Suicide is different. If my husband died by suicide next week, people would wonder why I didn’t see it coming. They’d puzzle over why I hadn’t known that he was depressed and gotten him to a doctor. They’d question why I’d left him alone, why I’d decided to go to meetings all afternoon, saying goodbye to him buried under the covers of a messy bed.
They would blame me.
I remember taking a young friend to a teenage boy’s funeral. His parents stood next to his open casket and shook people’s hands. I didn’t know them but I shook their hands anyway and told them I was sorry. In the back of my mind, I thought, ‘how could you have let this happen?’ And then just as fast, I thought ‘anything can happen.’
Anything can happen.
If planes can fly into skyscrapers and no one, not air traffic controllers nor…
I went swimming this morning in Tallahassee. The skies were a bright blue with a few fluffy clouds to keep it from being too perfect. Another day in paradise, right?
My friends Barbara and Irena came about fifteen minutes after I’d begun my imaginative water ballet in the deep end of the pool at Trousdale Aquatic Center. When they’re present we chat about wine and books as we paddle from one side of the pool to the other. When they’re absent I pretend I’m a mermaid, so for a quarter of an hour I was in another world altogether.
We had a swell time today and even made plans for wine and cake on Friday. After an hour of frolicking I bid the ladies adieu and headed to the showers. It didn’t take long for me to get squeaky clean, and soon I was ready to go in search of food.
A lady I don’t know came into the locker room as I was leaving. “Did you hear? Shirley’s car was broken into.”
Now I do not know Shirley, but my sympathy was instant and sincere. Like an idiot I asked, “Here? In the parking lot?”
“Yes,” she responded. “They smashed her window and took her purse.”
My heart sank. I’d left my purse under the seat of my car. I hurried out to the parking lot, but didn’t have to walk far in order to see that my driver’s side window had been broken.
Glass covered the seat and floorboard of my Mazda. I cussed. Like a salty old sailor. Then I went to see if the police were already on their way. Four other cars had also been broken into and purses taken from every one. The police officers were efficient, but not very reassuring.
Apparently a group of enterprising thieves in our area targets cars in the parking lots of swimming pools and fitness centers and movie theaters knowing that their owners will be busy for quite awhile. They sure had a nice payday on this one.
It took me the better part of an hour to clear the glass out of my seat so I could drive without poking holes in my buttocks. Even then I pricked my hand on a sliver embedded in my steering wheel.
I spent the remainder of my day canceling credit cards, calling the department of state to notify them that my passport had been stolen, and the IRS to report that our measly little refund check was in the hands of ne’er-do-wells.
Thank goodness I didn’t have my social security card in my wallet. That was the one bright spot of the day. Probably the thing that bummed me the most was that they stole the beautiful bag that I purchased on my trip to Guatemala.
So I want a do-over. I want to go to bed like Bill Murray in “Groundhog Day” and wake up to the sound of Sonny and Cher singing I Got You Babe. It could happen. Right?
Estate sales are my weakness. More so than garage sales, estate sales are often poignant looks into the lives of the people who’ve inhabited a home.
Last week I stumbled onto a sale in the Old Town section of Tallahassee. Many of the homes in this part of town are on large lots with huge trees and lovingly tended gardens. The estate sale home was one of these well-kept older residences.
Bypassing the items displayed in the covered parking area I entered the kitchen and found my treasure.
I picked it up and was surprised by its weight which I estimate to be about a pound and a half to two pounds. I wasn’t sure what it was. Then I opened it:
Ah! A clue! Two little shot glasses. Surely this was some type of mobile Victorian bar set. Swizzle sticks and limes could go in the little trough….
Just as I was contemplating my first sip of whisky from one of the tiny glasses a woman approached me and said, “Oh! You found a nice inkwell. And it has the glasses intact!”
Lately it seems I have a big old target painted on my back, and the bullseye says GULLIBLE in great block letters.
Last weekend as I left an arts festival in Tallahassee a young woman tried to solicit a ride from me saying she lived only a short distance from the park and her cell phone had died. She was well-dressed and in seemingly good health. The weather was absolutely unimpeachable.
I began thinking, if it’s so close why can’t she just walk? Before I could even respond to her request, she began striding to the passenger side of my car. I said, “Whoa there, little missy. Not this time.”
Her anger was immediate. I might’ve been called a terrible name or two. It appears I made the right decision. The more I thought on this the more I wondered what she’d been planning. Was she going to give me a sob story and ask for money? Did she plan on making a claim that I’d tried to harm her?
Then this week I fielded a couple of email spam letters.
The first was supposedly from iTunes. On the surface, it appeared almost legitimate, but on closer inspection I found more than one error.
Today, I found this in my inbox:
Not nearly as well executed as the first email, this one doesn’t even have an attempt at a name in the greeting. “Dear,” seems awfully chummy. Next they’ll say, “Honey,” or “Darling.”
The grammar is less than perfect, and there are errors in typing. The best part is, this was supposedly sent out by PayPal. I don’t even have an account with PayPal.
Now I’m no spring chicken, but I am fairly savvy about Internet hoaxes and obnoxious spam mail. My worries are for the little elderly folks who will fall for these scams.
And what about my would-be passenger? She looked like the all-American kid, but certainly was up to mischief of some sort. A more vulnerable person might have taken her at face value.
Whatever’s up with my bullseye, it’s certainly given me an enhanced awareness of my surroundings.
Be kind, be informed, be aware. This is a public service message from Nana Noyz. Please send your charitable donations to me so I can continue providing this valuable service.
What? It was worth a try!
Irrelevant picture of a dog dressed in a boa.
Addendum: I just got another email! They’re getting progressively worse.
I was born in Lubbock, Texas, and lived there off and on until I was four or five, then we moved to the small town of Floydada, just 55 miles northeast of Lubbock.
So, it is with a great bit of authority that I can attest to the truth of the quote featured above. And yet, I survived, with my sanity somewhat intact.
What fools, what fools, what fools these mortals be what fools to mimic riches glitter fame
what fools to in those masks refinement see
what fools embraceth folly without shame
Where every likeness hath its own deceit wherein it looketh match to opposite
pretended twin to answer in repeat
the shoe that forceth toes and heel to fit
With voices like to painted artifice with jaws that stretcheth into polished teeth
with promises that proveth meaningless
duplicity a smile cached underneath
And will the masquerade yet come undone? I fear the jester killeth us with fun.
Shakespeare knew a few things about fools. With admiration, and as part of my April Fools series, my first ever sonnet.
Praying for Eyebrowz 