Happy Anniversary

Donna & Leslie

23 Years

on June 30, 2008

The Dolly Momma Shines

Who Says You Can't Go Back?

We made it!

We sold our house, packed everything we own, and arrived here at our destination, the San Francisco Bay Area. This is the result of no small effort and plenty of aggravation, but it is primarily the product of Leslie’s sheer will and, of course, her good design sense. I am ever amazed at how thought can indeed become action when strong will propels it.

God, I love that woman!

It took almost two full weeks to pack the house, which was a huge ordeal. I was still boxing things from the shed in the back yard until two hours before the tractor trailer was filled and backing out of our cul-de-sac. Have you ever worked until you could barely move? And then had to get up and do it again regardless of how you feel? When you move across country, every single item must be packed in a box and sealed. Every single item. And the clock just keeps ticking away in defiance of your work. There were many moments when I thought I should’ve started my “personal revolution” about eight months ago.

A long time colleague of mine who works for one of the nation’s biggest trucking companies filled me in on issues caused by the flooding in the mid-west. Apparently, cross country tractor trailers traveling on I-80 are being sent up to 600 miles out of their way to avoid flood zones, which means delays of up to a week. While our things were picked up from our home on time, they will be warehoused until a California bound trucker is available to pick them up. Right now it looks like it will be July 3 when our things leave Connecticut. Even though it isn’t exactly desirable, warehousing isn’t the worst thing that could happen. Having a house full of personal belongings on the day of close would have been the worst. It does, however, open the window significantly for problems like lost items.

Don’t worry. We don’t have anything that is truly valuable. That is, except one another, of course.

Also, because of the flooding (and for other more esoteric reasons), we decided to fly rather than drive to California. After working like dogs for two weeks, I doubt Leslie, Elizabeth, myself, and our two dogs would have been able to remain trapped in the van for another week at least.

Let’s give a round of applause for good sense in the face of Mother Nature’s unbridled fury!

Last Tuesday, the Faber Girls began their journey by spending a day doing last minute packing, making sure the house was cleaned to a “T”, and then driving the hour and a half it took to get to JFK.

We were there in a Ramada Inn for one day and two nights, and completely grossed out by how disgusting the hotel was, a sensation broken only by the good news that our house closing went well (we signed with our lawyer in advance) and our money was in the bank where it belongs. Leslie abhorred the place and slept in her clothes. Elizabeth ended up with an anklet of bug bites. Daizy, who is in charge of security in the family, was up barking at every fart and whistle. And there were plenty. This Ramada Inn has people lined up out the door all night to check in because it’s where the Port Authority sends passengers when flights are delayed or overbooked. There were doors slamming shut constantly.

Let’s recap.

Our hotel room was the size of a shoe box, the walls were made of spit and toilet paper (and mold), and our Boston Terrier aka Boston Terror, Demolition Daizy, freaked out every half hour, give or take, launching herself off the bed growling, barking, and snarling. The good news is that it was so noisy in general, no one (but us) really noticed, and we didn’t get kicked out. Needless to say, no one slept.

The second morning, we were up at 3 a.m. and had a driver waiting for us at 4 a.m. Jack, our Golden Retriever, was relegated to fly cargo because he and his airline approved crate together were 20 pounds over the 100 pound limit. We had him there; in a separate building location we had the foresight to scope out the day previous, by 4:30 a.m. There was paperwork and weighing, and then of course, getting Jack into the crate itself, which I was worried about. The last time he flew, it scared the stuffing out of him. I was certain I’d have to wrestle him, Greco-roman style. This time, however, it seems he knew what was happening, and, as soon as he got into the cargo warehouse, settled into a resigned sort of depression. Poor Prince Jack. He went into the crate with minimal pushing and prodding, and only trembled a tiny bit.

Daizy, on the other hand, handled the entire trip quite well. She didn’t even pee on herself, which I found surprising.

Long story short, we made it here to San Francisco, and we are in a lovely Marriott. The view over the Bay is stunning. We’re in a beautiful one bedroom suite, and they give you breakfast for free. We haven’t found a place to live yet. After all, this is only our first full day. But we are officially homeless. It’s a strangely liberating feeling. If we haven’t found something in about a week, I’ll let you know. Chances are we will have graduated from liberated to slightly hysterical.

This weekend we will attend San Francisco’s Gay Pride parade. Leslie and I have done it before, but I expect it will take on new and special dimensions with our eleven year old in tow. This is, after all, her birthplace and part of her legacy. Elizabeth wants to make signs that say “Gay Means Happy” and march down the middle of Market Street. Given the condition of Leslie’s knees after all this … well … we’ll see how THAT goes, hm?

This Monday, June 30th, Leslie and I mark our 23rd anniversary together. We met the day of the Gay Pride Parade in San Francisco in 1985. It’ll be a special day for the entire family, but I find it particularly special under the circumstances. We’ve spent the last two years in Connecticut addressing and putting closure on emotional issues, relationships, and circumstances rooted in the past. I’ve made wonderful discoveries about myself and my spirituality. I’ve also been blessed with precious time spent with my grandmother who, for the most part, raised me. Leslie was gifted with time to heal physically after almost 10 years of various surgeries. Elizabeth got to see some of her own lineage, as well, even if it was particularly intense in Thelma’s rest home some of the time.

They say you can’t go back.

I did go back, you see. I went back to the state of my birth for two years and was given the opportunity to clarify how I felt about issues that caused me pain. That clarification led to closure. Now, we’re back in the Bay Area and it feels like we never left.

That is, of course, except that I feel lighter in mind and spirit.

Hey You

Artist : Madonna
Album : Live Earth fundraiser (2007)
Song : Hey You

Lyrics :

Hey You
Don’t you give up
It’s not so bad
There’s still a chance for us

Hey You
Just be yourself
Don’t be so shy
There’s reasons why it’s hard

Keep it together
You’ll make it all right
A celebration is going on tonight
Poets and prophets would envy what we do
This could be good
hey you

Hey you
Open your heart
It’s not so strange
You’ve got to change
this time

Hey you
Remember this
None of it’s real
including the way you feel

Keep it together
We'll make it all right
A celebration is going on tonight
Poets and prophets would envy what we do
This could be good
hey you

Save your soul, little sister
Save your soul, little brother

Hey you
Save yourself
Don’t rely on anyone else

First, love yourself
Then, you can love someone else
If, you can change someone else
Then, you have saved someone else

But, you must first love yourself
Then, you can love someone else
If, you can change someone else
Then, you have saved someone else
But, you must first...

Hey you
There on the fence
You’ve got a choice
One day it will make sense

Hey you
First, love yourself
Or, if you can’t
Try to love someone else

Keep it together
We ’ll make it all right
A celebration is going on tonight
Poets and prophets will envy what we do
This could be good
hey you

First, love yourself
Then, you can love someone else
If you can change someone else
Then you have saved someone else

But, you must first love yourself
Then, you can love someone else
If you can change someone else
Then, you have saved someone else
But, you must first...

Mother's Gift

Another day has gone by. This one is a Monday. As predicted, hours seem like minutes, minutes like seconds, and, as though in a time warp, we’ve moved out of the waiting phase and into the “get it done” phase that occurs before each major move in any household. On one hand, I am thoroughly relieved to have the space available in my brain that was left by my job when I left it. My last day was Friday. On the other hand, there are plenty of details that fit quite neatly into those vacant spaces. And as I sit here writing, those details are cluttered all around me in numbered boxes, piles, and partially packed pictures that used to be on the wall. They are waiting to be handled, and I fight the guilt I feel for writing instead of packing.

I really don’t mind this place we’re in right now; this place between leaving and arriving. It’s pregnant with new horizons and new possibilities. I find it invigorating.

After visiting the vet today and dropping over $200 on vaccinations for the dogs, we went to visit my grandmother where she lives in a rest home (there’s plenty more on that topic here). The last time we were there, I told her we had to leave, knowing full well grasping the fact would be a process for her. She was relatively clear headed today, however, and had specific questions. Thelma never ceases to surprise me with those times when she is fully cognizant.

Last night I wrote a comment on Jane Devin’s recent post. The article focused on her father, but, perhaps inadvertently, what she wrote was a revealing description of her mother. I really enjoy and relate to Jane’s writing. It got me to thinking about how my mother’s disdain for her children often left us as beggars, waiting for the tiniest scraps of her love and attention. Her article had me reflecting on the years that I spent there “at the gate”, as Jane wrote, waiting to see myself reflected positively in my mother’s eyes. When finally I no longer needed those tiny scraps of attention, and when I was able to release the confusing need I had for my mother, I was surprised at how strong my resolution was in the end.

I was surprised at how I'd emerged a stronger woman.

Today, it was mid-day and lunch had been served. My grandmother ate heartily in her room surrounded by room mates, who also ate ate hungrily (with the exception of Mary, who was too tired). Thelma’s aid, Karen, has limitless energy and limitless compassion, and she buzzed from one resident to the next, fussing over this and that, tending energetically to what I consider one of the most important, but least paid, jobs in the country. I sat in a chair close to my grandmother, as I always do, so I can reach out and touch her, scratch her shoulder maybe, or lay a wet one on her forehead when I feel like it. We were going to leave soon.

And through the door walked my mother.

I did a double take. It felt like I was watching the twin towers burn down again, really. You know that moment when you’re not sure your eyes are seeing what they see? My mother lives a few hours away in Massachusetts, and for the last three months has been virtually nonexistent, so what were the chances of us running into one another? She’s somewhat infamous for not visiting Thelma, as well. Rumor is that she’s left her third husband, again, and was set to move into a senior complex. She’s only 60.

She was as shocked to see us as we were to see her.

Leslie started laughing, which is what she does when she’s surprised and slightly uncomfortable. I took stock of how I felt, and it surprised me that I wasn’t disgusted with her any more. She looked terrible, tired and run down, and wore one of those funky bandanas on her head that she wore when I was a kid. I hate those things. It always meant her hair was dirty. She’s put on a lot of weight, too, although I’m not one to talk. But she looked puffy and uncomfortable. Her shirt was torn, and her jeans didn’t look clean.

I gave her a big hug, a good squeeze, and kissed her cheek. She always seems surprised when I do, as if she isn’t worthy. How ironic that is considering the pedestal on had her on when I was a child. I remember loving her with the same intensity that my daughter loves her mothers, Leslie and I. I remember wanting to be with her all the time, rather than outside. I remember adoring her with everything I had, and then being devastated on the most visceral of levels the first time she left when I was four. And then again when I was 11, and again when I was 17, even though by that time I was living with Thelma & Ed, and had numbed myself to a degree.

What I discovered in this moment today, in this gift the Divine Mother gave me, was an objective and genuine affection and a little bit of sadness that, for once, didn’t pierce me to the core of my being. I felt no confusion and no internal battle. In fact, I wasn’t upset at all. At this point in my life, when I'm carefully taking stock of what baggage I'm casting off, what burdens I leave behind when we go, I'm very grateful for this clarification.

I have to admit, however, that I had no desire to sit there and chat either.

So, we left, my family and I, after I gave my mother one last hug. Elizabeth hugged her, too, and under the circumstances, I have to applaud my 11 year old daughter’s compassion. She’s fully up to speed on these circumstances, and still finds the strength to grace the adults in her life when she knows it’s appropriate. Her hug made my mother shine. Even Leslie, who still feels stung by my mother’s carelessness this time around, had it in her heart to impart a smile and a warm gesture before leaving.

Thelma was thrilled her daughter was there to visit. That smile, beaming out of her toothless face, was priceless.

Maybe the last two years helped my mother see how easy it is to lose someone, and maybe my grandmother will reap the rewards of her lesson.

Maybe that is the Divine Mother’s truest gift to all of us.

Maybe.