Sad and Beautiful World (Original Blog 2004-2008)

"I got a bird that sings"

Last night my daughter was in the “Winter Chorus Concert” at her school. Apparently, chorus has become very popular this year, even more so than last year according to some of the parents. There are 92 kids in this chorus! Pete was leery of going, but of course wanted to show his support. S.’s father and his girlfriend came over to our house first and he brought flowers. The five of us rode over in my car together and the kiddo ran off to warm up while we all went outside to have a cigarette. The image of the four of us, me, my husband, my daughter’s father and his girlfriend—with an age range of 26 to 46 (as of yesterday)—standing on the sidewalk in the freezing cold all smoking cigarettes in front of the elementary school. Well, it made me chuckle even while feeling somewhat lecherous.

The concert was lovely, and about as adorable as you can imagine. They even sang the same song that the kids sing in Love Actually—“Catch a Falling Star”—and I started to cry a little bit. It was so beautiful to sit there looking over their little faces, some of them singing their hearts out; some of them looking like they’d rather be anywhere else but there. The highlight was when this 10-year old fifth grader, who had already accompanied the chorus on piano for one of the songs, came out to do his solo. Everyone in the chorus sat down and he came out, with no sheet music, and played “Fantasie Impromptu in C Minor” by Chopin. It was INCREDIBLE. This child was unbelievably talented, and had obviously been playing the piano since he was able to sit up.

He received a standing ovation from both the chorus and the audience, which he accepted with the most perfect humility and grace. I wanted to hug him.

Then there was the little boy on the end who had the cutest early Beatle’s-style haircut, singing with all his might but continually facing in the opposite direction as his brethren.

When it was finished, Pete turned to me and said, “I actually truly enjoyed that, much to my surprise!” He was beaming, truth be told. He apparently had not expected these kids to actually harmonize, so he was very impressed.

The Newcomb  game after school yesterday, by the way, was an entirely different experience! She seems to have turned things around completely. After falling into my lap sobbing last Thursday, yesterday she had let the boy who was the meanest to her ‘help’ her by tossing a basketball back and forth before the game. They played much better together, and my daughter’s confidence was back up so that she caught every ball coming her way. Her good friend got to be added to her team because they were short-handed, and God bless this kid. She is extremely loyal to my daughter, and made sure to keep that ball moving—passing it to my kiddo every chance she got. This is the same girl who watches her games whenever possible, yelling at the boys to pass it to S. if they aren’t. I love this girl.

Finally, today is my husband’s birthday!! He is now MUCH older than me. He used to only be 10 years older than me, but today? Today he is 11 years my senior, the poor bastard. Ha!

He said this morning that he feels younger since being here. That being alone in France waiting for our lives to begin together, he felt ancient—just waiting and getting older by the minute. Now he has a hot young wife and feels invigorated, of course. I bought him a bathrobe and slippers, a coffee thermos to keep by his computer, and a soldering gun kit. He has big plans for that, and as soon as spring arrives we will be setting up a workshop for him in the garage.

Tonight we are having dinner at my parents’ house, having switched our Tuesday date night to tonight. My mother has made steak and kidney pie in Pete’s honor, a dish that makes him think of ‘home’, and my father had to research for eons to find the one and only place that sells kidneys. I am apprehensive, but willing to try it. As Cecily said, it isn’t what it IS; it’s what its FUNCTION was. Ewww. I’ll report back.

After dinner and birthday cake, I have big plans for my husband, but I’m not allowed to share it here because he has an extremely low threshold for embarrassment and would die if he found out I posted about it on the Internet.

He has ZERO tolerance, actually.

This is the first birthday for either of us since we’ve been living on the same side of the ocean, and I plan on spending every single birthday with him for the rest of his life. I had given up on the idea of love before Pete. I think I didn’t even know what it was.

I know now. And I am grateful.

Oh My God She's TEN

Yesterday (the 16^th) was my daughter’s birthday. I wanted to do a short post in the morning but Typepad, as most of you probably noticed, was completely fucked. Everyone’s blogs with Typepad were not showing any entries from the past week, and nobody could comment.

Very irritating when you are paying for a service!

It’s back, sort of, but is still having some problems: Like not showing the images posted in the past few entries, like not configuring my sidebar correctly. Hopefully these things will be fixed soon…in the meantime, anyone who does have Typepad needs to go to their “design” tab and hit “republish” to help things along a bit.

The good news? Now you can see photos from my daughter’s birthday as well as us setting up our very first Christmas tree!

We are now in DOUBLE DIGITS, people. The child is ten years old, and I am now officially OLD. Yesterday morning she said, “You know it’s funny. I’m ten years old now but I don’t feel any different.”

Conversation the night before her birthday, in bed:

“I think I have a gift.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, I hear dead people talking to me. I heard Stephen Hawking.”

“He’s not dead, Sweetie.”

“Well I heard him talking with his computer. Don’t laugh, it’s true!”

“I believe you, sweetheart; it’s just kind of funny. What did he say to you?”

“I couldn’t understand it. But I hear little voices sometimes. I think I have a gift.”

“I think so too.”

Being Jewish, I’ve never bought a Christmas tree before. I’ve always loved them, however, and have had one in my place of residence when I lived with Cecily and Charlie. I have spent all but one Christmas with Cecily and Charlie since we’ve known each other. My daughter spends Christmas with her father and his family, so she’s always had an intense month of ‘all about her’ in December—Her birthday, Hanukkah, and Christmas.

Pete absolutely loves Christmas, and he’s been alone for the past few, so we decided last year that we would get a tree this year. Our house is pretty small, so we restrained ourselves and got a very moderate tree—its perfect! I bought a bunch of starter ornaments at Target and yesterday afternoon we got the tree and then set it up. It was great (except for the brief period of me cursing and yelling, sap all over my hands, pine needles in my hair, as we tried to get the damn thing to sit straight in the tree stand which came with the house)!

Here’s Pete helping S. put the star on top (you can see it’s not so big…S. could almost reach to put the star on herself):

Then it was off to my parents’ house for her birthday dinner. Her father and his girlfriend came over and then took her for the weekend at the end of the evening. Aren’t we so civil?!

Her father always gets her a large array of things for her birthday—lots of clothes, mostly, but also books and other things. Like this strange chicken keychain that squishes out a yolky egg when you squeeze it:

Like this primate and banana windup toy that does back flips (this was a BIG hit):

Friends of my parents, who are like a second set of parents to me, arrived before dessert (they were staying over at my parents to go to a party with them tomorrow), and they gave her this incredible Artist Studio set that comes with a million things and all folds into a carrying case you can take with you!

I had been struggling about what to get her for this milestone of a birthday, and the few things she was asking for were not things I was going to get her (a doll that wets itself, a cell phone, one of those ‘kid’ cars that actually drive). On the plane to Puerto Rico,  inspiration struck as Pete and I noticed this girl around my daughter’s age. She was playing quietly with a Gameboy, and we were impressed with the graphics. Aha! I thought. Car rides will never be the same again—in a good way.

She couldn’t guess what I got her, even with the very large hint of receiving a game for the system from my brother in the mail before she got our gift. She just figured he didn’t know she didn’t have one. And she would never think I would get her something so luxurious and pure fun. Hehehe.

Here she is opening and then seeing the Nintendo Gameboy DS (bundled with Mario and colored hot rod red):

Later she said, “I never thought you would get me that. I thought you hated video games.”

“No, I love them,” I said. “That’s the problem. I’m afraid if I have them around me I will play them nonstop and never leave the house! I think you are old enough now that you can handle it, though.”

She agreed, and went off to her father’s for the weekend, carrying the Gameboy in her backpack.

"I've got nothin' but affection for all those who've sailed with me"

Today was a charming day by the water at Marsh Creek State Park. We went out there and it wasn't that windy, so my daughter started eyeing up the paddleboats. We ended up renting a paddleboat and a Sunfish (a small sailboat) for an hour. My dad and mom started on the Sunfish, and S. and I in the paddleboat. Once out on the lake it was beautiful...very breezy and sunny and pleasant. My dad was maneuvering the sailboat pretty well. After a bit, he came over and my mom got onto the paddleboat and S. got on the Sunfish. A while after that it was my turn to lay at the front while my dad sailed us, only the wind had pretty much died. S. and my mom took off far away, and we sort of putted around for a bit chatting. All of a sudden the wind picked up and we started moving really fast and it felt great--the breeze, the movement, and then my dad turned the boat around.

As the boom switched over, the rope across the bottom of the boom went across his face and started knocking his hat off and going around his neck! As he focused on un-noosing himself, we started moving VERY fast again. The sail needed to be let out a bit, but it was too late. We were tipping over.

It all happened in super slow motion...I realized I was rolling off the boat into the water; I looked to see that my dad was free of the rope (he was); I wondered if we were going to be hit in the head with anything as it tipped; I realized the sail was already in the water, filling up and making the boat want to be upside down. We both slid off and I grabbed my hat off my head, then grabbed my dad's hat out of the water, checked that my glasses were still on my face, grabbed my lifejacket and put it over my head, and then moved out of the way as the boat turned all the way upside down.

I held up our hats triumphantly, and then saw that the centerboard had floated out (which is how you turn the boat right side up) so grabbed that. My dad lifted himself up onto the boat and I handed him the centerboard so he could put it in part way and get the boat back over. He did, and then he climbed on board. Just as I bellied myself up onto it, two kids from the rental place reached us in their little motorized rowboat to see if we were ok. They started to tell my dad what to do, which was silly since we were fine by then and my dad knows how to sail, it was just that a fucking rope was around his neck.

"We didn't lose anything!" I shouted with glee.

They didn't seem all that impressed. We sailed a bit more and then went back to shore, since our hour was up.

There were signs posted all over that swimming was prohibited.

This was a shame, because the water? It was glorious.

"I crossed that river just to be where you are"

Camping this weekend was an adventure. Pete, my daughter, and I didn’t leave my parents’ house until almost 5 pm, so we began our journey in rush hour traffic up the Northeast Extension of the Pa. Turnpike. Shudder. Right before exiting, we stopped at a rest area to get some food and let some of the traffic clear out. Something happened at the rest stop to cause Pete to drift about a million miles away from us, and I had no idea what it was so the rest of the trip was spent with a lot of silence with me wondering what was going on.

We arrived at the campsite and Cecily and Charlie had already set up our gigantic tent (which was not as gigantic as I had remembered, by the way) and I went about setting up our air mattresses and bedding. We discovered that the ‘rooms’ were not big enough to contain even my daughter’s single mattress, so we’d have to make do with just being on opposing sides. Our friend Jim was there as well, and of course—the best dog ever, Hammer, and his little friend the min-pin.

Cecily cooked some fantastic barbeque chicken at whose tenderness we all marveled, and we ate and then hung out around the fire for a few hours relaxing. When we all turned in and my kiddo fell asleep, I tried to find out what had happened at the rest stop, but Pete was not ready to discuss it. This of course made me very anxious and worried and I slept probably about an hour that night. Not a good way to start! After a gluttonous breakfast of eggs and potatoes, people dispersed and Cec took my daughter out with the dogs in order to give Pete and me a chance to enjoy the tent to its full potential. This didn’t happen, as we had some talking to do. I would rather not discuss it all here, but it was a difficult conversation and painful. It won’t be the last time, either, I imagine. Blending a family is an incredibly difficult thing to do, and we will have to navigate it carefully. The conversation was never really ‘finished’, because people started returning to the site. I removed myself to walk some of my emotions off. I was very proud of myself for not reacting on them, when I was boiling over with reactionary sensations pulsing through my body! Suffice it to say, however, that the tension was very, very thick that morning.

It was then that we tried to decide if we were to go canoeing that day or Sunday. The weather called for a ‘chance of showers’ both days, but Sunday was supposed to be cooler. Cecily wanted to go Saturday, and Charlie wanted to go Sunday. The rest of us didn’t care much, except my daughter wanted to go Saturday of course. Jim was not coming because he was waiting for another friend who was arriving later that afternoon. We decided to go.

You know how you sometimes look back on a particular chain of events and think, ‘THERE. Right there is when it could have all gone differently’? This was that moment…a drawn-out moment of time during which there were 2 or 3 opportunities to decide to go for a hike instead.

We got to the starting point where we pay for the rentals and Cec and Charlie paid for a canoe while I got a double kayak for Pete and I and a single one for my daughter, who was begging for one. They didn’t want to rent it to her, but I assured them she was the most experienced of all of us. We had the van drive us to 8 miles up river where we put in the boats and were to paddle back down to the start. Before we even stepped into the boats, it was drizzling. No big deal, we thought. About an hour or so into the journey, we pulled over to eat the sandwiches we brought, and had 5 minutes of real sunshine. It actually started to feel a bit hot.  That was when Charlie piped up with, “I hate to be a buzz kill, but the sky is looking really bad down there.”

I got up to look, and sure enough: blackness. There was nothing to do but keep going, so off we went. My daughter was doing very well in her kayak, while Pete and I were having all sorts of problems. The more problems we had, the funnier it became, and a bit of tension was released. Another couple miles and it started pouring rain. Pouring, in fact! No matter what Pete and I did, we veered left, even if both of us were paddling on the left side! It was absurd, and we were constantly lagging behind because of the whole going-around-in-circles thing. We caught up to where everyone else had pulled off to stand under some trees, and we joined them hoping it would pass by. We skipped stones and waited. It got a bit lighter, so we forged ahead. My girl started lagging now because she was getting tired…and the whining was beginning. I almost lost it at that point…the lack of sleep, the tension of that morning, the rain and cold, the whiney kid… “I’M GOING TO HAVE A FUCKING BREAKDOWN BEFORE THIS WEEKEND IS OVER!!” I shouted. I realized then that my kid needed to switch. As strong as she is (and her arms are scary strong), it was still 8 miles of paddling. Pete got in the single and she sat in the front of our double and rested. I paddled and paddled and lo and behold…I was going straight now! And so was Pete! Ridiculous!

What we thought was annoying rain before decided to one-up itself moments later, and a driving, pounding rain began beating us relentlessly. Pete and I kept looking over at each other and I would just laugh. “I’m losing the will to live,” he said. S. hunched down with a towel wrapped around her in the front. I had a moment then. A moment of clarity: either I could wallow in the suffering that was occurring…the pain shooting through my shoulder blades, the carpal tunnel acting up in my hands and wrists, the fears about what was to come with Pete…or I could dig in and get us back. “Let’s sing something!” I shouted out before I had even formed the thought. The three of us then belted out quite possibly the loudest rendition of “Singin’ in the Rain” anyone has ever performed. And it helped. Oh boy did it help…we laughed, we sang our lungs out, and the rain blew away any remaining tension. We paddled and paddled and as I started to feel like it would be okay, it rained harder and the headwind started. A headwind that pelted our faces with raindrops and made us move backwards if we stopped paddling. Absurdity—I have seen you.

The last bit was me crashing directly into fishing lines because I couldn’t see anything and just wanted to get OUT. When we stood up out of the boats, we could barely move. We made it back to the camp where we each dove into our tents to get the wet clothes off and get dry. Our friend Jim then entered the site and announced that he and our new arrival Bill had gone shopping and were going to make dinner that night. They had hot coffee and fried chicken for us that moment. I asked him to marry me right then, even though he is gay as can be and I’m already engaged. But he made me that happy.

The rest of the weekend was fantastic. We ate like Kings and Queens and laughed a lot. We all relaxed. The next day I went to buy groceries with Cecily and my daughter so I could make dinner that night—big fat sirloin steaks and baby-back ribs, which by some miracle all came out excellent. We thought about hiking at various points that day, but pushed it off in favor of sitting around drinking coffee and talking. We strolled down to the river and walked out to the middle…it is shallow almost all the way across at this spot…and played and looked at rocks and tadpoles. Pete told me he loved me and I looked at him and said, “I love you and that is why I know we are going to be ok. No matter what happens, we can do this. We can navigate all of it and if we feel like we can’t, there is help.”

I have never felt so confident in anything in my life. I trust my love for Pete and more importantly, trust his love for me, and because of that I know that we are going to be better than OK. Much better.

My Hero

I did not have a good ride home yesterday.

As soon as I got out of the office park and onto the first highway it started. As I accelerated to get past this idiot in the left lane who was going 60mph, the car made a very unhappy noise and did not respond well to my hitting the gas. SHIT, I thought, but kept going. Then the 'check engine' light started flashing over and over again, then stopped. I turned the music off. I listened to what turned out to be a death rattle. I checked the temperature gauge...normal. I didn't smell anything. I kept driving, but kept my speed down. The car seemed to have trouble revving between 2-3 rpm's, and so I figured I should keep going and try to get home. After I got onto the Pa Turnpike, again with the accelerating problem, I stayed in the right lane and figured I would call my dad when I got to the exit near the Schuylkill and ask him to meet me at the gas station/mechanic where we always take my car.

I called him and he said to let him know when I was on the main road the station is on and he would meet me. I exited and went onto the residential roads to wind my way home, only the car stalled out at the light. It started again, and sounded worse than ever, but I figured...if I can just make it home!

I didn't make it.

The car had a lot of strain getting up the hills, and after I made it through a light and left turn without stalling, after the next light it made a horrible CLUNK! and then went dead. I was able to drift over to a wide driveway and pull over without blocking it completely. I looked in my rear view mirror to see what fell out (because that is what it sounded like) and saw only a stream of liquid. I looked front to see billows of white smoke pouring out from under the hood. FUCK. I got out and called my dad to tell him where I was and he said he'd come to me and get a tow truck. I opened the hood to let the smoke escape, and what did I see when the smoke started to clear out?

FIRE

.

I grabbed my purse out of the car and moved to the other side of the driveway wondering if I should call the fire department and wondering if the car was going to be blowing up imminently. The smoke abated. I went over to peak and saw that there were still some flames, but they were dying out and it seemed to be just grease and oil on the engine mount burning off. I moved away and then came back again to see no more flames—relief.

My dad got there and saw that this pipe that is part of the cooling system had CRACKED and spilled all the water out. He called for a tow truck and told me to take his car and go home. My hero! I know I could have handled it all without him, but damn am I glad to have my dad around. He waited for an hour and then called me when he was home and had talked to the guys at the station. They said the engine mount had also cracked and there was shifting of some things. I cannot even fathom how much this is going to cost to fucking fix. My dad will cover it but I am going to pay him back even if it takes me a while. Sadly, I just finished paying him back for the last repairs on this car!

So that was the end to my day...not too nice, but I didn't freak out which was good—only cried for a one little minute.

My father has never ever let me down, not once. Whenever I’m baffled by anything at all, he is there for me. I know I am somewhat of a ‘daddy’s girl,’ but I also know that if I had to handle these sorts of things on my own, I could. I feel very fortunate to have my dad to count on, that I know I can call him when I’m in trouble and he will be there for me. I drove his car to work this morning!

I love my dad.

Bubbeh

I had a remarkable weekend, Internet! Yes I know it’s already Tuesday afternoon, but I’ve actually been busy since returning exhausted on Sunday, and have not had a chance to write.

On Saturday I drove up to New York to meet my Aunt and Uncle at a diner near my grandmother’s house. We ate and relaxed and then convoyed over to the house so that we could go through her things. I had asked to go with my aunt so that we could see if there was anything I wanted and I could be sure it wasn’t something she herself planned to keep.

Right when we got there, my uncle opened the garage door and told me to pull in there so that he could pull in behind me, and I was startled to realize I had not been inside that garage in many years. It was where my grandfather spent a lot of his time, messing around with bits and pieces of things he found on the beach, re-upholstering furniture, and playing the ‘mad scientist’. The smell brought me right back there so fast—it was unsettling in a way. My grandfather died in 1989.

We went upstairs and it was very sad. I was not able to go with my parents when my mom’s mother died a few years ago and they cleaned out her apartment. I always felt a special affinity with my dad’s mother. It has often seemed to me that I was more like my father’s family while my brother was more like my mom’s. Of course we all have traits from both, but the traits that are like my father and his family, are more glaring in me. And so I very much wanted to keep some items of my grandmother’s to remind me of her, to keep her close to me. I figured I’d take a couple ‘tchotchkes’ and maybe some jewelry if my aunt didn’t want it.

Three and a half hours later I was putting several boxes of things in my car! I had found all sorts of little jackets and sweaters that to my astonishment fit me. I found a Chanel hounds-tooth black and white jacket that she must have had since 30 years ago at least! I found a card I had written to her 2 months before I got sober. I found all sorts of wondrous scarves and gowns for my daughter to play dress-up in, as well as these beautifully delicate hand-embroidered handkerchiefs. I found closeness. My aunt and I had so much fun, and we both felt very happy that so many things would be kept, knowing how happy that would make my grandmother. There is furniture I want, but have to figure out how to get.  There is a mirror in her bedroom that is gigantic and probably weighs a ton, but would be fabulous in my dining room. The mirror was bought over 50 years ago, and I would love for it to stay in the family.

Back in Brooklyn, we sat and went through the jewelry that my aunt didn’t want. I love looking at old jewelry, but to go through my grandmother’s items was emotional. I am wearing a ruby and white gold ring that fits my ring finger perfectly, on my right hand, and I love it. I have a beautiful vintage pocket-watch with her initials engraved on it. I have pearls for me and costume pearls for my daughter. That night, I tried on my wedding dress for my aunt and uncle so that we could see how my aunt’s veil looked with it, and it felt so good to put it on again. I cannot put into words properly the sense of loss I feel that none of my grandparents will get to see me walk down the aisle, but I am so grateful that at least one got to meet Peter and see how happy I am. I know in my heart that my other grandparents feel how happy I am too.

On Sunday morning I woke up early to drive to Long Island for a baptism at an A.M.E. church. And boy do I have some things to write about that! It was an incredible experience for this Jewish girl. I’m so glad I was able to be a part of it. I’d never been to any kind of Easter service before, and if I had to be at any, I think I’m glad I was at this one. I’m going to save it for another post…hopefully tomorrow.

Weekend Ramble

This weekend has been a productive yet relaxing one. Friday night I took my daughter to see Robots with Charlie and Cecily. Don’t bother! It was incredibly dull, even my kid admitted. As one review I read said, this shows that there is Pixar, and then there is everything else. This was no Pixar.

Saturday, I picked up Cecily and we went downtown to drop my daughter off with her father. We were meeting him at a small bakery/café near where we were to meet with a florist. We then sat all together for a nice awkward meal, with some of the worst and slowest service I’ve had in quite some time. Kisses to my kid, and we got the fuck out of there. We went to meet with a florist who turned out to be fabulous. We spent TWO HOURS talking with this man, and it was actually enjoyable. I don’t even know how to explain this, but there you have it. This gay man was meant to do the flowers for my wedding. I got approval from my folks, and will call him first thing Monday morning to book. After that we went and got Charlie and had a nice leisurely lunch.

We parted ways and I drove to my parents’ house so that my father could take my I-129F Petition for Alien Fiancé photo, being sure to show my right ear. We also did a bit more research as I wanted to have everything prepared for when Pete’s documents arrived, mail I was expecting by Tuesday if we were lucky. I drove home and picked up the mail from inside my door…and there was an envelope from France. I had to look at it several times, thinking it must be from someone else, but it was it! He mailed it on March 9^th, and here I had it on March 12^th! I called my parents immediately to tell them—my father had answered the phone and he repeated what I said to my mother who then yelled out “It’s a good omen!!” I have to say, I agree. I called Pete, and we spoke on the phone for over two hours (he called me back after an hour), and it was so relaxing and calming and I could have listened to his voice for hours more. Before I was off the phone, Cec called on my cell phone and said if we left right that second, we could catch this movie we had talked of seeing. I decided to stay in.

So I spent my Saturday night gathering documents, making a list of what I needed to photocopy at work Monday morning, and beginning to fill in the forms. Of course I messed up and decided these would be my rough draft. It is so nerve-wracking filling these fucking things out when their instructions drive you completely mad! Along with gathering documents and filling out forms incorrectly, I wrote emails to much of Pete’s family because I had gathered all their addresses during my visit and then completely neglected to stay in touch. Only one son had email by the time I visited, and it was work email. The middle son had emailed with me before my visit, but had since lost it. The big news Saturday was that Pete’s daughter had phoned and she had EMAIL! I wrote her a long letter and sent her pictures of my dress and she wrote back today and made me very happy. She was informed of our blogs, and dove right in and diligently read all of mine. I think she is fantastic for doing that, and it helps to think she can know me better through this. Today I found out that now the two sons have personal email addresses as well, so I will be writing them soon.

Today, Sunday, was a very long drive through the worst parts of New Jersey—strip mall after strip mall—to get down to a community college in Egg Harbor Township where my mother was holding an opening reception for her solo show. It was very sunny out today, so the drive was sort of nice. Not many people showed, but it is a very out of the way location for many of my mother’s supporters. I sat and chatted with my dad and the man who ran the gallery. We watched as a bright Cardinal attacked his reflection over and over and over again at a corner window. He was still doing it when I left a few hours later. I got in a wonderfully spirited argument with the husband of an artist my mom is close with, and my father is convinced he was yanking our chain somewhat. I’m more convinced that he was something of an idiot with the sweeping generalizations he was making to ‘prove’ his ridiculous theory.

It began with us talking of the horrific story about a Professor who drugged and raped his student worker, a woman who was 25 yrs or so his junior, and who was also the daughter of a college friend. This guy at the gallery said that this behavior and all rapes and affairs and basically any behavior involving sex, were the result of our biological reproductive imperative.  I was dumbfounded. “Rape has absolutely nothing to do with sex,” I said, “it has to do with power.”

He blatantly dismissed this notion. The argument went crazy from there, where he then got frustrated that I kept trying to narrow things down to specific countries, time periods, etc., and I kept trying to explain that you cannot begin an intelligent argument with a broad generalization like his. “It is self-evident!” he kept saying. ARGH!

I enjoyed it though, I will admit. I enjoyed that feeling of my adrenaline pumping through my veins and my heart racing. I enjoyed even more that while I was raising my voice a bit, I was able to be respectful to him and verbalize my arguments in a sane, intelligent manner—it was not always this way.

I left there to get to my daughter’s ice hockey game—only two more left this season—after mapping out a direct route. This turned out to be a very pleasant drive, for even though parts of it were trailers and double-wides, burned-out rubble homes and the like, eventually it became farmland with oddly-shaped houses of all sizes, vast fields showing the skeletons of harvest, and the sun was at my favorite angle, giving everything that amber diffusion as I drove with Bob Dylan turned up loud. An hour and a half later, after going through some of the post-farmland-turned-development-boxes, I was at the game. Our team was creamed, but we played well, and my daughter got her first check. She was knocked on her back and head hard enough that she just laid there for a minute until the coach came out. The other kid got a penalty, but my girl got up and shook it off, and played just as hard once she was put back out there. When we talked of it later, I could see she was just a little bit proud.

Tomorrow morning, the first forms go in the mail. Let us pray. I sacrifice a virtual virgin to the gods and goddesses!

"Do not fear death so much, but rather the inadequate life"--B. Brecht

My daughter and I drove up to NY on Tuesday morning to get to the funeral home on Flatbush Avenue, Queens, by 11:30. We got there at 11. There were not as many people attending as I expected, as my grandmother had a ton of friends. She was the type of person who made friends with everyone—and once you were her friend, you were gold. It seems that because Monday was President’s Day, her senior center was closed so all my aunt could do was leave a message there. As it turns out, most of her closest friends from the center had already passed away, one of the reasons my grandmother was getting tired of living.

The Rabbi did a very nice job considering he only just met my parents and my aunt and uncle that morning, and then met with my grandmother’s sister and brother right before the service. Oddly, the Rabbi reminded me of my Uncle J., my mom’s brother. Similar mannerisms; similar New York Jew voice—this was comforting even though Uncle J. is not related to my grandmother (she was my father’s mother). But it was soothing, because it felt like a member of the family was giving the service. He spoke about strong women in the Bible, about Sarah, matriarch of the Jewish people. I sat with my Great Aunt Sarah, who before we all sat was crying over my grandmother’s coffin—her little sister—and she squeezed my hand and made a joke about there still being time when the Rabbi spoke of the miracle birth of Isaac. It was a bit rowdy, for a funeral, but my Grandmother would have liked that. My Great Uncle Jack is the epitome of the “old Jewish man” stereotype. He really is like a living, breathing caricature, and much of the family maligns him for his ‘unfiltered’ approach to life, but I’ve always loved it. He says whatever comes to mind…and I mean WHATEVER. So he was noisy during the service, and the Rabbi was wonderfully patient and responsive to him without being condescending.

Many people left after the service, so it was seven cars following the hearse to the cemetery, about a 40-minute ride on highways and through city streets. This was no easy task, and it was a good thing we didn’t have too many cars because surely several would have been lost. When we were finally at the cemetery and about to turn into the gates, the traffic blocked me from making the left turn and I sat there with my hands up wondering what fucking idiot would not notice the hearse that had just pulled in three cars before me, and then this fucking asshole in the van beyond the gate rolled down his window for the sole purpose of sticking his head out, looking at me, and laughing hysterically. What the fuck? I was shaking mad, and wanted more than anything to get out of my car and rip his tongue out of his mouth and gouge out his eyeballs with my fingernails. But I figured my family was having a rough enough day as it was. My daughter couldn’t believe it either, and really—how the hell do you explain behavior like that to a 9-year old? I told her the guy was most likely mentally ill, and would probably be shot in a drive-by shooting later this week.

At the gravesite, we had to park and then walk down what should have been a path for about 10 yards. Instead, it was a muddy, puddle-y, slush and snow-covered path that we all had to slop through, including my Great Aunt Sarah who is almost 95 years old (looks fucking fabulous, by the way) but has a bad leg and walks with a cane. My parents, my daughter, and my aunt and uncle got to the grave first, and I looked back to watch Aunt Sarah being held by her two grandchildren (older than I…her granddaughter is a grandmother), with the rest of the family crowding behind them. The sun was shining and the snow and slush were glistening, and I wanted a camera very badly—a movie camera. This was a cinematic moment if I ever saw one.

From this cemetery, there is a view of Manhattan, and my Aunt B. told me my Poppi Max said he liked this spot for the view. This plot of land was bought for my grandmother’s family…three sisters and a brother and their spouses. After Tuesday, there are only two spots left—for Uncle Jack and Aunt Sarah. At someone’s funeral, none of us can remember whom but I think it was for my Poppi Max; Uncle Jack lay down on top of his spot and said he wanted to see if he’d fit. On this occasion he told us about the time he told his sons he had paid for all the arrangements for when he dies, and my cousin Shel, who died of several years ago far too young, said to him “Save your money, Pop. Spend it on a younger woman and have a good time! When you die, we’ll just put you out by the curb with the garbage.”

Don’t panic, this was a joke, and Uncle Jack was laughing when he told us the story. The sense of humor on this side of the family, but particularly with Uncle Jack and his sons, is pretty twisted and not something everyone appreciates. Jack was just as broken up about his big sister dying as anyone, and in between jokes and snide comments he would weep. It was very sad to watch. In the funeral home when we were all gathering before the service, he came and gave me a hug and a kiss and told me “Mazel Tov” on my engagement since I had not seen him since before I found Pete, and then quick added “I shouldn’t say Mazel Tov at a funeral, but oh well!”

That was a strange juxtaposition, actually. There were several relatives who had not seen me since becoming engaged, and hadn’t seen the ring, so there was a lot of joy in talking about that and it helped me to feel Pete was with me. It was also a reminder that life continues on, that life is not all pain and sadness. We went back to my Aunt B.’s and Uncle S.’s house for food and reminiscing, and that was wonderful, truly. My Aunt Sarah told lots of stories and I relished hearing them. I kept thinking I should leave to drive back to Philly, that I had to work and my daughter had school on Wednesday, but I couldn’t pull myself away. Later, my Uncle’s sisters arrived, and one brought her three boys who we’ve heard so much about but had never seen. My daughter played with them and they all bonded instantly like kids do. They were in the kitchen drawing and cracking each other up, laughing so loudly and hysterically and it filled the house with life.

We didn’t leave until 8:30 or so, and got home close to 11pm only to have to get up and face reality at 6am this morning. Driving my hour to work I felt sadness and joy mingled together, and dread of the office. For most of the morning I was on the verge of tears and close to just packing my things and walking out a few times, not because of anything in particular, but because I’m tired of being tired of this job. I’m tired of hating it, of wanting to be out of it. Life is too short for that nonsense. I wrote Pete a few times and I took deep breaths. Our business will get going, and I will be able to leave. We will get all our shit organized and he will move here permanently and we will be married. It won’t be much longer…I can’t just walk out on a salary with a mortgage and a kid to think about. Life is not my job. So I will hold on, and remember that life is sadness and joy mingled together, and much, much more than that.

This is my life!?

So much is going on right now in my life I think my head may very well explode one day soon, but this explosion will be marked by the biggest fireworks display this side of the Mississippi because the amount of happiness I am currently experiencing is reaching critical mass.

I am not used to this!

I would like to get used to this, however. I think I have finally grown out of the “I don’t deserve this” philosophy of life,  have finally taken those voices in my head, wrestled them into submission after beating them to a bruised mass of flesh, and put ball gags in their mouths. I am standing with my high-heeled, knee-high black boot on their chests. Don’t mess with me: I’m happy.

Yesterday I got potentially fantastic news, but I don’t want to jinx it any more than I probably already did…suffice it to say that I may have found a ticket out of this fucking hellish job situation I am currently in. I have not expounded here yet as to just how it is hellish, and exactly how it has been sucking my soul out excruciatingly slowly over the past 4 years, because if I learned anything from bloggers before me, it is to not talk about your current job on your blog. Especially not on company time, on a company computer. I would never, ever do that. If I can successfully extricate myself from this spirit assassination, I will be happy to illustrate the many ways in which I hate this place. I will know more next week, so if you are the praying type and have found success through this, then by all means, PRAY. If, however, you are the praying type who hasn’t had success, then kindly refrain. Go pat a chicken for me, instead, as I cannot in good conscience condone the slaughter of animals as sacrifices to gods, but can easily see slaughtering them if it gets me dinner.

Today after work I will be going to see Possible Wedding Venue #3 with Cecily (thank God she comes with me to these things…I am clueless as to what to ask). I have Possible Wedding Venue #4 to see on Saturday and Possible Wedding Venue #Last to see hopefully on Monday. Decision is imminent! There are pros and cons to every venue, of course, and not surprisingly I am discovering that I have fairly expensive taste. My poor father! My extremely generous, loving, wonderful, and soon to be very poor father. He is a saint, really.

I am going to try not to spend too much, actually, but there is definitely something to this ‘you get what you pay for’ idea, and if we spend some more money on having the wedding ceremony and reception at a hotel, we get the benefits of a huge staff, assured comfort for our guests, a free suite that night, discounted rooms for our out-of-town guests, and plenty of space. My mother is leaning towards the hotel idea very much, as she realizes the inclusive packages they offer leave us less details to worry about, and she can worry about details like nobody I know.

A decision must be made, and made soon though! The dates we want are filling up fast, we want to get married ten months from now, and so we need to put down that deposit. The next few weeks will be momentous for me: a wedding date will be set, a venue picked, a new job may be landed, and my daughter turns 9 next week, then Christmas with Charlie and Cecily and flying off to England to see my sweetie again.

Cue fireworks…

...NOW.

Post Turkey Script

Say it with me. Say it loud:

Coming back to work after a holiday sucks giant donkey balls.

That was going to be a poem, but it is so hard to rhyme with ‘loud’. And ‘giant donkey balls’ is so appropriate isn’t it??

I hope everyone had a wonderful Turkey extravaganza, and if you are from the other side of the pond or from north of the border, then I hope you had a completely average week. My Thanksgiving was wonderful, begun with my favorite AA meeting in my hometown. I have not missed a Thanksgiving there since I got sober, it is my original ‘home group’, a place I went to every weekday at 12:30pm for 5 years until I started getting a life and had to work full time…too far away for me to get to the meeting during lunch. I miss it very much, and so going back on Thanksgiving, especially during the past 4 years, has meant even more because I get to see lots of people who were around when I first got sober, and who helped me so very much.

The Turkey Day itself at my parents’ house was warm and full of good food and screaming children, and adults screaming “WHAT?” I was able to take my 94 year old grandmother over to see my new house where thankfully she did not fall on the stairs and she did comment on how I have no bathroom on the first floor. I was able to spend time with my nieces who I hardly ever get to see, and kissed my older niece over and over again even though she said I wasn’t allowed. She didn’t mean it—she laughed and laughed when I kissed her and would kiss me back, and when she would come straight over to me and crawl up in my lap or jump up into my arms so I could hold her, I was in heaven.

On the Day After Turkey, my fiancé, daughter, and Charlie and Cecily went train-riding out in the farm country and had a great time being together. We stopped at a farm where there were pygmy goats out and it quickly became apparent that these animals are used in a petting zoo because they were so tame. We then spotted the BABY pygmy goat and oh-my-god the cuteness!! This little guy was making Cec, my daughter and I squeak like fucking idiots in high-pitched, obnoxious “it’s soooo cuuuuute!!!!” voices. The goats talked with us back and forth, sticking their goaty tongues out at us and looking at us with their freaky goat eyes.

Seriously. Have you ever looked at goat eyes??? They are SCARY. Their pupils are not round, they are like rectangles…straight across the goldish-greenish iris. Their eyes look dead, really…very creepy if you look at them too long.

But I digress. Then we saw the horse. A gorgeous, large grey horse who came over and ate clover out of S.’s hand after Cec showed her how, and who tried to then eat Cecily’s fleece pullover. This horse made Cecily smile, and warmed her heart up, we could see it. She was feeling good for a little while after that, and we were all very grateful and Cec realized she may need to go visit the horses that live nearby her every day or so for a while. She realized she may have found something to help get her through this grief. Ask her to tell you about it…go on, ask her.

Saturday we had lunch with C and C and another friend, Saturday night we bought DVD’s and watched them and I lit the first fire in my own fireplace and it was beautiful. Sunday we drove down to Washington,D.C. with my other lasagna and saw my dear friends and their baby boy.

And today I am back at work and trying not to think about the fact that P. is only here for one more week, or that working a full week after 4 days off really sucks, or that my boss still has not responded to my email this morning asking when she wants to ‘discuss’ with me the time off I am taking (per her request), or how much I hate this company I work for, or the fact that I couldn’t think of anything original to say at the start of this entry and instead resorted to that old standby of ‘giant donkey balls’ (lame, Sarah…so lame).

Right now I am going to just think about the fact that there is less than an hour for me to be here today and then only an hour commute home where my daughter and fiancé are waiting. And that is a fan-fucking-tabulous sight, my friends.

P.S. OH! We saw SpongeBob SquarePants: The Movie on Wed. night! It was superb, funny, sweet, touching, I laughed, I almost cried (seriously, there was a very sad part), I clenched my teeth (scary part) and I left the theater grinning ear to ear. A fully underwater experience, highly recommended in these troubled times. See it more than once. I am totally pre-ordering the DVD.