the 4th

Today was July 4, 2007, a day that will not be repeated. It was one of a kind. I spent it with The Child. We didn't party, we didn't barbecue, but we did see The Mayor in the park this morning at the community breakfast in the shelter house. (It's an election year, and this neighborhood's July 4th fest trumps the others scattered throughout the city.)

Our house is situated on the park where today's festivities took place; thus, many of our neighbors hosted parties. Maybe next year, after the child custody case is settled and life is simpler, The Child and I will host a party. Until then, we're better off just rolling with the punches, so to speak.

After the thunderous storm this afternoon, we walked to the soggy soccer fields where huge inflatable games were set up for children. The Child played happily, we hung around with friends from his school, we ate ice cream cones, pizza and funnel cakes, then he got a henna tattoo of the Japanese symbol for "sky."

The Child wanted stink bombs from a vendor in the park. So be it. They were less expensive than most of the things he asks for. He's still upset with me because I refused to take him to the super duper blowout fireworks display last night downtown along with millions of other revellers. Hopefully the stink bombs took the edge off his disappointment. He asked for a whip too (why were they selling whips at a family celebration?) but I drew the line.

The Child, who just completed third grade, informed me that my camera has a 'fireworks" setting. Sure enough, I checked, and it does, and I figured out how to activate it in the nick of time after several minutes of frantic fussing, fumbling with the owner's manual, a flashlight and a magnifying glass (in the dark, no less). We just finished watching these fireworks pictured here.

On July 4, 2007 I learned a new skill (firework photography), enjoyed an outing in our very own park, socialized, finished some paperwork for court during the storm, and got to hang out with one very cool kid who didn't tantrum when I said no to the whip.

Whence I Came

"Whence I Came" really is proper English, although it sounds wrong. "Whence" means "from where" so if I said, "From whence I came" (which is what we're accustomed to hearing) I'd be saying, in essence, "From from where I came." Anyway, this is the view driving into Johnson City, NY from the west. The older I get, the more I seem to be fascinated by my hometown and its character. (If I still lived there, the opposite would be true.) NY State laws being what they are, I'm surprised I was not arrested for driving while photographing.

Here we proceed through downtown Johnson City. Young Betty walked these streets many, many times. Take note of the bike lane on the right side of the road. Ever so cool. Betty never drove a car here until now, and it's because pedestrians and bicyclists are expected and respected, unlike in the much larger city where Betty lives now.

This is one of the landmarks of downtown Johnson City- the Red Robin Diner. People who live here think nothing of it, but it is a valuable piece of history to outsiders.

Binghamton is right next door, and according to this stone arch, it's "Home of the Square Deal." There's so much old fashioned flavor here.

This is an old shoe factory, located a block from Betty's childhood home. Legend has it that German immigrants looking for work at the E.J. shoe factory in Johnson City would say, upon landing at Ellis Island, "Vich Vay E. J.?"

There are a few signs of 21st century life in the area, such as a thriving shopping mall. Here we can see its parking lot, with the hills in the background, along with the polluting electric plant smoke stack which inspired Betty to write an award-winning essay in high school.

This is another mall parking lot view which features a more striking example of the threatening sky which Betty is so fond of. Seriously. Betty's Irish ancestry, combined with being raised in this notoriously overcast part of NY, has resulted in a definite predilection for somber skies.

This is Betty's favorite cemetery. It's a stone's throw from her house of origin. It is also by far the most appealing location in the area. Betty has many pleasant memories associated with this cemetery.

Here's Betty's favorite merry-go-round, at C.F. J. Park. Besides threatening skies, this area is famous for its free merry-go-rounds which have been punctuating the local parks for many decades, probably since the Great Depression.

Here The Child is seen indulging in a free merry-go-round ride. Are they called "merry-go-rounds" elsewhere? I really don't know. We also refer to pizza as "hot pie" in this part of NY state. And "spiedies", unknown to most of the country, are a local specialty, first presented by Italian immigrants and now featured in most local restaurants.

And here, at last, is the house Betty grew up in, complete with father on the front porch. This photo doesn't do justice to the chipping lead paint.

I had a dream

This photo pretty much sums it up. I took this last month in the neighborhood where pedestrians and Victorian houses prevail, located adjacent to downtown on its northern edge. I've never liked driving. (I'm not too thrilled about other people driving either but I can't control that.) If we lived in this neighborhood, I could walk to work, and the child and I could walk to stores, restaurants, arena events, concerts, a gorgeous urban park, a huge farmer's market, an ice skating rink and even the child's school!

This is the house I had picked out for the child and myself. As of August 28, 2006, I was in contract to purchase this very house. The house we had been living in had just gone into contract, and I was planning to be moved into this Victorian house by Thanksgiving 2006. Then things went terribly wrong. The buyers of my original house changed their minds and backed out of the contract! I kept my house on the market for a few more months, then gave up after obsessively crunching numbers and deciding that I really couldn't afford the more expensive urban neighborhood.

Anyway, this is one of the landmarks we would have frequented had we moved. It's a historic farmer's market located just a few blocks from the above house.

Here's a peek at the interior of the farmer's market. Gourmet cooks love to shop here, where they can find everything ingestible, of the very highest and freshest quality.

Here's that urban park mentioned earlier. It's just around the corner from the house, and it's ever so cool.

Who says there are no kids in urban neighborhoods? The child looks mighty "at home" here, doesn't he? He's a natural born urban dweller.

The child enjoys some liquid refreshment at a hip coffee house just down the street from the park and the house.

This is my kind of place, for sure.

Memorial Day 2007

"Psssst! Betty! Look out your window! Quit feelin' sorry for yourself. Round up that child of yours and c'mon outside. Time's a wastin'. Oh, and grab that bag of peanuts on your way out..."

"Yipee! They're comin' outside! And they're haulin' peanuts! Party time at Whirlin' Betty's!!"

"Hey, Betty! I'm over here! We came over to cheer you up and remind you of what's really important! Send some of those nuts my way!"

"Hey, Mama. Let's go for a quick walk through the rose garden to see what's blooming today. The animals will still be here when we get back."

"Look at that scarlet rose bush, Mama! Let's smell it!!!""

"See, I told you they'd still be here after our walk. There's the red-bellied woodpecker ready for some peanut action!"

"Let's all do the Memorial Day Dance! Yipeeeee!! Let's Whirrrrrrl!"

the Truth about Mother's Day

Well, here you have it. This is the Truth about Mother's Day. I may have felt sorry for myself that Day, which I'm good at, but the reality is that I am the Mother of a Wonderful Little Boy who made this clever card for me.

And that, really, is all that matters. Even the fact that the Child's father seeks custody and I face the battle of my life is trivial compared to this Truth.

And right outside the door of the house where the Wonderful Little Boy resides with me is an abundance of Truth, as you see in this photo.

The Truth is that I am Blessed.

To my Mother

I wish you could visit me here today. It's Mother's day, and all day I've been wondering if you felt appreciated by me. I wish you could see my house, and my little boy: the grandson you never met. You used to be so good at diminishing my problems; wow, do I need that now.

It's been rough lately. I've been "served" with papers- Bruce, your grandson's father, is filing for full custody and child support payments. (It's the only time he ever served me anything.) (And he, by the way, never paid me a dime of child support.)

I've spent hours, energy and money seeking legal counsel. My efforts paid off, and I have retained the best lawyer I could find. (I'm no fool- I'm fully aware that said lawyer represents Big Daddy- the loving, protective father I never had.) Your life, Mother, was so different from mine, yet the fathers of our children did their damnedest to ruin things for both of us.

I tried to learn from your experience; I never married, determined not to let any man do to me what had been done to you. I allowed the father, Bruce, to see our son when he asked. I tried hard to keep the peace, but his controlling, often angry behavior caused me to watch carefully.

He finally went overboard last December to the point where I had to involve the police. I stopped allowing visitation. I had all legal rights- the courts had never been involved, and I had always given up my right to child support payments just so my child wouldn't have to adhere to a standard visitation schedule, which allows ample time with the non-custodial parent.

Well, Bruce's threats have come to fruition, and he's indeed "hauling me into court." I now face the monumental task of proving that I have been the child's sole caretaker all his life, and that I've excelled at it. This is such a ridiculous waste of time and effort. I'm already working full time at my demanding job and single parenting; now I'm also a full time advocate for myself and my son, having to move mountains to prove the obvious.

My lawyer has asked me to contact my family and support network. Sadly, such people are missing. Once I became a single parent, my former friends slipped away. I had no time to seek new friends; even other mothers tend to stick with other married mothers.

So, my work in putting together my case will be hampered by the very problem that has plagued me since my son was born. I have nobody to step forward and say, "This woman has done everything humanly possible to raise her son well despite the obstacle of social isolation. Her son is happy, especially now that the father is out of the picture and he feels free to be himself in the absence of the father's criticism. Custody should remain with the mother, and visitation should either be disallowed, or allowed with supervision only, to protect the child from further harm."

I know you'd do it if you could. I know that if you were alive, you'd move heaven and earth to ease my burden. You'd probably hop on the next flight, and stay with me to keep my house in order and my child fed while I take care of the overwhelming task in front of me (during my free hours away from work). Never before have I faced such a devastating problem, but I certainly can imagine the way you'd offer youself to assist in any way.

You'd have undoubtedly taken my mind off all this at times, also. I often think of the laughing fits we used to have regularly. Every once in a while, I have one of those laughing fits with your grandson. It must be some kind of genetic humor wavelength thing, because it's never happened to me with anyone else.

So, Happy Mother's Day. I miss you more than ever.

Y'll be awright

Here are a couple of photos taken today of the first roses of spring in the public rose garden outside of my house. There was a cold snap this spring which damaged a lot of the wild roses, but this harbinger clearly prevailed. I am being tested. The peaceful life my child and I have been enjoying was broken with a phone call at 10:30am. To my shock, it was Bruce, my child's father, with whom I have not spoken during the past 4 months. I had been advised by my lawyer to inform Bruce that he would have to go to court to try to obtain visitation rights. Nobody really expected that Bruce would follow through, and a new found peace prevailed, as if a huge burden had been lifted. I hadn't realized how both my child and I had been squelched, controlled and bullied by him!


Well, he's back. He's officially fighting for child custody and said I should be receiving my subpoena very soon. The court date is June 13, when I was supposed to have been out of town for an important work-related conference. Bruce assured me that he will use it against me if I try to postpone the court date because of my work. After taunting me with this, he proceeded with his trademark tirade about how I had ruined the child's life, etc., etc.


Finally I hung up on him after having tried my best, as always, to remain civil and tolerant. I had to leave for an appointment with my counselor.


Well, as luck would have it, my car broke down on the way. I could tell that the problem was major (and it will cost $1,000 to fix the car- I was right!). By the time the tow truck arrived, I was shaking from the blows of the day. The easy-going tow truck driver smiled, assuming, I'm sure, that my disabled car was my main problem, and said slowly, very reassuringly, "Y'll be awright."


He did what he could to reduce my stress by not charging me for the extra distance he towed beyond my AAA allowance. But it was his convincing mantra, "Y'll be awright" that saved me yesterday. It still reverberates, as it will many times over the coming weeks.

betty does photos, part 1

This is the view out of the window in the "eating area" of my house. The "eating area" is too small to be called a dining room, having space only for a small table and two chairs. Here you can see the public park, featuring one of the world's largest rose gardens, just beyond the privacy hedges. It's nice to have no vehicular traffic in front of our house. The only "traffic" we see consists of joggers, walkers, dogs, squirrels, chipmunks, a ground hog and even a fox.

This is the view from outside of the house, looking in at the "eating area." The Chihuahua is on top of the table, keeping watch over the "traffic." Take note of the orange trim on the windows which was just applied last week by yours truly.

Here is the Chihuahua perched on his table in the "eating area." He is forever grateful for the views of the rose garden, and he considers himself quite the watchdog.

Below is the newly painted garage, complete with a whirlingbetty color scheme. I can just imagine what my realtor would have to say about that if my house was still on the market. The next installment of "betty does photos" will feature the downtown neighborhood.

Sunday with Whirling Betty

Even the weather has been creepy lately, much like the huge Victorian house I dragged the child through today as part of our Sunday afternoon open house tour. The house had sky-high ceilings throughout, and the most enormous windows I've ever seen, yet the house was dark. I know that Victorians were notoriously dark, as if they were built as eventual haunted houses. Well, this house gave me the creeps; I seemed to be channeling frustrated old spirits who insisted on remaining attached to this house.

So much the better- heaven knows I don't need another Victorian house to obsess over! I thanked my lucky stars as I exited the house emotionless. The Child, on the other hand, danced up and down, squealing, "BUY the house! BUY the house! That secret room on the 2ND floor will be mine! Mama, you could jog around that brick circle in the backyard every morning! You wouldn't have to leave home to do your jogging!" He had just demonstrated how to jog on that circular garden path by running around it as fast as he could several times until he noticed I was gone.

There wasn't much danger of obsession anyway- this house was not in my target neighborhood. It was near downtown, but on the east side, not north, and there were no groceries, shops or art galleries to walk to here. It was affordable because the neighborhood was unsafe.

Our next stop was in my target neighborhood. I never had much interest in condos- the condo fee alone is enough to turn me off- but facing the reality of what I can afford has forced me to give up my standards. This one was a condo- it appeared to be 1/3 of a former mansion. From the outside it was somewhat attractive, featuring a turret and a brick exterior, but there was no yard.

We tentatively entered. Well, actually, I tentatively entered while the child bounced happily over to the realtor and engaged her in lively conversation. That was fine with me, since I preferred to avoid her. I could see immediately that there was no way I could consider this house, or, more accurately, this 1/3 house. It was so narrow! I'd have to lose weight to fit the house! The woodwork was dark, ugly actually, and plain- nothing like the wonderfully ornate woodwork of the haunted house. The walls were white. All white. What on earth could anyone find appealing about this place? I just wanted to get out of there, but the child had engaged the realtor. I stood at the door, waiting to bolt.

The realtor was not about to let me off the hook, so I told her that regrettably, I simply didn't like the condo. Undefeated, she insisted on dragging us down the street to another one, also 1/3 of a house. This one was even worse than the first- just as dull, but with only one floor instead of two, and still no backyard, not even a tiny cement slab. Its only positive feature was its price.

I told the desperate realtor that we had to hurry on to our next house, and as we fled I dishonestly promised to give her a call to see more of her dazzling array of condos. We drove on to the next and last house which was farther from my target area......and we kept on driving....we weren't even on the dartboard anymore. It was too far away! I assessed the surrounding area when we finally got there, then decided not to bother getting out of the car. I want to be able to walk to the grocery store, drugstore, video store, bank, post office, coffee shop, library, etc. I realized that there was no point in looking anywhere but in my target zone. Yet within my target, only the unappealing condos are affordable.

I already knew all of this. But I am a stubborn woman who doesn't quit easily.

what it's like

Things have been weird in bettyland lately. There's been too much work, too little pay, too many responsibilities, too many distractions, too many disappointments.

When I was a child I complained a lot. I learned it (well) from my mother, who held a national title in constant complaining. I never realized that I complained until age 15, when I went away to summer camp. My cabinmates were all too happy to point out my character defect.

I was very bothered by that. I didn't know how to change something I wasn't even aware of. It was the language of my family and had become second nature.

There were obviously people who tolerated it. I was not banished from society- in fact, I seemed to enjoy a fair number of social contacts. Being shy, I was never popular, but I was lucky. In a recent post I described a very cool high school boyfriend who had chosen me based on my appearance.

I can't say exactly when I became convinced that I should try to change and become consciously positive rather than negative, but I think it was fairly recently. You see, my luck ran out once the child came into my life. People do not gravitate toward single mothers, especially the clearly overwhelmed types. Friends became few and far between. Even the friend whom I used to identify as my "emergency contact" abandoned me shortly after the baby was born.

My best guess is that my unwanted solitude forced me to change my habitual way of thinking and speaking. My most recent friend played a definite part- he showed that he could not tolerate any negativity from me. I think I changed, but it didn't save that friendship. A few months ago he took in a female roommate who has more than taken my place in his life. I rarely speak to him now. (But when I do, it's damned positive.)

I do still have someone to talk to. In fact, I have a date with her today. Unfortunately, I'll have to talk fast because I'm only allowed 50 minutes a week with her. And I'd better enjoy it while it lasts, because my insurance will only cover 19 sessions per year.

Over the past couple of weeks I've been spending a lot of time with numbers- numbers relevant to my ability to afford to move to the pricier neighborhood as planned. As long as I was already working on my tax returns, I thought it made sense to go all the way and figure out exactly where I stand financially.

The result stopped me in my tracks. In fact, it stopped my heart from beating. The ugly truth uncovered this week is that I can't even afford the house I'm already living in!

How could this have happened? Well, I hate to be money-obsessed, so I pay little attention to it. Some people call that "denial". I make sure I have extra padding in my checking account, and I have all my bills paid by automatic withdrawal from that account. No problem ever presented itself. Why worry? I had a vague awareness that during some months, I had unusual expenses and had to rely on savings, but that's why I kept extra money in my checking account.

I had used every online calculator available to figure out how much house I could afford. I'm sure that, on some level, I knew that the resulting numbers would be somewhat askew in my case because those calculators don't take into consideration things like babysitting costs, video games, repairs for 16-year -old Hondas, or beginning orthodontics. I score well on the calculators because I have no debt. (A mortgage is not considered a debt for some mysterious reason!)

But I grabbed those numbers and ran with them, all the way to my realtor's office. And, as some of you know, I spent the past 7 months attempting to attain my dream of living in a Victorian house near downtown. My current house has been for sale all that time. It was actually in contract last August, but the buyers backed out after changing their minds. I did insist on selling first before buying- at least I had that much sense.

So the ugly truth revealed during my recent financial fact-finding mission is that I've been spending more money than I earn since my child was born. (I guess I should be thanking my lucky stars that I had savings before he came along!) I had ought that was happening sometimes, some months, but I never realized the extent of it until now.

The Law of Attraction states that we should NOT face reality unless reality is exactly what we want it to be! I'd love to flamboyantly embrace that declaration and use it as my motto, thereby justifying continuing to try to sell my house. But I can't. The new neighborhood is more expensive. I'm already overextended financially in this cheaper house. My choice has been taken away.

When I called my realtor to tell him this, his response was unexpectedly gracious, considering the amount of money he would have gained from my move. He mysteriously said something about having a feeling that something would work out, and said he'd just remove my house temporarily from the market. He was probably just trying to ease my pain, or maybe he was trying to hook up my dream to life support.

Since then, I've experienced many different reactions, from utter despair to gratitude, then back to despair again, then to imaginary bargaining with the universe. Then I'll go back to those online calculators and run the numbers again. And again. I can't bear to visit the desired neighborhood anymore.

We Meet Again

It's not everyday that you have the chance to meet up with an old high school flame(!) so I was understandably nervous. (And remember- I have shunned men since my child was born, so this was truly a BIG DEAL.) John had sent me an e-mail out of the blue, then we talked on the phone, then made plans to get together. He's still living in NYC, and his accent sounded just as I remembered it, although I had forgotten how fast he talked. Sometimes my brain had trouble keeping up, although I don't remember having had that problem back when we were "an item". He is now a successful attorney; all I could envision was the handsome, endearing teenager I had known so well for one memorable summer.

I was extremely surprised to hear from him because of the ways things ended. Everything was great when we were together at summer camp in upstate NY- couldn't have been better. We never even argued, which is unusual for me. In fact, that brief relationship may well have been the best one I ever had.....

But when he came to visit me at college, I had stupidly moved on. I was well ensconced in my new one-sided love affair with a guy who turned out to be gay. I blew John off, totally incapable of giving up even one precious moment with my new love interest. I did feel kind of lousy about it, but I was young, inconsiderate and unwise.

I tried to make amends with John later, but he wouldn't respond. I'm sure he was crushed by my unexpected turnabout during his college visit.

Imagine my surprise when he contacted me recently. Forgiveness takes time, depending upon the people involved and the nature of the offense.

Once he e-mailed me, I began obsessively indulging in the sweet memories of that summer. He had picked me out on the first night of camp, when we all sat around a huge circle and introduced ourselves. Good thing he didn't waste any time (he came over to me immediately and made his intentions known) because we got right to it, and thoroughly enjoyed the entire duration of camp, from the first day to the last. Everything is more fun when you have a boyfriend, as I vividly recall.

I remember one day toward the end of camp, when we were just hanging out in a grassy field. He was a dreamy kind of guy, with a James Dean look about him. He said,"Let's get a motorcycle and ride off into the sunset, just you and me against the world!" (Do teenage boys often say things like that?) Maybe he knew it was the last time we'd be together, and maybe we should have ridden off into that sunset.

But not to worry- last night we actually DID meet again! Thanks to John's effort to reconnect, we were able to arrange a reunion while he was here on a business trip. (I told him I wasn't likely to make a child-free trip to NYC for a few years!) When I saw him for the first time, my heart stopped- he looked remarkably the same- very good looking, very sexy, with slightly wavy dark brown hair and that knowing smile that says, "I know what what's going on with you, and I like it." I was speechless.

But not John- in fact it was his smooth personality that had always made him utterly disarming. He was quick witted, fast talking, intense, charming, totally at ease in the world, just as I remembered.

Both of us descended from Irish immigrants who settled in NYC and Long Island, so it was appropriate that we decided to check out a St. Patrick's Day festival. Like a breathless teenager on a date, I tried to focus on the sights, but had to keep glancing at him to see if this was really happening. It was as if the years between now and our summer together had vanished. Last night was simply the next night after our last. We had aged but a day. We did attempt to catch up on what we'd each been doing during the interim years, but the past had a powerful hold on us, and that was just fine. It was an incredible dream come true.

As we walked together, smiling, sometimes holding hands, I wondered why I had let this one slip away. No other boy or man suited me so perfectly. When we stopped walking, he put his arms around me and kissed me just as he had done in the stairwell of our camp dormitory so long ago. The re-living of the precious memory brought tears to my eyes.

When my alarm went off, I was stunned, absolutely crushed with disappointment. The tears eventually dried as I absorbed the harsh fact that John had not really been with me. He really was my boyfriend long ago, and he really did contact me recently, but the rest.....

But I keep thinking: Who's to say it didn't happen? Why couldn't it have been a striking example of time travel? It was so realistic, and we seemed to be 17, despite the awkward talk about our current lives. How is this different from reality? I have a clear memory of it. I have emotions associated with it. The only thing I don't have is the ability to stoke this rekindled romance. And I might not have had that anyway.

on a mission

Leafing through one of my many notebooks this morning I came across a certain prescription for joyous living which I had jotted down a few months ago. It's from the trendy Law of Attraction movement. What it boils down to is the suggestion that all we have to do is simply look for things to appreciate. It's that simple.

For starters, I appreciate the simplicity of that suggestion. Looking for things to appreciate is doable, is it not? Granted, the retraining of focus from chronic fault-finding to constant scanning for good is a major shift, but the directions are easy!

One glance out the window provides plenty of fodder. It's a spring-like day with pleasantly cool, moist air. My partly Irish origin is very comfortable with the overcast sky. The birds are revving up for their spring flings- hints of new beginnings float in the air. I admire my handiwork of the weekend: extensive pruning of the bushes which had hidden my house from the world.

Even the Chihuahua conspires to make this day work. Instead of his usual yapping, he is playing contentedly with a stuffed lamb, seemingly sensing that I'm on a mission. A call comes in from the real estate office- they want to show my house the day after tomorrow. Yippee! I have 2 1/2 days to prepare for this showing, and all the active "chi" of the bustling birds and animals around my house might just sell it. And if not, I get to stay here and enjoy it. It's a win-win situation.

Later I have business down in the neighborhood I wish to move to. I'll take a little time while I'm there to walk around, enjoying the urban energy of the large city park in front of the house I want. I haven't spent much time there lately, so I'll relish the reminder of why I like it there.

Today I'll make time to visit a friend who's back in the hospital. He says I bring the outside world in to him when I visit. I appreciate being appreciated. While I'm there I'll be glad for modern medicine which can save the lives of the profoundly ill. And I'll thank my lucky stars for my own good health, which I'm sure I'll be perpetuating with my positivity.

car-free at last

Not wanting to wait too long between posts, I'm attempting this one without having a clear idea what to write about. It's not that everything's great- it's that everything's in limbo. My house is not sold. My child's father still hasn't filed for custody or visitation rights, so the possible impending court case remains to be seen. Big question marks loom large.

That must be disturbing, because when one of my best friends called last night, I snapped and snarled, then explained that I have way too much going on- too much work, too many extra demands, and on top of that my 16-year-old Honda is making noises that sound like a wheel is ready to pop off. Just thinking about how on earth I'm going to manage to take in my car to the shop and still manage to get the child to school and myself to work is completely overwhelming. This is the perfect example of how our isolated society doesn't work. In a more ideal society, I'd be living amongst family, and "my people" would be there to help me out with the car problem.

That concept makes me think of my mother. She always used to fret that I lived so far away from home, with "no support system," as she lamented. I used to just blow her off, which is easy to do when you're 21 and have a brand new Toyota which you haven't yet totalled with your youthful driving habits.

For a long time now I've been stating that I want to move close to downtown, where reliance on the automobile is minimized. It's amazing how last night I came to realize that although I certainly do have a full plate, ripe with things I could worry about, it was the issue with my car that finally sent me over the edge. That's how significant THE CAR is, even in the life of a person who detests IT!

I show my opinion of THE CAR by refusing to give in to society's dictates regarding what type (and age) of car I should be associated with. I refuse to funnel my money into THE CAR (although, make no mistake: old cars are not cheap to maintain).

Yet THE CAR is now ruining my life. How did that happen? Well, let's take a look at where I live. Although located within this city's freeway outerbelt, my house is maybe 10 miles from downtown, and 4 miles from the child's school. The absence of sidewalks in my neighborhood shows the mentality of its developers: THE CAR rules. If, heaven forbid, something happens to your car, you'd better have another one standing by in your 3-car garage. THE CAR is mandatory, a veritable sine qua non.

The fact that the child's school is 4 miles away is another indicator of the times. I grew up in a bygone age when most kids actually walked to school. Children automatically exercised daily, just by doing what they had to do, and obesity was rare. But THE CAR changed all that.

Tomorrow I will rise at the crack of dawn, drive the old Honda to the shop (unless a wheel falls off en route), walk 2 miles back home on still-ice-covered streets, then use my superhuman powers to somehow maneuver the child onto a city bus on which I will transport him to the vicinity of his school. Then we'll traverse the tundra until, God willing, we reach his classroom.

Tomorrow we'll discover what it's like to be car-free.

clarity at last?

In order to clear my mind about what it is that I DESIRE and wish to ATTRACT into my life, it seems to be necessary to spell out exactly what I do like about my current living situation.

Today it's snowing again. That's annoying as far as driving goes. (And driving is one of my ISSUES.) But the positive aspect of the snow in my current location is that I get to be a hero and offer peanuts to the waiting wildlife. The bird feeders are filled, of course, but peanuts are highly sought after by many birds and mammals. As soon as I took out a load of peanuts this morning, I saw blue jays dive bombing for them immediately. Then a red-bellied woodpecker, who had been observing from afar, began a full-fledged campaign to ward off all other birds. He swooped repeatedly in as menacing a fashion as he could. That particular woodpecker has struck up a deal with me. If he knows I'm home, he hammers on the gutters of my house to signal his desire for peanuts, and I rush outside to deliver. (If I could only learn about desire and its manifestation from the woodpecker...) And of course the squirrels and chipmunks here eat peanuts out of my hand. (As I write this, I wonder why it is that I think I want to move...)

Then there's the fox. One morning last week a dog was barking ferociously outside of my house as I was trying to usher the child into the car. (People constantly allow their dogs to run free here because my house is on a public park which allows unleashed dogs. I have reluctantly become accustomed to this.)

I asked the dog's owner to control her dog which was illegally on my property. As usual, she didn't have a clue how to go about doing that. But before I could get upset with her, a mad chase began. Her large retriever was chasing a thin red animal out from underneath my Amish shed. The child screamed, "IT'S A FOX!!!" (Had he not done that, it would not have registered in my shocked mind that this was indeed a fox. I have never before seen a fox in the wild, or in the urban, as the case may be.)

And one of my favorite visitors to this house has been a rather portly groundhog. He lumbers about in search of treats, seemingly oblivious to any and all threats to his well-being. Yet considering the high number of dogs running amok, he must have something figured out. As you can see, this setting lacks only hedgehogs to be the perfect location for a Beatrix Potter story.

The older I become, the more I look back to my childhood for clues as to who I really am. I was 8 when I chose (wisely) my career. At that age I saw the outrageous dishonesty and tragedy that pervaded my parents' marriage, and dismissed, possibly forever, the notion of marriage for myself. That's been an OK decision which has certainly taught me independence. And being a voracious reader, I was an incredibly idealistic child. That characteristic remains. And it's no surprise that I loved nature and animals.

There's something else which I just remembered. I have always been fascinated with houses and landscaping. At age 7, I relentlessly (and fruitlessly) begged my parents for a backyard pond which was advertised in the Sunday newspaper. I was always thrilled by the view of our backyard from my bedroom window. To this day, when I'm looking at houses, the one thing I must have is a good view of the backyard (which will feature a pond out of the Sunday paper).

I always wished my parents would move to a different house. I guess a new (to us) house offered infinite new possibilities. My much older sister sometimes took me on house searches when she and her husband were looking for one to buy. I loved looking at houses. Why? I don't know. Do we ever really know why we're drawn to the things we're drawn to? Maybe my active imagination simply enjoyed the various settings to play around in. And maybe it still does, to this day.

One more important feature of my young self is that I walked and biked everywhere, and cared nothing about the motor vehicle. I had no desire to learn to drive. (Do you think my parents realized how lucky they were?) My Irish grandmother was my hero, and she never drove a car!

So what I am is an unmarried, idealistic, house-obsessed nature lover who dislikes driving. My confusion over moving boils down to the fact that I want to live in nature (which, unfortunately, would be in the suburbs, where the car rules) AND I want to live close to downtown, where I work, so I can walk everywhere. And on top of all that, I derive pleasure from SEARCHING for houses- not from deciding on or settling into a house. How does a person like me go about sending a clear desire into the universe? No wonder I've been confused.

exploration

The weather is revolting. The air has been frigid and cruel for far too many days. Everyone's optimism and enthusiasm is icing over.

Yet yesterday, my realtor showed my house to a prospective buyer. Who would buy a house now? As I joked to a friend, no house looks enticing in this weather. That really seems true for me. As I drove through the frozen neighborhood I want to move to, I felt nothing.

Is it also true that in good weather, everything is equally appealing? I expect a buyer to be drawn to my house when spring sets in. Heck, I'll be drawn to my house when spring sets in. And of course I'll also be appreciating the downtown neighborhood........

This leads me to be suspicious of my desire to move. Does the grass become greener when the grass literally becomes greener?

Hope erupts in springtime with the seedlings, perhaps. Even those of us who are appreciative of and satisfied with our lives can hope for even better, right? That seems to be human nature. "Better" doesn't have to mean a different house, but in my case there seems to be a deep-seating yearning for a pedestrian neighborhood reminiscent of the one I grew up in.

Or is this just my way of justifying my attempt to move? Those of us who intellectualize by habit can find ways to rationalize just about anything. I constantly question my decision to move because:

A) I'm insecure.

B) The place we live is pretty darn good by most people's standards, being situated on a gorgeous public rose garden (yet we have to wonder why nobody has bought the place during the 6 months it's been on the market).

C) I'm afraid of making a mistake. I have made past real estate blunders. For example, 6 years ago the child and I DID live in that downtown neighborhood in a beautiful Italianate Victorian. I freaked out over the possibility that gutter repair on that particular house in that historic neighborhood was going to cost $20,000, so I bailed out and moved to where we are now. Had I realized how the value of that house was going to skyrocket, I would've stayed put and gotten a few more gutter estimates. (It wasn't just the gutters. I gave in to criticism from my child's father regarding my insanity for trying to raise a child in an urban neighborhood.)

I keep saying that I am unsure because I don't spend enough time meditating, getting in touch with my True Self. So I'm off to the meditation corner.....

If I could change the world...

...this is what I'd do: I'd make its cities car-free.

In my last post I wrote about wanting to move close to downtown to a pedestrian neighborhood. Then a few days ago, the results of a California study were published which showed that kids growing up near congested urban corridors ended up having compromised lung capacity for the rest of their lives, causing asthma, other respiratory illnesses, and low resistance to pneumonia.

Of course this revelation stopped me in my tracks, and I've been spending a lot of time researching this topic on the internet. That's how I found J.H. Crawford, author of the book "Carfree."

Crawford loves to describe Venice, Italy- a busy, thriving example of a car-free city. Italians call it "Il Serenissima", the serene one. It is an amazingly stress-free urban environment.

Vancouver, B.C. is a city well-appreciated by visitors from all over the world. Its Director of Central Area Planning, Larry Beasley, offers this famous observation, "If you design an environment for children, it will work for everyone." If we in the U.S. had measured cars against this yardstick before adopting them as the default method of transportation in urban areas, we would have decided to avoid cars at any cost.

Accidents involving cars is the leading cause of death for children in the U.S. It is unsafe for children to walk, bike, or ride in cars. The pollution resulting from cars has resulted in rampant respiratory disease and cancer. (The cancer rates from car exhaust is increased sixfold in high traffic areas.)

Areas that have been cleared to make endless roadways for cars have resulted in obvious blight. The car culture has taken people off the streets, changing the social landscape. We fight wars to protect our oil supplies. Global warming is a now undeniable phenomenon.

Cities really could be designed around public transit, biking and walking, with ALL cars parked in large garages at the city's edge. Subways and streetcars could efficiently shuttle people around. For freight transportation, standard sea containers along with small, low impact freight bikes and battery-powered carts are perfect.

I am frustrated. I wish I could DO something to bring about carfree cities, and I feel powerless. How many people really care about this? Am I alone? Any suggestions?

I had a dream

The holding pattern of my current life is, surely, the calm before the storm of child custody. One of these days I'll somehow be summoned to court, once my child's father saves up enough cash to pay his lawyer's retainer. (I say "somehow" because I don't know how it happens. Will the police show up at my door, or worse, at my workplace? I doubt that it will be as casual as a letter appearing in my mailbox.)

Those of you who have been following my blog (thank you, thank you) know that my house has been for sale since last summer in an attempt to follow my dream of moving back to the downtown neighborhood where things are more happening and active and pedestrian.

Those who know me in person don't think I should continue the pursuit of my dream at this time. And although I have been doing my best to set aside some time for meditation each day, I seem to lack my own clarity on the issue.

There's certainly one factor which saddens me, to the point where I don't usually allow myself to think about it. It's the financial factor. It's going to cost me a small fortune to hire a lawyer, and that unfortunate fact has rocked my dream boat. The downtown neighborhood, being very trendy, is more expensive. My ability to afford it is definitely questionable.

I know that a reasonable home buyer would take into account that emergencies must be planned for. And I have. The problem is, my savings could easily be depleted by a combination of attorney's fees, the child's future orthodontics, and the costly maintenance of older houses.

On the other hand, I have always said that I don't want to let money rule my life. There is some chance that I would be OK financially after moving. But moving would be risky, maybe even careless.

Right now, the thought of giving it up depresses me. Somehow, the dream was keeping me alive, not in the technical sense but in the inspired sense. When I think of giving it up, I realize how dismal my life is otherwise. I am very alone, with my main social contacts being the people I interact with briefly at work, and the child, of course, whose main interests are bicycles, video games and Mythbusters. I work, I clean the house, and I deal with the child, and barely manage at that. No wonder I took on this "moving" project. I suppose I hoped I'd be moving out of this life and into a new one.

The Happy House

After school today I heard the child mutter something under his breath about a happy house. I asked what he was talking about, and he explained that in a few hours, our house would be very happy, filled with excited little boys experiencing their first sleepover.

Our house has not been very happy lately, I suppose. It's been staged for real estate showings. No house enjoys that. Houses are not meant to be museums. Houses crave people, the more the merrier, and the laughter those people might bring.

Our house has been a showpiece for 6 months now, and the house has started to complain. It burns out its light bulbs with lightening speed, as if to punish the uptight homeowner. It has started showing never before seen wrinkles- the marble in front of the fireplace features an unsightly crack, just like the slate in the entry and the kitchen linoleum (referred to euphemistically as "vintage"). I can't help noticing smudges and fingerprints on the living room walls which I was sure I had cleaned to perfection. Even the marble window sills around those Anderson windows are showing signs of discoloration, aging and shifting.

Each time I hear the furnace kick on I say a silent prayer, because I know it's on its last legs. I didn't have it serviced this fall because I keep thinking I'll be out of here soon- why bother? Its humming sound is louder than it used to be- in fact, it's working itself up to a disconcerting roar.

Even the electrical system has started to act up. I can no longer fire up the Dyson HEPA vac without tripping the circuit breaker. Now I accept that if I want to vacuum, I have to turn off every light in the house first, shut down the computer and unplug the refrigerator.

The tree in front of the house sees to it that my roof looks unsightly at all times. An hour after the gutter cleaners left last month, that tree dropped 6 enormous warbled branches onto my roof, where they remain as testimony to my neglect.

But tonight the house is happy, as it literally shakes with the rhythm of the delirious boys. It resonates to their manic shouting, acting as a conspiring megaphone. The boys rush through the house, searching not for its flaws but for its magic. They marvel at its secret door hiding the card table cabinet. They climb up through the coat closet leading up to the attic with no floor, awestruck. They shriek for joy in the usually ignored basement as they sort through all the stored treasures. The house thrives tonight, doing what it was put on this earth to do.

I bet it would let me vacuum tonight, with the lights on.

a shaky start

This new year is beginning whether I'm ready or not. In light of what happened on December 26, I'm not so sure that I am.

Bruce, my child's father, took the child out for a few hours that day. When he brought the child back, he stated that he wanted him overnight next Saturday. I said, "Ask C. He's sitting right there."

C said no, very meekly- it was the first time he'd had the courage to stand up to his controlling father.

Bruce: "WHY?"

C: "I don't want to."

Then the tantrum began- Bruce's, not the child's. He ransacked my house, grabbing everything he'd given the child, all the while yelling about what an horrible person and mother I am, how he doesn't even like the child, how he's never going to see the child again, and other such ranting.

He took the flat-screen TV he had given C this Christmas, and tore its speakers off the walls. He wheeled C's bike out of my garage. He took C's favorite possession, his laptop, while yelling for C to give him his iPod and clothing. He tore the shirt off the child's back, and when C re-appeared a few minutes later wearing a different shirt, he took that one as well. Because I had been running through the house trying to hide C's favorite things from Bruce, this took quite a long time. I was trying to calm Bruce down and get him to stop, but it was futile.

Midway through the tirade, I ordered Bruce off my property and threatened to call the police. I can't even imagine why I didn't follow through. It was as if I was paralyzed with shock and fear.

Shortly before he left, Bruce actually demanded that I "put the child in the truck." At least I had enough sense to refuse! What mother would send her child off with a raging madman?

Finally, Bruce threw C's new TV out of his truck into the street and drove over it, in front of the sobbing child who was naked from the waist up on a chilly winter day.

Our lives changed that day. It would be absolutely irresponsible of me to have it any other way. I did call the police after Bruce fled, and filed a report. The next day I contacted a highly regarded domestic attorney. On Wednesday I'm taking C out of school to see a child psychologist.

Until now, I had allowed Bruce to see the child whenever he wanted to even though we had never been married and had no legal arrangement. He paid no child support. That deal could have worked if Bruce had been capable of behaving with integrity.

Acting upon the advice of my lawyer, I informed Bruce (in a public place) that he could either get counseling for himself to learn how to be a loving and caring father, or he could go downtown and file for custody. He scoffed at the counseling, which I totally expected, and he said he'd be contacting an attorney. "It'll be a while, (he'll need time to save up the money for the lawyer's retainer) but I'm gonna do it."

So now I wait. Someday, probably in a few weeks, or sooner if he can get somebody to loan him money, I'll be summoned to court to determine custody of my child. I did everything I could to prevent this, because court-ordered visitation would undoubtedly have meant that my reluctant child would have had to spend MORE time with Bruce than he already was, but now I have no choice. Hopefully now, the judge will see that Bruce has a maturity problem, and visitation will be non-existent or supervised.

Oddly enough, I have felt relieved since this happened- nervous, apprehensive, yet relieved. Bruce had been bullying and controlling me, and to a lesser extent the child, for years. I put up with it, and the lack of child support payments, all for the sake of avoiding a standard visitation schedule. C was usually unhappy with Bruce, especially during his rare overnight visits, and I was willing to pay a dear price to keep it out of court.

Now, for the time being, Bruce is out of our lives. The albatross is lifted. Much to my surprise, I feel like a completely different mother, one who is more responsible, involved, and effective than ever. I never realized how my spirit was being stifled before this happened.

So, Happy New Year. Here's to positive life changes and new beginnings.