Enigmatic Female

The Sadness, It Worsens

My aunt died two weeks ago. My mom and two of my aunt's friends found her in her house, convulsing, after a suicide attempt by overdosing on prescription drugs. She was rushed to the nearest hospital and stabilized, but had no brain activity by the time she arrived. She was on life support for two days before it became clear that she wouldn't recover any brain function whatsoever. I flew to Maryland to be with my family, and was there when they disconnected her respirator. We are all grieving, especially for my mother, whose loss of her sister is compounded by a feeling of responsibility for her death, as my mother thinks she should have seen it coming. She couldn't have. No one could have. We had a funeral in Maryland, and the outpouring of support from her friends, colleagues, and the mental health community was overwhelming. Her job was to serve people with chronic mental illness in the state of Maryland (she has struggled with bipolar disorder for thirty years, and for the last dozen years or more, has been working on behalf of other mental health consumers). They are feeling a devastating loss. The following weekend, we flew to North Dakota, and there was a funeral mass for our family, and she was buried there, with my grandfather, her brother, who died before I met him, and my cousin, a 16 year old girl who died last fall in a terrible car accident. Trying to make sense of all of this makes it difficult to sleep, or to think much else is important. We are pushing ahead with modest Christmas plans, but our hearts aren't in it as they usually are. The best solace right now is trusting that the pain and desperation we found reflected in her recent journals have been quieted and replaced with the peace and love she spent her life seeking.

Granny

Dallas' Granny died last week. She was a feisty, yet forgetful, 85 years old. Her mind wasn't what it once was by the time I met her around this time last year, but there was still plenty of personality to amuse me. Like how she called her daughter's husband, Slough-foot (because he's the kind of person who looks like he's always just stepped in something), how her advice to me at my wedding shower was, "If you will just shut up, you'll never say anything wrong," how she had a cat, originally named Sinatra, a name which she thought was stupid and hard to remember, so she renamed him, "Baby Boy," and would tell us how she'd say, "Baby Boy, where are you?" and he'd come a-running. Dallas and his older brother spent quite a bit of time with Granny when they were young, as she would look after them while their parents worked. She tells stories (sadly, the same ones were often repeated over and over again in the same hour or so visit, a creeping reminder of her mental deterioration) about how they went walking in the woods, or for a ride on a small train, or to the zoo when the boys were younger. She was so tickled by my appreciation for McDonald's (my first non-babysitting job was as a cashier/drive through runner at age 16), as I expressed it to her at our first meeting, that she misremembered that we ate a meal there (rather than at Subway) that day, and always treated McDonald's food as our own private joke. She was quite a plucky lady, and when she was younger and wanted a stone house, she set her husband and her four children the task of digging rocks for it out of the fields on their land, and cementing them to the walls of their home. This house is still standing, in decline, and she lived in it, alone, until the day she died. The street on which it sits is named for her. We've been mourning, and yet offering thanks that she hadn't had to leave her home of 65 years, or her cat, for whom she was making arrangements on her death bed. Rarely does a day pass when we don't make some reference to Granny, whether it's to say, "That's life for ya, Granny," her favorite phrase to attribute to a precocious seven-year old Dallas, or to say, "I'm BO-ORED," her favorite phrase to attribute to her ungrateful youngest grandchildren, or just to tell stories about her, remembering the good times. May she rest in peace, even as her husband, long-dead, will likely be put to work first thing upon their reunion.

The Last 48 Hours

Tuesday morning I slept in until 10, unaware that my phone was ringing. At 10:26, I checked my phone and found a message from Dallas' 35 weeks pregnant sister-in-law. She said that Dallas' brother, J, was out of town, and that she couldn't reach her mother, and she was heading to the doctor's office, because she wasn't feeling quite right. In a frenzy, as she's had a preeclampsia scare and was still quite a ways from her due date, I got ready as quickly as possible. I spoke with her and she said she was probably next in line to see the doctor, but that it was probably nothing. I told her I was going to start driving toward her doctor's office (about an hour from our house) and if it was nothing, she could call me, and I would go home. I drove quickly, feeling that something was definitely something, not nothing. I didn't hear from her as I got closer and closer. I was about two minutes away when I heard from her again. As I turned onto the street of the doctor's office, she called me and said her water broke and that she wasn't sure what they were going to do. She was understandably scared. That all happened around 11am. By noon I had taken her to a perinatologist at a larger, better equipped for premature births, hospital. By 1:00 we knew that she was dilated two centimeters and feeling stronger contractions. The sonogram showed that the baby's estimated weight was 5 lbs, 11 oz. She was sent to labor and delivery. She was in her room by 2:00 and dilated to four centimeters. Her husband, meanwhile, was making his way north to Fort Worth, from Laredo, over five hours away. By 5:00 he arrived, she was dilated to five centimeters, and had declined an epidural. Around 5:30 they gave her some IV painkiller (pain reducer), and I headed to her and J's house to let their dogs out and tidy up a bit. Dallas met me there. Around 6:20 we got a call from Dallas' dad saying she had gone from five to eight centimeters in twenty minutes. We hurried to tie everything up and headed back to the hospital. When we were about five minutes away, Dallas' dad called back. The baby, weighing 5 lbs, 13 oz was born at 6:47. Dallas is now an uncle, making me an aunt, of a beautiful little girl who was apparently in a big rush to meet the world. She is doing well, as is her mother, and they should be heading home from the hospital today. After hearing this kind of birth story, and seeing how perfectly adorable the little baby is, it makes me feel like it might not be all that bad to go ahead and pop out a few kids while we're young. Dallas, however, has the idea that we should wait a couple years. After taking a few turns babysitting, I may want to concede him this point. Time will tell.

Picture a Balding, Overweight Pug

When I was 13, precocious and combative, she told me I was an incomplete person in a very superior tone of voice. I had already unraveled the mystery of adult superiority by that time, concluding that they weren't usually superior to me, especially if I got them really angry and irrational. She was really angry and irrational much of the time.  During a routine argument over walking my dog, she screamed that until I could vote, I was an incomplete person and had no right to talk back to her in this way. Underscoring her completeness, of course, was the fact that she, a seventy year old woman, was engaging with me, a 13 year old, in a shouting match over the safety of walking my dog -- alone, which I was set on -- through her Schenectady neighborhood. (Several years ago I put fingers to keyboard about the type of riffraff resides in Schenectady, and as I've been integrating the archives from my first blog into this one, you can check it out here.) Whether she was right, or I was, is irrelevant. The point here, in case I've been hiding the ball, is that Grandmother's composure and reasoning was inadequate to withstand even the challenges made by my thirteen year old rhetoric, and my distaste for her disposition grew steadily as I grew older.

Sadly, she hasn't, as the saying goes, aged gracefully. The older she gets, the more bitter and oddly emotional she becomes. During the same visit when I was 13, I noticed that she cried as we pulled out of her driveway in our Nissan minivan, despite treating us -- and especially me -- to a barrage of orders and snide criticisms during the course of our visit. Each year after that, she repeated this behavior -- we would get hugged and kissed and "sweathearted" when we arrived, and she would cry, sometimes hysterically, when we left, but never did she demonstrate kindness or love during the body of the trip. Around this time, my sisters and I started making inside jokes and commiserating about her treatment of us and the weird crap she'd say. (I am not even go to delve into the things she's said to or about my older sister, who had the distinct displeasure of living with her for a long period of time; let me just say that Grandmother hasn't been kind and she's lucky that my sister has more of a sense of familial duty than I have.)

Despite my antipathy toward her, I have always tried to remain cordial to Grandmother and to keep the peace when she's around -- that's my mature side speaking. In reality, I am a two-faced thirteen year old telling her how nice it is to see her while making snide comments to my sisters out of the corner of my mouth (she doesn't hear very well) about her general lack of sight, tact, and continence. Incomprehensibly, she tries to compare herself to me at every opportunity, feeling, perhaps that others will think more highly of her if she can show some similarity to me. Or, maybe she wants some attribution for how I've turned out. Or, it's even possible that she's trying to bring me down a peg. Who knows? (One minor example of this involved me dyeing my hair a dark reddish brown and her claiming that I must have inherited it from her mother. My sister and I just kept our amusement at this quietly to ourselves.) Her comparisons always involve her negative traits, like being overweight, having bad feet, lacking musical ability, and almost never the positive things that have actually made me successful, which she also shares, like intelligence, determination, outspokenness. I hate to break it to her, but her hammer toe, even if it were inherited by me, is not responsible for my six figure salary.

Recently, she moved to Maryland to be nearer to my parents. In honor of her move, which has been very challenging for my older sister, I thought I would compile a little "best of the worst" list of my favorite Grandmotherisms that I've been blessed to have directed at me through the years.

"You're an incomplete person...you have no right to talk back to your elders until you can vote!"

"When I was your age and about your weight, my boyfriend called me 'butterball.'"

While I sang Christmas carols: "Stop! Stop! [then, laughing] You know, I never could carry a tune in a bucket, either."

"I recognize those feet; do you have a hammer toe?"

While I tried on my wedding dress: "You need a girdle with that dress."

After trying on the wedding dress, as I ate a single piece of chocolate: "That isn't helping you lose 10 pounds."

"I need a pad, I'm soaked!!" (OK, this one isn't a comment to me or about me, merely something I found hilarious that I quote at every opportunity to my sisters. Mom finally laid the smack down about needing to wear diapers instead of treating her "little problem" with maxi pads.. this after years of having to cover all of our furniture with plastic before she'd visit, including the mattress that she slept on -- my mattress, I should say.)

"I've lost 5 pounds." (Again, not to or about me, but merely something humorous she says almost every time she gets Mom on the phone. Mom has hilariously commented that there wouldn't be anything left of her if she'd actually lost all of the 5 pounds-es she'd claimed to. Note: there's plenty left of her.)

Home For A Holiday, A Reprise

The new (old) boyfriend will be known as "Dallas" hereafter, as this is where he lives and there is a strong precedent in country music of substituting the name of the place for the person who lives there. Now that we've taken care of this small bit of housekeeping, onward to our Thanksgiving adventure with my parents in Maryland:

The first time Dallas visited my family in Maryland, it was Easter 2003. We were not yet dating, just thinking about it and getting comfortable, really comfortable, with each other. As he was presented to my family as a "friend," there wasn't much pressure for them to interrogate him or to weigh each thing he did and discuss amongst themselves whether he measured up to all their hopes and dreams for me. That notwithstanding, each person, as they do, formed their own opinion and reported back to me, by which time we had DTRed and were dating, of which I informed them, to their (only slight) surprise. This time was 180 degrees from that experience, as much has transpired in the past few weeks that I've been keeping strictly private, but will now divulge, in part.

First, we're firmly together this time and my family has been informed thereof.  Second, my family knows I love him. When we traveled together to Pittsburgh two weekends ago for a wedding reception, we stopped and had lunch with my mother and older sister. During this lunch, while Dallas was in the men's room, I told my mother and sister that he had said he was in love with me the prior night and that I had been mute in response until he made a joke to break the tension. Prior to his arrival for Thanksgiving, they were informed that I reciprocated and had told him as much. Third, we are both older than we were last time and fully independent, making any serious relationship a potential marriage and in need of close monitoring (while fully respecting my independence, of course). Needless to say, curiosity abounded.

When I arrived home on Tuesday night, my mom eagerly led me to the bedroom Dallas and I would be sharing to show me the new matching quilts she'd purchased for our benefit. I think she was feeling badly that she didn't have a bed larger than a twin for us to share. Little did she know, we shared a twin bed the whole time just fine. Well, not the whole time. The first night, desperately tired, I slept in my own bed and slipped back into the shared twin bed first thing in the morning. This is the reverse of what I'd always imagined I'd be doing with a non-spouse in my parents' house -- by which I mean that I imagined pretending to sleep in my own bed, sneaking in with a boyfriend in the middle of the night, then returning to my own room in the morning and emerging therefrom for family breakfast or the like.

Wednesday I was busy running errands and making soup until it was time to retrieve Dallas from the airport. I was so happy to see him and not just because he brought me a present:

That's right, envy me. My boyfriend crocheted me a soft lamby pink scarf that I didn't take off much over the next few days. I felt woefully inadequate in the textile arts department after receiving such a gift, but am endeavoring to make it up to him. Mums the word, but I have a most excellent Christmas present planned.

My sister and aunt came over for dinner to get a good look at him, then Dallas and I watched Napoleon Dynamite and laughed and laughed. The next day was Thanksgiving, when the real interrogation occurred. My aunt and uncle, their two daughters, one of my sisters, my brother, and another aunt were in attendance, in addition to my parents, myself, and of course, Dallas. I encouraged a three drink minimum for the men -- it just helps things go more smoothly. My dad and Dallas were into the scotch, my brother was drinking beer and (I think) bourbon or something, my aunt and uncle were drinking Mountain Dew with Canadian Mist, and I had vodka and Fresca, my new "it sips so good" drink of the diet variety. My aunt was asking pointed questions (which were not felt as such by Dallas, so thank goodness for small wonders) about Dallas's occupation (attorney), where he lives (um, duh), and the like. This irritated me, so I stayed away from it.

After being interrogated by my aunt, overseeing a game of Scrabble between my mom, aunts, and sister, watching football and drinking with my dad, hanging out and talking with my brother and sister, and then playing a game with all the women, Dallas made a more than favorable impression. After Dallas left on Saturday afternoon, I spent a good deal of time with my sister and mother debriefing the weekend. Many positive things were expressed, not the least of which is one of my absolute favorite things about him: his ability to have fun under almost any circumstances and to contribute positively to the experience of others. My sister felt that he had done a fantastic job of not rubbing in everyone's face how smart he is (something I sometimes struggle with, as I can be rather a snob), which I also appreciate, along with his complete lack of pretension. Moreover, my dad likes him. I almost fell over when speaking with my dad after returning to New York, when he said, "Tell Dallas that I really enjoyed having him here for Thanksgiving." This is like the golden snitch of parental approval. My dad *never* comments to us about who we're dating whether good, bad or otherwise. A lasting impression must have been made. While it is not something I would have allowed to influence me had my dad not liked him, it certainly speaks volumes about Dallas that my dad expressed verbally that he liked having him around. Up next: meeting Dallas's mother (for the first time; I've met the rest of his immediate family), exchanging Christmas presents the day after Christmas, and making merry with the Enigmatic family for New Year's. After surviving this holiday so successfully, I'm looking forward to all of it.

Oh Happy Day

My iMac, after two months of sickness that I was too busy to address, has been restored to full health by the lovely folks at the Soho Apple Store.* I have had only spotty internet access, as my iMac administrates the Airport Network, so I have been siphoning from other wireless networks in my building, until each of them, one by one, have gotten wise to my ways and password protected their shit. Blogging just isn't as fun on a 12" iBook that may lose connectivity at any moment. I am now back up to full speed with all systems a go!

The past two months have been insanely busy.

First there was work, where there was this case. It was a good case and I liked it. It was supposed to go to trial yesterday and I was excited about that, but exhausted by a long string of 15 hour days. It settled last week and the outcome was extremely favorable. I have been on a constant high since then, with more energy than I can responsibly use. This likely indicates a return to my drama-creating ways. Those around me beware.

Second there's my drive for health and fitness, which actually began months ago with a strong push toward improved nutrition through the wonder of antioxidants and fresh foods. Then I got this trainer who calls himself the Ben Man (if his name were Ben, which it isn't, so just imagine a dude with a one syllable name that adds man to it and you can see what we're dealing with). He's amazing. He taught me how to box and think positively. I've lost an entire dress size since I started working out with him.

Third there's been a bit of hardship in my family. My sixteen year old cousin died in a car accident last month and it has been hard to feel OK being frivolous or funny in light of the pain that my family, and especially my aunt, is experiencing. Also, my dog, Molly, and my mom's cat, Dusky, were very old and sick and had to be put to sleep (euthanized? there is no good way to say this) the same week as the car accident. Molly was my thirteenth birthday present and I loved that dog. Here is a picture:

I have also had a ton of random reconnections with people from the past, mostly guys I've known and never dated, so there's a new world of possibility.

Finally, I joined a soccer team and the Met and intend on meeting many many new people in the next month. Should be an interesting time.

*For the New Yorkers out there, word on the street is that a new Apple Store is being constructed in Midtown on Fifth Avenue. 

You Have Entered an Invalid Response

Dear Family and Friends,

First of all, I'm fine. Really. You needn't be so concerned. There is one thing, however, that is distressing me somewhat--the need you all have to try to cheer my up by telling me R was too _______ for me or not _______  enough for me, or that one day I will meet someone else who is more _______. The thing is, dear family and friends, in the past 10 years I have met 3 guys I was into enough to have a longer than 6 week relationship with; that's less than 1 guy every three years. The chances of finding someone MORE of any of the amazing qualities R or S or B had is so slim, it's just not so comforting to hear when I'm struggling with the idea of losing the person I thought I'd spend my life with. Rather than focus so much on finding this mythical ideal person, I'd rather focus on being happy by myself and not feeling like my life won't be worthwhile unless I find that one perfect person. So, to that end, please stop calling me when you've thought of one more thing that wasn't perfect with R and me. Please don't be offended when I tell you I don't want to talk about it anymore. Please do find something else to talk about and help me move on to other positive things.

Thank you, that is all.

Love,
Erin

Premature Wed-jaculation

I talked to my mom this morning and told her that I'm feeling financially healthy for the first time in a very long while. I've been paying off debts, but also saving money, as I anticipate that this is going to be an expensive time with moving from my apartment (maybe) and taking the Maryland bar, and moving to Maryland. And she said... Do you want to know what she said? She said, "Well, I don't know if you're thinking that this would be what makes this time expensive, but my officemate had this wedding cake that was made by a small baker in Baltimore. It was shaped like a present. It had a hard outer shell with mouse layers. It wasn't layered like a normal cake." Touched that she was thinking R and I will be getting married soon, and of course loving the thought of this myself, I added, "that's cool--you could have a couple presents instead of a tiered cake." At the same time, though, there's a world of difference between knowing I want to marry R and talking with him about it, and actually thinking in terms of cold hard logistics that involve other people. I asked her whether she knew something I didn't, like had R talked to her and my dad? And told her to give me the stealth report. She said he hadn't, but that I shouldn't expect the stealth report in any event, as she wouldn't give to me. She speculated that my dad might be another matter, but said hopefully asking my dad would be shortly followed by asking me. I agreed, but felt extremely extremely premature even talking about this. R anchored me back in reality when I told him about this conversation by saying, "well, I haven't made any plans in that direction." This was just the expectation-management that needed to happen this afternoon.

It's Time! It's Time! It's Time!

That's right, folks. Later today I will board a train to ENYCE to take the much hyped NY Bar Exam. My non-immediate family members and neighbors keep asking, "Do you feel ready?" The look all expectant, like I should spout some great wisdom or give some profound answer, or in some way reassure them that I will, indeed, pass this exam. Instead, I have repeatedly told them, "No, I don't feel ready. I should have studied more." They walk away disappointed. I'm hedging my bets, really. I don't "feel" anything just yet. I feel like I know some stuff and hopefully that will be the stuff they decide to test on; if I fail, I'm fucked. So, do I "feel" ready? No. Would I feel ready if I studied for 2 more months? Probably not. It's far too early to know how I feel about it yet. I won't know how I "feel" about it until I'm sitting in the exam and the proctor says, "You may now open your exam booklet." And I like it that way. I like knowing that with my adrenaline rush and severe fear of failure comes nerves of steel and heightened intelligence. (Or so I've told myself repeatedly when I haven't studied enough for exams that I've ended up doing well on.) So, do I "feel"ready? No. But am I ready? I'm ready enough to pass, and you know what? That's good enough for me.

P.S. I'm on my way out the door, but had to take a moment to thank my younger sister for getting me some GUMMY WORMS and JELLY BELLIES to eat during the exam! She rocks! I am afraid I look hopelessly casual for someone taking the Bar tomorrow. I fit everything into a backpack, am wearing cargo khakis and Pumas, and am going to do this entire 3 day NY trip with only ONE pair of SHOES. Egad!

One Week Out

The Bar is a week from today, and in the sense that  I know what needs to be done before then, I'm almost ready. Today will be my last day of furious index card production, finishing off with Contracts, Agency/Partnership, Wills/Trusts, and Domestic Relations. This is much more than I've accomplished on any other single day, but I took a bit of a holiday yesterday to realign some of my negative thinking and get back on track. I did laundry and went to the gym, then went out to dinner and had a walk. I feel like a new woman today, ready to take on the rest of this crap. In fact, for the first time in 5 days, I haven't woken up to shooting pain in my arm--a definite sign of improvement. Tomorrow I will work on essay questions all day, Thursday will be MPT day, and the rest of the week will be spent working through multiple choice problems and learning the corresponding law a bit better, hopefully memorizing a good deal. Whenever I have doubts about my readiness, I think about what one of my friends said, "There are a lot of dumb people taking the Bar." Word. My motto is "I won't be in the bottom 20%, I won't be in the bottom 20%, I won't, I won't, I won't, I won't, I won't be in the bottom 20%." (If anyone can tell me what this quote it adapted from, you get a gold star.)

In other news, unrelated to the Bar, last weekend was full of things I didn't write about yet.  First, my dog (she's very old and in not so great health) got bitten by something on Saturday morning on her muzzle, which caused it to swell up so much on the right side that her eye got swollen shut. Her muzzle was like an inch thick. The vet thinks it could have been a spider or something. The poor, pathetic dog!

My two young cousins came to visit that same day and the 14 month old is adorable. I called her a "fish kisser," because she's all about the open mouth kisses. She opens her mouth, like a fish, and leans in for you to kiss her. It's hilarious, but not as funny as what she does when she sees someone else with food. She opens her mouth like a baby bird and stretches out her neck to let you know she'd be interested in whatever you're having. And then later, when we had ice cream, I thought she was going to bite the bowl off the spoon the way she was attacking it. A very funny kid.

Probably the strangest thing that happened was my brother storming around our kitchen and cleaning it. When my dad asked what he was doing, he replied "Cleaning the kitchen. This place is a fucking mess." My brother said that? The one who tracks piles of grass into the house and once had 14 soda cans strewn about his room? Yes, that brother. Then he cleaned his room and did his laundry. A definite Twilight Zone moment.