Untitled

I’m calling this post “Untitled” because I simply don’t know what else to call it.  I’ve been trying to think up a few witty or sagacious words that would sum it up, but nothing has come to mind.  Perhaps as you read further, you’ll see why I can’t put a name to this one–or maybe you can help me out and give me some ideas.  I’m open to change.  That’s good, because things, they are a’changin’ mighty fast.

Where to begin?  Let’s start a few weeks ago, on a weekend.  My daughter, who shall henceforth be known as Bringer of Chaos or BOC for short, apparently came down to Pueblo to visit her mother-in-law with boyfriend and the baby–and GS2.  I don’t know if I mentioned that the boys’ uncle and cousins have moved just down the street from us.  Yes, they have, and it’s a good thing.  I like Uncle a lot, and I think it’s good for them to have familiar folks in the neighborhood.   Anyway, BOC drops GS2 off at Uncle’s house and goes on with her visit.  It’s interesting that the boys are almost never included in any of these things–just as they were never included in most her back-and-forth visits to Denver while she and this current BF were “courting.” But I digress and I am trying hard not to be judgmental.  Not my life. Not my life. Not my life.

Of course, during the weekend with Uncle,  GS2 comes over to visit and chat.  He is quite the chatty one, AND he loves to embellish.  This could be a problem later, if not checked–hard–but again, not my life.  Anyway, when no GS1 appeared we asked where he was.

“Oh, he’s at Auntie Tiff’s.” Auntie Tiff is a friend of BOC who lives in Colorado Springs. She has numerous health problems, and 2 small children.  I couldn’t see the charm for a 13 year-old to visit.

“Is he there for the weekend?”

“Oh, no, he’s living there now. He had to go there ’cause he had a a bad attitude at home.”

G and I are now looking at each other over GS2’s head, trying not to explode, trying to stay calm, trying not to bombard this little boy with our grandmotherly angst.  So, we just chatted.  Apparently GS1 couldn’t get along with boyfriend, was yelling at his mom, was smoking pot, slashing tires, breaking into their room, stealing food, etc. with some other guy in their neighborhood up in Denver.  I had met this boy when I went up to bring GS1 down for spring break. He seemed nice enough, but what do you know in 15 minutes?  I guess things had deteriorated since then.  However, he was making straight A’s in school, so at least there was an up side.

By then, he had to run back out and play with his cousins.  G and I sat stunned on the couch, not quite knowing what to make of it all. For G, the foster child, of course, this brought up EVERYTHING that she has been trying to deal with her entire life. She and her siblings were taken away from their mom when she was 14.  It turned out to be a (mostly) good thing, but at the time, you can imagine it was quite traumatic, especially since back in those days, there wasn’t much thought for the mental well-being of the kids.  Grown ups stepped in and acted, and kids just sucked it up and went along.

Of course, that weekend, I never saw BOC. She rarely comes by when she’s down here.  Honestly, it doesn’t bother me, but G gets all bent out of shape that she’s “disrespecting” me.  I’m just like, that’s the way she is, trust me, when she shows up under the guise of a family visit, it’ll really be because she wants something from me.  So, no, I’m not bothered when she doesn’t come over when she’s in Pueblo.

However, we both wanted more info about GS1.  I vaguely remember Tiff as a friend of hers, and I remembered that BOC was very worried about her last year during the Waldo Canyon Fire in Springs, as she lived fairly close to the danger zone.  Now there were more fires burning up there, and we all wondered where they were in relation to those. Of course, we couldn’t get a phone number, couldn’t get an email, nothing.  I tried to call BOC but her phone was off. I texted, because sometimes she can get texts if the phone is off. Nothing.  Then I broke down and sent her a message on FB (we are not friends) and heard back almost immediately–she can access WiFi when the phone is off. 

Yeah, yeah, she would get me a number for Tiff (she never did), GS1 was running wild, she couldn’t “handle” it, boyfriend worked so hard to connect with him, blah, blah, blah. I did my best not to engage.  I’ve learned the hard lesson over the years, that engaging with her always makes things worse. This includes asking simple question in a neutral voice. The goes on the defensive at the drop of a hat, starts hollering, or weeping, throwing the F-bomb and blaming everyone else.  So, I have learned to nod, smile and say, “okay” or “all right” or “isn’t that interesting” and let things go along until the blow up–because they always blow up.  That’s why she is the Bringer of Chaos, because she thrives on it. For her, life is too boring otherwise.  And I think perhaps I just nailed why we will never be able to get along for longer than a few hours at a time.  I abhor chaos, at least that kind of chaos.  I can deal with it in situations that you can escape from, like work chaos, or long-distance family chaos, or chaos that you know is temporary. But when YOU are the chaos or constantly creating the chaos via your interactions with others, how do you escape that?  But that’s a subject for another post.

Time went on.  All quiet for the most part. GS2 was looking forward to his visit for his birthday week.  I made arrangements to pick him up on a Monday when G had a VA appointment in Denver, swapping a work day in order to do it, killing two birds with one stone. 

Then, the Black Forest Fire broke out in Colorado Springs.  Once again, everything around here kind of stopped.  We in Pueblo are not in danger of forest fires.  We’re too far out on the prairie, and our terrain is flat.  Grass fires, yes, but those burn slower and are much easier to contain.  But we always watch in horror and dread as neighborhoods go up in flames and businesses are destroyed.

AND we had no idea where in the city GS1 was.  And I could get NO information from BOC, despite repeated requests for a phone number to call him, email, whatever. “My phone is off and I’ll get that to you when it’s back on.” I know enough about cell phones that you can access your contact list even when you’ve run out of minutes.  If you can get on the WiFi, you can send me an email. But again, not engaging.

A couple of days into the fire, G was on FB and suddenly saw GS1 on there.  She typed him a message and he typed back. I got on and asked how he was doing, of course, got the standard answer, “Good.”  I asked him if he was on a computer or a phone. A phone. I asked him to call my cell phone so I would have the number then. More than one way to get around a stubborn ass daughter, eh?  He did and we chatted a while. He seemed okay. He liked Tiff and her husband Jeromy.  He didn’t want to go back home because he was always being called a liar, etc.

Now here’s the deal.  I am perfectly willing to believe that he had been acting out–ALL kids act out in some way at home, AND he is 13, so that’s kind of natural.  But this other behavior, this screaming, and stealing and slashing tires–THIS was totally out of character.  This is a kid who I could count on one hand the tantrums he’s ever thrown. This is a kid that from the moment he walked into school, every teacher he ever had adored him–even when there were personality conflicts.  He’s not mouthy or disrespectful.  He’s never appeared to have the least interest in sneaking out to smoke (GS2 did at like 7), or trying drugs, etc.  I acknowledge that he might have reached the end of his rope, and so behaviors got more aggressive at home.  I want to give BOC the benefit of the doubt, but what I think happened is this…the conflict was between boyfriend and son, and boyfriend won and son was out of the house. Brilliant, right?  I came this … close to calling foster care on my daughter when she was that age, when she was running away from home, and refusing to do any school work, and hanging around with known felons and drug dealers (even though she swears she never used, and I believe that) and I didn’t.  Now I wish to hell I had.  Maybe it would have knocked some sense into her.  Oh, dear hindsight, how I love you.

After that brief conversation with GS1 we felt better and worse.  We had a phone number, but still didn’t know where he was.  He apparently didn’t either, as far as being able to give an address.  What IS is with people today who don’t teach their kids WHERE THEY LIVE AND WHAT THEIR ADDRESS IS???  I guess they think cell phone GPS will save them.  Who knows.  Anyway, it didn’t matter because about an hour later, I got the weeping call.  Apparently, Tiff and her family had made the decision (probably in the works for a while) to re-locate to Arizona where she had more family support.  Oh, she’s pregnant with her 3rd child, also has cervical cancer and baby #2 has a feeding tube.  Sounds like the PERFECT circumstances to add another baby to, right?  But, hey, NOT my life.  They are willing to take GS1 to AZ with them but, 1) He doesn’t want to go (understandable), 2) BOC won’t give any kind of legal permission, but she also won’t let him come back because of his behavior (read, the boyfriend doesn’t want to deal with it–and probably neither does she).   So, here we are. I’m on the phone with weeping grandson, and ask to talk to Tiff.  She actually sounds like she has a little sense.  She’s crying too, it’s clear that she really cares for GS1 and really WOULD take him to AZ with her, but at least she’s smart enough to know she needs some kind of legal permission to do so.

In the meantime, I’m about to have my own sort of schizophrenic break.  I don’t want to raise a kid again.  I really don’t.  But part of me knows this has to happen.  GS1 is my heart, plan and simple.  I don’t want to feel like I’m giving G an ultimatum, either, because this is her house and her life, too.  I become completely speechless, mentally paralyzed. I simply don’t know what to do.  I’m not in a position to make demands–if she says absolutely no, I can’t really go against that, and I haven’t the means at the moment to move elsewhere and do it.  I’m numb and dumb, sitting on the bed, trying to figure out one word to say that might offer some kind of comfort or hope.  Nothing is coming.

Finally G comes in the room (she had stepped out for my privacy), and I explained what was going on.  We looked at each other and I knew.  GS1 had to come here. Period.  We could sort out the sordid details later, but there was a dangerous situation where he was (fires) and his fragile support system was crumbling and there wasn’t anything else to do. Neither one of us was willing to force him to go back to a place where he was utterly miserable and unappreciated.  I got myself together and asked Tiff when they thought they were leaving for AZ. Friday, 2 days away.

“Bring him here,” I said.  “You’ll pass right by our house on the way south.” 

I had expected huge knots to form in my gut when I said that, but instead, there was the greatest feeling of relief, of rightness.  He needed to be here.  I don’t know if we need to have him here, but we do need to quit worrying about him, and this is the one place that has been consistent throughout his life where he’s been safe, well-fed, loved and happy.  Home is the place where, when you go there, they have to take you in, right?

I got him back on the phone and told him what was going to happen.  I told him to make sure he packed whatever he had, that we’d get him here and then we would work out the details later, told him I loved him, and to be good.  Then I hung up and G and I went into overdrive.

We wouldn’t change plans on GS2’s visit because that was for his birthday, and that needed to happen, but it was pretty obvious we needed separate spaces for them.  We got one of our trusty blow-up beds and put it down in the basement, rearranged the wall screen we bought years ago for its art value around my office to give more privacy, arranged a chair for him, cleared out shelves in our built-in cabinets that would fit laundry baskets uses as dresser drawers.  There’s still a lot of stuff to go through and I am soul searching to see if I can give up my meditation room so he can use it as a “real” bedroom since it has a door.  I’ll be taking measurements to see if I can downsize to the pantry that we were planning on converting to a 2nd bathroom.  Life happens and plans change.

On Friday he showed up looking happy, sheepish, and more than a little dejected.  Everything he has was in a duffel bag and three trash bags. His mother had packed everything up and taken it to Tiff.  It was very clear that even giving him back to gramma was tough for her.  She was leaking tears, and telling me she just couldn’t understand the whole situation with BOC/boyfriend. Said he had helped her with the kids, done chores, worked with her husband, whatever, never raised his voice or acted out. That sounded like the GS1 that I know.  We talked with Tiff and Jeromy for a few minutes, but they were running late and wanted to be in Albuquerque by dark.  GS1 said his goodbyes and we said we’d check in on Facebook. 

And now he’s here.  He liked the idea of his space in the basement.  He got his clothes unpacked and in the cabinets. He’s been hanging out with his cousin down the street.  He’s helping G a little bit.  He’s not as gung-ho on that front as GS2–I know he’d really rather be on the computer or reading but we have emphasized to him all along that LIVING here is different from visiting, and if he’s going to be a member of the household then he has to pitch in and help with all that entails.  No pouting.  No raised voices. No “attitude”. 

I talked one of the attorneys I used to work for and she said the best thing would be a POA that my daughter could sign, allowing us to act as her agents.  G and I agreed it was the only way he would be able to stay, as otherwise we would be powerless to do anything re: school, medical care, etc.  She agreed to do it, and yesterday she got the package I sent.  It has to be notarized, so I put some cash in for that and a postage-paid return envelope.  There’s no excuse for her not to do it.  I’m keeping my fingers crossed, hoping I won’t have to take another set up there and drag her to a notary and stand over here while she signs it.  But I will if I have to.  I am so blessed to have this job with weekdays off, and to work right here.

GS2 had his birthday week, and we surprised him with a trip to Alamosa to an indoor water park/hotel and we all had a really good time.  G introduced all of us to Duck Dynasty which was a hoot.  We fished in a reservoir where we found all kinds of critters (except fish) and then GS1 wanted to fish in the Rio Grande which runs thru town, so they did that for a while.  It was good visit, GS2 didn’t get snarky (much) and when I left to take him back home, they managed a couple of brotherly hugs with noogies.

Now reality is setting in, but I think we are all fairly optimistic.  I talked to him yesterday about the “honeymoon” period and how life was going on and he might get bored living with two old ladies, but this was our life, and he was welcome to be a part of it if he thought he could pitch in.  Told him he was welcome to say what he was feeling, to offer suggestions or alternatives to plans.  Told him we needed names and phone number of friends AND parents. Told him we would not hold the threat of “sending him back” over his head for behavior, but that we, G and I, WOULD deal with him, and he might wish he were back with his mom.  He grinned a little at that.

I won’t lie. It’s daunting.  But it’s different.  I don’t feel “parent-ly” if that’s the word.  I still feel like gramma.  Whether he stays for six months or until he’s of age, I hope that’s what I’ll always be to him.

Dread

A couple of weeks before I gave birth, I had a phone conversation with my mom.  Looking back, I think I spent the majority of my pregnancy in a clinically depressed state that got jolted from time to time by utter terror and panic when my then-husband decided to show his true colors.  It was not a pleasant time.  During this particular conversation, I broke down and confessed to my mother that I was scared to death that my life was over and I would never be myself again, the strong, happy, confident self I had known only too briefly before my cascade of wrong decisions nearly did me in.  I didn’t know where that young woman was; I barely remembered her.  I was convinced that this thing would come out of my body and I would simply recoil in horror and not be able to cope at all.  There was no support on the spousal side of things. He had wanted me pregnant for a particular purpose, and I already knew it wasn’t so he could participate in any kind of domestic partnership.

To her credit, my mother was very gentle and supporting.  I know she didn’t understand what I was feeling.  It went beyond the ordinary trepidation about the changes that parenthood brings to anyone.  The majority of people, while  not completely understanding those vast and far-reaching consequences, at least are eager to embrace them and go forward into their new phase of life with enthusiasm if not outright glee.  This was a phobic reaction. What are you afraid of? Gut-wrenchingly terrified of confronting or encountering?  Snakes? Heights? Strangers grabbing at you from a dark alley? Whatever it is, that’s how I felt about what was about to happen in my life.  It was a dark, dank, sucking dread that pulled at my limbs like stinking swamp mud and that I couldn’t get off me, no matter what I did.  She did her best to lighten my mood, to encourage me, to let me know that these sorts of feeling were normal right before the big birthing event.  I tried to go along with her and pretend that she was helping, but I hung up the phone even heavier than before.

With the exception of the first early years, and then a few years after the divorce, that dread has stayed with me. It’s like my tinnitus–the fine, high, slight ringing that’s always present in my ears.  If there’s enough background noise I don’t really notice, but when it’s quiet, it nearly consumes my head.

It’s been quiet on the daughter front for too long.  I’ve long practiced the “no news is good news” style when dealing with her, but summer is nigh upon us, and her maternity leave is going to be up.  The last news I had was that her boyfriend had gotten fired from the job that he had held for a long time.  They have only one car (his) that is a two-door Honda or Toyota and how all five of them can fit in there now, with at least two of them now at or over six feet tall is beyond me.  I don’t think about that.  I can’t. 

GS2’s birthday was Sunday. He was 13.  I sent him a card with some cash and then I had a FB email from her saying that her phone was off but she could still get WIFI and could we watch the boys “this weekend.” I couldn’t figure out if that meant this past weekend or next weekend.  I haven’t responded and probably won’t.  There’s no confronting her. You either agree and say yes, or she escalates to screaming and throwing the F-bomb around and I am just not up to that any more.  It seems that she is in a pattern of wanting us to take the boys when it’s around either of their birthdays. I’m not sure if she feels like she can’t provide an adequate kind of experience and thinks we will do it, or if she just doesn’t want them around, or if she even realizes she’s doing it.  That’s the thing. I have no idea how her mind works.  I don’t really know what she values, what she wants.  From the outside, it seems like she has a baby with every guy she hooks up with as a way to keep them with her, but you’d think by the third time, she would have realized that this doesn’t work.  I’m sure the only reason she didn’t have a baby with the one guy she actually married was that he had already had a vasectomy.  Good for him.

Shortly before the baby was born, apparently she and the BF had a huge fight centered around the boys. She called me weeping that “they got their way and he’s moving out.” For once I wasn’t having it. I was completely unsympathetic, told her if that was the case, then he’s no kind of man anyway and too bad, so sad.  She’s 30 years old, for Pete’s sake.  How many times does she have to repeat this sick pattern?  How many kids does she have to bring into her chaos?

So the dread is building. G and I have planned to have GS2 for his birthday week, around the 2oth of June.  We have decided to have them one at a time now because they are reaching the age where they both need a break from each other and because they act totally different when the other one is not around, so even not having one of them at home will be a break for the others.  Plus, we can do more with one than two at a time when each of them is bound and determined to want exactly what the other one doesn’t.  Siblings, right?

These are the times I curse my imagination.  I’ve sent her emails about the date we are going to pick him up. No response. I’ve tried to call. The phone is off. I sent the FB mail to check that she was getting my messages, and all I got was “can you watch the boys this weekend”.  And, then how is THAT going to happen even if we would? Would she bring them down?  Doubtful.  Would G drive up and get them, because I would be working? NO, resoundingly.  She’s as fed up with this as I am and doesn’t have the familial guilt thing AND she has a social worker background and tends to look at all of this through that lens. Then my brain starts to whirl.  They’re losing their apartment.  There’s no food in the house.  He’s left and she’s there with two preteens and a baby.  On and on it spirals until I’m ready to throw myself off a bridge to end the disaster I’m creating in my own head.  Honestly, there are times when I want to call Dr. Phil and say please, PLEASE intervene here–not for her sake, but for the boys who so vulnerable and didn’t ask for any of this. What sort of life are you role-modeling for these kids?

I realize that all this is a creation of my own brain.  In spite of all the dread, I hold out the thin hope that I’ll get a call here in a bit and she’ll be all happy and chatty and isn’t life great.  It could happen.  But more likely it won’t. More likely I’ll get a weeping grandson on the phone who will tell me once again how much he wants to come and live with us.  And I will have to bite my tongue and curse my own child and tell him he can’t do that because it wouldn’t work out.  And then G and I will have to retreat to separate corners and then talk and process and talk and process and talk and process until we are so utterly sick of the subject that we have to swear to each other that we won’t even mention their names for a month until we can regain some kind of equilibrium again.  We’ll recover…again.  And the ringing in my ears and the dread in my head will retreat.  For a while.

Another Quickie

After nearly 24 hours of start/stop labor, lots of pain, and a little distress, they finally took my daughter back for a c-section. After that everything went swimmingly.  Leticia Marie Ruiz was born around 10:30 p.m. April 5, 2013, weighing 7 pounds, 4 ounces, 20 inches long, by far her smallest baby.  We’ll see how this little Aries girl tackles the world. G says she can’t pronounce her name, and I’ve already decided my nickname for her will be “Latte” after my favorite drink.  Big fingers, too!

Retreat. Reflect.

My Australian friend, Margaret Rainbow-Web, yes, that is her real name, has a quote on her side by a man named Robert Theobald.  I admit to not knowing much about the man (but wanting to know more), but the quote has stuck with me for years:

“When information doubles, knowledge halves and wisdom quarters.”

Recently, I placed myself in a world of information overload.  I found myself distracted nearly every moment at work (a place I really don’t need distraction from).  I was Tweeting, Pinning, FaceBooking, e-mailing, texting.  I had become, in a small sense, one of those people you see in commercials who can’t be away from their electronic gadgets for more than a few moments without having an anxiety attack.  I realized I neither am nor want to be that person.  At least, I maintained enough wisdom to know that.

I deleted my Pintrest account first.  No worries, since I never really got that whole concept anyway.  Today, I decided to deactivate my Twitter account.  For a long time, I hardly tweeted at all, then I started getting some respones to my Tweets and I thought, “Oh, isn’t this fun, so and so thought enough of my words to respond or share.”  (so and so being a couple of folks in “the media”).  Then I realized I was checking Twitter on my silly little dumb phone and making sure I had the phone with me all the time, and checking it first thing in the morning, “just in case.”  Oh, man.  What a wake up call.

I’ve been using all this as an excuse.  An excuse to distract myself from my job, which depends on me being focused and in the moment at all times.  Yes, I can take breaks, no problem.  But when my paycheck really starts to suffer because I can’t stop commenting on Facebook, that is not cool.   At all. 

I haven’t decided whether or not I want to get completely drastic and close my FB account.  I probably won’t because what has been really nice is getting back in touch with classmates and other college/past friends and seeing what they’re up to.  And with the boys in Denver, it’s an easy way to see what’s up with them (though I think they’ve lost their phones, so hardly post at all).  I enjoy that and I enjoy the repartee on some subjects.  Others, not so much.  The whole chicken sandwich thing really got me down for a couple of days (and yes, I know it’s not about chicken sandwiches, but I’m not using the name for my own purposes).  I realized I am better off when I don’t put myself into those kinds of over-hyped controversies.  Sharing and re-tweeting, and commenting and having to moderate comments–all that stuff.  Not good for me.

So.  I’ve decided to take some time back.  Obviously, I’m keeping the blog because this really is my space.  I get to say 100% what goes in and what doesn’t.  I’ll still be writing, but I’m going to try to stay positive.  And I’m going to go back to my meditation cushion, that I’ve stepped away from for far too long.  If I’m going to start an exercise routine to help my body, might as well start a routine to help my spirit/soul, too, right?  Maybe in the morning, maybe before bed, maybe in the middle of the day.  Hell, some days maybe all of the above.  After all, my daughter just told me she’s pregnant again.

Didn’t see that coming, did ya?

Done

The boys just left for Denver.  We had a good week.  We went swimming, fishing, to the library, driving in the mountains, cooked out a lot on the grill, hung out, watched movies, played games.  Of course GS2 had to get cranky because he wanted to take his soccer ball with him and G had to lecture him, and so what might have been sweet was turned sour.  They all drove off without looking back.  I think that’s the tag line of being American.  We leave without looking back.

Right now I don’t know how to feel.  I’m relieved that my daughter won’t be in borrowing distance now, sad that the boys are going to be that far away now that they’re really getting fun, more than a little pissed at G because she pretty much dismissed me down here when I came back into the house after the car drove off.  I decided to take the rest of the day off and make up the time later, because I thought we could just hang out and be gentle with each other, but I didn’t even get a chance to say that and after the short tone, I didn’t even want to tell her.  She’s upstairs scouring, scrubbing, sanitizing–one because PEOPLE HAVE BEEN IN THE HOUSE, but also because that’s how she’s going to handle it.  I get it.  She has to stay busy.  I just want to curl up and weep for so many reasons.

GS1 made no bones about the fact that he would rather stay here and live with us.   I get that.  I also know that once he gets up there and makes some friends, that will probably change.  I reminded him about our conversation we had before he started middle school.  He said, “It’s going to be so hard.”  I said no, it was going to be different and after he got used to it, it would be easy.  And it was.  Sixth grade can be really hard, but he had a good year.  This will be similar.  He’s got an easygoing nature and a sense of humor.  People like him.  He’ll be fine.  GS2 is more his mama’s boy, so wherever she is, he wants to be.  She said she thought there was a large K-8 or K-12 school just three blocks from the new place.  If that’s the case, then they can walk, which will be a blessing.  And she’s quite close to the new job she’ll be starting tomorrow.  She actually put some thought into this.  I can’t argue with her wanting to have a better opportunity, more things for the kids to do, better schools, etc.  That’s all good.  Even missing the boys is all right.  We go up to Denver enough, so we’ll be able to see them and then when they come down here to visit, it’ll be a real treat.

I’m still teary-eyed but writing helps.  Writing always helps because I can write the things I’m too choked up to say.  I just don’t know what’s going on between G and me.  The other night, when I was afraid maybe my daughter wasn’t going to show up, I finally get into bed, looking forward to a moment’s peace before I fall asleep and she asks me, “So if you had to support those two boys, what would you do?”  I was like, NOW??  You have to ask me this NOW?  Honestly, I don’t know what I would do, but I would manage.  I have always managed.  I would figure it out somehow and I guess if I had to move out and be on my own, I would.  Maybe I’ve become too complacent, too dependent on her extra income.  Maybe I need to suck it up, go work at a call center, snarf up to the corporate tit, play the game, blabber the jargon, move up the ladder, all that good bullshit.  If I put my soul on hold, I could be managing a damn call center in less than a year.  I know statistics, I can motivate people, I’m good at all that meaningless crap.  I just don’t want to do it.  It’s that simple.  But, maybe that’s what this time, this week, this particular transition, is telling me.  I didn’t move out from Dean until my daughter moved in with her then BF, so maybe it’s a pattern.  I don’t WANT to move out.  I don’t feel like G and I are really in that kind of crisis, I think we’re as solid as ever, but sometimes when she asks me those kinds of questions I do, because it’s like she’s saying, Hey, if that does happen, you’re on your own.  I’m just confused.  Would she kick me out?  What?  I’m confused and sad right now and not motivated and I ABSOLUTELY HATE HOT WEATHER which makes everything I’m feeling worse by a factor of 10.

So, I’m going to fall back on what has helped me in the last couple of weeks.  I’m going to make some decisions.  First, I’ve decided not to work for the rest of the day.  Second, I’m going to clean up around my desk/office area, dust and get organized.   Yeah, don’t faint.  After that, I’ll see what happens.  And maybe I’ll get an email from the boys later.  In the meantime, at least the top of the house will be immaculate by the time I get up there.

When Life Gives You Lemons…

…make lemon upside-down cake!!  Oh yes. One of my favorite Christmas gifts this year was a lovely package of 13 amazing little orbs of sunshine, aka home-grown lemons, from the always-fabulous Roxy. They arrived a couple of days after Christmas and after simply eating one right out of the box, I’ve been trying to figure out what to do with them.  It had to be something special, memorable and worthy of those beautiful little gems.

Yesterday, I strolled through the cookbook section in the library and found this book:

As soon as I picked it up, it fell open to the above recipe and I knew I had my answer.  Lemon upside-down cake??  Oh yes, most definitely.

I was busy today. I got up early, and by 9 a.m., I had put together a package and sent off a query letter, synopsis, brief bio and first 30 pages of my novel to a recommended agent AND applied for an MT job with another company online.  Then we had to take a stray cat that we’d trapped to the pound. The stray/feral cat population is burgeoning, so we’re having to take drastic measures again. When we got back from that, I was ready to bake.  I used my new mandoline to slice the lemons. It’s wonderful to have the right tool for the right job. This cake cooks in a skillet, so the lemon slices went right in with butter and brown sugar.  Are you drooling yet?  You should be!

While that cooled, I made the batter in my stand mixer, then transferred it to another bowl while I whipped egg whites and folded them in, making the batter much lighter.  Then the whole thing spreads over the lemons and into the oven.

About an hour later:

Sweet, tangy lemon perfection.  I took a big piece over to next door neighbor Steve so he could be one guinea pig, had a piece myself and was happy to serve another piece to friend Peggy who came to visit and happened to show up at a moment of crisis and helped me get through an otherwise awful event just by her sweet presence.  Good friends are absolutely priceless.

The bright sweetness of this cake in combination with the tart mouth-tweaking flavor of lemon is a bit like life–joy, love, sorrow and bitterness all rolled into one big banquet. Sometimes the flavors may be a bit overwhelming but without those amazing high and low notes, the overall meal would be quite boring.  Nothing boring here, folks.  Life lived and food cooked and eaten to the fullest.  The only way to do it.

Love, Guilt and Insanity aka Christmas

It builds slowly.  I’m not sure exactly when it starts, maybe around Halloween. There’s a shift, subtle, like a drop or rise in barometric pressure.  Maybe it’s the appearance of Christmas trees and wrapping paper in the stores even before the Thanksgiving turkeys have a chance to gobble.  Maybe it’s the energy that kids put into wanting things, or the unrelenting media onslaught of “how many shopping days ’till”.  Whatever it is, it’s like the full moon and werewolves.  Things begin to morph and shift.  Small irritations that one might have brushed off in August become huge dramas in November, lasting days, weeks, an endless screech of nails on chalkboards running just under the surface of the skin, a constant irritant.  I could snap the neck of the next person I see and go on, calm and collected, not even worried about the devastation I left behind.

This is what Christmas and the end of the year is like around my daughter.  Every year for the past, oh, I don’t know, decade, has been like this.  There’s always a crisis, always a drama. Usually it involves her uprooting herself and the kids and flinging herself out of the house with her meager belongings in black garbage bags, the boys pulled along half asleep in pajamas, Christmas gifts left behind in her wake of disaster.  Last year it was the opposite.  She and her now ex-husband fought and HE left, taking all the Christmas gifts he had bought for them with him. Low life fucking bastard.  If I saw him on fire I wouldn’t spit on him to put him out.

This year, for some reason, she’s had to go to Colorado Springs every weekend. I guess she was tired of staying in the house. She let some guy friend of hers nephew and his girlfriend stay in her apartment. Will she never learn?  In less than a week she will be 29, she’s not a naive kid.  She’s seen more of the seedy, sleazy side of life than I ever have or wanted to, and yet she does this stupid shit. So, she gets back and Oh, they took all my shampoo, my laundry detergent, my food, my toilet paper. Oh, really? Ya think?  These people are SLEAZEbags, darlin’. You don’t have any decent friends, what do you expect?  Oh, but I can’t say that, oh no, then I’m just “ragging on her”. 

So, it builds. Starting in October.  The “holidays” loom and there’s a tension in this house, like static electricity and we jump and start, expecting every phone call to be a disaster.  We snap at each other, talk about it, smooth things out between us and then it starts all over. She shows up and hangs around, not asking, never asking, but she’ll sit here and chat and want to use the computer or whatever and just be here until some kind of check or other monetary arrangement is made. I see people writing about their kids, missing them, wanting them to come home for the holidays, etc. etc. All I want to do is go somewhere at the beginning of November and not come back till February.  Miss Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Years and her birthday and be done with it.

The last two days it’s been her phone. Since she was about 12, a phone has been surgically attached to her body. It’s like she can’t breathe without it, like it’s a miniature iron lung that sustains her very existence.  Apparently, GS1 went running into the bathroom the other day and knocked her phone into the toilet.  Really?  REALLY? Who takes a phone into the BATHROOM, for god’s sake???  See, there’s enough of her father, the pathological liar, in her, and I’ve caught her in enough weird stories for me not to really believe anything she says.  Whatever.  She stopped telling me the truth about anything long ago and she’s not going to change now. That’s is one thing I’ve learned.  People don’t change.  If they were liars and cowards then, they’ll be liars and cowards now.  Whatever the circumstances are just brings out the true nature of the person.  That’s my theory and I’m sticking to it.

And then there are the boys. The 2 kids who’ve been yanked and jerked and pulled all over the place with her.  Who’ve shot and been shot, had their toys taken and sold, their clothes and furniture abandoned, gone for days without food or baths, their pets taken away, sent to the pound, left behind and yet, their eyes shine so bright when they see the things we got them–a cool black basketball for GS1 and new sheets for his bed (“Dinosaur sheets are getting old, gramma.”), an E-bay ripstick for GS2 (all he’s talked about for weeks), Lifesavers and Starbursts in their stockings (Broncos for GS1, Raiders for GS2), and 12 pairs of socks for each of them.  Not a lot, but enough. They are sweet, bright, loving boys and I don’t know what my daughter did to deserve them. Just like I don’t know what I did to deserve her. What goes around comes around, I guess.

Speaking of coming around, my company changed our pay rate again.  We were for a time making the absolutely exorbitant, bottom-line-teetering sum of $12.50 per hour.  I know, the wealth is staggering, isn’t it?  Starting yesterday we were put back on production pay.  $3.50 per report edited, $0.08 per line for reports actually typed and $0.04 per line for “speech editing” reports, which can actually take longer than typing the damn thing.  The last 2 days I’ve done in total 27 reports. Work is slow in Buffalo this time of year.  If my next check is $200.00 for 2 weeks work I’ll be lucky.  Yeah, welcome to 2012, here’s your “incentive”.  God forbid we pay you when you leave your computer to pee. I try not to let it get to me but Goddamn it, I have worked for nearly 40 years, worked HARD, done a damn good job at every single position I’ve ever been in, and now THIS?  THIS?  I have people’s lives in my hands doing these reports, when fucking doctors can’t dictate the right doses for medications or say the right one or can’t spell it, who corrects them? WE do.  If your medical records are right in your doctor’s office, better thank a medical transcriptionist who managed to decipher the damn doctor’s stupid mumbling because they were in too big a hurry to bother to pronounce a word right.  Yeah, the patients are important all right. My ass.

So, this is Christmas.  I try so hard not to let it affect me, but it always does.  I have so much and and I am content, truly, deeply content with it, but it seems that the world is conspiring to yank it away from me as fast as I can accumulate it.  Sometimes I think maybe it would be better to just be homeless on a beach somewhere than to have to deal with this shit.  It makes me want to strap on my backpack, spend my last few dollars to go back to Spain and send what’s left of my time walking back and forth on El Camino, depending on the kindness of strangers.

I. Am. Done.

Never Mind…

Was going to do a long, moaning and groaning post about the daughter and her recent situation (let’s just say it’s utility-related and many things hang in the balance).  After a very intense day at work yesterday combined with late-day “woe is me” IMs from her, I was nearly at my wits’ end.  Feeling the weight of it all, let’s say.  I managed to swim for 45 minutes with the hand/leg weights but instead of washing off my worries as I usually do lap by lap, this time I felt like I was a brick of granite trying to swim.  Disturbing, actually.

Fortunately, it was Friday and we had our weekly dinner with our local lesbians and I was able to download a bit while drinking some 2-for-1 happy hour margaritas.  Better.

G. drove home and I went to bed early with a great new book I’m reading. Even better.

Then I woke up this morning, not having to be at work till 9 a.m., so I had a cup of coffee and sat in the hot tub watching the sun come up.  WAY better.

After that, G was up, we watched a couple of PBS garden shows, I fixed breakfast and then, quite unexpectedly, she took me back to bed for some “morning delight”.  Best!  Oh, yeah.

So, all that other angst n’ stuff?

Yeah, never mind.

😉

Microcosm Moment

Today has felt like a completely wasted day. Last night, my daughter called and asked if she could come over and wash “some clothes”.  Sure, I said, not realizing she was going to wash enough clothes to cover the Chinese army.  She arrived at just after 8 a.m., Killer in tow, along with 19 or so baskets of clothes.  I exaggerate, but not by much. There went the day.

Adding to that my neck has been really, REALLY hurting me quite a bit lately. It’s a sharp, hot pain that radiates down the right side just under the occiput, into the the deltoid muscle of the shoulder and down my right arm.  If I balance my head JUST right on my neck, it doesn’t hurt, but the slightest movement off that exact fulcrum point, and it’s excruciating.  So, I called my chiro and he had time to see me today.

He was able to make a couple of very strong adjustments, and I came home put a huge ice pack over my shoulder and took 1200 mg of Motrin. Yes, I know that’s a lot.  The ice helped but then I started with a mild headache.  G went to have lunch with a friend (more on that later) and I switched to heat on the shoulder without much relief. Mostly I stayed on the couch and played with the little dog and watched NCIS reruns on the USA network.

Finally, G came home and my daughter finished with her umpteenth load of clothes and left to go pick up kids from school. Yes, she had been there all day.  My neck and head still hurt and finally I got the bright idea to try G’s TENS unit.  I’m wearing it now, and it seems to be helping. I don’t think I’d be typing here otherwise.

I’m banging away at my NANOWRIMO, which is kind of doing a number on me because it’s more autobiographical in many ways than I had thought it would be and it’s bringing up some tough stuff.  I feel like I’ve opened up a can of discontent within myself, a whole bucket of woulda, coulda, shoulda, and it’s been bothering me. It’s even hard to think about verbalizing it on my tongue, so I have to work with it in the written medium.

Then, just now, I saw G out the window that I look out all day when I’m working.  It faces the side yard where the peach tree and the pergola are.  It’s one of those high basement windows. On the outside, it’s right on the ground, but in here it’s set into a row of built-in storage cabinets that the former owner and builder of the house put in.  When I mentioned what I could see to her the other day, my G came down here, took a peek out the window, then stacked up some old stepping stone high enough for me to just be able to see them, and started putting out the peanuts for the blue jays, just so I could see them from my tiny view during the day.

She’s like that, my wife.  She does things to help people in the smallest ways. She feels too much sometimes and she loses her words sometimes and isn’t always able to verbalize exactly how she feels or what she really wants to say but her heart is always, ALWAYS in the right place.  And no matter what, she always loves me.

I am humbled.

Be Bright, Be Brief, Be Gone

When I worked for the Mari0tt, that was the motto for conducting meetings. Hence, a brief update.

I have so far walked 36.5 miles this month. I am 2.5 miles off my goal. This morning, my eyes popped open at 4:45 a.m. (which would have been 5:45 two weeks ago!). Lying in bed, wide awake, I realized that since I have switched my Saturday start time to 9 a.m. I could get to the grocery store, come  home, unpack the groceries, put a load of clothes in the dryer and do a  5-mile walk with time to spare before I had to be at work.  All done according to plan and even stopped at a local coffee shop near the hospital to make the last quarter of my walk with a nice latte, which felt good since it was below freezing when I left the house.

Writing is coming along. The POV/main character is male, so that’s been a challenge.

I wanted to write a post about my daughter and how she’s progressing, and she is. She’s totally on top of GS1 moving into middle school next year and she has identified a school that will probably be very good for him and they had an interview yesterday. She’s pursued getting on housing here in town for the last 5 years and finally got a voucher for rent on a house a few weeks ago. The voucher is good for 60 days and if she doesn’t find a place by then, it’s start all over.

Apparently she identified a place, and then it had to pass inspection, etc. She called me yesterday all frantic because supposedly she had put her deposit money into hubby’s account so she wouldn’t spend it and (GASP) his account was garnished. Oh? How come I’ve not heard about this garnishment? SIGH. Oh well. I didn’t offer to bail her out because I can’t and she didn’t ask.

This morning she was texting me to IM on my computer to see if the new landlord had called. Apparently, she gave him our number as a message number. No, he never called. She then texted that she had got the money for the deposit. Amazing. Since then I haven’t heard, so I have to assume that she met up with the landlord and moving has commenced. Like cars, she goes through houses the way most of us use kleenex. I hope she’ll be able to stay in this one for a while, if she actually gets it. Right now, I have enough on my plate to satisfy me without taking her on.

But on a good note, G and I went to get coffee tonight at Sbuck’s and we went inside for a change.  I noticed some really cool artwork–it was a panel made up of individual pieces done by different kids from a local school. As I looked closer, I recognized the writing and realized that one of the panels had been done by GS2!! He did a great job with color and texture. The piece was like a fall tree, with a rainbow-colored background and with the leaves being cut out of some kind of fabric. The whole thing was really lovely.  I’m going to try to call the art teacher at his school and see if I can’t get his panel when she rotates the artwork out.  I’d love to have that framed and on the wall!

And that, my friends, is the bright and brief summation for the evening.

I’m gone!