On the eve of my Mom's funeral, I am finding myself with a lot of time to think. I'm not necessarily convinced that this is a good thing. Mostly now I find myself thinking about Wednesday night. After we met with Father Mike to finalize the funeral plans, I headed over to my brother's house. We had my Mom's urn and and an electric engraving pen. The plan was that each of us would engrave a message to Mom on the urn.
I was having trouble coming up with something to say. What element of my relationship with my Mom was the most meaningful and enduring? Then I remembered something that my very good friend had said to me, not too long ago. So, I wrote this on the urn: "Dear Mom, Thank you for gifting me with your independent spirit. Love, Tina."
Looking back over my life and my relationship with her, I feel as though I was raised to be in the periphery of my family, and when I reached adulthood, it was very difficult for me to be honest with my mother about how I felt about that. "I love you" were three words that were not easy for any of us to say over the years. Looking back, we were busy raising our own families, but we always made time for Mom. The question I have for myself now is - is it enough to "make time" as though it were some terrible chore? Shouldn't I have willingly wanted to spend time with her? Was I an unappreciative, ungrateful child, or was I the product of my upbringing? Am I the prototypical selfish American child?
During the last 10 years of her life, my mother lost all of her filters and it felt to me as though every critical thought that she had been harboring during my adult life came tumbling out of her mouth unchecked. My weight, Mandy's weight, Bill's temper and his sloppy work habits, and increasingly, Dick and I spending way too much time on things and causes other than her. My lack of domestic skills were one of her favorite targets. If I am going to be totally honest, she was always outspoken, but her final years were over the top, and it is extremely difficult to remember her being any other way. I wonder now if that was unfair to her. And the answer to that question is that I just don't know. I have told my daughter repeatedly not to hesitate to tell me when I start sounding like my Mom. The truth is that if I were to start acting like her, I would not blame my daughter for just "making time for me".
Dick's words on the urn?... "Thank you for the unconditional acceptance." I had an idea of what their relationship had been like when my parents first married, but seeing and hearing these words felt like someone bludgeoned me with a club. Sally echoed his sentiments (because she, too, received unconditional acceptance from my parents), but all I could do was sit there with my mouth open. I wanted so badly to be able to echo his feelings, but I just couldn't bring myself to do it. After an awkward silence, he said "of course, my circumstances were different than yours". All I could say was that she had high standards and that I think I lived up to most of them.
The fact is that I did get my independent spirit from my Mom. I didn't use it in the same way that she did - most of the time I completely stifled it - and that was probably at the root of her many disappointments with me. By the time that I even knew that I had this spirit, I think it was too late for us and our relationship. The question becomes - where do I go from here? What do I do with it now and for the rest of my life?
Friday, May 24, 2013
Monday, May 20, 2013
The Meaning of Life and Death
Today I attended a memorial service at the DeGraff Skilled Nursing facility. It is an annual service for families of residents who have passed away in the previous 12 months. It was short, it was simple, but in many ways, it was profound.
There was a choir comprised of a little group of 8 residents of the facility. They were fairly beaming as they sang, and their director informed us that they had been practicing since January. There was something life-affirming about the music that they made, something beautiful in the rudimentary sounds.
The pastor focused on Jesus's words "Truly, truly, I say to you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains alone; but if it dies, it bears much fruit." His message was simply that we are the fruit of our deceased loved ones and that it is the natural process of life that we must eventually die and that our "fruit" will continue to flourish and grow - perhaps even more so - when we have passed on.
The service concluded with a release of balloons - a loved one released a balloon for each one of the deceased. As I watched the baby blue (her favorite color) balloon rise to the clouds above, I could hear her voice in my ear, telling me that she was ok. I think she would tell me honestly that she did want a few tears shed for her. I think she would believe that she had earned at least a few. Frank honesty was her trademark. But then she would tell me that more than a few tears would just be a waste, and "isn't there something more useful I could be doing?"
My mother wasted a lot of the final years of her life dwelling on dramas in our family that she had no control over. I feel a certain amount of guilt in the realization that I was probably her main enabler, and once I realized this, it was pretty much too late to get her to focus on anything else, try as I did. All I can do is to learn from this and realize that I have a lot of years ahead of me to spend without her, so it would be best if this fruit continues to grow and "ripen" - I would like to be the fruit that people buy at the roadside stands rather than the rejects that end up being fed to the farm animals - I know that my Mom was an animal lover, but there's a limit...
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There was a choir comprised of a little group of 8 residents of the facility. They were fairly beaming as they sang, and their director informed us that they had been practicing since January. There was something life-affirming about the music that they made, something beautiful in the rudimentary sounds.
The pastor focused on Jesus's words "Truly, truly, I say to you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains alone; but if it dies, it bears much fruit." His message was simply that we are the fruit of our deceased loved ones and that it is the natural process of life that we must eventually die and that our "fruit" will continue to flourish and grow - perhaps even more so - when we have passed on.
The service concluded with a release of balloons - a loved one released a balloon for each one of the deceased. As I watched the baby blue (her favorite color) balloon rise to the clouds above, I could hear her voice in my ear, telling me that she was ok. I think she would tell me honestly that she did want a few tears shed for her. I think she would believe that she had earned at least a few. Frank honesty was her trademark. But then she would tell me that more than a few tears would just be a waste, and "isn't there something more useful I could be doing?"
My mother wasted a lot of the final years of her life dwelling on dramas in our family that she had no control over. I feel a certain amount of guilt in the realization that I was probably her main enabler, and once I realized this, it was pretty much too late to get her to focus on anything else, try as I did. All I can do is to learn from this and realize that I have a lot of years ahead of me to spend without her, so it would be best if this fruit continues to grow and "ripen" - I would like to be the fruit that people buy at the roadside stands rather than the rejects that end up being fed to the farm animals - I know that my Mom was an animal lover, but there's a limit...
Tuesday, May 14, 2013
A Blank Slate
This page sits before me.... white and blank. I fully intended to write something profound, something deep and meaningful, but instead I sit here wondering. Wondering. Wondering.......
..... why I was unlucky enough to be born into a family that already had its quota of children, but lucky enough to have a brother who looked the other way when I snuck into his bedroom and listened to his Beatles and Herman's Hermits and Dave Clark Five albums.
.....why I was unlucky enough to have parents who were so absolutely the stereotypical definition of "white bread" who chose to raise me in a white-bread, Catholic, small-minded small town, yet I was lucky enough to discover my Dad's cassette tape of the soundtrack to the all black cast of Hello Dolly which I believe to this day to be the absolute best cast recording of that show.... and that somehow growing up in this environment had the opposite effect on me than what you might expect.... in that I will rarely meet someone for the first time and be able to guess that person's race or religion -nor will I have any desire to do so. I was so underexposed that I was just blind to it all..... I guess.
.....why I was unlucky enough to have parents who didn't give a rat's petuty where I went to college, as long as I went to college and learned something that I could use to earn a living and get out of the house, but I was lucky enough to go to NCCC where I met a girl who was a total nut job who years later introduced me to the man I married.
.....why I was unlucky enough to not pursue music in any way, shape or form in college or early in my adult life, but I was lucky enough to know my musical shortcomings and practice like hell to pass an audition for BCAS. I am fairly certain that, given my genetic makeup, had I continued with clarinet and piano and voice at an early age, I would have become some musical savant and probably would have been very full of myself and would have considered myself far too superior for the likes of a community chorus.
.....why I was unlucky enough to have parents who were more concerned with what I wore to grade school than they were with where I attended grade school - or junior high or high school. The Tonawanda schools were hardly a challenge , and as a result, I never had the need to develop any sort of useful study skills. Hmmm ... now, I'm not sure what the corollary is to this one. Ok.... I've got it! I'm lucky that in my adult life, my lack of preparation and study skills forced me to get really good at pulling my ass out of the proverbial fire. Oh, and not to mention, my solemn vow that my child would never be in an unchallenging academic environment. Just ask her some time - if or when the topic of "unlucky" should arise.
.....why I was unlucky enough to land back in Tonawanda to raise my own child, but I was lucky enough to have a mortgage payment that is the equivalent of the heating bill in some of the mansions in Williamsville or Clarence.
.....why I was unlucky enough to inherit my Dad's cholesterol and blood pressure problems, but lucky enough to inherit his sense of humor to see me through it all.
.....why I was unlucky enough to marry into a family of codependents, enablers, bi-polar personalities and alcoholics, but lucky enough to still be a member of that family today..... because I have learned over the years what to say to them and what not to say to them. What they are capable of and what they are incapable of. That they will curse each other over and over, but then they will circle the wagons like nothing you've ever seen if someone is perceived as having threatened one of them. That they would rather self-destruct than confront. I knew nothing of this type of family and I had to learn slowly and sometimes painfully over the course of many years. I am lucky, because I can use what I have learned to offer help to others who also find themselves suddenly thrust into this unfamiliar territory.
One man's trash is another man's treasure.
What really is the definition of luck anyway?
..... why I was unlucky enough to be born into a family that already had its quota of children, but lucky enough to have a brother who looked the other way when I snuck into his bedroom and listened to his Beatles and Herman's Hermits and Dave Clark Five albums.
.....why I was unlucky enough to have parents who were so absolutely the stereotypical definition of "white bread" who chose to raise me in a white-bread, Catholic, small-minded small town, yet I was lucky enough to discover my Dad's cassette tape of the soundtrack to the all black cast of Hello Dolly which I believe to this day to be the absolute best cast recording of that show.... and that somehow growing up in this environment had the opposite effect on me than what you might expect.... in that I will rarely meet someone for the first time and be able to guess that person's race or religion -nor will I have any desire to do so. I was so underexposed that I was just blind to it all..... I guess.
.....why I was unlucky enough to have parents who didn't give a rat's petuty where I went to college, as long as I went to college and learned something that I could use to earn a living and get out of the house, but I was lucky enough to go to NCCC where I met a girl who was a total nut job who years later introduced me to the man I married.
.....why I was unlucky enough to not pursue music in any way, shape or form in college or early in my adult life, but I was lucky enough to know my musical shortcomings and practice like hell to pass an audition for BCAS. I am fairly certain that, given my genetic makeup, had I continued with clarinet and piano and voice at an early age, I would have become some musical savant and probably would have been very full of myself and would have considered myself far too superior for the likes of a community chorus.
.....why I was unlucky enough to have parents who were more concerned with what I wore to grade school than they were with where I attended grade school - or junior high or high school. The Tonawanda schools were hardly a challenge , and as a result, I never had the need to develop any sort of useful study skills. Hmmm ... now, I'm not sure what the corollary is to this one. Ok.... I've got it! I'm lucky that in my adult life, my lack of preparation and study skills forced me to get really good at pulling my ass out of the proverbial fire. Oh, and not to mention, my solemn vow that my child would never be in an unchallenging academic environment. Just ask her some time - if or when the topic of "unlucky" should arise.
.....why I was unlucky enough to land back in Tonawanda to raise my own child, but I was lucky enough to have a mortgage payment that is the equivalent of the heating bill in some of the mansions in Williamsville or Clarence.
.....why I was unlucky enough to inherit my Dad's cholesterol and blood pressure problems, but lucky enough to inherit his sense of humor to see me through it all.
.....why I was unlucky enough to marry into a family of codependents, enablers, bi-polar personalities and alcoholics, but lucky enough to still be a member of that family today..... because I have learned over the years what to say to them and what not to say to them. What they are capable of and what they are incapable of. That they will curse each other over and over, but then they will circle the wagons like nothing you've ever seen if someone is perceived as having threatened one of them. That they would rather self-destruct than confront. I knew nothing of this type of family and I had to learn slowly and sometimes painfully over the course of many years. I am lucky, because I can use what I have learned to offer help to others who also find themselves suddenly thrust into this unfamiliar territory.
One man's trash is another man's treasure.
What really is the definition of luck anyway?
Saturday, May 11, 2013
A Reflection on Mother's Day
One year ago, we took my Mom to Mother's Day Brunch at the Holiday Inn on Grand Island. Buffets were always an awkward affair because of her walker. She had degenerated to the point where I thought we could just store the walker and bring her a plate of food. After all, I was her daughter. I knew what she liked to eat ...... right? When she was told this, she became very angry and announced that she wasn't hungry. I guess having her food brought to her was unacceptable, even as we thought we were doing her a favor. But no ... if she couldn't walk around the very large room and see everything, she was not going to eat. Period. So, I dragged out the walker and off we went - Mom, walker and me following behind with her plate. Her mood changed instantly. In the last five years of her life, she was increasingly only happy if one of us was waiting on her hand and foot -and sometimes, even that didn't make her happy. Never mind that I was spending my first Mother's day without my daughter. My daughter ..... there could not be a bigger contrast in mother-daughter relationships that that of my Mom, me, and Amanda ....
As I prepare to celebrate my first Mother's Day without my Mom, I feel that sense of something missing. Obviously she is missing, but it's more than that. She loved to go out to eat in a really fine restaurant - something I clearly inherited from her - and she loved to be given flowers that she could plant -something that I clearly did not inherit from her. We indulged her with both of these loves every year, and it just feels odd to be choosing not two mothers day cards and two plants for her and for my mother in law, but only one card and one plant. It's just a strange, weird feeling. I'm also wrestling with feelings of guilt. Guilt, because of the sense of relief and freedom that has invaded me.
So many people are posting the sentimental poems on Facebook about their mothers in heaven. I could rarely bring myself to buy her a rose-covered sentimental card each year and usually resorted to the witty, comical variety. Because my Mom was not the rose-colored, sentimental type. When I was a child, she fulfilled her duties as a parent because I'm sure she felt that she had no other choice. But there was never the "I loves you's", never the mother-daughter talks and I don't remember feeling deprived as a child or as a teen. It wasn't until I reached adulthood that I felt as though I was missing out on something. I would imagine that I was and maybe still am a textbook case of the person who resorts to blaming parents and childhood for her woes of adulthood. The facts as I see them are this: I could never go to her for advice because I felt that she would find a way to interpret it all as a failure on my part. It was all wrong in her eyes: my weight, my clothes, my parenting style, Bill and his family. She loved to constantly tell people that none of my Dad's children had inherited his musical talent (it was only a few years ago that she stopped doing this). As she made her way through the final decade of her life, she expanded the circle of people she enjoyed critiquing even as her involvement in the world around her shrank proportionately.
So why am I going on about this? Probably to make myself feel better about the fact that I have very little desire to celebrate her tomorrow in any different way than I did when she was alive. I would be in denial if I said that there wasn't the feeling of a hole. She really did enjoy the day (and the flower and the restaurant). I will choose to celebrate Mother's day as the mother of an amazing daughter and as the daughter-in-law of a woman who is hopefully embarking on a chapter in her life that will be light and free. And I will celebrate all of the other amazing Mothers who are a part of my life.
As I prepare to celebrate my first Mother's Day without my Mom, I feel that sense of something missing. Obviously she is missing, but it's more than that. She loved to go out to eat in a really fine restaurant - something I clearly inherited from her - and she loved to be given flowers that she could plant -something that I clearly did not inherit from her. We indulged her with both of these loves every year, and it just feels odd to be choosing not two mothers day cards and two plants for her and for my mother in law, but only one card and one plant. It's just a strange, weird feeling. I'm also wrestling with feelings of guilt. Guilt, because of the sense of relief and freedom that has invaded me.
So many people are posting the sentimental poems on Facebook about their mothers in heaven. I could rarely bring myself to buy her a rose-covered sentimental card each year and usually resorted to the witty, comical variety. Because my Mom was not the rose-colored, sentimental type. When I was a child, she fulfilled her duties as a parent because I'm sure she felt that she had no other choice. But there was never the "I loves you's", never the mother-daughter talks and I don't remember feeling deprived as a child or as a teen. It wasn't until I reached adulthood that I felt as though I was missing out on something. I would imagine that I was and maybe still am a textbook case of the person who resorts to blaming parents and childhood for her woes of adulthood. The facts as I see them are this: I could never go to her for advice because I felt that she would find a way to interpret it all as a failure on my part. It was all wrong in her eyes: my weight, my clothes, my parenting style, Bill and his family. She loved to constantly tell people that none of my Dad's children had inherited his musical talent (it was only a few years ago that she stopped doing this). As she made her way through the final decade of her life, she expanded the circle of people she enjoyed critiquing even as her involvement in the world around her shrank proportionately.
So why am I going on about this? Probably to make myself feel better about the fact that I have very little desire to celebrate her tomorrow in any different way than I did when she was alive. I would be in denial if I said that there wasn't the feeling of a hole. She really did enjoy the day (and the flower and the restaurant). I will choose to celebrate Mother's day as the mother of an amazing daughter and as the daughter-in-law of a woman who is hopefully embarking on a chapter in her life that will be light and free. And I will celebrate all of the other amazing Mothers who are a part of my life.
Sunday, May 5, 2013
Bittersweet Day
Today my chorus experienced what could arguably be the highlight of its history. This was a concert that was more that the sum of its considerable parts. Very popular medleys, choral excellent, solo performances to die for and a sold out theatre. All of this was topped off by a very successful VIP reception and a celebratory post-concert party.
Why then, am I feeling like a giant piece of crap?
Just when I feel as though the self-centered, thoughtless bitch has vacated my body, she comes back in full force. Having stated the considerable highlights of today, let us examine the low points:
- the day started out by me finding out that my husband and mother in law attended an event in Alden where a special tribute ceremony was held for my father in law. She thought I knew all of the facts. I knew nothing except that he wasn't home when I got home and when he rolled in, he told me in a vague and casual way where he had been. I might have gone with them, might not have. It would've been nice to have the choice. But since I've been reminded occasionally that "it's not my family", I guess I should not have been surprised.
- I arrived at the concert warm up site, and within 10 minutes, I was being ranted at by the ticket chair about some plan to resell tickets whose holders have not shown up. Not anything close to being my responsibility. I am always willing to be a shoulder to someone, but it is another thing entirely to be accusatory, as if I were plotting and planning against said person.
- concert goes swimmingly, as previously described. However, after battling my way up to the Loge, my husband is nowhere to be found and none of the punch is mixed -which, I thought he was going to do, as he did last year. No answer to my text or voice mail, as I hurriedly try to get the stuff mixed as thirsty VIPs descend upon us. He finally showed up 25 minutes later with a valid reason for his absence. Fine, but once again, the art of communication has been apparently lost on us.
- I arrive at the party and manage to procure drinks before I am set upon again by said ticket committee chair who threw a temper tantrum because "nobody saved chairs for them at their table and they have to sit all alone." Here comes that bitchy witch rising up inside of me. If I had a dollar for every time this has happened to me at past soirees, I'd be retired and sitting on a yacht. The difference is that when it happens to me, I generally just sit down and suck it up. In this case, bad behavior is rewarded and I (and others) are just left wondering what just happened. They are all talking at me trying to make heads or tails of it. and I might add that I was also ranted at by the same person because there was no high chair or bumper seat waiting for them with a bow and ribbon on it as befits their status. No thanks came my way - I might add - after I managed to commandeer a member of the staff to find a bumper seat. All this as a strange woman taps me on the shoulder and asks me when the food is being served "because they've been here since 5:15 and they're starving." Well, what chorus member sent this woman over to me? Some idiot who can't read e-mails and absorb them enough to tell their guests that the party starts at 6:00 (not 5:15) and the food is to be served at 6:30. Icing on the cake - a member who approached me to attempt to crash the party.
I needed to talk to someone about how I suddenly and most unexpectedly missed my Mom during this concert. It took me by surprise and left me feeling confused. But no such luck, and here I am blogging away desperately trying to regain my composure but all I can think is that I can't put a foot right. I used to be self-centered and inconsiderate and all it got me was loneliness and self-hatred. Others are rewarded for temper tantrums. Maybe I am being punished because this witchy bitch is still lurking inside me and still comes out, sometimes at the most inopportune times. Maybe I'm not really being punished at all but am just indulging myself in yet another pity party.
So, anyway, I beg the pardon of anyone who thinks that I should be joyful and ecstatic at the end of this day. I guess the kinds of things that make me joyful and ecstatic are a bit more complicated than a sellout crowd and a fine performance.
Why then, am I feeling like a giant piece of crap?
Just when I feel as though the self-centered, thoughtless bitch has vacated my body, she comes back in full force. Having stated the considerable highlights of today, let us examine the low points:
- the day started out by me finding out that my husband and mother in law attended an event in Alden where a special tribute ceremony was held for my father in law. She thought I knew all of the facts. I knew nothing except that he wasn't home when I got home and when he rolled in, he told me in a vague and casual way where he had been. I might have gone with them, might not have. It would've been nice to have the choice. But since I've been reminded occasionally that "it's not my family", I guess I should not have been surprised.
- I arrived at the concert warm up site, and within 10 minutes, I was being ranted at by the ticket chair about some plan to resell tickets whose holders have not shown up. Not anything close to being my responsibility. I am always willing to be a shoulder to someone, but it is another thing entirely to be accusatory, as if I were plotting and planning against said person.
- concert goes swimmingly, as previously described. However, after battling my way up to the Loge, my husband is nowhere to be found and none of the punch is mixed -which, I thought he was going to do, as he did last year. No answer to my text or voice mail, as I hurriedly try to get the stuff mixed as thirsty VIPs descend upon us. He finally showed up 25 minutes later with a valid reason for his absence. Fine, but once again, the art of communication has been apparently lost on us.
- I arrive at the party and manage to procure drinks before I am set upon again by said ticket committee chair who threw a temper tantrum because "nobody saved chairs for them at their table and they have to sit all alone." Here comes that bitchy witch rising up inside of me. If I had a dollar for every time this has happened to me at past soirees, I'd be retired and sitting on a yacht. The difference is that when it happens to me, I generally just sit down and suck it up. In this case, bad behavior is rewarded and I (and others) are just left wondering what just happened. They are all talking at me trying to make heads or tails of it. and I might add that I was also ranted at by the same person because there was no high chair or bumper seat waiting for them with a bow and ribbon on it as befits their status. No thanks came my way - I might add - after I managed to commandeer a member of the staff to find a bumper seat. All this as a strange woman taps me on the shoulder and asks me when the food is being served "because they've been here since 5:15 and they're starving." Well, what chorus member sent this woman over to me? Some idiot who can't read e-mails and absorb them enough to tell their guests that the party starts at 6:00 (not 5:15) and the food is to be served at 6:30. Icing on the cake - a member who approached me to attempt to crash the party.
I needed to talk to someone about how I suddenly and most unexpectedly missed my Mom during this concert. It took me by surprise and left me feeling confused. But no such luck, and here I am blogging away desperately trying to regain my composure but all I can think is that I can't put a foot right. I used to be self-centered and inconsiderate and all it got me was loneliness and self-hatred. Others are rewarded for temper tantrums. Maybe I am being punished because this witchy bitch is still lurking inside me and still comes out, sometimes at the most inopportune times. Maybe I'm not really being punished at all but am just indulging myself in yet another pity party.
So, anyway, I beg the pardon of anyone who thinks that I should be joyful and ecstatic at the end of this day. I guess the kinds of things that make me joyful and ecstatic are a bit more complicated than a sellout crowd and a fine performance.
Tuesday, April 30, 2013
Krazy Kat Lady Monologues - our newest addition
Once upon a time, my Mom had two cats. In fact, cats always belonged in pairs as far as she was concerned. Ever since we rescued our first kitten from the garage next door when I was 12 and adopted a kitten from the SPCA six months later, she has always owned two cats.
My Mom was the master of playing favorites -with children, grandchildren, nieces and nephews and ..... cats. I'll give her this - she was honest about it to a fault. You always knew where you stood with her. As I said, she always had two cats... and one of the two was always her clear favorite. Not so with me. My favorite is whoever happens to be laying next to me or on my lap at the moment. Cats, that is ... not nieces and nephews!
Last September, before we moved Mom into Assisted Living, she was residing with Katie and Josie. Katie was a long-haired orange and white. Josie was a calico. In the battle for my Mom's favor, Katie was the clear front runner. As the move in date approached, Bill and I agreed to adopt Josie. Katie was another matter. She was older (12 years old) and very much a shy, one-person cat. A household with another Senior Citizen would have been ideal. But it was not to be for poor Katie. Her reward for being "#1 Cat" at my Mother's house was the euthanasia needle. As best we could tell, my Mom was already beginning the decline into dementia and its accompanying irrational behavior. She reasoned that if she couldn't keep Katie, nobody would.
Josie was very skittish in my feline-dominated house. The first few months of her life with us was spent in an upstairs bedroom. She had the run of the house but, oddly, that's where she confined herself. She decided that she liked her soft-sided cat carrier. It must have felt like a protective cocoon, and it sat perched on its side in the bedroom - usually with her inside. We got her downstairs by physically picking up the carrier and carrying it downstairs with her inside. They say the ancient Egyptians worshipped cats as gods. If ever there was evidence of cat worship, this could be it! Eventually, the litter box also moved downstairs (thank God) and now she resides only downstairs. Whatever it takes to get the liter box away from my bedroom is fine by me!
The feline dynamics in our house range from brotherly love to benevolent acceptance to full-out trench warfare - sometimes all three in one day. Kramer and Jerry were adopted together, so they are joined at the hip. Pumpkin - one would think - should be accorded some level of respect as the senior cat in both age and in years of residence at Chez Reece. Not likely. Right from day one, the "freres horreur" tormented her. Kramer was the worst offender. He liked to chase and corner her, at which point I would usually come to her rescue. She never really tried to defend herself. I don't think it was in her personality. Enter Josie. Sometime shortly after Christmas, she declared herself to be fed up with Kramer. With fur on end, making noises I've only heard on Wild Kingdom, she would launch herself on him whenever he started his nonsense. Amazing, considering that she is not only half his size but also declawed. Nine times out of ten, they will confront each other like gladiators under the dining room table, and he will be the first to emerge and run away with his tail puffed to the size of a large feather boa. For this reason alone, I have to admire this cat. She's a tough broad.
Another reason: I frequently heard from my Mom and brother the lament about Josie's lack of cuddliness. She's not a lap cat, etc, etc ... As I compose this, she resides next to me. If I am in the kitchen, she's there. If I am standing next to the counter, she's on it (yes, germophobes - on it), head bopping me, purring loudly. She lays on me, around me. I think it is safe to say that she has adopted me. What does this really tell me? That she knew on some primal level that she was not the favorite in my Mom's household? That she has figured out that I don't play favorites? That I am a sucker for a purring, head bopping furry face? Yes, yes and yes.
I think I'm maxed out at four cats, but I wouldn't trade any of them for all the gold in the world. And this new addition fits in just fine.
My Mom was the master of playing favorites -with children, grandchildren, nieces and nephews and ..... cats. I'll give her this - she was honest about it to a fault. You always knew where you stood with her. As I said, she always had two cats... and one of the two was always her clear favorite. Not so with me. My favorite is whoever happens to be laying next to me or on my lap at the moment. Cats, that is ... not nieces and nephews!
Last September, before we moved Mom into Assisted Living, she was residing with Katie and Josie. Katie was a long-haired orange and white. Josie was a calico. In the battle for my Mom's favor, Katie was the clear front runner. As the move in date approached, Bill and I agreed to adopt Josie. Katie was another matter. She was older (12 years old) and very much a shy, one-person cat. A household with another Senior Citizen would have been ideal. But it was not to be for poor Katie. Her reward for being "#1 Cat" at my Mother's house was the euthanasia needle. As best we could tell, my Mom was already beginning the decline into dementia and its accompanying irrational behavior. She reasoned that if she couldn't keep Katie, nobody would.
Josie was very skittish in my feline-dominated house. The first few months of her life with us was spent in an upstairs bedroom. She had the run of the house but, oddly, that's where she confined herself. She decided that she liked her soft-sided cat carrier. It must have felt like a protective cocoon, and it sat perched on its side in the bedroom - usually with her inside. We got her downstairs by physically picking up the carrier and carrying it downstairs with her inside. They say the ancient Egyptians worshipped cats as gods. If ever there was evidence of cat worship, this could be it! Eventually, the litter box also moved downstairs (thank God) and now she resides only downstairs. Whatever it takes to get the liter box away from my bedroom is fine by me!
The feline dynamics in our house range from brotherly love to benevolent acceptance to full-out trench warfare - sometimes all three in one day. Kramer and Jerry were adopted together, so they are joined at the hip. Pumpkin - one would think - should be accorded some level of respect as the senior cat in both age and in years of residence at Chez Reece. Not likely. Right from day one, the "freres horreur" tormented her. Kramer was the worst offender. He liked to chase and corner her, at which point I would usually come to her rescue. She never really tried to defend herself. I don't think it was in her personality. Enter Josie. Sometime shortly after Christmas, she declared herself to be fed up with Kramer. With fur on end, making noises I've only heard on Wild Kingdom, she would launch herself on him whenever he started his nonsense. Amazing, considering that she is not only half his size but also declawed. Nine times out of ten, they will confront each other like gladiators under the dining room table, and he will be the first to emerge and run away with his tail puffed to the size of a large feather boa. For this reason alone, I have to admire this cat. She's a tough broad.
Another reason: I frequently heard from my Mom and brother the lament about Josie's lack of cuddliness. She's not a lap cat, etc, etc ... As I compose this, she resides next to me. If I am in the kitchen, she's there. If I am standing next to the counter, she's on it (yes, germophobes - on it), head bopping me, purring loudly. She lays on me, around me. I think it is safe to say that she has adopted me. What does this really tell me? That she knew on some primal level that she was not the favorite in my Mom's household? That she has figured out that I don't play favorites? That I am a sucker for a purring, head bopping furry face? Yes, yes and yes.
I think I'm maxed out at four cats, but I wouldn't trade any of them for all the gold in the world. And this new addition fits in just fine.
Wednesday, April 24, 2013
From the Yin to the Yang and Back - Chapter 4
She came to me like an angel when everything was torn apart. Erasing all the madness she came and blessed a broken heart ...
A Voice in the Darkness
After I had served on the BCAS Board for a few years, I identified a pattern pertaining to the At Large members. Every year without fail, a chorus member was elected to an At Large position on the Board who had no real idea what he or she was signing up for and, furthermore, no real desire to fulfill the duties. This resulted in a Board member who just took up space at the monthly meetings and sometimes quit before the season was up. By the time 2009 rolled around, I had developed a little game that I played with myself for amusement called "predict the warm body". After the election in May 2009, I thought I had this one pegged for sure. This woman had been a member for many years, but she was like a ghost to me. She had taken a leave here and there, and when she was active, she was very quiet. As Secretary, I prided myself on knowing everybody, but this was a tricky one. My only knowledge of her had come from our illustrious President who had attempted to involve her in the choosing of new ladies' concert attire a few seasons prior to this one. It was ridiculous to me, because she was on leave at the time, but he would not let us make a choice without her involvement, and she apparently was ignoring him. I remember being highly annoyed and wishing that she would just tell him to bug off so that we could get on with business. Needless to say, my expectations of this new Board member were not high, and I remember arriving home from the annual meeting and saying something sarcastic to my husband like "Well ..... we've got another live one again."
I can't pinpoint exactly when my opinion started to change, but it was some time in the Fall of 2009. If I look back at e-mails from that time period, there are e-mails involving the entire Board, and slowly but steadily, the e-mails between just she and I began to increase. I guess when she announced her proposal for the next Chorus trip and then when she basically took charge of it, I should have gotten a clue that this was more than just a warm body. As my relationship with Marcia continued to sour, I instinctively turned to her for help in understanding what seemed hopelessly non-understandable. But it wasn't until I announced my intention to retire from the Board that I felt the full force of this woman. Unbeknownst to me, she had been forming an opinion of me that was unlike any that I had ever heard before. She began a quiet, persistent campaign to convince me of my value - not just as a member of the Board but as a human being. Could it be that she had figured out that I was lacking any sort of affirmation on any level from anyone, and that I was incapable of recognizing my own value? I remember repeatedly telling her that nothing she could say was going to change my mind about retiring. But it was more than just her words working its magic on me. In order to understand my about-face, one must understand the inner workings of this woman. When she meets someone for the first time, she will engage them in conversation and by the time it's all said and done, she seems to know the person's strengths and shortcomings. But that isn't the whole story. She will always celebrate a person's strengths and downplay their weaknesses. You can see it in the way that she talks to you or engages you. In my case, she always treated me like the person that I was capable of being, while everyone else close to me was reacting to my current state of being. I was cynical, negative, temperamental and just downright bitchy. I might have felt justified in feeling and acting as I did, and I attracted the negative attention that I so richly deserved - from everyone but her. To her, I was a valued, intelligent human being.
Something happened to me one night that I may never be able to fully explain. We had sung an Evensong concert that was truly an artistic success. We were full speed ahead to our next concert tour. And I had just been informed that a qualified person had agreed to run for Secretary and take my place. It was a warm April night, and I was driving home with the windows cracked, enjoying the first warm air of the year when the reality of my situation hit me square between the eyes. I was on the brink of throwing away the chance to be involved in something spectacular - and why? Because some people had personality quirks that bugged me? And what made me think that my life circumstances were so much more dire than anyone else's? As I drove, I engaged in a mental role call of our chorus members. For the first time, I saw them as individuals and I thought about some of them and the crosses that they bore every day. Why did I want to step away from serving as their Secretary? The answer was clear: I didn't. In those moments, in that flash of clarity, I realized my own worth and the worth of everyone surrounding me - from those closest to me to the people who can barely say hello to me once a week. The rest is history.
This turnabout happened three years ago. For three years, I have tried to pinpoint what it was that changed my thinking in such a profound way - profound, because of its far-reaching results that extended beyond my role as Board member. I saw everything and everyone differently. My husband would go on to completely change careers, and I am positive that the cynical, narcissistic, negative person who inhabited my body for so long would not have been capable of supporting his decision or the extra hours that were required for him to make this change. He is a different person now - no longer imprisoned in a dead-end career that was so wrong and unsuited to his talents. My job is what it is, and I am respected there. Instead of looking for things that a job is not supposed to be giving me in the first place, why not celebrate what it does give me? All revelations for me after all those years. I had finally grown up.
There is no way to place a tangible value on a friend who comes along just at the right time, or in my case, just in the nick of time. This is a value that is immeasurable. It is easy to want to help someone by stroking their ego or telling them what you think they want to hear. It is another thing entirely to tell them what they need to hear and to actually live your words every day. A person who is drowning in self-doubt, a person who feels that they have no worth to the world, needs more than just words. This person needs someone to emulate - a person who forces you to see the world through his or her eyes simply through the sheer force of their personality. And now, I say this:
To my dear friend,
I am forever indebted to you. Your presence has changed my life and the lives of those I love. You have asked me on more than one occasion to stop describing you as a saint. So, I give you this: you are stubborn to the point where I want to smack you. You are so driven and task-oriented that I so often want to kidnap you and force you to smell the roses. And just when I want to kidnap you and smack you, I realize that it is those qualities that allow people like me to be spontaneous, and it is those qualities that made it possible for you to penetrate the wall that I had built up around me. Likewise, it is my spontaneity that allows you to laugh, to relax, to let down your guard and reveal your inner self to me. The wonder of our friendship is that we have so much in common, yet it is also these differences that enable us to be the best people that we can be when we are in each other's company and even when we are not.
I have tried before to describe to you all of the different demons that were working inside of me when we first met. I hope that this has shed some real light on what I was all about back then and why your efforts on my behalf and your friendship were so important in turning my life around, and especially why you are so important and special to me now and why you will be so for the rest of my days.
Love,
Tina
A Voice in the Darkness
After I had served on the BCAS Board for a few years, I identified a pattern pertaining to the At Large members. Every year without fail, a chorus member was elected to an At Large position on the Board who had no real idea what he or she was signing up for and, furthermore, no real desire to fulfill the duties. This resulted in a Board member who just took up space at the monthly meetings and sometimes quit before the season was up. By the time 2009 rolled around, I had developed a little game that I played with myself for amusement called "predict the warm body". After the election in May 2009, I thought I had this one pegged for sure. This woman had been a member for many years, but she was like a ghost to me. She had taken a leave here and there, and when she was active, she was very quiet. As Secretary, I prided myself on knowing everybody, but this was a tricky one. My only knowledge of her had come from our illustrious President who had attempted to involve her in the choosing of new ladies' concert attire a few seasons prior to this one. It was ridiculous to me, because she was on leave at the time, but he would not let us make a choice without her involvement, and she apparently was ignoring him. I remember being highly annoyed and wishing that she would just tell him to bug off so that we could get on with business. Needless to say, my expectations of this new Board member were not high, and I remember arriving home from the annual meeting and saying something sarcastic to my husband like "Well ..... we've got another live one again."
I can't pinpoint exactly when my opinion started to change, but it was some time in the Fall of 2009. If I look back at e-mails from that time period, there are e-mails involving the entire Board, and slowly but steadily, the e-mails between just she and I began to increase. I guess when she announced her proposal for the next Chorus trip and then when she basically took charge of it, I should have gotten a clue that this was more than just a warm body. As my relationship with Marcia continued to sour, I instinctively turned to her for help in understanding what seemed hopelessly non-understandable. But it wasn't until I announced my intention to retire from the Board that I felt the full force of this woman. Unbeknownst to me, she had been forming an opinion of me that was unlike any that I had ever heard before. She began a quiet, persistent campaign to convince me of my value - not just as a member of the Board but as a human being. Could it be that she had figured out that I was lacking any sort of affirmation on any level from anyone, and that I was incapable of recognizing my own value? I remember repeatedly telling her that nothing she could say was going to change my mind about retiring. But it was more than just her words working its magic on me. In order to understand my about-face, one must understand the inner workings of this woman. When she meets someone for the first time, she will engage them in conversation and by the time it's all said and done, she seems to know the person's strengths and shortcomings. But that isn't the whole story. She will always celebrate a person's strengths and downplay their weaknesses. You can see it in the way that she talks to you or engages you. In my case, she always treated me like the person that I was capable of being, while everyone else close to me was reacting to my current state of being. I was cynical, negative, temperamental and just downright bitchy. I might have felt justified in feeling and acting as I did, and I attracted the negative attention that I so richly deserved - from everyone but her. To her, I was a valued, intelligent human being.
Something happened to me one night that I may never be able to fully explain. We had sung an Evensong concert that was truly an artistic success. We were full speed ahead to our next concert tour. And I had just been informed that a qualified person had agreed to run for Secretary and take my place. It was a warm April night, and I was driving home with the windows cracked, enjoying the first warm air of the year when the reality of my situation hit me square between the eyes. I was on the brink of throwing away the chance to be involved in something spectacular - and why? Because some people had personality quirks that bugged me? And what made me think that my life circumstances were so much more dire than anyone else's? As I drove, I engaged in a mental role call of our chorus members. For the first time, I saw them as individuals and I thought about some of them and the crosses that they bore every day. Why did I want to step away from serving as their Secretary? The answer was clear: I didn't. In those moments, in that flash of clarity, I realized my own worth and the worth of everyone surrounding me - from those closest to me to the people who can barely say hello to me once a week. The rest is history.
This turnabout happened three years ago. For three years, I have tried to pinpoint what it was that changed my thinking in such a profound way - profound, because of its far-reaching results that extended beyond my role as Board member. I saw everything and everyone differently. My husband would go on to completely change careers, and I am positive that the cynical, narcissistic, negative person who inhabited my body for so long would not have been capable of supporting his decision or the extra hours that were required for him to make this change. He is a different person now - no longer imprisoned in a dead-end career that was so wrong and unsuited to his talents. My job is what it is, and I am respected there. Instead of looking for things that a job is not supposed to be giving me in the first place, why not celebrate what it does give me? All revelations for me after all those years. I had finally grown up.
There is no way to place a tangible value on a friend who comes along just at the right time, or in my case, just in the nick of time. This is a value that is immeasurable. It is easy to want to help someone by stroking their ego or telling them what you think they want to hear. It is another thing entirely to tell them what they need to hear and to actually live your words every day. A person who is drowning in self-doubt, a person who feels that they have no worth to the world, needs more than just words. This person needs someone to emulate - a person who forces you to see the world through his or her eyes simply through the sheer force of their personality. And now, I say this:
To my dear friend,
I am forever indebted to you. Your presence has changed my life and the lives of those I love. You have asked me on more than one occasion to stop describing you as a saint. So, I give you this: you are stubborn to the point where I want to smack you. You are so driven and task-oriented that I so often want to kidnap you and force you to smell the roses. And just when I want to kidnap you and smack you, I realize that it is those qualities that allow people like me to be spontaneous, and it is those qualities that made it possible for you to penetrate the wall that I had built up around me. Likewise, it is my spontaneity that allows you to laugh, to relax, to let down your guard and reveal your inner self to me. The wonder of our friendship is that we have so much in common, yet it is also these differences that enable us to be the best people that we can be when we are in each other's company and even when we are not.
I have tried before to describe to you all of the different demons that were working inside of me when we first met. I hope that this has shed some real light on what I was all about back then and why your efforts on my behalf and your friendship were so important in turning my life around, and especially why you are so important and special to me now and why you will be so for the rest of my days.
Love,
Tina
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