Suburban Lesbian Housewife

Wish Me Luck

2012-05-08T10:03:00.001-04:00

Last night, I did something I don't think I've ever done. I relaxed. Truly, deeply, relaxed. I turned off my phone so there were no updates, texts, calls, games to play. I finished a book, Jane Hamilton's first book, Disobediance. God, I love the way she writes. Cats on the bed with me, quiet (for once). I turned off the light, and I found myself not ready to fall asleep.

I let myself simply be. Listened to my old, fat cat's deep, rattling purr. The ticks of the radiators gathering heat.

And I smiled. Party because I didn't have to get up at any specific time. My phone off meant I had no idea what time it was. Mostly, though, it was me. It was a place I've started to find inside myself. A new room.

Years ago, another mom told me on the preschool playground, sometimes, you have to put yourself in time out. Go into the bathroom and shut the door. Count to ten. Take a deep breath. It's more shocking to the kids- Where is Mommy??- and more effective overall in bringing calm to the situation. I've found that room inside myself.

The meditation I've been doing lately has helped me find it. I closed my eyes and focused on different parts of my body. Shoulders? Relax. Jaw, let go. Listen to that air go in and out. Let the words inside work their way to the top, hold them each for a moment, then let them fly.

This past weekend, a friend and her girlfriend came up to Ogunquit. We had a great time. We talked about big, giant issues in the world, about silly things, ate great food and sat in front of the fire playing a rousing game of scrabble. All of 36 years old, my friend said to me, you might want to try something totally out of your comfort zone. Something unfamiliar. You might then find something new- how to be the amazing adult you are instead of the kid inside searching for old wounds to be healed.

Okay, she belongs in diapers still but she's right. She also said, it's really easy to be kind to you, Sara. Remember that when someone is treating you badly.

I'm heading up to Downeast next week. Classes finish this Friday. I have the boys for the weekend. On Monday morning, I'm driving up to spend some time alone. Oh, not totally alone. Donald is there, along with others. I have words coming out, ready to be arranged, strategically placed in a narrative about a woman finding out what relationships truly are. And what they are not.

I find myself wanting to be alone not to shut people out, which is often the case, but to decorate that new room. To let myself steep in this new peace. To have it gain root. I know now that I need to have a relationship with myself first and foremost. A kind one. To find an unmistakeable ability to enjoy each moment. To cherish moments of true appreciation.

To smile.

It's time to let go of all the past hurts, pain, disappointments. Hug each one, hold them tight, then let go. They serve no purpose anymore. They have always been piecemeal armor, never truly protecting anything, only allowing me some sense of safety that was never real. Slings and arrows still made their way through and I would be shocked, surprised, thinking I was immune. I was, and am, merely weighted down. I'm ready to take it off. Not to exile to voices inside who cry out NO! but to let them know it's a better place to be. Show them. Bring them along.

Wish me luck.

Dinner Conversation

2012-04-19T19:54:00.002-04:00

Dinner tonight, the boys and I were having a lovely time chatting. Okay, the truth is, Ben and Jake were going at it. I said, STOP. Jake kept up.

Jake! You are halfway across the bridge...

What bridge?

I pause. I'm not appreciating the sassy tone. He's giving me those puppy eyes.

It's a long grassy bridge, Jake. And you're carrying a torch, and you're about to drop it. Then the bridge will go up in smoke, poof, and you'll be falling into the deep chasm below.

He stares at me, I stare at him. He smiles.

But Mom... what bridge would be grassy?

Yup, still love him.

Unconditional Love

2012-04-19T17:28:00.000-04:00

The definition of motherhood has no absolutes; perfection, except in freshly baked cinnamon rolls, is not meant to be. What, then, does it mean to love someone unconditionally? Does it mean you are perfect in that love? How can you be perfect in love?

Clearly, mid-divorce, I am not. In fact, I've been told recently I pretty much suck at it. I'm afraid it's true. I am not ready to love deeply again. The wounds are too fresh, and old voices tug at my ear, whispering their fears to me.

I do, however, love my children, and I believe I love them unconditionally. I know from the moment they were all born, my heart filled with not only the emotion of love, but the instinct, too. A parent's love can be fierce if anything comes close to endangering their kids.

I still yell at them. And it stings. The other day, Ben reminded me of a time when I made him cry. He was about five years old, and he had gone over to a cup on the table and taken a drink. It was diet coke and I yelled at him to put it down. (Indeed, I was one of those hysterical parents who never let anything non-organic pass their lips). I made him cry. Yes, I overreacted, and was wrong to do that. When he reminded me of the event, I apologized. I'm sure in ten years, I will be reminded again. And I will apologize again.

Mind you, I made him cry when I yelled at him for trying to poke at the soft part of infant Zachary's head, too. He doesn't remember that.

I love him, all my kids, unconditionally. I know, regardless of what they do, or what they say, I will love them. It is without hesitation, even when they make me cry. I would, will and have done anything for them. Anything from making fried egg sandwiches to stepping in front of a bus to save them. It has never been hard, or difficult to love them. Ever.

Romantic love, however, is a totally different thing. To love without conditions. For a long time, I thought it meant loving without pain. I grew up hugging bared wire, thinking love simply hurt. Often. There was no love between my parents to witness, ever. My mother never dated, or had any kind of deep, singular personal attachment. Later in her life, she admitted that her Grandfather was the love of her life. He was the only person, she would say, that truly loved her. Long dead before I arrived, I never witnessed her filled with love for another adult.

Stepping into adulthood, I tried to be the person I imagined I should be in relationships. Honest, loyal, kind, respectful. I'd stay in relationships too long thinking, if I just did this better... it would all be okay. When I met my soon to be ex-wife? I had no idea what a healthy relationship was, let alone how to have one.

I did believe love was like a jigsaw puzzles endless possibilities but only one perfect fit. I found my perfect fit.

I loved her. There was a time when it was unconditional. At least I think it was. The perfect fit did end up creating a whole picture, with kids, friends, family. The memory is in a far away room inside me, locked up, with two guards at the door; Self-Preservation and Fear. I cannot let myself remember loving someone who is causing me so much pain. I must keep my eyes wide open for the next blast. Some day, when this whole nightmare is over, I hope to be able to go visit that place and smile.

Eventually, too many conditions piled up in the doorway. Rules, restrictions, demands, all creating a brick wall between us. There we both stood, on opposite sides of the wall, barking orders at each other. Any love left bounced off the bricks and slapped me in the face, to the hissed chorus of "I told you so" and "Don't be so stupid." What happened to the love? Where did it go?

I can hound my children to pick up their dirty socks every single day, over and over again, and it does not draw down on the level of love I feel at all. We have arguments, hurt feelings and tears. Never, ever, does it diminish my love for them. Why did it disappear in my marriage? That core, hardwired feeling of love, and being loved; it was there once.

I know I will never be perfect in love. I am a strange collection of neediness and strength, anxiety and charm. There is no perfect in love. Unconditional does not mean without struggle. Instead, what I hold is knowing I am capable of love on deep levels. I see that every day in how I feel about my kids. There was a time when I felt that with my ex-wife. Some day, when the rage has passed, I'll be able to see why it left. Until I know the answer, the guards can't take leave. Like motherhood, there are no absolutes in relationships. I must learn how to keep walls from being built without intent, and then decorated as if they belong.

I have, without question, a great deal left to learn.

More to Life

2012-04-09T14:47:00.002-04:00

An opinion piece today in the New York Times, The Taint of 'Social Darwinism', discussed Obama's recent description of the Republican's budget proposals as an elitist attempt at culling the least productive, in their minds, from society as such.

It seems the Republicans doubt the need for all those silly social programs to help people. If they were worthy of procreating, they would be able to take care of themselves. They're trying to take women's rights back to Mary Wollstonecraft's time. Why not embrace eugenics?

The concept of "the survival of the fittest" came from Herbert Spencer, not Darwin, and included the evolution of society, too. The best and the brightest would succeed and society as a whole would benefit.

That was in 1864, which ironically, was towards the end of the Civil War. Considering the number of dead on both sides of the conflict, you have to wonder who was left to procreate and make that "better" society. Toddlers and the elderly?

I'm not going to argue, though, about Spencer's interesting myopia nor the Republican's utter blindness. Instead, the article made me think about something that was said to me yesterday.

I thought there was more. More to fucking life.

My answer was, there is more. And there isn't.

Let's face it. We get up in the morning, we get ready for work, we work, we come home, and we rest until it is time for work again. We eat, drink, laugh, cry, make love, snore loudly. We buy things, choose clothes to wear, go to concerts, read books, and clean our homes. Every day we consume resources that make our lives easier. Transportation, health care, economic systems, political structures, agriculture. In purchasing a single piece of paper, we touch so many lives it is almost beyond comprehension; from the tree, to the labor, to the transportation, to the marketing- the list goes on and on.

When I read about social darwinism, about political and economic games played that tug on the strings we are attached to, I wonder... why? Have we really advanced as a society?

Isn't there more to life than pretty shoes and two weeks vacation? What is the purpose of life? To run on treadmills, eat low fat muffins and be promoted? If it's about family and friends, why do we spend so little time with them?

Is the goal the betterment of society? Is a better society one where everyone has an iPhone? Or have we lost perspective in the massive rush for more, losing the core of our humanity- the need for other people.

Personally, I would put love and belonging before anything else. Family, friends and intimacy. I think we've all bought into the idea that there are winners and losers in life, and that balance is necessary, if not innate. We have evolved as a species based on economic and political distributions of power and access.

Is that what we want? Humans have always looked up, whether to the alpha male, God, King, or President. We work hard to get a better life for ourselves, for our children. Maybe it's time to look around. Maybe have and have not is a concept we've allowed ourselves to believe.

Maybe it has only kept us in an endless cycle of dependency on the very few in power.

There is more to life. More to who we are as human beings than one big competition over resources. We are no longer animals in the wild. We should stop behaving as such.

And there isn't. Life really is as simple as loving and enjoying ever day we are here. Celebrating and sharing all we can be with one another.

Obama is right. The Republicans are playing yet another game of hide and go seek. A game with very real impact. It's not moving our society forward. It only continues the cycle of looking up.

Racing Uphill

2012-04-08T11:50:00.002-04:00

I had a dream last night that I was diagnosed with cancer and only had a couple months to live. I had been reading about the Gail Caldwell's book, Let's take the Long Way Home. I was devastated. In the dream, a good friend of mine came along and challenged me to a race uphill in wheelchairs.

She beat me. My arm was killing me (I was sleeping on it funny), and she challenged me again. I wanted to cry because I didn't understand why she wasn't being nice to me.

I realized she was. She was pushing me to fight.

What would I do if I only had a couple months to live? When I was looking at the book, a story about Caldwell's friendship with Caroline Knapp and Knapp's diagnosis of lung cancer, I was struck by the dates. Knapp was diagnosed in April. dead by June. Fast. Really fast. All my moaning about wanting to go to sleep and not wake up, I realize is just a selfish rant.

It isn't true. I raced that damn wheelchair up the hill. It hurt, and I knew I was dying and I didn't give up.

Why then, in my real life, have I given up?

I have allowed myself to become frozen. absolutely frozen. People keep asking me when I'm going to write again in the blog. Write again about anything. Please write.

Frozen with grief and fear, I've stopped growing. I've stopped everything. I've lost my home, my family, my sister, the whole world I created over twenty years. I have to start again? I'm old, fat and ugly. I can't.

I let myself think some wild thoughts about simply walking away. Get a house with some land and build a shed. Learn how to build, have Donald teach me. Walk away from all the stuff. Live simply and show my kids what I truly value. Have them see me... happy.

And write. Every day. Be a cantankerous old woman, you know, just like my mother.

Except I've done her version of life. I played the graceful philanthropist. I'm done with that. It's not who I am. It's what was expected of me. I did it. Did it very well, thank you. I know she would have been proud of me.

No more.

I remember when I was young, and would work on the Christmas tree plantation a few acres behind my house. It was dirty, hard work. I loved it. Oh, I whined about it, too. When I turned 14, I could finally be paid in money, not a handful of candy. Big excitement. I did for a little while until my mother made me stop. It wasn't the kind of work I should be doing. I wasn't to be a farm hand.

But I loved the land. I loved being on the tractor. Or the horses. I loved being outdoors. I spent most of my childhood outdoors. My friends and I would literally stay out for days at a time, at a campsite we had made. Catching fish, collecting berries, to cook over an open fire. We had a fresh water spring, bubbling out of the ground, and dug a small basin to collect it. How amazing it was to find water.

I used to ride horses. Take care of them, groom them, clean their stalls. The smell of leather and manure, the weight of the barn door that slid on cast iron rollers, the hayloft with bees half asleep hidden in the bails, teaching me that I am, in fact, allergic to their sting. I was free there.

I realize now, I don't want to become someone new. I want to be the best of who I was, before the rules crushed me. To feel the peace and safety of tall trees, to go back, far back, so I can grow again, from the place that was cut off.

I don't want to fight. I don't want to be the most beautiful person in the room (you know, the one with money). I don't want the stuff. I want to live like I'm going to die in two months. I want to stop being afraid.

I want to race uphill.

Romney vs. Gingrich?

2012-02-01T12:10:00.005-05:00

I keep getting asked if Mitt Romney was a horrible Governor for Massachusetts. My answer is, basically? Yes. He was not progressive, nor was he "middle of the road." He fought marriage equality tooth and nail. He drained rainy day funds and cut school budgets. He left our state in serious debt. It was pretty clear all he wanted to do was run for President.

But, people say, is he as bad as Gingrich?

I must admit, the mere thought of Gingrich being taken seriously, let alone actually winning any political contest ever, anywhere, is terrifying to me. I can make fun of his moon colony, or the repeated adultery, or his flat out lies about his own Washington insider life.

Please explain how someone who was THE SPEAKER OF THE HOUSE can call themselves an outsider? That's like Jake telling me he didn't finish the cake with a fork in one hand and the chocolate smeared plate in the other.

It's not funny, though, that so many Americans actually think the man is an option. People! Do you want this man in charge of the nuclear arsenal? Let alone Supreme Court appointments, job creation (heck, they can go to the moon and build!), social security, relationships with other countries... The man changed the very definition of civility in the House of Representatives during his tenure of Speaker.

In 1997, "the House ethics committee recommended last night that House Speaker Newt Gingrich (R-Ga.) face an unprecedented reprimand from his colleagues and pay $300,000 in additional sanctions after concluding that his use of tax-deductible money for political purposes and inaccurate information supplied to investigators represented "intentional or . . . reckless" disregard of House rules."

I must admit, Romney looks like a cupcake in comparison. Sure, he will continue the policies of George Bush that have led to our miserable economy, massive debt and free passes for the rich. But I don't see him telling North Korea to go f-themselves and drop a bomb.

That is not an endorsement. I don't want any of the Republican candidates. The only Huntsman seemed like a rational human being, and he's out of the race. People that know me well, know that deep down, I have a Republican heart. I believe in fiscal responsibility, State rights and government having no business in people's personal lives. I believe private businesses should give back to the community because it is good business practice. Want good employees? Support schools. Want low crime? Support the Police.

As Zachary would say, Duh.

When I was growing up, that's what Republicans stood for- nothing remotely being discussed today in the GOP debates. What the hell is a social conservative? Is that a fancy way to say bigot? misogynist? homophobic?

Was Romney that bad? Yes. As bad as Gingrich? No. Forget the question. Ask yourself instead, what the heck are people thinking? Stop looking at the candidates and start looking at the reasons why people are drawn to this. It's not about who is the lessor evil. It's about the appeal of either.

Shifting Fortunes

2012-01-21T15:40:00.003-05:00

The fortune teller told me to wait nine months before thinking about another relationship. I did. In fact, I waited ten months. In truth, I waited five years. What she could not see in the cards- or maybe she could- was the years of trying. Hoping. And mostly, living for my kids.

Things, a gentle way to say the divorce, are moving along. It took a few months of tears shed lying in a fetal ball, to be certain. Certainty created enough energy to file papers, begin the process of tearing apart a life built over twenty years. I knew five years ago our lives had become too far apart. Ships passing in the night is an expression when held on a real deck of a real boat, you truly understand the depth of the distance.

I was tired of being alone. Lonely with someone arms length away, yet acres of ocean between us. If I was going to be alone, let me be alone.

Easy words to say for a woman who had spent 16 years completely enveloped by three kids. To this day, the silence in the house, when they are not with me, is the loudest testament to the change in my life.

That and having food in the refrigerator for more than 12 hours. Or two hours.

For many months, I simply accepted that I would be alone, maybe for a long time, maybe forever. I would always have my friends, my kids, and that was enough. Two spoonfuls of flan instead of the whole thing, it was like accepting a forced diet. The diet I'd been on a long time.

I grieved my sister, over and over. I grieved the loss of dreams, of future images. I didn't try to fix anything anymore. I no longer looked outside for reassurance. I stopped moving to keep from feeling.

I listened to the silence. I no longer hear what's missing. I hear what's there.

In time, as if the fortune teller's card with gold coins and sunshine was turned over, someone came along. Someone I've known for years, now in a new way. We laughed, flirted at times- nothing more, nothing less. I was able to stand toe to toe with her- not as an adversary but as an equal. I did something completely insane, according to some, and got on a plane to go see her.

It would be trite to say it was a leap of faith. It wasn't. I accepted that it could end up horribly wrong. A friend said to me, You are almost fifty. Single. You don't have the boys for the weekend. Why not? Besides, you can always leave.

Faith not required, just a credit card. I went.

I found a woman who is an equal. Someone who wears the world in similar fashion, who holds a code of justice and honor deep. And god forbid, she cooked for me. Yes, I am that easy. I've cooked for years and years, and what might seem like a simple act is full of care taking and kindness to me.

Not to mention it was delicious.

For the first time, I felt like I didn't need to carry all the weight on my shoulders. I had someone to share it with, who wasn't afraid of leading or following. Someone who wanted to do both. For the first time in years, nothing felt like a chore. I was held, she was held, it wasn't all or nothing. I felt safe and at ease. I didn't have to prove that I was good enough. I didn't have to chase. I simply needed to give back what was being given to me.

Perhaps the fortune teller was right, it took time for me to become whole again, to be able to give back without fear. Maybe it is simply about the right place and the right time. We have an amusing history of almost being in the same place at different times in our lives, not just once, but multiple times over many years.

I don't know what will happen. I know there are very real issues- like living in two far apart cities- but I also know I've been blessed with the love of a woman who can give back as much as she takes. I hope she feels that, too. I hope she feels my gratitude, my awe, and mostly, my love.

Warning: Major Self Promoting

2011-11-21T20:28:00.002-05:00

Ah, the Most Influential Women of Newton...

scan to page 47 and you'll see me.

I think I should have worn red capris.

Newton Living Magazine.

Penn State: Get a Grip

2011-11-11T13:20:00.002-05:00

How many children need to be raped before a University does something? Who could watch a child be raped and do nothing? Nothing at all?

I see something like that? I'm getting a baseball bat or the heaviest object near me and I'm stopping it. Then, I'm going to the police. But I do not wait and go to my boss.

If someone was murdered, would you wait to tell your boss? Or do you call 9-1-1?

What football program is more important than reporting directly to the police a crime?

My god, what is wrong with this country? Full disclosure: I am a football fan. Love watching, playing, and I've been a Penn State fan for years. My grandfather went there, left a large donation and there's some plaque by a pond on campus with his name on it. I have always respected the graduation rates of football players from Penn State.

Paterno knew for years. Years. Not a week, or a month, but long enough to have stopped the pain for many more victims. He could have stopped a predator.

But he didn't.

I'm suppose to sit here and shed a tear for him? I don't care what he did for how many years. He made a choice. Did any of the kids make the choice to be raped? To have their whole lives shattered? Their trust and innocence taken away forever?

Students rioting over Paterno's firing can go visit a rape trauma center for children and decide if their precious football coach is more important. The football season at Penn State should be over. And over forever.

The purpose of a University is to teach and develop young minds to enhance and further our society. There was a time when football was a fun diversion, a source of pride. Now it's about big time dollars, contracts and televised glory. It has no place on any college campus anywhere in this country.

Because when the loss of a coach who broke the law causes outrage, a coach who did more than break the law, who ignored a heinous, disgusting crime, we have lost our way. Power dynamics around money in college sports have warped people's sense of morality.

But it's deeper than that. It's about the culture of football that has become larger than life. It's about a game that has become much more than a game. I can only wonder why McQuery didn't immediately call the police or stop the crime. Why? Was Sandusky that precious?

I doubt it. It was about the program.

The Trustees of Penn State did the right thing. I love football. I've been a Penn State fan for a long time. I'm not sure I can ever watch a game again without thinking of this crime.

To those protesting? Get a grip. Get a goddamn grip.

Occupy Boston: Tents of Hope

2011-10-22T16:31:00.007-04:00

Last night, in the parking lot of a local rec center, I listened to Jake's band play a few songs. They started a program of music, mostly local kids, jamming out. It is the very best of Newton, in my opinion. Neighbors gathering, centered almost always around kids.

Today, I went down to Occupy Boston. This is what I've been encouraging my students to do: Stand up, be counted, be heard. It is a small city inside the city. Logistics center, medical tent, tent for donated clothes, food tent, dishwashing tent... Camp Alex.

I liked his peace sign.

You could make a sign, or pick a sign.

I liked the one about Texas. Corporations are not people.

A few cops were around, standing on the outskirts. Not hundreds of cops, maybe only a dozen, looking relaxed, if not a little bored. No dogs, no rifles, no riot gear- and I'm grateful. Ask the folks in Denver- not every city is tolerant.

There were people speaking. Some listening. Some standing in line to speak. I saw a man in a suit and tie helping himself to a free sandwich. I started to judge him and then realized, that's not the point.

Everyone keeps asking, what do they want? What specific changes? What are the demands? It's not the point, either. This is about protest. It's about people with fear and despair, no longer being willing to sit behind closed doors. Together, they have a dream of creating change.

Maybe the change is within each person, once isolated, now with the power of the group. Maybe the most important piece is creating a new community and a new sense of public commitment to others. Maybe it is everyone leaning out their windows, ala Network, screaming, "I'm mad as hell and I'm not going to take it anymore!"

So the guy can afford his own sandwich. Everyone is getting fed. In this small community, this tiny strip of green between high rise hotels and upscale businesses, there is enough.

I've watched my kids struggle living in Newton, a community where excess is not unusual. They want things only to be told no as a matter of values, not money. Designer sneakers, clothes, phones, computers, cars... so much stuff. They are kids surrounded by peers- I understand the pressure on them. I also know, as I did last night, sitting on the picnic bench, listening to Jake's awesome bass line, it's not simple.

The occupy movement is not simple. People are coming together in a digital age. Real faces, real voices. It's a physical presence and cannot be ignored. Tarps, signs and a guy brushing his teeth by the side of the road. It is real.

And so is my community gathered around a makeshift stage, listening to music. There is fear and despair, and yet we gather to celebrate our kids. Nothing is guaranteed anymore. People lose jobs, savings, homes in every tier of the economic world. If Patrica Kluge, can lose everything, so can everyone.

This is about taking that fear and turning it into love and hope. It's about a sandwich for the guy in a suit. It's about people taking a microphone and being heard. It's about our environment, our government, our economy. It's about our world.

Mostly? It's about hope.

Update on Wall Street Protest

2011-10-13T17:43:00.002-04:00

I read the news today... 70 million dollars given to date to the Obama campaign.

Protestors being sent packing to "clean the park" in NYC. Clean the park. Indeed.

Any effort to bring in portajohns, dumpsters, portable showers, have been blocked. Businesses have been highlighted as suffering from the protestors use of bathrooms, yet, the city refuses to allow the problem to be solved. Private money has offered to pay. No go says the city.

This is America. We allow protests. We encourage debate. We are a democracy.

Right?

Wish you had some of that 70 million back from Obama?

I fear tomorrow will end up in violence.

I fear more that the spark will be snuffed out. We need this. We need an awakening.

They cannot arrest 10,000. Shoulder to shoulder, they cannot.

Create hope, generate power.

Occupy Wall Street: Generate Power

2011-10-03T08:31:00.003-04:00

Occupy Wall Street. Speak for the 99% of Americans who are not filthy rich.

Hmm. I like that idea.

I've been watching this protest for a while. Their message is not a clear, one line, snappy PR piece. It is a combination of voices, all chiming in, all asking for social and economic justice.

I really like that idea. It, however, causes problems for those who want to understand the message. In America, we have been dulled by ad campaigns for everything from dish soap to electing a President. We want to know in the length of a twitter what is going on and why.

This is not a twitter length issue. It's about banks and taxation. It's about access and loopholes. It's about greed and indifference.

Zachary heard me listening to a newscast on the internet yesterday about the protests. Why are they protesting? he asked. I began to explain banks, and laws, and corruption. He had no idea what I was talking about. Then I said, it's about the 99% of this country who are suffering.

Cool, he said. He was engaged. We watched the video of the Brooklyn Bridge arrests. We talked about standing up and being counted.

I kept away from words like "financial crisis," "economic downturn," all the nifty little catch words used in the New York Times and Wall Street Journal. To explain with numbers and statistics about unemployment in recent college graduates, the hopelessness that is pervasive in a generation of well-educated yet unemployed people wouldn't have impact on him.

Why? All those numbers, I realized, leave me in my head. It takes the pain of people who cannot afford rent, or medicine, or food, into a place of theory, and economic policy debate.

It leads me away from the anguish of parents who sent their kids to college knowing they would have a better life, only to have them living at home, working minimum wage jobs, unable to repay loans. The frustration of those kids, now adults, unable to move forward as they had been promised their whole lives. No longer is the world a place where everyone gets a trophy for trying.

There is a level of despair in this country that has been medicated, sanitized and turned into made for TV movies.

On the website, http://wearethe99percent.tumblr.com/, is a very real list of the pain, anguish, and frustration.

And the fear. One holding up a sign saying she is one paycheck from homelessness. Another, college educated, school loans, and no job, at 39 years old. Another, house value crashed, no retirement, at 51 years old. Yet another, 56 years old, working for minimum wage, no health insurance, no retirement.

You know the stories. You know because your friend or sibling or parent or neighbor have these stories. Now it's time to do something.

If we don't fight, if we live in fear, if we allow ourselves to be overwhelmed by the enormity of the system, nothing will change. The progressive community has all sat around pulling a Hamlet on the rock, To be or not to be, for long enough. People say protests are a thing of the past.

Tell that to the people in Egypt, Tunisia, Bahrain, Syria, Yemen and Libya.

This isn't about writing a check and getting a sticker for your car. Stand up and be counted. A few hundred people can be ignored. A few thousand, minimized by the mainstream media.

Hundreds of thousands must be heard.

If you think we are living in standards far above those countries listed above, think again. The divide grows greater every day. The reality is not what you see on television or in the newspapers. Schools don't fight about Glee club spending; they struggle to hire qualified teachers. Doctors don't wander around popping vicodin and spending countless hours on a single diagnosis; they are required to hustle through patients on insurance dictated time frames, using insurance dictated tools.

And dear God, young, fashionable vampires don't exist. Our youth aren't out sucking blood in Armani, they are trying to find jobs that don't exist.

Numbers, statistics, theories are all important. Information is essential in creating change- keep the baby with the bathwater. Be aware, it can be used to create energy and it can be used to create a sense of hopelessness.

I know it is far easier and more comfortable for me to stay in my head. I don't have to feel the guilt of having, of being comfortable. The guilt, however, is my choice. People are protesting for those who have no choice.

It's not about me. It's about us. I am part of us. My friends, my family, my coworkers, my community... us.

One could say the "Arab Spring" happened because people finally gathered in enough numbers to create hope. That hope spread. Ultimately, in crowds of tens of thousands, there was much more than hope and ideals and perseverance. There was power. Not power given, but power generated by masses gathered, shoulder to shoulder.

Go join a protest. Create hope.

Generate power.

Cheers to the Freakin' Weekend...

2011-09-16T17:55:00.002-04:00

I can't get that song out of my head. I've been all about songs in the last week. Asking people what song stands out to them, why it has meaning, why it makes them happy or sad... it's been a fascinating exercise.

I do love the Rihanna song, "Cheers." I'm not going to let the bastards get me down.

In class today, I played Bubba Sparxxx, "Ms. New Booty." Thank goodness I teach at a music college- no one blinks with my somewhat questionable choices.

The assignment was to think about a song, and write about what it meant to them in third person.

My example, after I played the song…

Ms. New Booty plays, and the mother sighs.

“Why?” she asks her 15 year old son.

“Because,” he smiles. The familiar argument gathers the steam of a toy locomotive.

She shakes her head. “Booty-Booty-Booty… not really lyrics.”

“Old, Mom. You. Are. So. Old.”

“Booty-Booty-Booty,” she repeats.

“Don’t be a hater,” he holds up his hand.

The song plays on..

And on.

Cheers, indeed.

Libya: What Now?

2011-08-22T08:35:00.002-04:00

In 1969, I was only six years old. I wasn't tuned into politics except for writing a letter to President Nixon along with my entire class in elementary school.

In 1969, Qaddafi took over in a "bloodless coup." I wonder about how bloodless it really was. In the years to come, Qaddafi ruled seemingly unopposed.

As far back as I can remember, Libya meant terrorism, death and an insane leader. It wasn't until I was older that I realized it also meant oil. That the 70's oil crisis I lived through, when gas could only be bought on certain days based on your license plate, was mainly due to Qaddafi.

He believed in Arab nationalism, and hated the West. And the West hated him.

It was a time when there were great evils: Not only Qaddafi but Idi Amin, who brutally slaughtered hundreds of thousands. Maybe it was the Saturday Night Live skits, but the two live in my mind together, although they never actually were. Libya had oil- Uganda did not.

Before Qaddafi, there was a monarchy. What now? The people have fought hard against an oppressive regime. Forty two years is a long time, with countless generations living in fear. What kind of psyche does that create? How will the people heal?

And who will control the oil?

Obama: What is the Alternative?

2011-08-07T15:22:00.002-04:00

There is a beautifully written piece in the New York Times, What Happened to Obama? . I don't disagree with a single line of it. In fact, I've said all along Obama has been running for office since the day he took office. it is the nature of politics in America. Not one day, not one single day, without fundraising, without a careful eye on the next election.

My question is this: What is the alternative? Hillary Clinton won't run against Obama. that deal has been cut. And I'm fairly certain the country's obsession with Bill Clinton's penis would have made her presidency riddled with questions of less than important issues. Whitewater would look small in comparison. (Pardon the pun.)

Start another party? The Green party is already rife with corruption. It takes decades to make one that sticks and can compete on any real level against the Dems and Repubs.

We can't change to a parliamentary system. Could you even imagine? Anyone suggesting it would be tarred and feathered just like the British governors in colonial days.

Not vote for Obama? Okay, so I stay home. I say, I cannot do this. Bachman is too extreme, but Romney sure knows how to walk the "moderate" walk. Then what?

No one riots in America. Greece passes an austerity plan and people riot in the streets. here? They'll turn the channel. Tt's not that no one cares- I believe people are incredibly anxious and worried about the future, for themselves, for their kids- but people have been so stripped of any feeling that they could actually create any kind of change on their own, they roll over, and wait for the next kick.

The Presidency is about more than just one thing. And that's what I'm trying to hold onto. the fact that we have hate crimes, the end of DADT, the START treaty (to disarm Russia and us from cold war nuclear warheads once and for all), at least a stab at health care reform, TARP (no, not perfect but something), TWO SUCCESSFUL US SUPREME COURT NOMINATIONS (because for me? that was the biggest crisis we were facing), thousands of changes in political appointments to rid the world of Bush appointees... the list actually goes on.

And every word of the New York Times piece is true.

My question again: What is the alternative?

Fried Chicken... Finally

2011-08-05T17:44:00.005-04:00

For those of you long long LONG time readers, you know I have battled with my inadequacy around fried chicken. Try as I did, over and over, I never, ever managed the beautiful, delicious, fried chicken my mother made.

Now, those of you who had my mother's fried chicken- and there are a couple who read this- you know it was the stuff of blue ribbons at the country fair. That is, if my mother would have ever been caught dead at a country fair. Perfectly browned, full crispy crust, and juicy, perfectly cooked chicken.

Even the breasts, which we all know are almost impossible to do- without a deep fryer.

Nope, she fried her chicken in a shallow pan, with bacon grease. There, I gave the family recipe away. Good luck trying to make it great. It's only taken me a quarter of a century to get it right.

My sister and I used to argue about how to do it. My sister would say, buttermilk. Gotta soak it in buttermilk.

Mom didn't do that.

Yes, she did.

No, she didn't. We never had buttermilk. Ever.

Well, my friend chicken is soaked in buttermilk, Cathy would say.

Yeah, but Mom's wasn't. I want her chicken. I want to be able to do that fried chicken. You make delicious fried chicken. But... it's not Mom's.

Today, as I stood over a hot stove, wondering why I let Ben talk me into yet another try which I was certain would fail, I could almost smell my sister leaning over my shoulder.

Too hot. Turn down the grease. You letting Ben roll those drumsticks? Has he washed his hands?

Ben was eager to help- eager to eat, too.

I could see that day in my mother's Canfield Road's kitchen, when I begged her to show me one more time.

Oh lord, she had said, I haven't done that in so long.

But she was game, as long as I was washing the dishes. She knew I could make her potato salad. I could make her cinnamon buns.

My mother was a meticulous cook. Dishes were washed as she went along- always using the measuring cup to stir an egg, and usually only a fork for stirring, cooking, testing. (Yes, I am the same way in the kitchen, although not quite as anal.) I sat on a stool, by the counter and wrote everything down.

And watched. Watched when she turned the chicken, watched when she rolled them in flour, then egg, then flour. Contrary to deep fried chicken, she cooked it low and slow.

My mother was never, ever in a hurry. It was annoying when trying to get to the airport, but delicious when it came to the results in the kitchen.

So, with my sister over one shoulder, and my mother's kitchen in my head, I proceeded with Ben Boy to make fried chicken.

It's going to be awful, I said.

No, not this time, Mom. You can do it. I mean, Grandma was from the south and she was your mother.

No pressure.

I did one thing I've never done before. Something I always do with chicken now- brine it.

Then, I followed the recipe. From my head, from my heart, from my sister's bad advice.

Halfway through, I thought, Nope. It's going to be bland and awful. I can't get the crisp right.

Oh well, at least I bought drumsticks on sale for a buck a pound.

But then, I turned the heat down, and it started to come together. I took off the first batch and put in the second.

I sliced into one of the thicker legs. I wanted to know if it were cooked through. And I took a bite.

I did it. Almost- the gorgeous blue ribbon coating didn't happen- and I know what to do to achieve it (I've done that before).

I got the taste. The slight bacon flavor, salty, juicy chicken deliciousness. I felt like I took the same bite I did when I was five years old.

I did it.

Ben tried it. He said, Mom, this is total deliciousness. I mean, it's so good. It's salty and crunchy... thank you.

I will never run a marathon. I will never sail the seven seas. I will never climb Everest.

Doesn't matter. I finally made my mother's fried chicken.

Revenue, Revenue, Revenue

2011-08-01T17:55:00.002-04:00

A couple of quick questions:

Are we in a recession?

Do tax cuts create jobs?

Who wanted to cut 1 trillion plus dollars from Social Security?

I ask these questions because it's important to think about the frame. The overall frame the American public have about our economy and economic situation. People are quick to blame Obama for the mess we are in, and I find it so wrong, I can barely sit in my seat.

It's like staring at a penny and thinking you met Lincoln.

We are not in a recession. I know it feels like it, smells like it, our newspapers constantly hammer on it, but we are not. The GDP is growing and that means, no recession. It's not about feelings, people. It's about numbers.

Tax cuts have not ever created jobs. Not ever. As Barney Frank said this morning, a tax cut has never built a bridge. I don't know what kind of kool-aid the Republicans have been drinking for 30 years, but it doesn't work.

Republicans wanted to cut over a trillion dollars off Social Security. Hey, Grandma, how's that Alpo? I wonder if they even remember why it was created. In 1935, FDR signed the act to act as insurance to our elderly, to widows, for fatherless children. It was saying, Hey, we're all in this together. Because in 1935, we were. It was about lifetimes of work being rewarded with a safety net at a time when there were no safety nets at all.

People were starving. Money wasn't tight, it was gone. Imagine going to the ATM and having it say, oops. Sorry. You put it in but, it's not there anymore.

Think it couldn't happen again? Think again.

Oh, we have new economic models! I hear people saying. Really? Like that nifty one that said invest everything in stocks that don't give out dividends, with price ratios that were beyond the imagination, but everything is new and different? That was the internet bubble of the late 90's. Guess what? Didn't work out. What happened? Oh, that crazy thing called history repeated itself.

Obama has been in office for two years. He inherited the Bush tax cuts. When I first heard of the Bush tax cuts, when Bush was first proposing them, it was from an economist who said, This is an attempt to defund the federal government. To extinguish it, minus the military, forever.

That is Obama's fault?

Two wars, outrageous tax cuts (mostly for the wealthy), interests rates so low why would anyone think of saving, mad spending, real estate bubble, bad mortgage after bad mortgage (what? have no money? of course you can get a 500k house!), and we were on the brink of collapse.

You think those Republicans voted for TARP because they liked it? No, because if they didn't, they'd never see office again.

Was it perfect? No. But unemployment benefits were extended, social security saved, along with medicare, medicaid, and military veterans were no longer being tossed from their foreclosed homes while serving the country.

We are no longer in a recession. When you think that? I want you to go to the mirror, look yourself in the eye and ask, How much did welfare cost the government?

Or, what is the biggest export from the rainforest?

Your answers will surprise you. And the truth? Make you realize you've been brainwashed.

We need revenues, people. We need money to pay off debt, to invest in our people, our infrastructure, to create jobs. Bridge building creates jobs. Having money to hire teachers in schools, creates jobs.

Imagine a program that built public buildings and roads, that operated large drama, arts, media, and literacy projects. That fed children, redistributed food, clothing and housing. That created jobs and a flow of money to those in need of both.

Hmmmm. Oh, that would be the WPA- Works Progress Administration.

That requires revenue.

And a belief that the American people mean something. All Americans.

The only "T" word we should ever use again is Transgender. The other one is gone. Don't even whisper it at night in your dreams.

Obama took Social Security, Medicaid and Medicare off the chopping block. We are in debt so far over our heads, it makes your own personal credit cards look simple. The time for more revenue is here.

Obama came into office and immediately solved a crisis. It was a bandaid. He then did more for LGBT civil rights than any President ever in the history of our country. Can we have his back? Please?

We are not in a recession. Tax cuts do not create jobs. Republicans are happy to send Grandma out for Alpo.

Watch carefully, listen carefully. You think Obama has let you down? Go re-read all that's been done. Then re-read the Bush years.

You are being played by carefully orchestrated frames of reference.

Welfare cost less than 2% of any budget. Not 50, not 30, not 10. Rubber is the largest export- not wood for paper or construction.

Sometimes what we believe to be true, isn't true at all.

Meet Baby

2011-07-31T14:38:00.009-04:00

I know you all think I'm miserably depressed all the time, and mostly that's true but I do still know how to laugh.

While Zachary and Jake were away on a road trip, I sent them pictures on their phones. Any time I saw a "punch buggy" I sent it to Jake and said, Punch yourself.

He would promptly punch Zachary.

I had found Zachary's "Baby" in the Ogunquit house. It was a gift from a good friend of mine and Zachary did love Baby. That is, when he was a baby. Poor Baby ended up on top of the refrigerator, long forgotten. Until I got Baby, dusted her off and took her on adventures.

Meet Baby.

Now, Baby did get a little annoyed while sitting on the refrigerator for so long.

If you mess with Baby, she will give you the finger.

Baby likes cake.

Baby says, Nom, nom, chocolate cake. All mine.

Baby says, Where's my pina colada???

Baby says, This game sucks. Now I have sand in my butt.

Oh, Baby has had many more adventures. I'm trying to figure out how to create a facebook page for baby. Oddly, they won't let me use the name "Baby."

Baby doesn't like that very much.

And you don't get Baby mad.

Stay tuned for more adventures. Hey, it's summer, it's hot and I have way too much free time on my hands.

Happy Birthday

2011-07-25T19:08:00.002-04:00

In the last two weeks, I have had two separate, intense moments where I felt my sister's presence in a big way.

The day of Ben's graduation from Outward Bound- which by the way he graduated with honors and yes, I am beyond proud of him- I woke up in the morning, checked my email and there was one from my sister.

Um, I canceled her account a while ago.

It was spam, and something someone sent because they generated random email addresses. But on the day of Ben's graduation? I know how proud she would have been of him. I know how close they were.

Just chance, I thought. Little weird but... just chance.

Right?

Yesterday was my sister's birthday. I had remembered in the morning, but I have to be honest, other drama was pressing and it slipped my mind. I was taking Ben- as a graduation present- to Rihanna with his pals. Big fun, we were dancing, having a blast... and my sister's best friend called me.

I was immediately brought back to the fact that it was her birthday. I started to cry, cry hard. My sister... I miss her. I could hear her making fun of me dancing, making fun of Ben playfully, all with a giant smile on her face.

Oh, Cathy. I wish you were there.

I called her friend back this morning. She said to me, I know this is strange but... do you have an envelope for me?

She came to me in a dream and said she had an envelope.

I was stunned. I did have an envelope for her. I found an addressed envelope in Cathy's storage locker the other day. I had held onto it because I wanted to tell her first.

It's a little strange to get a letter from someone who is dead.

Or email.

How could she have known? She lives in Upstate New York. I hadn't told anyone.

The email? Sure, that could have simply been a coincidence. The envelope?

No way.

Okay, Cathy. I get it. I hear you. I know what you're saying.

I want you to know, Ben's doing great. Jake and Zachary talk about you all the time. We all hold you close to our hearts. They all still think they can say something really inappropriate by saying first, "Aunt Cathy would say..."

I miss you. Happy birthday.

First Few Steps and Many More to Go

2011-07-04T15:38:00.002-04:00

Last week? I dove in. It was hard, but I found myself in a surprising calm. I don't know what is coming next, and for once? That's okay. I can't possibly know. Struggling with it only keeps me from the moment.

I do know I have three great kids. Zachary and Jake have been off visiting cousins. It is a great tradition with Jeanine's family. Ben is on a journey. Outward Bound for 28 days, and I will only say I am hopeful for him, and miss him terribly.

I even watched Mob Wives the other night. Well, I watched for about ten minutes and thought, why does he like this?

In a few hours, Zachary and Jake will be back. I can't wait to see them.

What I learned in my week alone is that I'm never really alone. I have kids and friends. I have family, although not family of origin, I still have family. Loneliness is not fun but also not impossible to sit with.

I went and had my tarot cards read in Ogunquit. A beautiful woman of about 70 sat me down and placed the cards on the table. She told me my job would change, that I've done the work of a man and of a woman, and that I suffered a great loss.

She said, Now? You need to stay away from women. You left someone... yes?

Yes.

You loved her very much. But... you need nine months. You need to be whole. You are not. You never have been, that's why it doesn't work.

You will change where you live but no moving... (she shook her finger at me) No moving.

You give too much. You are kind and generous, but you give too much. You have always been old. Never young. I can see you were never a child.

Nine months. What you seek is inside you- not in someone else. No one can give it to you.

I know. I know that everything she said was true. She also said I look mean but am a big softie.

I didn't think I looked mean. Yikes.

I held, close, the reality that no matter what I did, my sister would have been unhappy. It wasn't my job to fix her. I couldn't. It's not my job to fix anyone. A piece of guilt wedged in my chest grew smaller. As it did, I had more room to simply feel the loss.

I realized I've held on to her things because I haven't wanted to let go of her. The things end up being weights, and I toss and turn in anxiety about what to do with them. They are only things. It's time to let them go.

I know that when they are all gone? I will have more room for the love and sorrow.

The tarot card lady was right. I need to be whole. I've taken the first few steps. I know I have a long road ahead.

After last week? I can say without hesitation, I am not afraid.

Diving In

2011-06-27T08:08:00.002-04:00

When you go in the ocean in Maine, you have a certain expectation: you expect to have a heart attack. I only made it in up to my knees yesterday. Today I'll try to do the brave, firm walk in and dive.

It's how I've been feeling about my whole life lately. My heart is full of loss and I'm not sure how much more I can take. I can't avoid it, though. I need to dive in, sit with it, invite it to dinner.

I've been trying to think of what my loss would look like if it were sitting across the table from me. An old woman or an angry toddler?

An old woman who shames me into accepting her into my life? Who sees my embedded need to respect my elders, and uses that to pry me away from the every day chaos I use to escape the painful feelings?

Or an angry toddler who demands my attention? Who knows I would never let a child cry or be unseen for any period of time. The helplessness of the small frame drawing me in, leaving me no choice but to hold it.

And in that room, would there be the cold air of loneliness swirling about, making it hard to focus on anything?

I don't know. I only know my heart can't take much more. The one thing I've learned about the ocean in Maine is, once you dive in? It's fine. The anticipation is far worse than the cold water.

It's time for me to dive in; my heart won't stop.

It can't.

Loss and More Loss

2011-06-24T10:49:00.003-04:00

I know I've been absent for a while. End of the school year, 1000 different events to go to- a final goodbye to the elementary school we've been a part of for 11 years.

Loss. Big loss.

And something I haven't written about but am ready to now- my wife and I separated in February. She and I simply couldn't get to a place where we were happy. There was no hanky panky, or anything horrible. I don't know where we will end up- we've been together 20 years, and for now, being apart is the right thing.

Huge loss.

Yes, we share the kids. It's been incredibly hard on them. Slowly, we've all become accustomed to the routine. When I don't have them, I am incredibly lonely. I spent 15 years as a full time parent. Suddenly, I'm part time. I've lost my sense of stability. I can't seem to get grounded.

Without being grounded, it's hard for me to write. Without writing, I won't be grounded. Ah, catch-22.

I've been living in my sister's rented house. She left me a car, a fully furnished house and in the second to last conversation we had, she said to me, you need something to change. You never know what could happen.

Two weeks later, she was dead.

Her words have had a profound effect on me. It is up to me to make my life what I want it to be. To complain, to wait, is an insult to everyone who has died young, suddenly, without time to change what they needed to change.

It is time to unpack all of my life. To sit with all I've done. To hold each piece, closely. I've been doing it for months now, with my sister's things. Knick knacks, silly cards, my mother's ashtray from when we were growing up. Why she had that, I'll never understand, but I took the time to sit with it. To remember. Some things, I'll keep. Most, I won't.

I am, at heart, someone who likes to throw things away. Trash day is always a happy day for me. I realize now, in my life, I need to slow down. Consider. Hold. Remember. There has been so much loss in my life, and I have been completely overwhelmed. It would be easier to simply throw things away.

But I can't. I can't do that to my children. It won't make me happy.

Please forgive my long absence. I need to write.

Consider. Hold.

And mostly? Remember.

MTV: Are You Kidding Me?

2011-05-16T16:21:00.004-04:00

Classes ended on the 6th and I took off for Downeast Maine. It was beautiful, not that cold, and very restful.

While I was gone, young son Ben was busy. He applied to be on an MTV show about kids with gay parents. You know, MTV, which started when I was in college and ran the same three Michael Jackson videos over and over. Oh, and the Flying Seagulls, "I ran..." The one that has no music videos anymore, just television shows.

Reality television shows. Not my favorite form of television, although I did watch some of Mob Wives last night with Ben. Pretty boring.

It's a little odd. All my kids are on my case about talking about gay stuff too much.

MOM! All gay, all the time. Everything isn't about gay people.

And they are right. I've learned, especially in my class, to cool it. There, I talk about politics all the time.

Now I find out, while I was in the woods, communing with nature, he applied for the MTV show.

Guess what? They called him back for a second casting call.

Oh my.

Now, I think I need to find out what he sent in that email he sent in said. Yesterday, all he said was he described me as "blond."

Um... okay. Not sure that really encompasses all of my personality, but I'll go with it.

Here's the deal: they see him on camera? Good looking kid, with a sassy mouth? They'll pick him.

Oh my. Oh my, oh my, oh my.

Bin Laden: Many More Lives Yet to be Lost

2011-05-02T12:53:00.003-04:00

I'm disappointed and a little disgusted.

I find it incredibly hard to be happy or excited today about Bin Laden's death. Of course I am glad that chapter has been closed. Bin Laden was a fugitive of justice. He was a criminal, and now he's dead.

Great. Excellent work by all those involved. Thank you for your efforts. I mean that sincerely.

However, when I scroll through the photos posted on the New York Times, I'm horrified to see some of the images. Flags waving, young men shouting, fists in the air. A widow holding the picture of her dead loved one. The appropriate reaction from American Arabs.

Tell me, how is this different from pictures we see of people in say... the Middle East?

Oh, wait, we're the "good guys," right? Those faces are familiar, therefore patriotic.

Excuse me if I don't want to walk through the streets with sparklers and a flag cheering. My friend who lost her brother in the September 11th attacks isn't doing that either. Death isn't really anything to celebrate.

It's a sad day. A sober reminder of all the lives lost. Civilians, soldiers... so many dead.

Obama declares the world safer. Is it? Why did I see cops on streets in Boston today, where they never usually are? Why was there an ominous report about Pakistan being the bad guy- we think. Maybe.

Bin Laden, once thought skulking around in dank caves, was actually in a house in a compound, next to a training camp. Maybe he was dead for a few days, maybe the other night, either way, he was buried at sea.

Um, on NCIS they put the body in the freezer and took the ice cream out. Would it have been that hard to keep it around? Because now we will add to the list of conspiracy theories; Bin Laden, aside from being given martyr status for his death, will be hanging out with JFK's real assassin, the space aliens at Roswell, and Jimmy Hoffa.

Of course, I'm a little afraid of how we in this country would have behaved with his dead body. But of course we're better than all those heathens who would put a head on a stick and parade it around with young men waving flags, fists in the air, and the widow with the picture of her dead loved one...

Or are we?

For me, today is a day of closure. Sadness. Mourning. And some relief.

I am aware this was only the end of a chapter in a long, long book with many more pages yet to be written.

And many more lives yet to be lost.

What Price for this Life?

2011-04-21T08:35:00.003-04:00

Strange day today. I have the appraiser coming over to go through all my sister's things and put a price tag on it for tax purposes.

Feels odd to have your whole life summed up in a number.

I was talking to her the other day. There is not a day that goes by where she is not in my thoughts. All the frustration over her complete disorganization has passed. I miss her sense of humor the most. The boys found a book light the other day that had the inscription, "The Light of the Lord" on it.

I don't miss the Lord stuff. I know it was a big part of her life at the end. I know it gave her comfort. Just don't miss having to listen to God's will and forcing myself not to roll my eyes.

Okay, I did roll my eyes. Often.

She really was the only person in my life who could make me laugh so hard I peed my pants. I miss that.

The other day I was asked a security question for my credit card. I had been buying things online and I never buy things, so they wanted to be sure it was me. They asked, "Who is the nearest relative to you?"

I froze. I realized I have no relatives. My wife is only considered my wife in Massachusetts- a stranger as far as the federal government is concerned. I said, Catherine Whitman.

It passed. But it made me feel so very alone.

Today I will see one way in which a life is measured. By things and the price of those things.

And I know my sister was worth much more than anyone will ever know.