dating older men, staying out until the wee hours and divorcing at the young age of 25 (marriage #1) and so forth. But it seemed one of our favorite past times over the years was always arguments over my hair. To remove myself from my mother’s interference, I moved from Denver and eventually ended up in Virginia. She hated to travel, so I was safe living in Virginia.

But like the good girl that I tried to be, I went back to Denver every six months and stayed for a week of fun and hell. Now let me tell you, for me to get from Northern Virginia to Denver took hours by plane plus travel time to and from the airports. There I’d be, landing exhausted at Mother’s doorstep around 11:00 p.m. (which would be 1:00 a.m. back East). And the very first words that came out of her mouth after having not seen me for six months was, “Oh Sharon Elaine, your hair looks just horrible!” 

Thanks, Mom. I needed to hear that after traveling so many hours to see you. But unfortunately, I just could never please that woman no matter how much I tried and especially when it came to my hair.

Until the next time…