Monday, July 25, 2011
Monday, July 11, 2011
update
My house is still for sale. In fact, the price was lowered a month ago. Prior to that, there had been an average of one showing scheduled each week since the house went on the market in late March. Once the price was lowered, the showing requests stopped completely!! Go figure!!
Actually, the is a reason - it's the time of year. My realtor says that things slow down in July. Not good, since there are 17,000 houses for sale right now in this city. (Mine is the only house fronting a world class rose garden, but that seems to matter not at all.....)
Meanwhile, I keep pouring money into the house. I laid out a good deal of money this past week to fix a clog in the underground drainpipe which drains water from a downspout to the street. The poison ivy has become so prevalent that I have to pay people to help me try to maintain the landscaping. I also had a threshold repaired and a doorknob replaced (after the old one was sawed off!). I also repainted a basement closet.
Now there's nothing in or about this house or property that I'm ashamed of - short of renovation, I have done everything I can. But it remains a house built in 1962 which was never updated. Because I (and previous owners) have always fixed anything that was broken, it is completely functional. But it is not pristine, and it is not new.
Someone named Cinderella commented on one of my posts about the house that I should consider updating the house and making it the house of my dreams. Then maybe someone else would want it! And certainly, in an ideal world (one with unlimited money) I might do that.
The complaints that prospective buyers have relayed to my realtor are that the house is too small, the kitchen is too small and the property is too small. Not much I can do about any of those facts!
So I buried a statue of St. Joseph in the yard next to the real estate sign. With his help, surely it's just a matter of time.
.
.
Actually, the is a reason - it's the time of year. My realtor says that things slow down in July. Not good, since there are 17,000 houses for sale right now in this city. (Mine is the only house fronting a world class rose garden, but that seems to matter not at all.....)
Meanwhile, I keep pouring money into the house. I laid out a good deal of money this past week to fix a clog in the underground drainpipe which drains water from a downspout to the street. The poison ivy has become so prevalent that I have to pay people to help me try to maintain the landscaping. I also had a threshold repaired and a doorknob replaced (after the old one was sawed off!). I also repainted a basement closet.
Now there's nothing in or about this house or property that I'm ashamed of - short of renovation, I have done everything I can. But it remains a house built in 1962 which was never updated. Because I (and previous owners) have always fixed anything that was broken, it is completely functional. But it is not pristine, and it is not new.
Someone named Cinderella commented on one of my posts about the house that I should consider updating the house and making it the house of my dreams. Then maybe someone else would want it! And certainly, in an ideal world (one with unlimited money) I might do that.
The complaints that prospective buyers have relayed to my realtor are that the house is too small, the kitchen is too small and the property is too small. Not much I can do about any of those facts!
So I buried a statue of St. Joseph in the yard next to the real estate sign. With his help, surely it's just a matter of time.
.
Thursday, June 09, 2011
can't sleep
It's 4:14 am - the middle of the night. Birds are chirping already - I thought they slept until dawn. I sat outside - it's hot out, even thought it's the middle of the night.
The birds singing in the dark transport me back to my teen years. My first boyfriend had a paper route. (This was back in the days when kids actually delivered newspapers. Nowadays, at least in the city where I live now, newspapers are delivered by adults with cars.)
Joe invited me to join him on his paper route one early morning. It was so early that it was still dark, yet the birds were warming up for their dawn performance. My dog Terry joined me, off leash. We walked several blocks to where we'd meet Joe.
I had never seen the world at that hour before. It was quiet but for the birds. There were no cars, no people. I might have been scared if Terry the dog had not been enthusiastically accompanying me. Terry's protective presence enabled me to enjoy the magic of pre-dawn, when nature awakens.
Joe, who tended to be a quiet boy, was even quieter at that hour. I began to understand why he chose to deliver papers even though it meant that he had to get up 3 or 4 hours earlier than his schoolmates did. There was a sacred aspect to the hour.
Even the air seemed different, as indeed it probably was since the cars and buses had not yet revved up their engines. It was spring, and the air was the perfect temperature and humidity - cool but not cold, and delicious with lilacs.
Joe took his job seriously, and focused on his papers rather than on me. He had developed early-morning relationships with the shop owners who greeted him. I admired that. I could sense the mutual respect. At that sacred hour, nobody said much, yet it was important to greet properly, in the spirit of setting up the day to be a good one.
The paper route was long. Back in those days, kids actually walked places, so it was no big deal. But it really was a long paper route. By the time it was completed, the day had dawned. I was disappointed to end the enchantment, but Joe and I walked to our respective houses to get ready for school, thus ending one of the most cherished memories of my childhood.
.
The birds singing in the dark transport me back to my teen years. My first boyfriend had a paper route. (This was back in the days when kids actually delivered newspapers. Nowadays, at least in the city where I live now, newspapers are delivered by adults with cars.)
Joe invited me to join him on his paper route one early morning. It was so early that it was still dark, yet the birds were warming up for their dawn performance. My dog Terry joined me, off leash. We walked several blocks to where we'd meet Joe.
I had never seen the world at that hour before. It was quiet but for the birds. There were no cars, no people. I might have been scared if Terry the dog had not been enthusiastically accompanying me. Terry's protective presence enabled me to enjoy the magic of pre-dawn, when nature awakens.
Joe, who tended to be a quiet boy, was even quieter at that hour. I began to understand why he chose to deliver papers even though it meant that he had to get up 3 or 4 hours earlier than his schoolmates did. There was a sacred aspect to the hour.
Even the air seemed different, as indeed it probably was since the cars and buses had not yet revved up their engines. It was spring, and the air was the perfect temperature and humidity - cool but not cold, and delicious with lilacs.
Joe took his job seriously, and focused on his papers rather than on me. He had developed early-morning relationships with the shop owners who greeted him. I admired that. I could sense the mutual respect. At that sacred hour, nobody said much, yet it was important to greet properly, in the spirit of setting up the day to be a good one.
The paper route was long. Back in those days, kids actually walked places, so it was no big deal. But it really was a long paper route. By the time it was completed, the day had dawned. I was disappointed to end the enchantment, but Joe and I walked to our respective houses to get ready for school, thus ending one of the most cherished memories of my childhood.
.
Wednesday, June 01, 2011
Last spring (2010)
Today I was searching on YouTube for a certain musical selection. Much to my surprise, a song which I strongly associate with my sister appeared in the sidebar, and I had no choice but to listen to it. I was already having a really rough day, and I would not have consciously chosen to immerse myself in renewed mourning.
Last spring (2010) I found a sitter for The Child and I took off for Boston, where my sister was......well, preparing to die, although none of us really knew that at the time. Her tongue cancer had returned and had taken her voice, the voice which had still sounded high-pitched and childlike even during its last utterances. Her voice, before its decline, had been so animated that during healthier times, she had been asked to record outgoing phone announcements for businesses.
She was a shadow of her former self last spring (2010), but we dared not think of the end. She and I held conversations with her side being written into a notebook, with florid handwriting, impeccable spelling and perfect grammar. My sister was smart. She had skipped 4th grade, which, due to the high standards of education in the state of New York where we grew up, was nearly unheard of.
Over the course of that visit I became reluctantly accustomed to her weak, frail, silent body. She was still herself in spirit, thanks to her unfailing willingness to write.
On the day I returned home from that visit to my sister, The Child and I went to see the movie Shutter Island. It was quite appropriate because it was set in Boston. But the piece de resistance was the song This Bitter Earth which played during the credits at the end of the movie. I was mesmerized by it, and although the child was tugging on my sleeve to leave, I could not budge.
When we returned home after the movie, I found the Shutter Island sound track of This Bitter Earth on YouTube and emailed it to my sister. That was her kind of music.
Now I can rarely bring myself to listen to it. But today it presented itself and demanded another listening. I was transported back to that time, in the spring of 2010, when my sister was still alive.
.
Last spring (2010) I found a sitter for The Child and I took off for Boston, where my sister was......well, preparing to die, although none of us really knew that at the time. Her tongue cancer had returned and had taken her voice, the voice which had still sounded high-pitched and childlike even during its last utterances. Her voice, before its decline, had been so animated that during healthier times, she had been asked to record outgoing phone announcements for businesses.
She was a shadow of her former self last spring (2010), but we dared not think of the end. She and I held conversations with her side being written into a notebook, with florid handwriting, impeccable spelling and perfect grammar. My sister was smart. She had skipped 4th grade, which, due to the high standards of education in the state of New York where we grew up, was nearly unheard of.
Over the course of that visit I became reluctantly accustomed to her weak, frail, silent body. She was still herself in spirit, thanks to her unfailing willingness to write.
On the day I returned home from that visit to my sister, The Child and I went to see the movie Shutter Island. It was quite appropriate because it was set in Boston. But the piece de resistance was the song This Bitter Earth which played during the credits at the end of the movie. I was mesmerized by it, and although the child was tugging on my sleeve to leave, I could not budge.
When we returned home after the movie, I found the Shutter Island sound track of This Bitter Earth on YouTube and emailed it to my sister. That was her kind of music.
Now I can rarely bring myself to listen to it. But today it presented itself and demanded another listening. I was transported back to that time, in the spring of 2010, when my sister was still alive.
.
Sunday, May 29, 2011
!0 a day = 150 so far!
 |
| The dog enjoys resting atop a pile of give-aways. |
Today I took The Child to an Asian Festival in 88 degree heat with very little shade to be found anywhere. We had to park a mile from the festival site. I should have anticipated the problem that might cause, since The Child has always had a low tolerance for heat.
He's at an unpredictable age (7th grade going into 8th grade). Since he wants little to do with me these days, I thought I was hearing things when he said yes to my questioning about going to the Asian Festival. So we went, despite the heat and the inevitably huge crowd.
The Child wanted a parasol. Since they were being sold for $6, I saw no harm in that, and I thought it might actually shield him from the hot sun.
On our way back to the car, with the temperature rising steadily, I had the audacity to stop and take a quick photo of a stunning house we walked past:
Anyone who knows me (or reads my blog) knows that I have a thing for houses, especially old ones. So I didn't think I was committing a crime when I shot this photo. But The unpredictable Child found my action to be utterly intolerable. He raged the rest of the way to the car, much like a two-year-old throwing a tantrum, promising that he would NEVER go anywhere with me EVER again - not even to the Irish Festival.
He hasn't spoken to me since.
Monday, May 16, 2011
10 a day
This follows a TV show on hoarding which I half watched yesterday. Although I am not a hoarder (I despise shopping) I certainly am the type of housekeeper who easily lets things go. In fact, I'm not a housekeeper. I'm a house neglector.
Yes, even now, with my house for sale, with showings being scheduled on a day's notice, I struggle to keep things in order. Doesn't it make perfect sense that a person with my shortcoming would be better off living the life of a minimalist? The fewer the possessions, the easier the task of keeping them in order.
Besides, I hope to move in the near future. Again, logic dictates that I'm better off moving fewer possessions.
The funny thing is, I've been purging for years. Ask my friend Garnet. He helped me when I first began - I believe the year was 2005. We hauled carloads of stuff to the Volunteers of America and the recycling bins. Carloads. I recall Garnet commenting on the fact that I had carefully saved miniscule scraps of paper to be recycled. He mused that perhaps my time could be better spent......
A year ago I purged in a big way, the biggest yet. I had Salvation Army trucks haul away what looked like roomfuls of stuff. My sister, who was a hoarder in the true sense of the word, cheered me on from Boston. She understood the magnitude of what I was undertaking. I loved sending her photos of my newly sparse rooms.
Yet I still have too much!
We'll see how this new 10-a-day challenge goes. Please wish me luck.
.
Monday, April 04, 2011
To the people who did not buy my house yesterday
And why wouldn't you want to live here? It's peaceful, tranquil, full of plantlife and wildlife, yet located within city limits. The house is a solid brick structure with low maintenance and utility costs. When you look out of the windows from inside this house, you see nature. Not cars and other people's houses and SUVs and trash cans - you see trees and grass and bushes and flowers and yes, flowering trees which are about to bloom. The backdrop of all of this is woods and a ravine. That's what you see out of my windows.
But that's not good enough for you, is it? Noooooooo. You apparently "need" more space than can be had in a 1350 square foot house. And you "need" an updated house, as if it is somehow unlivable in its current state.
Suggestion: If you want the house updated, then BUY it and UPDATE it!!!
Why did you lead me on? I was SO sure that you all were going to be fighting over it at the open house! I even had my realtor believing that you all were going to do that!
WHAT is wrong with you all??????
.
Thursday, March 31, 2011
Done
The photo above may look odd. Indeed, my house does not face the street- it faces the park, so what people from the street see is the side of the house, as pictured above.
In spite of all this progress, my mind is still not totally right. I persist in worrying about being able to afford the more expensive house, about moving away from the Child's friend who lives in this neighborhood, about transportation to school, about the post office in the new neighborhood - you name it; I'm worrying about it.
Yet I know that if my mind isn't right, the likelihood exists that I will unwittingly prevent the pieces from falling into place, by sending mixed messages to the universe. I say I want to move, yet I list all the concerns about doing so.
A mind is a difficult thing to control.
.
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
A snag
Yesterday I called my realtor to set up a time for him to come to my house to photograph it and do the paperwork for putting it on the market. I was explaining how worried I was that this would be yet another failed attempt. I was on the verge of tears.
He said he didn't know what to do, since it sounded as though I didn't want to proceed. I tried to explain that I want to proceed, but I am afraid of more disappointment like the last few times I've tried to do this. And now we're in a lousy housing market to boot! I dread going through the trauma of trying to make the house perfect for showing after showing, with no results. Last time my house was on the market, I pulled many all-nighters getting the house ready for showings.
The realtor said that he's not going to list my house unless I can adjust my attitude. It sounds harsh the way I've worded it, but his wording sounded perfectly reasonable.
What to do? What's blocking me from having a positive attitude about what I say I want to do?
OK, I'm embarrassed to admit that I'm concerned about what the neighbors will think when they take a gander at my latest "For Sale" sign in front of the house.
Before I go any further, let's analyze this. These are the same neighbors who pay absolutely no attention to me when there's a disabling snowstorm or power outage, the same neighbors who said no each time I asked if they could pick up The Child from his school bus stop when I had to be at work and the temperature was 40 below zero.
Yes, it appears that whirlingbetty is ready to abandon her dreams all for the sake of the possible judgment of the above-described neighbors, the neighbors who treat their little white dogs far better than they treat their fellow man.
OK - on to the next hurdle. I am afraid of making a mistake. This may well be a legitimate concern. It's hard to leave a location on a park which contains one of the largest rose gardens in the country. The actual house, while definitely too small, has been inexpensive to maintain and heat. The house I want will be far more expensive, so it is a financial risk. And while located a few steps from a gorgeous urban park, it won't be possible to look out of the windows and see the park like I can now:
The back of the house I hope to buy overlooks a sizable backyard, which is now fairly barren and awaiting my landscaping:
While having a yard which is a blank canvas should be positive, part of me dreads having to go through the expense, hassle and exertion of installing a pond, trees, bushes, etc. Staying in my current house is a hell of a lot easier!!
@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@
Something timely just occurred. One of the above-described neighbors just showed up at my door to let me know that there was a bicycle in front of my house which he was afraid someone would steal. I asked him for an update on the crime in the neighborhood, which has been seriously increasing over the past 2 weeks. Sure enough, there was another series of break-ins last Thursday. I decided to test the waters and tell the neighbor that I'm going to put my house on the market. He barely flinched. And he certainly didn't try to talk me out of it!!
Somehow, that event changed things. I received "permission" to go ahead.
I'll keep you posted.
.
Monday, March 21, 2011
Monday's revelation
When you talk about what you want and why you want it, there's usually less resistance within you than when you talk about what you want and how you're going to get it. When you pose questions you don't have answers for, like how, where, when, who, it sets up a contradictory vibration that slows everything down.
********************************************************************************
That's my spiritual lesson for the day. It makes sense. Talking about what I want and why I want it is easy: I want a fairly big Victorian house near downtown so I can walk or bike everywhere and get by without a car most of the time. I am drawn to that part of town because it's vibrant and full of life. There are people milling about, walking to the nearby groceries, stores and restaurants, at all hours. I like the energy. I'd also enjoy having my own backyard where I can create a garden with a pond. And the luxury of a fenced-in yard is great for any dog owner.
After thinking about today's lesson, I see that it may not be productive to focus on the questions about how it's going to happen. THAT is going to be difficult, since I'm the one who has to take the steps to make it possible. I'm the one who has to get my house ready to sell, and then put it on the market. Rendering a house ready for showing is no small matter!
I think I've had a lifelong tendency to set up conflict within myself. As I obsess over the how and when and where of everything I set out to do, I create stress and turmoil. The original desire becomes lost (or at least secondary to) the stressful situation I end up in.
Since today's lesson is about metal focus, I guess I can see that there's a difference between just doing what you have to do (minus the mental anguish) and obsessing over decisions and details. So my instructions to myself, based upon the above spiritual lesson are, "Just shut up, focus on the desire and why you desire it, and do what's in front of you!" (And stop worrying about whether or not somebody will buy your house, or whether you'll qualify for the mortgage, or when the move would take place and how it won't fit your schedule!)
.
Sunday, March 20, 2011
Your opinion?
If you were in my shoes, what would you do?
My longtime obsession has been to live in a Victorian house near downtown. Living there would enable me to live the way I lived before I moved to this city - without a car - walking or biking everywhere, including to work. In the city I live in, cars rule, and there are precious few real pedestrian neighborhoods. But Victorian Village near downtown is a rare exception.
What's stopping me? The houses prices.
Those of you who have read my blog over the years know that I have nearly succeeded on several occasions to sell my current house and buy one in Victorian Village. Each attempt ended in extreme disappointment. I even tried to buy a foreclosed house at the sheriff's auction.
I am unusual. I don't like to shop, travel or spend money in general. The only foolish financial choices I've made recently have been regarding purchases for The Child. He likes electronics, and I've indulged his interest. I've spent more money on The Child than the average family spends on one child, for sure.
The only thing I want to spend money on for myself is a house.
There is a house for sale in Victorian village right now which I am interested in, and I am considering putting my house on the market to try to make it happen. I'd have to have a sales contract in place before I can make an offer on the Victorian. But it won't be an even trade- the Victorian is considerably more expensive than my house. The mortgage broker says he's very confident that I'd qualify for the mortgage I'd need, but that's because I have an outstanding credit score, NOT because the mortgage would be reasonable on my salary!
Yesterday my realtor took me to see the interior of the house. Until then, my desire for the house was based purely upon its prime location rather than any actual knowledge of the house or its interior. My impression of the first floor was positive.
It included original stained glass windows:
I also liked the backyard. I could just imagine it with the trees I'd plant, and the pond I'd install. It seems like such a luxury to have a house with a backyard so close to downtown. Most urban housing is in the form of condos, often situated in high rise buildings.
I was less thrilled with the upstairs, and I was reminded of the fact that I actually don't like antiques!
It seems odd that I'd be drawn to antique houses....what I like about them is the high ceilings, the wood floors, the huge windows (often floor to ceiling) and the often ornate woodwork and features like stained glass windows. The quality of materials and craftsmanship is so superior to that of newly-built houses.
I did like one of the upstairs bedrooms, the one which was currently set up as an office:
This house also has a finished attic, made into 2 bedrooms. The Child has taken a strong interest in this attic, although he hasn't seen it yet. Today there is an open house, and I'm taking The Child so he can see if he approves of this house before I go any further. I already know that children generally don't like old things, including houses, so I am expecting The Child to reject my latest dream. I will continue this post after the open house.
***********************************************************************************
The open house did not go well. The Child detested the house. He claims to despise wood floors, and he seemed freaked out by the height of the house, especially when looking out of the 3rd story windows down onto the backyard below. It looked like an aerial view from an airplane flying overhead! (I was scared by that also. We currently live in a one-story ranch-style house.)
I was somewhat surprised that the Child could find nothing positive about the house. (I had hoped that he'd admit that the first floor, with its abundance of light and its stained glass, was somewhat appealing, and I was fairly sure he'd stake out the 3rd floor as his territory.)
I was beginning my dreaded descent into depression, knowing that I didn't want to try to push this house onto The Child, when he commented, "I'd be able to have a 'Slip 'n' Slide' in that backyard."
Huh??!
Our current house lacks a backyard. Since it's situated on a park, it was pretty much OK to not have our own yard, or so I had thought......
Afraid to press my luck, I gingerly asked if there was anything else, anything at all, which he found to be remotely acceptable about that house.
It turns out that he had wisely assessed that its kitchen was better than ours. And he mentioned the yard again. Who knew that a yard meant that much to him? Mind you, this is a yard which has been completely neglected by its previous owners, to the point where it's nothing but a barren plot of grass, and you can see above.
Still, The Child would undoubtedly prefer not to move there, and I'd prefer not to force the issue.
***********************************************************************************
Later in the day a minor incident (which was really just a trigger) propelled me full steam ahead into that funk which I had narrowly escaped earlier. I was driving at the time, and began sobbing uncontrollably. This sorrow emerged from unknown depths. It had to do with life, death, and the joys and sorrows in between. It had to do with my mother who died so long ago, and whose death altered my life. It had to do with the still unprocessed death of my sister. It had to do with all of those long-lost boyfriends and the missing of them, and the lonely difficulties of being a single parent. It had to do with the dreams of a lifetime, and the possibility of letting them go.
.
My longtime obsession has been to live in a Victorian house near downtown. Living there would enable me to live the way I lived before I moved to this city - without a car - walking or biking everywhere, including to work. In the city I live in, cars rule, and there are precious few real pedestrian neighborhoods. But Victorian Village near downtown is a rare exception.
What's stopping me? The houses prices.
Those of you who have read my blog over the years know that I have nearly succeeded on several occasions to sell my current house and buy one in Victorian Village. Each attempt ended in extreme disappointment. I even tried to buy a foreclosed house at the sheriff's auction.
I am unusual. I don't like to shop, travel or spend money in general. The only foolish financial choices I've made recently have been regarding purchases for The Child. He likes electronics, and I've indulged his interest. I've spent more money on The Child than the average family spends on one child, for sure.
The only thing I want to spend money on for myself is a house.
There is a house for sale in Victorian village right now which I am interested in, and I am considering putting my house on the market to try to make it happen. I'd have to have a sales contract in place before I can make an offer on the Victorian. But it won't be an even trade- the Victorian is considerably more expensive than my house. The mortgage broker says he's very confident that I'd qualify for the mortgage I'd need, but that's because I have an outstanding credit score, NOT because the mortgage would be reasonable on my salary!
Yesterday my realtor took me to see the interior of the house. Until then, my desire for the house was based purely upon its prime location rather than any actual knowledge of the house or its interior. My impression of the first floor was positive.
It included original stained glass windows:
I was less thrilled with the upstairs, and I was reminded of the fact that I actually don't like antiques!
It seems odd that I'd be drawn to antique houses....what I like about them is the high ceilings, the wood floors, the huge windows (often floor to ceiling) and the often ornate woodwork and features like stained glass windows. The quality of materials and craftsmanship is so superior to that of newly-built houses.
I did like one of the upstairs bedrooms, the one which was currently set up as an office:
This house also has a finished attic, made into 2 bedrooms. The Child has taken a strong interest in this attic, although he hasn't seen it yet. Today there is an open house, and I'm taking The Child so he can see if he approves of this house before I go any further. I already know that children generally don't like old things, including houses, so I am expecting The Child to reject my latest dream. I will continue this post after the open house.
***********************************************************************************
The open house did not go well. The Child detested the house. He claims to despise wood floors, and he seemed freaked out by the height of the house, especially when looking out of the 3rd story windows down onto the backyard below. It looked like an aerial view from an airplane flying overhead! (I was scared by that also. We currently live in a one-story ranch-style house.)
I was somewhat surprised that the Child could find nothing positive about the house. (I had hoped that he'd admit that the first floor, with its abundance of light and its stained glass, was somewhat appealing, and I was fairly sure he'd stake out the 3rd floor as his territory.)
I was beginning my dreaded descent into depression, knowing that I didn't want to try to push this house onto The Child, when he commented, "I'd be able to have a 'Slip 'n' Slide' in that backyard."
Huh??!
Our current house lacks a backyard. Since it's situated on a park, it was pretty much OK to not have our own yard, or so I had thought......
Afraid to press my luck, I gingerly asked if there was anything else, anything at all, which he found to be remotely acceptable about that house.
It turns out that he had wisely assessed that its kitchen was better than ours. And he mentioned the yard again. Who knew that a yard meant that much to him? Mind you, this is a yard which has been completely neglected by its previous owners, to the point where it's nothing but a barren plot of grass, and you can see above.
Still, The Child would undoubtedly prefer not to move there, and I'd prefer not to force the issue.
***********************************************************************************
Later in the day a minor incident (which was really just a trigger) propelled me full steam ahead into that funk which I had narrowly escaped earlier. I was driving at the time, and began sobbing uncontrollably. This sorrow emerged from unknown depths. It had to do with life, death, and the joys and sorrows in between. It had to do with my mother who died so long ago, and whose death altered my life. It had to do with the still unprocessed death of my sister. It had to do with all of those long-lost boyfriends and the missing of them, and the lonely difficulties of being a single parent. It had to do with the dreams of a lifetime, and the possibility of letting them go.
.
Sunday, February 06, 2011
life thoughts
Each morning I throw peanuts out in front of my house for the squirrels and birds. There are always 9 squirrels waiting at the door when I open it. (The birds are a bit more discreet.) A couple of the squirrels wait around until after I throw the pile of nuts; those squirrels prefer to be singled out and given their nuts individually. I gladly accommodate.
There is one squirrel who takes nuts, one by one, out of the pile and buries them in the snow or mulch around my house. He wants to be sure to get his fair share (or more!), and he has found a very effective way to accomplish that. Another squirrel follows the example of the blue jays; he picks up nuts one by one, "weighing" each one, until finally settling on the biggest prize.
Those squirrels which stand out from the crowd will likely live longer than the average squirrel. I hope to be a human version of those animals.
I often think of my mother, who did all the right things by society's standards. She always shopped at the health food store. I vividly recall the nauseating tofu hot dogs and no-salt, natural peanut butter (which tasted like moistened cardboard) she used to force down my resistant throat when I was a child.
She exercised daily with her aerobics classes and long distance walking, and she never gained an ounce above 120 lbs., a low but reasonable weight for her fairly tall frame. And 20 years ago she died, way too young, of pancreatic cancer.
That may seem baffling, but I think I understand what happened. She took immaculate care of her physical body, but she totally blew off the issue of her state of mind. She was constantly tortured, for many years, by my father's philandering. Rather than resolve the situation, she chose to remain in a broken marriage for fear of financial insecurity and of not being able to make it on her own.
My own resistance to marriage may stem from my observation of her experience. But more importantly, I have some idea how difficult it is to successfully live with another adult, and my adult life has been more about learning how to be independent than how to live well with others.
Living with The Child has been OK, but that's because I've had the chance to mold him from birth. I set my boundaries early on, and he dares not cross them. He lacks the expectations that most adults would have of me, such as that I cook and clean. I am not domestic, and The Child is well aware of that. Once in a blue moon I will cook, but there has to be a darn good reason, like company. Although I can handle the occasional foray into the kitchen, I have a low limit. (The limit is actually life saving, since I have been known to start kitchen fires, even in microwave ovens!)
The Child eats a lot of pizza. I eat strange things like broccoli and blueberries and tofu (not in hot dog form!) and, unfortunately, potato chips. I remain addicted to potato chips even after many attempts to quit.
But I'm not dead yet, and I think it's because of my attention to dental care. I have read that many, many health issues begin in the mouth, of all places. Heart disease, diabetes and cancer have all been traced back to dental issues. I have read books about teeth, believe it or not, and I get my teeth cleaned and examined every 6 months by a dentist I trust. Although I don't like the radiation from X-rays, I do allow my mouth to be x-rayed because of the cavity detection enhancement. I brush my teeth several times per day, floss at least twice a day, and use a water pic.Every time I go to the dentist, I ask for instructions on proper brushing and flossing techniques, and I ask the hygienist to watch me do it to be sure that my technique is correct. I take my teeth very seriously.
At work, I'm covered by a health insurance policy. The health insurance premiums are extremely expensive because an inordinate number of people I work with have profound health issues.
In an incredible twist of irony, my employer is on the verge of dropping our dental insurance to help pay for our 42% increase in health insurance premiums!
So that's what I do for my physical health. I obsess over my teeth, and I balance potato chips with broccoli, ever mindful of my desire to eventually overcome my potato chip addiction.
Learning from my mother's experience, I try not to ignore my state of mind. If I'm troubled, I find a way to deal with it. I am a firm believer in the saying, "You're only as sick as your secrets." For any given problem, there's always somebody I can talk to, even if it's a long distance friend.
The squirrels and birds around my house contribute to my mental well being. My favorite way to start the day is by watching them from my favorite chair by the window.
All is well.
.
Saturday, January 15, 2011
January blahs
Even while experiencing the blahs, I try to teach The Child that his life is a result of his (or MY) choices, and that if he doesn't like what's going on, it's time to make a different choice. Telling a child how to live life and actually practicing what you preach are 2 different things. Yesterday I thought I had accomplished something when I told The Child that I was currently experiencing extreme dissatisfaction with my life, yet I had the option to choose a different attitude. I spoke the words, but I couldn't actually DO it. Instead, I walked out of his bedroom so that he would not witness my choice to continue wallowing in blahhhhhhhhhs..........
This reminds me of my own mother. She used to talk about self esteem - I think she perceived that mine was inadequate. She used to assert, "I have a very high opinion of myself!" Yet her actions belied that proclamation, as she chose to remain married under the same roof with a man who was openly cheating on her. She was miserable!
Once I became a parent, I decided that it was time to live my life in a way which lined up with my beliefs, since that's what The Child was sure to notice. In many ways I succeed. My house, although not located in the downtown neighborhood which I obsess over, IS located on a large park so that I can look out my window and see trees, deer and other wildlife, all well within city limits.
I believe that personal automobiles are a ridiculous luxury destroying the planet. My house is 6 miles from downtown and on the bus line. I take the bus to work frequently. I am aware of indoor toxins, so I make my own household cleaning products out of essential oils, vinegar, baking soda and Dr. Bonner's soap. I don't own a microwave oven, much to The Child's dismay.
I reject society's competitive consumerism; I despise shopping. Yesterday The Child and I went to Sam's Club. We wandered dazedly around for a few minutes; I picked up a pack of AA batteries, and suddenly I said, "I can't stand this place. Let's put the batteries back and leave." He readily agreed. It's even hard for me to go to the grocery store, especially since the 2 natural food stores near my house have both shut down. My car, which I fire up as infrequently as possible, is a tiny 20-year-old Honda Civic which I hope lives forever. For the most part, I do not believe in Western medicine and do not use the expensive medical insurance which I'm required to have.
However, I have allowed The Child to influence me to some extent. He was born loving technology and I'm sure it's because of his influence that I use an iPhone (no landline here!). I must have been born with some of that same inclination because I choose to spend lots of leisure time on the computer and have fixed mine myself several times. The Child built his first computer over a year ago. The technology which exists inside my house seems incongruous with the home made cleaning products and the organic amaranth, perhaps, but I am comfortable embracing both. Besides, iPhone apps can be really helpful with mass transit schedules.
It seems to be time for an adjustment for my life, though. I have been doing something which has become habitual and does NOT really fit in - I eat a lot of potato chips. That may sound silly, but it really is out of control. I am addicted. I believe that the chips are highly symbolic to me, since they figured heavily in my childhood. My parents used to actually have potato chips delivered to our house by Charles Chips! My favorite childhood memories include spending each New Year's Eve with my grandmother, eating Charles Chips and onion dip, watching the ball drop at Times Square on TV.
Boy, do I ever wish that potato chips were healthy. I know full well that they are NOT and I must STOP. Why bother making nontoxic cleaning supplies if I'm going to eat potato chips, one of the most toxic "foods" known to man? OK, so today's the day I go cold turkey.
Right now, instead of ripping open a new bag of chips, I'm going to whip up some of The Child's beloved peanut butter tofu. Yesterday I informed him that very few people would consider eating this, his favorite dish, which I invented. (He seemed very surprised.) I make it by dumping raw tofu into a glass (nontoxic!) pan with some organic garlic, organic peanut butter and organic soy sauce, and heat it for a couple of minutes. It looks as bad as it sounds, yet he eats it with gusto.
Good thing I'm not married, right? How would I have put together such an eccentric life based on my beliefs (and struggles with potato chips) if I had to compromise with a partner? That question was not lost on The Child. He told me yesterday that he would never want to have a life partner whom he had to live with......hmmmmm.
Well, as long as he knows how to live in a way which is true to himself, then I suppose I need not worry.
May he possess the courage to tackle any persistent potato chips infiltrating his otherwise carefully crafted life.
.
Friday, December 31, 2010
2010 assessment
It's a sunny and unseasonably warm day. I thought it would be an inspiring kind of day, perfect for life assessment. But first, I decided to jog outdoors. The weather has been so frigidly cold and icy during recent weeks that I had been using my indoor treadmill. I prefer jogging outdoors, or so I thought. There were hoards of people in the park outside of my house. Since it's winter, the bushes and trees are barren, and there is no way to avoid being seen. I did not want to be looked at today, and I was angry, so much that I shortened my jog considerably.
The main topic which comes to my mind when thinking of the year 2010 is, of course, the death of my sister. In fact, I can hardly think of anything else. When 2010 began, I did not know her days were numbered. She had cancer but it was thought to have been in remission. I was fortunate to have been able to visit her in Boston several times in 2010. I will never forget her gaunt figure standing at the door of her apartment, watching me being driven away from my final visit with her. Standing there, watching people leave, was not something she did. It was out of character. I knew that she "knew", and now I "knew". Would I have done or said anything differently had I known before I left?
Things were pretty dramatic at work as well. In my field, there are many, many more qualified applicants than there are jobs, and the few jobs that exist are disappearing due to economic conditions and changing social priorities. Things definitely went south at my workplace, and I was politically involved making the changes happen, even though it meant severe pay cuts. Over the past few months we've all tried to adjust to the changes, and it has been challenging if not profoundly depressing. I have to remind myself that I'm lucky to have ever been employed at all in this outrageously competitive field.
The Child is 13 and has been very busy distancing himself from me. Over the past year I have mourned our past relationship, including the long ago phase when he begged me to marry him. I have begun preparing myself for the time just around the corner when he will leave home. (Last night, though, I was ready for that to happen. He vomited all over the bathroom and I had to clean it up.)
I had an interesting dream last night. I very rarely remember my dreams, and when I do they seem to be disturbing ones, like the one last month in which my car was broken into and dismantled. But last night's dream was heavenly. I was busy working 2 jobs, both of which are in my field (which is actually going to be true next week) but I was also actively seeking a new house. My realtor played one of the leading roles in this dream; in fact, I was in his house for part of the dream. There were several gorgeous houses in my coveted neighborhood which I was considering buying. It was a very happy dream.
Maybe it was a 2011 premonition, hard though it is to believe.
.
The main topic which comes to my mind when thinking of the year 2010 is, of course, the death of my sister. In fact, I can hardly think of anything else. When 2010 began, I did not know her days were numbered. She had cancer but it was thought to have been in remission. I was fortunate to have been able to visit her in Boston several times in 2010. I will never forget her gaunt figure standing at the door of her apartment, watching me being driven away from my final visit with her. Standing there, watching people leave, was not something she did. It was out of character. I knew that she "knew", and now I "knew". Would I have done or said anything differently had I known before I left?
Things were pretty dramatic at work as well. In my field, there are many, many more qualified applicants than there are jobs, and the few jobs that exist are disappearing due to economic conditions and changing social priorities. Things definitely went south at my workplace, and I was politically involved making the changes happen, even though it meant severe pay cuts. Over the past few months we've all tried to adjust to the changes, and it has been challenging if not profoundly depressing. I have to remind myself that I'm lucky to have ever been employed at all in this outrageously competitive field.
The Child is 13 and has been very busy distancing himself from me. Over the past year I have mourned our past relationship, including the long ago phase when he begged me to marry him. I have begun preparing myself for the time just around the corner when he will leave home. (Last night, though, I was ready for that to happen. He vomited all over the bathroom and I had to clean it up.)
I had an interesting dream last night. I very rarely remember my dreams, and when I do they seem to be disturbing ones, like the one last month in which my car was broken into and dismantled. But last night's dream was heavenly. I was busy working 2 jobs, both of which are in my field (which is actually going to be true next week) but I was also actively seeking a new house. My realtor played one of the leading roles in this dream; in fact, I was in his house for part of the dream. There were several gorgeous houses in my coveted neighborhood which I was considering buying. It was a very happy dream.
Maybe it was a 2011 premonition, hard though it is to believe.
.
Thursday, December 30, 2010
Betty is back AGAIN
Anyway, I've decided to try to post regularly, even if I don't have much to say. Lately I have felt that I don't have enough time to do everything (or anything). My house has become chaotic again and everything seems more or less out of control. It's baffling, because there's no apparent reason.
It's safe to say that whirlingbetty is in a state of lack of clarity.
For now, I will write about my Irish ancestors. An ex-boyfriend is now visiting Ireland, and although we had been out of contact for over a year, I suddenly called him and left a message out of the blue last week. In response, he sent me an email, saying he had just decided that day to call me, and right after that he checked his stateside messages and found out I had just called him. He is now in the land of my ancestors - the exact part of Ireland, the desolate, lonely, hauntingly beautiful northern Atlantic coast, from which my dear Gram emigrated as a teenager.
This is what I wrote to the ex-boyfriend:
You are near where my relatives, the Conways (originally from Normandy) who lived in Co. Sligo, Mayo and Donegal. I believe they owned land in Mayo. My great-grandmother was Mary O'Donnell Conway (born in Co. Mayo and married to John Conway). There is a big tombstone in Carrownteane Cemetary, in the village of the same name, in the township of Dromard, Co. Sligo. My great-grandmother is buried there along with her son Anthony. She died of a broken heart the day after he died of stomach cancer. Let me know if you happen upon their tombstone which my gram helped pay for even though she had emigrated.
Someday I must visit that place. I can see it vividly in my mind; it seems to be part of my nature. I wish Gram had been able to talk about it. Although she was very open about everything else (we even shared Playgirl magazines when I was a teen) she would not talk about Ireland.
Why?
Sunday, December 12, 2010
betty is back
II'm not sure what kind of animal this is, but I think it's cute. This photo accompanied an online article about a woman in Oklahoma who found a squirrel in her toilet and called 911. I've always liked squirrels.
The neighbors and the people who frequent the park in front of my house undoubtedly take note of the fact that I feed squirrels. Since I have the misfortune of living in a very uptight neighborhood, I reckon the neighbors are appalled. One of them actually gathered the courage to confront me a couple of years ago. He wanted to know why I would want to attract rodents to my house. Since they were enjoying their shelled peanuts outdoors, not in my living room, I wasn't sure what he meant. Did he really think that I was responsible for the presence of squirrels in the area? Really? Who knew that I possessed god-like powers to create and distribute wildlife??
I was born liking animals. When I was around 8 years old, my parents came home from an after-dinner walk one evening bearing a dream-come-true for a child of my ilk: a BABY SQUIRREL! I cannot describe the ecstasy I experienced as I researched squirrel nourishment and began mothering the dear animal. I used a medicine dropper to nurse the baby and even managed to get some slow-cooked steel-cut oatmeal into him. Rascal was indescribably cute and nothing pleased me more than contributing to his sustenance.
As is so often the case, ecstasy morphed into devastation. Early one evening the doorbell rang. I was busy feeding Rascal, so I ignored it. A few moments later, my father appeared with a neighbor boy, Phillip, a hapless child who was not particularly favored among local kids. My father spoke some of the most awful words I ever heard: "Phillip says that this squirrel is his. It fell out of the tree in front of his house and it had escaped when I found it. You have to give him back his squirrel."
As is so often the case, ecstasy morphed into devastation. Early one evening the doorbell rang. I was busy feeding Rascal, so I ignored it. A few moments later, my father appeared with a neighbor boy, Phillip, a hapless child who was not particularly favored among local kids. My father spoke some of the most awful words I ever heard: "Phillip says that this squirrel is his. It fell out of the tree in front of his house and it had escaped when I found it. You have to give him back his squirrel."
To this day I remember the look on that squirrel's face as he was taken out of my hands by my father and handed to Phillip. So I never got over squirrels. I will always have a soft spot for them. And if the neighbors don't like it, well....
Last summer I had a major victory. I got one of the squirrels to eat out of my hand. (Those of you who know squirrels at all will realize how unusual that is. Chipmunks are so greedy and bold that they easily approach humans for handouts, but not squirrels.)
You would expect a squirrel to take the treat like an untrained dog- with a quick, grabbing gesture, borderline dangerous. Nope. The squirrel was gentle as could be, once she managed to talk her reluctant body into inching close enough to me. She calmly took the nut in her mouth and settled down to eat it gratefully - ecstasy for both of us.
Over the past couple of weeks I have had enjoyed an augmentation of my at-home wildlife viewing. Five times over the past few days I have seen deer outside of my house. Mind you, I live within city limits of the 15th largest U.S. city. Deer are not expected visitors in my neighborhood, although I do live on a park with a wooded ravine.
This morning it's snowing heavily. I would not have seen the deer running past my window if my dog, perched in his window seat, had not begun barking ferociously. Predictably, a large, very fast dog OFF-LEASH was in hot pursuit.
It bothers me to no end that this city lacks a leash law, unlike every other U.S. city that I know of. The off-leash dogs are a constant presence around my house because I live on a park which is extremely popular among dog fanatics. The dogs have terrorized and bitten my son and killed our beloved Chihuahua. They chase squirrels, birds, chipmunks, ground hogs and now deer.
I still like dogs, as evidenced by the fact that I own one. However, I am less than thrilled with the dog OWNERS around here, who somehow justify owning dogs which they think require acres of free space to run in, at the expense of people and wildlife trying to enjoy the park (or their own residence in my case). I think that those dog owners are out of touch with reality. If they really do own dogs which require that amount of freedom and exercise, then the owners are irresponsible to be harboring the dogs within city limits.
Someday this city might wake up and enact a leash law. Then what will those dog owners do?! (I can tell you what they'll do. They'll keep on doing what they're now doing, knowing full well that the city's police force is stretched too thin to deal with off-leash dogs!)
Over the past couple of weeks I have had enjoyed an augmentation of my at-home wildlife viewing. Five times over the past few days I have seen deer outside of my house. Mind you, I live within city limits of the 15th largest U.S. city. Deer are not expected visitors in my neighborhood, although I do live on a park with a wooded ravine.
This morning it's snowing heavily. I would not have seen the deer running past my window if my dog, perched in his window seat, had not begun barking ferociously. Predictably, a large, very fast dog OFF-LEASH was in hot pursuit.
It bothers me to no end that this city lacks a leash law, unlike every other U.S. city that I know of. The off-leash dogs are a constant presence around my house because I live on a park which is extremely popular among dog fanatics. The dogs have terrorized and bitten my son and killed our beloved Chihuahua. They chase squirrels, birds, chipmunks, ground hogs and now deer.
I still like dogs, as evidenced by the fact that I own one. However, I am less than thrilled with the dog OWNERS around here, who somehow justify owning dogs which they think require acres of free space to run in, at the expense of people and wildlife trying to enjoy the park (or their own residence in my case). I think that those dog owners are out of touch with reality. If they really do own dogs which require that amount of freedom and exercise, then the owners are irresponsible to be harboring the dogs within city limits.
Someday this city might wake up and enact a leash law. Then what will those dog owners do?! (I can tell you what they'll do. They'll keep on doing what they're now doing, knowing full well that the city's police force is stretched too thin to deal with off-leash dogs!)
Monday, November 01, 2010
Fall without the colors
The fall colors are disappointing here this year due to lack of rain, apparently. This view outside of my house this morning is about as colorful as it gets this year.
Yesterday I heard a choir singing Brother James' Air. It was a trigger taking me back to my childhood. I was probably around 11 years old when I was chosen to sing in a children's choir with kids from all over New York State. We sang Brother James' Air. I remember that song and all the others in great detail. Unlike most children's choirs, we sang in 4 part harmony rather than all singing the same line, and I can still hear it clearly in my head. (We must have rehearsed a lot!)
However, I was not at all happy about being selected for that choir. I didn't like being told what to do in general and specifically, I didn't like to sing! (I wanted to play a woodwind instrument.) I resented being part of that choir, even though my school music teacher treated it as a huge honor.
I had to travel to a faraway location somewhere in New York State for the ordeal. My mother had packed me a brown bag lunch, and in it she had placed some really great candy from a shop in Manhattan, her favorite shopping destination. The taste of that candy lingers to this day, and it was the highlight of the event. I was a shy child and had nobody to talk to the whole time. There was nobody else from my school.
During the dress rehearsal I was horrified when kids started fainting. I'm not sure if they were nervous or hot from the bright lights, or unstable on the risers we were standing on, but the young singers were dropping like flies. I was terrified that they'd start throwing up. By the end of the dress rehearsal, very few kids were still standing and singing. I am glad to say that I was one of them.
In retrospect, I see that the candy wasn't the only notable aspect. I think it's pretty amazing that the music, every last detail of it including Latin texts, stayed with me all these years.
**********
Yesterday my iPod Touch was pronounced dead by The Child and myself after repeated attempts at resuscitation.. Anyone who has an iPod Touch knows that they're expensive, and I was not at all happy. I also had a lot of music on it which I used for jogging. The loss of my iPod Touch also meant the cessation of my exercise routine. The whole deal was depressing, since I really don't like being out of shape. I debated with myself as to whether or not I'd be willing to jog using my iPhone to provide musical entertainment. Since I had ruined a previous mp3 player by tripping and falling on a rocky surface while jogging with it, I decided against putting my phone at risk.
This morning I decided to have another go at the iPod Touch. The only reason I have succeeded repeatedly in fixing my various electronic gadgets, including computer, is due to my obsessive persistence. For reasons I cannot explain, my iPod Touch is now happily recharging, having been brought back to life by my persistence.
***********
There were many 12 and 13 year old boys in my house this weekend. The Child is unlike me in so many ways. He seems to be popular. (I never was and never shall be.) It's hard to tell where that comes from. I guess upbringing may be a part of it. The Child was brought up believing in his own value. I was not.
Most single parents probably feel guilty the way I do for not providing their child(ren) with a 2 parent family. In my case, the problem is exacerbated by the lack of any support system whatsoever. My closest relative lives 600 miles away, and The Child is truly not known by any extended family including grandparents. (My father is his only living grandparent, and my father has shown no interest whatsoever in his only grandson.)
Yet somehow The Child has developed a social ability far surpassing mine. Maybe it's genetic; maybe it's due to the fantastic, carefully selected babysitters I've hired over the years who have taught him how to get along with people. I'm just glad that the child can enjoy the popularity which always eluded me.
.
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
Relevance
This post goes with my last one which I just wrote a few hours ago. In the last post, I was irrelevant; now I'm relevant. Here's how.
I didn't get much sleep last night- it was just a few short hours ago that I posted (about being irrelevant) before going to bed. When my alarm went off at 6am, I was not amused. I ignored it longer than usual.
The Child has to be on his school bus before 7am, which I think is rather ridiculous, but the school board never consulted with me......The Child is most definitely NOT a morning person, so I have little choice but to drive the lifeless child to his bus stop half a mile from our house to increase my odds of getting him on that bus.
Unbelievably, he sleeps in the car as I drive the half mile to the bus stop and since he's already asleep, I don't awaken him until the bus is actually in sight. (It's pitch black outside at that hour!) This morning was no different from the usual routine up to this point.
I always get out of the car and walk with The Child to the door of the bus. He's in 7th grade now, and it may seem a bit, shall we say, overprotective? The other mothers do not accompany their boys to the bus- they remain seated in their SUVs and mini vans. I have wondered if it bothers The Child that I do that. He never says anything, so I persist, even though last week I found myself wondering why I do it. What do I think I'm protecting him from?
Well, today I found out. As we exited the car and started crossing the street to the bus stop, a car came careening around the corner, heading directly toward The Child who, although upright and walking, was still partially asleep. I miraculously came to life and shoved The Child as hard as I could out of the speeding car's path. Heart racing, I yelled at the driver, "S-L-O-W D-O-W-N !!!!!!" before picking The Child up off the ground and guiding him to the bus.
Everybody who witnessed this event was speechless. Had The Child been unaccompanied by his hovering mother, the result would have been tragic.
As Annie said in her comment on my last post, even though my caring sister is gone, my relevance is not. Lesson learned.
.
I didn't get much sleep last night- it was just a few short hours ago that I posted (about being irrelevant) before going to bed. When my alarm went off at 6am, I was not amused. I ignored it longer than usual.
The Child has to be on his school bus before 7am, which I think is rather ridiculous, but the school board never consulted with me......The Child is most definitely NOT a morning person, so I have little choice but to drive the lifeless child to his bus stop half a mile from our house to increase my odds of getting him on that bus.
Unbelievably, he sleeps in the car as I drive the half mile to the bus stop and since he's already asleep, I don't awaken him until the bus is actually in sight. (It's pitch black outside at that hour!) This morning was no different from the usual routine up to this point.
I always get out of the car and walk with The Child to the door of the bus. He's in 7th grade now, and it may seem a bit, shall we say, overprotective? The other mothers do not accompany their boys to the bus- they remain seated in their SUVs and mini vans. I have wondered if it bothers The Child that I do that. He never says anything, so I persist, even though last week I found myself wondering why I do it. What do I think I'm protecting him from?
Well, today I found out. As we exited the car and started crossing the street to the bus stop, a car came careening around the corner, heading directly toward The Child who, although upright and walking, was still partially asleep. I miraculously came to life and shoved The Child as hard as I could out of the speeding car's path. Heart racing, I yelled at the driver, "S-L-O-W D-O-W-N !!!!!!" before picking The Child up off the ground and guiding him to the bus.
Everybody who witnessed this event was speechless. Had The Child been unaccompanied by his hovering mother, the result would have been tragic.
As Annie said in her comment on my last post, even though my caring sister is gone, my relevance is not. Lesson learned.
.
Irrelevance
Most likely, balance will always elude me. This month, I'm lucky if I focus on 2 things each day (jogging and work) instead of one (work). And that's seems to be as good as it gets. Somehow, when my sister died last month, my life derailed as far as organization and domestic responsibility. I suppose the unplanned trip to Boston to deliver her eulogy threw things off, and I never recovered.
Most of the time I keep busy, enough that I "forget" she's gone. But it hit last week. There was big news at work, and my reflex was to inform my sister, the only person in my family who had any interest whatsoever in my life. When it hit me that she was no longer there for me to send press releases, news articles and videos to, I broke down.
I have lost relevance.
.
Most of the time I keep busy, enough that I "forget" she's gone. But it hit last week. There was big news at work, and my reflex was to inform my sister, the only person in my family who had any interest whatsoever in my life. When it hit me that she was no longer there for me to send press releases, news articles and videos to, I broke down.
I have lost relevance.
Monday, September 27, 2010
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