Stories I have told…stories known...

10 items…or less
When I was young (maybe 6, maybe 8) I often went food shopping with my Mom. I don't recall but I think this must have been a harrowing experience given that it has now taken years before I was comfortable with grocery shopping. And every time I go to the Express line, I think of this. As now when I buy groceries, I take the little baskets, thinking that I will get just a few things, not over 10 items. It usually is more like 12 or so. And does 2 containers of cream mean 2 items or 1? I've never really got an answer. You see as a kid, I thought that 'less' meant the same thing as 'else'. As in "better do/not do something OR ELSE". So basically when I went shopping with my Mom, I was constantly concerned that she would have more than 10 items and would get in trouble. I wasn't sure what was going to happen – were we going to have return the one item I really wanted, or were we going to get kicked out of the store with no groceries or were the '10 items or less police' going to come and lock us up say in the back room until we had eaten enough to get down to 10 items. Yup, I still think of it every time I get groceries.
Maybe if I moved to the country and grew all my own food, this fear would subside. Or would I be concerned if I pulled more than 10 carrots…

Swimming in the Ganges
This swimming is not necessarily recommended. Perhaps should be avoided. I say that to absolve myself from possible lawsuits.
Let me start at the burning ghats. In Benares (which is now called Varanasi), I lived for 3 months on a house boat. Late 60's. They rented for 3 dollars a month – you read that right. Now a house boat there is not exactly luxury. It is a wooden boat with one empty room. At the back there is a hole for a bathroom, goes right into the river. I'd say it sleeps 3 on the floor. It has a long gangplank that goes to the ghats (set of cement stairs) that run the length of the river.
The major thing about Benares is that is the most holy Hindu city to be cremted and have your ashes put in the river. The bodies is that babies and holy men are not burned, They are put into the river. The Ganges there has a strange current that goes down past the house boats then back and forth a few times til it reaches the other side (a fair distance). There are many very large vultures eat the babies and holy men. So swimming out into the river was tempting because I would try to get close to the few dolphins that lived there who never seemed overly excited about strangers. However, it was worth the try. The drawbacks being the raw sewage that tended to float by, the bodies that tended to float by and the strong current taking one eventually to a short visit with the vultures. And yet I swam out. Saw no bodies though I would see them float by the boat on occasion. Didn't meet any vultures. And didn't die from the sewage.
Now one more adventure I had with the river. Off and on, I had a tooth that really ached, much pain. While hiking in Nepal, it acted up big time til someone gave me 2 Mandrax (Quaaludes) – I remember falling over from the drug and thinking, the tooth was still hurting. Next morning, pain gone. Then it came back in Benares. I decided that now was the time to get it fixed. I found what was said to be the best dentist in town. British trained. Until I discovered that India did not allow the use of tooth pain injections (strange given that down the street the pharmacy sold morphine over the counter)…and the dentist drills worked like a treadle sewing machine – the dentist doing the foot thing. This of course meant the drill did not go very fast at all. So he tried to fill it. A few days later the tooth cracked. Time for a yank. Once again no needles – just a pair of pliers. About 3 seconds after extraction, the pain was intense. I hurried to the pharmacy and asked my friendly pharmacist for something. He gave me a pill ("I won't tell you what it is but sit here for 30 minutes and let me know"). So I sat there in a great deal of pain watching the dying junkies coming in for their 1 rupee 10 cents) of morphine. 30 minutes later, still pain. I'll give you another pill but wait awhile before taking it. I walked through the square and immediately took it about 30 seconds before the first pill kicked in. Ooops. No more pain and progressive lack of ability to walk. Fortunately I had reached the narrow alley home. Unfortunately I now had a very hard time avoiding the aforementioned cows. Bouncing from wall to wall. I somehow made it to the gangplank going to the houseboat. 'Walking the plank' came to mind. I didn't make it and fell in the river. And yes…as I kinda looked like a holy man at that point, I would have floated over to the vultures.
My friend rushed out to save me. Without that I probably drown. Next morning I woke up to no tooth pain. I sat up and realized I had cracked my ribs on the gangplank and had never felt it. Ooops…

lonely look
hen I was in social work grad school, they put you through the ringer. I guess that's why the dropout rate was more than 15 % which is high considering that only 10% of applicants were accepted. They either quit, failed or ended up in psych ward (maybe all 3). So every student was urged to be in therapy. Since I had major issues of guilt and such about my Father's death, I went to see an excellent therapist who immediately said "ask your Mother to come with you". My Mother had become a high school teacher/counselor/vice principal after my Dad's death. Students would often say "gee your Mother is great. She's the only person I can talk to…". Me basically could talk to no one including my Mom. Me withdrawn and depressed after his death. It seemed odd that I was unable to ask her about his death. So I couldn't call her about therapy. So I wrote her a letter. She immediately called and agreed to drive 6 hours one way for the appointment. So I got to ask her all kinds of questions about his death and to this day that helps me. It was also the last time I had a coherent conversation with her. She very soon became very ill.
When my mother was ill, I flew to see her. My siblings were there as well. We basically went right to the hospital. We talked to the specialist and he showed us x-rays of the large brain tumor she had. "would be considered large in even a 30 year old"… "3 days to 30 days…"
This felt very strange and foreign as even 2 weeks ago she had been doing lengths in her building pool. I was also very upset. My sister and brother asked me not to cry when talking to her. I would go out in the hall and cry. I had no idea why they wanted this (and why I agreed) as she already had been told and understood… "I'm glad it's not Alzheimer's"…is what she had said to the social worker.
Before my return flight (and before/after my no crying visit), I returned by myself – this last hospital visit was the one I remember best. I was visiting alone – never cried, didn't feel like it. We talked and she said "there's only one more thing I want to tell you…I love you…" As I sat beside her bed, as the nurses took care of her toilet functions as she had lost that control, I looked up at the next bed. The woman in the bed was older than my Mom, maybe late 80's and very ill. A woman beside her bed, I assume it could only have been her daughter, looked up at me. Her face had the loneliest expression I had ever seen. When I left, going down the elevator, I met my Mom's best friend. She said "what will I do? She is my only best friend. I will be so lonely…" My look must have been almost the same as the daughter in the room…
Therapist:
And how is your Mom?
Me:
My Mom just died…