Woman With Sign

Last week I noticed an older woman standing by the side of the road near Friendly Shopping Center, holding a cardboard sign. The woman looks to be late 60's, thin, attractive. She was wearing khaki's and a buttoned down blue shirt and the kind of round-brimmed straw hat women wear when they garden. All in all, she looked to be an upper-middle class woman who indeed had just taken a break from planting flowers.

She stood not blinking or smiling or trying for eye contact. Her sign read, "Cancer Patient. Please Help."

That's it. No mention of homelessness or needing food. I really wasn't sure what to make of it. And I was even less sure when--3 hours later--I saw the same woman on the other side of town off Wendover Avenue, again with the sign. My first thought was that she's obviously got some form of transportation. I don't want to ding her for looking nice, but my next thought was that she really doesn't look hard up. I'm kind of curious as to what help she's looking for--money to pay her medical bills? Is anyone giving her any as they drive by? I've passed her about 4 times now on different days, and I've yet to see anyone give her cash.

I also don't know how I feel about her sign. Oddly, I almost feel defensive of the homeless people's territory, like I want to tell her, "Hey, you. You can't hold that sign here. This corner is for the people who really, truly have no where to turn." But maybe she doesn't have anywhere to turn. I don't know...

I won't say never, but I rarely give to people standing on street corners. I just don't know that's the solution we're all looking for.  Some people think those on corners are scamming us, or are just after drug/alcohol money and that may be true, but I also think if you're standing outside 10 hours a day in the burning sun or freezing wind, chances are you do have problems much greater than mine and maybe it wouldn't hurt to give a little. But this whole cancer sign woman bothers me--like maybe it's ushering in a new era.

I guess we'll wait and see.

Sitting Shiva

A Jewish woman friend of mine lost her father this week and as is the Jewish tradition, is sitting Shiva. I admit to knowing very little about the Jewish faith, so I did some quick reading on sitting Shiva before friends and I visited the woman at her home.

Essentially, shiva is the 7-day mourning period that begins following the funeral of the loved one who died. As is tradition, my friend had all the mirrors in her home covered. I read this used to be done to prevent the spirit of the departed from becoming trapped in the mirror, but now is done more to encourage inner reflection.

From what little I know about sitting shiva, I really like it as a tradition. People coming to visit are encouraged to bring food, as the person sitting shiva doesn't leave the house for the 7-day period. The focus is entirely on the person in mourning. You walk into the house instead of ringing the doorbell, and you encourage the person to talk about their memories of the deceased.  The person sitting shiva is not to "play host/hostess" or worry about assuring visitors that they'll be fine, etc. Again, all the attention is on allowing the person to just sit and be with their mourning and honor their sense of loss for the week.

My friend told us that after the 7-day period is complete, there is a 30-day period where she'll reenter normal life, but she wouldn't go to, say, a party or wedding or anything like that. Then--and this is the part I really like--a community prayer is recited daily for the deceased for the next year. A minyon of at least 10 people is required to recite the prayer.

I find all of this to be very healthy and healing and so very different from what seems to be the standard response to death in our country which is "take 3 days off work for the funeral and paperwork, then come back, hide your emotions and suck it up and do what needs to be done to move through your job and life." And God help you if you're still mourning after 6 months because then you're probably "in denial" and "unable to let go of the past." I think there's something to be gained from honoring an extended time of mourning.

It's been an educational and thought-provoking experience this week.

Granny Panty Days

Saturday, late afternoon. I am folding laundry fresh from the dryer. I pick up a pair of my underwear, the ones I wore under my dressy black pants. The pants are flattering but require a bit of tummy control. Hence the supersized, steel-fiber enforced, 9 flowing yards of material stitched into the culmination of one great big pair of--yes, brace yourself-- "granny panties."

Yuck, yuck, yuck.  I triple-fold the panties into a small triangle and stuff them to the bottom of the folded laundry pile.

I pick up another pair of underwear. Much better. These are the "Hanky Panky" almost thong panties that were so popular with movie stars (I saw it on Oprah) a while back. Lacy...delicate... worthless. It's like shoving a tissue down your pants and saying you're wearing underwear. Still... if I'm ever found dead or wounded on the highway, it's my prayer I'll be found in these and not the Target granimals knock-off underwear also to be found in my drawer.

Men have no idea of the complexities involved in women's underwear. They think it's all "Victoria Secret runway" stuff. Hidden panels of lycra found in our undergarments that smoosh our natural God-given womanly shape into something we hope at least vaguely resembles the starved, toothpick body of the flowing blonde-haired chick on this month's edition of Cosmo remain a mystery to them. And we women embrace this.  Have we been brainwashed, or what?

Women's underwear is its own little microcosm. You can judge my mood by my underwear. Black and lacy means I feel daring and sexy. Cotton and colorful means playful and upbeat. And faded white, elastic waistband falling apart undies means the hell with it--I've given up competing in the game of life, at least for the day.

I did a quick count for this blog and I own no less than 35 pairs of underwear. Yet I swear to you, I think I wear the same 7 each week. Just like a teacher with a favorite student, we have those we favor above the rest.

I do not favor my Granny Panties and yet, they make it into the laundry hamper each week. Like the nerdy kid who sits in the back of the room, their presence and the fact that they will do the work required of them is taken for granted.

"Granny Panties Happen." Wouldn't that make a lovely bumber sticker?

Here's wishing you days of thongs and lace...

What People Don't Know About Me

My life is an open book.  A leads group I belong to asked everyone to write down one thing about ourselves that people don't know about us. Then at a future meeting, we'll try to match the events/details with the correct people. I can't think of anything to submit. People know I've written books, know I ran a half-marathon, know I used to be a librarian. What else is there?

I could submit that I met my husband on a blind date on Halloween, or that I used to be a blonde, but those seem rather ho-hum compared, for example, to a business broker in our group who used to play in a band that was the opening act for Ozzy Ozbourne. Now there's some trivia.

It's tempting to make stuff up. "I bungee-jumped in Brazil" or "Julia Roberts was my best friend as a child." Frankly, I'm feeling a bit dull and not at all "Carpe Diem."  I need to put some excitement in my life.  Suggestions???