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Monday, April 3, 2017


Saw this on screenwriter/novelist David Gerrold's Shoutyface page yesterday:
There's a commercial on TV that asks "would your 10-year old self be proud of you?"


Would my ten year old self think adult me is all that and a bag of chips? What would Little D think of Big D's life to date?

Maybe, more importantly, who was I at ten? Did I have a lick of sense? What did I think my grown up life would look like? IF I'm remembering accurately (always a crapshoot) I wanted to be a teacher like me Da or an artist like my cousin Carm. I figured on dropping two sprogs and we'd live back in Massachusetts, the state we'd sadly, recently left.

Score card?
I don't think, at ten, I'd given the husband issue a thought. Boys seemed like mysterious, very different, icky beasts. Also, as mentioned yesterday, my mother's teaching was that boys were always the boss. (Yech – no thanks) Is that how she related to my father? Nope. I think this was a do as I say, not as I do sort of thing.

Our wonderful, FUN wedding day
In any case, had I given the boy partner thing a thought, The Amazing Bob would've been my conjured ideal. Of course! Wise, smart, funny, handsome, creative, warm, goofy, perfectly human. I do know that I wanted a quiet (as in not a battleground) household. TAB and I – we had that. When we disagreed (which was seldom), we discussed shit in rational, if occasionally tense, tones.

Tomorrow is the nine month mark since my beloved's death.

I thought I'd be in grief group now, working through this mondo sad with fellow travelers. The therapist who runs the group told me it'd begin on the third or fourth Thursday of March. It’s April third and no word from her so I guess it ain't a happening thing. I only mention it but it speaks poorly of the therapist's skills that she can't be arsed to notify a grief riddled widow – is the start week gonna be delayed OR is it not a goin' concern after all. It kinda, really makes compassionate sense to keep grievers in the loop.

While much of the time I'm still sad (of course I am! I lost TAB not a fucking goldfish!), I'm in a better place than a month or so back when I signed up for group action. Also too, Michal, who went down this road before me, has been a tremendous help. Friends who haven't been through this have been fabuloso. I'm a lucky woman.

And then there’s Coco. Since Rocco cashed in his chips, she’s been by my side. More — right on top of me. Last night she slept on my stomach (and then, when I rolled over, my back) ALL night. She hasn’t done that since her very first few months of Valhalla life. Truth….I’m actually a little concerned. Is she depressed? She sorta looks like she's bumming. Maybe I should get her a pet mouse or something, eh?


  1. I've never thought about what my 10-year old self would think of me. I've considered what my 16-year old self would think of me. I didn't find it to be a fruitful way to look at my life, though. Life does its own thing.

    1. It sure does and our young selves can't possibly envision all the slings, arrows and side routes which life presents. Ten or even 16 year old NEVER would have joined a traveling carnival...fer instance.

  2. At ten I had no idea I would begin my adult life as a twelve year old runaway. Fifty years on... I think everybody should get back on the bus.

    1. WOW! Where did you live? How did you survive?

  3. Replies
    1. I'd love to "hear" it if you ever feel like writing the story (whether for publication or not). IF you feel like telling it donna dot maderer at gmail dot com :) Cheers man!