I bought my first home nearly 18 years ago when I was 23 years old and a newly-wed. I was so proud of the modest 2 story, 2 bedroom, 2 ½ bath Townhouse in Delray Beach, which boasted 1,288 square feet of living space. It had a large fenced in patio, no lawn to speak of and is identical to many quad-type residences with the wood shake shingle slanted roof that are ubiquitous here in South Florida.
This is where I still live today.
I have lived at this address now longer than anywhere else in my life. In these walls I spent the all days of my first marriage; experienced my one and only pregnancy (the actual conception was off premises – but that is another blog post). Later, I became a divorcee and single Mother, student, then career woman. I met my wonderful 2nd husband, Donnie, on this patio 12 years ago. He and I cohabitated here and it is where we have spent the first three years of our married life. My daughter, now 14, was raised here. Her home address has not changed since birth.
The Townhouse has been my calm in the not-so-proverbial storm. I have protected it as best as I could, as it has protected me, from the numerous hurricanes that have plagued this area. I have nailed up plywood over the windows and once to the patio gate in an irrational fear of looters. After Hurricane Wilma did the worst damage, tearing the wooden fence out of the ground and ripping out the South side of the mansards, I managed to get myself voted onto the HOA Board of Directors. This was so that I could ensure the passing of a document change that would put the responsibility of the mansards into the hands of the Association and then helped manage the project to get all of wood mansards in the Community changed to a uniform stone-coated steel. (To the winds of our next hurricane, as long as they don’t exceed 150 miles an hour, I say: Bring. It. On.)
Despite the Townhome’s smallish size, it has been large enough that I have been able to host family and friends for sleepovers and provided longer-term shelter for friends in transition. I have thrown everything from a small informal dinner party for 4 in the dining room to a more lavish catered Champagne brunch for 25 al fresco on the patio. I have had Happy Hours, play-dates, surprise birthday parties, movie discussions, SATC Cosmo nights, Trivia and Scrabble competitions and many, many just me and Tay “ST”s (which means ‘special time.’) here.
I have lived a life here.
However, even before Donnie moved in with Taylor and I in Fall of 2004, I had been experiencing a feeling that perhaps I…or we, had outgrown our little home. Once he moved in, the walls were definitely bursting at the seams.
In August of 2008, right towards the end of the housing boom, we put the place up for sale. Unfortunately, our timing also coincided with the recession and the dearth of the housing market. During the ensuing 12 months, we had quite a few showings. We’d get a phone call from an agent and one of us would have to rush home in the middle of the work day to do a last minute spiff-up and take the dogs out of the house for an hour time frame. This made for an uncomfortable, tenuous and stressful existence. After a year of doing this, our listing expired without us ever receiving an offer. Donnie and I opted to let it remain off the market. I stopped dreaming and bookmarking pages on realestate.com and chose instead to sit back, take a breather and to lick my Real Estate wounds rather than jump right back in to the craziness again.
Last month, I had finally saved enough money to put a down payment on a new car. I have lusted after the Toyota Prius ever since I drove one as a rental several years ago. My sister works for Toyota, so between the Family and Friends dealer pricing and the financial incentives that Toyota has been tossing out like beads on Mardi Gras since their recent recall troubles, the timing seemed right.
My family (consisting of Donnie and Taylor) did a quick about-face at the news of my car-buying intentions. They both knew that given lenders’ skittishness in today’s economic climate that me buying a car would mean the end of any hope of moving for at least the next several years. I was vetoed. In my own family.
Thus, this morning, I signed another contract with our Realtor. (Who has had my implicit trust and my back since High School and who’s acronym is the trendy BFF.)
Once again, we are off to the Real Estate rat race. Endless days of keeping our home “show-ready” and allowing strangers to tramp and poke through it and pass judgment. Nights of hoping all will work out, searching online Real Estate sites for a potential new home and number crunching on the waiting spreadsheets as to how much we will make if the house sells for X dollars and what our future mortgage payments may look like.
I am melancholy and conflicted about the whole exercise. Naturally, I am excited about the prospect of moving and making a new house into a home for our family. But, I feel that just recently I was finally at a place of acceptance that this little Townhome would be our permanent residence – sometimes you have to readjust your dreams to welcome new ones, right? As mentioned, this place has not been so bad, and has housed many, many memories that make it a home. Additionally, I am still experiencing the sting of not even getting one stinking, even lousy offer during the year that the house was for sale previously. (Not unlike the feeling of being picked last for kickball when I was in grade school.)
In the end, I am afraid I may have jinxed myself. I am remembering the words that I uttered as a proclamation when moving in here, oh-so-many-years-ago, with my first husband, after a very prolonged mortgage approval process and the back-breaking work of unloading a U-haul with all of our meager belongings (we couldn’t afford movers.) Sweeping my arm towards the towards the cubby closet under the stairs, I said, “You’ll have to bury me under those stairs, because I am never moving again!”
Here’s hoping those were not “famous last words.”
Sunday, March 28, 2010
Friday, March 26, 2010
I have always had pets in my life, an animal companion of some sort or another.
Even going back to before I was born, my parents got a dog, a female Boxer who they named Daisy Mae to practice their tender paternal ministrations on prior to having a human baby of their own. By the time I came into this world, Daisy was 2 years old. My parents were nervous about their newborn daughter being around such a large, rambunctious and daunting-looking dog, but Daisy treated me as if I were her own pup. The black and white photographs taken of me learning to crawl also show the snout and ear of her along side of me, as she was scooching her belly across the rug beside me, protectively.
Daisy Mae passed away when I was in my early teens. At the time, I was too wrapped up in the selfishness that is part of being a teenager. It is only now, with age, that I mourn, miss and am grateful for the companion that she was. My parents never got another dog. In future years, Mom became the proverbial “Cat Lady,” and I swear her address was passed along from one cat to another as many found their way into her home and heart.
When I moved out on my own, owning a cat seemed to be the thing to do to turn my apartment into a home. My first husband and I adopted his brother’s cat, Hemingway. Later, when he and I divorced, I got to keep the Tabby, whom I nicknamed Hemy.
When my daughter, Taylor was 2, I ended up with another cat named Fisher (who is circling my legs now) Fisher was named for Mel Fisher, who found the Atocha. (“Today is the day!”) Fisher was originally supposed to be a gift for someone else, but when the plans fell through I was instructed to return him to the cage at the vet’s from whence he came. I looked at him, all black fluff with big yellow eyes and knew I would keep him. Poor thing, Fish has always been a second class citizen in our home. When he came to live with us, Taylor was a toddler and would repeatedly smash his kitty nose into his food bowl exclaiming, “eat kitty, EAT!” And then came Lucky, my skittish, loyal Dalmatian.
Lucky decided I was his perfect owner when I was dating his foster Dad in 2000. I would leave my boyfriend’s (at the time) home, and Lucky would race out of the house and hop into the passenger seat, and look at me expectantly. The boyfriend would say, “well, seems like he wants to go with you…you want to keep him for a couple of nights?” After this scene was repeated several more times and after the eventual break-up (with the boyfriend, not the dog,) Lucky was mine for keeps. It was not an easy transition. Lucky was a growler and true to his breed, not a fan of children. Nonetheless, my daughter adored him unconditionally. I did everything short of tying a pork chop around her neck to foster a positive relationship between dog and daughter. But, despite all of my efforts, Taylor and Lucky were never close and instead maintained a distant yet respectful relationship.
Though Lucky has always seemed to be lawsuit waiting to happen, I have to say I have never had a more devoted and watchful companion. I do believe (given several break-ins around the neighborhood during a certain time-frame) that he has truly been my protector, especially during the years I was a single Mom. He and my (current) husband had to have a come-to-Jesus when Donnie first moved in to establish who was the alpha dog. Once the dust settled, Lucky was as happy if not more so to see Donnie than me to come home at the end of a work day. And, Donnie, being a true animal lover, has embraced Lucky as his own and has provided him with love cuddles and treats.
The only time that I have seen my husband cry was the day that we put Hemy down, a couple of years ago. Hemingway had been ailing for quite awhile. By this time, he was 20 years old. I had been in denial about the inevitable and it was my daughter who suggested that perhaps the time had come. My Tabby, Hemy was miserable, vomiting all the time and sluggish.
All three of us took him to the vet’s office. We were in the room when the shot to calm and sedate him was administered. Both Taylor and I were crying softly and quietly petting him. Then, I heard the most heart wrenching sound behind me – my animal loving husband, who could not shed a tear over people dying…but for a cat that he had a tenuous relationship with…was truly in mourning for the passing of our beloved cat.
Then came Minnie. I have always willingly mocked folks that cater to their small dogs. I snickered at them, the ones who carried their beloveds in the grocery store. I prejudiciously laughed out loud at the Bocahontases who pushed their diminutive pwessusses in buggies through the mall.
Then, after an ill-advised purchase of a Chihuahua puppy at a PET STORE (never do this – always adopt), I fell head over heels, completely, irrationally in love with a dog. I do believe that the firm “shutting the door on my fertility” had something to do with it…but, for whatever reason, I am now one of THEM. To wit, Minnie in her Buggy at the Renaissance Festival.
Minnie has had a huge effect on our lives. We hired a personal dog trainer for ten weeks when she first came to live with us. We got our vet on speed dial. She came on vacation with us (on a plane!) She has been my joy, my cuddles, my companion for the last two years. And yes, I imagine she is a baby substitute. (But she will never talk back to me or sass me!) After 2 years, Minnie is still the pleasant focus of our lives. She is fully housebroken, trots into her crate on demand and knows and responds to all basic commands. She curls up with me at night, nestling her head into the crook of my arm, and sighs…as though this is the position she has been waiting to be in for her entire life.
Taylor, for as much as she is pushing away from me, acts jealous about Minnie. It is almost as though she has a sibling competing for parental attention.
But yes, with Minnie, I have gotten to that irrational stage of love for my dog…I have become one of ‘those’ people that I used to mock and ridicule.
Though I may be a bit extreme, I would love to hear comments about the pets that you have had…..
Saturday, March 20, 2010
The Best Days
Yesterday was a really good day. Firstly, Fridays are my favorite day of the week. And, it felt as though the nasty cold that had kicked my ass every day since last Sunday was finally, gradually relinquishing its hold on my head, sinuses, body and disposition. I also had a busy yet productive day at work. Then, as the proverbial cherry on the top of the cake of my day, I attended a happy hour to celebrate the return to town of a woman who was once a co-worker and who’s grace, poise, beauty, gift for writing and zest for traveling and living I admire greatly.
During the happy hour event, I got not only to briefly touch base with her, but also connect on a more personal level with other people from work, which was very satisfying. When I drove home afterwards, I put the top down on my beloved convertible, Casey, and turned the radio up. I thought, “it is a good day to be alive.”
I got home, got onto my computer and arranged a girl’s night out for late May, for the opening of the movie Sex and the City 2. I sent the invite out to at least 20 women and got another thrill when I received 4 confirmations back within a few minutes…and this was at 10 o’clock at night.
I was really heartened and inspired by having such a great day. I wanted to call people and say “this was SUCH a great day.”
By this morning, I was thinking…what constitutes a great day? And what are my top ten? Thus I was inspired to create a list.
Unlike Letterman would, I list them in no particular order (except the last one is the best!):
1. 10/1987 - The day that I realized I was in love for the first time – It was a knock your socks off, passionate, all-consuming love. And, like many first loves, it did not last. But, I will never forget him nor the passion that consumed my late teens and early twenties. (I am still in touch with him sporadically, which makes me happy…I like to know that he is well and healthy.)
2. 02/1995 -The day that I found out I was pregnant with Taylor – my mildly raucous behavior earlier on had made me irrationally fear that I had affected my ability to conceive. The stick that I peed on 5 minutes later produced a little plus sign that put my fears to rest and changed my life.
3. 04/2007 -The day that I married my husband – I had already been living with my husband to be and had been friends with him for the better part of a decade. But on our wedding day, when my nerves were amped up and I was questioning everything…he took my hand in his and the quiet, resolved, unshakable look in his eyes made everything okay and right. To this day, when he takes my hand and looks in my eyes, I feel that my world is level, loving and where it is supposed to be.
4. 03/1999 - The day that I found out that Taylor was gifted – I suppose this one is a little snooty, but I felt such great satisfaction the day that I got the results from the private psychologist that her dad and I had hired. My kid is smart! Not only was she smart, but she was in the range of genius! Mind you, I would have loved her no matter the intellectual package she would have come in. But at the time, I felt vindicated. I ate well during pregnancy, ate protein in the last trimester to boost her developing brain cells, I breastfed her until she was 22 months.
5. 06/1995 - The day I found out she was a she – I always imagined myself having a girl. So, when the ultrasound tech asked me during my one and only scan of my one and only pregnancy, “Do you want to know the gender of the baby?,” I hesitated. What if it was a boy? I might need some time to readjust my thinking. But my husband at the time saved me by saying “YES! Yes, we want to know.” The tech confirmed what my tenuous heart already knew….that I was having a daughter.
6. 01/2007 - The day of the Girls Luncheon prior to my wedding – It was as though all the stars were aligned. My Matron of Honor came down from Maine. All of the women I care most about came to a little Mexican restaurant in downtown Boca. The lunch only lasted 2 hours, but the glow I felt from being surrounded by such bright, beautiful women has lasted years.
7. 05/2008 - The Movie Sex and the City – I got to see this movie, surrounded by wonderful women I call my friends in a very posh way. I booked tickets early and had 7 lovely girlfriends come to watch a very important movie (to me) with me. We got to have cosmos, wine and real food and nestle comfortably in great seats. After the movie, we came to my house to discuss it.
8. 02/2003 - The day of my first bonus – It wasn’t a great amount, but I felt recognized and felt really positive about the work I am doing with the generous company that I am still employed with today. The bonuses have just gotten better, but the pride I felt that day cannot be topped. It is a great company to work for.
9. 10/2002 - The day that I asked him to kiss me – otherwise a lot of things would have never happened.
10. 10/1995 - The birth of my daughter – Never did I ever imagine that I would be so present during the birth of my own child. When my midwife said, “reach down and pull your baby out, I did just that. I then lifted her onto my chest and began the relationship with Taylor, the beautiful creature who is now my 14 year old daughter.
So what about you? What are the happiest days of your life?
During the happy hour event, I got not only to briefly touch base with her, but also connect on a more personal level with other people from work, which was very satisfying. When I drove home afterwards, I put the top down on my beloved convertible, Casey, and turned the radio up. I thought, “it is a good day to be alive.”
I got home, got onto my computer and arranged a girl’s night out for late May, for the opening of the movie Sex and the City 2. I sent the invite out to at least 20 women and got another thrill when I received 4 confirmations back within a few minutes…and this was at 10 o’clock at night.
I was really heartened and inspired by having such a great day. I wanted to call people and say “this was SUCH a great day.”
By this morning, I was thinking…what constitutes a great day? And what are my top ten? Thus I was inspired to create a list.
Unlike Letterman would, I list them in no particular order (except the last one is the best!):
1. 10/1987 - The day that I realized I was in love for the first time – It was a knock your socks off, passionate, all-consuming love. And, like many first loves, it did not last. But, I will never forget him nor the passion that consumed my late teens and early twenties. (I am still in touch with him sporadically, which makes me happy…I like to know that he is well and healthy.)
2. 02/1995 -The day that I found out I was pregnant with Taylor – my mildly raucous behavior earlier on had made me irrationally fear that I had affected my ability to conceive. The stick that I peed on 5 minutes later produced a little plus sign that put my fears to rest and changed my life.
3. 04/2007 -The day that I married my husband – I had already been living with my husband to be and had been friends with him for the better part of a decade. But on our wedding day, when my nerves were amped up and I was questioning everything…he took my hand in his and the quiet, resolved, unshakable look in his eyes made everything okay and right. To this day, when he takes my hand and looks in my eyes, I feel that my world is level, loving and where it is supposed to be.
4. 03/1999 - The day that I found out that Taylor was gifted – I suppose this one is a little snooty, but I felt such great satisfaction the day that I got the results from the private psychologist that her dad and I had hired. My kid is smart! Not only was she smart, but she was in the range of genius! Mind you, I would have loved her no matter the intellectual package she would have come in. But at the time, I felt vindicated. I ate well during pregnancy, ate protein in the last trimester to boost her developing brain cells, I breastfed her until she was 22 months.
5. 06/1995 - The day I found out she was a she – I always imagined myself having a girl. So, when the ultrasound tech asked me during my one and only scan of my one and only pregnancy, “Do you want to know the gender of the baby?,” I hesitated. What if it was a boy? I might need some time to readjust my thinking. But my husband at the time saved me by saying “YES! Yes, we want to know.” The tech confirmed what my tenuous heart already knew….that I was having a daughter.
6. 01/2007 - The day of the Girls Luncheon prior to my wedding – It was as though all the stars were aligned. My Matron of Honor came down from Maine. All of the women I care most about came to a little Mexican restaurant in downtown Boca. The lunch only lasted 2 hours, but the glow I felt from being surrounded by such bright, beautiful women has lasted years.
7. 05/2008 - The Movie Sex and the City – I got to see this movie, surrounded by wonderful women I call my friends in a very posh way. I booked tickets early and had 7 lovely girlfriends come to watch a very important movie (to me) with me. We got to have cosmos, wine and real food and nestle comfortably in great seats. After the movie, we came to my house to discuss it.
8. 02/2003 - The day of my first bonus – It wasn’t a great amount, but I felt recognized and felt really positive about the work I am doing with the generous company that I am still employed with today. The bonuses have just gotten better, but the pride I felt that day cannot be topped. It is a great company to work for.
9. 10/2002 - The day that I asked him to kiss me – otherwise a lot of things would have never happened.
10. 10/1995 - The birth of my daughter – Never did I ever imagine that I would be so present during the birth of my own child. When my midwife said, “reach down and pull your baby out, I did just that. I then lifted her onto my chest and began the relationship with Taylor, the beautiful creature who is now my 14 year old daughter.
So what about you? What are the happiest days of your life?
Saturday, March 13, 2010
My Daddy
Many things define me a person. Dutifully, I always top the list with the Mother and Wife titles first, but I must admit, I do take a great amount of pleasure in my career in corporate. Much more so as I have been able to share this with my Mentor, who is also my Father.
It was a career born of necessity at first. I was a single Mother of a tiny little girl and I had to make a living to support both of us. So, I took an entry level position in a well known company. And I have stayed with the same company, my upward trajectory continuing to rise, for the last 9 years. I found that I was really good at what I did and, having a natural proclivity to taking on any task, I was well-liked by any supervisor that I had. (Not necessarily so by all of my peers – but that is a different post.) When my dedication and hard work was recognized by my being promoted to a management title in under 3 years, my Father noted that I had beaten his personal record of the same milestone.
My working in big business had a special effect on my personal relationship with my Dad. Growing up, neither my Mom nor my four sisters or me could ever really say what he did in his line of work at IBM – though we certainly benefited from its spoils. My Mom never worked outside of the home. My sisters and I never wanted for anything - though we may have said differently during our childhood raised in tony Boca Raton. The Health Insurance we had would be unheard of today; go to any doctor, for any reason and 100% of the costs were paid for.
Now in my adulthood as I also worked in business, my Dad finally had a contemporary in his family. We would e-mail each other stock prices and business articles. Every so often, we would meet up for breakfast before our busy days at our respective offices. In the ensuing years, he became my sounding board as I faced increasingly difficult situations and people to work with. His advice was sound, sage and always came from a place of doing the right, ethical and moral thing, while never sacrificing face.
Thankfully, I inherited his driven Cuban work ethic and his advisory strategies were easy to implement. As the years passed I could tell my Dad was proud of me – proud of the Mother and businesswoman I had become.
I was equally, if not more, proud of the father, husband and man that he is. Miguel came to this country at the age of 15. His own Father, my Papi, fled pre-Castro Cuba, having seen the writing on the wall and desiring a better life for his family. My father entered High School not knowing the English language and was unfamiliar with the culture. He attended University of Florida, where he met my Mother. They married and settled in Ft Lauderdale. Early on in their marriage, he worked as a surveyor for I-95. Then, the tech company International Business Machines set up an office and manufacturing facility in Boca Raton. My Dad was hired as a line worker on the manufacturing floor in 1967.
IBM underwent many changes over the years, as did my father, who also got his Graduate Degree while working. Once a gruff disciplinarian (“wait ‘till your Father gets home!”) my Dad morphed into a loving, grateful, wise and generous soul.
His selfless nature was apparent when he had a heart attack in December 2004 while in upstate New York on a business trip. I myself was on the road for business when I got the call informing me of his situation. He had to have a quintuple bypass. I quickly booked flights and had 3 of my 4 sisters, my Mom and myself by his bedside that night, before he went into surgery. I was a mess…my eyes were welling from the tears I would shed and from the ones that had already slid down my cheeks. I held his hand and told him how much I loved him. And, at that moment, when he should have been making statements about his mortality and how scared he was to have his chest cracked open…he asked me to take my Mom and my sisters into New York City. I argued briefly that I had already seen the city and that it was 45 minutes away by train. He collared me, and made me promise that while he was in surgery, I would take the family to Manhattan. I did just that, because he asked me to (in a militant way – my sisters hated me) and marveled how he was able to think of his family and not of himself in such a harrowing time.
Through it all, Miguel continued to be a devoted employee of IBM. His supervisor at that time of his heart attack was (thankfully) a wise and considerate soul herself. And, over the next 6 years, my Father continued to spend time with (with a renewed devotion that only the’ near death’ can do) his family and poured every other part of himself into his work at IBM.
Then, at the beginning of this month, he got the news that every employed human being dreads. His supervisors positioned it that he was being “resourced out.” Essentially, my Dad was let go after 43 years of loyal service.
When he called me to tell me while I was out having dinner with a friend who is also a co-worker, I started to cry immediately. I know how much this means to him; that he was not allowed to put himself to pasture quietly…but was forced to do so. And I was so angry. Angry that he was denied his own exit, that he was fired instead of being able to plan his own departure from the workforce.
Unbeknownst to me, he knew the end was near and was already playing the game to ensure a hefty package. (As had been advised to him by the same wonderful woman who had once been his manager when he had his heart attack and is now his mentor)
He seems okay with it. He has been given March 31st as a final date. He already has thoughts on what he will do next in his career and is adamant that this one experience does not sour him on his entire career with IBM.
I am the one who is not okay with it. I want to confront someone, with fists flailing, and land a knuckle on whomever fired my Daddy.
It was a career born of necessity at first. I was a single Mother of a tiny little girl and I had to make a living to support both of us. So, I took an entry level position in a well known company. And I have stayed with the same company, my upward trajectory continuing to rise, for the last 9 years. I found that I was really good at what I did and, having a natural proclivity to taking on any task, I was well-liked by any supervisor that I had. (Not necessarily so by all of my peers – but that is a different post.) When my dedication and hard work was recognized by my being promoted to a management title in under 3 years, my Father noted that I had beaten his personal record of the same milestone.
My working in big business had a special effect on my personal relationship with my Dad. Growing up, neither my Mom nor my four sisters or me could ever really say what he did in his line of work at IBM – though we certainly benefited from its spoils. My Mom never worked outside of the home. My sisters and I never wanted for anything - though we may have said differently during our childhood raised in tony Boca Raton. The Health Insurance we had would be unheard of today; go to any doctor, for any reason and 100% of the costs were paid for.
Now in my adulthood as I also worked in business, my Dad finally had a contemporary in his family. We would e-mail each other stock prices and business articles. Every so often, we would meet up for breakfast before our busy days at our respective offices. In the ensuing years, he became my sounding board as I faced increasingly difficult situations and people to work with. His advice was sound, sage and always came from a place of doing the right, ethical and moral thing, while never sacrificing face.
Thankfully, I inherited his driven Cuban work ethic and his advisory strategies were easy to implement. As the years passed I could tell my Dad was proud of me – proud of the Mother and businesswoman I had become.
I was equally, if not more, proud of the father, husband and man that he is. Miguel came to this country at the age of 15. His own Father, my Papi, fled pre-Castro Cuba, having seen the writing on the wall and desiring a better life for his family. My father entered High School not knowing the English language and was unfamiliar with the culture. He attended University of Florida, where he met my Mother. They married and settled in Ft Lauderdale. Early on in their marriage, he worked as a surveyor for I-95. Then, the tech company International Business Machines set up an office and manufacturing facility in Boca Raton. My Dad was hired as a line worker on the manufacturing floor in 1967.
IBM underwent many changes over the years, as did my father, who also got his Graduate Degree while working. Once a gruff disciplinarian (“wait ‘till your Father gets home!”) my Dad morphed into a loving, grateful, wise and generous soul.
His selfless nature was apparent when he had a heart attack in December 2004 while in upstate New York on a business trip. I myself was on the road for business when I got the call informing me of his situation. He had to have a quintuple bypass. I quickly booked flights and had 3 of my 4 sisters, my Mom and myself by his bedside that night, before he went into surgery. I was a mess…my eyes were welling from the tears I would shed and from the ones that had already slid down my cheeks. I held his hand and told him how much I loved him. And, at that moment, when he should have been making statements about his mortality and how scared he was to have his chest cracked open…he asked me to take my Mom and my sisters into New York City. I argued briefly that I had already seen the city and that it was 45 minutes away by train. He collared me, and made me promise that while he was in surgery, I would take the family to Manhattan. I did just that, because he asked me to (in a militant way – my sisters hated me) and marveled how he was able to think of his family and not of himself in such a harrowing time.
Through it all, Miguel continued to be a devoted employee of IBM. His supervisor at that time of his heart attack was (thankfully) a wise and considerate soul herself. And, over the next 6 years, my Father continued to spend time with (with a renewed devotion that only the’ near death’ can do) his family and poured every other part of himself into his work at IBM.
Then, at the beginning of this month, he got the news that every employed human being dreads. His supervisors positioned it that he was being “resourced out.” Essentially, my Dad was let go after 43 years of loyal service.
When he called me to tell me while I was out having dinner with a friend who is also a co-worker, I started to cry immediately. I know how much this means to him; that he was not allowed to put himself to pasture quietly…but was forced to do so. And I was so angry. Angry that he was denied his own exit, that he was fired instead of being able to plan his own departure from the workforce.
Unbeknownst to me, he knew the end was near and was already playing the game to ensure a hefty package. (As had been advised to him by the same wonderful woman who had once been his manager when he had his heart attack and is now his mentor)
He seems okay with it. He has been given March 31st as a final date. He already has thoughts on what he will do next in his career and is adamant that this one experience does not sour him on his entire career with IBM.
I am the one who is not okay with it. I want to confront someone, with fists flailing, and land a knuckle on whomever fired my Daddy.
Saturday, March 6, 2010
A Sister's Birthday and Musings on Social Media
The house is blessedly quiet (save for my husband’s snores from the couch) after a raucous, activity-filled day that started at 6:30 this morning.
We hosted my middle sister’s 31st birthday celebration this afternoon. And while I love spending time with my family (roll call this afternoon included my parents and 3 of my 4 sisters, their significant others, my Husband and my daughter), I always find myself over stimulated and a little stressed with the effort of trying to be the consummate perfect hostess. Thus, as the troops departed to see a late movie and my daughter joined them, I exhaled a quiet sigh as I wiped down the kitchen counters one last time.
I decided to post a picture of my birthday-celebrating sister on Facebook when I logged onto my computer to do a little writing this evening. Getting onto Facebook is a rarer occurrence for me these days ever since a wise and trusted advisor counseled me on the addictive and creativity-sucking nature of Facebook and Social Media in general. Now, I hop into that time warp medium every several days to post a picture or respond to a message rather than hourly to read acquaintances’ incessant Farmville updates.
When I logged on, I was greeted with a friend request from someone that I was friends with in 5th Grade through High School. While I had not spoken to her since the last day of Senior Year, I was happy to hear from her and to see that she was doing well with a beautiful family. I wrote her a quick note to tell her as much.
I thought about Taylor and telling her that I had reconnected with a friend that I knew from an age even younger than she is now. Just contemplating that blew me away. ..Taylor is meeting people and making friends that she will know or remember, when she is 40 years old.
Then my mind wandered even further. And I started to wonder…will she ever “lose touch” with someone? When everyone of my daughter’s generation has a My Space, Facebook, LinkedIn or Twitter account, ‘Auld Lang Syne’ may no longer have a literal meaning.
Likely, my daughter will never have to search for someone that she was once close with – they will never have stopped being ‘e-friends’ or ‘connected’ or ‘linked’ or whatever the future vernacular may be. Tay will probably never be surprised by the sender when opening an Inbox or Mailbox, or a snail mail letter for that matter…because everyone she has knows or has ever known will be electronically linked to her in some way or another.
I am conflicted as to if this is a good or bad thing. I do love hearing from old friends, about the paths that their lives have taken and take great satisfaction that our once-upon-a-childhood-friendship made enough of a lasting impact that they remembered me and wanted to reach out. Conversely, I have actively stayed friends with only a handful of people since my childhood and through adulthood. My private club, while not unwelcoming..is exclusive. You must pay your dues to get in. With all of the busyness of my life and my family’s, I feel like I do not have the extra bandwidth to be a good friend to many more people.
I read an article recently about the Facebook phenomenon by a psychologist who wrote that the human brain maxes out at about 150 friends. Yet, many Facebook users count far many more than that as their “friends.” I think again of Taylor, and how she will define friendship and relationships as she transitions into High School, then College and into adulthood.
This whole line of thinking then lead me to remember a quote that was used by a man that I dated several years ago. Okay, so it was on his search engine profile page (an early form of Social Media) – and he and I are no longer in touch. (Obviously, he and I were the second out of the three options below.) But, the sentiment still resonates.
“People come into your life in 3 ways; for a reason, for a season or for a lifetime.”
We hosted my middle sister’s 31st birthday celebration this afternoon. And while I love spending time with my family (roll call this afternoon included my parents and 3 of my 4 sisters, their significant others, my Husband and my daughter), I always find myself over stimulated and a little stressed with the effort of trying to be the consummate perfect hostess. Thus, as the troops departed to see a late movie and my daughter joined them, I exhaled a quiet sigh as I wiped down the kitchen counters one last time.
I decided to post a picture of my birthday-celebrating sister on Facebook when I logged onto my computer to do a little writing this evening. Getting onto Facebook is a rarer occurrence for me these days ever since a wise and trusted advisor counseled me on the addictive and creativity-sucking nature of Facebook and Social Media in general. Now, I hop into that time warp medium every several days to post a picture or respond to a message rather than hourly to read acquaintances’ incessant Farmville updates.
When I logged on, I was greeted with a friend request from someone that I was friends with in 5th Grade through High School. While I had not spoken to her since the last day of Senior Year, I was happy to hear from her and to see that she was doing well with a beautiful family. I wrote her a quick note to tell her as much.
I thought about Taylor and telling her that I had reconnected with a friend that I knew from an age even younger than she is now. Just contemplating that blew me away. ..Taylor is meeting people and making friends that she will know or remember, when she is 40 years old.
Then my mind wandered even further. And I started to wonder…will she ever “lose touch” with someone? When everyone of my daughter’s generation has a My Space, Facebook, LinkedIn or Twitter account, ‘Auld Lang Syne’ may no longer have a literal meaning.
Likely, my daughter will never have to search for someone that she was once close with – they will never have stopped being ‘e-friends’ or ‘connected’ or ‘linked’ or whatever the future vernacular may be. Tay will probably never be surprised by the sender when opening an Inbox or Mailbox, or a snail mail letter for that matter…because everyone she has knows or has ever known will be electronically linked to her in some way or another.
I am conflicted as to if this is a good or bad thing. I do love hearing from old friends, about the paths that their lives have taken and take great satisfaction that our once-upon-a-childhood-friendship made enough of a lasting impact that they remembered me and wanted to reach out. Conversely, I have actively stayed friends with only a handful of people since my childhood and through adulthood. My private club, while not unwelcoming..is exclusive. You must pay your dues to get in. With all of the busyness of my life and my family’s, I feel like I do not have the extra bandwidth to be a good friend to many more people.
I read an article recently about the Facebook phenomenon by a psychologist who wrote that the human brain maxes out at about 150 friends. Yet, many Facebook users count far many more than that as their “friends.” I think again of Taylor, and how she will define friendship and relationships as she transitions into High School, then College and into adulthood.
This whole line of thinking then lead me to remember a quote that was used by a man that I dated several years ago. Okay, so it was on his search engine profile page (an early form of Social Media) – and he and I are no longer in touch. (Obviously, he and I were the second out of the three options below.) But, the sentiment still resonates.
“People come into your life in 3 ways; for a reason, for a season or for a lifetime.”
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
Already Missing Her
Today I made plans to send my daughter thousands of miles away from me this summer to go to camp and visit family and friends. The physical distance we will have complements the emotional one that has crept insidiously into our relationship in the last few years.
The complexity of a teen daughter and mother relationship may be a common story, but it feels uncommon to me. My once sunny and amiable child turned into a young woman who is unfamiliar. Her moods are mercurial and usually sullen. And, while I know intellectually that this is part and parcel of raising a daughter, these moods still surprise me. And, I am not always proud of my reaction to them. Most of the time, I take the eye rolling, deep sighs, sassiness and back-talk in stride. Other times, I lash out, raising my voice and punctuate my anger and frustration with profanity.
The change did happen slowly. Perhaps this was Mother Nature’s way of giving me time to regulate, just as 9 months of pregnancy gave me time to adjust to the idea of becoming a Mother in the beginning of this journey. And the surprises that come with being a Mom have happened with some regularity since she was born.
Not the least of which was the surprise that I felt when I realized recently she is very much her own person; evidently, personality is not hereditary. I was a shy, reserved child. She is excited, nay, overjoyed at the prospect of being independent and meeting new people at the camp she will be attending on a lake in Maine. She cares not a whit that she will know no one.
Given all of the strife between us, you would think that I would be all too happy to send her away for a month. But, as I read the glowing online testimonials from other parents of children who attended this camp, my eyes welled. Soon, enough tears came that I was grateful no one poked their head into my office for a good half an hour this afternoon. The tears came from an overwhelming multitude of emotions. Pride – of the fact that I am able to provide her with this life experience and of her pluck. Happiness – for her as she has been pining for this experience for years. Mourning – a baby, a little girl she is no longer. And sadness – I will miss her dammit. She is the chunk of my heart that grew when she grew under it. When she leaves, she will painfully excise that vital piece of me and take it with her.
College looms, just 4 short measly years away. The passage of which she will spend pushing farther and farther away until that final leap out of my nest. I just hope that someone is ready to come over armed with a good bottle of chardonnay and a box of tissues in the Fall of 2014.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
