Itch By: Karen Pilarski

Ball and chain, the old lady, old man, the other half. Marriage and committed relationships certainly have some creative nicknames for the betrothed. It implies something that has aged yet still attached despite circumstances weathered the relationship. It the circumstances that thrash and violently shake love's glue that holds couples together. Even the strongest union is tested at various points in the relationship.

The "Seven Year Itch" (1955)  staring the bombshell Marilyn Monroe proves my point. The movie was about a successful man who felt lonely and bored. His wife of seven years and child were away on vacation. The neighbor was a sexy blonde who was a symbol of excitement and newness he was seeking. All the feelings and fantasies were products of his mind. She wasn't interested in the man. It took feeling jealous about his wife and another man to snap him out of his day dream.

There are instances when the itch is a sign the relationship is not the right fit. Possibly something or someone else is needed to satisfy the needs of a person. It is human decency to discuss the upset before betrayal occurs. Could it be that maybe the the other half of the couple has lingering doubts too?

If we were completely honest with ourselves we would admit to having a slight itch from time to time. It could be in a form of a neighbor, a colleague, movie star or dental hygienist. Attraction happens whether acted on or not.

To get at the root of the dilemma there must be a closer inspection of what is going on. Notably if a person contemplates straying, it is because something is missing in the relationship. What is missing might be found in another person or self damaging behavior. The missing poster might include sex, time spent together, attention, stability. It is innate in humans to seek to satisfy a need. When hungry we eat, thirsty we drink and when sad we may drink, have sexual relationships or just cry. Each time a need is satisfied it may take something stronger to rid us of it. An itch comes on unexpected and seems to travel or jump once scratched. Suddenly fingernails are running on the face, leg and back. Skin once soft now aggravated and scratch marks up and down the body.  No matter how the arm is stretched, the satisfaction is out of reach.

*Greta was married for twelve years when she experienced an itch. Her husband was working different hours and spent all his free time drinking beer with his buddies. She was left cleaning the house and taking care of their four children. Repressed and lonely, Greta started to have an interest in their local car mechanic.

When he smiled at her, his blue eyes twinkled. He was knowledgeable about cars and knew what the car needed. Possibly it was mere case of transference. What was missing in the marriage was found in the mechanic. The mechanic wasn't overly attractive but the qualities he represented gave her sparks of passion. She spent dull moments thinking about the wild and hot the sex that would ensue. Also seductive details of how the forbidden romp would begin. The mechanic although at times flirty was attached as well. Greta may have crushed hard on him because it was safe and knew it could only go as far as fantasy. The mechanic would never risk his relationship or employment for a roll in the hay with a person he barely knew. Greta while infatuated, would never step over the boundary line into an affair. Despite the intense urge to scratch, she just couldn't bring herself to attempt it.

Compare Greta's situation to being on a diet and caving into a tempestuous fudge brownie. Of course it would bring moments of pleasure but a few pounds of guilt on the thighs would soon follow. Lets face it, guilt weighs more on the mind than an orgasm (no matter how intense it was). Hardly seems worth it in the long run.

If a relationship isn't working than there needs to be an honest introspective and airing of feelings. Otherwise satisfying the itch won't make the unpleasant emotions go away. It is just self destructing behavior filling a void that could have been avoided in the first place.

Infertility Inferiority By: Karen Pilarski

Me holding baby Velvet with my stepdaughter.

Last week I went to my annual gynecological appointment. I dread going every year and sitting in the stark waiting room. In the background little tiny hands played with blocks next to their mother's shoes. "Young and the Restless" played softly on the television. Normally there is no apprehension about seeing the doctor. Well, a tad nervous about my blood pressure and weight.

The uncomfortable part is seeing all the women with bulging bellies and the glow of being a mother to be.  While I have two stepchildren, I can't have biological children. At least not without the assistance of IVF or hormone shots. Unfortunately Wisconsin doesn't mandate insurance to cover the expenses. I'm not exactly rolling in the dough and therefore can't pay out of the pocket. With a sigh I hop on the the examination table and look off at the wall of pictures of a baby growing in a belly.

Not every single day is spent crying over an empty cradle. From time to time it hits me like a ton of bricks and sets me into a slight depression. As quick as it comes on, it dissipates if I keep busy.  

I must give off infertile vibes because no one asks when I'm going to reproduce. Only one sweet relative-in-law inquires. I'm sure those closest to me don't want to make me feel bad. I pity myself enough for everyone. My mother couldn't get pregnant at first. She had to take fertility pills and then BOOM! Nine children! If only a pill could fix mother nature's cruel joke on me.

 There are friends who try to make me feel better by saying children are a handful. Ironically I was talking to a girlfriend about marriage this afternoon. She said she wishes she could be married. Laughing, I told her she doesn't know how stressful marriage can be. I guess there is always a want for things that can't be had. No one really comprehends the struggle, joy and pain until it is experienced. There is always wanting, winning and losing.

At times I resent my husband for not being able to provide funds towards fertility treatments. I figure he has had his children and it not getting younger. Nor am I. The fertility specialist said four years ago I was still young. Four years ago it seemed less urgent. I'm now in my mid thirties and have to face to possibility that my baby ship has sailed off without me. It is inspirational to hear tales of women in their fifties or sixties getting pregnant. However, I want to be able to run and play with my biological children. 

I'm thrilled for those who become pregnant easily. It must be amazing to feel life grow from within. In the store when passing the tiny powder blue clothes and diapers I feel a ping of jealousy. Hearing a soft cry of a newborn breaks my heart. Perhaps one day insurance or my financial situation will change. My mind creates a vignette of having a doctor tell me I'm expecting or holding a baby. Oddly, it cheers me up by giving something to strive for. All is not hopeless and bleak. The dream isn't beyond reach. It is high enough to not be able to grab it, like chubby little hands grabbing for their mama.

Candy Induced Childhood By: Karen Pilarski

A fellow writer was on social media discussing his upcoming article on my hometown of Bay View. When I started thinking about it, I realized it had a small town feel in the big city of Milwaukee. 

I moved to Bay View in third grade. I don't remember starting at Dover Elementary, but remember Mrs. Ritter gussying up after recess. 

Each day she would run the brush through her red coursed hair and apply mint scented lip gloss. My school chums lived near me and we could walk to and from houses. My childhood friend Tracey's mom would take us to school. 

Every morning "Video Killed The Radio Star" by the Buggles was played. We begged if she had any other song that could be played but she insisted on that song. From the year we were born, 1979.

When people think of their parents as youths it is often thought as malt shops, candy stores and flipped hair. Strangely enough I was exposed to similar experiences. Down the street was Gull Pharmacy.

Gull was a  poor man's version of Walgreen's. Penny candies and fun cheap toys that would break after one use.  The neighborhood kids would find any loose change and buy a bag full of of  Cry Babies, Atomic Fireballs, Candy Cigarettes and Laffy Taffies. I adored tart lollypops and Fun Dip packs. 

The Cry Babies were most fun as we tried to trick people into eating one of those sour candies. I didn't have flipped hair but my mom made me wear saddle shoes! On top of that, I had to polish them and the shoe polish sure was stinky!

In the summer my mom would haul out the bucket of ice cream and scoop out melted mounds of it. One of my siblings would run out on the porch and say "Ice cream, ice cream read all about it." This would cause the porch to shake as us kids would stampede to get at it. 

That silly chant was not just designated to ice cream. It was for any treat that would cause a commotion. 

From early morning until the street lights flashed on, kids were outside playing. No distractions other than Atari or Nintendo if it rained. Bay View had a rec center named Beulah Britton. We would play on the swings or buy Swedish Fish from the candy cart inside. If that was boring, a walk around the back alleys and railroad tracks would occur.

The Avalon Theater was a classic place to see a cheap movie. When I was a kid it was a buck to see a movie. I still laugh thinking about seeing "The Crying Game" with my friend Jenny. 

There was all these older folks thinking it was a good war movie. During the part when..the lady is… cough..exposed as a male, the older folks gasped. They all marched out in a hurry as Jenny and I howled with laughter. 

The Avalon had special effects props from older movies in a case. I wish the theater was still open. I fondly remember pelting my older sister's date with Nerds from behind them.

During June there was a church festival across the street from my house. Music shook the duplex until 11pm. It was amusing watching the drunks stumble and fall as they made their way home. 

The festival at the Tilt-A-Whirl which after a cherry snow cone became Tilt-A-Hurl.  When the festival was over, the lot was used for kickball and a game of horse.

My friend April (my brother's now ex-wife) lived across the street from us. My sister Rachel, April and I would make up dance routines and perform them for her mother. 

Bless her heart, she would patiently watch our geeky moves to Cyndi Lauper and Weird Al. Rachel and April would do splits and cartwheels. I never could do a cartwheel. I just 'supervised.' 

We disliked Anna, the show off in the blue house. She would go in front of her house and twirl her little baton. Often we would wish her to drop the stupid thing or fall on her butt as she twisted herself around. 

What do little kids do when green with envy? 

Compete and show off in the front yard as well. It was quite silly having a dance off. Ah, amused the elderly neighbors and the little ankle biters.

Speaking of elderly neighbors, we lived between the Cupertino brothers. We nicknamed them "Porch Men." 

They hated when a kid pressed a foot on their sacred lawn. They had pigeons and would teach them tricks. 

Amazingly enough the birds never pooped on our heads. We would hear clapping and see one of the Cupertino's toss around some robe type thing. The birds would circle around and go back into the bird cages. 

The bad thing about living by guys who spent much time on their porches was they would nark on us kids. I remember my dad becoming furious with me asking why I was making out with my boyfriend on the back porch. Gulp! In retaliation my friend and I jumped around on his lawn.

There were regular people who would ride their bikes or walk on our street. Oh and we had nicknames for them too. Cigarette lady notoriously bugged us for smokes. Yup, a preteen and this desperate woman was asking if I had a smoke.  

Then there was Gabby Hayes as my mom called her. She would just start yammering away. My mom became quite skilled at avoiding her by darting back in the house. 

I'm sure my childhood friends remember Mental Mike. It some scrubby guy on a bike that would cackle for no reason. We would scream at him "MENTAL MIKE!!!" He would do his evil laugh and pedal off. 

Sometimes the graffiti car would whiz by us. It was covered in papers and literature about God and abortion. There was a speaker on top of the car. It was a mission to see if we could spot the elusive driver. 

The wonderful part of Bay View was all those rituals that gave me a normal childhood. I didn't have the best upbringing but because of that community I felt a part of something warm and inviting. Home.

Fireworks

Firecrackers lighten the sky for a mere second in thunderous booms. Perhaps it is the heart when the one admired walks by. Crushes have the ability to make knees weak, cheeks flushed and the tongue tied. Forget Valentine's Day, the 4th of July is the best romantic holiday. People huddled together on one blanket and munching on popcorn. Loud laughter and kids making themselves dizzy by twirling in circles. Fingers pieces of cotton candy stuck to them. Bright fireflies dancing around. Thunderous sounds in the backdrop as a kiss is planted on sticky lips.

The fireworks in Bay View are always held at the lakefront but residents could see the show from the local park. I was always stuck on a blanket with my sisters and brothers. It was the mid 90's and before Facebook, Twitter and fancy cell phones. We would beg my mom to buy us a snow cone or a big pretzel. Spoiler alert, the answer was always no. I thought when I started to date that my boyfriend would buy me a snow cone and watch the fireworks with me. Little did I know my younger brothers would be joining me on my date. On top of that my younger siblings would harass my date to buy them a snow cone. Lack of privacy and hearing snotty kids whining didn't spell out a romantic blanket affair.
 
Even when I was old enough to date without a tag along, a crush seemed more passionate than a so so date. The so so date was like the firecracker shooting towards the sky but turning out to be a dud. There is something about anticipating seeing the one that makes the heart beat fast. Imaging what would be said and what would occur. The butterflies in the stomach when it is thought the crush was spotted.

If only I could bottle up that delectable feeling and spritz it around when scent of melancholy befalls. A crush can go on for awhile without a hint of revealing it. That is best aspect of a crush is that it is forbidden and undetected. I have had many crushes that never amounted to anything. I wonder if it was the sense of control that I found liberating. I chose if I made my move and revealed my affection. Crushes can fade as quickly as smoke once it clears after the grand finale. Although it may be smothered there is still a hint of smoke that remains imprinted in the sky.

I no longer live in Bay View. My 4th of July's are now spent with my in laws or watching it televised on a local news station. Once in awhile I have a pang of nostalgia that washes over me. I secretly miss being a young lady on a blanket in the park with a snow cone melting in one hand. A nervous arm stretched around me while the show starts. Suddenly a trembling kiss moistens my lips as sounds of cracking and popping comes from behind the clouds.

Unnessary Roughness By: Karen Pilarski

Unnecessary Roughness is an illegal sports action.  In football it is where a player uses moves beyond what is needed to intercept or tackle another player.  I believe in working hard and collaboration to be successful. It seems I’m always left holding the ball. Where are my defensive players? Life sometimes tosses a fast ball and it not careful can bean someone square in the face.  I’ve been the recipient of similar injuries.  

It seems the dirty tactic has been used more than it should. If this was a regular season my touchdown record would be poor.  Sure every aspiring super star goes through a slump.  There are financial, relationships and job slumps. Unfortunately, it can snowball into one gigantic slump.  I’ve put in the practice and straitening but always seems to be yards behind everyone else.  The touchdown I’m aiming for is to pursue my passion of writing. Mostly I want to dodge the many financial, professional and personal tackles endured lately.  

It has been said people have to start out as rookies and work their way up to the majors. Foolishly I thought as a rookie I could play the winning move. Uncoordinated and clumsy, I missed the pass and lost the game. 

The other day I lost out on a great job. Not because I wasn’t talented or lacking appeal. My skills for that position weren’t ready for the Super Bowl of jobs. The defeat was a bit painful. That victory would have helped to climb out of my slump. That is the bad thing about putting all hopes into one shot is that the failure weighs down heavily. Disappointment piles up and presses down on the body. The pressure makes it hard to breathe.   

The old adage is “It doesn’t matter if you win or lose but how you played the game”.  The same can be said about slumps and unnecessary roughness.  Every job can’t be attained nor can every relationship work out.  It is a competitive world out there. Some use bad sportsmanship to fight and trick to get what they want.  There are risks of being sidelined or penalized. Instead of a pity party, congratulate the winners and come up with a new goal. The real winners are the players who take the losses and use them as constructive lessons to improve.

Porcelain Dolls by: Karen Pilarski

Mom used to collect porcelain dolls. It was after my parents divorced that she began buying this type of doll. The other explanation was that once no kids were around she didn't think "I can't have nice things." The fragile faces painted with creepy smiles. Piercing eyes that seemed to follow when walking past the glass cabinet. The dolls hair was always in romantic curls that cascaded down the back. Beautiful colorful dresses and hats decorated each figure. Her collection had better clothes than I did.

My step daughter had a few porcelain dolls. My mother in law gave her a Hershey Kisses doll that belong to her mother after she passed away. My mother also gave my step daughter twin porcelain babies. I am a twin so it seemed rather fitting. However she was given a defective twin brother. I could insert an obvious joke about my own twin brother but I'll play nice. The boy baby had a loose hand. It would pop off if the doll was shifted to hard on the shelf.  Those dolls are in her in room but are not played with anymore.

It is apparent that little girls love dolls and especially if there is a sentimental reason. My mom was an adult when the hobby began. I often wondered was there some child like spirit within her that compelled her to buy assorted dolls? Maybe it was because my mom seemed fragile at times. Life wasn't easy for her and she has had her share of hurts. A simple crack or chip becomes deeper and larger with time.

Reminiscing about my mom's collection got me thinking about how the human spirit is like a child. Protection is needed to keep the vulnerable safe. Care should be taken for those who are hurting and sad. How easy and comforting it would be to cry out like children often do. Warm tears flowing down and dripping off the chin. Underneath the sprayed on makeup, glossy complexion and toothy smile is a simple girl. Just dressed up.

The Money Tree by: Karen Pilarski

I recall a time in my youth when I would beg my parents to buy me candy or a toy. All kids open with the "pretty please with sugar on top." I thought I could make them cave eventually. Sometimes when mom was tired and my other siblings were loud she would give in. Mostly she would say "no, what do you think money grows on trees?" The little thought bubble above my head showed a flower pot with a tiny tree with dollar bills dangling from it. When money was snatched off a branch another one grew in it's place.

Hey, what do you expect from a child? As a tot I thought $5 dollars meant I was rich. Although I didn't 'grasp' the concept of money, I knew my family was flat broke.

 My twin brother didn't comprehend the money concept either. He was however a very good cash finder. He used to play the state game at the corner church festival. Without fail, he would find the manilla envelope with the large sum of money.  The cunning sleuth could find dollar bills anywhere. One day when walking home from school he found a $20 bill laying abandoned on the sidewalk. His eyes widened and heart raced. Jumping up and down he yelled "Mom. I found a buck!" He wanted mom to take him to the store to buy him a candy bar. My mom was also slick. She bought the hungry boy chocolate and kept the rest of the change. I guess I don't blame her, there was nine children after all!

My family often had good business ideas to help make money. We lived by the Wisconsin State Fair for a few years. Our yard was a good size. My mom charged people to park their cards on our lawn. This earned enough money for my mom to take us to the fair. To this day other people have followed suit.

Now that I think of it, mom was a pretty savvy business woman. My father also was crafty. He made guitars by hand and sold some.

While I am certainly creative, I lack the arts and crafts talent. Most of my siblings have a knack for art. My stick people don't even look normal. My twin as an adult made police plaques and sold them. The girls in the family (with an exception of myself) are good cooks. I need a fire extinguisher when I make pop corn.

The economy isn't in the best shape and often a dollar has to be stretched. I can relate to that feeling. Last weekend my husband and kids were involved in a car accident. The person who hit us drove off! My husband has a very sore neck and back. I have to pay a $500 deductible along with rent, car payment (for a banged up vehicle) bills and student loan payments. If there was a money tree seed, I would grab it in an instant. Unfortunately for many of us strapped for cash people, such a wondrous treasure doesn't actually exist. My sister and I joke that we are sometimes one bad week away from becoming a stripper or a hobo. Thankfully I haven't had to buy my five inch glittery heels just yet.

The only hand to play is utilize the gifts that God gave us. No matter how silly it seems to hold a rummage sale in March. No matter how 7th grade it appears to babysit for the neighborhood ankle biters. Whatever it takes to earn some dough.

It would awesome if a money tree blossomed and grew when needed. Roots expanding and the tree trunk becoming taller and reaching towards the sky. Trees are still special despite not producing cash. Trees best assets are being sturdy and strong. If someone needs to lean on it for support it is there like a good friend.