My therapists

I've gone to various types of counselors throughout my adult life.  I've picked up helpful life skills from each one, and not a day goes by that I don't remember (and often apply) the words of at least one of them.  For the past few months, I've been trying something different: daily squirrel therapy.

My therapists show up at my front door early each morning- usually at dawn.  They expect payment up front.  To the casual observer, it may seem that I spend a lot of money on peanuts.  The most I've ever paid has been about $12 for a week's worth.  That's the cheapest therapy I've ever had.

These therapists have provided much-needed stability in my life.  They show up each day, come hell or high water.  They don't throw me any curves; they don't jerk me around.  They prove the theory that we teach others how to treat us.  If I'm careless and accidentally let my Chihuahua run out the door, that scares the bejesus out of the therapists and they may not return for a few days.  But if I'm considerate and cautious, I am rewarded with near trust.

Some mornings I have to rush off to work, but on the best of days I can sit in my chair and watch my therapists through the window.  There are normally six of them.  Winter is the best season for this activity, since the squirrels don't have to compete with the semi-hibernating chipmunks for the nuts. 

The blue jays, however, are another story.  On many days they snatch up the nuts, always weighing them by lifting various ones in their beaks to see how the weight compares to the other nuts.  Fortunately, the jays sleep later than the squirrels, proving that if you snooze, you lose.  I admit that I have developed a resentment toward the jays.  My therapists, however, prove unfazed by the jays, as they show me by example that my resentment is out of place.  These therapists apparently believe in and live by the concept of abundance.

On the best of days, my therapists accept payment in complete harmony with one another, with each therapist calmly and gratefully accepting his or her share.  I enjoy the sight of all six therapists munching contentedly at once.  They know how to give each other space.  Each therapist seems to be surrounded by an invisible boundary of a three foot radius.  How many therapists can teach boundary setting so clearly?

The therapists are not jealous of each other's nuts.  They mind their own darned business.  I've never seen a therapist grab more than one nut at a time, although I know they're capable of it.  They show themselves to be grateful for what life has given them, and willing to share their bounty, even with other species.

And how many therapists make house calls?

Must be nice

This afternoon I attended a concert at a church.  I saw a young man whom I recognized.  He works at the library near my house, and I've seen him taking walks nearby.  At today's concert he was with an older woman (who must have been his mother) and a couple of other people.  It appeared to me that he was with family members.

Why is this significant to me?  I've always been a loner, yet I remember what it was like growing up near extended family.  And my parents had lived in that town their entire lives, so they knew a lot of people. 

When I moved to the city I now live in, I didn't know anyone here.  I have no relatives within a 600 mile radius.  I've never been married, but I have a child.  To be a single parent with no relatives in the picture is rough.  I have never known the experience of having anyone watch my child whom I did not have to pay to do so.

When I go back to my hometown to visit, which is rare these days, I am struck by the apparent fact that people know each other.  My best friend from my hometown runs into people she knows wherever we go.  (She has lived there her entire life.)

Such solid, reliable familiarity must be nice.  I should like to experience it sometime.

Goodbye, Dear Friend

I am in shock.  A longtime friend, one whom I spoke with on the phone last week, is gone.  I was calling him today to ask him when I could bring to him the treats from the store he had asked me for last week.  He sounded odd on the phone that day- not himself.  He was asking for things he normally wouldn't ask for. 

He had just gotten out of the hospital and was in a facility in the same complex as his apartment.  I told him I'd bring his things in a few days.  But something seemed very odd.

Today when I called the last number he had called me from, a stranger answered.  When I called his home phone, the number had been disconnected.  That's when I reluctantly googled his name, hoping I wouldn't find anything.

But google produced a sight that numbed me- an obituary entry. 

The man who was like a dear father to me had died and was buried, unbeknownst to me. 

I saw him a couple of weeks ago, just before I left to see my dying sister in Boston.  I will never forget sitting with him there in his apartment that day.  I did not know it was the last time I'd see him, but it was a sad day.  I had brought him food which he tried to eat, but his heart wasn't in it.  I actually started crying as I sat there facing my friend, even though I didn't know it was our last meeting.  We had talked about my sister, and he was very concerned, but his own health was not good either.  He told me he was going to die.

I told him I wished he wouldn't.

Best use of "now"

 The following is a quote from the daily spiritual guidance I receive via email:

People say. "If I'm always setting goals and reaching for the future, then am I not squandering my now?" And we say if in your now you're using a future event to make you feel good, you are still feeling good in your now. And that's the best use of now that you could ever find.

The guidance I've received from this source has always been sound.   And the above paragraph makes perfect sense to me.  When I read it, I thought of my recent house-hunting escapades (which are not that recent- my last one took place nearly 2 years ago).

During the times I was totally wrapped up in finding a Victorian house in the downtown neighborhood, friends criticized me.  They said I was "distracting myself."  Distracting myself from what?  From an unpleasant current reality?  What's wrong with that?

I remember how I felt when I thought I was getting the house of my dreams.  It was a high!  It was energizing.  It caused me to tackle my lifelong problem with housekeeping (because my current house had to be in showing condition).   I think that anyone who is setting out to live according to his/her beliefs is going to experience an improved state of mind.  By living near downtown, I would be adhering to my belief in getting around without the almighty automobile.  I wanted to walk to work, walk to run errands, walk everywhere.  Europeans and New Yorkers who live that way are measurably healthier than the rest of us.

There were several Victorian houses which I pursued leading up to the last and best one 2 years ago.  The last one was so perfect for me and The Child that I gave up after that.  The price of that house was unrealistically low- I had waited 3 years to make my offer, watching the price gradually reduce because that house was not suited for the average buyer (it lacked a garage to house the almighty automobile!):

Since then I have become "distracted" by other things, but nothing has had the powerful effect on me that the house dream did.  Yesterday, when I had no choice but to drive down dangerously icy roads to get to and from work downtown, I thought wistfully of that house which was almost mine.  Had I lived in the dream house, I could have walked or bussed to work. (Or I could have driven a few short blocks!)

The older I become, the more convinced I am that we live life in our heads.  How else can we explain why 2 people going through the same experience have 2 completely different responses?  If our head happens to be distracted by the possibility of a dream come true, then so much the better.

Box it, label it and put it way

Unfortunately, I am now my own counselor.  I am struggling with a problem which has lasted longer than most of my problems.  Often, my problems seem to magically disappear within a fairly short period of time- sometimes overnight.

I have had to construct a plan for dealing with the current problem, since it is not going away and it puts me in a bad mood.  The plan is to label it, box it and put it away.  It is going to remain, but I don't want it to affect me anymore.

I am embarrassed to admit that the problem has to do with money.  Before The Child entered my life, I made a pact with myself that I was never going to let money make any of my decisions having to do with The Child.   That as back before my huge salary cut which resulted from the reorganization of my workplace. 

And for years, I stuck to that rule- I paid a king's ransom for organic cloth diapers after carefully researching the topic, I paid for a very pricey private preschool, I paid thousands each year for the very best babysitters.  From a very early age, the Child loved electronics and I indulged his every whim, more or less. When The Father sued me for custody of The Child, I spent thousands on a lawyer to prevent the troubled, abusive man from ruining The Child's life.

Then a couple of years ago my workplace shut down for a few months and then miraculously resurrected, but with radically lower pay for all employees.  There are precious few jobs in this field (no openings in the entire country right now) so job seeking was never a viable option.

Here's the problem:  The Child was born with problematic teeth.  He's missing 10 adult teeth- they'll never come in because they're not there.  Three years ago the Child and I started seeing an orthodontist.  I paid $2500, thinking that that was it- I was finished paying for orthodontia- and I thought that was quite a lot of money!

Imagine my shock when, during last week's orthodontist appointment, I was handed a bill for over $5,000!!!  After they scraped me up off the floor, they explained that the $2500 was for phase 1.  The $5,000+ was for phase 2, and phase 3 would follow!  (Mind you, The Child doesn't even have braces on his teeth yet!)

So that's it- that's my problem.  In my current state of finances, that $5,000+ is prohibitive and I'm having a hard time accepting it.

I am putting it in a box labeled "An unexpected, unwelcome expense which could be higher and could be related to something far more unpleasant then The Child's orthodontia.  As far as problems go, this is not a very bad one.  The people who jumped out of windows during the 1929 stock market crash did not have their priorities straight."

Hopefully the box will now collect dust in some remote, neglected corner of my mind.

Happy New Year??

I was invited to a New Year's Eve party.  It's an annual get-together; I've attended for the past few years.  The attendees are interesting although I usually end up in a tension-ridden conversation before the night is over.  I don't drink; I'm the only one there who doesn't.  By now I'm accustomed to being the oddball in social situations, The One Who Doesn't Drink.  But that wasn't the problem.

I felt a bit strange that evening.  Something in the atmosphere made me uneasy.  The hostess is a good friend of mine.  I didn't dare not show up or leave early, because she is easliy offended.   But that wasn't the problem.

The hostess and her husband are serious art collectors.  I tried to relieve my uneasiness by looking around at their museum pieces.

 

I left before midnight, claiming that I'd turn into a pumpkin otherwise.

Then, in the wee hours of January 2nd, it started.  I am not the sickly type; I've not even suffered from as much as the sniffles during the past several years.  And I don't vomit.  It's just not in my repertoire.

But in the wee hours of January 2nd, I was out of bed, pacing the floors, feeling horrible.  In an act I'd later regret, I made a glass of warm water laced with the juice of half a lemon to try to settle my stomach.

It didn't help.  I glanced in the mirror and saw that I did not look well- I was as pale as could be.

Before I knew it, the unthinkable was occurring.  I was vomiting.  I was projectile vomiting, over and over, for hours.  The acidic lemon juice nearly caused me to aspirate on vomit.  I became so weakened that I could barely make it from the bed to the toilet.  Between onslaughts, I was in agony, moaning and groaning.  I told The Child that I could not take care of him until I was better (secretly, I wondered if I was dying).  I told him which drawer the money was in so that he could pay the pizza delivery man.  I was so sick that I called out for my mother, who has been deceased for many years.

Remember, I am not the sickly type.  Whenever I do have the slightest thing wrong with me, I am able to figure out what caused it.  This time I was stumped.  What could have caused my life to turn upside down like this?

Well, I found out the answer last night.  It turns out that the hostess of the New Year's Eve party had the stomach flu the night of the party.  The woman who rents a room in her house, also at the party and preparing food, was just recovering from stomach flu!

I think that I experienced a sense of foreboding on the night of that party.  I am very careful about avoiding germs, and maybe I had a 6th sense about the germs present in the house that night.

My social life is nearly nonexistent, and then when I finally do go out, this happens!

My opinion is that it is the responsibility of the host to present a germ-free environment to the greatest extent possible.  That party should have been canceled!  At the very least, guests should have been informed of the presense of illness beforehand so that they could decide whether they wanted to risk being exposed.  I would have chosen to stay home!!!!

end of a decade

I didn't even realize until yesterday that we are beginning a new decade, not just a new year.  So much happened in my life over the past 10 years.

10 years ago I was living in a beautiful Victorian house in the downtown neighborhood I loved.  Above is a photo of the side of the house.  (Interestingly, I just had a dream about this house last night.  In the dream, I was attempting to buy this house back!)  But during the 18 months we lived in this house, I wasn't the same person I am now.  I was insecure and easily influenced by outside opinions and events.  Long story short- I sold the house and moved to the one we're in now:

I have been frustrated with living in this more suburban neighborhood.  We have to drive everywhere, and that's not in line with my beliefs and desires.

But it's located on a park, which I thought The Child would enjoy:

One of the positive results of moving here is that I enrolled The Child in a terrific private preschool located nearby.  He loved going to school there.  It was all about playing creatively and learning how to effectively interact with other people.  The social skills The Child learned there will serve him for the rest of his life.

My work schedule was such a challenge for a single parent.  I worked very odd hours and one of the toughest things I ever did was to seek babysitters to cover my schedule. 

One angel in the form of a babysitter came to us through an ad in a suburban newspaper.  She was 12 years old and lived a few blocks away.  I still remember the day I first showed up at her door with the Child.  The connection between the 12 year old girl and The Child, then age 5, was palpable.  I could almost see electricity shooting between them.  They loved all of the same things, and she was the best sitter we ever had.  As an interesting aside, she ended up choosing the same career path as mine, which happens to be a very unusual one!

She couldn't cover all of my work hours, of course, but I was fortunate to be able to hire the mother of a co-worker who frequently came to our house.  She became like a mother to me, but unfortunately we lost her to complications from diabetes. 

I also lost a dear friend from work due to breast cancer.  She was as sweet as could be, and things haven't been the same without her presence.  She and her husband used to take The Child and me out to eat regularly, and they were as close to grandparents as The Child ever had.

And then there was Mr. D, our next door neighbor.  When he died a few months ago, I was so upset that I vowed to move out of this neighborhood as soon as possible.  His personality was so large that its absence created a huge void in the neighborhood, all the more noticeable to me because his house was the only one near ours.  His widow still owns the house but spends most of her time in Florida.

When we first moved here, The Child did spend time outdoors, often enjoying the park.  More recently, though, he has become the indoor type, content to spend every waking moment with his computer, especially the one he just built by himself:

 
Public school, especially after having had such an extraordinary preschool experience, has not been impressive!  It's drudgery to be endured.......

We went through some challenges with The Child's father.  Three years ago there was a horrible scene, followed by a lengthy court battle which pretty much ran my life for over a year.  The Father ended up with no parental rights.  (He never paid child support either, but to me it was worth it to have no ties.)   Over the past couple of weeks, The Child did see his father a couple of times, but I am proceeding with much caution. Thanks to the court outcome, I call the shots.

Career-wise, I completed a major project last year which I never thought would be possible.  After that I took on a couple of extra responsibilities at work which don't increase my income, but which do increase my variety of experiences.  I never could have accepted those duties in my younger days; I didn't have the confidence until now.

Houses have figured prominently in my life over the past years since The Child was born.  Two years ago I was broken-hearted over losing out on a house back in the downtown neighborhood:

The house had been sitting on the market for 3 years, so the price was sinking to a ridiculously low level.  On the day I finally made my offer, someone else bought the house.  This is "the one that got away."

I almost forgot to mention that last year I had the experience of unemployment when my workplace shut down.  Luckily, it re-opened after a few months, but I didn't know that it would!  I'd say that the most upsetting and depressing aspect of unemployment was trying to buy health insurance.  I ended up paying $230/month for catastrophic insurance for myself and The Child.  That's a lot of money when you have no income.

Another downer of the decade was that my sister was diagnosed with tongue cancer.  At one point , following chemo and radiation, she was told that she was cured.  A few months later, the cancer returned with a vengeance.  Surgeons removed much of her tongue.  She is receiving speech therapy, but has to be fed through a food tube.

Those are a few of the facts punctuating my past decade.  I will always remember it as the decade during which The Child grew from a toddler to a Middle Schooler.

Happy New Year.

Preparing for the new year using Twitter

The following is a "tweet" posted this morning:


marwilliamson

  

For 2010: Have a talk with your Higher Self; what 1 thing do you know in your heart you should give up, and what 1 thing should you do?

Do you use Twitter?  I have a mild interest (or curiosity) regarding social media.  Pasted above is am intriguing tweet I just received from internationally acclaimed spiritual teacher Marianne Williamson

I instantly knew what the one thing I should give up is.  My eating habits have been appalling.  I really don't wish to try to get away with it any longer.  I could go on and on about the issue of getting away with it, about how I am and how I'm not, but that's irrelevant.  What is relevant is that I'm not OK with my eating habits.  I want to change.  I've indulged long enough.

The answer to the other question, the one about what I should do, was also on the tip of my tongue.  The Child is now in Middle School.  He won't be with me much longer.  People have warned me since he was born that he'd grow up fast.  

In truth, the days are long but the years fly by.  

In my talk with my Higher Self,  I will have to admit that I've spoiled The Child pretty seriously.  It was not what I planned; I planned to be The Perfect Parent.  I read all of the parenting books which were in line with my philosophy.  I took parenting classes before he was even born.  I hired, at great expense, the best babysitters available in the area.  Daycare was unacceptable; The Child had to have one-on-one interaction with creative and intelligent sitters.

I have been engrossed in my job throughout his life.  I felt guilty about focusing so much on work.  When The Child was 2, I asked The Child's father to move out of my house.  I did not feel guilty about that, but I felt competitive.  Durings visits, the father plied the child with hitherto denied candy and toys.  I had to compete.  I broke my parenting rules; I became indulgent.  It was also at this time that I started hiring sitters because the father was no longer babysitting.  The guilt over hiring others to be with The Child coupled with the competition with Disney Dad caused me to become The Over-Indulging Parent.

I had abandoned my own Parenting Plan. 

The Child will be with me for a few more years.  The days will be long, but the years will fly by.  During those long days, I owe it to the Child to be mindful of my words and actions.  I am molding a human being.  I can do it consciously and responsibly, or I can instead respond to the guilt and competition. 

How about you?  Do you know what your answers would be?

A very happy holiday

The Child wanted a new computer for Christmas this year.  I said yes......under one condition: you build it yourself.

He's in 6th grade.  Most parents don't require children of that age to build computers.  But I know this child.  He needs a challenge and he's motivated.

So I asked him to choose the components for his computer online.  He did, and I sent his list to a friend who is an engineer.  He's built a few computers himself.  He approved the list, surprised that it had originated from a child.

The parts arrived early.  The Child wasted no time.

There were a few moments of frustration.  I kept telling him to read the manuals which had come with each component.  (He learned to read in Kindergarden on such technical manuals.)  By golly, he did read them, and before long, the fan was running.

The monitor wasn't getting a signal, though, and he seemed truly stuck.  I told him to load the computer into the car, and I drove him to the local computer repair store.  The geek/owner seemed shocked by The Child building a computer , especially such a powerful one, and after getting over his shock he seemed glad to offer his expertise.  He saw a disconnected cable which solved the problem when connected.  That was easy!

Within minutes the computer was up and running, and The Child was installing Windows 7.  Now he's happliy playing games on it, just like any other child his age.

Merry Christmas!  May you take the steps to make your dreams come true.

So much for lightening up......

Censorship is the suppression of speech or deletion of communicative material which may be considered objectionable, harmful, sensitive, or inconvenient.  Mention the word "censorship" and you're likely to encounter an automatic reaction of self-righteous indignation.

There are many types of censorship, with the main categories being moral, military, political, religious and corporate. But many of us automatically associate the word "censorship" with unthinkable control such as by a Communist regime. Here is a photographic example of censorship in Russia in the year 1940::

 Nikolai Yezhov, the young man strolling with Stalin was shot in 1940. He was edited out from a photo by Soviet censors. Such retouching was a common occurrence during Stalin's reign.

I think it's time for us all to update our understanding of censorship.  In reality, censorship is part of everyday life.  It's just that usually it's self-administered.  How many times have you felt like saying something cruel but instead you chose to bite your tongue?  Did you ever become so enraged that you felt like throwing something or hitting a person, barely stopping short?  That's censorship. Those of us who don't exercise censorship usually end up in prison, real or virtual. 

Sometimes censorship is absolutely called for at the workplace.  Sometimes it's in the best interests of the organization as a whole for individuals to exercise self-restraint, which is a euphemism for censorship.

Why does this seem to be such a foreign concept?  A little self-restraint of pen and tongue can make the world a better place.  Whoops- that would be censorship, wouldn't it?  Heaven forbid.

 

Whirlingbetty lightens up for the holidays

A friend sent me this via email.  I laughed so much that I wanted to share it with my blog readers!      

Hugs,
Betty


Be sure and read story at bottom.

"Good news is that I truly outdid myself this year with my Christmas decorations. The bad news is that I had to take my fake man down after 2 days. I had more people come screaming up to my house than ever. Great stories. But two things made me take it down. First, the cops advised me that it would cause traffic accidents as they almost wrecked when they drove by. Second, a 55-year-old lady grabbed the 75-pound ladder, almost killed herself putting it against my house, and didn't realize it was fake until she climbed to the top (she was not happy). By the way, she was only one of many people who attempted to do that. My yard couldn't take it either. I have more than a few tire tracks where people literally drove up my yard."

Transitional Thanksgiving

Surely on some level, I feared that the Child had outgrown the one tradition, the only tradition that our two-member family ever had, the one time each year when I could say to myself that I was an OK mother. The parenting books all seem to agree that traditions are the key ingredients to a successful family; those traditions create fond memories for decades to come.

It was challenging for me to come up with a family tradition in the first place.  My imagination just couldn't wrap itself around the concept.  The family from which I emerged was not a good model, to say the least.  The only tradition I recall from that family was the one where I end up alone in my room, crying, for hours on end.

The Child always liked to be in water, so eventually, after seeing numerous ads for waterparks on the Disney channel, a light bulb went off in my head.  I don't like being out in the sun, and several new indoor waterparks were springing up across the U.S.  Hmmmm....maybe a trip to an indoor waterpark might be a good idea.....

In my usual style, I spent several days researching indoor waterparks.  I read thousands of reviews, both professional and parent-generated.  The city we live in has a couple of indoor waterparks, but for anyone willing to drive for an hour, one of the biggest and best in the country beckons.

Three Thanksgivings ago, The Child and I experienced our very first tradition with a trip to the huge indoor waterpark an hour away.  We were both very impressed- awestruck, really.  The enormous lobby, several stories high, was decorated to the nines with the waterpark theme and Christmas lights to boot.  The gift shop was the size of Walmart, with clothing, toys, books, food, movies, you name it.  When I spied the Starbucks, I thought I'd died and gone to heaven.

Our room was just as impressive as the lodge itself- it was spacious, clean (practically brand new), tastefully decorated and even had a microwave and refrigerator.  (The Child is impressed by microwaves since I believe the raditation is dangerous and don't own one myself.)

The waterpark itself, located inside the enormous lodge, was stunning.  The Child happily entertained himself there for hours while I spent most of my time listening to my iPod and reading.  When he felt like drying off for a while, there was a captivating magical quest which required participants to run throughout the lodge searching for clues. The game arcade was the icing on the cake.

The only disappointment was that time passed too quickly.  Check-in was 4pm, followed by check-out at 11am - a time schedule typical of most lodging these days.  We frequently talked about our next visit throughout the year, and our second visit was highly anticipated and enjoyed.

This year, I could tell that the Child's level of anticipation was not the same, but I attributed that change to the fact that he's now in Middle School (6th grade).  Middle School tends to change people.  But he didn't even want to swim this year.  He half-heartedly played a few games in the arcade, and then just wanted to watch a movie and play a little Nintendo in our room.  Time passed slowly.  I fought back tears on the long drive home.

reality check

I am curious about something.  I want to know if it's typical for adults to become profoundly sad when reminded of their childhood.

Today I heard a hymn that I used to hear in the Episcopal church of my childhood.  (Religion was not a big part of my life either then or now, but I attended church often enough to be able to identify music I heard there.)  My eyes filled with tears- I couldn't function for a few minutes.  (Luckily I wasn't driving- I probably would have crashed the car.)

Is this normal behavior?  Of course, everyone's story is different.  The characteristics of my story which may be causing this are many.  For one thing, I haven't lived in or near my hometown since I was 17.  The family I knew as a child has disintegrated- most of the key people have died, except for my brother and sister who both live far from home.  Only my father remains in my hometown, yet he married into a new family and barely acknowledges his "old" family.

My childhood was not a particularly happy one, although I was an idealistic child and somehow I knew how to make the best of things, and I always knew I'd leave after high school.  I was shy and lonely, reading books all the time.  My family never did fun things- my parents were unhappily married, and my brother and sister, who were teens by the time I was born, resented me.  What's to miss about that childhood?!

Well, as always, I have a theory.  The family may not have been outstanding, but it was the only security I've ever known.  We lived in the same house for all of those years.  My parents got up at the same time every morning and went to bed the same time each night.  There were no surprises.  I always knew what to expect when I came home from school- if my mother was at work, then Gram would be there.  Dinner (we called it "supper") was at 5pm each night come hell or high water.  My mother's cooking sucked, but at least it was consistently bad.  And no matter what she served for the meal, whether I ate it or not, there was always dessert- usually ice cream.  Every Sunday I was given a McDonald's Happy Meal for dinner.

We didn't have a huge extended family, but I knew a few relatives who lived nearby.  Gram was my favorite person of all time, but I was also fond of another older relative, Marion, from my mother's side.  I never knew what appealed to me about Marion, because we had nothing in common, but I just liked her.  I was terribly quiet, even around relatives, so I was sure she didn't know.  I was thrilled when one day my mother told me that she had told Marion that I liked her, and Marion had said, "Yes, I know she does."  How did she know?

 It was not Family of the Year, but it was stable- as I said, it was the only stability I've ever known.  I work in a very unstable field, and my schedule is erratic.  I can't even have a regular bedtime schedule, because I sometimes work late at night and sometimes early in the morning.  I can't sign up for anything regular, like classes or clubs, because of my work schedule.

Besides being stable, my childhood was the only time of my life during which I was surrounded by people who had to care about me no matter what.  That's what "family" is, right?  Now, I do have a child, but he'd happily throw me to the wolves if I so much as tell him he has to go to bed!

My child will not look back at his childhood the way I do mine.  He has no family- he only has a mother- that's all.  The only stability I've been able to offer is the constant knowledge that he's cared about, and that he has a house and food and electronics.  Maybe he'll be able to look back and remember the house on the park with views like the one above, the ill-behaved Chihuahua who constantly wanted to fetch, and the fretting mother who did the best she could.  I'm not sure if his eyes will fill with tears when he hears a song from childhood......

The goal of the week

I'm thrilled to have a relatively light work week.  I'm working on organizing the house.  Why does it seem that, despite the countless hours I've devoted to organizing, I'm never finished?  I suspect that my method is flawed.  Part of the problem is that I'm organizing for two- myself and the Child.  And I am unable to identify many of his possessions.  How can I organize what I can't identify?  (I'm talking about vaious assorted power chords, computer-related items, parts to game systems- enough electronic paraphenalia that I could open a Radio Shack.)  I've told him he has to participate, but it's like pulling teeth.....

I dislike going through old things.  I define "old" as anything unused during the past year or longer.  Unfortunately, I'm finding some things that I've never even looked at since we moved here 8 years ago.  Old things depress me; therefore, I have a hard time dealing with them.  I remember one time when a friend of mine came over and just walked into my closet and started telling me what to get rid of.  She ever loaded the rejects into her SUV and took them to the Salvation Army.  The funny thing is, I think she herself  is a hoarder.  She couldn't help herself, but she was phenomenal at helping me.

Oprah has had hoarders on her show recently.  I used to think I was a hoarder, but now I realize I'm just a bad housekeeper.  I really don't want to keep things, and I'm not an avid shopper like most hoarders are.  And my house doesn't look as bad as the disaster zones hoarders live in.

My problem is twofold.  First, I have no help- any cleaning or straightening up is done by me alone.  Secondly, I seem to have an ususual ability to block out the mess, to narrow my focus to whatever I'm doing, totally oblivious to my surroundings.  I guess bad housekeepers have to have that ability- otherwise, they'd get their act together.

My mother used to have her own mother and my father helping her keep the house in order.  Gram was obsessive- she'd get down on her hands and knees and straighten out each tassel on the rug with a clothespin.  Oh, I'd LOVE to have her around!  My dishes would always be clean, the sofa cover would always be in place, the food would be put away, the laundry would be done, she'd prepare meals, take out the trash, vacuum, sweep, dust and provide psychological counseling and babysitting.

It doesn't seem fair.  My mother had 2 other adults helping her on a daily basis, and she did not work outside the home during most of her adult life.  I work fulltime and have no help whatsoever- no relatives within 600 miles (not that they'd necessarily help!).  Is this a sign of the times or am I just unlucky in this regard?

I really want to reach the point where I can honestly say that my house is organized.  I wonder if that's doable.  If it is, then the next hurdle will be maintenance.......well, that's another story.

tough times

  

This is the view from my living room window.  A year ago, a senior citizen's rec center would have been visible in the upper left quadrant.  I had mixed feelings about the city closing and demolishing the building; I think it made me feel less lonely Monday through Friday during business hours if I happened to be home.  I had gotten to know the people who worked and attended classes there.  But the building was unsightly and its demise improved the scenery.

The big news in bettyworld is that The Child has what presents itself as H1N1; I couldn't get him in to see the doctor because everybody who sneezes now rushes in to be checked, making slots unavailable for those who really do have swine flu. His fever has been 102.6. He has all the flu symptoms- the medical pros say that it's too early in the season for seasonal flu- it's undoubtedly H1N1.

It sucks to be a single parent at a time like this. The stress level is through the roof- I have to decide on a minute to minute basis whether or not to call 911. And sometimes my thinking lacks clarity. What bothered me most, especially during the interminable day yesterday, is that nobody even knows when I'm going through a crisis. (Most of the time, I'm mercifully unaware of this phenomenon since I'm not in crisis.)

I've been around long enough to know that if the chips were really down- if I really needed help from another human being- there would surely be somebody there to help. I don't know this from experience; I know it from logic.

Part of this is timing. If this happened many years ago, I could have called my mother, and she would have taken the next flight to come here. I was always OK when she was alive.

And maybe, if this had happened during the 2 month window between my mother's death and my father's marriage to his mistress, he would have cared, although that's dicey. And maybe if this had happened before my sister's cancer diagnosis, she would have helped, if only via phone from Boston.

But during the years since The Child came into my life, it's been at times lonely. Usually I don't think about it- I don't have time to! The friends from my previous life slipped away, understandably.

Of course, everyone has nagging issues.  I used to be the type who would lay out my problems to anyone who would bid me the time of day.  Maybe that was healthy in a way, but I came to believe that there was a better way to deal with my problems.  So I pretty much stopped talking after The Child entered my life, and it wasn't just because I wanted to.  It was because the people were no longer around.  Now, on the rare occasions when I actually get to spend time with another adult, I don't dare talk about my problems!  I can't risk being branded as one who dumps problems.  Back in the olden days, pre-child, I could get away with it.

Now I cannot.

Changes

It has been a time of change, not just from summer to fall but from elementary school to middle school for The Child and me. He left a wonderful, unusual school where students respected individuality and bullying was nearly nonexistent.

So it's obvious where I'm going with this already, I suppose. The Child has accepted The New School fairly well, but- here goes- I CAN'T STAND IT!

The New School represents everything I balk at! It represents conventional, unexamined thinking. It represents the herd mentality- everybody is the same and should therefore think/act/dress/drive/desire the same. The teachers and administrators are so uptight that I can barely stand to be in the building with them. The students are NOT allowed to speak during lunch!!! WHAT, please explain this to me, WHAT is the POINT of squelching middle school aged students to that extent?

Now normally, I would just figure out a way to accept the new situation. I have a bit more difficulty in this case because I'm the one who brought this about! The Child could have stayed at the Old School, which is a K-8. But noooooooooo. He wanted to go to The New School, even after I explained the differences and took him to see the school during teaching hours.

Bullying. Now we know what bullying is. It happens when The Child gets off his school bus! The foul-intentioned kids sitting at the back of the bus have bullied The Child and me every single time he has gotten off that bus. I automatically shut down when I'm in a situation like that, but it seems to me that they are criticizing The Child's hair. And once, when I followed the bus in my car, a nasty boy in the back gestured in a way that sickened me (largely because he attends the same school as my son).

Yesterday I couldn't take it anymore. As the bus driver pulled away, I ran after the bus to tell him about those kids in the back bullying my son. The driver listened and said he was aware of the problem, and then as I walked away, the bus sat there for a long time. Then it moved a few yards and stopped again, for an even longer time.

I fear that the kids who were obviously being reprimanded will punish The Child at school, where I won't be around to protect him.

There's more. The Child is smart- he's in the Gifted and Talented program and he has skipped a grade in math. There is a course at this God-forsaken school called "College Prep." Well, The Child's grade in College Prep is D-!!!!! He has never had a grade anywhere near that level before, so of course I questioned him about it. He said the teacher, who is intimidating, did not clearly explain what papers he wanted turned in. The Child failed to turn in all the papers he wanted even though he had all of them right there in the room, and that's why he was given a D-. Infuriated, I wrote an email to the teacher, carefully expressing my dismay that such an appalling grade was given as a result of a problem with paper shuffling! The teacher never responded to my email.

My blood boils as I write this, and I cry every time I think of the Old School. This is the price I pay for allowing The Child to make his own choices.

another birthday

Yesterday was my birthday. For some elusive reason, I decided to have a party, which in retrospect seems highly egotistical. Well, my stab at self-glorification certainly backfired.

First, some background. I was never one of the popular girls. I was no cheerleader. I was the dunce of gym class, wanted for nobody's team. Other than gym class, I was a geek, but fortunately, nobody made fun of me because I was ever aware of my goal of behaving in an innocuous fashion so as to fail to draw attention.

More accurately, I was innocuous until I discovered the wonders of alcohol. Liquored up, I could be the star of any party. That went on until I realized that I had a problem with alcohol and I stopped drinking. Rewind to innocuous.

Ever since my mother died, my birthdays have fallen by the wayside, unnoticed. My father, who has immersed himself in the family of his current wife, doesn't even mail a card or spring for a long distance phone call. Doesn't it make sense for someone in my situation to plan a birthday bash? It sure beats wallowing in misery for the 24 hours marking the date of my birth.

I spent every free moment during the past week cleaning my house for the party. I was on my hands and knees scrubbing forgotten corners with a toothbrush. I even cleaned the walls and ceiling, wondering how it is that dust can collect in such places. Seriously- where does it come from?

Then, the day before the party, I started cooking. Mind you, I'm no chef. I need a detailed map to find my way around the kitchen. I attempted to produce homemade gnocchi (delicate Italian potato dumplings). Something went terribly wrong, and the dough totally stuck to my hands, and eventually to my arms, face, hair and clothing. I stood there in my kitchen in tears, not knowing how to proceed, not wanting to even think about any plan B, never wanting to cook again for the rest of my god-forsaken life.

I looked like the Pillsbury dough boy, covered with a gooey potatoey mess (which I still haven't managed to completely remove from my hair). I was afraid to shower it off, for fear of clogging the plumbing. I went outdoors and hosed myself, to the amusement of the neighbors and passersby.

Hours later, I had finally put together a concoction defying recognition. This is why I had to start cooking the day before. I know myself well enough to be able to anticipate kitchen disasters. It turned out to be a casserole-looking thing, so I shoved it into my refrigerator intending to cook it just before the party.

Over the past couple of weeks I had spent a good deal of time analyzing this upcoming party. I had no wine glasses, so I bought a set. In case some people wanted water or soft drinks, I bought one of those colorful plastic beverage tubs to be filled with a large bag of ice from the gas station the next day. My house is small- too small for comfortable partying, so I decided to hold the party outdoors, and made arrangements to borrow extra lawn furniture. I neither cook nor eat meat, so I found a gourmet grocery where I could purchase high quality pre-made meatballs to add to the concoction.

Just in case the concoction proved to be inedible, I added tortellini to the menu- a double batch to ensure that I wouldn't run out of food. Everybody except me seems to eat bread with Italian food, so I found frozen garlic bread that looked somewhat appropriate. I had to write out an hour by hour timeline for the day of the party so that I would have a fighting chance of pulling off this party. Oh, and did I mention that I baked my own birthday cake? Not wanting anyone to feel obligated to bring a birthday gift, I didn't tell any of the guests that it was my birthday, and I made sure the cake didn't look birthday-ish.

The big day arrived, with rain. The interior of my small, ill-designed house would be the setting whether I liked it or not. The phone rang, and while I tried to untangle myself from tortellini, my favorite party guest left a phone message stating that he had been called out of town and couldn't attend. I still had some tears left even after the previous day's events, and I indulged in another crying spell.

The first guest arrived 3 minutes early, and I was not amused. My kitchen is the worst feature of my ill-designed house- it lacks space for more than one person at a time. I shooed her out of the kitchen and into the ill-designed living room, explaining that cooking required more concentration than I was in possession of.

But it was too late- things had started to fall apart, as I lost track of what had to be in the oven for how long. I managed to start a fire on the stove. I asked my early arrival to take over the kitchen before I ruined the entire production, and I just stood near the door, dazed, as people showed up.

After a few minutes I regained consciousness and took over the kitchen again. While everyone was eating, I cut the cake and started the dishes. I was too overwhelmed to think about eating myself.

Not one person took a bottle of water or a can of soft drink of the huge plastic tub with the 33 pound bag of ice in it. They all drank wine. I had told people that we'd go for a walk in the park or play Pictionary after eating; we did neither, with thunderstorms raging and Pictionary forgotten. When I finally went into the living room to attempt to converse with guests after the meal, I was too exhausted to be conscious of what I was saying, and I said things I later regretted- gossipy things having to do with work.

The guests left as soon as the lightening let up enough so that they could run to their cars, arms laden with leftovers which I begged them to take. As I entered the kitchen to resume the endless task of cleaning up, I noticed that the floor was flooded. (I noticed because I slipped and fell.) The huge plastic tub which was intended to hold ice and drinks during parties apparently had a hole in it. All 33 pounds of ice, now in liquid form, seeped into the floorboards of the ill-designed kitchen.

I'm not sure what line of thinking led me to believe that throwing myself a secret birthday party would be in any way enjoyable by me. It was a lot of work and even more stress. It consumed the day completely, not to mention the preceding days. That's what I mean when I say it backfired. Ironic, eh?

climbing mountains

I know people who do things like mountain climbing and hang gliding for adventure. I know people who have jumped out of airplanes. I know people with pilot's licenses. I know people who move overseas, having mastered 8 languages. I know people who have started businesses, thereby creating their own livelihoods. I know people who have adopted troubled children whom nobody else wanted. And when I think of these things, I feel limited. I feel as though I haven't really lived my life- I've just sat on the edge, dipping my toe in now and then, admiring all the swimmers and divers.

This morning I sat outside with my pen and notebook. I wrote about this and came to realize that I did climb mountains. One of them was named "be the first in your family to attend college." One was "make a conscious decision to become a single parent." One was "choose a career in a highly competitive field, where the financial rewards will never match the sacrifices, dedication and training required." One was named "against all odds, get yourself out of the small town and dysfunctional family you were born into." And there's one which I keep on climbing periodically: "Establish yourself as an independent, self-supporting, capable individual."

It's not important for others to know of my mountain climbing prowess. But it's critical that I know.

can't let go of blogging

I have toyed with the idea of quitting blogging. I've been at it since 2005, and lately it has seemed as though my blogging phase has run its course. For some reason, though, I am not ready to let it go.

It has been disappointing to me that some of my former readers have dropped away. Blogging has at times reminded me of high school, when I fretted over not being popular. My blog has never been popular; however, I have enjoyed a small loyal following.

One of my favorite bloggers has quit. Certainly I have been influenced by her decision- for one thing, it's depressing to have her not be a part of my "small loyal following."

Another favorite blogger of mine quit a couple of years ago. I never fully recovered from losing her virtual friendship. It's amazing how attached I have become to my blogging community. Like neighbors, you can't bank on them being there forever.

Which reminds me- my next door neighbor died last week. He was more of a father to me than my bio dad. He cared about me, he worried about me, he cut my bushes, he loaned me tools, he fixed my bike, he gave me tomatoes, he tried to be a father figure to The Child, he went to court after The Child's father pushed him in my driveway (making it easier for me to prevail in the custody battle), he took care of the fallen tree in my front yard, he rushed my dying dog to the animal hospital.

How do you sat goodbye? I remember the day 2 weeks ago when he stood in his driveway, holding onto his garbage container because the bone cancer had made him so weak, while we talked. I remember saying goodbye to him that day, not knowing it would be the last time.

Every time my doorbell rings, I think it's him. He was always checking on me.

My sister was told a few short months ago that her tongue cancer was gone. The radiation and chemo had worked, apparently.

Then, a couple of weeks ago came the devastating news that it had returned, and the tumor on her tongue was so fast-growing that surgery was scheduled immediately.

This would be no ordinary surgery- it was scheduled to last 12 hours! It took place Tuesday.

A few days prior, my sister had noticed a suspicious lump on the other side of her tongue. At the outset of her surgery, that new lump was biopsied, and found to be cancerous.

The team of surgeons had to adjust their plan. Instead of removing one tumor, they'd be removing two. Instead of taking a skin graft from her arm, they'd have to take tissue and fat from her thigh, for the purpose of tongue re-construction.

The surgery lasted an unbelievable 14 hours. I was unable to travel across the country to be there, so I rely on reports from my brother.

He describes how shocking it is to see the incision circling her neck like a choker necklace. They did that to remove lymph nodes.

Her face is swollen and there are tubes- 24, he says, sticking out of her, connecting her to various machines. She has a tracheotomy and a food tube.

The staff warned the family members that if she got out of bed at all, she would be unable to walk. Yet the morning after surgery, she reportedly walked up and down the hallway, hauling the machinery with her.

Who knew that my sister had that sort of determination? She has never been challenged like this before, of course- nothing compares to this.

She can't speak, but apparently she is writing with amazing eloquence. Surpassing all expectations, she is the superstar of the cancer ward.

She is displaying a strength hitherto unknown, which we never would have known she had, which she would have never known she had.