Uncategorized

No Whining

/ Katie Wigington / Leave a comment

When my son was here on Mother’s Day, I noticed him limping a little. I asked if he hurt his foot and he said no it was blisters from walking all over town in dress shoes the night before.  I told him I had moleskins still, from when he was in the Marine Corps and offered them up but he said no thanks. A couple hours later, still limping I offered them again. “No thanks. He said. “I think I got this expression from you but – I’m really glad I have feet to hurt.”
Actually that was a bastardization of what my stepdad used to tell me when I was whining about what ever I was whining about. “I cried because I had no shoes, until I met a man who had no feet.” 
Nick’s way of saying it made much more sense coming from him though- having witnessed more than one guy lose a foot or more in Iraq.
Most people- all but my few closest friends would say I am a glass is half-empty person. And most would say the same of my son. But I contend we are realist, he and I. The glass is unimportant in every sense. It’s what’s in the glass or not in the glass that counts. And if you have no glass then there is no point to the conversation. And those are the kinds of conversations I have with my boy and I love that he gets me.
I am occasionally caustic. It’s usually only with someone who has whined incessantly about something incredibly trivial (and yes I’ll make that judgment) like their hairdresser canceled on them, or their favorite store is closing or someone got their Starbucks wrong. There are work complainers that just never stop. I have from time to time suffered from this disease. They only cure I know of for this is to quit or get fired- hopefully for the sake of all around this person- one or the other will happen because the negative energy is oppressive. I tryto check myself on this.
I work with someone who appears to be perpetually happy or joyous may be the better word. At first I thought, oh that will end. Now I realize this is who she is. She just prefers to see the best in everyone. (Selfishly I am glad she sees the best in me.)  No matter how bad of mood I am in when I talk to this woman, I cheer up. She undermines my crappy mood every single time. I want to interview her; you know how they interview old people in the old folk’s home. “What is the secret to your happiness?” I would ask.  And she might say; “I turn around counter clockwise three times every morning and then clockwise three times every night and that is the secret.”  Or she might say. “I have seen such sadness in my life, that I refuse to spend one more minute there. I just refuse.” I think the latter may be closer to the truth. None of us get out of life unscathed.
Joy. Joyous.  It’s a spiritual thing. It’s not like opening Christmas presents happy, it’s a deeper more soulful happy. It alludes most of us. It’s an inner peace. It’s a quiet head. It’s a gift to be shared.
So the truth is, my son and I are not the glass is half empty people that many believe we are. We just have this way of saying what we think- actually stating the obvious most of the time, but somehow that comes off as negative and usually offends the offenders.
I suppose I could shut up. I suppose I could just swallow my words- but frankly I think I would choke to death if I had to do that.
I wake up happy everyday. I start my day off with this thought. Good, I’m alive. I reach across the bed, pet my dog, and say hello baby. I try to hang on to that grateful condition. I don’t always succeed.
Today I ran into someone who is almost never happy though their life by almost anyone’s standards is not too shabby. They complain of life and its injustice all the time. I know this person has had some difficulties recently, but I am having a hard time being sympathetic because I keep remembering the man who has no feet. The woman who has no breasts, the baby that won’t see her first birthday, the old man who has no years left.
I used to have a coffee cup that my employees gave me one Christmas. It said NO WHINING. Someone stole it off my desk at another job- of course.  My son bought me a refrigerator magnet that says the same. Whining is unbecoming on most human beings- yet we all do. I think I’ll make a rule for myself. I can whine once a week for 5 minutes straight and that is it. No more. 
I need to remember the man who has no feet- and the girl who sees the best in everyone because I think that is the recipe for joy.  

Happy Mother’s Day 2012

/ Katie Wigington / Leave a comment

For now, I am a content mother. My son is 30 feet away, asleep on my sofa. He has a room here but he never quite makes it that far.
Last night I slept well knowing he was safe and sound. Well, safe anyway. I had crazy dreams though, about many of my fears, like holding a baby while up high and knowing I’m so afraid of heights I might drop him if I try to move. Giant dogs; Mastiffs and German Sheppard’s- twice their normal size chasing me down the street. Getting lost, feeling scared. Still, I slept better than most nights. My neurosis, my obsession with my son’s safety and well-being that started with conception and has increased exponentially ever since- temporarily abated.
Sometimes I think- if I could just stop worrying about him for five minutes life would be great- but I just found out that is not quite true.
I won a book last week called “Some Assembly Required- A Journal of My Son’s First Son” by Anne Lamott.  I have read all of Annie’s books and loved them all because I love her honesty and her quirky way of looking at the world. I was not planning to read this book though because I am not a grandmother and probably couldn’t relate. Since I won it and I was out of something to read … and on the recommendation of my friend Denise, I read it. Of course, I could relate to almost every word.
I worry sometimes if I will be a good grandmother. If Nick were smart, he would father a child now just to take the heat off himself. I could transfer all that neurosis to a fresh new face (like his grandmother did) and my son could breathe free air again. (not really) After reading Annie’s book, I can see how that happens. I could see myself in almost every page she wrote.
I know moms who are not neurotic. Mom’s that go about their lives and somehow- (and I have no idea how) let go and let God. I can’t do that. I don’t trust God to make the right decisions- I’ve seen Him get it wrong way too many times.
This Mother’s Day- I’m going to try to focus on the good stuff. I’m going to tell myself that PTSD, (his and my residual) is treatable if not curable and that eventually all will be right with the world. I’m going to remind myself that I raised a city kid who actually does know how to cross a busy intersection without getting hit by a car or the 38 Geary. He doesn’t stand too close to the BART tracks, or any of the nearby cliffs. His life has mirrored mine in many ways- and I’m still here- so I know I have passed some survival skills to him- and I guess the USMC taught him some tricks too.
Today- I will resist the urge to bang around the kitchen to wake him up so I can selfishly have a few more minutes of his time. Instead of taking this Mother’s Day to indulge my neurotic whims, I will stand down. I will relax. I will breathe. I will find my sense of humor and remake myself into a not crazy mama.  Then- perhaps when my son says “Happy Mother’s Day Mom” it will have more meaning- like the special day it should be and not just another day of crazy.

Happy Birthday Renee Ellen

/ Katie Wigington / Leave a comment

There are not too many people, who will come home from their honeymoon early to pick you up from the hospital, after a routine medical procedure. But my friend did. And over the course of 45 years she has helped me a million times. Always – always there for me- even when she’s mad at me.

For forty-five years, we have been friends. Through thick and thin. Through births and deaths and all the life stuff in between. We have worried about everything together. We have mourned together. We have shared fears and joys and blessings. Our faces have grown lined together. Our hair turned gray together.
I can’t really remember what it was that first made us friends. Maybe it was our mutual dislike of Physical Education. Perhaps we sat on the sidelines together. She was so bubbly and normal, not my usual pick in friends really. She knew everyone in school and everyone loved her, which normally would make me dislike someone. Instead- she became my best friend.
She adopted me. She brought me home to her family and shared them with me. They didn’t quite get me at first. They thought I was too fast for her- and I was. Too experienced, too edgy, too worldly- already at 15 or 16, whatever we were.  
We spent holidays together; we walked down Magnolia St. with our pink lemonade and vodka in our short-shorts and halter-tops, watching the Fourth of July Parade. We spent every day together. If we had secrets from each other, they remain so to this day. I don’t think we did though.
We had a million laughs. With her family cracking crab, making tamales, lecturing us, drinking our wine, telling our crazy stories. And we had a million tears too.
Her family became my family. Her parents bossed me around and for the first time in my life, I liked it. Her nephews were my nephews. Her sister, my sister. She even let me fall in love with her brother for a while.
I was protective towards her. Hating anyone who would dare to hurt her. Like an older sister- I kept an eye on her- hoping she wouldn’t make the mistakes I had already made.
No boy ever came between us. Her husband understood from the start that I came with the deal. (thankfully)  

We fought sometimes as sisters do. We misinterpreted each others words or looks or sometimes silence. We drifted apart a time or two- but never in our hearts.

Tomorrow is Renee Ellen Mistron Gallagher’s  60th Birthday.
I am so fortunate to have you as my friend. My support. My sister of the heart.
I can’t imagine what my life would have been like without you- so I just wanted to say thank you for being born. (oh and thank Elsie for doing the work ;o) )
Love you much,
Katie

Cooking Lessons

/ Katie Wigington / 1 Comment
Yesterday my 20-year-old niece, Francesca, told me she wanted to learn to cook and bake. I told her she should come over anytime and I will show her a few things. I invited her for dinner tonight and when I picked her up, I told her this would be a cooking lesson too.
Basically- Chessie is starting at ground zero in the kitchen. Boiling water. So I didn’t want to get too complex- but she might as well make good tasting food – so we started with Nonno Chicken, AuGratin Potatoes, sautéed broccoli and banana nut bread for desert.
First, we boiled the potatoes while I cleaned up the kitchen. 6 Med size russets – skin on.  
After I got the kitchen cleaned up, we took the chicken breast and pounded them to about ½ thick. – And set aside. Then I cut the broccoli and par-boiled.
I shredded the cheese for the potatoes.
Chessie looked on while I explained why I was doing things in the order I was doing them- which is so everything would finish at the same time of course.
Next, I showed her how to peel the skins off the potatoes and cut them for the buttered casserole dish. Then diced a ½ onion to sprinkle in with the potatoes.
I took the par-boiled broccoli and put in a pan with minced garlic, butter, olive oil, salt & pepper. Set aside for later.
Then I made the cheese sauce for the potatoes with a butter/flour roux, and then added milk, the 2 cups of cheddar (shredded) and ½ cup of Romano/Parmesan.
Chessie and I were talking about all kinds of things while we were cooking. School, different careers, your forgiven screw up window (age 16-22) and family- she wanted to know about my mother- her Nonnie.
We poured the cheese sauce over the potatoes and then topped with bread crumbs and a little more cheese.- Popped in the over at 375.
We took our pounded chicken breasts and dipped them in egg with crushed rosemary, garlic powder, salt & pepper. Then dipped in seasoned bread crumbs.  We browned the breaded chicken breasts briefly in olive oil and butter – then placed them on a cookie sheet. We deglazed the pan with Raspberry vinegar and a little more butter and then poured that over the chicken.
We set the chicken aside for a bit and cleaned up the kitchen again.
The potatoes had browned perfectly- so I pulled them out and put the chicken in the oven for 10 minutes at 350. I turned up the heat on the broccoli.  
While the dinner was in its last few minutes of cooking- Chessie mashed the bananas for the Chiquita Banana Bread Mix. We took the chicken out of the oven after about 10 minutes and put the Banana bread in. (350)
We sat and ate our dinner. I think Chessie was happy- she cleaned her plate!
It was great to spend an evening with my niece. It was fun to share some of my recipes with her and show her how easy cooking can be if you plan a little bit. I did tell her sometimes it doesn’t always work out with everything being ready on time- but you learn to adjust (and BS ) your way through it.
I’ve always had a comfortable relationship with Chessie, but I think tonight we bonded a little more. In many ways, she reminds me of me- maybe a little less hard –headed. But if I can share anything to make her life a little easier- whether it’s cooking or something else- I’m happy to do it.
I’ve solved a lot of problems in the kitchen- I hope to share that recipe with Chessie too.  

Happy Birthday Baby 2-28-12

/ Katie Wigington / 3 Comments

You’re the best thing that ever happened to me. You saved my life the minute you were born; maybe the minute you were conceived. I love that you got the best of two very flawed people- with just a smidgen of our flaws- so that maybe you could relate to us a little.
Since you were just a little guy you always brought the best out of the worst of us. The curmudgeonliest old people smiled when they saw you totter across a room. Weathered old sailors and grizzled mechanics, waitresses, grocery clerks and plenty of strangers always commented about what a cool or amazing kid you were.
You have been my hero always. Before the Marines, before your first steps, your old soul eyes looked into mine and I knew you were special.
I could not be more proud of the man you have become. You may feel burdened sometimes taking care of everyone like you do- but I watch in awe and feel such pride being your mom. (Though I take no credit for your incredible ability to help everyone.)
I hope this birthday is a great one for you. I hope this year brings you peace of mind, joy and pride in yourself.
You are the perfect son for me. The best gift I was ever given.
I love you with all my heart. 
Happy Birthday, Nicholas John Nakamoto
Mom

Honored Everyday

/ Katie Wigington / Leave a comment

It always seems in bad taste to say Happy Memorial Day.
Memorial Day is supposed to be the day we honor those who have sacrificed their lives while defending their country.  It dates back to 1868 when General John Logan proclaimed in General Order 11 http://www.usmemorialday.org/order11.html
“The 30th day of May, 1868, is designated for the purpose of strewing with flowers or otherwise decorating the graves of comrades who died in defense of their country during the late rebellion, and whose bodies now lie in almost every city, village, and hamlet church-yard in the land. In this observance no form of ceremony is prescribed, but posts and comrades will in their own way arrange such fitting services and testimonials of respect as circumstances may permit.”
 I used to think Memorial Day was about everyone who died. I would take flowers and flags to the graves of all my relatives- sometimes spending two days driving around Northern California and walking through cemeteries, thinking of the lives that once were.
Often, my son would accompany me. We would read different headstones and wonder about all the people in their graves. Once when we were looking for my great- grandmother’s grave we happened upon a part of the cemetery that started being used in 1885. Their graves had been forgotten, overgrown with weeds and I’m sure forgotten by ancestors. Their headstones were weathered and hard to read but we stopped at many of them anyway. So many of them were children and young adults, too young to be there. That part of the cemetery had an eerie feeling- a lot of sadness.
My son would also perform this ritual with his father- visiting Japanese cemeteries. He noted once that the Japanese didn’t seem to forget their loved ones buried for eternity- like we do. I think he was glad I never forgot my relatives.
After my son joined the Marine Corps- I realized exactly what Memorial Day was. It’s to honor those who have given their life to defend our great Nation. It’s not really about Veterans and loved ones. Only after he became a Marine did I educate myself about all things war; all things great and horrible at once.
When Nick was stationed at Annapolis, he participated in the Flag-In ceremony at Arlington. He said it was an honor- and very moving to put a flag in the grave and salute to every single man and woman buried there.
Now, I don’t understand why these people are not honored everyday- by all of us. I think it’s okay to have your picnic and parade, spend the day on your boat, hiking in the mountains, cemetery hopping if you will… but we should not forget the people that allow us these freedoms. Give them a moment at least, or better yet,  wake up everyday grateful to the people that serve our country. Say thanks while they are alive.
Surely, the relatives of all the people who have died in wars don’t only remember them on Memorial Day.
Everyday, I will honor those who have sacrificed their lives so I may live mine in freedom. It’s not that hard really. You do it by trying to do the right thing by everyone, by not being selfish and worrying about only yourself, by looking at the bigger picture and not focusing on what’s wrong but how you can fix it. You do it by being generous of spirit, forthright and genuine.
Have a thoughtful Memorial Day everyone.

Health Reform- Bill Passes

/ Katie Wigington / Leave a comment

Most of my friends and at least 75% of my family think the Health Care Reform bill is socialist Obamaism. Well- okay.

Here is how I see it.

So•cial•ism
Pronunciation: \ˈsō-shə-ˌli-zəm\
Function: noun
Date: 1837
1: any of various economic and political theories advocating collective or governmental ownership and administration of the means of production and distribution of goods.

Social Security is socialistic (check out that name)
Disability is socialistic
Unemployment Insurance– Socialistic
The Military is a socialistic society.

I don’t see anyone giving back their SS checks, disability checks, unemployment checks or condemning the military (for that reason anyway).

I know- We need to take responsibility for our own lives… right?

Well – I work. It’s a little job that doesn’t pay enough but it’s something. I have always worked- sometimes 3 jobs. But I have had some very lean years too. The last few- have kicked my butt. If it were not for a more than generous family, I would be living in my car… no wait- I wouldn’t have a car. I would be under a bridge with my 2 dogs. I wouldn’t have Smokie- he would be dead. No money for his meds. Well Maybe I would be dead too. One cold night under the bridge- pneumonia in my already compromised lungs… no insurance. Or, maybe just so depressed I would take that big dive off the Golden Gate. Yeah- I would be dead.

Fortunately – my family has been able to help me. But if something catastrophic were to happen- no one in my family could take that on. I wouldn’t want them to.

I am 58 and single. I guess it’s my fault I’m single- and that I would not marry or live with someone just to have some financial security. I would not compromise my belief that people should get married because they are in love- not because there is a social security check or pension in the future. So yes- I guess I am responsible for that decision. I don’t think I am responsible for the economy though. The lack of jobs, the sky rocketing insurance rates, my pre-existing conditions which I have had since I was 4 years old. No- I don’t believe I am. I have paid taxes all my life too. Well except for the past couple of years since I didn’t make enough to worry about it.

Now I do not begrudge the people for whom my tax dollars paid their disability payments or their social security payments. I do not call them names or berate them for not being responsible people. Actually- I am always glad I still have my health and I can work. I am grateful for this.

What I don’t understand is the refusal of some people to actually understand what socialism is and what it isn’t. Having a government run medical reform in the United States will not make us a socialist country- just like having capitalism in China will not make them democratic.

I am not a wing nut. I am neither a liberal nor a conservative. This is not about politics for me. This is about life. The quality of life. We live in the United States of America and we can’t afford health insurance unless we get it through our job- if we are lucky enough to have them offer it. If we are lucky enough to have a job. More than 14.9 MILLION people are currently without jobs.

Harvard just released a study that says 45,000 people die in the United States a year in because they have no health insurance. I just don’t understand how that could happen in a country with our assets. This is not a 3rd world country.

Anyway. I know at least half the country is PO’d because this bill passed. But I’m okay with it. And will I still be okay when it comes time to pay some taxes? Yes- I will. I will think of it as helping some other 58-year-old woman who lives alone with her dogs and would rather not have to live under a bridge or go over one if she gets sick.

Old Dog Wisdom- from Smokie

/ Katie Wigington / Leave a comment

When you’re as old as I am you will find that life offers certain privileges. Of course, it takes away a few too.

When I was very young, someone hurt me. I had nightmares for a long time. I was afraid of many things- until my people adopted me. They made me feel safe.

When I look back now I realize they had great patience with me. Sitting up at night with me while I howled from nightmares, and letting me sleep on their bed while they pet me back to sleep. It’s no wonder now how I have lived so long.

I was insane for a short time. But the patience and love they showed me helped me heal. Then later when I was depressed, my people got me my own dog-my life-long companion, Mac.

I used to be able to run like the wind. No one could catch me. Everyone tried. I ran the football field when my boy was at practice. I ran after the birds until I was so tired and hot I would lie in the mud to cool off. I could see where the ball landed no matter how far off you threw it and I could smell anyone coming a mile away. I could climb trees. My memory was outstanding. I never forgot a face, a smell or a place. If I could have driven a car- I would have known how to drive to Auntie Pound Cake’s house, or Boys’ Dad’s house, or Dr. Millers or all the way back to California. One of my favorite things was riding in the car with my lady.

My teeth were sharp and strong and I could rip meat apart or gnaw a bone for hours.I could sit in the hot sun or the snow, it didn’t matter. As long as I was with my people, I was happy.

We used to walk around a lake all the time and went to parks where I played and chased and ran after balls. People would stop my lady and say how handsome I was. And I was. My coat was black and shiny. They would ask her what she did to get it so shiny. And she would tell them, baths, olive oil, eggs. I have to admit I was the best smelling dog in the neighborhood.

When my boy went away, I was very sad. It didn’t help that everyone else was sad too. I stayed strong for my lady- but it was hard. And then when we moved I was sad. I’m ashamed to admit I whined all the way to North Carolina. And Boy’s dad was so nice to me-and stopped the car a lot so I could walk and smell things. But I guess I was afraid I wouldn’t see my boy again.

I liked our new home; it was an adventure -I will never forget. There were more squirrels than I could chase in a lifetime; possum, raccoons, deer, and every bird known to animal-kind. One raccoon tried to trespass to my territory and I killed him. Then later another came and I wounded him but my faithful friend Mac finished him off when I got tired.

Our boy came to see us. And brought a puppy and his lady. I admit I was jealous. It was petty I know. But my boy was great- he took time to be with just me. He sat on the floor and we just talked. Just like old times. I remembered his lady and was happy to see her. We all seemed happy for a few days-but I was getting sick then and didn’t have much energy.

When I got sick I tried to tell my lady- but she didn’t understand me. Under normal circumstances, she would have- but boy was in something called war and she was not thinking very clearly.

We went to see Dr. Miller and he gave me some medicine. My lady had to give me shots twice a day. I was brave though. I only whined a few times while she was learning.

Then we got another puppy. I can’t say I was happy about this although I have learned to love him. Not as much as I love Mac though.

When our boy came back from war- we all got to go back to California. Boy’s Dad came and drove with us. I have always loved him because he pets me best. He never misses a spot. And- he buys us cheese burgers.

I did not whine all the way home. It was a hard trip though. I had to be lifted in and out of the car- it was demoralizing. I was stiff and sore and I could tell my lady and Boy’s Dad were worried about me.

So now I am back in California. I see my boy often and nothing could make me happier. Well I can’t see him- but I hear him and smell him,. I am blind, but that’s okay. I get around pretty well still.

And those privileges that I have now? Well let’s just say I can do no wrong. I don’t get yelled at-no matter what. I have had some accidents- but they just say it’s okay and clean it up quick. No one is allowed to bother me including the puppy. I get to lie where I want, when I want for however long I want. I am not forced to stay outside for hours (although I never was) and I get extra blankets when it’s cold. Last week I found a tennis ball and played with it for a few minutes. I knew it belonged to the puppy but I didn’t care. I remembered when I used to run after tennis balls and loved running so much I would just keep going and not bring them back. That was the good old days.

Oh- and I still go for walks sometimes. They are short- but that is fine.

I walked to the Dr. today. I stayed there all day. I miss Dr. Miller – but they were nice to me and even gave me some treats. Then my lady picked me up in the car- and that was great. It was a short ride but a nice ride.

I’m home tonight- I’ll sleep on the floor next to my lady- like I do every night. I’m still watching over her- even though I am old and blind and can’t run- I will protect her.

If I have any advise to give you young dogs it would be this. Be patient with your people. And let them know you love them. And don’t over eat- you’ll be sorry for that later.

I am 82 years old. That’s very old for a German Shepherd. The Dr. said I am doing well. My medication needing adjusting but otherwise she said, “He’s pretty sharp still!

Yes I am.

What is your best thing?

/ Katie Wigington / Leave a comment

In a recent interview I was asked, “What do you do best?” And what is your worst thing? And -What is the hardest thing you have ever done?”

When I was in 2nd grade and went to my first holy communion, I made up sins… because at 6-7 years old I had yet to really have a sin- but since we were ALL SINNERS I decided I better tell them what they want to hear. Apparently, I was a quick study of human nature. So- I said I lied to my parents. I had yet to lie to my parents; I was still a good little girl then. I think I said some other “sin” too- like saying a cuss word or hating my sister or brother.

So when presented with the question now- what is my best thing- I know I have to give them an answer that will make me sound good.

My best thing: I can think of a few… and depending on the needs of the employer, I will toss one out there. I like myself a lot. I have forgiven myself almost all my faults. I know that sounds crazy but it’s true. I am 58 I have learned to love myself after all these years. It’s hard to look at myself objectively anymore and say- well my best thing is… communication. (Some folks would argue that) or my best thing is fixing whatever needs fixing. My best thing is taking the worst possible situation and finding a solution or hope. My best thing is creating teams when there is dissention. (Maybe I should join the senate or congress). My best thing is telling the truth or my best thing is being a mom, baking, cooking, or taking care of my dogs. Maybe it’s my sense of humor or writing or napping. Empathy, compassion… the Heimlich maneuver.

Then -what is my worst thing- and here is where I struggle- not because I don’t have a worst thing, I surely do. But because I hate shooting myself in the foot. So, I try to think of something that is a little bad, but not so bad a human being would hold it against me.

“I hate to file.” I say, or “my desk gets messy” Or “ I can never say no when asked to stay late.” I can’t really say my worst thing is answering stupid questions, can I? My worst things are lack of tolerance for stupidity, mostly; lack of patience sometimes. I hate the phone- I prefer email because it’s concise.

I usually just say: I’m not fond of filing. It’s a significant understatement, yet not a lie. It’s what they want to hear. They really don’t want you to say- I can’t prioritize very well. (I can)

What’s the hardest thing you have ever done as a manager?” They ask. And here is where I always tell the truth. If for no other reason maybe, just maybe they will never ask another poor soul this question.

I give them one of two answers- unless the first one didn’t seem to sink in- then they get both.

The hardest thing I ever did as a manager was at Corporate Express when I had to walk Patricia to the door- knowing her husband was on the other side and he was going to tell her their 15-year-old son had been shot and killed. That was the longest walk I ever took- and the hardest hug I ever gave an employee. My own son was 16 at the time and Patricia had been training him.

The other one was even more personal. While working at my Dad’s restaurant- when the theater crowd had just lined up halfway down the block, I received a call from my 27 year old brother’s Dr., letting me know he had pneumonia and asking me if he should treat him or not. My brother was in an irreversible coma and I was his custodian. I was 30 years old- and I was carving sandwiches for customers while the Dr. spoke.

I asked. “Will he be in pain?”

“No.” he said.

“I’ll have an open-faced Turkey on whole wheat.” The customer shouted out as I stood holding my finger up- wait just a second please.

“When I hung up the phone, my eyes were burning from holding back the tears but I carved the turkey and scooped up the mashed potatoes.

“Gravy?” I asked.

I don’t remember the rest of the day after I walked Patricia to that door- or the rest of the evening after I carved that one turkey sandwich. In both cases, I know I stayed at work and did what I had to do.

I recently had 3 interviews- the one I did the best in was the one I was the most honest with. “I hate interviewing.” I told them. I liked them most because they didn’t ask me one dumb ass question. They didn’t delve into my psyche and try to figure me out. They wanted to know if I could do the job and if they could get along with me. I didn’t get the job- but I came close- and will keep bugging them- because they have what I want. And they liked me.

But all this leaves me thinking what do I do best? What is my gift?

I have no real answer for that.

I guess maybe my gift is just doing whatever needs to be done- no matter what.