Prep Work

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Here it is. I’m about to experience a right of passage, a coming of age. My mortality seems even more real now, my increasing age can’t be denied. The young clerk at the convenient store has been calling me ‘Ma’am’ for years now – but even that hasn’t really phased me, as I’ve managed to ignore his unintentional slights. But the white hairs on my head have moved in permanently and remind me daily – as does the arthritis in my hands, the wrinkles on my face – and now this. My first colonoscopy is tomorrow morning. And in a few minutes, I will begin the dreaded “prep” procedure. My maternal grandmother died of colon cancer, and my cousin, at 46, is a survivor of the disease. It runs in my family, so I have to take it seriously. I need the screening, for sure. But I can still find humor in this, can’t I? I mean really. I’m about to ingest several quarts of a high-octane laxative called “Movi-Prep”. And I’ll be moving to the bathroom pretty frequently for the next six hours from what I hear. I’ve hardly had more than a scoop of egg salad over the past 24 hours, so really there aint much to get rid of. But I expect it will be dramatic. At least that’s what all the hype tells me. I’ve been hearing about people’s colonoscopies, or at least the famous “prep” that accompanies them, for years. Always kinda thought of it as something my older friends had to deal with. And even with my family history, I still kinda blew it off as something other people had done. But this year I face fifty. Time to prep for the future…

That’s kinda what my whole late winter/early spring has been about; assessing where I am now at this point in my life. How healthy am I? How unhealthy am I? Just what might I be able to actually do to ensure that I stay flexible and relatively vigorous as long as possible? I admit, I’ve put far less into action than I’ve intended, but I am making improvements. This is my fifth week of the Atkins diet, and I’m down eight pounds. Not crazy amazing, but it’s definitely something – and my intake of food is certainly no longer thoughtless, in of itself an accomplishment. And I don’t smoke. Or drink. All that is pretty major, considering the sad place I was one year ago. Behind my life was a continuing, low-grade depression which I self-medicated as best I could. I still self-medicate in a matter of speaking by procrastinating, allowing myself to follow distractions – all the usual human stuff. And I feel far more easily discouraged than I’d like to admit, but in the final summation, for the most part I think I’m taking care of my shit. As it were. ! Yes, pun intended. Couldn’t resist.

Seriously, I gotta drink all of this?? See you on the other side….

Solo

Posted in An Ongoing Journal..., Divorce Diary, Mommy Mind1 Comment

Here it is again. My time. My time alone, without my son. My time to get things done, to enjoy some respite from always being needed. For the most part, it’s a good system. I enjoy having my son during the school year, and for breaks he stays with his father. Yeah, it’s worked out pretty well over the past few years. But the transition from mother to solo human is always a little poignant. I always feel a little lost in the world after Elihu leaves. Empty of destination, of purpose…

The train that he and his father take to Chicago leaves Schenectady at 7:30 p.m, and the drive home is dark and quiet. A contrast to the few hours that precede it; these are the handful of hours that we three get to spend together as a family. Elihu so looks forward to those visits, and me too. In spite of the history, we three always share laughs and end up enjoying ourselves. It’s just enough time together to make me wistful, to make me miss the life we didn’t end up sharing. Perhaps the drama of goodbyes shared on a train platform heighten my vague sense of sorrow, I don’t know. Why even think like this?  Everything is as it should be. Yet as I begin the long drive home I start to feel very alone. And I begin to think…

I begin to sink into the feeling of what it is to be alone on the planet. Of what it feels like just to be me – to be me on my own, undefined by my relationship to anyone else. It’s hard to conjure, to really get it. And it’s then that I realize how very much my life is tied to my son’s. My very identity seems to depend upon him. It frightens me to think of myself alone, without him. And honestly, I don’t know if it’s healthy to depend so keenly on my young son. I fret over the idea for a while. But after a time I relax; this is, after all, my role right now. Single mom. And it takes almost all of me to be that. One day, this chapter too will close and a new one will begin. Oh oh. I consider this new idea, and begin to sense a low grade panic growing. What the hell will I do then? Just what exactly is it that I do if I’m not a mother? Oh no – this worries me. I really don’t do anything. My life is all about being a mother! Back in the day I was a musician – but that was all about the look, the lifestyle… it was very much about the culture of youth and beauty. I can’t revisit that life, no, I’ll need a new one… But I can’t follow that line of thought too long, because I can feel the stress rising. Instead I do my best to quiet my mind and soon it’s just me again, the darkness and the road. Guess I’ll just have to figure it out when I get there. For now, the challenge at hand is the week that stretches out in front of me. For some reason, the space ahead seems much emptier than usual. And I think I know what might be contributing to it.

On Valentine’s day I learned that I’d lost my beloved new job as pianist at Elihu’s school. It was unexpected, and frankly, due to a situation out of my control. No hard feelings exist, yet I’m left rather dazed by the sudden change. The sudden emptiness in my life. Sure I’ve got projects that can use my attention, I’ve got parents that could use my attention, and I’ve got a brother that needs medical help and counseling, something that only I can help him achieve – but it’s not the same. I had a job I loved, my first real job in a decade; I did what I loved and got paid for it. For once things seemed to be falling into place. I played music every day. I saw my son every day, I saw those wonderful kids every day. I got to play sweet little classical pieces, I got to improvise, I got to play the most delicious piano I’d touched in years… and now, it’s gone. Poof. But I can hardly feel sorry for myself when the woman whose classes I accompanied has lost her job too. I haven’t lost what she has, but still… It makes my future feel a little emptier than before.

Tonight I have house guests, and although I don’t think I’m up to the socializing that goes with being a host, it might be for the best that they’re here. It might help to distract me from my dark mood. They’re not home yet, and likely they’ll be in late. I probably won’t see them tonight. Good. That’ll give me some time to switch gears. Tomorrow I may join them along with several thousand other folks at the Flurry – the local dance festival which brings together musicians and dancers of every age, color, size and shape from all over the East. Because I’m hosting musicians, I’ll enjoy a highly coveted pass. So I’ll go. If nothing else, it’ll be fun to hear all that wonderful live music and watch all those amazing dancers. Yeah, I’ll go. Just not sure if I’ll dance. I don’t know. Not sure I’m ready to swing a partner quite yet.

The Fourteenth

Posted in An Ongoing Journal..., Divorce Diary2 Comments

For no good reason that I know of, fourteen has always been my favorite number. It’s not that I aspired to be that age long before I was, nor that I looked back on that age with nostalgia after it was long gone. I have simply always loved the number fourteen. In my mind I visualize it as a verdant, deep green. It is a number that has just felt right to me for as long as I can remember. But a few years ago it took on another meaning altogether. On a day in which most people celebrate their love for those they hold dear, dark and horrible changes both big and small were taking place…

It was a gray winter day, in the middle of the afternoon, when a young man burst into a lecture hall in Northern Illinois University’s Dekalb campus and opened fire, killing five students and injuring many more before finally killing himself. (He had recently stopped taking medication for mental illness and had reportedly been acting strangely.) I heard the news almost immediately, as Fareed called me from NIU to let me know. I remember sitting in the kitchen, looking numbly out at the river that flowed behind our house… I was stunned, yes, but almost more stunned to hear him go on… He said that he was now worried about his girlfriend, that she was freaked out and he felt he needed to be with her… he wasn’t sure if he’d be home tonight. Crazy as it sounds, while she was now five months pregnant with their child, my husband still stayed at home with us – and still retired to bed each night with me. He would, however, slip away during the night to be with her, making sure to be back home in the mornings, for the sake of our son, he’d say. I was still so shell-shocked at what was happening that I followed along in a daze as he drew out the torture. I’d been fooling myself somehow during it all, thinking he’d come to his senses eventually and come home – that somehow we’d make sure this child was taken care of, and somehow, when this had all blown over, we’d find a way to go on with our lives again. Certainly this was crazy thinking, but it was a surreal time, and crazy was all over. And now this.

How could I argue – how could I indulge in my own petty concerns when people had just been killed? When true and real heartbreak was occurring, when parents were receiving the worst possible news they’d ever hear – when all this was going on, how was it that I could beg my husband as I did to please come home to his wife? I told him that family was of prime importance, and that this event must surely remind him of that. I was livid that this silly girl nearly half our age could manipulate him so easily. I found it hard to believe that she was afraid to be alone – for heaven’s sake she lived in a tony, suburban house with her parents miles from campus! What had she to be afraid of? What did she know of being left? Of truly being alone? I was furious, I was heartbroken, I was sick. I was also extremely confused.

Although he’d said nothing of it, earlier that day, merely through coincidence and not at all by design, Fareed had been served with divorce papers. He’d gone for months saying that he wasn’t sure, that he didn’t know yet what he would do… he wasn’t sure if he planned on leaving us or staying. His presence in our home gave my heart hope, but his girlfriend’s growing belly wasn’t unsure at all. I asked about divorce, but he wouldn’t commit to it. Finally, summoning the best fighting attitude I could, I agreed with my attorney that he should go ahead and serve the papers. They arrived that day, but Fareed didn’t mention it. I’ll still never know just how he reacted that morning at work when the agent knocked on his office door. I’ll never know if it caught him by surprise, or if he felt relief. Even after five years we’ve never talked about that day. I do still wonder sometimes.

In that he said nothing about the divorce papers, in the back of my mind I hoped they hadn’t arrived. That my husband would choose me over his mistress, that he would come home and everything would somehow heal itself. I was still fooling myself. Acting one way, feeling another, and thinking somewhere in between. Man that was one difficult Valentine’s Day. Not a lot of love to be found, and more heartbreak than anyone deserved. I could never have imagined in that moment that some five years forward I’d be ok. That I’d have more joy in my life than sorrow, that my gut wouldn’t be consumed with an unceasing ache. How can you tell someone in the midst of such pain – and make them understand – that it will not always be thus? Although I myself wasn’t able to envision a brighter future back then, I had to make that leap of faith and simply behave as if it was there waiting. I took the ‘fake it til you make it’ approach. It definitely took a few years for my heart to catch up and relax into this new life.

Honestly, I am still not completely reconciled with what happened to me or with the way in which my life’s course shifted, but I do realize that the trajectory of my life – and certainly my son’s life – was greatly improved by this fateful turn of events. By this fourteenth day of February on which things changed forever.

Knock Three Times

Posted in An Ongoing Journal..., Mommy Mind7 Comments

You know that old joke about the drowning guy, the boats and God? Well, if you don’t, here it is: Guy’s at sea in a sinking boat. Some fishermen come by and offer to save him. He turns them away, saying that God will save him. Another boat comes by, the guy passes again. Then the Coast Guard comes by, and the man insists that he be left alone; God will save him. So finally, he drowns. In heaven, he asks God why He didn’t save his life – after all he’d put all his faith in Him. God answers, “I tried! I sent a boat to save you three times.” Duh.

I shoulda known. Had two ‘lost key’ scares over the past month. Both times I told myself that I would definitely heed the tiny warnings and have a spare key made. Out here in the country it’s fair to say our lives depend upon my vehicle. But I chose not have a copy made – and so today the universe issued its third and final notice. However, unlike the drowning man, I still have one more chance, and I’m going to take it as soon as I can, having ignored the first two warnings. Elihu was messing around in the car this morning before I came out (he’s never been outside and ready to go before me – this was a first!) and somehow he locked all the doors and then left the keys inside. He left a door open – in his mind to be ‘safe’ – and I, seeing it open promptly shut it. I then walked around to get in and made the discovery that I thought had not been possible since 1986; I learned my keys were locked inside my car. Crap. I remember this feeling. And although it had crossed my mind as a slim possibility, I hadn’t seriously entertained it because hey, this is 2013 – no one locks their keys in the car anymore, right?? And if you should happen to – seems to me that it’s all over. I could jimmie my way into a ’73 Buick Electra, even my ’78 Mustang, but an ’05 CRV? That thing’s shut up tight. The only fix I could see was a rock through the window.

Thankfully, Larry over at the shop came by and showed me a little trick he’s got – he uses this inflatable bladder thingee to expand the door from the car, and then he works a little old-fashioned magic and inserts a long, rubber coated wire inside to simply pull up the lock. (Guess my locks are still kinda old school – what I would have done had I those flush-mounted locks I have no idea. !) Needless to say, I have since called my local Honda dealership and will have a working copy of the key made today. As I told Elihu after I regrouped from a torrent of anger (we’d had an absolutely lovely morning so far and I so did not want to spoil it with my rage) this was mostly my fault. He’d not quite understood how dire it could be if we were locked out of the car, now he did. He was so sorry, too. I averted tears by telling him how silly I’d been to ignore the universe’s polite warnings about making a spare. I, apparently, needed to be clobbered over the head to get the message. ! Had him giggling, which helped keep the morning a happy one. The other gal who we share rides with came over and took him to school, and shortly I’ll deliver him his lunch (which had been locked in the car.)

Years ago, I’d vowed to take that little voice inside, magnify it ten times, and heed it’s advice. Many times through the years since then I’ve blown off that promise, only to remind myself after an unfortunate event, that I could have avoided such an outcome if I’d only done what I knew needed to be done in the first place… We all know the things we need to do. We all know when we’re pushing it; when we’re taking unnecessary risks. So why the hell do we thwart that tiny God voice within? We’re in a hurry, it’s as bit more money than we’d like to spend, it’s not really convenient… Ok. Lesson learned. Larry’s service call cost me $25, but it won’t be money wasted if it helps me to pay better attention in the future. Here’s hoping the third time’s a charm…

A ‘Post’ Post, dated 3/1 /13…

Apparently, I didn’t listen well enough to the universe – and the complete message that should have been received was “and get a jumper box while you’re at it – cuz if your car battery goes dead and you’re out here at the end of a long driveway on your own – you’re screwed. Just sayin. Hope you’re paying close attention; that’s what those two recent jumps by kind neighbors were all about. Now ya get it? Ok – over and out. Good luck!”

Third strike happened today. Thankfully I was just paid by a student, so I can afford to go to Sears today and buy that handy jumper box.  After my neighbor Tom comes over to give me my third jump in as many months, that is. ! Slow learner, I guess…

Atkins Four Weeks In

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Hooray! Seven pounds lost so far! I now weigh less with all my clothes on – shoes too – than I did one month ago with no clothes on at all. Now that feels good. And my jeans more than comfortably close around my middle. Still the same size, but hope is restored and I can fully visualize that next size down. Good news for me, because I was just beginning to lose hope. 

I kinda gave up on the pure induction lifestyle (less than 20 carbs a day) when I had to cook for my father this week. He likes a drink before dinner and almost always has wine with his meal. I missed my wine, so I very much enjoyed having a glass along with him – plus the tiniest taste of the meal’s pasta, rice or bread portion. Yeah, in fact I ‘cheated’ a few times. But all in all, I’ve come to a rhythm that works for me. My best successes on diets have always come once I’m over the initial phase of becoming reacquainted with the counts – grams, portions, fat, carbs and so on – and have come upon the go-to shortlist of foods that work best. I find I’d rather have just a few foods that I like really well and that fit the numbers, than have to come up with new ideas over and over again. For me it’s just easiest to ‘set it and forget it’. In short, diets for me are a bit monotonous. Which is fine for a few months, and usually that’s all I’ve ever needed. (With the exception of the post-pregnancy loss of 55 pounds on Weight Watchers, and that was a long and slow process of nearly a year. I ate a good variety, but portions were small and I used a great amount of personal discipline. Not sure I could muster that kind of self control right now.)

I’ve decided to allow myself a few small cheats, as it saves me from feeling the poor-me, my-plight-is-so-boring-and-everybody-else-is-having-such-a-good-time self pity thing. In the end I’ve got little to complain about – I eat sausage and eggs for breakfast every day, and I’m seldom gnawingly hungry. I might miss a good handful of potato chips, but really, now that I’m in my groove, it’s not that bad.

Now on to month two…

Sunday Afternoon

Posted in An Ongoing Journal..., Farm Life, Mommy Mind, Pics1 Comment

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It’s been a nice day at home. Thought I’d entice Elihu outside by suggesting we follow the resident fox’s tracks around the woods, but he was happier inside. I remind myself that a bright, snowy day for an Achromat can take a bit of energy and today he just wasn’t up to it. Instead he studied up on airplanes and engines, enjoyed some time flying his helicopters – and we had a nice surprise visit from our neighbors Stephanie and Zac and their two daughters, Annabelle and Bailey (they’re expecting baby number three in late April). They came by on their old model T, for which Zac had made a fine set of wooden skis to replace the front tires.

Mom’s still in the hospital another day, so before long we need to stop by for a visit, and then we’ll head over to dad’s to bring him supper. It’s a school night, so we don’t want to make it a late one. It’s been a nice, relaxed day of aviation, friends, cooking and baking. A perfect Sunday. Here are a couple pics of Zac’s prize ride…

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Loading up the family…

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Crank starting the old engine…

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All aboard…

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They head off the long way ’round…

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Passing us to the East (Saratoga Lake near the horizon)

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Heading North towards the field…

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Snow is clearly no problem for this nearly 100 year old vehicle!

 

Hospital Stay

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It was probably inevitable, I suppose, that one of my parents should find themselves in the hospital. Even though dad’s situation doesn’t seem like it would require such treatment, it had nonetheless been him who I’d pictured going in first. But no. Instead, my mother, the woman who still captains the ship, who still feeds my brother and dad, who takes care of the five cats, who shops, cleans the house as she can, works two days a week, pays for Elihu’s Waldorf education as well as the mortgage on our house – it is she who must stay for four days and four nights in the hospital. She’s been increasingly out of breath the last couple of months and learned she has Atrial Fibrillation (otherwise known as Afib). They tried to zap her heart to make the top and bottom valves get beating in sycn again, but it didn’t take. So now she’ll need some new meds – and she’ll have to stay in the hospital as they monitor her progress. Naturally, upon learning this, I was worried about her, but then a new reality came to me: I was now in charge. Crap. Good thing I only have one kid. Good thing I have an automatic coop door opener. Good thing my schedule isn’t over booked. Here it is, finally. I’d wondered how I’d deal with something like this for a while now, but I hand’t taken the train of thought and gone very far with it. I had a vague idea, but thought it still somewhere far off in my future. And really, even now I’m not overly concerned; things aren’t dire, not really. Mom’s being well cared for and I think dad’s ok too, and Elihu and I will enjoy being with grandpa and making him supper over the next few nights. It’s ok for the short term, but I can’t imagine living like this. Yeah, I think a one parent household is a ways off yet – but still, this is a good little wake-up call. I realize that things won’t always be thus.

It’s weird. The way we’ve all prepared the docs and sat around the table with a lawyer; on paper we’re ‘ready’ – yet still I have no idea what I’ll actually need to do when the first parent passes. I know, I know… I shouldn’t talk like this. But hey, my mom’s a 78 year old woman with a heart condition. My dad can’t even remember if he’s eaten lunch, much less operate a phone or a microwave, and his condition will only get worse as time passes. Things are changing, and I need to consider some game plans. But for now I can’t, I gotta run. Accidents at night still necessitate loads and loads of laundry (I really need to invest in a second pair of sheets and another mattress pad!), the birds still need tending, eggs need to be washed and packed, food needs to be prepared…. Plus dad needs a bunch of meds twice a day, mom needs some things brought to her in the hospital, and guess what? I’m out of gas and low on cash. And it’s a snow day, so I’ve got the kid tagging along. Sheesh. !

One thing I will do today. Mom doesn’t own a light bathrobe. She’d never in a million years think to buy herself one, because it’s a luxury, not a necessity. So, armed with a Kohl’s gift card I’m going to get her one. So she can get out of that bed and walk down the hall with some dignity. She hasn’t asked me to bring much, just the last issue of the New Yorker, some deodorant and floss. I’ll try to do better than that. I’ll pack her a little weekend getaway bag. Cuz this really is the closest thing my mother has probably ever had in her life to a real vacation. Hopefully she’ll find some rest and relaxation over the next few days, and she’ll find her heart beating normally again. Then maybe she won’t need another hospital vacation again for a long time.

Atkins Three Weeks In

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Hoo boy. Feeling a bit disappointed, and frankly, a little ashamed to admit I can’t tell any appreciable difference in my weight this week from last. It seems I’ve dropped a single pound, but on my cheapo scale I really can’t be sure. Anyway, it’s kinda hard to see the exact line from five feet up. Probably should invest in a digital scale – but that’s a luxury I don’t really need. I’ll be able to see well enough when that needle passes the next milestone. While I was feeling a heavy dose of self pity this morning, I’m regrouping again and taking heart. Hey, at least I’m not going up anymore. I gotta remind myself that I’ve learned a lot about food in general, and how to spot those ubiquitous carbs. I’ve become sensitive to quantity and portion size too, and all of this is good. And if nothing else, I’ve got an audience for my process, so I’m a bit more motivated to report success.

The difference this week? I strayed from the diet a couple of times. After the ‘helicopter kiosk at the mall’ incident I allowed myself one comforting sip of Orange Crush and a bite of pita bread. I know, that doesn’t sound bad, but again… the Atkins ‘experts’ warn that a bite – even a taste – of something sweet or carb-laden can throw your body back into a glucose-burning machine just like that. To recap: the idea of this diet is to transform your body from a sugar burning engine to a protein and fat burning engine. Apparently, your body jumps at the carbs cuz they’re easier, quicker energy. Makes sense. But man, staying the course is not easy. Atkins fans like to say how great the selections are, how full you feel, etc, etc… but in the bigger picture it’s really kind of a drag. But I remind myself that it’s a good time of year to restrict my diet like this. Not a lot going on, and with winter still here it’s the perfect time to do the metamorphosis/chrysalis thing. So onward I go.

I also broke down and took some cold medicine this week – a handful of times. I’m nearly two weeks from the worst part of it, but my cold still lingers and the amount of mucus I’m producing is downright annoying. Sleeping was harder than usual too. Had to do something. I also made one rather landmark transgression: I had a very small glass of wine. And I mean small. But again, probably enough to mess with the pure induction ketosis thing. (I was at a friend’s art gallery opening and having a wonderful time meeting people and chatting. I figured the quality of life thing superceded the diet in that moment. I’m still not overly concerned. Hey – two and a half weeks without a drink is HUGE for me.) 

Boy my confidence is a tenuous and fragile thing. This morning I was absolutely crestfallen. But now after collecting my thoughts on paper, my spirits are renewed. What I’ve managed to do – and the temptations I’ve managed to resist – are tiny successes. And tiny is something. While I may never again have the tiny body I did when in my twenties, I am nonetheless happy to be just a bit tinier than I was three weeks ago.

Departure

Posted in An Ongoing Journal..., Mommy Mind2 Comments

My heart sunk down to my knees and my body went cold. The kiosk where our Turkish friends sold helicopters at the mall was gone. Gone. In its place a wide expanse of hallway. As if it had never even been there at all. For almost the past two years this place had been mecca for my son. His young life has revolved around his chickens and his helicopters. This is the place he learned to fly. This is the place where he’d test pilot a variety of machines for hours on end while I waited nearby, reading. The two young men who ran the stand always showed Elihu such kindness. At Christmas one even gave him his choice of helicopter – just like that. “Which one do you like?” the man asked. Elihu showed him, and the man handed it over with a smile. No doubt Elihu had probably been responsible for a handful of sales – even so, this was truly an unexpected and sweet gesture. The men would share snacks with Elihu, they’d even leave the stand for a few minutes, trusting Elihu to keep watch in their absence. Truly, this had become an important part of our lives. The kind of place we kinda always thought would be there. And now, it wasn’t.

Thankfully, we’d been there just a few days before. We knew they were concluding their seven year business and moving on. The mall overall wasn’t doing well, their numbers were declining – plus they were getting burnt out on it. We understood. And yet somehow, we couldn’t really believe it. “Come back Friday” they told us, as they’d been working on getting one of Elihu’s helicopters fixed. Not sure why I gave them our info the last time we saw them, but I’m glad I did. It gives us both hope that they might stay in touch… Still, there’s no real closure here, and it’s upsetting. Elihu was so excited about getting his old helicopter back fixed too. Each morning the past two weeks he would count down the days until he picked it up. (I myself was never so confident that they’d been able to help – it seemed to me they were stalling because they didn’t want to disappoint him!) But it wasn’t the loss of his toy that saddened him. It was the loss of his friends, of this joyful oasis in his life for which there was no substitute. But they were just one day short… why? We couldn’t understand it, so I began to search for the story. 

We visited a shopkeeper across the way who I knew to be a fan of Elihu’s. He would stand outside his store, watching Elihu fly, smiling the whole time. He knew us by sight, and thankfully, he was able to fill us in. It seems he’d been witness to their final moments there. Turns out they’d planned on being here Friday. We were not stood up (I didn’t think so, but it was still nice to hear.) There’d been a fight with the mall manager. They’d asked for three extra days, but the manager wouldn’t let them pay a prorated rent, and instead challenged them to pay him half a month’s rent for three more days. Our friends had no choice but to leave. I can imagine they were disappointed to know that Elihu would be let down, that they would not be here for him – either to return his toy or to say goodbye. It wasn’t the ending either party would have chosen. But little we could do. 

I’m proud of Elihu. He didn’t cry, even though it would have been entirely understandable. (Hell, I wanted to!) But he did keep staring at the space, walking back and forth over the spot again and again and repeating “I just can’t believe it…” In the end, we ended up making friends with the store owner, and he said he thought he had the Turkish fellows’ number at home – that he’d bring it in for us. So that made us feel a little better. And we both reminded ourselves that we never know what’s ahead. That sometimes big – and often sad – changes have to happen before something new and different and good can happen. Yeah, we both know that stuff. But it didn’t really make it any less sad. Just a bit more tolerable. 

Time will take the edge off our loss. We’ve both learned a lot from this chapter in our lives, we’re grateful for it, and now it’s reached its conclusion. Some new chapter will begin soon and we’ll learn new things and meet new friends. In time it’ll all sort itself out. After all we both know it’s true; every arrival depends upon a departure…

Sleepless in Saratoga

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Ok, this is nuts. It’s been going on for a couple of years now, and I’ve had it.

I live a full and busy life. For the most part I’m pretty happy, daily I’m grateful, and never am I idle. My chores start before sunrise and end late at night. I cook two mealtimes a day plus make my child’s lunch. I work a few hours, I practice an hour, I do laundry and dishes daily and keep up on correspondence. I prepare for students, I teach students. I have a great relationship with my son, I love my home, my family is all alive and well… I don’t smoke, I don’t drink alcohol and the coffee I drink is decaffeinated. All in all I’m healthy, and things are goin pretty well. So why in hell can’t I sleep? Oh I can get to sleep initially – but if I get up at night to pee – it’s all over. Likely I’ll be up for the duration, catching half hour naps here and there on a good night. Some nights I just wake up for no good reason at all. Either way, there I am again, watching that stupid clock. I’ll turn the clock to face the other way, but that won’t help. And yes, I know the other tricks – get all your wandering and pressing thoughts down on paper. Concentrate on your breath. Don’t drink lots of fluids close to bedtime… check, check and check. 

I can’t be the only one! I see the commercials for sleep medications – that lovely, luminescent butterfly gliding in and out of suburban bedroom windows, gently coaxing pretty women to sleep… And I myself have taken such medication. Many times over the last five years I’ve depended on em for a true night’s sleep. But I’d very much like to sleep on my own now, only it just aint workin. It’s driving me nuts. Ok, there are two things I know I haven’t tried – exercise and yoga. Those two disciplines, worked routinely into my life might tip the scales. They might be just what I need to find sleep a naturally occurring phenomenon again. Ok. On the list…

Oh, yeah, and speaking of lists, there’s that ‘other’ list too. The ‘low-grade worry’ list that continues, like a ticker at the bottom of your screen on the nightly news…. not enough money so the electric might shut off soon, not enough money but the fuel oil’s nearly out, not enough money so now the phone’s been cutoff, not enough money but sure hope the the kid’s violin rental won’t be cancelled , not enough money, hope the car insurance won’t lapse….did the bank charge me two or thee overdrafts? How much was that total?  I need more students, I need more egg customers… where will I find them? Even then, will it be enough? This is all old news by now, but it’s there, nonetheless, and perhaps it contributes to the problem. Shouldn’t think so, but then again…

My mother insists that this is simply what happens to all women in or nearing menopause. Many other women say that’s baloney. Who’s right? What’s the cause? What the hell is going on here and why can’t I sleep???

Years ago – as in maybe more than 20 – I was an extra in a Sandra Bullock movie, shot in Chicago. Folks were all abuzz in the costume room, but all I was was tired. My husband had long told me I was making too big a deal over sleep. We humans didn’t need much, he would say confidently, we could function on so much less than we got every night. Alright, so I decided to live ‘like him’ for 24 hours to see how true this was. We had a gig the night before, stayed way up, retired way late. Drove him the O’Hare for his next gig somewhere, then I went back downtown to the set. I was shown the cloakroom, told the extras were already on the street but I had a good twenty minutes yet to find a coat and get down to the set (we were given coats to wear, not much different from our own). There was a pile of coats on the floor left by the extras – and it looked so inviting. Maybe, just for a couple minutes. A power nap. Yeah, that’s just what I need. And there’s no one here – I’m all by myself. Perfect. I laid down and slept. When I awoke, it seemed to be lunchtime. I’d missed the morning’s scene, but I’d at least make the afternoon scene. Got in line and put some very good looking food on my plate. I was just about to taste the tip of a perfectly prepared asparagus spear when a very stern woman came up and informed me that this was dinner for the crew, and that the extras were outside, on set. ?? It took me a minute to realize what had happened. I’d been deeply asleep for at least eight hours – through the commotion of lunch break too – and it had only felt like fifteen minutes! Woah. Very Rip Van Winklesque. Kinda disorienting. The woman made me dump my plate into the garbage and leave the building. Ok. I’m going. I wasn’t bummed about not being in the movie, but I was instead feeling quite smug inside. Turns out this girl does need her sleep. Body don’t lie.  

And the name of that movie? “While You Were Sleeping”. Ha! I certainly know that I need my sleep – more to the point I want my sleep – but these days the challenge is actually getting it. Here I go, back to the task at hand… rested or not, see you in the morning.