Ellie Never Dies

Out my window, I see Herman:

Sprawled across the cold stone,

Half-embedded in the lawn

Dark night, stars gleam:

 He listens for a sound.

 

Any sound, but yet it seems

That what he hears, is:

Ellie.

 For Ellie be the star that shines

She be indigo skies.

 Ellie be the rolling sea

For one like Ellie

 

Never dies.

GOOD-BYE, HEALTH!

Lap swimming on a regular basis has been a boon to my sanity this past year, not to mention my physical and just general health and well-being.  2011 was a huge ass-kicker.  It kicked my goddamn ass.  It was stressful, scary, emotionally charged:  An insane upheaval and re-evaluation of EVERYTHING I ever (thought) I knew about myself.

Swimming became my pressure-relief valve and now I honestly can’t imagine life without it.   Good days, bad days… it always helps.  Some days when it’s real bad and my mind is running away with me, I actually just let myself drift to the bottom of the pool like Dustin Hoffman in that scene from The Graduate. (Except I don’t have the snorkel-tank, naturally…) 

I just stay down there for a while and it really does help.  But mostly I swim, of course.  I don’t want ya’ll to think I’m hanging around under the water like ole’ Benjamin Braddock, pre-Mrs. Robinson, having a semi-public breakdown or anything.  I mean, I may be a little shaky here and there, but I’m alright…

Oh, of course I have the occasional run-in with my fellow aquanauts.  As mentioned in previous entries, sometimes it just can’t be helped.  Rudeness translates from land to water quite effortlessly.  Quite swimmingly!   But screw it, for the most part I can rise above it. 

Or at the very least, float.

* * * * * * *

Call me crazy, but I love the locker room at the Aquatic Center.  It’s a fucking nut-house.  It’s chaos.  Anarchy!!!  Well, not always but often enough.  The pool is in Flushing Queens, so a lot of the clientele are Chinese as well as Slavic - Czechs and Russians.  A Hungarian thrown in here and there to keep me company.   Mostly Chinese, tho’.

The other day I witnessed the greatest exchange between a Russian broad and a Chinese woman. 

The Russian broad was a big bruiser.  Maybe 5-foot-ten, 55 years old.  Thick, black wiry hair, obviously dyed.  Giant tits, big stomach, big ass – standing there naked as all hell, TOWELING OFF with great fanfare and flare.  I mean, JEEZUSS! Who the hell ACTS like that?  I guess this broad.  I would be mortified.  I cover myself up like a monk in the locker room – well, not like a monk but DAMN.  I keep it civilized.   Not this one, tho’.  No – she’s hangin’ out in every-which direction and calling all kinds of attention to herself ta boot. 

And in the same locker area with her  (and things are very CLOSE in the locker room)  is this demure little Chinese woman.  She’s minding her own business, trying to get her act together and get the hell outta there. 

But then for some reason The Russkie starts talking at this poor little thing.

Russkie Broad: “I SWIM EVERY DAY.  EVERY DAY I AM HERE.”

China Doll:  “Yes. Swim, yes.”  She nods sweetly.  It immediately becomes clear that she knows very little English.

Russkie: “YES, I SWIM.  I WALK ALL THE WAY HERE.  THAT IS ONE HOUR.  THEN I GO TO GYM DOWNSTAIRS FOR 40 MINUTES.   THEN I COME SWIM FOR 40 MINUTES.  THEN I WALK ONE MORE HOUR BACK HOME.  EVERY DAY.”

China: “Yes, yes.”  She laughs nervously.  She has no fucking idea what Russkie is yelling about.

Meantime, I’m thinking: “Christ, how many pierogies is this bitch pounding down in order to maintain that weight?”

Russkie: “I DO THIS FOR HEALTH.”  (She pronounces Health:  HELLT.  With an obnoxious accent on the “T”)

China: “Yes, thank you.  Hellt.”
Russkie:  “NOT HELLT.  HELLT!  HELLT!”

The poor Chinese gal is trying like hell to rush things along and get away from Russkie.  She’s scrambling, getting a little panicked.  Dropping stuff.  Going: “Yes…thank you…” nervously.

In the meantime Russkie has gotten a piece of scrap paper from her bag and is writing hastily.  She shoves the paper in the China girl’s face, bellowing:

“YOU SEE?  HELLT!  H – E – A – L – T – H ~!!!!  THIS IS HEALTH!  WHAT WE ARE DOING HERE IS FOR OUR HELLT!!!!”

And then, with this final grandiose proclamation, the Russkie gathers the last of her belongings…thank God, she is finally garbed and presentable… and she imparts one last bit of wisdom as she exits the locker room:

Russkie: “SO NOW YOU LEARNED SOMETHING TODAY!  YES, you learned about HELLT!  GOOD-BYE!  GOOD-BYE NOW!”

And the little Chinese woman waves feebly, calls out in a timid voice: “Good-bye!...   Good-bye, Health!”

I dunno why.  But that just made my freaking day.

I KID YOU, NOT

I used to feel happy with our decision not to have children, but over time this has changed:   I’ve grown to be really, really, really happy with this decision.  

It amazes me that as I approach the age of 50 this year, me and my husband STILL continue to receive unsolicited opinions from family, friends and acquaintances about the fact that we don’t have kids.  Maybe I should be flattered - do I still look young enough to crank one out???   I doubt it, but who knows.  Tho’  it doesn’t seem to register with any (or many) of them  (while it’s of course nobody’s business but ours) that we quite simply don’t WANT kids.   Didn’t want ‘em then,  don’t wish we had ‘em now and most certainly are not entertaining the idea of giving it a shot at this juncture.

I’ve expressed this sentiment honestly, in the most delicate way I know how because people are real sensitive on the issue.  (Yeah – they’re sensitive – ha ha ha).   And I get that blank look.  Or the disbelieving look.  Or the pitying look.   I think I’m too polite for my own good, but so often I’m dying to tell them:  Please, save your disbelief and pity for somebody who deserves it.  Your blankness, on the other hand, I can do nothing about.  That’s all on you…

I guess me and Chris are in a minority group, The Enthusiastically Child-FREE?   Seems so and if so, hell – I can tell you right now, it’s a group we feel advantaged to be a part of.   From the get-go, we embraced our life as a couple who are – as the classic song goes – Happy Together.  (Ironic, Flo and Eddie?  I think not: “I can’t see me lovin’ nobody but youuuuuuuu….”)   Yeah, but what about the dog…?  Does that count?  It’s gotta…

People think they’re so smart.  They need explanations.  They try to draw their own conclusions, think you’re damaged or deficient in some way.  Mothers pray it’s not THEIR FAULT that you’re not supplying them with GRANDCHILDREN, and the guilt that they unintentionally (or quite intentionally) bestow is aggressive or subtle or an unpalatable combination thereof.   It’s just rude, is what it is.   And a little sad, too.  ("Didn't you want me to be HAPPY, Ma?  Well I am!  I'm HAPPY!")  It. Does. Not. Compute.

People come right out and ask you if you regret not having a kid.  To each and every inquiry over the years, how wondrous it would have been to reply, distraught: “We’ve been trying for years but I can’t conceive.  It’s absolutely devastating. ”  Again, I chide myself for my cowardice, because for the past 25 years I have wanted to say exactly those words to whomever was grilling me about my child-FREE status.  “I’m barren.  A shell of a woman, alas…” and then burst into phony tears, begging them to please, please, PLEASE…pray for me.  Pray for my forsaken, babe-less womb.  We hope for a miracle yet…

But I’m a coward.   And now, approaching 50, it’s too late for me to even think about executing such a heart-rending performance.   Now THAT, I do regret. 

* * * * * * * *

But, you would be an incredible mother.   I get that one a lot.   Uh, yeah.   I know.  I’m doting, meticulous and nurturing and my ever-growing and revolving brood of animal rescues would attest to that fact quite appreciatively could they only speak to you about it.   And I’m quite sure my husband Chris would be an excellent father as well.  And why wouldn’t we make ass-kicking parents?  We’re a couple of top-quality people (ß-she said, modestly.)

But these facts are beside the point.   Our decision to revel among the Enthusiastically Child-FREE is based upon deeply intuitive feelings, thoroughly and mutually discussed and agreed upon, as to how we wished to live our lives together.  We remain true to ourselves and rejoice in each day.  Ours is a beautiful life, one that fills me with gratitude and elation.

For some reason, kids always seem to like me and wanna hang all over me.  A lot of them do, anyhow.  Go figure.  And breeder or non-breeder, I don’t feel like anyone should have to defend their personal life choices.  But quite frankly I never particularly cared for kids when I WAS a kid and I don’t particularly care for them now.  This is not to say that I DISLIKE kids.   It’s just that they don’t move me in any way that’s much different than your average human being moves me.  Some are annoying, some are delightful, some are sickening, some fill me with hope and inexpressible  joy.   Kids are just little people, growing into bigger people all the time.  You can only hope that the parents are raising them right.  Hope for the best for them all, and GOOD LUCK.  

Hey, you never know, maybe when I’m 56 and raking in sales from my 2nd or 3rd screenplay,  I’ll pull an Annie Leibovitz and adopt if I feel the need to have the experience of raising a child.   Life is crazy and things change all the time.  But I’m quite skippy for now, thank you very much.

Our life is a good life.   Nay, GRAND.   Not always an easy life, but a good life, a happy life, an often thrilling one filled with reciprocal love and adventure, growing wisdom and beauty.    

Vive La Difference`, I say,  and - always, always,

All Ways

To thine own self, be true.

* * * * * *

Honey

Sky so bright

Waves below

You called to me

I act as tho’

We had some plan

To live together

Live together

We.

Breeze so warm

Like your arm

Like your crooked

Smile.

* * * * * * *