Mostly Minutiae No. 31

It is later than yesterday; the end is near.
Not of everything, just some things. So,
I’ll start closer to the end. We just finished

watching Department Q, the third in a
series. Amazing work by Nikolaj Lie Kaas
and Fares Fares in this intense movie.

I’m just starting to breathe again! Earlier
we ventured out for lunch in between
rain storms. Chinese. We took a few

moments to decide from the lunch menu
which isn’t good on Saturdays. The waiter
had us regroup looking at a combo menu

instead. Her dish was on it; mine was not.
She went with chicken and broccoli spicy
and brown rice. I only eat brown rice if

I have to. I went with kung pao chicken.
You know, a spicy brown sauce with
onions, green peppers, water chestnuts,

and peanuts (luckily this version was light
on the peanuts). And a small wonton soup
for me. We sat at a small table for two.

Vietnam war memories still linger, so I
would have preferred to face the door,
but I rather sit in a stiff chair then a soft

bench. She faced the door. I faced the
wall and a large TV screen with no sound.
An infomercial about make-up. The screen

was so big all the models had lips the size
of my head. The food is always fresh and
good here; not that we eat out often.

The morning had an odd start. Did I hear
her first or did I feel her touch my arm first?
Not sure, as I was asleep.

“Do you want to get up?”

I could barely function. I opened one eye
and aimed it at the alarm clock I never use.
06:04 means it is really 05:56. Why does

she keep it eight minutes fast? For what?
“Why do you want to get up at six?” I turned
my head back to the ceiling in the dark.

“I want six o’clock coffee.”

“What is wrong with seven o’clock coffee?”

“Then I’d regret I missed six o’clock

How could I argue with that? I got out of
bed. The kitchen was behind from last night.
I cleaned things up to make way for six

o’clock coffee. Joe day. “O crap, it’s 06:39,”
I thought to myself, “a few minutes to grind,
ten minutes to brew. We can get a sip in

before it turns into seven o’clock coffee.”
We sat at the table and she sipped. Bagel
for me; toast for her. She smiled at me

and said, “It is six-thirty coffee, not six.”
I protested in that we were drinking it
before seven. Made before seven!

“Six-thirty coffee is better than seven,”
I smiled back. I went to sleep thinking that
Microsoft was sucking the life out of me.

So, I cleared my desk to study; put my PC
on the file cabinet and loaded openSUSE.
Writing to you in Opera as we speak.

With exception of the browser, I’m Googlefied
again. Notification drop-down still won’t work
in Chrome or Chromium. WordPress checking

it out. We needed paper towels; bought
some on the way home. And a piece of pie
in the freezer section. You need something

sweet after Chinese. Getting dark again.
Dinner won’t happen. Popcorn. Nearing the
end. (I did say that, you remember.) Nearing

the end of year I am happy to see go. Tough
year. I hope to leave some horrid memories
behind and not take them with me into the

new year. Nearing the end of this post and
the lovely writing challenge from Maja. Thank
you, my dear. The pleasure was mine.

When we believe in God, we get to decide
to believe another new day, another new
year. I’ll bring hope into the new year.

As Joyce Meyer wrote, “As children of God,
one of the privileges we have is believing the

Happy new year everyone.

Mostly Minutiae No. 30

Quiet, reflective day after my third session
of EMDR yesterday. I’m exhausted really.
Feel like I went through World War II in a

single day. It seems my brain was on a
mission to seek out what I didn’t know
about the details of my abuse. How did I

live through that? Why am I still alive?
By God’s grace alone. His love prevailed
when there was none, when I lived daily

in the pit of Hell. Okay, enough of that.
Better I should talk about coffee. At my
advanced age to learn who did what is

not fun. But necessary if healing is to
follow. Being Friday, the day started off
with Gevalia, my Wally coffee. Stronger
than our usual, but wonderfully mild in

its own way. She drank one cup; I drank
two. She talked; I listened. (Good choice.)
There were things heavy on her heart as

we sipped and munched. She her toast;
me my matzo. EMDR is a workout for the
brain. So exhaustion is expected. More

so than I thought. I sat studying and staring
at my laptop until noon. How perverted, how
sick is sexual abuse! But politicians don’t

change. Arrogance prevails. Promises of
change come and go. But only the power
of God can change or heal the human heart,

restore to health, joy, and peace. No guru or
self-help book in the world can fix a thing.
Man-made band-aids don’t last.

Dinner last night and lunch today for me
was bologna. A comfort food for me. Spicy
mustard, provolone, and a kosher dill pickle

spear on the side. Oh yes, and a very strong
cup of tea today. I need all the help I can get
today. Man will never stop trying to do what

only God can do. Man will never stop trying
to stop God from what only God can do.
Good luck. God wins. I read the end of the

Book. When she gets home it will be our
favorite Friday dinner. Pizza and my salad.
Looking at the clock, I can fit an espresso in.

(I missed my window two days in a row.
Hellish week. I deserve an espresso!)
It is hard to end a post when you didn’t

know where you were at the start. Some
days are like that; you have hope, feel God’s
unceasing love in the midst of horrific pain.

It is okay. That is why God gave espresso.
And a cookie. And blessings when I least
expected it. God’s love for me cuts the hell

out of Hell. Time for coffee. And a cookie.

Mostly Minutiae No. 29

I hated it when my mother dressed my
brother and I in matching outfits. In this
case matching solid red sports jackets

and ties. It was the 1950’s and we were
driving into NYC for something special.
I was going to get to meet one of my

heroes. Yogi Berra. I’m completely left
handed. My other arm just grew; can’t
do much. So, my hopes of becoming

a catcher on the NY Yankees was
dashed at an early age. It was the Eddie
Fisher 15 minute Coke time show (or

something like that). I remember being
approached by a beautiful young
woman as we entered the audience

seating area. She stood in front of me,
kissed me on the cheek and told my
parents how adorable we were!

Did Eddie sing “Oh My Papa?” I can’t
remember. I was looking for Yogi.
We took our seats.

(Lights, camera, action!)

I remembered Yogi more than I did
Debbie. After I shook hands with Yogi
I didn’t wash my hands for two weeks!

After Debbie Reynolds kissed me on
the cheek, I wiped it off right away like
any other eight year old would do.

I remember you and your kiss today,
Debbie. Nothing can wipe that kiss
or memory of you away.

(Applause, lights down. Fade. Tears.)

God bless. And thank you, Debbie.

Mostly Minutiae No. 28

Linux was like a light flickering in a dark room.
You know it is going to go out; it is just a matter
of when. I wasn’t going to wait. As soon as I

got our daily brew going, I moved my old HP to
the top of the file cabinet. That is as far as my
cord will reach from the Wi-Fi extender in the

hallway. My plan to completely move over to
the dark side was about to begin. I was back
in Windows 10 Pro before I finished my second

cup of coffee. Bagel again. Then a concentrated
admin attack on all things not Microsoft. I was
serious this time. No going back, because I

changed my pertinent email to Hotmail. Nothing
Google on my PC. So serious in fact, when she
asked me if I was going to have lunch and I said

it was too early for me, I didn’t notice that my PC
clock was set for some bogus time zone and
was off. My fingers were flying on the keyboard.

I didn’t eat lunch until two. I hadn’t written a thing
all day. I managed to do admin all day. Now, I’m
suffering from an overload of PC admin that has

turned into regret. I can’t go back! Not again.
Lunch wasn’t my usual. I was off. Lunch was off.
I had Ramen soup, just the noodles and broth.

And a peanut butter and jelly on wheat with two
thin slices of Pepper Jack cheese. (Darn, it just
hit me. I missed my espresso window again. It
is closing in on dinner.) We’re both tired today.

More than usual. She woke up every half hour
with nightmares about Department Q. Except
it was her Ex that put a needle in her neck.

You got it. She woke up; so, I woke up. Rough
night. I feel like a brick today going through
the motions of living. What did I do? You see

if you change your email, you are stuck, unless
you want to change them all back. I already
pushed my luck getting on to the Social Security

site without problems once today. Not going
there again. I changed Army email, Netflix, bank;
you name it, I changed it. (And WordPress.)

Dark outside. A little sky still showing behind the
shadow of a house across the street. My signal
to end this for today. (I just happened to move

my hand off of the keyboard to the far left. PC
is running hot.) I still have my five Windows 7
backup disks I made when I bought this HP.

No. Not another computer thought for today.
Well, I succeeded in filling my day with garbage,
instead of my head. No room for troubled thoughts

today. I tried to ignore the pain. (I wanted to get a
manicure, but I cut my nails so I could type faster.)
Admin typing; no writing except what you are reading.

Like in the book of Ruth, God wasn’t visible or vocal,
but silently working in the background while I was
exhibiting computer paranoia.

He is still going to heal me. He works when you don’t.
Not to worry. God is faithful even when my mind is
somewhere else.

Mostly Minutiae No. 27

Sidetracked most of the day. I forced myself
to study and read this morning because my
vision was blurred. Eye blur and brain blur.

It started off okay. Bagel with a fresh chive
and onion cream cheese. Not whipped, so
a smaller “shmear.”

As I sit here looking at the clock, I realize
that I missed my espresso window. Run
the risk of going from little sleep to no sleep.

Got to get the trash cans in. I can tell they
picked up because one can is eight feet
away from the other. (Be right back.)

Plagued by sensual thoughts all afternoon;
not good ones. Just the ones that line up my
childhood abuse with my life experience.

You see, EMDR and the brain continue to
work, continue to process when you least
expect it. Like I want to write but my brain

is frozen on a nipple in time that tie adult me
and little boy me together. Every relationship
I’ve ever had goes by in review while the

little boy and I just stare at each other. It has
been a day of severe muscle ache. Maybe
it is the weather. Maybe the fog in my head

will move on so my eyes and head will
clear. I know, I know, I tagged this coffee.
Better I should talk about coffee. Coffee is

rated PG13; not raw me today. Listen, I’m
being healed no matter what you think when
you read this mess.

(I’ve said nothing and the word count hit
two-hundred and fifty. Where is this going?)

Hot tea at lunch did it. It wasn’t the coffee.
The coffee was rich, inviting, milky and
sweet. (Like my thoughts.) Not so the tea.

Tea sent me straight to the bathroom.
My thought life went downhill. Then again,
it probably was the sandwich; not the tea

at all. (Getting dark out. Just heard the
front screen door close. Think she is
checking the mail.)

I’m going to be healed. Feeling will feel.
I’m going to be restored. I will feel.
Sweetly touch and be touched.

There will be life before coffee, after coffee,
with coffee, without coffee. All good with
or without the pain. “And you say?”

Mostly Minutiae No. 26

It is the day after Christmas and the hardware
store was packed, much to my surprise. I had
to replace that toilet handle.

Top was off. Water off a quarter turn. Flush.
Unhook the two chains. Put in new handle rod.
Take out and bend to fit. Back in and tighten.

Attach chains. Water on. Test flush. Oops, tank
refill not triggered. Hook chains in different holes
to adjust pull. Tank refills. Another miracle for

the record books. A ten minute repair instead of
hours. (The kitchen sink faucet is starting to
fail; that will be next. What are the chances of

me being in another country before it does? Not
good.) I am a Mr. Fix-it out of necessity, certainly
not by design. The older I get, the less fixing I

want to do. (But we do.) We had our standard
weekday breakfast and breakfast brew today.
She gave me a sweet three ounce espresso

cup. It is a great red. It will get its first use in a
matter of moments. As will the coffee press
that came with it. I’ve wanted a small press

forever. I can’t wait. (Do I need a coffee!) I’m
back; I didn’t wait. For my first use, I tried four
ounces of water to a good scoop of fresh

coarse ground espresso. Four minute brew,
with some absorption gave me a full 3 oz.
cup. Just what I needed. Lovely indeed.

(I should have had a double. Next time.)
Now I’m thinking dinner. I’ll probably use the
Brussels sprouts I had planned to us this

weekend but didn’t. (I still need a manicure.)
Which reminds me. A while back I was
pulling out of a shopping area near us when I

noticed a new sign, “Polish Room.” I thought
that was odd but how quaint. I didn’t think we
had a large enough Polish population to

support a local Polish club. When I got home
I told her that the old nail spa is gone, it is
now the Polish Room. She laughed at me

and snorted, “No, silly, Polish Room, not
Polish Room. New owners.” Perception is not
everything; it is something. And often wrong.

I thought for sure it was a club of some sort.

If perception is something; truth is everything.
Christmas ended yesterday for some. For
others it continues. And continues. Truth.

Mostly Minutiae No. 25

We’re between movies. She is taking
a bath with her special Christmas mango
bubble bath. We just finished watching

one of our favorites: “White Christmas.”
A 1954 extravaganza, a feast for the
heart. Mine for sure. I’ve seen it a

million times and I still tear up at the
same predictable places for me. What
something or someone touched your

heart today? Does “Jesus” move me
more than Crosby and Clooney? Not all
the time; I’m quick to get choked up and

visibly emotional (holding it back, trying
to hide it) several times watching the
movie. But when I think of the birth

of Jesus (And His death on the Cross;
and Easter, that I cannot separate from
Christmas.) my show of emotion falls

short or falls away to nothing. Life gets
in the way. Pain gets in the way. I get
in my own way. I’ll get to see Him some

day. When I do, I’m afraid I’ll blubber
far more than when I see “White
Christmas,” that it will uncontrollable

tears not just of joy, but of the pain of
this life that got in the way of loving
more than I am able.

Sometimes it takes a movie. Sometimes
it takes the truth that Jesus is the Son
of God and the King of Kings to bring

us to tears. Real tears. Tears of joy are
harder for some than all the other tears.
Today I’m thankful for any tears at all.

Christmas is a day of joy and of tears.
We are all born to die; but only One was
born to die for us all.

Merry Christmas for real.