vicarious wedding

Erin asked for a class ring this year, which kind of surprised me.  She said she’d always wanted one, but just didn’t want to ask us to buy her one.  It was not an unreasonable request; maybe she is getting sentimental about leaving high school after all these years of hard work.  Her ring is on order and should be arriving any day.

 

I asked Emily if she also wanted a class ring.  It was sort of a “HELL NO” response from her.  She said, “I don’t wear rings.  I only want two rings in my life.”  She was implying, of course, an engagement and wedding ring.  That was a bit of a shock because she has always maintained that she had no intentions of marrying…unless it was somebody like Justin Bieber, who is now firmly erased from her list of potential candidates.  I said, “Oh, so now you’ve changed your mind?  Now you want a husband at some point in your life?”  She said, “Well, no.  What I really want is a wedding.  The groom is just something that comes with it.”  She is so funny!  

  

I like that my girls are dreaming of a wedding day, some day.  Not now!!  Well, Sarah is certainly welcome to take that next step whenever it may come.  She is well-settled into a career and is financially capable of supporting herself and any children that may come along.  Erin and Emily are much too young to be seriously considering anyone to marry, but sadly, some of their classmates are getting engaged.  When kids are 18, there’s not much a parent can do about it. 

As for me, I don’t recall dreaming about a wedding day or husband as a girl or teenager.  Having a family was not on my radar, so weddings were something other people did...not me.  I wanted to be like Jane Goodall, wander the jungle and research apes, or catalog exotic plant species, or get my hands dirty in a lab like a mad scientist. 

Anyway, these days I find myself watching shows on TV such as “I Found the Gown” and “Say Yes to the Dress” where women are searching for their perfect wedding dress.  When I went shopping for wedding dresses (both times), it was no more than just another chore.  I just don’t care about clothes or trying to look like a beautiful princess.  When and if my girls do get married, I hope to be with them when they try on and select their wedding dresses.  Maybe it will be something magical (like on TV).  

the show goes on and on

Old Man Winter has returned with a vengeance.  Snow, more snow, and near zero temperature.  BAH!!  But this morning, hours before the thermometer dipped to such miserable frigidity, I leisurely cleaned snow off my van and listened to the unusual quiet that happens when people stay in instead of going to work or school.  Perhaps other people are more organized and conscientious than me, and leave early so they are sure to get to work on time.  Scraping snow and ice from my car windows and lights, ever so meticulously, is no doubt a delay tactic that justifies my 15-minutes-late arrival on the job.

 

What do I remember most about this morning?  In case that question is burning in your brain, I’ll tell you.   Surely, it was the hawk that shrieked only one time from somewhere in the woods behind our house.  Hawks are just magnificent, one of my favorite birds.  It pleases me immensely to know one was hunting near me….well, I assume he was hunting.  He obviously wasn't sleeping, and do hawks do much besides hunt, eat, and sleep?  Probably not, especially this time of year.

 

It’s been a few weeks since I wrote a post.  The less I write, the less I write.  It’s kind of how I am.

 

Work has been just ridiculous the past few weeks.  It sucks every last ounce of life right out of me.  Sometimes, I feel like one of those Chinese acrobat jugglers.  For five days a week, I stand on a platform and juggle a bowling ball, a long-ass razor-sharp Samurai sword, a blow-torch, a running chain-saw, a stick of soft butter, an axe, five tennis balls, and 5 peanuts.  That’s about all I can keep in the air at one time.  My trusty assistants intervene and make the platform I’m standing on spin, or tie a blindfold on me, or do something to make it all more tricky to keep up with.  Every day I leave work wondering how many things I dropped, when I will find out (maybe not tomorrow or even next week), and how bad the damage will be.  They just can’t pay me enough. 

http://www.juggling.org/museum/masters/Pics/juggler1875.jpg

      

But enough of that.  This is my “off time”.  I’m off the clock, which is really kind of a silly thing to say when you are a salaried person.  I’m always off the clock.

   

Sarah is going to produce a new CD and even a vinyl record which is all kind of exciting for me…given that I am her mother.  She began singing even before she could say words.  There was never any doubt in my mind she had a passion for performing for an audience.  Our old coffee table was her favorite stage when she was just a toddler.  It was an old wooden oversized, low table, sturdy and already beat up - just perfect for her to dance on.  She would sing and dance on it for as long as anyone would watch her.  And yes, adoring mother that I am, I loved to watch her, but if my eyes strayed for even a moment, she would insist “Look at me, Mommy!  Watch me!!!!!”  

turning the page

Birth – 2 years = unknown chaos

2 years – 18 years = dark ages

College years = free at last, party time

Career launch/marriage = pseudo adulthood…bad decisions, hard work, insanity

Baby/divorce = variable sunshine with severe thunderstorms

Marriage/twins = feet to the fire

Doctorate = life holocaust

Post-doctorate – rising from the ashes

The next chapter is starting to unfold.  The empty nest is coming in August.  Retirement and career change are in the works (dates unknown).  I want to believe things will be fabulous.  It just can’t be that after all that has happened, my life is meant to circle the drain and disappear unceremoniously.  Maybe it can be, but I won’t consider it.

How does a person ever make sense of it all?  It seems as though I’ve blundered through life with no cares and no plans for the future, but that is not true.   The truth is…I never expected to see the future.   My focus was on today, mostly.       

My life has given me two surprises.  One is that I’m still alive after all these years.  I never expected to live this long.  The other is that all my children are so amazing and talented.  How is it that an average, nobody sort of person can have children like mine?  My grandmother used to say that acorns don’t fall far from the tree, but she was wrong in this case.  The mighty oak may have dropped her acorns down around her roots, but something else grew up from them - something better and much more exotic.  It is good, and I am grateful.  

   

canine morality

I went on a run to the grocery store…again…seems like we go so often, only because teen girls always “need” something.  I would and should go without them because to have either one of them go with me results in increased spending.  To have both with me simultaneously increases the grocery tab exponentially.  Nevertheless, both “needed” items that I didn't want to hunt for, so they both came along with me today.

So, it’s a wondrous thing to listen to teenage girls talk.  The variety of topics is astounding and sometimes entertaining.  The conversation today in the car went something like this…

Emily:  Gracie [our dog] is such a slut.  She’s all over C [Emily’s boyfriend] every time he walks in.

Erin:  That’s redonks (sic).  Maybe she just smells his dog on him.  Maybe she’s really gay.  We had her spayed, so now she’s for sure gay.

Emily:  Spaying doesn't make her gay.  Women who get hysterectomies don’t become gay, but it’s too bad we didn't wait to find out if she was gay before we had her spayed, because then we could have just saved the money.

Erin:  Duh, Emily.  What about rape?  Gracie could have been raped by Kyle [neighbor’s dog] or some other dog.

Emily:  Well, Gracie’s such a slut, she’d probably be having three-ways with Kyle and Cal [other neighbor dog].  We wouldn't know who the puppies belonged to. 

Let me assure the multitudes who read my blog,  Miss Gracie is most definitely not a promiscuous dog. Obviously Emily has no regard for her morality, but Gracie is not "that kind" of dog.  

good dog

         

circle of (plant) life

That last post was a real downer, but I can’t be glum for long.  Life speeds along and so must we, besides, the human lifespan is just too short.  It’s a long story, but I found myself with vacation days to use before year-end.  It was use them or lose them, so I took off.  Even with end-of-year deadlines missed, and a giant migration happening Friday that I’m not prepared for, I'm passed caring.  No matter, I’m “on vacation” until January 2nd, and it has been completely divine!!  

Someone started watching The Walking Dead starting with Season One and we just finished Season Three around 2:45 this morning.  Someone always takes off work when I’m off – he thinks it’s severely unfair for me to have vacation when he doesn’t….we won’t go into my thoughts about his opinions on the matter of vacation fairness.  Suffice it to say, we will never agree in the subject.  Anyway, when TWD is on, I'm going to watch it...even in the middle of night.   

  

ANYWAY….I’ve digressed.  Today, Someone and I went shopping.  We bought software to do our taxes, and new overhead lights for the garage.  We just have cheapo fluorescent shop lights hanging out there.  I believe the ballasts have gone bad.  With cheapo lights, and when you are like me and have no electrician skills, I just replace the light fixtures when replacing bulbs doesn’t fix the problem.  I was going to install the new lights this afternoon, but instead, a long nap stole away my entire afternoon.  Now it’s dark and cold outside, so the task will wait until tomorrow.

 

We went into Lowes to get the new lights, and there by the front door was a huge display of house plants on clearance.  Lord, deliver me from evil, but in this case He did not.  I succumbed to temptation and purchased a medium-sized Sansevieria (aka Snake Plant, aka mother-in-law tongue).  It’s not all that spectacular, this species of flora, but I have an affinity for them.  Snake plants are very hardy, in fact, the tag on my new plant says Care Level: Resilient.  Yes indeed, they are hard to kill (which is a very good thing for anything that wants to live under my care).   

snake plant in the foreground

Many years ago, I inherited a very mature snake plant from my great grandmother's plant trove.  It was very large and quite old, and had became root bound in the pot.  As always with most things, I procrastinated with repotting the thing.  Instead of dying, it put up a beautiful tall stalk of white blooms that dripped sap and stunk to high-heaven.  It was delightful!

When I got divorced and moved out, my soon-to-be ex wanted to keep the snake plant.  I had no good place for plants in the new apartment, and it was just another thing to deal with, so I let him keep it.  It thrived root-bound in his window sill for all the years until he moved out of town.  I have no idea whatever happened to it when he moved, but I imagine it went to plant heaven long ago.

So now, a new snake plant is mine!!  I don’t have a place for it yet.  I could never call it a mother-in-law tongue because I’ve had the great fortune of having two wonderfully sweet mothers-in-law.  Thank heavens!  Their tongues have never been sharp, no cutting remarks (directed at me, directly to me).

If you remember that yucca tree I cut last October, the base has sprouted wonderfully.  It’s surviving and showing green again.  The piece that I just stuck in dirt (per the instructions on the consulted Web site) did not survive.  It is no more than a fat, dried up stick in dirt.  I planted spider plants all around it, but I will have to do something different with the pot when spring comes.  My poor poinsettia is dying.  It will not be with us much longer.  

yucca tree is coming back while poinsettia is leaving us

waiting for the caboose

I started to write a post several times and deleted it.  Why?  This “topic” has invaded my brain space lately and won’t leave, but every time I start to write about it, it turns out sounding like an obituary…or a rant. 

My older brother, D, is killing himself with vodka and everything else he can get his hands on.  It’s like sitting at the train crossing, watching a train barreling past, and thinking surely the caboose will be coming along soon.  How long can one train be?

big brother

It’s been more than a year ago now, that my younger brother (M) and I found a house D could afford to buy and assisted him through the process to buy it and move into it.  D has been unable to work for many years because of his drinking and drug problems, but he inherited money from our grandparents – enough to buy a small house in a declining part of town and to live on for a few years.  We honestly didn’t expect him to live a year, and just like our grandfather did for years, he has hung in and surprised us.  His drug habits have depleted his resources quicker than we expected.  His well is running dry.  

M has a key to the house and checks in on D a few times a week.  He passes the neighborhood on his way to and from work.  We both expect for M to walk in one day and find D dead.  Usually M walks in and finds D passed out on the couch or floor.  D falls a lot. 

So, well, D is never really sober because if he gets too sober, he has seizures.  M wanted us all to get together for breakfast on Christmas Eve morning.  It sounded like a bad idea, but M is lonely these days and holidays can be extra lonely for people who are alone in this world.  I picked M up and we went to D’s house to assess him.  D was expecting us and seemed sober enough to make a public appearance (i.e. he was able to stand up and move his feet).  We helped him into and out of my car, took him into a restaurant, and ordered for him.  We sat at the table and D looked around, obviously confused about where he was, and asked who died.  M and I laughed and remarked how incredibly odd it seemed for us all to sit together in one place with no funeral going on. 

The most upsetting thing about that morning was that D kept forgetting who I was.  Several times, M and I reminded him that I was his sister.  He would then look at me with a surprised look on his face, and tell me he misses seeing me.  Perhaps I should schedule to see him more often, but I don’t want to.

the end was already beginning

In my mind, D is already dead.  He is brain-damaged past recovery.  He’s not been the brother I prefer to remember for almost 30 years.  He’s had two near-death experiences in the past year.  Even when he’s detoxed, the only thing on his mind is getting a bottle of vodka and some pills.  Both times, he stopped on the way home from the hospital to get his boarding pass… to jump right back on that train.       

brothers

runaway

When Emily was in kindergarten, just weeks after her 6^th birthday, she ran away from home.  It’s a morning Someone and I will never forget.  I can only say how blessed we were that we learned she was safe and in police custody before we learned she was missing.

 

It was an unusually warm January morning.  I was always first up, and apparently my alarm clock always woke Emily up.  While I was in the shower and everyone else still sleeping, she sneaked downstairs, opened the door that goes into the garage, and slipped out under the garage door.  We have a security system, but the door she used (at that time) had no chime when it opened.  It was the only unsecured door.  We always left one garage door up about 3 feet so our dog could have access in and out of the garage where she slept.

Emily was afraid of the dark, but she went downstairs through a dark house without turning on a single light.  She left with no shoes, wearing only a flannel nightgown.  She was two blocks away from home when a neighbor man, who by chance was up extra early to go to work, saw a little girl in pajamas walking down the side of the road with no coat on, barefooted, and dragging a white blanket.  He pulled up beside her, rolled down his window, and asked her if she was lost.  She ignored him.  He then parked his car and got out.  When he got closer, she put the blanket over her head and stood like a statue.  He told her to wait where she was and he called the police from his cell phone.

I was out of the shower and getting ready for work when I heard the phone ring.  Someone (still in bed), picked up, answered a few questions, and asked me to check and confirm that Emily was in her bed.  I walked into her room, no Emily.  I checked under the bed, in the closet – no Emily.  PANIC.  “She’s not in her room!!”  I yelled to Someone.

I then started through the house calling and searching for her, waking everyone up.  Someone caught up with me and told me the police had her and were bringing her home.  We waited in the driveway.  The cruiser came, the officer opened the car door, and out comes little Emily with a sucker in her hand and smiling like nothing had happened.  I grabbed her up and hugged her so tight she said, “You’re squeezing me to death.” I didn’t care, it was hard to let go of her.

So after all that drama, she said she ran away because she didn’t want to go to school.  A virus was making rounds and many of the kids in her classroom had thrown up in class.  Just the day before, a little boy sitting at a table across from her threw up on a paper she was coloring – that was the last straw.  I took her to school that morning and had a chat with her kindergarten teacher.  Anyway, her teacher talked to her and they worked something out.

That very afternoon, I had the home security people come back and install a chime on that door to the garage.  For a few mornings after that, I peeked into both girls’ bedrooms just to be sure they were there.  Coincidentally, the man who found Miss Emily is the husband of the lady who works in my dentist’s office.  She told me all the details about what happened that morning and we had a good laugh together.  Thank heavens it all ended well so we could laugh about it.