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Red Lipstick & Green Ink [userpic]

I feel very small today...and quite Alive.

February 9th, 2007 (05:24 pm)

After 3 morning shifts this week, I am in at 6PM tonight, to close the bar.
So I have been shuffling around the house all day, in my slippers....and finding things
I am not supposed to.

Letter after letter in my inbox online has shaken me.
And then I walked to the real mail box.

A large manila envelope caught my eye, and I ripped it open.
It was the sort of envelope....You my Imaginary Friends send me stuff in.

It was not for me.
It was not for Ben.

It was for Mrs Sanders.

She and her husband were the original owners of this house.
Bought it new in 1962....and grew old in it. Taking very very good care of it.

It was Mr Sander's Death Certificate, sent from Fort Hood.
He was a Vet.

I knew, from our loverly land lady Bertha (Bear-ta) that they had both left this
House...for a "Home"--unable at the end to take care of themselves. I do not even know
if Mrs Sanders is still alive.

Mr Sanders, it seems, died of Alzheimer's and dementia--according to the document.
(yes, that does sound strange to me...My Father's Mother, My Maw-Maw, died of
Alzheimer's as well...but from Dementia??? It was an odd document.)

I received a rather important looking FEDEX envelope from Fort Hood several months
ago....and called FEDEX to come and pick it up. I still remember the conversation I had
with the young woman who answered the phone when I called, verrrrrrry late at night
after I got off work.

She thanked me for calling to make sure it went to where it was supposed to go.
She told me they would be by in the morning to pick it up. (they did)
I told her I was the daughter of a retired Colonel in the USAF...and I just didn't take this
sort of thing lightly. When you get something overnighted from a Military Base, one
makes sure it gets to where it is going. She agreed, in a very UNCORPORATE way.
We were just two people, who wanted this thing to get where it was going.

I of course, was thinking of Zut, and how I would ever know if anything happened to
him. I had not yet realised WHO Mrs Sanders was. I thought this about a soldier...now.

It wasn't, it was about a Soldier....Then.

I resealed the envelope and slashed a black mark across it...with a note saying that this
person no longer lived at this address. I hope they can find Mrs Sanders...
If Mrs Sanders is still alive.

The letter, that came with it....was brutal. A copy form, with apologies.
Not even a real signature.

My stomach was flipping as I walked back into the kitchen after splashing water on my
face--and found our wonderful house guest....near tears.
Sitting at his lap top, at the kitchen table.

He'd just received an email...
A close Friend of his had died.
She had gone to Africa with the Peace Corp........and gotten sick.
Too late, it was learned she had a brain tumor.

I told him, about the mail box.
We sat quietly for a moment, and then raised our coffee mug/Orange juice glass.

None of the Powers that Be will cash my check from the insurance folks...
as it is now 3 months old. (the check itself is good for 180 days, but I have no bank
account--as I am a silly Gypsy)

I went to H&R Block yesterday, and a nice man originally from Japan....did my taxes
for me--but asked if that was EXACTLY the name on my SS card. I said it was. I am
afraid to call and find out they couldn't do them. And they were in fact 400 dollars less
than I thought I was getting back. At least I made him smile, when I was leaving...
and thanked him in Nihongo. He told me my accent was good.

Tiny things.
Tiny Tiny Tiny Things....about money.

I am so frustrated, trying to line up with my government--make them acknowledge

Get stickers for bikes, pay insurance,
catch up on an internet bill.....

I am not worried about FOOD.
I am not worried about SHELTER.
I am loved and love.

I am Alive.
And these things, these things that haunt me?
They are ghosts.

Not real.

Mrs Sanders, bless you. I hope you are well. I love the house you left for me.
It is full of you and your Husband's energy. Every day I notice something small....
that you continued to care for. So I do too.

When I cannot drag myself into the shower to shave my legs and go on?
I make sure there are no coffee rings left on that 45 year old counter top in the kitchen.
You left it perfect.
Pale aqua blue, with little silver and bronze flecks. Unchipped, unmarred, intact.

I am supposed to be here.

I am supposed to get your letters.
I am supposed to make this a home where all are welcome and can find comfort.


And anyone else who needs it.

I am supposed to be here.

One day I will own this house.
I can feel it.
I also believe........I am the only one Bertha would sell it to.

I have outgrown.......the TREEHOUSE.
I am getting bigger.

It hurts to get bigger.
My bones ache.

My head hurts even more..........
But day after day, I learn.
I am learning to be big enough for this House.

When I complained about a cold ride home on the scooter, Benjamin said the most
wonderful-horrible thing to me. It stung. Bit into me.

Ginger, you're just a Martyr to your Lifestyle.

I suppose I am.
I always have been.

But even that can evolve.
One day, one day....I will simply be a Champion for my Lifestyle.

I am still learning. There is still hope. I am Alive.


Posted by: Gregory Parks (tokenpants)
Posted at: February 9th, 2007 11:39 pm (UTC)

Strange: my friend who died almost three years ago was in the Peace Corps and she was in Africa. She also eventually died of a brain tumor. Hmmmm.

People who live non-cube farming, unmarried, unspawned lives like we need to be the champions. If only to show those who come after us (or those who have chosen The Rat Race for their own reasons) that it can be done and dreams don't have to die. You can make a living and a life without taking the same path as Everyone Else.

I had a security guard in Philadelphia tell me once that we circus people would eventually have to wake up and settle down and get a real job. I wanted to tell him to go fuck himself. I make sacrifices like every other working adult and it's not all fun games, indiscriminate sex, and zig-zagging across the country/world. He wouldn't have understood anyway. His dream - whatever it was - died long before I got there and long before he got his AARP card.

Posted by: Coffee Shop Whore (skidspoppe)
Posted at: February 10th, 2007 12:30 am (UTC)

It's not all indiscriminate sex?

Then what's the point?

Posted by: Gregory Parks (tokenpants)
Posted at: February 10th, 2007 12:35 am (UTC)

All my fun of that sort has been of the discriminate type! One benefit: your STI tests come back negative!

"These pipes are CLEEEEEEEEAN!"

(If it weren't for interractial relations, I'd have no relations at all!)

Posted by: Coffee Shop Whore (skidspoppe)
Posted at: February 10th, 2007 12:53 am (UTC)

you funny guy!

Posted by: Red Lipstick & Green Ink (ginger931)
Posted at: February 10th, 2007 09:53 am (UTC)

Cut it out you two.


Posted by: Orin (rin_o)
Posted at: February 10th, 2007 02:10 am (UTC)

odd, how seemingly unrelatable things seem to blend togeather when you're not looking.....

everyone learns things. right up until they die, that's what happens. it's only choosing not to understand the lessons that causes strife.

Posted by: Red Lipstick & Green Ink (ginger931)
Posted at: February 10th, 2007 10:20 am (UTC)
Bad Girl

Yes Orin.
I agree.....

(and this is still my favourite icon that you made me, vain as it sounds...
you so got the hair right. *grins*)

Posted by: Janine de Luna-Azul (jbluemoon)
Posted at: February 10th, 2007 04:46 am (UTC)

You are such an awesome writer!

Posted by: Red Lipstick & Green Ink (ginger931)
Posted at: February 10th, 2007 10:02 am (UTC)
Black Hole Brew

But I don't really write...I just tell the story.

I love those lips of yours, in the icon.
Those lips could tell WONDERFUL stories!!!!

*hugs you cause i don't take complements well*

One of these days, I will learn to write.
And a book will get born.
It's in me. I can feel it kicking.

If i ever have a child...it will have a paper spine.
I won't have to nurse it, and it will walk on its own
the day it is born.

(yup i'm drunk...long night)

Out live me, and and and........
Kick like the mule it is.

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