I Sat Listening

I don't get a whole lot of time with my kids these days. I consider myself lucky if I get any time. I remember being in my twenties and spending quality time with my parents wasn't a high priority (sorry Mom). I just remember thinking how much I wanted to go out, get out, get on with it. My kids are not unique in their want to be out of our house or away from our view. Luckily, my kids try hard not to do anything overt that may hurt my feelings in this regard and I try hard to respect the fact that they are now people, full grown people who have the capability of making their own decisions whether I agree or not. It's a mutual understanding that allows us all to grow. I have no idea where we would be as a family if we did not have this. I suppose we would be like many parents who got shut out.
The other day my son and I were talking, just talking about his life, his concerns, his thoughts, his future. He isn't a huge talker, but when he has the opportunity, he does find me and we sit and chat. He does come to me occasionally for advice. As my child he has heard most of my advice already in one form or another, so he does not always seek me out. "Trust me, I know practically every word you have ever said to me by heart," the boy laughing told me. I smiled, grinning ear to ear because even when I know he does the exact opposite of what I think is best my voice remains in his head.
I sat looking at my son, his face covered in beard, his hair short, his voice so much deeper than when he was younger even just a few years ago. I sat and looked into the face of the man who faced me looking me square in my eyes, unafraid, unapologetic, just being himself, comfortable in his own skin in front of me. I listened as he talked. He is intelligent, compassionate and kind. He is sarcastic, even caustic sometimes, not having had his edges worn down yet by time or experience. He makes me laugh as he uses silly faces and voices to explain or tell a story. He teases me relentlessly about nearly everything, including the pink fuzzy robe I wear to keep me warm.
I like his face, not so much because it resembles my own, but rather because of the new configuration of his father and me together and the angles it forms. I like his blue eyes and how they flash a deep sea blue when he is speaking passionately about something. I like the way the edges of his mouth curl up when he says something funny. His hands never stop for even a moment from activity when he talks, as he fidgets with whatever is handy at the time. His face, his frame is thin, pale, and sinewy. My boy is often guarded, weighing out his words, tempering his speech, careful not to divulge too much to the wrong person. He may appear as though he does not trust you, well, he probably doesn't. He was altered by his father's death in 1997 and although the pain has subsided some, he still bears the scar.
Later that day he came home from work and asked to talk again. We did, on the back patio this time, just hanging out, laughing, being silly, playing for a few minutes before he went to bed.
My son always says "I love you, Mom." He always kisses the top of my head before he leaves or when he comes home again. He always hugs me every day like clockwork. I always smile when he does those things. I remember everyday he is doing his level best to be a good man. Those are our "always" things.
Yesterday, I sat and listened to my boy, my son. As I listened to every word he had to say, laughed at every joke, I heard the faint sound of the ticking clock in the background reminding me that these moments for us are numbered. Soon, very soon, he will be moving out and moving on and we won't have the convenience of these little talks.
Yesterday, I sat and listened and while I did, my heart beat began it's own message, thumping out, "I love this boy, I love this boy, I love this boy."

Oh Tannenbaum

I called my friend and laughed harder than I have laughed in weeks. We did our usual schtick and talked about a myriad of topics from fun to completely gross. One topic that came up was about my car I have owned for the past ten years, it's a Ford mini van. I was a rolling cliche. Mike and I had bought the car after my other car was on it's death bed. The mini van was a wedding gift to the family. We had just gotten married and the kids were young and into everything. There was baseball practice, soccer practice, roller skating parties, ski trips, football, band practice and girl scouts to name only a few. With four very diverse children, I never knew on any certain day where my beast of a car would have to go. It contained me, the two dogs and the four kids while we drove around in a foot of snow when we were selling our house to move to Houston. With the heat blasting I drove along slick roads to allow time for the potential buyers to make up their minds.
My van was there to drive kids to college, teach them to drive, move us from our family home to the apartment and take kids to their jobs. It kept my son safe when he was in a hit and run causing him to skid off the road onto a curb slamming the tires into the concrete. It had kept us safe during hurricanes, torrential down pours and droughts. My car took my beloved dog to the hospital when she got sick and needed emergency care. It housed my animals once again while buyers perused the next house as we packed up and moved out. So very many times my van, my girl, kept us safe and sound during our travels.
Old Bessie died recently. She had gone from Cleveland Ohio to Houston Texas and could go no more. On her last trip she gracefully gave way in a parking lot, keeping my son off the road and into safety.
I know she is just a car. I know she is an inanimate object with no feelings or heart, but there are so many memories in that old car, it's hard for me not to take this personally. Emails and calls have been put out to have someone come and get her to drag her off to the junk yard. The St. Christopher medal that hung on the rear view mirror has been taken down. I got that medal from a patient who worried about me when I worked in the inner city on the 3-11 shift. My patient said to me one day, "Take this and put it into your car. It will keep you safe. Oh, and don't stop at the stop lights, it's dangerous on these streets at night." I took her advice on both counts putting the medal in my then car and not always stopping because I knew it was smart to be a little afraid. Since she gave me the medal I have always put it into the car I owned. I will now put it into my newest car.
We bought a car from a friend that is older, but brand new to me. Betty called it my new old car.
I told my friend how much I will miss my old car, and the memories it contains. We laughed about what Betty calls my new car when my friend said, "Oh, it's like what we used to say about our Christmas trees, they were real live dead trees." That made laugh. My newest car is my real live dead tree. Mike and I have always named certain objects in our lives. It's kind of a goober thing to do, but it always makes us giggle. I told him I will be naming my new old car Tannenbaum after what my friend had said. It's appropriate since we got it right before Christmas.
I will miss my mini van. Letting it go now is one more thing I will do that pushes me forward out of Mom mode. That van drove our children around when they were young. Most now have their own cars and have no need to ride in a seven seater. It's another step into my new role of mother of adult kids. It's not a bad role, but as a mother, I remember what it was like to see our kids when they were younger, smaller and needed us so much more, so it is a little bitter sweet.
Old Bessie did well by us living out her existence in service to our kids. She will be put to rest and used for parts to hopefully serve some other family as they wheel their way around town.

She Looks Good For Her Age

This is my dog Asti. I have written about her several times. I wrote about when a utility worker threw a rock the size of a fist that hit her, I wrote about her vestibular neuritis which at the time I thought might be a stroke. She is my friend, my beloved, my gorgeous dog. She is by nature regal. She still sits guard looking more like a sculpture from Egypt than a family pet. Her posture, even at her age is impeccable. She turns 16 years old this month. Every year that passes I remain awe struck by her love, her loyalty and her stamina. She is 112 years old in dog years. She continues to round up the wiener dogs, put fear in the minds of strangers who dare approach, and ignores the other furry friends who may wander over to give her a good sniff.
She has failing eye sight, her hearing is now selective, but her bark remains fierce. Her love for Mike, me and the children has no bounds. She is as loyal now as when she was a puppy. We cater to her now. She has earned her spoiling after of years of keeping the kids safe, guarding the house and reigning in the other furry friends. She has the biggest cushion, the first choice at bones and extra time being petted and pampered. Really, it's the least we could do, after all of her years of service.
Asti never had special training to watch over children, yet she took to the job as if born for it. I have on many occasions referred to her as my "Nanny" like in Peter Pan. Her instincts were to take care of our kids no matter the cost to her. She would run in constant circles for hours making sure the perimeter of the yard was secure from intruders. God help you if you tried to gain access to my house when I was a single mom. Asti took great pleasure in making grown men scream and cry. She never once stopped Michael from coming over, but when we split for a time, the other men I attempted to date got iced out by the gate keeper. I saw grown men, big, rugged, strong men, beg my dog for access to the house. They tried bribing her with treats which she never accepted one, not one. They spoke in that sweet sing-songy voice as if she were a child only to have her raise up leaning on her front paws, baring her teeth getting ready to strike. Yep, my dog decided who I needed to marry and wasn't giving up until she could make it happen. I confess that early on when I was trying to date, I was at first frustrated by her lack of compassion for me in my loneliness. Later I understood how right she was and how her instincts were so much better than mine. I have never questioned her since.
My beloved is 16 years old. She still runs being leader of the pack. She still loves all of us without condition. She remains patient, loyal and protective. She is one of her kind, a rare and precious gem. There is no other dog in the world like her. I celebrate her now, as I celebrate her always, knowing just exactly how extraordinary she is. There are a million cliche and cheesy marketed goobies that refer to the fact that dog is God backwards. I am not a goobie collector, but if I were, that would be the one for me to have. I am a fan of truth even if it comes in the form of t-shirt or paper weight. Asti is about as close to a heavenly being as I have ever met.

Temporary Glitch

I am currently unrecognizable, my face gaunt, with cheeks flushed red from fever, my eyes sunken and blood shot, my breathing audible with wheezing sounds and gurgling coming from deep within my body. My hands shake, sometimes uncontrollably as I hold my latest cup of tea trying to force fluids down my nearly closed throat. I am sick, the kind of sick I have not been in years, decades even. I am frustrated to the point of tears, real hot stinging tears that fall from my eyes leaving streaks down my face, wetting my shirt below. Everything on me hurts, my body aching from the strain of the latest influenza to wrack my already weak person. I was thinking back to the time I had knee surgery and I had to spend months recuperating. We lived in a split level then, with stairs everywhere, and I had to be confined to the family room, unable to climb even the few steps into the kitchen. One day I had to drive with my knee confined to a brace, I hobbled outside only to have the pin that kept my knee straight and me from agonizing pain fall out of the brace leaving me to crawl around in the driveway. I went from angry to feeling completely out of control and I lay on the concrete sobbing at my fate. Eventually I was able crawl around enough to find the pin and put it back into place so I could hoist myself into the mini van to pick up the child who was stranded. I hadn't felt that type of frustration until recently when I became so sick I couldn't work, couldn't do even the simplest of activities, even having to plan out taking a shower so I could lay down immediately after.
I miss my job, my friends, my life. I haven't felt great in about six months but at least I was functional. I am no longer functional. It pains me beyond words that I am confined to the couch, getting up only on occasion to use the bathroom, or take more medication. I am spent. I had always, prior to this, minus the knee thing, been able to push my way out of or past any illness or calamity that came my way, but this time, I am firmly in the grips of something much bigger than me and my sheer will.
I am whining, when truly even I think I have little right to do so. I know how lucky I am. I have a job I love, friends who are incredible people who would do nearly anything for me, children I adore and a husband who loves me, even in my current state. It almost makes my illness worse to know exactly what I am missing.
Being a praying kind of person, I have the all the time in the world right now to pray and I am. I am praying for my health back, for my family because so many of them are sick with the flu also right now, and my job, my beloved job that I will be able to return to it very soon.
My dog, Schnitzel has been at my feet for days now. He whines as he lays next to the couch, wagging his tail in great enthusiasm every time I touch him. It's as if he knows.
I feel the fever building again. My face is growing ever hotter, my throat is starting to hurt more and my mind is growing fuzzy. I know cognitively I will survive this. I know there are many people sicker, much sicker than I, so even as I write this I have some guilt about whining about a temporary influenza. I have been changed by this. I have changed some habits, been more aware of my body and felt more than just a little grateful for all I have been given in my life. The truth is if I were any sicker and unable to recover, I know I have had a good life. Since I know I will one day recover, I understand now more than ever just how much I appreciate every minute that I am here and how completely blessed I am with all my good fortune. Much like George Baily from "It's A Wonderful Life" I am the richest woman in town.

My Year In Review

I was looking at the calender and I noticed that the new year is only weeks away. It seemed odd to me that the year 2011 is coming to a close so quickly, yet it seems as though we have been in it forever. Some months crawled by as if they were never ending while other months flew by as if they barely existed. It's been a year of learning, listening and most of all appreciating what I have.
Last December I had a remarkable thing happen when someone from my past, a veritable ghost, showed themselves to me by internet. Stunned to learn that this person still existed, I was even more shocked to learn they had lived only hours from me when I had been certain they were they states away. Written exchanges were made, revelations revealed, and yet when all was said and done I felt no resolve. To this day I wonder why they appeared. Maybe there is no better reason then curiosity, maybe, they just wondered...maybe it all didn't matter. Regardless of the reason behind the appearance, I was left with dealing with feelings I had long ago shoved deep into my psyche, wanting nothing more than to have them disappear, never to be heard from again. But there they were, all my past bubbling up on me in unpleasant, unexpected ways, forcing me to deal with a past I find no pride in. I did deal with my unresolved bits and pieces to the best of my abilities, which I confess are somewhat lacking most days. In the end I did not get what I wanted from the exchange, and I then had to let it all go. If there is meaning in it, I have yet to figure it out.
In January, my eldest a college graduate was forced to come home against her will. Her beloved rabbit, her personal confidante and best friend was taken too soon by the paws of my beloved dog. It was tragic, accidental and I to this day cannot get the image of the limp and lifeless body of Tuvia out of my head. This brought the entrance of Jim the new bunny to our home. He is bright, funny, loving and a terminal 2 year old. He is madly in love with my daughter, reveling in every minute of her attention. Christy is now adjusting to her new life in Houston, making progress, figuring things out. Still very unhappy about living with her parents, she and I have had the opportunity to spend some real time together, which for years we have not had. One day in the near future she will pack up and move on, move out, leaving her childhood behind her, and once again our correspondence will be by phone or email.
January also brought with it my column, Dear Kellie, my life long dream of being an advice columnist, writing for our local paper. Every other week I answer questions from those who have honored me with their questions. Sometimes heart breaking, sometimes enormously funny, I do my best to answer in honesty and love.
February brought our family closer to the reality of having Michael move to Chicago, a move I still do not understand. The merger we saw coming for years, but the move to an expensive city was something we never really counted on. Houston being home to us for several years now, is livable. Our cost of living is reasonable, and housing is something most can afford. It remains a quandary.
March brought our garden, containers full of veggies, fruits and spices. We began planting our flowered versions too, with vines blooming in every shape and color of flower imaginable, covering our wine bistro area, a patio we created shading us from the hot sun.
April brought an early start to summer. The temperatures began to rise and the drought was on it's way. We were finally moved all the way in to our home and felt pretty settled.
May brought biking, writing, long sunny days and the end of another school year for most of my kids.
June came in hot and dry. We made our way to the community pool, I had my first radio interview with the brilliantly funny Brady, and we were making weekly trips to the library. Michael and I talked about how to plan for impending separation if he had to go to Chicago. Finding a job, a part time job became my next big venture.
July saw more heat, no rain and dying trees. Lake Houston had begun to dry up and I started my new job as a financial aid specialist at the local community college. I had noticed I had become more tired, feeling not really ill, but certainly not right.
August had me working full time, while the heat remained relentless. Kids got jobs, changed jobs, took second jobs and started school. Still very tired, I noticed a persistent cough, mostly at night and slight gurgling sound when I exhaled. Thinking it might be allergies, I ignored my growing symptoms.
In September I got cast in The Vagina Monologues at the college and rehearsals were under way. I worked in the morning and rehearsed every evening. I went to the hospital one night after having coughed up a sizable amount of blood, something I had never before experienced and was certain I never wanted to experience it again. Diagnosed with pneumonia, I began to see myself and my body in a different light. I began to notice things I had simply ignored. It was a turning point for me. I knew I would not take my health for granted as I always had, but would now start to be more appreciative of what I had.
October saw record numbers of days without rain, trees marked for removal since they were deceased and an overgrown swamp where the lake had once been. The play I was in got advanced, work was something I had to come to love and I had made a best friend. Mike and I went to Chicago and loved the city, but realized for sure what we had suspected and that we could not afford to move there. With stagnant wages, and my certain unemployment and the separation of our family from our kids, well, beautiful or not, Chicago was not for us. Halloween was celebrated with costumes and my new fog machine a I fussed and delighted over the children who came to the door. The look on their faces is priceless to me. With my usual fanfare, I decorated with blood, ghouls, ghosts and sound effects. The month ended for me on a high note of sitting outside enjoying my favorite holiday with one of my kids.
November was a bit more quiet than the other months. The only real thing that sticks out is of course, Thanksgiving. Turkey, green bean casserole, all the usual suspects, nothing more than a family meal, with all the trimmings. I call it the work holiday, since that is all I do all day long.
December found us doing more home improvement, in case we move, in hoping we stay. The kitchen remains without a sink, tile has yet to be laid, and the new stove remains in he middle of floor. I got sick, really sick again and this time wasted no time going tot he doctor. I am now on every medicine known to mankind. I walking pharmacy, filled to the brim with a plethora nasal sprays, inhalers, antibiotics, steroids and other such things, I now drink my weight in water, and pee out twice as much. The Christmas decorations are up, the twinkle lights brighten my mood every time I see them, which soothes my steroid rage. Tea is my drink of choice now that he weather is cool and the rain has finally fallen on multiple occasions. I still love my job, and Mike is still uncertain about his and where he will end up. I am still insomniac, some of which is blamed on my current medication implosion. I am not as tired as i have been in my recent past and feel very hopeful that the new year will bring me good health. Let's face it, I am due.
So here we are a few weeks before the new year. I have made more friends, gotten a good job, been in a play, written a biweekly column and remained in love with my husband. I have traveled to the big city of Chicago, been on the radio and watched my children continue to mature facing some pretty daunting things in their own future. When I look back to whole of it, I am stunned by how much I have done personally for me. I am stunned at how the time moves ever faster the older we get. I remain humbled at the wonderful people I now have in my life and how generous they were to let me in. It turns out 2011 was a big year for us, as a family.
2012? Well, if nothing else I think it's going to be really interesting.

Adult Behavior

I was up at 2:00 AM with insomnia, again. This not sleeping thing is starting to effect my motor skills. I notice my reaction time is slower than usual. Here is the most interesting thing, I find everything to be hilarious when I am this tired. I laugh really easily, at the most unexpected things, howling until the tears roll down my cheeks. I admit that I am normally a comedic snob, not able to laugh at everything silly when I am well rested, but now being slappy, my version of slap happy, I find the funny in most things.
This morning my oldest children, Christine and Dan were both up with me. We were sitting outside enjoying the cool nighttime air, just talking about life stuff, when Christmas was brought up. At first I was silent listening to them as talked about when we would try and get together as a family to celebrate, then I listened as they talked about giving a small donation to The Salvation Army and skipping presents since most of us are struggling college or post grad students. I sat looking into the faces of my children as they showed such compassion for those who have less, and such reason since our family is trying to make our ends meet. I watched them as they spoke the words I have spent my lifetime teaching them. I saw all of the lessons about generosity, charity and the true meaning of Christmas come from deep inside them. They have actively declined presents. They spoke meaningful words about not needing anything but time together. I sat just quietly listening to my adult children who have now become the very thing I had always hoped for them, kind and generous adults.
The other day, Tom had gone to the store with a ten spot for deodorant and shaving cream. He came back with only his bag of necessities and said, "Mom, you only had a little more than a dollar in change so I put in the red bucket." Nodding, I understood that he had learned from the time he was little that this what we do with our change during the holidays. "Thank you, Tom," was my only reply. Ingrained in my children is the importance of putting whatever money we have into the bucket to try and reach those who have so little.
Each of my children has displayed charity this holiday season. Each one has told me of their idea or their action of doing for others. Hearing my children speak with such eloquence, with such compassion is the gift they given me this Christmas season.
All I have ever hoped for my kids is that they see people, that they are able to show others compassion, even when maybe no one shows them any. I have seen my kids at times struggle when they needed to be seen and others avoided their eyes. Maybe that is why they are so willing to give without condition, they know heartbreak, they know loss, they know what it is like to feel invisible.
My kids are my angels here on earth. They are my reason, my legacy, my heart. They are out in the world showing peace, love and kindness. I will force them to watch "It's a Wonderful Life" for the millionth time since they were born. I will ask them to do it for me, because I love it so and it still holds so many wonderful lessons. Do you hear that in the distance, it's the sound of church bells. It seems as though my angels, my adult kiddliwinks, finally got their wings.

Today is World AIDS Day

Today is World AIDS day. It's not a day to celebrate as much as it is a day to be aware, to remember where we came from, and how far we have to go. There is no happy salutation, no decorations, no special cake to make or food to use to show what this day means. I am somber on this day, remembering how many people I love that I lost due to a disease with no cure.
In the 1990's I sat in vigils waiting with other friends as our beloveds suffered in hospital beds mere feet from where we were. We would gather, all of us, after being notified by land line telephones that one more person we held so dear received what was tantamount to a death sentence. We sat, we spoke in hushed tones, we laughed quietly at stories of each other and our friendships. We sat and waited as our friends languished, in utter pain and sometimes despair at the height of their youth and their beauty. We got coffee, brought in food, fluffed pillows and smoothed blankets. We patted hands, kissed cheeks, and waited. In truth looking back we waited nearby fearful if we left we would miss the last word our friend would say, or the last time they would look us in the eye. We didn't want to miss anything back then, because we knew it was indeed the last of life as we knew it. I sat in more vigils than I care to think about. I lost some friends without knowing they had gone, only hearing later that they, too, had been taken far too soon.
My friends back then were all gay. I had heard ignorant hateful people refer to AIDS as the gay plague. I remember feeling revolted by the accusation that God had decided to punish my loved ones by giving them a hateful disease that held no understanding back then. My darlings, the dearest of souls that I loved so very much suffered a fate I cannot even begin to describe to you. We didn't know how it was spread, so many would not touch an AIDS patient. We didn't know how to stop it's rampant flow through the body, so my friends suffered every symptom, including open sores, hideous rashes, susceptibility to every germ or normally innocuous flu to come down the pike. My friends, many of them were human guinea pigs, being tortured with whatever new experiment was being tested out. My friends suffered. It was torturous to watch, so I can't even begin to imagine what it felt like to endure it. Back then being gay was something my friends could not do openly. They held jobs that prohibited any inkling of sexuality. "Socially acceptable" meant it was wrong to be gay. Wrong to be exactly who they were, which I must tell you, were the finest human beings I have ever known. There were no openly gay people on TV, or in the movies, where any normalcy could be seen. Only cartoon-like caricatures of gay people were displayed, as if they were an anomaly. My friends were anything but abnormal. They were funny, kind, generous to a fault, accepting of all others whoever they were or where they came from. They were the least judgmental, believing instead that we all have our crap and we need each other to get through this thing we call life. Being gay meant they had to do the emotional heavy lifting early in life in order to survive. My gay friends were required to be self reflective, insightful due to a society who repeatedly rejected them based on nothing. My friends had parents who refused to look at them, let alone love them for who they were. They had been faced with the choice of either acceptance by those who insisted they be anything but who they were or accept themselves knowing they would lose everyone who had a direct link to their past. Most of my friends walked away from the lives they had always known in order to be who they were internally, who they were born to be. For me, this is when I gained their love, this was when they entered my life just as they were forced to exit the family life that rejected them. I became their family, we all became each others family. When AIDS began taking my friends, my family, I began to suffer at its hand.
I was losing a friend a year, until one year it was two. I said I couldn't go the last time my friends sat and waited. I had had enough, I could not bear to lose one more friend. My heart could not take it, especially with no end in sight. I had buried so many, with so many more getting sick. The CDC was doing more research, drugs to suppress the monster were becoming more available and more of my friends were given some hope.
AIDS numbers are rising again, this time in China. They are the newest population to see increased infection. AIDS is still running rampant through Africa, as militias spread the disease to women and children through rape. Here, in 2011, in the United States of America 20% of those infected by the HIV virus do not know they have it.
Today is World AIDS day. After all these years we are still battling this incurable disease. Please take a moment, think of your friends and family. Remember all those who have perished, the ones still suffering due to lack of medication, or health care or the ability to even be tested. Today is World AIDS day and people are still dying. Take a moment and think of a single thing you can do to make a difference. Today is World AIDS Day. It effects all of us, it can infect all of us. We belong to each other. Today, take a moment and find something you can do to help those who are still looking, all these years later, for a cure.