Posts Tagged ‘single’

The Man Who Came to Dinner

Why is my manicure  DRY ENOUGH to type a new post, but not dry enough to post some bills????? Hmmmmmm….

Funny that you have time to do the things you long to do (if available to you) but never enough time to do the things you distaste?

I go back to work tomorrow. I took a few days off to be with my parents. They were visiting from California. Big Brooklyn Jews, with the striking accents and the dramatic hand gestures. My Mother, so warm and funny, seemed to be loved by strangers wherever she’d go…

My dad is still in Florida. His Brother is in a coma and has just had a stroke. They found him on the floor of his apartment. I worry about my Uncle, and about my Father, who was orphaned at 30. His Father died of a stroke so I imagine this weighs very heavily on him. 

My Uncle is one of those difficult, eccentric men that you WANT to love because he is your “family”. He has eyes like my father, and because of this, I tried desperately to love him. Still, he often said or did things that were hurtful or cut deeply, and he was sometimes cruel toward my Mother. My Mother who every stranger in the world seems to love.

I remember he once asked me if I was a lesbian, because I was still single at 29. This, he said, as he took his dentures out and placed them face up on my kitchen table, so he could enjoy a slice of Brooklyn pizza. There’s nothing wrong with being a lesbian, had that been my choice, but to be accused of this by a hairy, toothless man in my single-girl kitchen was just too much!

I want to love him. And part of me does bacause he is my Grandmother’s son, and I know she is my guardian angel. I guess we make some interesting, celestial love triangle. The Grandma I never knew, my Uncle, and me….

It’s complicated….

I was single (by choice) for so long, and I remember that universal fear. Something happens, you slip or are hurt, and because you live alone you think you might not be found for days. And g-d forbid if you have pets! Hungry pets, I won’t go into the details…

I love my Uncle because I know he meant well (most of the time). He just did not know how to “say” it like everyone else. It was as if a streaky window separated him from my family. He was always on the outside of the window. And it was stormy out there…

I am closer by blood to my Uncle than my own husband. My husband who becomes more my soul mate every day. My Uncle, found on the floor of his apartment after suffering a stroke. My Uncle, still in a coma, having a seizure every time they try to pull him out of it. My Uncle, who loved me, paralyzed on his left side.

Why do I feel so angry?

 

Baby Chronicles 3: A Single Girl considers adoption through Foster Care

Baby class was cancelled today…whew !

The only problem is that means class will need to be
rescheduled and we will graduate 1 week later. It’s
like the bittersweet anticipation of a snowday. Great
when it happens, but sucky when you are sitting in
class during summer on one of those lamentable make up
days.

See, if I impregnated myself (immaculata), I would not
need a “make up day”. Harvested moms don’t need to do
embarrassing reinactments  or sit vulnerable in a room
of strangers and explain why they want their child.
They don’t need to fill out applications or take
physical or psychological exams. This process is
almost as painful as squeezing a melon through a straw
(you know what i am getting at) !

I admit I am cranky. I am scared. There is a woman at
work who is also going through the process to adopt as
a single mom. I think she’s strong for doing this, but
sometimes I stare at her and think…. what does this
say to the future men in her life ? Why is she really
doing this ? Is she crazy ?

I am sure these questions could be asked about me as
well.

I find myself talking to everyone I am close to about
this process. It is almost as bad as if I was indeed
PREGNANT. I get strange cravings for moochi green tea
ice cream and cry for no reason. I have Motherhood
magazines in the bathroom (a kind donation from a
friend) and read Adoption books at the local cafe,
instead of spending my time scouting out hot single
men. So far I have read about lactation, and stretch
marks and that funky smell I shall not discuss – none
of which MY birthing experience will bring forth (well
maybe the stretch marks and stench, if I keep eating
too many moochi balls). I daydream about my baby
shower – for a 4 year old ! “Please Welcome ‘Little Y’
to the world, 41 lbs, 9 oz, 32″ tall ! ”
Crazy!
(By the way you are all invited)

I think about money, and that I have to trade in my
new convertible. I worry that I won’t be able to get
to work on time, since I can hardly wake, bathe and
dress myself now- let alone take care of someone else.
Someone who might not be like the little kids on the
cereal commercials – all smiles and good teeth.
Someone who might be a TERROR on occasion, and even
more high maintanace than ME (is that possible ?).

I think about my shoe collection. It will be a long
time before I sache in my Prada snake and satin
stilettos again! Will I still have time and pocket
change to keep a revolving stock of silk camis and
thongs? (they keep you so warm in the winter and are
great for a last minute rendezvous.)

Oh yeah, and I can forget about those last minute
rendezvous, cause all overnight visitors will need to
have a background check from the State. 

You know, I was never a loose woman, but I kinda wish
I had been so I would have something to be remorseful
of setting aside. 
Ok, maybe no pool boys, but what amazing memories.

barcelona- remember T ?
nice-how nice
cannes – hiking in France alone
monaco- the beautiful people
santa fe- healing and growing
palm springs- finding the healer in me
sri lanka- when everything changed
new york- when everything changed again
st. louis- that unfortunate year of denim jumpers and
too much blush
thailand- transforming journeys  taken alone, to scary
places so  differrent than my “own”
hong kong- witnessing a monsoon
seoul, korea- the “grossout” eating contest where I
came in second place because I would not eat the
strange moving jelly cube fish thing.
bolton- borning
london- ok
canal street- groped by the scary asian man in the
secret room of the counterfeit handbag shop- no fake
gucci is worth that !
jerez de la frontera – mi corazon es contigo siempre
rangely lake- TO LIFE!

Precious.

Maybe it’s not goodbye to my life but a jorney through
another chapter. I am sure with time and courage,the
new memories will be even more dear. More real. More
precious.

Since there was no baby class, I thought I would find
you a poem instead. My heart goes out to each of you.
Thank you for your support and love.

 

Poem: “How to Live” by Charles Harper Webb, from
Amplified Dog. © Red Hen Press. 

How to Live 

          “I don’t know how to live.”
                                                
Sharon Olds

Eat lots of steak and salmon and Thai curry and mu shu
pork and fresh green beans and baked potatoes
and fresh strawberries with vanilla ice cream.
Kick-box three days a week. Stay strong and lean.
Go fly-fishing every chance you get, with friends

who’ll teach you secrets of the stream. Play guitar
in a rock band. Read Dostoyevsky, Whitman, Kafka,
Shakespeare, Twain. Collect Uncle Scrooge comics.
See Peckinpah’s Straw Dogs, and everything Monty
Python
 made.
Love freely. Treat ex-partners as kindly

as you can. Wish them as well as you’re able.
Snorkel with moray eels and yellow tangs. Watch
spinner dolphins earn their name as your panga slam-
bams over glittering seas. Try not to lie; it sours
the soul. But being a patsy sours it too. If you cause

a car wreck, and aren’t hurt, but someone is,
apologize
silently. Learn from your mistake. Walk gratefully
away. Let your insurance handle it. Never drive drunk.
Don’t be a drunk, or any kind of “aholic.” It’s bad
English, and bad news. Don’t berate yourself. If you
lose

a game or prize you’ve earned, remember the winners
history forgets. Remember them if you do win. Enjoy
success. Have kids if you want and can afford them,
but don’t make them your reason-to-be. Spare them that
misery. Take them to the beach. Mail order sea

monkeys once in your life. Give someone the full-on
ass-kicking he (or she) has earned. Keep a box turtle
in good heath for twenty years. If you get sick, don’t
thrive
on suffering. There’s nothing noble about pain. Die
if you need to, the best way you can. (You define
best.)

Go to church if it helps you. Grow tomatoes to put
store-
bought in perspective. Listen to Elvis and Bach.
Unless
you’re tone deaf, own Perlman’s “Meditation from
Thais.”
Don’t look for hidden meanings in a cardinal’s song.
Don’t think TV characters talk to you; that’s crazy.

Don’t be too sane. Work hard. Loaf easily. Have good
friends, and be good to them. Be immoderate
in moderation. Spend little time anesthetized. Dive
the Great Barrier Reef. Don’t touch the coral. Watch
for sea snakes. Smile for the camera. Don’t say
“Cheese.”

Baby Chronicles 2: Single girl considers Adopting through Foster Care

Today marked the second meeting of baby class. Its making me wonder why I don’t just get drunk and pick up the cutest sailor at the bar. . How much easier would it be if I just knocked myself up ? I’d have a little one that would look like me. People would not make judgements on the street because our skin and hair colors did not match. I wouldn’t be “married” to social workers, therapists, and “the state”. I could be a really bad parent with minimal repercussions. So why am I going through with this ? So much red tape, long invasive interviews and epic waiting. 

Because somewhere out there a child is sleeping in a bed that’s not his. He’s been separated from his parents because of abuse or neglect. He floats between foster homes and temporary caregivers. He has little that is his beyond his memories (some good and others not so good) and the clothes on his back. Tomorrow the system can decide he is better at another temporary home , and they’ll move him quickly without notice. He will be ripped again from everything he knows and thrown into a new situation. Hopefully a better one. Sometimes he dreams that he can fly, sometimes he dreams of his momma’s smell. But he never dreams of growing up, of going to college or “belonging” or  being happy. That idea floats above him like smoke and its best just to think about today so as not to be disappointed again. 

He is what the State calls “legally free”, which means he can never go back to what he called home again and his parents no longer have the hope of reuniting with him. The state gave them 2 years to get it together but they couldn’t, as hard as they tried, and in the end they were forced to sign away their parental rights. He is legally orphaned in some ways. 

What would it be like to give him another chance ? A permanent home where he is loved and cared for. A place where he can grow, make mistakes without repercussions and grow into a boy, then a man, an possibly one day a nurturer to children of his own. 

One house, one kid , one chance. 

I think I can do that. 

Hope is what we both need right now.