Baby Steps

Tomorrow starts a new chapter. Instead of a leisurely walk with the dogs and the Mate, stopping frequently for dog exploration of the familiar but alluring terrain, dog desultoriness in order for message reading and marking to occur, people indolence as we run into the other dog walkers on our schedule and trade whatever information we humans have gleaned in the 12 hours since we saw each other, I'll be showering, dressing, putting on Real Shoes and heading for Public Transportation, to sweep me away to Downtown and My New Job!

I'm jazzed and terrified, in about equal measure. The components of the job are various. I'll be working part time, resisting scurrilous attempts to turn the job into a full timer. The people I'll be working with are smart, good-hearted and pleasant. The work is useful, maybe even essential: making sure kids get a voice in their futures. I'll have a desk, a chair, a phone with a number that connects right to me, a computer I can use, a nice kitchen area for breaks, a boss who is delightful.

So, what's the hesitation? Giving up my unstructured time, when I watch BBC serials on my tiny screen DVD player? Or read terrible chicklit books, written by people in thong underwear and nine inch nails? Sitting out in the garden, listening to the mockingbird while an owl (!) flies over, in the middle of the day? Eating handfuls of cashews and drinking tap water? Surely I could do that at the office, if it was that important. Change, that's what it is. Important to have a little, pry those brain cells out of their comatose state.

Then there's public transportation. I believe in it. I'll use it because otherwise I'd be spending most of what I'll be earning on leaving my car somewhere, like a parking garage (loathsome)that is semi-convenient. Parking garages always make me think of Law and Order. I'll take the BART but I don't have to like it.

How We Worship at the Feet of the Ancestors

Here's what I think I read in the paper this morning: Two Chinese women, in their eighties, living in China, were evicted from their home five or six years ago. They recently petitioned the local authorities for the right to demonstrate during the Olympics, to call attention to their homeless plight. They went to the police station five times. Rather than permission to protest, they have now been sentenced to serve time in a reeducation camp, along with other social maladroits, like prostitutes. One of the old women is almost blind. What do you suppose she will be reeducated to do?

Here's what else: There is one women-only homeless shelter in San Francisco. It costs slightly over a million dollars a year to run and houses up to 50 women, mostly elderly. It is being closed for lack of funds. An attempt is being made to rehouse the women. One of the preferred ways seems to be sending them out of county. This could very well mean putting them on a Greyhound with a one-way ticket to South Dakota. Instead of frail, elderly women, the facility will now house the medically frail when they get kicked out of the hospitals after their ultra-brief Medicare or MediCal authorized stays. Do you imagine there is no other walled and roofed structure in SF where medically frail poor people could be offered rehabilitative care? Do you think it's all about money and the relative juice of any helpless population? Bingo!

Does anyone else remember reading, as a kid, about how the Chinese venerated their ancestors? Is reeducation the new honor?

Show Me Your Palm

Does anybody have any idea what these characters - Thespia, Dweez, Pippa, Trey, BellaDonna, Hale and Hardy - should do next? Should somebody abandon the glitzy world of professional toil and begin farming squab for sale to restaurants in old chateaux? Dweez could maybe become a Survival participant in some benevolent climate like Antarctica and come back an also-ran with a couple of sea turtles to keep in his bathtub. Or, no, Dweez doesn't like pets unless they exist in virtual reality and never need to be fed or tended. Would he make an exception for turtles? Thespia could take up in-line skate dancing and relocate to Venice Beach, with a little sideline in crocheted, fingerless gloves. Or maybe she and Trey could trade jobs. Thes would be the doc and Trey would be the Teach. BD might take up skydiving in stripper garb, peeling off stockings and g-strings during her descents.

Pippa, Hale and Hardy will grow up, whether we want them to or not. Not so long ago, Hale was a teeny boy clutching his Dad's fingers as they stood at the edge of the Pacific Ocean. Now he is big and morose and probably listens to misogynist music on his iPod. Hardy is good at mechanical stuff and jokes. Pippa is her sturdy, funny, delightful self and I hope it takes forever for her to turn into a teenager. Maybe she could skip it altogether. Or should she go to boarding school in the Alps and learn how to suffer fools gladly?

Would I want to know what lies ahead for the kids and grands? At this point, only if it was good. Sorrow has been hanging around like oil-based spray. If I could know that some generous measures of joy were heading the way of my family, then, yeah, I'd want to know. Otherwise, let it roll and we'll cope, just like always.

Hello Out There

Just to check whether I was really whacking the tips of my fingers on a ghost keyboard that never recorded what I was trying to write, I asked a friend of mine to go to My Blog and leave me a comment, should such a thing be possible. And she did! With relative ease, she left a small, question sort of comment and I was Able To Read It! At least I know that it is possible for my blog (My Blog) to be retrieved and read by other-than-me. And, yes, I do know that, just because it CAN be read doesn't mean anyone wants to read it. Or make a comment. Or, anyway, leave a comment. It was cool, seeing that a comment had been made, though. I had been feeling very much like I was standing on an empty stage in an empty theatre in an empty world, calling out to shades and spectres.

Meanwhile, Trey is alive and well and continuing to receive nothing but tsurrus from BD. Her latest ploy, since she had some extra weekend time with Hardy, while Trey went to an associate's wedding, is to try to keep Hardy from staying overnight with his father on school nights. "Why," says Trey? "Because I might not sleep well and it's a school night." "Have you had any trouble sleeping?" "No."
"Because I might be late to school." "I would drive you there, just like last year."
Can her tactic really be about raising the child support? She's already getting more in support than most District Attorneys and judges earn. Wanna make bets on whether she's stashing any money for the kids' post-secondary education? I wonder if getting a divorce and making sure to impoverish your ex-spouse was part of BD's life plan? I wonder if Hale and Hardy will ever be permitted to leave home? I wonder if the fact that they both largely exist on a diet of processed white bread and American chees slices has prevented them from forming brain cells?

Serpents' Teeth

Maybe it's not lack of gratitude, so much, that makes it hard to be an aging parent. What, after all, do kids have to be grateful for? At this stage, they are mostly feeding and housing and clothing themselves and they are probably not attending school on your remortgaged house. Not if they are 42 and 45, the way mine are.

Maybe they could be grateful for the good times. What good times? Thespia didn't want a ride home from school so she wasn't stuck with explaining the homemade camper on the elderly pickup truck, complete with stained glass windows. Trey has tried for years to make his boys' birthdays memorable. His memory of his own birthdays is that they were just days like any other.

The main thing I don't do is try to give my children child-raising tips. What could I know that would be useful, having brought them up in the Dark Ages? I used to let them ride buses all over San Francisco by themselves when they were 11 and 8 and their fares were a nickel each. I used to require them to cook one dinner each week, to the best of each of their abilities.

Recently, I suggested to a friend that her 25 year old son was old enough to take over some meal prep, if he was going to continue under her roof paying no rent. She patiently explained how busy he was - of course, I could see how much time he spent on computer games, which must be a latter day form of busy. Dweez didn't cook either, when he and Thespia were a family. Pippa says he makes cookies with her now.

I guess the main thing I did was bring my kids up to leave home. I thought that was a parent's mandate. While I was pregnant with Thespia, her father and I were reading "Summerhill". I was not totally committed to the child-centric world that A.S. Neill wrote about, but it was easy to understand that kids needed a real presence in a family and should have an arsenal of coping skills by the time they launch. Accordingly, Thes and Trey cooked, did laundry, sewed on buttons - didn't clean much but that wasn't one of my skills either. They are both much better at it now than I will ever be.

I guess I could carry on as though I had all the confidence of an air guitar contender. I could dispense attitude and advice in patronizing tones. I could ignore the storm clouds and insist that my age entitled me to complete respect. "I am the Matriarch!" was one of my wee mother's lines in later life. I don't think I could say that with her heartfelt conviction of rightness.

Tooth and Nails

That's Pippa: No front teeth this summer, so no corn on the cob. Gorgeous toes, impeccably trimmed and burnished a lovely cloudy blue-grey. Or maybe a flamingo pink with rose decals. Child is a fashonista, age 7 and 1/2.

Time for a recap. Who are these people? I am a crone, in post-retirement, currently partly working as a personal assistant to an art person/handyman. About to be working as something else, with pay and everything, which will make a nice change. I am the mother of two adults, Thespia and Trey.

In the early summer of 2007, while we were vacationing together at Cape Cod, Thespia's husband, The Weasel or Dweez, told her that, after 18 years of suffering through her stalwart esteem for him and efficient and entertaining organization of their lives so that everybody could win, he had had it and the marriage was over. Oh, sigh, alas, said Thespia, and hunkered down to wait for the dust to settle. Well, apparently what Dweez meant was that Thespia wasn't paying enough attention to him RIGHT AT THAT MOMENT THAT WEEK, what with various relatives swarming around. She was supposed to TRY EVEN HARDER to make him pacified if not happy. Too late. I believe you, sob sob, said Thespia, and gave him a month to get his stuff out of their house. In retaliation, he moved to the neighborhood where Thespia works and Pippa, their daughter, goes to school, so that he could share custody on an absolutely equal, 50/50 basis and b) loom up in Thespia's work space whenever the spirit moved him (far too often) and c) share his sad story of lost love with any number of Thespia's work friends. What a lovely boy is Dweez! So creative! So relentless! Why did he leave his velvet Elvis picture behind?

Trey married BellaDonna a year before Thespia married Dweez. They met in college, at age 19. BD had a life plan which included everything a girl is supposed to have: marriage, children, dogs, car, home, savings, time off to go spa-sampling with her BFFs. Trey had school, more school to prep for med school, med school, internship and work. And childcare, when BD developed migraines after Hale and Hardy were born and frequently called Trey to come home and take over. At the end of 2006, just before embarking on a Disney cruise with the boys, BD told Trey he would have to leave the house because she would not live in a loveless marriage. She had her parents' marriage as a reference point: they can't stand to be in the same room. So Trey looked for a place and, after awhile, found one. BD insisted he leave at once and has so far (a year and a half later) refused to give up any items of furniture or family memorabilia. She has also alienated Hale from Trey and foreclosed on contact between the boys and Trey's family.

These are the players. On with the show!

What Goes Around. . .

BellaDonna's latest ploy for holding up settlement of the property issues is to insist that she be reimbursed for payment of Trey's student loans, most of which were paid with his inheritance from my mother. BD has an interesting habit of not listening to (or maybe I mean hearing) anything she doesn't believe reflects her views. So, never mind that my mother, who hated the way BD talked to her and to children as if they were half-witted and feral, very specifically left money exclusively for Trey. Never mind that BD was so opposed to Trey going to med school that she dug in and stayed in her condo, a block from her parents, in California while he flew back and forth to New York State every third weekend. What she's trying to do is make so many diverse financial claims that it'll add up to what his share of the house is and she won't have to buy him out. The falling houaing market plays right into her plans. She's probably also counting on Trey's track record as a capitulator: anything rather than continual war.

Meanwhile, we have these boychiks that BD birthed. At the ages of 12 and 10, Hale and Hardy have been repeatedly required, by their loving mama, to choose sides. Hale has done so, at the expense of his autonomy. We'll all be surprised if BD doesn't climb right on the schoolbus to middle school with Hale, just to make sure everybody knows Hale has a Mother. Hardy, who has had some sad moments regretting being born second to such a perfect older brother, does his best to keep his mother out of the loop of himself and his father. Ever watch Keeping Up Appearances? BD is Patricia Routledge - surprisingly un-funny, up close and personal.

What should be done about BD? If I was the judge, I'd take the kids out of her custody for her failure to support their relationship with their father. She's had a lot of input about what would work best for the boys (that hearing problem again) and a lot of time to correct her behavior and she just hasn't bothered. Told how important it is for her to support the boys' relationship with their father, she says "I would never make my child do what he didn't want to."

Oh yeah? Getting up in the morning? Turning off the TV? Going to school? What are we talking here, Rule Queen? Could Joe Spears straighten up this woman's act? Can we wait long enough, patiently enough, for what goes around to come around?

Without A Net

Thespia and Pippa are moving this weekend. They'll be in a neighborhood where everything is convenient, instead of in a neighborhood of old brownstones, falling ever farther into disrepair, too far from the subway on a winter morning, too far from grocery stores any old day. From their new place they can easily walk to work and to school and all the gourmet sandwiches and salumis a person could wish for are at hand. They will have half the living space at twice the price.

Thespia was, initially, determined to keep the house. Strengthened in her resolve, no doubt, by Dweez's insistence that she move the hell out of there so the place can be sold and he - who insisted on buying in the edgy neighborhood, the potential for vibrance (I may vomit) - now believes that his darling daughter should not be living around the corner from a crack house. Well, and then he can buy the edgy loft dwelling of his current dreams and install the appropriate arm candy. If he hadn't steadfastly ignored monthly obligations, in the process of leaving the marriage, thus wrecking their mutual and respective credits, somebody might even sell him a place to live. Just because I think he should be doomed to remain in the 60's concrete box with little light and no amenities, mighty lak a side road motel, where he moved when he Moved Out, doesn't mean it's gonna happen that way. I spill vitamin C powder all over my pajamas, on its way to the glass - I should think things might go my way? Ever?

Well, and then there's the new community where Thespia's moving, where the rumor is she's pursuing a romance. "Pippa says she'll be the flower girl when you marry" writes Dweez, Mr. Rains On Every Parade. "Where are you registered?" Strong temptation to say "IKEA" or "Trader Joe." Brave Thespia sails on into the what comes next.