Suburban Terrorists

I worked the late shift yesterday and didn't return home until after 9:30 last night. The first thing I did was go for a walk with Wishes; we both had things to work out of our systems. It was a warm night, nearly 90 degrees, and we were lost in our separate thoughts as we returned to our little apartment. As I went to open the gate, something leaped from my patio to the chest high brick wall next to the gate and stared me down with its yellow eyes. I did what anyone would do; I screamed and took a step back. In that split second, the monster jumped from the wall to the ground and I was able to pass through the gateway unmolested.

Upon entering the enclosed patio, Wishes' nose went crazy sniffing all around and I noticed that the intruder had not left at all, but was eyeing us from atop the brick wall behind the crepe myrtle tree. I realized then that this grey striped cat was the culprit who had been making a nest in the pine straw each night at the trunk of the tree and I sighed.

He is a part of a neighborhood gang; feral cats, seven of them. They call themselves The Panthers. They've chosen this name for themselves because they see the many Panther decals displayed in the rear windows and bumpers of the cars of the human residents in this complex. Panthers are worshipped in these parts.

At one time, they had intimidated one of my neighbors into giving them food and protection and the gang lived on their patio, protecting their digs by posting sentries on the top of the brick wall and in the thick bushes around their protectors' domain. Sadly, those neighbors have since moved on, having fled out of fear of these thugs, and now the gang is on the prowl. 

They keep to their territory, the south side of my building and the adjacent ravine, and they patrol it incessantly, staring down anyone who dares to intrude. And they are in ardent pursuit of a new protector. One morning the entire gang checked out my patio and each member peered into the window at Wishes before moving on. Wishes was too awe struck to put up much of a fuss, but the little fuss he did make was enough to keep them searching.

The leader is large and black and white. There are 3 other black and whites in this gang. They also include the grey striped monster who terrorized me last night, a calico and, of course, a token black. I at least admire the fact that they seem to be an all inclusive gang by not letting color be an issue; but the black and whites definitely rule the group. They all drive Wishes to distraction. I don't dare let him escape the confines of the patio because I know they would lure him into chasing them into the ravine and ultimately to his demise.

I'm not sure who the gang will find as their new protector, it won't be me. 

The grey striped monster slept the night on my patio again last night. Despite his frightening ways he has manners. After sleeping and defecating, he thanked me for the use of my patio by leaving a gift of a dead lizard at my doorstep.

Or was that a warning?

Yoga - Do It!

Like many, many others, I became fascinated with yoga when Raquel Welch discovered it and promoted it to the Western world in the early 90's. She was 50, I was 34. But, hell yes!, I wanted to look as good as she when I was 50. Use it or lose it, right?

It wasn't until my 38th birthday that an easy opportunity arose for me to learn the practice of yoga and I loved it. I loved the calmness and the way I calmly and patiently pushed my body to be even more flexible than it already was. I maintained the practice for about three years and then let it slip away. What was I thinking?

Part of the problem was that I was still very flexible when I took it up and I took my flexibility for granted. And then, very subtly, that flexibility began to disappear. And then I began to ache.

Today I began a new yoga regimen. It is one of my New Year's resolutions, but I'm not one to launch into my resolutions on January 1. It takes me a while to wrap my brain around them. Then I can start. Today was the day. 

The first session lasted all of 10 minutes, but I bet it ends up being the best 10 minutes of my day. Only 10 minutes made my body feel so much better and I felt better about myself, too. The goal is to work up to 30 minutes; but more than the minutes spent, the ultimate goal is to bring back some of the lost life to my aging and atrophied joints. 

Yes, shame on me for having given up the practice, but it will be a worse shame if I don't take it up again.

Bull In A China Shop

On Monday morning, just as I was leaving my apartment for work, a loud knock was heard at my door. When I opened it, a big burly guy, followed by three or four much smaller people, entered my home. They were sent by the property management company to repair some cracks in my ceiling. They were already a week late so I wasn't really expecting them to appear, but they did. 

The tiny people were Latin Americans. Wishes thought they were playmates and he was so excited to see them he jumped up and hugged and kissed each one, much to their horror. I could see that this was not going to work out in anyone's best interest, so I made an immediate decision to take him to work with me at the Christmas shop.

Always up for adventure, Wishes jumped into the car and when we arrived at my parking garage he joyfully leaped out and gamely entered the elevator. He trotted right with me to the shop as if he did this every day of his life. Once inside, I gave him a quick tour of the shop, on leash, and then with a very long lead, I tied him to a support beam just inside the stockroom door which allowed him access to behind the counter, but not to the front of the counter. He could go just to the very edge of the counter and no further. (See floorplan).

People who spotted him could come pet him, but he couldn't get to people who didn't want to be bothered with this overgrown puppy.

Almost as soon as I got his leash tied off at the proper length the phone rang. It was a customer who wanted to order an ornament for her daughter and have it shipped. Just like at home, Wishes started barking at me while I was on the phone. There wasn't much I could do about it. I just kept asking the customer to repeat everything she said... name, address, phone number, credit card number, expiration date, security code, daughter's name, address phone number... I thought we'd never get through the conversation. When I explained my situation to the customer, she chuckled and it got so that she'd pause every time she heard him bark and wait until he stopped barking again.

Shortly after our conversation ended, the boss called and Wishes started barking again. Fortunately it was only a couple of times and fortunately the boss didn't seem to notice. I couldn't believe my good luck. After that, Wishes settled down.

All day long customers came into the store and most of them noticed Wishes. I spent the entire day answering people's questions about him. What kind of dog? Male or female? How old? What's his name? Can I pet him? Can I take his picture? Can we take a picture of the whole family with him? Can I text a picture of him to my son/daughter/sister/brother/cousin/aunt/uncle/mother/father... they need a dog just like him?

For a few hours, Wishes laid on the floor just inside the stockroom and took a nap. Most people didn't see him then and there was less commotion. When he awoke from his nap, he was even more chill than ever. During the late afternoon, he was standing stock still with his head at the edge of the counter just watching what was going on. One woman was perusing the Christmas items which I had displayed in front of the counter. She came to the edge, just a foot from where Wishes was standing, and began to carefully examine an etagere of tiny nativity scenes... and then she shrieked! She had just come nose to nose with Wishes and wasn't expecting it. When she recovered from the shock she began to laugh and laugh and called over to her friend, "You've got to come see this!" Her friend looked from me to her and said, "I'm not sure I want to, I'm afraid of what it is." When she finally cautiously approached and saw Wishes' fuzzy mug, she chuckled with relief saying she had expected to see a snake.

When my associate, Susan, showed up for her shift, Wishes began to get silly. Finally, someone else to join us behind the counter. She would wait on a customer and Wishes would jump up and stand next to her at the counter like he was working with her.

Finally my working day was over. Only one display of shatterproof ornaments had been knocked over by my oversized dog and only one ornament broken. Wishes trotted out of the shop with me like he does it every day and back to the parking garage. He slept all the way home.

Middle Class Blues

"Been singin' for my rent and singin' for my supper,

I'm above the below and below the upper.

I'm stuck in the middle where money gets tight

But I guess I'm doin' alright."

"Doin' Alright" as sung by Jo Dee Messina

I had myself all psyched to move to a two bedroom apartment and to solicit perfect strangers to be my roommate in order to save exorbitant sums of money when I was dealt a shocking blow while I was shopping online for health insurance. I figured that taking on a roommate would give me an extra $400 - $500 a month giving me a little room to breath, a chance to save some money and the means to visit my grandkids a couple times a year. That's before I learned that the cheapest monthly premium is nearly $300 and that's with a $6,000 deductible! Of course, I could lower that deductible to $2,000 by paying $400 a month in premiums. Having no health insurance is not an option for me given my diagnosis of rheumatoid arthritis.

I'm not exactly sure how this qualifies as "affordable" health care. It was much more affordable when I was living with Mom, making $14,000 a year and paying no premiums with only a $500 deductible. I know I can't be the only one who feels this economic pinch and my boss wonders why people aren't spending as much money on Christmas paraphernalia. Who can afford it?

My friends say I need a better job. I'm not so sure. The more I make, the more I'll have to spend on taxes and health insurance premiums. I don't think I'll come out any further ahead by making more money. No, I firmly think the solution is more affordable housing and apparently the notion of living in communal conditions should be looked upon as the new normal. Of course, immigrants have been doing  it for years and that's how so many of them have saved money.

It's not what I would consider the American dream, but maybe the dream has truly died. And apparently, it's time for one huge paradigm shift on my part. 

The Cost of Housing

I'm curious about this restlessness and discontent which I feel. I have a great job which I love. I look forward every day to getting to work (not the process of getting there, though). And I live in one of the most beautiful cities anywhere. I meet people everyday who dream to live in Charleston one day. So why can't I enjoy my good fortune? Because at the end of the day, I can't make ends meet.

The search engine in my brain is constantly looking for a way to save money or make more of it. It occurs me to that this is most likely the source of most people's discontent... not enough money. It makes me feel as though I'm holding my breath every second.

I have gone over my budget with a fine tooth comb. I have chosen not to have a TV so there is no cable expense. I tried to live without internet, but found I couldn't do it. I have given up meat and alcohol purchases so that's a huge savings in my grocery bill. I don't go out to eat or spend money on entertainment. I've stopped getting my nails done and I very rarely buy clothes. In fact, in addition to feeling a little desperate, I'm beginning to feel quite bored. I realize that my great big fuzzy puppy is an unnecessary expense, but should I live as a complete hermit? I'm thankful that the cost of gas per gallon has gone down because I'm filling up my tank twice as much because of my longer commute.

So... what about the cost of housing? Ahh, there's the rub!

Prior to moving here, I looked and looked at all conceivable apartment complexes. There's no such thing as cheap rent here, or, I suspect, anywhere for that matter. My best friend had suggested that I take on a roommate or two, but I wholly dismissed that idea on the grounds that I'm a grown-up. She pointed out that grown-ups everywhere are now doing this in order to save money. Still, I resisted. I chose the apartment that I did because I was able to keep the same management company as in Savannah and not have to pay a hefty fee for breaking my lease. The rate was also cheaper than I had seen anywhere and the complex was not bad looking. It is a little shabby, but quaint. Still, fully half of my take home pay goes to pay my rent!

It wasn't until I had a conversation with my grown-up son in New York City about he and his girlfriend taking on a roommate to take the financial pressure off of them that I started to really listen. He brought up the notion that rents have soared while incomes have stagnated and that's when I realized I needed to take another look at the situation. And so then I started doing a little research. 

Since 2005, the beginning of the mortgage lending crisis, and as a direct result of that crisis, rents have increased by 50%!!! Obviously salaries have not kept pace. No wonder people are not spending money like they used to; they are putting all their money into keeping a roof over their heads, food and car payments! 

So, now that I know the truth and can see the obvious, what to do? Not for the first time in my life have I regretted one of my bull headed and closed minded decisions. In order to save money, I chose a one bedroom apartment so I don't even have any room for a roommate. My lease is up in July, so I just need to hang on until then.

Please wish me luck!

In The Beginning

Three years ago from yesterday, I packed up my 2004 Jeep Grand Cherokee in Delaware and headed south to Savannah to participate in an art show. What most people didn't know was that I didn't plan to return. 

So, there I was a northern woman, newly single, transplanted in the south and trying to make a go of it on my own. I had dreams of making it financially on my own merit; first by selling art, then by creating websites. I had plenty of ambition and talent, what I lacked was customers.

A back-up, part time job working in a Christmas shop on River Street in Savannah saved me on many different levels. Last spring, my Jeep was totalled in a car accident, completely not my fault. I had no idea how I was going to make car payments in addition to paying rent which I really couldn't afford. 

When my eccentric, but generous, boss heard of my dilemma, he offered me the services of his car dealership, his friends and family discount and the managership of his Christmas shop in Charleston, SC. So in August of this year, I packed up my things and my big fluffy puppy and moved to the Holy City.

As with any relocation, the adjustment period is always tough. Some days I'm on top of the world, other days I'm in tears from frustration and loneliness. Traffic can be a bear, too, and something I haven't really encountered since the days I used to commute between Northern Virginia and Washington, DC, back in the late 70's and early 80's. This led me to one morning, in the height of rush hour traffic, exclaiming, "All I want is to live in the country and drive a pearl pink vintage pick up truck and write!"

Of course, I have no idea how to make that dream a reality, and that's what I hope to explore in this blog which is 50% self-analytical and 50% purely narcissistic.