Some days you're the seagull, Some days you're the quahog

Today is one of the "quahog" days - when something lifts you up in the air, you're feeling great, only to be smashed against the rocks and left to the carrion eaters.

Mom was supposed to be visiting a friend for a few days this week. I was going to have peace and quiet for 3 days. I made my arrangements for work - Thursday and Friday, half days from home. I'd be done with work by 10-10:30 in the morning, and have the days free to spend at my leisure (sleep, read, play computer games, ignore housework, go out to lunch...)

Nope, not happening. She messed up the weeks - it's not until next week. When I have a major migration of code at work and expect to be working obnoxious hours. I'll be lucky if I'm home by 7 or 8 most nights next week.

Ugh! I'm feeling the need for margaritas and rock band soon - who's with me???

T - 5 days until Mom moves in...

And The Baron and I can't stop fighting. We went from a couple who fought only twice this year to fighting non-stop all week. Cleaning out the spare bedroom has made my darling husband a bear, and I'm a raving lunatic. On top of that, I had a two hour phone conversation with Mom this afternoon that ended with her crying and my trying to reinforce that this is only temporary.

I'm starting to realize the problem is my stress levels, not everyone else in the house. Damn.

I'm going to be working on adjusting my attitude, any helpful ideas would be much appreciated. Oh yeah, wine was on sale at the package store. That should help.

The Horror that is Facebook (aka Pining for Anonymity)

It's been a strange week here in Mooshland. 3 odd encounters via FB. Everyone's had them - when all of the sudden voices from your past crawl out of the woodwork. I'm usually pleasantly surprised by those voices, it brings me back to happy memories of my youth. But every once in a while... they throw me for a loop.

Encounter 1

Senior Prom Date (now known as SPD). Ack! Seriously? Does anyone actually want to be reminded of high school? SPD was a nice guy, we were good friends, neither of us had a date, so went as buddies. SPD kinda freaked out, wasn't having a good time, and left me sans ride home at the prom. That's a harsh version - truth is, I probably was caught up in my own little world, and didn't notice that he wasn't having a good time, and should have paid more attention. I got an email from him this week apologizing. I apologized right back. I missed having SPD as a friend - he's smart, funny, and seems to be leading a fabulous life traveling and carousing. It silly though - before he said something, I was nervous about posting prom pics - was worried I'd get a reply to take them down or that he was still angry about it. Sigh. How is it possible 20 years later the thought of high school still makes me insecure?

Encounter 2

This one isn't much of an encounter, but still a shock. Senior year and in to college, I was best friends with a girl (hmm... she always wore Scarlett Gold lipstick, so we'll call her Scarlett). In college, she went to schools out of state, and I stayed around here. We started to drift apart. And she wrote me a break up letter listing every single personality and character flaw of mine. Everything she said was true, but it was mean, petty and spiteful. We were already drifting apart, there was no need for a big final ending. I guess she needed closure, or to feel self righteous. Whatever. It hurt at the time, but I never replied or acknowledged it when I saw her around town. I was pleasant, said hi, but never stopped to chat. She's the big reason I have never gone to the reunions. This week she friended me. No note, just a friend request, and true to form, I just accepted with no email. Polite acknowledgment. (In case you're wondering what the character flaws were - they're the same as they are now. I'm not a great friend. I can't stand high maintenance friendships. I don't return all phone calls, only when I feel like talking. I'm sarcastic, which comes off mean. My caustic humor unintentionally hurts people, and I don't realize it.) I really did think high school was over, but apparently I'm doomed to repeat it this week. And I feel just as awkward as I did 20 years ago.

Encounter 3

This is the one that's really thrown me for a loop. Most of you know that "Dad" was my step father. Dad was in my life for 30 years, he raised me, and I shared more in common with him than anyone else in my family. Well, there was a Bio-Dad at one point in time. We didn't really know or understand each other very well. Once a month visits, always awkward, full of angst and heartbreak all around. By the time I was 18, we had very little contact with one another. I still tried to see some of his family, but they always wanted to fix our relationship, and by the time I was 21, I stopped all contact with them. Including my grandparents, aunts and uncles, and the 9 cousins. It was nothing personal, just easier to stop contact than to keep trying to fix a relationship that wasn't making anyone happy. The last semi- contact I had with anyone from that side of the family was sneaking in to the funeral home to pay my respects when my grandfather died a few years ago. Oh sure, every couple of years I run in to someone who knows a member of the family (especially because a few of them work in the same industry) and puts the names together, but nothing's ever come of it. A few vague comments and people get the hint that the topic isn't really up for discussion.

Anyway, I'm one of 10 cousins. The oldest. There are 3 of that are within 14 months in age. Cousin #2 lives out of state, but we got along the best. I think of her frequently, and would probably look her up if it didn't mean opening the door to the whole family. No ill wishes toward the fam, just have no idea what I'd say to any of them, and no need for the mythical closure that everyone seems to seek out these days. Cousin #3 lives in state. You may have heard me refer to her in conversations as "The Pincher". We did not get along. Polar opposites. She was loud, hyper, and constantly pinching or hitting. I was quiet and shy, which labeled me stuck up to the rest of the fam. She would cause trouble, and I would get yelled at for it, because I was the oldest.

Guess which one hit me up on FB yesterday? That's right, The Pincher. An email about how she loves me, misses me, and didn't tell anyone in the family that she contacted me, so we can keep it between just us (and now the 3 of you who read the blog). What the heck do I say to her? I haven't spoken to her in approx 20 - 25 years. I have no idea who she is. I'm assuming she grew out of the habit of pinching people, because let's face it - that's the kind of social awkwardness people notice when we're pushing 40, but still! That's the characteristic I remember most vividly about her.

And what's with co-conspirator nonsense? Any family member could find me easily enough, I'm not hiding. I live less than 20 miles from where I grew up, most of my relatives still live in the area, it's not like I joined the Peace Corps and live in Uganda. Not to mention, I have a coworker that is very close friends with Bio-Dad, she announced this my first day in the department 12 years ago. She was very bouncy about the whole thing, but backed off a day or two later, I'm guessing Bio-Dad told her he wasn't really interested in the relationship either (no offense to the coworker or Bio-Dad. Coworker has been graceful enough to never mention it again after that first week, and again, I don't harbor any ill will toward Bio-Dad, I just don't know him). How do I reply? If I ignore, I'm a bitch for not replying, and the family just keeps thinking what they've always thought of me. If I reply, it opens a door that I thought was shut, locked, and the key lost in a river somewhere.

Encounter 4

I may have said there were only 3, but I lied. I repeatedly have someone trying to friend me, but I have no idea who they are. After the 5th friend request, and hitting "ignore" once again, I did a little digging. It's someone I met on a message board after we lost the babies. I'm not sure how she got my real name - maybe she's friending everyone in her email list? I don't know how I feel about this. Yes, we had the losses, and at the time it was easier for me to talk to people over the Internet than to talk to my friends and family who shared my pain. I spent a lot of time on a particular message board for people who had second and third trimester losses due to genetic conditions. I only vaguely remember this person, but I really don't have a great memory of that time in my life. But we got through it. The Baron and I are in a good place now. We've accepted the losses as part of our life, but it isn't our whole lives. I admire people who take something like this and try to champion a meaningful cause as a way to turn the pain in to something positive, but that's not me. When we first had the losses, I participated in a few groups, but something Dad said resonated with me. We were sitting in my parent's backyard, having a drink, and he said "I'd hate to see this become your whole life and what defines you as a person. You have a lot of living left to do". I took it to heart (he sure was a smart guy!). It's part of me, but it's not all of me. I think the same might not be true for this person. I guess I'll just keep politely declining. I hope all is well for her, and that she has found something to give her life meaning, but I'm in a different place.

To recap: I feel like a fish out of water this week. Every little sticking point is rearing it's ugly head - High School, College, Bio-Family, the losses. Ugh. I really wish I had my anonymity back. Today I think I preferred the world before FB - when I could remain slightly distanced and observe rather than participate. I'm sure I'll be better tomorrow.

Wow! I had a lot to say! I go 6 weeks without posting, and now I'm a chatterbox.

I'm in L-O-V-E

Say hello to Madeline, my new bike! When I was just a little pigtailed girl, my paternal grandmother wanted me to have a bike at her house to ride around the neighborhood. She had one in her shed that belonged to one of my aunts or uncles, was over 20 years old, rusted, and beat up. She slapped a coat of fire engine red spray paint on it, and decided we should name it Rusty Jones. Ever since, I've named every form of transportation I've owned. My first 10 speed bike was Wildfire (what can I say, it was the late 70's - I wanted a horse, but alas, all my parents could afford was a schwinn). My first car was Mooshbomb. My first VW was Moosh. My Cabrio was a little more fancy than the Golf, so she was named Matisse. Now that I'm old and own my first four door vehicle, her name is Matilde (but don't let the name fool ya - she's the turbo version, so she can still hit 100 in a flash).

Madeline is my first grown up bicycle. We spent the afternoon at Biker's Edge and both the Baron and I got Treks. I am over the moon excited, riding around the neighborhood makes me feel like I'm back in pigtails, pretending my bike is a horse, and I'm a fairy princess riding off in to the sunset on Wildfire.

Borrowing a phrase from the Captain's Wife - I Puffy Heart my new bike!

Happy Easter!

My most favoritest of all the holidays! I've mentioned before that Baron's family is very Polish, right? Oh... the smorgasboard of cured meat is amazing! 2 kinds of kielbasa from Martin Rosol's, ham, coleslaw, and a few glasses of wine (hic!). Possibly more than a few glasses, but Baron was driving (hic!) Okay, maybe it was a full bottle (hic!). And not one of those wimpy little 2 1/2 glass bottles.

A lovely time was had by all. I was NOT the Harbinger of Death for this holiday. I had a conversation with Auntie C, and didn't mention a single person dying (yes, my Gram had passed since the last time I saw them, but it didn't come up in conversation - a major victory (refer to this post if you have no idea what I'm talking about

I had too much to drink and hung out with Baron's twentysomething cousins. Love those girls - they are fantastic! We got on to the subject of FB, and I promised to friend them as soon as I got home (which I did). Baron's nephew still wants to come and visit for a weekend, which we promised soon. All in all, a sense of family, friendship, good conversation, and did I mention good wine?

Sigh. This is what family is supposed to be about (hic!). Only mildly dysfunctional and anesthetized by alcohol.

I'm off to go take a nap on the couch. Did I ever mention that I'm an "I love you man" breed of drunk?

Happy Easter

Just a quick hop by (get it? Hop? Like a bunny?) to spread a little Easter joy with my favorite commercial. Makes me smile every time...

Gram

My Grandmother passed away 2 weeks ago. She had been ill for years, and these last few years have been full of trips to the hospital, convalescent home, doctors, and misery. Since Memorial Day she’s been going steadily downhill. Loss of appetite and sick for a week, a trip to the emergency room, admitted to the hospital, transfer to a convalescent home, back to the emergency room 36 hrs after going to the convalescent home, another admission to the hospital for three weeks while they searched for something to fix. Transferred permanently to a nursing home in July, three more trips to the hospital through the fall, an infection that caused such severe dementia she was sent to a mental health facility on Christmas Day. Four weeks later transferred back to the nursing home. Admitted to the hospital the last week of February, and we finally said enough. Enough poking and prodding. Enough strapping her to a bed to give her treatment she didn’t want. She was sent back to the nursing home and died 5 days later on March 1st.

For most people, the word “grandmother” conjures up images of a 50’s wife in an apron, baking cookies and knitting. Not for me. Yes, my gram made cookies. Yes, she knitted, crocheted, and quilted. But to me, she was so much more. She was one of the most interesting people I’ve ever spent time with; she was irreverent, funny, crafty, intellectual, and a little bit kooky.

When I was little, my mom and I lived on the second floor of my grandparent’s two family house. I saw both of my grandparents almost every day until we moved out when I was nine. I spent Saturday mornings with my grandmother watching Nova, Dr. Who, and In Search Of on PBS.

Things I will always remember about her:

• She loved Star Trek
• She found people who were a little different interesting
• She was always learning, if she didn’t know about something, she read about it, or tried to learn how to do it. She was always a student at heart.
• Her favorite artist was Georgia O’Keefe, and she was the first person to explain to me why the painter was so “controversial”. (Which is a very comfortable conversation to have with your grandmother - NOT!)
• She loved art, history, and music.
• She was fascinated by Native American culture
• She was an avid reader, and always wanted to know what I was reading
• Out of all my friends who met her, Ellen held a special place in her heart, she always asked about her and Steven.
• She loved Scottie, and held his hand in our wedding photos
• She made the best apple pies, and mine are only ½ as good as hers, even though it’s the same recipe
• She taught me the secret to great pie crust – ice cold water. Put ice cubes in the water to keep it cold. Don’t overwork the dough.
• She always encouraged my creative endeavors, even when no one else understood (building a TARDIS out of a huge cardboard box, egg cartons, and lots of odds and ends when I was 6 or 7 was a worthwhile pursuit for a child.. Sorry Mom, it wasn’t a spaceship, it was a TARDIS. For those who don’t know what it is – go ahead and google. You’ll know I was a strange kid!)
• She taught me to make dyes from fruits and vegetables when I was 10, and we used the dye to make tie-dyed shirts.
• She had the greenest thumb in CT – her tomatoes were legendary, and her rose bushes were beautiful.
• She taught me how to plant tulip bulbs. The points go toward the top, like praying hands.
• She made the driest turkey in the world, much to the amusement of the rest of the family. I swear, she would put the turkey in the oven at 5:00pm the night before at 200 degrees. When my aunt started cooking Thanksgiving dinner, Gram would never fail to call her turkey “wet”. To the rest of the world, that would be known as MOIST
• She made absolutely magic chicken soup. It could cure whatever ailed you.
• Whenever she had company, she always wore lipstick. Bright. Red. Shocking. Lipstick. I can’t remember how many I bought her over the years, trying to find her perfect shade of “true red”.
• She always had a million crafting projects going at once.
• She loved UCONN Women’s basketball, and loved watching UCONN/TN games

I know the last few years though her illnesses, especially at the end were extremely tough on everyone in the family. It was hard to watch her when she just wasn’t herself anymore, and her illnesses took away her eyesight, her mobility, her memory, her books, her crafting, her projects, her gardening, and every activity she loved. But I’ll always remember her as she was when I was growing up. I miss you Gram.

Special thank yous to Rosehawk and Chey, who are always there. Always, usually with chocolate and alcohol in hand. Love you guys.