PEP

Have you ever known a person for just a short period of time, but in the knowing of that person, and the level of intimacy you achieved with them, you knew that you would never forget the experience of your acquaintance?

I had been working in New York, and was 19 years old, maybe 20 by that time... and I held a job as a preschool teacher or maybe I was still interviewing for it, but in any case, I generally liked to keep busy and had a habit of taking 4 or 5 jobs at one time.

So I had an open paper and a payphone and a mitfull of quarters and was making a few calls regarding personal assistants/attendants, and that was how I first spoke with her.
the ad read:
PERSONAL ATTENDANT
EXCELLENT WAGES
PLEASE CALL
I do not recall her real first name, I remember her voice though, it was watered down, the way a woman's voice will be once she hits the age of 90.

"Hello?" (softly, but firmly, and not too timid at all)

I said something about answering the ad in the paper, and she replied as to the hours that were needed. The salary was excellent. A dream, but... I wanted the experience of working in a preschool, and as it happens, it turned out that I became lead teacher and ran the school for a while after taking the teaching job.

I explained that even though she was offering me twice the money, I still wanted to have the teaching experience on my resume and so could not take the position working as her attendant because the hours, while not too demanding, would conflict with my working anywhere else.

"It's a pity," she said "because I really like speaking with you, seems like we would become great friends." (It was hard for her to get an entire sentence out like that at once, she got a bit winded)

"Would you like to come over and visit with me sometime?"

"Uh....... sure, OK."

"Great, I shall expect you at high noon. Do not be late.... you DO know when high noon is dear, don't you?"

She then went into a particular diatribe of high noon and english tea and just how great it would be to see me in person. She then gave me her address, in Gramercy Park West. I hung up the pay phone and tried to figure out where this Gramercy Park West address was.

When one lives in the penthouse of gramercy park, one has an elevator that opens up directly into one's own living space. This woman's living space was full of priceless antiques and paintings, and lots of fabulous things.

She shuffled to the door to meet me.

"Wonderful Wonderful, so glad you are here!"
She was wearing thick wool socks, a nightdress and bathrobe and had her hair cut short, but not cropped, it was somewhat curly. She was blind... cataracts, both eyes. Even so, she navigated the place with ease, she knew exactly where everything was.

She called me darling... alot. And immediately offered me some sherry wine....although she was fond of white zinfandel as well. She kept both kinds in one-gallon jugs, and ordered the gallon jugs by the case.... delivered, of course.

She introduced herself over wine, at high noon, and told me her story, insisting that I call her what her friends in high school had called her: Pep.
She had been the life of the party, the sparkle in the room, she was energy, and so she was Pep.
When Pep graduated highschool in oh... I guess it was 19....something (1918, 1920 maybe?) Her father had given her 100 dollars. He had intended/expected for her to use the money to go to secretary school, because she was a woman, and that was what pretty women did, but Pep? She invested it instead. And the shit hit the fan. For starters, women did NOT invest money!! (They usually never had money of their own to invest) She was in such trouble for socking 100 whole dollars into some company that nobody had ever heard of... some company that is now called AT&T. She was one of the initial shareholders. It made her rich.

She said:
"It seemed like such a good idea, I could tell it was a money-maker, everyone else said I had thrown my money away, that it was a fly-by-night company and would never take hold."

She laughs, watery blue eyes still sparkle through the cataracts as we sip our wine together.

Pep loved her wine.

Let me be clear on this, this woman was not a lush, she drank her wine from a coffee mug and she drank it often, but she never got drunk, or tipsy. She was also, interestingly enough, an atheist.
We became best friends.
Even though she never paid me, I still became her personal attendant, I just did it in my off time, and we referred to it as my coming over to visit, in which time I would read her mail, clean up a bit, personal things (she had a maid too) and make sure that she would eat.
She said she was as old as dirt and when you get that old, you don't want to eat any more. She sure did like her wine though! I was also in charge of filling out the check ledger and placing her hand on the line so that she could pay for the wine delivery.
This, INFURIATED her son, a man in his late 50's who never came by that I could tell, and if he did, it was just to check on the checkbook. He kept telling his mother that I would write a check for a million dollars to myself and have her sign it, and she would never know, and she kept telling him to relax and enjoy life.
She trusted me, but he never did.

Her son, really could not stand that I was there, and he wanted to put his mother in a nursing home, but she refused to go.
"I know what happens in there," she said, "they treat you like you are old... and they do not let you have your wine!"
Well, I spent a few weeks going over to Pep's penthouse, and the more time I spent over there, the more vacuuming and mail-reading and chores I seemed to be doing. She just relied on me. (I think she forgot that I was not her employee)
But we always had good conversations and sat in her parlor and drank our sherry wine. (I preferred the zinfandel)

One day, as she was walking in those same wool socks and a similar nightdress and robe. Pep needed my help. It was on this day that the friendship became solid and sealed. She began to cry at her vulnerability, and her need for me. She made me promise, to never tell anyone what had happened that day, and I never have. She said it was the most embarrassing day of her life. Understandably so.

It was shortly thereafter, that I stopped going to visit Pep. I was not making enough money at my job and could not afford to spend my free time with her any more, and she was really starting to forget where she was and who I was as well. She did need a professional full time attendant, as it was, she lived alone. Aside from the weekly visit from the maid, I was her only caller.

I explained to her that I had taken another job (I was lured away from the preschool for a full-time nanny position by one of the families) This job kept me busy from 8AM until 6PM and I could not come and visit with her any longer. I just needed the money.

She said that she understood.
Then she asked me who I was.
This made me so sad, because this mental confusion was acute, and had just started. For the duration of our friendship, she had been smart and clear, with a wit and vibrance that I still think fondly of.

Before I left I read her mail to her for the last time, told her what was in the refrigerator, and helped her to write out her checks.

I knew that the next time her son called he would be putting her in a home.
In a semi-drunken moment she had once confessed, it was her suspicion, that he was just waiting for her to pass so that he could have all of her money. She said that he loved her, but every mother wants to believe that I suppose.

A couple of years later, when I was unpacking a box, I stumbled across her phone number, and called it, just to see who would answer.
It was her son.
He had moved into the penthouse in Gramercy Park West.
In a very matter of fact voice, once I had identified myself, and using a tone one uses for a suspected felon, he informs me that his mother has passed on, and thank you for my inquiry.

Even with all that AT&T money, he will never be as happy in that penthouse as I was. I was his mother's last best friend. I loved her, and I still do.

In My Language

I am finishing up my work for the semester, I am writing my final report on LifeCareer theory and the spiritual aspect of counseling. I stumbled across this video in my research.
It is a video of a woman with autism who speaks two languages, the last half of this 8 minute video is in English.
When I got into this major (Rehab Psych.) I had several years experience working directly with individuals with autism. I was the one person who could always bond with even the most "distant" clients.
My secret?
Upon our first interaction, I would lean in close, and whisper in their ear:
"I know you are really smart, in fact, you are probably smarter than I am." I then would look them directly in the eye. Even clients who wore vague expressions of cloudy disinterest, would snap to meet my eye, and look at me with sharp-minded intelligence and clarity. At this point, I sometimes would wink...
Which generally would produce a big smile and all negative "behaviours" would cease on my shift.
Occasionally, clients who never looked anyone in the eye, would race to me, and grab my arm, and focus on my eyes, when I came on shift, continuing to catch my glance whenever i would enter a room. Many of them, were always silent though, unable, or preferring not to speak.

Well, if any of you are interested in one of my true passions in life, this video will illustrate it for you nicely. (It is really amazing) This video was written, produced, directed and acted by the same individual, A.M. Baggs. She has autism.

"In My Language"
an amazing video and strong statement by a woman with autism
(8 minutes)

Go Brewers!

OK
There has been some talk of mascots, and how they factor into a baseball team's ability to whoop-ass.

Do Not Laugh...

This....

Is Bernie.



He is the mascot of the Milwaukee Brewers.
I do not know if he is gay or not.
He sure does have one hellufa mustasche though.

And this is what happens every time the Brewers hit a home run:

Bernie slides down this yellow slide, and fireworks go off.

Well, it's better than a giant sprig of barley I guess...

My Excellent Weekend

Mark drove from Minneapolis to come to visit with me on Friday. I had two tickets (free with my student ID) to see the Dalai Lama. He is pictured here with his henchmen to his left. They are like secret service for his Holiness.
There were thousands and thousands of people there.
He spoke about compassion (of course)
He said to respect others, to not be attached to other's attitudes or actions.
And he mentioned that the emotion anger can literally eat you away from the inside, he also claimed the emotion fear will keep you from experiencing the joys of life.
But the most compelling thing that he said, in my opinion, what sunk in to me, was this:

It is easy to have compassion, for the ones we care for, such as our children, and our families, other beings that we are familiar with.
It is common for us to have compassion, and to pat ourselves on the back, feeling superior to the ones to whom we have shown that compassion to.
But the true cultivation of compassion, is to view oneself as an equal to the one that you are compassionate to, and further, to become compassionate and care for the ones that you are not familiar with, even for the ones that you would consider to be your enemy.

After the lecture, there were some pre-submitted questions.
The last question was: "With all the violence and terrorism in the world, are you optomistic?"
He responded:
"Well yes, I am optimistic."
'There have been big changes in the last century in international relations, and genuine desire for peace many people believe that using force is not the right method. Concern for the environment is also increasing.'

"Many problems are manmade, therefore logically, man has the ability to solve these problems as they are of our own making."
'Concerning compassion, inner disarmament leads to external disarmament.
The last century was a century of conflict, this century should be a century of dialog.
In particular, we need to educate our younger generation of these deeper values.'



click here to view the entire lecture streaming video



When we were done with the lecture, we returned home, as Mark had not slept, and needed a nap. He took a shower and crashed out from 7PM to 1AM. I got a slight migraine in the meantime, but what else is new? When he woke up, he watched the rerun of the 2nd Milwaukee Brewers and Pittsburgh Pirates baseball game, and I took a turn sleeping. (Mark is my old friend from high school with whom I always got along with smashingly)

The next morning we got ready for the roadtrip to Milwaukee. Even though we were going to see a live baseball game, Mark still joked around with the clean laundry in a "footbra" helmet... HAHAHAHA (it was my idea)


So I feel compelled to brag a bit here. The Milwaukee Brewers baseball team is the BEST IN THE WORLD right now. We are first in the National and World series. We are NUMBER ONE!!

On the way into town, we came across this sign:



nuff sed.

So anyway, Mark knows a lot of people, he has hung out with presidents and vice presidents and so on and so forth... Everyone adores him, he is quite adorable. On the ride out there I asked him scale of one to ten where I ranked as a friend to him. I figured him to be an eight to me, in my own mind.

He answered that I was an eight. PING! same rank! Probably most people consider him to be an eight. He is very personable. SO we arrive at Pete's house, and meet Pete's new girlfriend. She has invited several people over for Brazilian food. (she met them in Brazil while doing missionary work) (none of them are Brazilian). I also met Brad. Brad presents to have slight autism. Mark keeps asking me to find someone to diagnose him and get him vocational services. (this is my major) Let there be no mistake, Brad is quite intelligent, and as the evening wore on, we got into a heavy conversation, a very intelligent one... But the first thing he said to me was: "Smell this cologne" It was the new scent by "Bod".

Before he came to town, Mark had called Peter to get us the tickets which were free, and Peter had gotten six total so it was me and Mark and Pete and Brad and two other long time friends (girls) that Mark had know. The girl next door, and the girl he went to grade school with. They were a BLAST!!!

So we got the evening rolling by 5:30 and left for the bar. There is such a thing as a Brews Cruiser. It will pick your sober ass up at the bar, drive you to the game, and then cart your drunk ass back to the bar from the game once it is over. It is a free shuttle service and asks for tips. The driver, about 50 some years old, had Led Zepplin cranked up high, and was cracking jokes the whole way.

Once we got to the new Miller Park, as payback for the time I cooked superbowl sunday supper, Mark insisted on buying me a baseball cap (I have never owned one) I insisted that it be pink, and so we set off in search of one.


So we scored a pink hat


We scored some beer (I had a pina colada, it was cinco de Mayo)
We score some cheap hotdogs and some sweet nuts
and we had yet to meet Pete and Jean at our seats.

Meanwhile the Brewers had already scored a homerun.

WELL, we got to the stands, and we kept walking closer and closer and closer to the field.
Turns out that Pete had gotten the free tickets from a friend who worked Miller Park, and we were sitting in the FOURTH ROW just behind first base!!!!!!!!!

(turns out they were $85.00 seats... over $500.00 total)
Do you have ANY idea how cool that is?? I could smell the dirt from the field. When I heckled the Pirates at bat, (Oh and I sure did heckle them) THEY COULD HEAR ME!!
I had this thing were I would laugh at the batter after he made a strike. In a very Nelsonesque (from the Simpsons) voice, I said "HA HA!"
The first time I did it, the woman behind me patted me on the back, and the crowd around me erupted in laughter. Actually, they pretty much laughed every time I did it.

Well, then I started to laugh BEFORE he would swing (I was only picking on one batter for the Pirates, # 38) "He will never make it past home plate", I said. And he never did. After several unsuccessful turns at bat, they finally took his ass out of the game. I had destroyed his confidence. I then set to work on Number 41...

And then.... It happened.



A THREE RUN HOMER!!!
for you international readers here is a breakdown: There are 9 "innings" each has a top and a bottom which signifies an individual team's turn at bat. There are 4 bases which must be run (1st, 2nd, 3rd, and Home Base), you swing the bat at home base, and the pitcher (from the opposing team) throws a ball from the center. You get three chances to swing your bat at a ball (and not hit it), before you strike out, and you get four chances to not swing at a ball that is not thrown properly. if you get these four "balls" you "walk" safely to first base. If you get touched (tagged) with the ball that you hit before you touch base, you are out. If your team gets three players who strike out, then it is the other team's turn to hit the ball. If your team hits the ball but the other team catches it, you do not get to run around the bases, you must start over again. Needless to say, both teams caught a lot of balls. So there was very little action.
Until the three run homer.

With a man on second base, and a man on first, the hitter (for the Brewers) knocks it into the stands (no way to catch it!) and the three players cruise around the bases. The crowd goes WILD!!

(you can see the Brewers rounding second and third base here in the background, the Pirates are the ones looking depressed and at the ground...)
Shortly after, it is time for the racing sausages. Even though it was Cinco de Mayo, the racing Chorizo came in last. Hot Dog was first, followed by Italian. Polish and Bratwurst were ahead of poor Chorizo.


Oscar Meyer Hot Dogs are based in Wisconsin, in case you were wondering why we race sausages...

Traditionally, the pitcher retaliates to a three run homer like that, by hitting the next batter up with the following pitch. The next batter up was #28: Prince Feilder.


He got beaned in the left shoulder and hit the dirt. There is no penalty for the retribution. However, the next day (Sunday) in the fourth and final game against the Pirates (we had already won two) Prince hit a total homer his first time at bat. We won that game as well. Bye bye Pirates, we are still number one!

After the game we stood in the wind off of lake Superior, and waited for the Brews Cruiser to pick us back up. There was a lot of drinking going on, I had a kamakazi after the game and we wound our way to a fancy bar where the gang's friends were holding a fundraiser for a neighborhood pool and park.

The friends, (a couple in their early 40's) invited us all back to thier house for some political discussion and of course... more beer.
This is when Brad and I got into our heavy intellectual conversation. This is also where Brad developed a mild beer fueled crush on me. I began to put my education to work, and soon was counseling him on career vocation. It was good, but that is Brad's business. I will follow up with him in a weeks time.

Meanwhile, in the livingroom, Tom and Mary had the Rolling Stones Live concert on DVD playing in the livingroom. Soon, I had wandered into sit with the others.
It was then that I discovered this gem on the coffee table:









click here to buy this book
There is more to the story

Well, so we made it back to Pete's house around 2AM and had some rice and beans leftover from the visiting missionworkers. Tuna casserole and delicious sweet tea was also served. Pete is studying to be a minister and so did not/does not drink. I asked for some hot sauce and he offered me all the various sauces in the fridge, and when I asked for a salsa, he said, here, take this one, it is probably a better quality (from the one I had in my hand)
And as we were leaving, bellies full, he asked if we could all stand in a ring and say a prayer together. And so we did. (Mark and Brad were a little tipsy, but not much).

It was an interesting evening.

We made it back to Marks Mother's house (she lives in Milwaukee) around 3AM, and she was just getting to sleep, she worked until 1AM as a nurse.

I slept in Mark's twin brother's bedroom, and he took his old room.
It was nice there, sort of in the suburbs.
Sunday morning we drove back. Mark had to be back to Minneapolis to catch a Black Sabbath concert that evening.

That was the best baseball game that I have ever seen, this blog does it no justice. I had an excellent weekend. A very excellent time indeed.