vehicle worship

Have you heard of our society's latest trend in child endangering? This topic is one which seemed non-existent when I was growing up. Over the past few years, hundreds of children have died from overheating after being trapped inside vehicles. One of the most recent tragedies took place when a middle school administrator forgot about her 2 year old daughter left in the back seat. The county prosecutor decided not to file charges in that case, although historically, prosecution and resulting penalties have varied widely. Far be it from me to judge.

I have a theory. Above is a photo of my car, a tiny subcompact, nowadays considered ridiculously too small for anyone with kids. It would be virtually impossible for me to accidentally leave a human of any size in that car. First of all, even a baby would take up a sizable percentage of available space in the vehicle. A baby is more noticeable in a Mini Cooper than in a Hummer, just as a cork is more noticeable in a bathtub than in an ocean.

My car, of which I'm becoming increasingly more proud than ashamed, is old fashioned. (The Child remarked in all seriousness that I should have entered it in the local antique car show.) To open or close this car, one must actually stand beside it, facing its windows, and insert a key. The adult in charge of this car is not allowed to rush off, locking it from afar to the fanfare of bells and whistles. My child sits behind me in my car, and if I had ever tried to lock it with him inside, he would have been blatantly visible to me as I stood there fussing with my old fashioned lock and key.

As I read the story of the recent tragedy, I found myself wondering what type of vehicle the grieving mother had been driving. How massive must her machine have been to hide her child?! I don't blame her- she most likely drives what society drives, and I've heard that we're choosing behemoths again, now that gas prices have slipped a bit.

Recently another type of vehicular tragedy took place in my own neighborhood. A woman was backing her enormous SUV out of a parking space after her child's pre-school class. The vehicle sits so high off the road that she did not see the three year old boy behind her, even though she checked her rear-view mirror. Her vehicle hit and killed the little boy.

Again, my vehicle, being very low to the ground, does provide better visibility in such situations. Even a toddler could be visible behind my car. (I'm not cocky though- I always park in such a way that I can drive forward out of my parking space, not having to back out.)

I think that our gas-guzzling habits are hurting us in more ways than we are addressing. I can't change the world, but I can express my opinion and do my part to defy vehicle worship.

birthdays

Tuesday is my birthday. Years ago, that would have been good news. Nowadays it's a tear-jerker. It's universally accepted that most adults would prefer not to get older, but that's not what I'm talking about. Nowadays my birthday points out how alone I am, never mind how old I am.

The above photo was taken today in my living room. As you can see, my birthday is off to a good start, with today being only Saturday. I have already received 2 cards for Tuesday's birthday: one from my best friend in NY whom I met in 7th grade, and the other, the smaller of the two, is from what's left of my biological family. The zinnias are from myself; I bought them at a farmer's market downtown yesterday.

Today happens to be the birthday of a 4th grader named Ian. He is The Child's former best friend. This morning when I was out buying corn on the cob I ran into Ethan, one of The Child's classmates. Ethan wanted to know where The Child was, and I explained that 2 of our adult friends had taken The Child to a waterpark. Then Ethan wanted to know why the Child wasn't going to be attending Ian's overnight birthday party today, and I said that The Child had not been invited.

A healthy-minded, well-adjusted adult parent would not become undone by the fact that her Child had been snubbed for a birthday party to which many other kids from school had been invited. I know this. And I am completely undone.

Rejection just sucks; there's no way around it. It's bad enough that The Child has been mysteriously left out of a party for his close friend who has been our guest many times, but why do I have to take this personally? Is he somehow being excluded because of me? Have I raised a social reject? Or does this ring a bell, dredging up memories of my own painfully lonely childhood? Maybe someday I'll have such an incredibly strong sense of self worth that I will not be affected by the absence of party invitations for The Child, but I'm not there yet- I'm not even on that planet.

And in the case of my birthday, there's no party, so there's no lack of invitation to worry about, thankfully. But there's still the profound disappointment which I first felt the year that my mother died. On my birthday the year that she died, I was hit by the realization that nobody would ever care about me as much as she did. I did have a boyfriend that year, but I've always chosen men unwisely. He picked a horrible fight with me on that birthday, and I received no cards or gifts from anyone. My biological family had disintegrated after my mother's death- they felt nothing but resentment toward me even though I paid for the funeral (she had left her tiny "estate" of a couple thousand dollars to me). There were no birthday wishes coming from them.

To make matters worse, my mother used to spoil me. I was her youngest, and I was the one she became good buddies with. She showered me with thoughtful, appropriate gifts on my birthday, Christmas, Easter, and even Valentine's Day. The woman was a shopper- no, she was SHOPPER- which was good for me, because I was NOT. She even used to buy my clothing, and my current wardrobe reflects her absence.

I miss the presents, and the ones I receive now I hold dear. My friends Doug and Cathy gave me two wrapped gifts for Christmas last year, and I have yet to open them. It's important to me to know that I still have two unopened gifts available.

Thus, I now suffer immeasurably on such occasions as my birthday. Again, that missing Sense of Self Worth could save me, I assume. But who wants to feel alone? I am grateful for the friends who do remember my birthday, definitely, but something bothers me. I do feel as if I'm moderately important to several people, yes. And a Child depends upon me, yes. But I am not the main focus of anybody's life now.

The Wise Answer to my problem is this: Become the main focus of your own life, Betty.

the "giving away" of the self (not a good thing)

OK, so I have this problem. I am hoping that somebody out there says, "Oh, I understand this. I do that too. You're not alone, Betty." Or better yet, "Oh, I understand this. I used to do it and here's how I stopped...."

Here's the problem, as demonstrated during tonight's dinner at my house. It all began when the phone rang while I was kneading gnocchi dough. Jennifer, who had been invited to dinner, was calling to say that her husband got off work early, and she wanted to know if it would be OK for them to arrive early.

OK, that's not enough to send me into a tailspin, right? I'm a mature, flexible adult....... it's only gnocchi, after all. So I instructed The Child, who had been ordered to answer the phone, to tell her that it would be fine. Then, to ease my feeling of guilt for not dropping everything, dough and all, to pick up the phone myself, I hissed at him to explain to Jennifer why I hadn't answered the everloving telephone myself ("because I was kneading gnocchi!")

Somewhere in my background I apparently learned that I owed the world an explanation, even for actions such as continuing to knead messy, sticky dough when my phone rang. It's as if I perceive myself as guilty until proven innocent. And I constantly try to prove myself innocent.

Additionally, I automatically, without the slightest thought, said yes to the question as to whether they could arrive early. Mind you, I had carefully planned and timed the meal preparation. Why did I so disregard myself that I immediately took on the burden of guests arriving while the meal preparation was in its infancy, with only a young child to entertain them while I scrambled madly about, trying to prepare pasta, meat (The Child and I are vegetarians), salad, garlic cheese bread and dessert with guests unattended?

The doorbell rang 3 minutes later. Shocked, I yelled at The Child to "See who the *&%# is at the door!" (Surely whoever it was would go away when they saw how busy we were.) With an audible gasp, my eyes popped out as I saw Jennifer and her out-of-work-early husband entering our house, which hadn't even been vacuumed yet! The Early Arrivals (hereafter known as the EA's) live in a suburb 40 minutes away, and this was Friday rush hour! She must have called from around the corner. Aghast, I half screamed , "Oh My GOD. I didn't know you meant you'd be here THIS early....."

My house is small, no, actually, it's SMALL. It's not one of those setups where the guests can contentedly sip wine in the vicinity of the food prep area, while the host(s) chat while calmly chopping cilantro. My kitchen could fit into most closets. And I had to use my tiny dining room table to roll out the gnocchi dough, so I couldn't invite the EA's into the cooking area. Instead, I directed The Child and the EA's into his (tiny) bedroom.

I have no idea what transpired in the bedroom. I was too busy frantically trying to throw things together in record time to accomodate the EA's. My carefully written list of what to do at what time went out the window. In my haste, I stopped forming the gnocchi pillows into their usual shapes, with the trademark fork tracks imprinted on each one. I just hacked them off the dough ropes with a fork, without regard to form or fork. I hurled them into the boiling pot, splashing doughy water all over the kitchen. Timing hopelessly off, I had to remove the bread from the oven prematurely to make room for the hastily boiled gnocchi which had been thrown into a casserole dish. The bread, the one thing I hadn't made from scratch, ended up being served with the middle still frozen solid, much to my embarrassment. Adding to the chaos, I accidentally dumped a huge pot of home made tomato sauce onto the stovetop, with some of it draining down into the bowels of the stove.

Eventually I called them in to eat. I had lost my appetite by this time, so all I could do was try to referee the eating of the EA's and The Child. The Child rejected the gnocchi casserole, so I left the table to cook "Plan B" (parents of finicky eaters always have "Plan B" food standing by) for him while the EA's ate. That was actually a merciful event, because it masked the fact that I wasn't eating, thereby eliminating the need for an explanation.

It gets worse. After the toffee dessert had been rejected by The Child, he shouted, "Let's go for a walk in the park!" (There's no "Plan B" for desserts.) So, with gnocchi-caked dishes still on the table, large amounts of perishable food scattered about, and spills and splashes everywhere, we took off into the park for an extensive outing in the deliciously cool evening, with the child riding his motorized cooler.

Halfway through the walk/motorized scooter ride, I realized how exhausted I was. In fact, everybody acted tired, yet when we got back to our house, we just kind of hung out and kept talking, and even after somebody said, "OK, we're leaving now," nobody left..... The Child kept asking first one EA, then the other, for help with a computer game, over and over.... there was something I wanted to watch on TV, and I had forgotten to program the VCR....I hate to say this, but I wanted the EA's to leave...... I tried to hide my impatience and fatigue...what can you say when you're eager for your guests to leave.....sometimes doesn't it seem as if your guests are afraid they'll insult you by leaving, when in fact you desire their departure?

Well, the EA's FINALLY left. The TV program I had hoped to see was finished. The house was in complete shambles, with hardened food bonded to every dish I own, food rotting from being left out of the refrigerator, the table heaped with dishes, dirty napkins, stray gnocchi, rejected toffee. The countertops appeared to be permanently stained with home made tomato sauce. The stove looked unrecognizable from burned stains. A mound of leftover gnocchi dough, hardened like neglected Play Dough, made a poignant statement.

I sat down in a chair in my bedroom, dazed from the experience. I panicked for a moment, and felt as though a robber had been in my house. Alarmed, I actually checked to make sure my wallet was still tucked away in my drawer. I felt violated, as if the very friends I had invited in for dinner tonight had robbed me of my self. Of course I know they didn't do anything offensive, in reality. They didn't show up early unannounced- they called and asked if it was OK, and I'm the one who gave them the go-ahead. They didn't force me to leave the kitchen in complete chaos while we went outside- I failed to be true to my self and my relatively newfound desire to have my house in order.

OK, now that I've told the story, please bear in mind that this sort of thing happens to me with alarming frequency. I tend to sell out, to disregard my self when in the presence of others. Once, in fact, I had dinner cooking on the stove when I stepped outside to take the garbage out and got caught in conversation with the wife next door. I knew full well that by the time I re-entered my house, I'd likely encounter a fire on the stove. Yet I stood there politely, in a stupor, while she rambled nonsense. I am the common demominator- it's not about the EA's, or my neighbors, or any other people. I seem to experience confusion regarding my boundaries, regarding appropriate social behavior and expectations, and regarding the value of my self.

still bloggin'

I don't intend to give up blogging, although it may appear otherwise. I guess I'm in the process of sorting things out, and haven't felt much like writing. That's mostly due to confusion. I need a certain amount of clarity to write.

Here's what I think has been going on. It has been suggested to me that I have a problem with my sense of self. I lack a healthy sense of self worth, and I define myself by what others think (or apparently think!) of me. Blogging is useful for a person with such a problem, because nearly every comment I receive is positive and supportive. My self worth is (falsely) bolstered by the people who comment on my blog.

Of course, I know it would be preferable for me to possess an infallible and healthy sense of my self and my value. It would be preferable for me to know that I have value simply because I am breathing.

But I am caught up in the world of judgement. As a child I learned to be ultra concerned with other people's opinions of me. How I felt did not matter. How I appeared to others did matter. I grew up hearing constant judgements. I learned to judge and be judged.

My endless search for a new house, a new neighborhood, maybe even a new job to get me to a new city is all about attempting to escape the judgements. (In truth I would just be starting up a whole new set of judgements.) On a superficial level, moving would work, at first.

But the true problem would not be addressed by moving. That's why my extreme efforts to move over the past year have not worked out, perhaps. The powers that be would like to have me address the issue of self, and its indestructible worth which exists regardless of what others think.

My job is to cease judging. As a result, I will let go of my perceptions of other people's judgements towards me, which may not have even existed except in my mind.

It has been depressing to give up on my desire to move. It used to seem to me that was positive to have goals like that, rather than accepting stagnation. My "sorting out" hasn't gone too well in this category. I feel like a child whose candy has just been snatched away, even though I'm the one doing the snatching.

Yesterday I had a long session with a highly regarded Chinese chi master. At the end, he said I was totally in balance, with all chakras opened completely. Having been so down on myself lately, it was good to hear his assessment of my state of being. Maybe that's why I was finally able to write this.

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.