Sibling left behind

I just finished watching The Kids Are All Right. As movies go, it's okay. Not worth the Oscar nomination, but it was ... alright.

The final scene throttled me. It had nothing to do with the relationship between the mothers - which had been damaged - nor between the mothers and their daughter. It was between the younger brother and the sister going off to college. "It's going to be weird not having you around," he said. It was not entirely a throw-away line, but not a line of great heft in the grand scheme of the movie.

A pit formed in my gut and I almost started crying. Suddenly, for the first time ever, I had immense sorrow for my little brother and what he must have felt when I left for college. He was left alone with Mom and Dad for the first time in his life. When he had a shitty day and couldn't share the details with our parents, the only family member who he could turn to in the moment was no longer there. His most important peer relative wasn't there for him anymore. He must have felt lonely at the beginning. Especially since my leaving for college coincided with my family moving to another city altogether where he had to build a base of friends from scratch. Ugh. Poor kid.

I'd never really thought of how it must have felt for him because I'd never confronted it. I feel pretty strongly that people should take time in their lives to leave the confines of their family unit and develop their own interests; that it's important to one's own identity. I always looked at my personal growth experiences from, well, my point of view. It never really occurred to me how they made people other than my parents feel. Not that I necessarily would have altered direction had I sensed the loneliness that my brother probably felt - heck, he, almost more than anyone, has always been very encouraging of me pursuing my own "thing"! - but I just wish I would've had the maturity and empathy to see from his point of view, when I was 18 and leaving home. I wish I would've had them to see from his point of view as an adult.

Part of the reason I was blind to his feelings - assuming they were what I think they were - was because I have no notion of what it's like to have an older sibling. I'm the oldest. I turned to my little brother for love and support when we were growing up, but I didn't look to him for guidance, per se. That's still the case, today, for the most part. I think he probably sought that from me, because I was older. I was the buffer between him and my parents: the one that would spout "wisdom," but without the threat of punishment and with softer, or no, judgment than what my parents would've doled out. I got none of that. If I needed family guidance, I got it from Mom and Dad and if I was judged, I was judged. Because I never had that buffer, it never occurred to me that other people have it and that they might miss it. You don't know to miss what you never had.

This realization takes on more resonance for me right now, because I've had a very emotionally rocky year with my brother. There has been an (avoidable) occurrence that has put more strain on our relationship than anything ever before. We're handling it like grown-ups (I think), but it's been tremendously painful for me, and I'm pretty sure, for him, too. I don't know that the turbulence is over. In fact, in some ways, recent circumstances have made things more emotionally complicated (on my end, at least). I'm carrying a ton of unresolved pain and I worry that if I tell him exactly how agonized I am, then it'll just push him away; and then I worry that if I don't tell him how crushed I am, then he'll just drift farther away. Either scenario seems horrible to me and I effectively lose my brother, one of my top 5 favorite people on the planet.

For now, I'm keeping my mouth shut and hoping we can just work through this and all the hurt will eventually scab over and we can start anew, as it were. Imagining his grief at my leaving the house is good for me. Not out of schadenfreude or anything, but because it helps me think of ways I can relate to him, better. And hopefully heal.

photo courtesy ToobyDoo, Flickr Creative Commons

How do I Shake This?

If anyone is reading this, I'm astounded. Not just because I've not posted in 6 months (holy cow, has it been that long?), but because I've fallen so far behind in my reading of others' blogs that I can't imagine anyone knows I'm still around. (Also, I feel bad for not reading your blogs.) Nevertheless, I'm blogging tonight, largely because I just want to post something. Anything.

In the last 6 months, there have been many topics that have drifted past my purview and I've thought, "Oh! I want to blog on that, this week!" And then it doesn't happen. Baby. Other work. Exhaustion. Vacation. You name it. But one item has really kind of stuck in my craw in the last 6 months and I don't know how to blog about it, much less get over it. It's hard to blog about this "it" because of personal sensitivities ... though I blog mostly anonymously, I make it a personal policy not to write anything here that I wouldn't feel comfortable addressing with the subject of my post, in person. It's hard to get over this "it" because I'm very deeply hurt. Crushed, really. And angry.

I'll just say this: the phenomenon I described in this post, about feeling left out of my broader family, is beginning to feel amplified. And it is not accidental; it is somewhat by design. And that is generally not part of my personality, to deliberately alienate someone - particularly family. Heck, sometimes I find myself being cold to someone because they irritate or upset me for whatever reason and I try very, very hard to be more congenial and kind. (I don't know how evident that is, but I do try.) And deliberate punishment is really not part of my family's behavior either, so I find the whole activity rather confusing, and galling.

This tacit tiff - it's very passive-agressive behavior - that I was a part of and didn't know I was a part of until much later, is beginning to cool. Once I learned of my offense, I immediately moved to making amends. And, to my family member's credit, he/she is moving to making amends with me, too. But it's on his/her terms, not mine. Not that it has to be on mine, but we've each offended, and it would be nice if some reconciliation was on some of my terms, too. What hurts most is that I wasn't even aware I had offended, and instead of addressing the situation with me, this family member decided to spite me. To deliberately hurt me - punish me - without giving me the benefit of knowing what I had done so I could address it, first. He/She decided to let me twist in pain wondering why I was made to suffer. It's just so little and juvenile.

And I want to get over it. I really do. Really. Truly. I do. Because I love my family - all of them. I want to have good times. I'm just not sure how, right now. I think the fact that we're making healing movements toward eachother is a good sign. I just really wish I knew how to stop hurting. I don't know that it will come in any way other than a specific apology from this person. I'm thinking I might apologize for the accidental gaffe on my part that inspired the hurtful behavior. At least that way, it's on the table. And I can have a fully clean conscience. And just hope that the other person decides to apologize for the hurt he/she caused. I think that's what I'll do. I won't count on a reciprocal apology. In my experience, if someone is going to deliberately hurt you, they probably think they've got the moral authority to do so, and apology is not a priority. But I never want to be the person who does the selfish thing. I always want to be the peacemaker; the one who does the right thing. A stubborn pride doesn't keep you warm at night. A clean conscience does.

Challenge to a true Thanks-giving

Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday. Largely, I think, because it is what I so want Christmas to be: a holiday centered on a feast, on gratitude, on family and friends and spending time with one another, undistracted by notions of material obligations. Abraham Lincoln made Thanksgiving an official national holiday during the Civil War because he felt it necessary that we should pause and give thanks for our many blessings even among (maybe especially among) our worst trials. That there are always things to be grateful for. This Thanksgiving is challenging me to actually focus on thanks; to live up to Mr. Lincoln's original intent.

This year I will be spending Thanksgiving in my hospital bed, with my wonderful husband by my side. I won't get to overstuff myself and then go sprawl on the couch and shoot the breeze with whatever family I'm surrounded by. I won't have my favorite pecan pie; the only dessert I anticipate is the pumpkin mousse the hospital will provide. Honey has the turkey ready and will bring it and some sides from Boston Market. We'll probably play a game on my computer and maybe a card game; watch a movie and just hang out. Sadness washed over me this afternoon around dinner time as my hospital dinner sat before me. All my family will be spending Thanksgiving surrounded by loved ones, except for me. My brother with his in-laws, my parents with aunts and uncles, my in-laws with Honey's extended family at a wedding in Texas we couldn't attend. And I haven't even left my side of the room since last Thursday. Last Thursday since I've crossed this curtain. I've had exceptionally high spirits since I arrived here 10 or 11 days ago, but they suddenly began to crumble when I pondered how different this Thanksgiving would be from all the others in my past.

I began to cheer up when Honey came by for his (near) nightly visit. Honestly, he's all I need. And it's only one Thanksgiving. Next Thanksgiving will be completely different. And what an extraordinary opportunity to really think about what I'm thankful for and offer genuine thanks for those blessings. It's better than do what I usually do, which is to give my blessings a perfunctory blip of a thought and then dive into the traditional meal!

So what am I thankful for this year? In no particular order:

• That we are going to have a baby.
• That the complications with this pregnancy have been spotted early enough to mitigate them.
• That we have a delivery plan for this baby in the face of these complications.
• That if, heaven forbid, we have to deliver this baby this week, it is viable and would most likely survive and hopefully, eventually, thrive.
• That I have wonderful doctors.
• That I have a great nursing staff.
• That I have the window side of the hospital room.
• That I have a friendly roommate.
• That we have so many generous and amazing friends who love Honey and me so much.
• That this child will probably be one of the most-loved in history when he or she arrives.
• That I have great health insurance. That I have insurance at all! (Seriously glad for this.)
• That I have, at most, another 7 weeks here. (There are other women on this floor here for far longer.)
• That I live in an area where great health care is available to me.
• That I have a dog at home who loves me.
• That Honey and I have loving families.
• That the baby, by all available standards, is healthy.
• That my health has stabilized.
• That the baby likes to have dance parties in the morning and random parkour practices during the day.
• That I'm just an elevator ride away from delivery if we have a genuine "must do now" emergency.
• That we have clothes for the baby to grow into, at home.
• That we got a dresser for free and a co-sleeper for a steal.
• That, despite my irritations with my job, I know they want to keep me on-tap, even though I don't qualify for FMLA. I feel less in the cold about that.
• That our domestic life is stable, safe and loving. It's easy to take that for granted until you hear the concerns of other women in OB-emergency worried about their partners.
• That I have had good spirits throughout this, so far.
• That I have time to nap during this third trimester when I really need it.
• That I got to have a great, refreshing rehearsal weekend retreat with my fellow performers right before the incident that landed me here.
• And mostly: That I have an incredibly loving and thoughtful husband who lives the definition of standing by your spouse "in sickness" as well as in health. He's had to do it several times in the last few years, and I just pray that I'm as good for him when it's him who needs me, as he has been for me.

Happy Thanksgiving, all!

* photo courtesy earlycj5 via Flickr Creative Commons

The Ties that Bind

Given the events of this summer, in my personal life, it is perhaps not surprising, that I've been thinking a lot about my extended family. I've been thinking of that of Honey's, too, but more about mine, because, well ... they're the ones I'm more familiar with.

Earlier this week, I had trouble sleeping because all I could think about was my parents' mortality. It hit me in a couple of places. The thought of losing them saddened me as their child, but it saddened me even more as their gestating grandchild's parent. I really want our kids to know my parents. They're wonderful, mostly fun people, even if they do get on our nerves, sometimes. It would break my heart into many pieces if they died before our kid(s) were born or before the kid(s) had a chance to develop any meaningful memories of them.

Then there's the simple issue of "what happens to us after we die?" I go through phases when I believe in an afterlife spent in the company of the departed and in the bosom of the Creator (Heaven) and when I think there's nothing, just oblivion; just a dreamless sleep. (Perhaps surprisingly, because of how our society delineates things, the absence of an afterlife does not, to me, signify the absence of God.) I'm in a phase right now when I fear death: my own and that of those I love, because I'm not sure what comes after. And I actually believe in Heaven more for my family elders, maybe because their assurance appears so beautifully effortless - though, talking to them, I know it's not. And that they do, and are about as comfortable with the idea of going there as anyone can be, I think they will spend eternity in Heaven whether I do or not.

I hope there's a divine afterlife. For purely selfish reasons: not just reuniting with my loved ones, but getting to know those who've gone before me who I didn't get to know. Namely notable peacemakers and my dad's parents. There were times in my childhood when I so wish I could've known them. There were many times I felt devalued by my mom's parents, and I longed to have another set to run to, to balance that out, to get personal affirmation for just being me, and not for not being good enough. We only had one portrait of them in our house, growing up. A black and white photo. Which sucked, because I never got to see the supposedly fiery red hair that my grandfather had, that now weaves through my own muted locks. It looks dark in the photo, so I assumed it was brown for years and years. In fact, virtually every photo I've seen of them has been black and white. And often grainy. Kind of like the second-hand memories I've been given of them. Somewhere, among my parent's things, is a reel to reel recording that includes my grandmother's voice. I've not found it, yet. When we do, I'd like to have it transferred into a digital file, so I can hear her. So she can be more real to me. (Wow, I can't believe how much I just cried writing all that. I haven't cried over them in years. In over a decade, maybe.)

These are the things I don't want for our children: to have to hear second hand stories of their grandparents. To have to piece together who someone was based on rose-colored anecdotes. I could never do my parent's memory justice. Especially, Mom's. I really think she's going to be a wonderful grandmother; probably a better grandmother than she was a mother. If her interactions with my cousins' kids are any indication, she'll certainly relish it more and attack it with more enthusiasm than she did mothering.

But what is more difficult is distance. My parents live in Texas, roughly a 3 hour flight away; Honey's on the West Coast, about 6 hours away by air. I lived in the same city as my grandparents until I was 12, and then, in the same state, just an 8 hour drive down the road: two tanks of gas that are much cheaper than 2 plane tickets. We saw them several times a week, and even when we moved, we were up there a lot and they traveled the state visiting kids and grandkids several times a year. Honey, on the other hand, had 6 grandparents, thanks to divorce, all of whom lived in Texas. At any given time in his childhood, that was a 3 - 10 hour flight, and all its costs, away. So, they were slightly alien to him - "family," but not familiar - until he spent a few summers with one set, in his high school years. Going to college in Texas cemented those relationships. Honey's mom and my parents are already trying to figure out when they can come up here for the new baby. His dad has not yet expressed that interest, so I have no idea when he'll come out to meet his grandkid; as yet, we don't have any West Coast travel plans. I can't help but wonder if that'll be an indication of how the grandparent relationship will unfold: mine and his mom trying to get out here as often as they can (I already plan on capitalizing on Mom's summers off), and his dad just sticking to his habit of visiting the East Coast only occasionally. Naturally, I hope we can visit them as much as possible, as well.

I really want our kid(s) to have genuine personal relationships with all their grandparents. I assume it's natural for kids to favor one set or one grandparent over others. Luckily, I don't worry that mine or Honey's parents will be emotionally detrimental to our kid(s), like my mom's (unwittingly) were to me. But I do hope the old folks stick around long enough for the kid(s) to pull wisdom and love from them.

This made me happy

The sheer joy in this moment brought me to tears when I watched this this afternoon. It's funny, I can almost hear my mom saying, "that's innapropriate for a church wedding!" But really, doesn't God delight in our love and our unions? Doesn't God want us to celebrate it with unbridled passion? Plus, it's not like they chose something with crass lyrics or danced lasciviously. But enough of me arguing with my mom in my head. This made my day because it's a group of people who embraced not just the joy of the occasion whole-heartedly, but the theatrics. Wedding ceremonies are spectacles in just about every society. If you're gonna do it, go balls to the wall. Good for them! And maybe I liked it most of all because it was, as the blog I discovered it on championed it, unexpected. Love it or hate it: no attendee will ever forget that wedding.

Outer Circle

My little brother got married this last weekend. In Milwaukee. I didn't understand how emotional the week leading up to his wedding was for me, until we returned home.

To begin with, it was great. Not as many of our family was able to make it up for the wedding as hers was - how much of that was the politics of guest-list management, I don't know - but it was wonderful seeing the ones who were there. Most of my favorites were able to make it! One of my most favorite cousins J and her husband Geoff and their little girls, M and The Firecracker - not her real name, but I only use pseudonyms anyway, and this is accurate to her personality - traveled up from Texas. Likewise J's brother, my cousin, Max and his wife Kat, and my uncle Ted and aunt Cassie all came up from Texas. Three of my mom's four siblings came, as well as just one of my cousins from her side, R, and my grandparents made the trip as well. This was a particularly big undertaking as Grandpa is 90, rapidly physically declining, and I'm doubtful that he should ever get on an airplane again. However, I was thrilled and grateful to see him. We all caught up, hung out, laughed, etc, etc, etc. Well, mostly the fun stuff was with the cousins and family on Dad's side, and my cousin R, on Mom's side. I've never fully related to Mom's side of the family. I love them, I just find conversation falls flat after a few minutes.

Heading home - or "home" - after the wedding, I felt so happy to have seen everyone, but also like I'm missing out, and like I'm not sure where home is, or what it means. The lives of people I love most are happening without me and everyone gets to share in it, but me. This was most pronounced, for me, when I considered how well my extended family knows my new sister-in-law, and she them, and how very little I know of her. Their wedding was only the 6th time I'd met her. Considering that you really don't get to see or spend quality time with the couple during the wedding mayhem, I've really only met her 5 times. And of those 5 times, 3 were brief dinner situations. We've never really talked in-depth about anything, never hung out. She's just been, for the last 3 years, either my brother's girlfriend, like so many others, or his fiancee.

When the videographer pulled Honey and me aside at the reception to say something for the couple - well, actually, we pulled him aside; he'd already packed up, thinking he'd gotten all the "importants" (of course, having to seek him out, instead of the other way around, contributed to feeling outside the gang, but, whatever) - I realized everything I wanted to say was to my brother. I really don't know my sister-in-law well enough to congratulate her with some personal tidbit. I just said something generic about her being smarter than him, which is true, but not really catered or specific to her personality or history. During her sister's toast (the matron of honor), she recounted a story about how one of my brother's jokes helped her cope with her baby daughter's Down Syndrome diagnosis, after she'd been depressed for weeks. God, I thought, her sister already has a strong fondness for him, and I'm relatively indifferent toward her. What's wrong, here? In the three years they've been together, she's gone with him to several family events throughout Texas. The Firecraker, J's daughter is 19 months old, and I'd only just met her this past weekend. My sister-in-law, whom I'll call Balance - since she balances Bro's personaltiy pretty well - had met her several times. Balance knows M pretty well, too. And as Bro and Balance live about a mile from Max and Kat, they hang out all the time, as they do frequently enough with my parents, who also live in the same metropolis. I don't know how many times Bro has met her family. I know he spent last Christmas with them and maybe a few extended weekends, as well. But they instantly love him, instantly connected with him, and her little brother and older sister seem keen on, and comfortable with him.

So, here I am: out on the East Coast, missing out my dear little cousins M and The Firecracker growing up; missing out family get-togethers over Easter or birthdays or whatever; missing out on finding out who the hell this person is that my brother just married who everyone seems to enjoy so well. In the meantime M adores my mom as if she were her own grandmother, and Max and Kat bug Bro for more cookouts, knowing they could just crash his house if they felt like it. Honey and I know we want to move west again. Texas is on the short list, as is the Pacific Northwest, and we're open to other, as yet unconsidered, places west of the Mississippi if they seem right for us. However, even if we moved back to Texas, there is, of course, no guarantee we'd see family all the time. (Not that I'd even want to.) On top of that, Bro and Balance have talked enough about moving to Milwaukee sometime in the future that even if we did move to Texas, it's highly possible that they'd move out and I'd still never get to know this woman, or worse, miss out on the lives of nieces and nephews as they grow up. (Honey is certain they're going to jump on that train within a year. I'm not as certain.) Plus, I don't want to be that spouse who demands we live near my family, as if mine is the only one that counts. My aunt - the only of my mom's siblings who doesn't live in Texas - followed that demand of her husband's and she's never been quite happy with it, feeling left behind as her family moves on.

I now really want to talk with my pre-existing sister-in-law, Honey's sister, about how the transition was for her, to me. I loved Honey's sister immediately. Sometimes, I feel like she could be my "for real" sister. Bro accepted Honey immediately - though, in honesty, as we met in Texas, they had more time to get to know eachother than Balance and I have. Honey didn't have the luxury at all of getting to know his older brother in law. His sister eloped while living overseas, so their first meeting came months after they were family. I have to imagine that was really weird and alienating for Honey. I've never heard any friends of mine talk about feeling alienated or missing out on knowing who their in-laws are. I don't know if that's because people just don't talk about it; if my friends actually know their in-laws before hand; or if it's because many of my friends are babies of their families and the dynamic of an elder sibling relationship is different. I strongly suspect that part of my sadness at not knowing Balance comes from my being the elder sibling. I'm protective, by nature, of those I love and always want to sniff out their mates. Stands to reason, then, that though I like Balance, I feel like I haven't had the chance to fully assess her for the person I've felt most protective of my whole life.

I don't know her, and the rest of my family is going on without me. I'll let go, eventually. But for now, I'm just feeling left out.

2009: The Year of Good Enough

I've been trying to decide what my inaugural post for 2009 should be about and I decided that I should begin by returning to one of my goals for 2008: my personal reading challenge. When I reviewed my post from last year describing my challenge (to read 10 books in the course of the year from my own library), I saw that the bulk of that post was dedicated to being grateful for the time we have with our loved ones because we will not always have them with us. There seems to be some sad coincidence in that.

I have fallen way behind on reading people's blogs and obviously on writing this blog. So far behind that I only learned yesterday that Mommanator's husband passed suddenly in the interim. Something that struck me was that she stated she was happy to have him 10 years longer than she thought she might. Again, I'm reminded that we need to love each other fully and seek delight in our loved ones as much as possible. We lose more than the person if we don't attempt it. I know I'm not the only one to express it, but just wanted to publicly convey my most heartfelt condolences to her and her family in their time of grief. I definitely keep you and yours in my prayers right now, Mommanator. Many hugs, doll.

Some good news about this new year for me, is that something in me switched when the clock struck midnight on January 1. I've been decidedly angry and emotionally stubborn about some health concerns of mine, lately. Though I'm progressing with more investigation and possible treatment, I'd been furious that this was something I even had to deal with. I was furious at my body for betraying me. Then at the beginning of the year the emotional stubbornness and the fury just dropped. I'm still angry, I still feel betrayed, but I'm not wrapping myself in it like a self-pitying blanket anymore. I have resigned myself to the probable. I'm still not happy about it, but I'm no longer emotionally resistant. I'm actually more accepting of it. Unless something changes: it is what it is.

That shift also freed me to review other things in my life. It's a new year. New choices? Maybe. I don't do "resolutions," but I do set personal goals. Among my goals this year are:

• Write more, of course. I've got at least one piece lined up. I work best with deadlines, so maybe I should look for more deadline-driven writing opportunities. But in the meantime, I should just keep tapping at the keyboard. I wrote more in 2008 than in 2007, so let's keep up the momentum.
• Become more craftily self-sufficient. Re-teach myself to sew on the machine that I've been ignoring for years and make something wearable.
• Make the house look more grown-up. Replace craptastic college-era plastic shelving with real stuff; paint at least 2 rooms in the house this year; buy a few furniture pieces (new sofa-set for basement, maybe?).
• Put stuff on the walls. Frame photos I like and hang them. Maybe buy some art. That costs money and spending money scares me shitless, but our walls are scandalously bare.
• Exercise more. Specifically, start running again! I never felt better about my life than when I ran a marathon 6 years ago. I don't know that I want to do a full 26.2 again yet (maybe in a few years), but I can easily do a 5 or 10K. There's no reason I shouldn't. Plus, I should really buy a friggin' bike. It's stupid that I don't have one.
• See more live theater. There's so much that's good out there and I don't take enough advantage of it. I had the pleasure of seeing some Shakespeare with Darla D and her girls this past week and I really enjoyed it. Why don't I do it more? I dunno. Routine lifestyle, I suppose. Honey and I go on jags every few years. This should be one of them and it should really increase to a regular habit.
• Re-up my reading challenge of 2008. Same deal. So many books in my collection that I've not gotten around to reading or only half-read. 10 more to read and/or finish for 2009. Just finished Born to Buy (pictured above), which was actually book 9 or 10 from 2008 - that's right, I fell short; sue me. I'm moving on next to God in the Machine: What Robots Can Teach Us About Humanity and God. I think I heard that author on Speaking of Faith a few years ago. Honey began reading it, but said it didn't teach him anything new. But he's a techie-guy. I hope that it'll illuminate something for me.
• Ditch the high-fructose corn syrup (and hopefully later the partially hydrogenated oils). I've known since sophomore nutrition class (thanks, alma mater, for making that part of our core requisite curriculum) that corn syrup is no good for me, and neither are partially hydrogenated soybean or corn oil. But damn, that stuff is addictive. So far, I've gone a week without the corn syrup. I've managed to gain weight, but that's mostly because I have no sense of portion control and I've not been exercising as much. Still, it's as much about being mindful about what I put into my body as it is about weight loss. Temptations may surround me, but if I can ward off just one of them, then the battle is not yet lost.
• Spend more time with Honey. Evenings, weekends, whatever.
  
• Find a new job, or a new path. Not necessarily outside my field, but just some path that allows me time to enjoy my family and to pursue my outside interests. My recent down-shift to part-time should help.
  
• Stop thinking I have to define myself by my career or other "achievments." I'd like to say I'm bigger than that, but I'm not. I'm just a regular achiever living in the land of hyper-acheivers. When I really contemplate it, yes career and title are in there, but the lifelong goals I'm most concerned with are more personal in nature: travel, family, language-learning, re-learning piano, etc, etc. I love my work, but I need to stop measuring myself against the hyper-achieving hyper-tense, hyper-paid peers in this town. I'm me. That's good enough.

Maybe that's what I need to carry into this year. Things don't have to be perfect. They just have to be good enough. I don't have to find the most extraodinary wine bar/buffet for our dining area. I just have to find good enough. I don't have to run a marathon. A 5K will do. I don't have to lose 15 pounds; 6 will be sufficient. I don't have to read all the ancient classics I should've read in college. I'll just read one. I'll do what I can. And that will be good enough.

Like a Child

Dad had his second open-heart surgery yesterday. For those keeping track at home, his first was in the mid-80s.

We went to church Sunday morning and as the senior minister was out on vacation, Dad was scheduled to preach. It wasn't one of his better or more memorable sermons - it was new, anyway - but I really enjoyed hearing him preach. I always enjoy it, but since I don't live nearby and since he's no longer the senior minister, hearing him preach is always a treat. It was good to see some folks there that I hadn't seen for a few years. People offered their prayers; one of Dad's parishoners stopped by their house yesterday afternoon specifically to pray with us. As I don't know her, I didn't know what to think of it. Her prayer though was really sweet and comforting. She referred to Dad, in her prayer, as a man with a heart as big as all outdoors; and he is one of the very few people I've ever met for whom I think that description is perfect. She also brought my mom a little scarecrow rag doll she picked up at a crafts store. Ultimately, I really appreciated her visit.

Mom had been tearing and crying a little here and there all Sunday. I had been playing the supportive daughter, there to cheer on Dad and comfort Mom. I was definitely worried, but I wasn't letting myself show it. I had actually convinced myself that I was okay, that I had my worries in check. I suppressed my own emotions so much I almost snowed myself over. Almost. Before I went to sleep Sunday night, it all came out. I cried and cried and let myself be scared and just let it out to God telling him how scared I was and how worried I was. All my doubts and fears. I'm not sure I'd talked that candidly to God in a long, long time. Years maybe. In crying and reaching out, I discovered I suppress a lot of my negative emotions. Or I have been in recent years. It felt genuinely good to weep and genuinely good to just get candid with God.

This was different from his first triple by-pass. I didn't go with him to the hospital on the day of the surgery the first time. I was eight. My brother and I stayed the night with my mom's baby brother and his wife. They were so cool when we were kids, simply because they were young. I remember my uncle gave me an Apple computer t-shirt with the colored apple logo on it. It was sized for an adult male, so it swallowed me up, but I wore as a night shirt. We didn't get to see Dad for a day or two after the surgery. When we finally went to the hospital, my mom warned us to be gentle and not too loud because he was trying to recover. I remember walking into his room and him standing up from the edge of his bed, wearing a green bathrobe, and seeing the stitches on his left shin. That's where the doctor had removed his leg veins, which were transplanted to his heart to replace (or by-pass?) the old clogged arteries. But to my eight-year-old eyes, the stitching was sinister. Had the surgeon made a Frankenstein monster out of my dad? It sure looked like it! He opened his arms wide to receive hugs from us, and I delivered, cautiously, in case he was a Frankenstein monster and tried to kill us suddenly. During the nights he was in the hospital, my brother and I slept with mom in their bed. It felt good to all sleep together when we all felt so sad and scared.


Sunday night, as I hunched on my parents' guest bed, crying and clutching a teddy bear mom had bought as a stage prop for a one-act she directed when she taught high school in West Texas, I realized I felt just as scared and vulnerable as I did when I was eight. Not only that, I wish I had the protections provided me when I was eight. When I was eight, I didn't have to wake at some ungodly hour to go with Dad to the hospital for check in and surgery prep. When I was eight, I didn't have to watch as they wheeled Dad away into surgery. When I was eight, I didn't have to wait for hours in a waiting room, anticipating each visit from the nurse. When I was eight, though I've always feared losing my parents, I think I was maybe less afraid of losing my dad than I am now. ... no, I've always been exactly as afraid of losing him as I am now.

We were very fortunate to be surrounded by friends and family yesterday. Dad's boss, the senior minister at his church, arrived at the hospital around 5:50, when we were arriving and stayed throughout the whole procedure until we got the all-clear, around 1:30 yesterday afternoon. I didn't know him well, but got to know him better; he's a nice guy and I can see why my family likes him. My uncle who lives in the Dallas area was down for a 6-month check up from his oncologist at a nearby hospital. (He's been cancer-free for years now, but still has to get the official thumbs up every 6 months.) He stopped in for a while, between appointments, to sit with us. We made waiting-room friends with a Muslim family who were awaiting news about their brother. One of his sisters - the one who wore a scarf and traditional clothes - had a chain of prayer beads that reminded me of a rosary. Though I cherish the iconoclasm of the strain of protestantism in which I was raised, sometimes I wish we had retained traditions like that from our Catholic forebears. We're 3-D beings, having something tactile to cling to doesn't have to be idolatry. But I digress. Other friends from my parents' church stopped by to check in. A little after 2, about 45 minutes to an hour after surgery, Mom and I were allowed to visit him in the ICU recovery room. Poor guy was so far whacked on anesthesia, he barely opened one eye. Mom held his hand and talked to him for a few minutes and then we both said goodbye.

Mom had to return home around 4 to meet with a repairman about some light fixes to the house. There's still a lot of Ike debris around the city: tarps on roofs, tons of tree branches gathered here and there; signs knocked off. My brother arrived in time for the 5PM visitor period. Before we went in, I warned him that a few hours earlier, Dad looked like a coma patient and he had tubes coming out of him and he was pasty white and cold. He nodded. We're grown ups. We can handle seeing our dad look like that right? HA! Immediately, we both started tearing up. By this time, Dad was more responsive. He couldn't speak with the tube in his mouth, but at least his eyes were open and he could communicate non-verbally. "Blink if you know we're here, Dad," my brother said. He blinked. "Blink twice if you're still going to vote for Obama," I requested. He blinked twice of course. My brother and I did what we always do when we're scared or sad, we cracked wise. I think Dad appreciated it because we could see him sort of turn up the corners of his mouth in an attempted grin. I figured out that he had an itch on his right arm, so my brother scratched it. "There are so many tubes coming out of you, you look like a cow being milked!" my brother told him. Immediately, I SO wanted to say, "Dad! Be careful! Soylent Green! It's made of PEOPLE!" But everyone else in the recovery room was so quiet. We were the only ones really talking aloud. Other family members just hovered over their loved ones. Thankfully, Dad wasn't the worst looking. I actually feel sorry for Dad in that hall. Not just because he's uncomfortable, but because he's having to share space with people who really do look a lot worse off than him, right now.

After our visit yesterday afternoon, my brother broke down in the hall outside ICU recovery. I held him and let him cry on my shoulder and let myself cry on his. Seeing Dad as vulnerable as that exposed all our vulnerabilities. Again, I was grateful that when I was a child, I was protected from that.

Mom visited him this morning. He's still in ICU recovery, but he's sitting up, the tube is out of his mouth, and he's talking. It takes forever for anesthesia to fully wear off, so he'd forgotten that we visited yesterday, but that's fine. The fact that he went from droopy-tongue coma to Diving Bell and the Butterfly messaging within a couple of hours yesterday to sitting up and talking this morning is really, really encouraging to me. Bro will be coming by in about 15 minutes to pick me up to hang out before we visit him at 5. Dad will probably be moved out of recovery and into a room tomorrow. That will be a good thing, as the poor man needs a window, and we won't have as restrictive visiting times. I leave tomorrow morning, so I'll probably say goodbye to him tonight as the 8 o'clock visitation ends. Which sucks. I'd much rather get to say goodbye to him in his own room, or at home, but I'll take what I can get.

I waffled a bit on whether or not to come down for this. They don't "need" me. Technically, there's nothing I can do to help the situation. And, selfishly, I'm scared. But in retrospect, I'm terribly glad I did. A triple by-pass surgery is nothing to be trifled with and a second one, even less so. I think it was heartening for him to see me in his time of need. Maybe I also needed to come down, to expose myself to my own fears and become a little girl again. That wouldn't've happened had I stayed home.

Mom really DID love you more!

Enjoy it now, folks. This is probably the only time I'll ever post a photo with an unobscured view of my face. That's me, and my little brother. I was four, and by the looks of it, he couldn't have been more than a month old. Oddly, I think my parents still have those Raggedy Ann and Andy bedsheets.

Wait, Wait Don't Tell Me referenced a recent study that proved that parents are harder on their elder children. They punish them more and generally place higher expectations on them. Younger children get away with so much more than we elders ever could. Here's what the Telegraph wrote about it. (I was amused that they referred to study done by "Maryland University.")

Part of me wants to send this article to my parents to show them that I wasn't imagining things when I'd complain to them of letting Bro get away with things that I would've been roundly punished for. But what's the point? They raised two functioning, happy, compassionate adults who've found healthy, permanent relationships with people who understand math and finances better than they do.

The resonance of this study for me now is less as a child with a grudge than as an adult pondering and witnessing parenthood, myself. Mom was the second of 5; Dad was the fifth of 5, so my complaints of unfairness fell on deaf ears. Honey and I both come from two children families, and he's the baby of his. At least we'll have two perspectives to bring to any children we may have.

Beyond that, though, this study reminded me of how it's only been in the two years that I've realized how important I was (am?) to my brother. He's always been important to me, of course, but I didn't really recognize, until lately, how much he adores me, and has his whole life. I always assumed that he lived to annoy me, until he reached junior high, by which time we became more peers and friends. When I turned 30, he sent me a really touching card extolling how great a sister and steadfast role model I've been for him. (My drunken, cussing, graceless, directionless ass - a role model? Poor guy!)

Apparently he also knew before I did that the only reason he existed was because I wanted a sibling. My mother was content with having only one child and Dad was down with it, too, but apparently I began begging for a sibling once I could vocalize it. I was so eager for one, I began telling people - friends, family, strangers on the street - that my mother was pregnant. She got pregnant so as not to make a liar of me, I assume; that, and because she and Dad decided one more was probably okay. I told this to Bro last year and he said he'd known it for a decade.

His admiration of me though has really only become more evident to me since he and his fiancee got serious about a year ago. I'm really looking forward to her being added to the family. As he began to regard her opinions and incorporate them into his lifestyle, I realized he was acting on influences of hers that I had, for years, been trying to exert on him. For instance, he now eats sushi - not frequently, but that he does it at all is amazing - and has begun to drink wine and looks for new wines to try. This, from a boy who just two years ago was immovably a steak and beer guy. I've always said he needs a girl who is smarter than he is, and I think he's found her. Why she wants to hang around my fart-bucket brother, I don't know, but I'm happy she does.

But I digress ... much as I like her and am happy for them, I feel myself being replaced as the primary female peer relationship in his life. (Assuming, I had that role, to begin with.) And I've found myself kind of jealous as he's begun aligning himself with her family. And I can only assume this jealousy is because I've been used to being listened to by him for the last 28 years and now that's shifting. It's a good thing it's shifting. But, holy cow! Is it possible my parents were right: the reason why he'd copycat me was because he looked up to me? And maybe I've been the bossy older sister the whole time and never known it. Crap. Next thing I know, I'm going to find out I'm a Cylon. Frak.

Three Beautiful Things

1. Finding a siamese mushroom among the mushrooms I bought at the store, Saturday.



2. Reconnecting with an old friend on LinkedIn and discovering she lives in my metro area and meeting up with her for dinner tonight. Also: finding that even after having not seen each other, nor having corresponded with each other for 9 years, we still had enough commonality to make the evening enjoyable and to want to go out again, soon!

3. Recognizing that I was being hit on - or at least sniffed out - with my girlfriend tonight. And when one of the guys asked something to the effect of, "why don't you hang out with us?" I answered, "I think I need to spend some time tonight at home. With my husband." It felt good. And my girlfriend later was like, "yeah, you shut him out." Yea, me!

Why I'm not worried about A**

I began to write this as a response to VirginiaGal's comment on my last post, but then I saw that I was going to ramble, so I figured I should turn it into a post.

From age 20 to 24, my brother dated a young woman we'll call A**. She was a sweet girl, not unlike other girls he'd dated before or since; two years his junior. She was really in love with him and he with her for a while. But my brother has always intended on getting married at some point in his life. And several months before they broke up, he took stock of their relationship and his feelings toward her. "No matter how hard I tried, Molly, I just couldn't picture myself married to her," he'd tell me. And even if he later decided to never marry, he felt it unfair to drag her along. Better to cut loose while they're both still young and can find other happiness than to drag it out into something that will eventually make both of them unhappy. (Side note: the brother of a friend of mine, in his early 30s, recently broke up with his girlfriend of a decade. He'd never wanted to marry; she did. He eventually pulled the plug about a year ago. Basically, he wasted 10 years of her time for something that only one of them wanted.)

Though I'm sorry she had her heart broken - and I know Bro was very sad himself for a while - I ultimately don't feel sorry for A**. Firstly, she's moved on to another boyfriend with whom she seems happy. Plus she and Bro have remained (amazingly) decent friends. Would it have been better if Bro had stayed with A**? She was a nice girl and he loved her, but it's possible to love someone and know they're not "the one," for dreadful lack of a better noun. You have to love someone fully. The person you marry should excite you mentally and spiritually as well as sexually. You have to spend the REST OF YOUR LIFE with this person. Is it fair to someone to partner with him/her when you know ultimately that you're not delivering the goods he/she needs or that you're not getting from him/her what you need? She didn't challenge him and didn't inspire him to be the best him he could be. With the current girlfriend, I see Bro becoming a more mature young man. He's developing new interests and returning to old interests. He's happier. It makes me happy. I don't know if A** has found her lifetime mate, but if and/or when she does, that person should inspire her to be the best A** she can be. Anything less would be a rip-off to both partners.

When I was in college, I remember seeing a video from a "relationship specialist" who claimed that the partner you spend the rest of your life with should inspire admiration in you, and you in the partner. I can't remember anything else in the video, but who the hell cares? He was right in that. It's possible to love other people, but I think mutual admiration is one of the key ingredients to that love that sustains couples through the slings and arrows of life. I loved some prior paramours, but lacked that mutual admiration. The same is probably true of Honey.

And it has to be symmetrical admiration. How many girls did I see in high school and college who were just over the moon about their boyfriends and their boyfriends just took them for granted? (Or vice-versa?) Should those boys have proposed to the girls because the girls loved them? Fast forward 20 years: who is happy in that relationship? I've seen these people in airports. The woman is very clearly miserable and the man is just engrossed in his crossword or sudoku (he turned off years ago) and nary a friendly glance is exchanged between them. And it's not just airport layover misery. You can smell marital disdain. Bro may have inspired A** to be a great person, but she didn't inspire him. And hopefully A** has found - or will find - the person who will inspire her to be not just great, but the best A** she can be.

My only hope for Bro is that his current girlfriend is as inspired by him as he is by her. I think she is.

From what I've experienced in my marriage, and from what I've witnessed in other relationships, choosing a mate isn't just about finding someone you love and you'd like to have children with. It's about who you want to not have children with as well. (Not every relationship produces offspring, whether by choice or chance. And even when they do, kids leave the nest, eventually. Who do you think you're gonna have to stare at for the remainder of the time?) It's about choosing a partner to weather the illnesses of your family members with, to weather your own illnesses with, to weather shitty jobs with, to weather personal depressions and downfalls with and even to weather periods of "why the hell did I get married" with? Hard times can bring resentment of one's partner even in the happiest of relationships. People can love each other, but if they don't love each other fully, or have that mutual admiration, then the resentment that arises from the hard times can turn into disdain, which can be outright poisonous. And of course, sadly, sometimes even the most stable and happy relationships crumble under the weight of outside sadness. But why stay with someone when you can smell the toxicity from down the road?

I really am sorry Bro broke A**'s heart a few years ago. Life is hard and only gets harder as we age. Staying with her would have caused her much, much more pain in the long run and would've made him sadder in the long run, too.

The Luckiest

Thoughts of mortality - that of my own and of those around me - have never been too far from my mind. The last few days, however, these thoughts have been forefront in my mind as I drift to sleep. I find myself kept awake, particularly, by the thought of Honey passing and leaving me behind or me dying, leaving him.

Saturday morning, we were awoken by the sound of heavy engines idling outside our house. ... and of Babydog barking at the uninvited noise. A fire engine and an ambulance had arrived to tend to our next door neighbor. Our next door neighbors are an elderly couple; the wife has left the house only a handful of times in the 16 months since we moved in. She has been recovering from a series of falls in the last year and a half. Having been the couple to assist the cops when our next door neighbor on the other side (an elderly single woman) died at home not six months ago, Honey and I immediately thought the worst. We watched as surreptitiously as possible. Luckily, when our elderly neighbor was wheeled out of the house on a gurney, she was sitting up and alert.

Saturday evening, we brought her husband a plate of cookies from a local bakery that we like. He seemed pleased. Apparently, she had (unsurprisingly) taken another fall and an x-ray could not see enough around a pin in her leg to determine whether she had fractured or sprained it. He was hoping she'd be available to return Sunday or Monday. Yesterday evening, when I came home from work, he was returning from a day visiting her in the hospital. No dice. The doctors want to keep her until she's well enough to walk on her own. Currently, it's agony for her to stand. Explaining me this, my neighbor's eyes looked tired and puffy - like he'd been crying and not sleeping well.

We're not that close to our neighbors. Friendly. They have our house keys in the case of emergency. But we don't really hang out. Nonetheless, I have to think what's going on next door is affecting my thoughts on a subconscious level.

Honey is my best friend and my hero. I don't know what I would if he predeceased me - at least not now. Sometimes - maybe most times - I take him for granted. And I'm sure it's the same with him for me. You can't live every single day loving someone with the ultimate enthusiasm as you would if it were that person's last day on Earth. It's simply emotionally unsustainable. Why is it though that these thoughts of pre-bereavement come just as I settle in to sleep? Could I not have these thoughts around 3PM, so that they make me more eager to get home and spend quality time with him?

And then I wonder what would happen if I predeceased him. I worry that he would not deal with my death well at all, becoming some stereotypical curmudgeon; and I also worry that he would recover within a year, finding some younger, slimmer, more successful, more beautiful version of me and would be so happy with this hypothetical woman (I HATE her so much) that he would never spare a thought for me again. Both scenarios are ultimately unlikely - particularly the latter because I'm such an awesome specimen that I pity any woman who follows me; it'd be like DuMaurier's Rebecca, or something - but both make me sad. Statistically speaking, he'll probably predecease me; but as I have a bevy of cardio-pulmonary maladies in my family, I may go first. I just want each of us to be happy and cherish each other, both in life and death. And I hope that we are reunited on the other side when it's all over.

In the end, I hope that Honey and I live to ripe old ages. But I also hope that our declines are relatively brief and not too hard on the other. There's a song by Ben Folds called The Luckiest.
My favorite part of the lyrics are as follows:

Next door there's an old man who lived to his nineties
And one day passed away in his sleep
And his wife; she stayed for a couple of days
And passed away

I'm sorry, I know that's a strange way to tell you that I know we belong
That I know

That I am
I am
I am
The luckiest

The old man who lives next door to us is not in his 90s yet. And frankly, if he died before she did, she would be in much more trouble than he would if she went first. But it's clear he loves her very much. And while I hope Honey and I don't pass within days of each other - I want us each to live as long and full as possible - I can't deny the romance of that scenario. For now, perhaps I should just dwell on the lyrics from the first half of the song, since that's the romantic part of our relationship we can always live in:

I don't get many things right the first time
In fact, I am told that a lot
Now I know all the wrong turns, the stumbles and falls
Brought me here

And where was I before the day
That I first saw your lovely face?
Now I see it everyday
And I know

That I am
I am
I am
The luckiest

marrying within one's religion: a response to a friend

This began as a comment to a post on Virginia Gal's blog. But per usual, I rambled, and felt like it would be too much for a comment.
_____________
VirginiaGal, i know exactly what you mean about wanting to marry within your religion.

in my brief dating experience, i only ever really dated atheists, agnostics and generally areligious types. for the most part, all nice boys: good kissers, with whom i just did not ultimately click. marriage was far from my mind, but i assumed if i DID marry, i'd marry an atheist, agnostic, areligious type. when Honey and i started dating, the common religious faith was liberating. finally, i was with a guy who understood why i held dear the things i did. one of the things i miss most about going to church these days is holding his hand during the lord's prayer and resting my hand on his knee during communion. other boyfriends and paramours had attended church with me before, but i never felt connected to them during service. i'd feel like they were humoring me. with Honey beside me, worship feels more worshipful. had i married an areligious boy, i doubt we'd bless our meals the way Honey and i do at home. not everyone feels the need to do it, but it's a ritual that i feel keeps me daily contact with God, my sustenance and my family, for the moment we pray. so I'm glad Honey shares that value with me.

there is no doubt in my mind that many people's cultural lives and spiritual lives are immensely enhanced by marrying outside their religion. and who knows? if Honey and i hadn't met - at church, no less - maybe i would've been blessed by a great Jewish or Buddhist guy with whom i felt some spiritual bond. you really never know who God has in store for you. ... which is part of the reason why i think it's good to date without too much regard for religion. you don't have to marry every guy you date: that would be like feeling obligated to buy a car just because you test drove it, or a ball gown just because you tried it on. you need to see how other cars handle and how other gowns fit. you can still learn a lot about life and about yourself by dating people you'd not expect yourself to date. (you'll KNOW when it's right to marry someone. it'll be so mutually undeniable it'll catch you off guard.)

nonetheless, i do feel like if your religion is the guiding principle of your faith, marrying within your faith is critical. just a quick note here: i just realized i said "marrying within your faith." i could've said marrying within your religion. marrying within religion is easy. there are plenty of Christian guys i could've married; there are plenty of Muslim guys you can marry. people can share religions, but if they do not share a common faith, then religion is irrelevant. for instance: plenty of Christians i know are great people, but the focus of their faith is preparing for the second coming, let's say. my Christian faith is more focused on loving the heck out everyone i come in contact with, even when i don't want to; and social justice. we're still both Christians with common tradition and text, but our faiths are different. don't marry a Muslim guy just because he's Muslim. share a faith as well as a religion.

... now if you'll all turn to page 284 in your hymnals ...

sorry for the sermonizing. i guess it runs in the family. ;) all that is to say, VirginiaGal: i understand why you want to marry a Muslim. just never sell yourself short.

Okay, i GOTTA get ready for work.

what i like about right now

listening to "the blood of eden" off the mix CD i made Honey many years ago when he was out of the country for a few months. it's such a warm, sexy, longing song - well, Peter Gabriel, what can you say? i rediscovered this CD about a week ago. i don't know where it had been hiding.

i made it one warm Spring afternoon at a friend's house; she had a CD burner. it was before everyone could just rip one of these things off on their PCs. i had an idea of which songs i wanted to include, but another of my friends was there making suggestions. he thought i should include something by Morcheeba, so i did. it's sexy, but not totally me - a little too british. eh, still okay. i mostly used CDs of other friends. most of my music was still on tape.

i wanted to give Honey a CD for his return of music that was passionate and echoed the ache i'd had for him in his absence, and probably the ache he had for me. (he did pine for me. within 6 months we were engaged.)

wow, i'm loving this. there's a lot of Dave Matthew's at the beginning of the CD - did i mention i was 22 when i made this? i forget how much i really do like DMB's innuendo laden croons. but after "blood of eden" i'm hearing U2's "love is blindness" and now something from dead can dance, very sweet and somnambulant quality.

i remember i made him another CD that i sent him while he was there that i sent him. i wanted to express my support (maybe even envy) for him and the assurance that i was waiting for him. so i opened it with the closing song from the movie Orlando, "coming" - a beautiful, soulful tune - and included Bill Wither's "ain't no sunshine", B-52s' "Roam", Foo Fighters' "walking after you." i don't know where that CD went. i'd love to find that one, again.

listening to this mix CD again, i feel 22 again. i can feel the carpet under my feet at my friend's house; the sense of security i felt at her house, the "at homeness." i can see the sunlight angling in from her backyard. i can feel the eager anticipation of graduation around the corner, of Honey's return, of my birthday, of setting out to be with him, of the coming century and the excitement of my own sheer youth. i haven't seen my friend in almost 5 years; i haven't had much e-mail contact with her in that time, either, but each time we return to that city and drive past her house, i feel warm and cozy. that city evokes warm feelings in me; i always feel at home there, like i've come home. safe. at-homeness.

this CD gives me at-homeness.

*painting found on www.herbleonhard.com; he apparently does paintings inspired by pop culture. not bad.

Semana de Caca

Last week was very cruddy. The only grandfather I've ever known back in the hospital again for the second time in a month: this time, seemingly worse. My director has placed me in the back of the bus for all intents and purposes with my troupe. A little detail I've been trying to get ironed for the last two weeks at work just won't iron out. And my boss doesn't really want to renew my contract when it ends if she doesn't have to. I'm trying to bear in mind that that's the life of a freelancer, but as I'm new to the business, it hurts. Plus I can't help but think it's some reflection on my performance. Add all that on top of us trying to purchase this house, which is stressful in and of itself, but emotionally crushing to realize we'll pretty much be owned by our house, not the other way around for a few years. The east coast realty market is so stiff it's like the friggin' cliffs of insanity!

The good news is we had some friends come into town for a visit this weekend, whom we hadn't seen in months. It was great to just hang out with them and their toddler. Of course, when they left, I got sad again.

I'm not looking forward to work tomorrow. Blech. Hopefully, things will turn around soon - be it my understanding or my situation or whatever. God, give me some patience and clarity!

Now that Nick and Jessica have split, what have I to be thankful for, today?

As I wait for the Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade to begin, I found this piece of sad news on CNN.
But I'm not sure what breaks my heart more, that a vapid pop star is now back on the market, leaving Nicky to fend for himself among vapid teenagers eager to define their life's crowning moment by the time they slept with him, or that she thought she should give advice on throwing the perfect wedding. Excuse me: achieving the perfect wedding. I guess if you place all your achievement effort into the perfect wedding, there's little left for the actual marriage.

In any event, here's what I feel grateful for this morning:

1. i have love
2. my dog's snoring
3. i don't have bird flu
4. the snow didn't stick
5. i'm not cooking, today
6. i have a roof over my head
7. i have a job
8. i have an education
9. i have goals - if no clear path to them
10. i have my good friend, TiVo
11. i have an imaginary reader in Shropshire which gets me off my duff to write, if not daily, then at least every few days.

Happy Thanksgiving!

World Peace Begins at Home

The animals in my house may one day truly be friends. Until then, they remain antgonizer and antagonee.

Of course, the antagonizer has no idea she antagonizes. She thinks she and the cats - well, the one cat who will grace her with his presence - are playmates. The highlight of my dog's day, aside from her daily walk, is in the evening after supper. We have headed upstairs to play computer games, check e-mail or post meaningless ramblings intended for my imaginary friend in Shropshire (whaddup, Niamh!), and she races up behind us and tends to her evening activity, cat-watching. Our cats live in our bathroom closet. They chose that spot when we moved in a few years ago, and last year when we got the puppy, they saw no need to ever leave, save for eating and eliminating. So the canine child perches herself in the middle of the open bathroom door and gazes into the linen closet where the cats stare back, anxiously.

One cat learned a few months ago that if he just stays still, the dog provides an essentially free spit bath. They have a routine, now. The braver of the twin cats sits on the closed toilet lid and stares at the dog. The dog-baby stares back for a while until she can no longer stand it, and moves to the toilet and noses the cat into a bizarre ecstasy. Someday our cowardly kit will try his luck, I'm sure. Until then, however, he just watches on in his envy, living in his own dry fur.