Congratulations.Well done, my friend

Congratulations -- The Rolling Stones -- 1964



WE DID IT!!! How in the hell we managed, I don't quite know, but we passed. Trevor and I are a certified, and possibly certifiable Therapy team.

For those of my friends who don't know much about Pet Therapy, I offer you this little explanation from the Delta Society. Poke around at the site. There is much to learn.

As for some of our own experiences with Therapy, I have written about them here.

So Trevor will be the third in my line of Therapy dogs. I get so much more than I give with Pet Therapy. Since Connecticut Hospice is literally 2 miles from my home, I hope Trevor and I will be able to volunteer there.

As for the rest of the weekend, well, let's just keep it our little secret. We MAY have found the perfect apartment for the Princess. Nearby, steps away from the beach ( within 1 block of the dump I saw last week), owner occupied, adorable......and EVERYTHING is included in the rent. We have to keep all parts crossed that it works out. I haven't even mentioned it to her yet. She is far too stressed about her job interview tomorrow.

I'll keep you posted.

Promised you a miracle.........

Belief is a beauty thing -- Promised You A Miracle -- Simple Minds -- 1982






We have several exciting....titillating ( just love that word), astounding, thrilling things going on this weekend.



I can hardly stand it.



Are you ready????



We are going to look at more apartments that the Princess clearly cannot afford. That should be great work for my psyche.



We are refinishing furniture for the Princess to have in the place that she will not be living.



We are going to pick up a new piece of furniture for the Princess so that she can have it in the places where she cannot afford to live. IT'S A PEW! Really. For the kid who believes in NO FORMAL RELIGION, born of the Mother who believes that organized religion is......well, let's just say it's not for me. A PEW. A woman we bought a vintage table from offered it to us for 50 dollars. My Mother said no, but the Princess loved it as a "reading bench", so we are going to pick it up tomorrow.

Wheeeeeeeeeeeee. More furniture to refinish and cart along to the homeless shelter when the Princess has no other housing options. What fun!



I am doing the requisite much-hated task of grooming 5 Poodles (or sheep depending on Geography). That I can hardly wait for.



But, the topper of all times~~~~~~~~



I am taking not one, but two dogs for Pet Therapy certification on Sunday. One is a simple recert, so that should go just fine. She knows the routine.



However, the second to be tested is Trevor:

Looks innocent enough, right? I mean, realistically, how much can go wrong? It's a basic test of manners and teamwork. How wonky can it go??

To give you an understanding of my fears, here is a top-ten list of Trevor's favorite activities:

1. Farting. Usually while he's asleep so he doesn't disturb himself, but he has been known to break a few fumigators while standing directly next to a beloved person. Or a stranger. That is usually followed by him racing away from the source of the noise and smell, appalled that his rectum has betrayed him in such a manner.

2. Chasing light patterns and shadows. For HOURS if allowed.

3. Playing ball. Again, FOR HOURS IF ALLOWED. When playing ball, he must be rendered deaf and nearly blind. He is ONLY able to see the ball. Nothing else. He cannot hear his name or any other verbal communication. A bonk directly on the top of his head will SOMETIMES distract him.

4. Running pell-mell around in circles. The house, the yard, a field or the infamous livingroom-hall-diningroom-hall circle track are all top contenders.

5. Farting. Hey, don't rag on me. I feed PREMIUM foods. His ass is just rotten.

6. Stealing toys, food, plastic and sometimes cash. Luckily, he hoardes out in the open for easy recovery. And he only tears paper money in half.

7.Stalking and chasing squirrels. Great fun, unless you're a squirrel.

8.Stuffing himself into a teeny-tiny bed made for the little dogs. And then becoming chronically annoyed at those friggin' back legs that just won't stay inside the bed.

9.Waking up in the wee hours of the morning with a sound that can only be described as howling/barking/woofing/hysteria. A VERY LOUD sound. Probable cause: bad dreams. Or maybe leg cramps ( see #8 above)

10. Farti...........Uh, never mind. You get the idea. For # 10, we will say a favorite is being petted. By me, my Mother, the Princess, my 2 neighbors and maybe the mail-carrier ( but only on alternating days when it is sunny and above 67 degrees. And he is having a good hair day). Otherwise, he can have a bit of that " Poodle-standoffishness" that I have heard mentioned. Or maybe he is shy. Or he has a headache. From the bonking ( see #3 above). Either way, he is not consistently happy to have strangers petting him.

So, you can see my conundrum. I am taking him to be tested as A THERAPY DOG. Which means he must be well-behaved, under my control and willing to take direction THE ENTIRE TIME. From the moment we get out of the car to go inside until we pull out of the parking lot, me hanging my head in shame, to return home.

Pray for me people. Pray hard.

Do you hear me?...........................

Do you care? -- Words -- Missing Persons -- 1982


I am still on the lookout for an apartment for the Princess. To cast a wider net, I placed a very carefully worded ad on our local Craigslist. I was very clear about what we were looking for, what areas we were interested in, and blunt about the amount she had to offer as monthly rent.

There have been many responses in the past 3 days. At least 28. ONE was appropriate. ONE

Are people just natural born assholes? Please tell me. If I say in the ad that the kid wants an apartment so that she can live on her own, why do I then get a boatload off shitheads who want to be her verybestfriendandroommateforever? Including one from a 23 year old boy who thinks it would be great "fun" to have a 23 year old girl to share a "cool" house with. Because, ya' know, as a Mother, I'm all for that.

Then we get the fuckin' scam artists who write their bullshit about cashier's checks and secret government work details. Hey, that wasn't you IAI, was it? If so, sorry I was rude.

But the best responses, by far, have been the people who genuinely want to offer her a nice, safe and nearby place to live. At around 500 DOLLARS A MONTH MORE than we said she could pay. I especially love those e-mails:

" We have an in-law apartment available. It was built from ancient artifact trees, is gilded in gold leaf, has been personally blessed by 2 Popes, and!!!! she only has to share the bathroom with the 4 upstairs tenants. The bug spray is included in the rent. All of this for eleventy thousand dollars a month. A Steal!!!! Let me know when you would like to attend the ribbon cutting".

Or something along those lines.

You people thought I was kidding when I said she would be camping in the yard. No joke. My tent, brandy-new; has 3 rooms, skylights, is on the first floor, freshly cleaned, allows pets and is air conditioned.




And she only has to share the bathroom with 5 Poodles.

I'm breaking through, I'm bending spoons........

I'm keeping flowers in full bloom, I'm looking for answers from the great beyond -- The Great Beyond -- REM -- 1999





I hate whining. Hate it with an intensity that is probably nearing homicidal level.



But today, I am going to whine. Any day that finds me crying in my car on the way to work.........a day to whine.



I am a single Mother. I think that has been clearly established. I have never been married and my daughter's Father has never paid one penny of child support. His extended family has never helped with any expenses.


My Mother and I do everything for our little family. Everything. Before my daughter came along, we would have been pigeonholed in a socio-economic category of "lower class". When I was a kid, we sometimes had no electricity, we sometimes had little in the way of food, we hardly ever had any of the "extras" that make life fun.


It was OK with us. It was just the way we lived, and in the area where I grew up, it was the way a LOT of families lived. My Mother and I had one solitary family vacation when I was 10. We drove with her friend to Disneyworld in Florida for 5 days. My Mother saved for 2 years to do it.


Once my daughter was born, things became even harder. If there is anything I regret in my life, it is not the decision to have or keep my daughter, but the immature and selfish decision to bring her into my un-established life at such a young age. My actions sentenced her to a childhood of similar circumstances to mine. No luxuries, no vacations, no big gifts.........none of the extras.



As with my own life, most of the time it didn't seem to bother her. It was just the way our lives were. However, there have been times that it really bothered me. My inability to provide her with even some of the niceties............well, sometimes it made me feel like a failure. And it doesn't seem to matter how hard I work......how many balls I juggle. It's just never enough for me to give her the things I want her to have. Sometimes it gets me down.


Last night and today, I feel like the biggest failure around. In our search for affordable housing for my Princess, I have seen some hideous places, some OK places, and last night 2 fantastic places. Two apartments in the same building, one nicer than the next.



The building is very, very old and obviously was built by an obscenely wealthy family. The 2 apartments were on the third floor......the former servants quarters. For the young crowd that doesn't mind climbing 3 flights of stairs. They were the "cheapie" apartments. Small and efficient, but they were also bright, clean and cool. They had beautiful original woodwork, funky alcoves, massive hand-carved molding and each window held a beautiful view.


Here is a shot of the alcove to hold a dining table:

The bedroom with an enormous walk-in storage area:

The building is right behind the town green and is within walking distance of funky shops and the town center. It is a safe neighborhood and it's about 3 miles from home.It was simply an incredible place. Nothing ostentatious. That is saved for the first floor tenants.

As soon as my Mother and I walked into the first apartment, I knew that my Princess would love it. We agreed that it was somewhere she would be comfortable and safe. Someplace that she would appreciate. The second apartment was just as interesting.



And then, the lowering of the boom. The rent combined with the proposed cost for utilities and expenses would add up to too much. Even though it was the best rent we have seen for a clean and decent apartment, it is still simply too expensive for her to afford. And, as her Mother, I feel awful about that. Awful that I can't help her more. That I can't provide more for her financially. That I can't give her a leg up to start her new life.

Awful that, as her only parent, I have failed her. She is just a kid and she has worked so incredibly hard. The kids who graduated from college with her last year got cars, luxury vacations, trust funds to pay off their educations. My kid got a watch and a dinner with me and my Mother.

I don't live my life trying to keep up with the Jones'. I don't really care about what other people have, where they live, what they drive, how often they vacation. But sometimes, every once in a while, I wish it could be that easy for us. For me. For my Mother. For my kid. I quietly wish that she was the kid who got a luxury vacation to celebrate her graduation. That I could hand her the keys to a new car instead of praying that her 10 year old one will keep running for many more years. I know that my choices have forged this path for her, and it sometimes makes me cry. She deserves more.

Last night, standing in that incredible apartment, I so desperately wanted to say to the landlord "we'll take it!" Move the Princess' furniture in, get it all set for her arrival, and stand back proudly to watch her walk forward into her new life.

Instead, I sit here and feel like shit for not being able to provide for her. And for feeling sorry for myself when other people have it harder than us.

Sometimes, the decisions you make in life have consequences far greater than you could ever have imagined.

I wish I had known that many years ago.

Growing up, growing up, looking for a place to live

Growing Up -- Peter Gabriel -- 2003

I have been on the lookout for apartments for the Princess. She could possibly come home as soon as next month, although she does have a lease in her current place until August. A lease that can be transferred or bought out.

I saw a few places this weekend. I hope she is planning on staying where she is until August.

The first place was from out local newspaper classifieds. My Mother spotted it Saturday morning and I called the number. It seemed like a great place. One town away from us, directly across the street from a private beach. With beach rights. 3 rooms....a decent rent with everything included. It turns out that the elderly owner knows several friends of our family, so I made immediate arrangements to go and see it.

My first tip off should have been when the owner asked me to meet him at a local grocery store because there would not be enough room for 2 cars to park at the apartment building. A converted house with 4 rental units. He explained that he was working on this apartment to get it ready to be rented.

He has a LOT more work to do.

There were 3 rooms alright. The first was a tiny, grimy living room with carpeting that was so filthy and stained.....I didn't want to walk on it.....in shoes. Seriously.

The second room, directly off of the living room was the bedroom. Again, tiny and filthy. It had been painted dark hunter green with a dark maroon ceiling. The dark colors did not begin to adequately hide the filth. Windows that were rheumy with old smoke. Floors that sloped in very odd directions. No doors to divide the rooms from each other.

The final room was the kitchen. It was even more charming than the first 2, minus the filthy carpet. Instead, for her money, the Princess could have a cracked, unmatched, grimy peel-n-stick floor. 2 varieties! A refrigerator from the 70's, a stove that would have been rejected from the town dump. Hardly any cabinet or counter space, and a back door that led out into the weeds.

The old man had touted the fact that she could have a " nice little front porch" to sit out and look at the ocean. There was a porch, however, the 3 garbage cans overflowing with trash from the other tenants detracted a bit from the quaint view. That, and the upstairs tenants' car parked directly on the lawn in front of the porch. The house literally sits about 5 feet from the busy road, so the traffic noise is deafening and you would risk life and limb trying to cross the road.

However, the view, as he promised, was truly spectacular. Nothing but Long Island Sound for miles and miles.


The second place was an efficiency over a garage. It was built to be an in-law apartment for a Grandfather. Clean, sunny, but tiny. Tiny is OK, if there is a place for the Princess to cook. Apparently, Grandpa never cooked because the space lovingly referred to as " the kitchen" was nothing but a very slim aisle of 4 cabinets, a dorm fridge and a sink. I didn't even see a stove, and I can't imagine a stove door could open in such a limited space. There was no lockable door separating the main family house from the apartment. And, the family has a 20 something son living at home.

Not exactly ideal when viewed by the Mother of a 23 year old daughter.


Apartment number 3 might have been a possibility. An in-law setup in the basement of a small Cape-Cod style house. Separate entrance, large kitchen. The owner flips houses for a living, but this was his Grandparents home for over 40 years, so he maintains it as a rental property. The kitchen was very large, but it was combined with the living room and there was no way to fit furniture to accommodate both rooms. Outdated appliances, but the owner was willing to replace them. A tiny bedroom with a conspicuously placed dehumidifier running.

When I asked about the dehumidifier and recent flooding in the area, the owner tried to downplay any problems, assuring us that there was only some " minimal seepage" when the rain was " really bad". Seepage from the floor. That was fully carpeted. Hence the dehumidifier. We found several spongy, wet areas in the bedroom.

There was 1 closet for the entire apartment. And, a young couple living upstairs.....who just had a baby. And, the rent was higher than anything we had seen so far.


So, we keep looking. Luckily, I started the search early, so we have plenty of time. However, I think that once the Princess is done with her classes, she is going to be anxious to get back home.



I wonder what she thinks about camping...........

Pack it up or throw it away, what I can’t carry, bury..........

Oh you remember me, I remember you, but that was a long, long time ago -- Pack It Up -- The Pretenders -- 1981




On our last visit along the dysfunctional family tour, I had met the Grandmother at the DMV. She had promised to keep in touch. Of course, we all know how that goes.

Let's just say, I didn't spend any time waiting by my phone.

A few years after that chance meeting, on an early Friday morning, my Mother called to me and said " you have to read this!!".

In our local newspaper. In the classified section. Listed under Tag Sales.

An ad for a tag sale the next day. At my Grandmother's house. She was moving and selling everything. I would not have recognized the address, but my Mother did. She had not forgotten one thing about her ex in-laws in all the years that had passed.

Reading that ad changed something for me. An almost indiscernible "click" on my insides. The click that switched me from dispassionate to mad. Really mad.

Mad because, once again, my Grandmother had the chance to reach out to me. I had told her where I lived. She knew that our number was still in the phone book. She easily could have called.

Instead, she chose to sell the remnants of her life to strangers. Pieces of my history.

I was tired of being forgotten.

I decided to go to her little tag sale.

I got up the following morning and armed myself with a few dollars and a video camera. I wanted to document a bit of history for me, and for my Mother. In a voyeuristic way, my Mother was more interested to see if the house was still the same as she remembered it. I was a little nervous about what might happen, but I was ready to confront a past I did not have any memories of.

I arrived at the house about 20 minutes after the tag sale started. There were a few people browsing around, and two people who looked as if they lived there. One appeared to be my Grandmother, but the intervening years had aged her tremendously. She was probably in her mid 70's at this point. The other person was a man who looked to be in his early sixties. I knew from my Mother that my Grandmother had a much younger sister, already deceased. The sister had been younger by about 15 years, and her husband was still alive. I assumed the man was probably him.

It was easy enough to walk around inside the house without being noticed. The video camera was fairly compact, and I was discreet, so I was able to meander around, looking here and there. There was not much left. A few pieces of outdated furniture, some linens, some junk. It looked as if everything of either monetary or sentimental value had already been moved out.

My Mother had told me that, years before, there had been a finished basement that my Grandfather had claimed as his space. I made my way into the basement. There I found photos......lots of photos. Of my Grandfather. Some as a younger man, some as he got older. He was a golfer and a bowler in his later years, and apparently he was quite good at both. There were trophies and newspaper articles and awards. All around the room. His wife had not bothered to pack those away for safekeeping. I don't think she intended to take them with her.

I carefully took a few of the pictures down and started to make my way back upstairs to the main house. On the way up, I spotted a recipe box. From the time I was very small, my Mother had always told me what a fantastic cook my Grandmother had been. When I opened the recipe box, there were dozens upon dozens of handwritten recipes. I added the recipe box to my collection and continued up the stairs.

As I was rounding the corner, I heard one of the other buyers speaking to my Grandmother. They were discussing the reasons that my Grandmother was moving. My Grandmother was saying that she was all alone, the house was too big and difficult for her to take care of, she had no help....................on and on she went. She complained that she HAD to move to senior housing.

I moved past them and quietly made my way into the kitchen. There, on the kitchen table was a large folder. Filled with pictures. They were pictures of my family. My Father as a baby, as a child, as a young man. My Aunts, my Grandparents. A photographic history of my family tree, laying carelessly on a table for all to see. Strangers pawing through the remnants of my lineage.

Once again, that "click" inside of me. The shift. The understanding that my own Grandmother would rather sell these things to complete strangers than to offer them to me.

I waited until the other shoppers had cleared out of the area and I quietly approached my Grandmother. As in the past, she showed no sign of recognizing me at all. I saw nothing on her face but the eagerness to collect her pittance for the unwanted items she was selling. Discarded things. Things like me.

I quietly asked " are there any more pictures?". She looked at me quizzically and said " pictures? Like paintings?".

"No" I said. "Pictures. Of my family. Like the ones in the kitchen. Like these that I found in the basement. My family pictures. Because my last name is _______ too. The same as yours. And the least you could do is let me have some pictures. I don't think that's too much to ask. Instead of selling them to strangers".

And once again, she knew. She began to stammer, to make excuses. She wanted me to understand. It was hard for her. She was alone. She had been sick.

And once again, I refused to be sucked in by her excuses. I told her that she could have, should have called me. That she should have allowed me to choose mementos before she sold them to the public. I told her that I would have paid for them if she needed the money so badly.

I told her that I would have helped her if she had let me. That, had she made some different choices, she would not have been alone.

I told her that I would have been there for her.

Then I asked her what I owed her for the pictures and the recipe box. She told me to take them. She didn't want any money for them. They were mine.

I pressed a dollar into her hand and walked out.

As I was getting into my car, I heard someone call my name. It was the man who had been with her in the house. Her brother-in-law. He called to me and motioned for me to wait as he ran across the street. He came to my car and simply said "My God. I didn't know that was you in there. The last time I saw you, you were about 4 years old".

He went on to try and defend my Grandmother. I let him talk. He said that she had been alone for many years. He confirmed what she had told me in the DMV. Two of her children had not spoken to or seen her in many years....one of them being my Father. She had one daughter who kept in touch, but she lived in California and rarely came home. My Grandmother had apparently taken out a reverse mortgage on her house, and now the contract was up. She was being forced to sell her house to pay the mortgage back, and would have to move into an efficiency apartment in a senior housing complex. She had nothing left. She had been sick with a list of medical problems.

I waited for him to finish.

And then I told him what needed to be said. I told him that my Grandmother and all of her family had failed me. Failed me as a toddler when my Father left, failed me as a child when they ignored our daily struggle to survive, failed me as a teenager when I showed up for my Father's funeral, failed me again as an adult. I told him that, while I was sorry that my Grandmother was alone and ill, she had made her choices. I let him know that had she tried.......just tried to reach out to me or my Mother in all the years that had passed, she would not have been alone.

I told him that I was a child when she decided that I was not worth her time or effort. And that, today, by selling off my family's history to strangers, she had made the same choice again. I said that she had learned nothing in the 30 years since she abandoned her only grandchild.

And then I drove away.


The next time I would see my Grandmother was at her wake. I saw the obituary in the paper and I went to the wake. There were less than 10 people there. Only one daughter came to say goodbye. My Aunt thanked me for coming. She knew who I was as soon as I came in. She said that it was amazing how much I resembled my Father.

A few weeks later, a large envelope arrived in the mail. It was from my Aunt. Inside were more family pictures and a letter. She had been cleaning out her Mother's belongings and thought I might like to have some of the photographs. In the letter, she explained who the people were in the pictures, and told me a little about herself. She expressed sadness that she had been so young when my Mother and Father divorced, and had not kept in touch with me.

I wrote her back and thanked her for the package. I asked her a few questions about our family. She answered me by e-mail, and wished me well.

I have never heard from her again.

Apparently, my Grandmother taught her well.




I do know where my Father is. I know the state, I know the city. I know his address. I know that he has done menial work over the years. That he never remarried. That he has no other children. That he lives alone.


I think he will die as his Mother did. Sad and alone.


Maybe I should feel badly about that, but honestly, I don't.






Maybe, even without being in my life, without ever meaning to, my Grandmother taught me well also.

A place to work and grow

Johnson's Aeroplane -- INXS -- 1984



We are making progress. The Princess is getting closer and closer to graduation day. And, did I happen to mention that she will be graduating with 2, count em', 2 graduate degrees?? Both completed within 1 year since her Undergrad graduation. One degree is something akin to birth to young childhood education, the other is in elementary education. Or something of that sort. This I did not know until I talked to her the other night.

I pride myself on my attention-to-parenting skills.


She really likes the pre-school ages. Especially 4 year olds. But our state has more stringent requirements for pre-school teaching, so she would have to take a few extra classes in special education ( even though that is not what she would be teaching) before she would qualify here.

Unless, of course, you were magically able to find a position in a PRIVATE pre-school. A position that hardly ever meanders along. Private pre-schools do NOT have to follow the state mandates for special education that public programs do.

( Cue magical, mystical music here)

Guess what Momma of the year did? I came across an ad. On Craigslist. For a PRIVATE pre-school with 2 teaching positions available. One town away from where we live. I am really, really good.

I sent them to the Princess tut-sweet. This was about 3 weeks ago. This weekend, she had a message from the Director of the school, asking that the Princess call her back ASAP.

The Princess called her Monday. The Director was apparently impressed with the Princess' education and teaching experience. She asked her to come back to CT for the day on May 1. She wants the Princess to see the school, observe the programs, and have an interview. Sweet!

We don't know if it will pan out, but it is a big boost for the Princess to score an interview based on the very first time she sent out a resume. She is moving from school-girl to working-woman. It makes her feel as if she is moving forward.

And, on the home base, we will be looking at 3 potential apartments for her in the next week, the first one being tonight.

My baby has grown up and I can't wait to have her back at home. Or, at least closer to home.


I just hope she doesn't think I'm going to cook for her.



In other news, Trevor, my Standard Poodle is really kicking some serious ass in Agility training. He is doing far, far better than I could have ever hoped after only 10 weeks of training. Last night, one of the things we worked on was the a-frame:



Since the dogs are all still new at this game, we only run halfway up one side of the frame, turn them around, try to get them to run down, stop at the bottom with their 2 front feet on the floor, 2 back feet on the frame, and give a nose touch to a target on the floor in front of them. This exercise serves several purposes. It teaches them to shift their weight and lean their bodies back on the down , it forces them to stop and look for direction, and it teaches them never to jump over the contact zone at the end of an obstacle.

Trevor love, LOVE, LOVES the a-frame. Every week, he tries gently to lead me over to the frame no matter what other equipment we are working on. He also has a very reliable response to the " touch" command at the end of any obstacle. With greater understanding of the obstacles, he is gaining greater confidence in his abilities, and therefore, also gaining more and more speed while doing them.

So I sent him partway up the frame, told him to come back down and touch the plate at the bottom. I readied myself in the correct position to support him at the bottom.

He was so excited, he blasted up the frame, turned around, blasted back down at such speed that he literally skidded to a stop at the bottom, slammed his nose onto the target for his "touch"......2 feet on, 2 feet off. However, he was going so fast that his ass end had a LOT of momentum. I still don't know quite how he managed to keep from doing a somersault, but somehow he did. For a few seconds, his butt was in the air.

Our classmates and teacher were so impressed and amused by his display that they clapped for him. Which was all he needed.

Give a clown an audience.


He did it every time after that.


By the time our training hour was over, I was literally sweating.


I need to get myself back into a fitness routine, or I'm gonna' have to teach Trevor to dial 911 with his nose.

This is the fear.........

This is the dread -- Why -- Annie Lennox -- 1992




As the friend and family member of law enforcement officers, I can sympathize......I can try to understand that they would not, could not have expected what was to happen.

But as a mother of a child attending an out-of-state college, this
is my deepest, darkest fear.



It sears my soul and makes me afraid.

Just take a seat they're always free ........

No surprise no mystery -- So Lonely -- The Police -- 1978


Alright already!!

Because I have been bombarded and hounded by my adoring fans.........thanks Ruth!............ I am continuing with another tale of familial drama. And because we all obviously didn't get enough dysfunction from last month's posts here, here, here, here, or, finally, here, I will entertain you folks with more details of a family gone horribly wrong.

Once the wake debacle was over (see post below. I am sick of linky-love), I did not see or hear from any members of my Father's family again for many years. Nor did I want to, although I must admit a passing interest in the weepy Aunt. Honestly, they were a group of strangers to me. They never engendered enough interest in my adolescent mind for me to pursue them.

The years passed and I didn't give any of them much thought. One day, In early November, I took a trip to our local Motor Vehicle Department to get my license renewed. I was 29 years old. My birthday is in November. As a matter of fact, I was supposed to have been born on my Grandmother's birthday, but apparently knew better even prior to birth and arrived fashionably late. Maybe that was a major enough transgression for her to exit stage left. Who knows?

So, I'm at the MVD as an early birthday gift to myself. Waiting with the cretins, freaks and dregs of society. Watching, with amusement as people try to figure out which line is appropriate, only to wait a full 15 or 20 minutes to be told that they need to wait in another line.......that other line over there. I love this kind of spectacle.

As I sat waiting to have my latest glamour shot developed courtesy of the State Of Connecticut, a few people came to sit nearby. An older lady, a woman with 3 poorly behaved children, a man who reeked of cigarette smoke and may have been holding a very quiet conversation......with himself. I gave them all my best " don't come the hell near me" look and continued to wait.

Until the charming old wench behind the photo counter called out my last name. My photo was done and I was being summoned to come and collect it.

Two people stood up at the sound of my last name.

Me and the older woman.

And, as it was at the wake............I KNEW.

It was my Grandmother. November. Her birthday too.

And, as she did at the wake, she pretended not to recognize me. Or notice the fact that we both responded to the same last name. She simply started to walk to the counter to get her new license.

When she got to the counter, I came up beside her. I politely asked " is your last name _____too?" Oozing with innocence, seething with anger. I was determined NOT to be ignored again.

And she responded " uhhhh, yes. Is yours?"

And then, suddenly, she knew. I could see it come across her face. She knew and she couldn't deny it.

So she sat down and invited me to sit with her. Right there in the DMV, we chatted like to friendly neighbors over a back fence. She asked me about my life. I told her about my job, my daughter, my struggles to become who I was.

She told me that she wished, now, that she had kept in touch. That she felt very badly to hear that my life had been difficult. That she had often wanted to know how I was.

I cut her no slack. I told her, very matter-of-factly, that I had lived in the same apartment until I was 16. That my phone number had not changed until I was 22. That my Mother's name and number was still listed in the phone book......just as it had been 29 years earlier. She had no defense.

I asked her about my Father. She said that she had not had any contact with him in many, many years. That he had left and never looked back. That she didn't know where he was or what he was doing. At the time, I did not believe her. I would later come to learn that it was all true.

She told me that only 1 of her children had any contact with her. The one who lived in California. She hardly ever got a chance to see her. She admitted that she was lonely.....sad over the loss of her relationship with her children. She was all by herself.

I didn't have the heart to tell her that she had gotten exactly what she deserved. But I thought it.

Only when she asked me about my Mother did I truly bristle. She had treated my Mother so badly for so many years. I told her that my Mother was wonderful. A remarkable woman who had overcome many, many hardships.......by herself. I told her that I hoped I could be half the woman my Mother was. I told her that I was very lucky to have her because I had no one else. Once again, she had nothing to say. But she knew exactly what I meant.

Eventually, the conversation waned and I told her that I had to leave. She wished me well and asked if she could keep in touch with me. I told her that would be fine. I walked away feeling sad for a lonely old woman who had reaped what she had sown.





She never contacted me.


I was not surprised.





It would not be the last time we would meet..........

One child grows up to be, somebody that just loves to learn..........

And another child grows up to be, somebody you'd just love to burn. -- Family Affair -- Sly And The Family Stone -- 1971



I think we have adequately established that I grew up with a single mother. Economically challenged.

POOR


My Father and Mother were divorced before the time I turned 3. Even prior to that, my Father could never seem to keep a job. He had a very severe and deadly form of employment allergy. Apparently, he spent many of his days advising my young Mother that he was out actively job hunting when he was, in fact, spending the day shooting pool, traveling to and from various relatives houses to be fed home cooked meals, and then returning home in the evenings to a hungry wife and young baby....bemoaning the fact that he couldn't find any work.

My Mother wisely dumped his ass, and for a few short years, she and I collected welfare until I was in school and she could return to her 2 jobs to support us. My Father was court-ordered to pay child support, but he hardly ever did.....and it quickly became too time consuming and expensive for my Mother to pursue him for the money.

His parents lived one town away. After the divorce, his Mother rarely ever bothered with us again. She took her son in and resented my Mother's attempts to hold him responsible for his child. His Father, however, would secretly call my Mother to check up on us and would sometimes send small amounts of money or groceries. Since my Grandmother ruled that household with an iron fist, he did these things without her knowledge. He kept up the contact for several years, but then it slowly tapered off. We never knew why.

I have no memories of my Grandparents at all. They ceased any and all contact by the time I was old enough to remember, even though they continued to live less than 15 minutes away from me, their only Grandchild.

When I was 16, my Grandfather died. It was in our local paper. As was my stubborn and bold nature, I decided that I was going to the wake. I wanted to see my family. With my own eyes. I wanted them to see me. I wanted to pay my respects to a man who had once loved me, and had tried, in his own way, to make my life better.

My Mother was a nervous wreck. She was afraid that I would say or do something inflammatory. She was afraid that they would say or do something hurtful. She was afraid because I was her child and, no matter how the situation was handled, it was not going to be a happy occasion. I would not be dissuaded.

I called my boyfriend at the time and told him I needed a ride. I got dressed up and he drove me to the funeral home. I sat with him in the parking lot for several minutes, searching for faces that resembled mine. Looking for clues that would lead me to my family. Searching for something. I didn't know what.

I left my boyfriend in the car and made my way into the funeral home. I can vividly recall the slow, silent walk to the front of the room where the casket was displayed and several strangers stood. I said a short prayer for my Grandfather, a man I did not know, but had been told that I was once loved mightily by, and then I made my way to the strangers standing by the casket. Strangers that were probably my family.

I stared at their faces, hoping that something about them, a movement, an expression.....would reveal their identities to me. There were 3 women, one older and two middle aged. My Father had 2 sisters, one of whom had been close to both me and my Mother before the divorce, but had moved away and disappeared in the intervening years.

I approached the women quietly. The older woman held out her hand to shake mine with no obvious recognition in her eyes. It had been 13 years since she had last seen me. I had grown from a toddler into a young woman and she clearly had no idea who I was as I stood there holding her hand. So I extended my sympathies and introduced myself. I said " Hi, I'm Avalon". To which she responded " Avalon from work?".

I was dumbfounded. I was her only Grandchild. I was the spitting image of her only son. I wasn't sure what to say, so I quietly said " No. Avalon. Your Granddaughter. R's daughter".

I was vaguely aware of weeping, and when I turned, I realized that one of the other 2 women was crying. One of my Aunts. Crying and saying, over and over again "Oh my God, it's you".

As I turned my attention to speak to her, I caught a rush of movement from the other side of the room. There were suddenly a group of men in dark suits hustling through a doorway. Quickly.


And in that instant, I knew.


They were hustling my Father out of the room. The coward did not want to see me. As I had been speaking to my Aunt, the rest of the family had rushed to tell him I was there, and he had run away again. Just like he had 13 years before.

I tried to pursue him, but I couldn't find him in the maze of rooms and mourners. Quite honestly, I didn't care enough about him to be concerned with his feelings at the time. I was, however, angry. Pissed. I wanted to embarrass him. I wanted him to have to face me. I wanted everyone to see, for the first time, exactly what a coward he was. But he was gone.

Again.

I left that day and returned home to a very relieved Mother. I told her the entire story, and she, as usual, comforted me and assured me that their lack of relationship with me was their loss, not mine. She told me that they weren't deserving of me.

I never forgot that day. I never forgot how, aside from my one aunt, they had made me feel insignificant.

Forgotten.

Unwanted.

And how, with their actions, they also gave me some odd sense of comfort. I suddenly knew that, all those years ago, my Mother had made the right decision when she divorced my Father. Even though it plunged us into poverty, she had decided to protect me from them. No matter how hard our lives had been, those lives had been better for her choices and her determination. I understood, on a very basic level how she had protected me.





It would not be the last meeting of "the family".

The painter stood before her work, She looked around everywhere......

She saw the pictures and she painted them, She picked the colours from the air -- Neil Young -- The Painter -- 2005



The Princess is related to someone moderately famous in the Art world. This person was a painter, an abstract expressionist, a sculptor, a collage and 3-D design artist. In her circle, she was very well known and revered for her many talents.

This person was the Princess' Great Grandmother - on her Father's side. The Princess knew and had a relationship with this Great Grandmother for several years until her Father fled the scene completely. After that, there were birthday cards, some small gifts and occasional phone calls from the GG, but not much formal contact. The Princess was the GG's only blood-related great grandchild. The GG ADORED the Princess for the 4 years that she had with her.

Before the Princess was old enough to understand and appreciate the significance of the action, her GG created a piece of art specifically for her. For many years, it was wrapped up, stored away. When the Princess got a bit older, she asked that the piece be hung in her bedroom. It is a collage piece, small and unusual. It still hangs there to this day.

A few days before the Princess turned 9, her Great Grandmother and the GG's 3rd husband died. By then, the Princess had had no contact with the GG for several years, not by our choosing. The GG had suffered from dementia and did not even recognize her closest relatives. However, the Princess" Grandmother (the GG's daughter and only child) contacted me after the GG's death to say that she wanted the Princess to come and choose one other piece of art that the GG had created. She was cleaning out all of her Mother's possessions and felt that the Princess might want something of the GG's to remember her by.

The Princess and I took the trip and the Princess settled on a painting. A rather subdued (for her GG) painting of a lady. Supposedly, everything else was eventually claimed by other family members, including the Princess' own Father. The Princess did not want to hang the painting, so we wrapped it up and stored it away. It has been in hiding ever since.

Well now, the Princess is preparing to embark on her journey to becoming a young woman with a place of her own. We have been gathering furniture and household items to get her ready when she returns here and finds her first apartment. This weekend, the Princess inquired about the painting. I unearthed it and the Princess decided that she would love to have it as a centerpiece in her new place. The painting also stirred some curiosity for my Princess, so she and I set out for an online hunting expedition to gather more information about her GG. Since the Princess' Grandmother has not bothered with her only Grandchild in many years, and I have a very limited memory for facts I learned 25 years ago about a crazy family I bred into, there was not much available info without searching.

So we Googled her GG. We found very little information about her life, but did find some other art being sold. The Princess is very interested in becoming a collector of her GG's available art. They have a similar sense of style and a quirky but shared interest in subjects. Since there is no legal documentation that the Princess is a child of her Father's family ( purposefully excluded on her birth certificate), she has no more right to any of the artwork than the general public.

However, the Princess and I did discover something that rankled BOTH of us. In 2001, the Princess' Grandmother GAVE AWAY all of GG's papers, sketchbooks and remaining artwork to private and public museums. Everything, of course, that the other family members had not claimed first. The Princess was never asked. Nobody ever bothered to contact her to see if she wanted any pieces of her heritage before they were given away. She is understandably upset by this and is considering writing a letter to her Grandmother to discuss her feelings.

In the meantime, I have my eye on another piece of the GG's art up for auction on E-Bay. I think it would be wonderful for the Princess to have an apartment filled with artwork that has meaning and history for her.





Even if it is butt-ugly.




( hey, remind me to tell the tale of my Father's Mother and the tag sale someday. It's a goodie!)

And it would be okay on any other day.................

Any Other Day -- The Police -- 1979


Hellooooooo friends and fans. I am back, briefly. I only have excruciatingly slow dial-up, yep DIAL-UP at my house, so it takes forever to Blog even a few sentences. I promise to write some thrilling and hair-raising accounts of my scintillating vacation later this week (right).

For now, I can only say that the Princess was home for the holiday weekend. As usual, we had a very good time together, but the Princess innocently made mention of a few things that led me to believe something I hope is not true.

First, she wanted to see her new couch. The new couch that SHE found, SHE fell in love with, and SHE wanted. The new couch that is white. But as you all may remember, when I tried to find a picture of a comparable couch for this very Blog, I could only find a shot of the couch in Blue.
When the Princess came home, she wanted to see her couch. When we uncovered it, she was rather shocked that the couch was white. As she stated " I remember it as being Blue".

Then, the next day, the Princess and I were in her room and she happened to refer to her Grandmother as the Heat Miser.

Danger, danger, Will Robinson. It seems to me that the Princess has likely stumbled across or ferreted into my Blog.

So I will say this to you, my dear Princess. As I see it, you have a few options to handle this situation.

1.You can read this, pretend that you have no idea what the bloody hell I am talking about and continue to skulk around. Rest assured, however, that I have a stat counter and I will be keeping an extremely close look at the ISP's visiting this site, especially any from NY or Philly. And you know I have some mad detecting skills. If you have been or are here, I WILL find out.

2.You can act like the honorable adult you were raised to be and leave my Blog alone. These are my thoughts, and I prefer not to have to edit them to keep from hurting your feelings.

3.You can stay. Admit that you are here. But be prepared to take your lumps. Be very prepared to NOT LIKE what is written here sometimes, especially about Lumpkin ( but if you truly have been skulking, you already know that).

4.You can join in the fun. Create a Blog of your own, let me do some detective work to find out what you have to say about me. Then we can become one big dysfunctional family------never sharing our feelings directly-----just creeping around to read about them in secret.

So Princess, the choice is yours. To say that I am disappointed with this situation would be an understatement. I keep very little from you, but I feel that I should have at least ONE place in my life that is sacred. Somewhere that I can express myself without fear of being edited. If I had wanted you to be a part of my Blog, I would have sent you the address. I know that you innocently stumbled across my previous Blog, and when you did so, I deleted it to spare your feelings. TAKE THE HINT!

You are my child, so I try never to intentionally hurt you. Please respect my right to have somewhere to express my feelings without doing exactly that.


For my other friends, for now, we might be moving to an invitation-only system.

Or I may just junk the entire thing.

I'll let you know.

Everybody Hurts....

Everybody Hurts -- REM -- 1992


Pain. Back, neck, knees, arms. PAIN


A vacation is supposed to be about relaxation. Hammocks and breezes and sparkling warm beach water.

Not for me.

My vacation:

Yard work.

A 5 x 6 paver-patio......installed completely and totally by Moi!

A new 3 foot fence to keep preshus pooches from fence-fighting with the nasty-neighbor-dogs.Complements of Moi!

Upgraded garden beds......new soil, new landscape fabric, new mulch. 4 of them. Yep, Moi!

A sanded and restained/polyurethaned porch glider. Uh huh. Moi!

Back and front yard raked, mowed and cleaned. Yup. Moi!



And kids, it's only the morning of day 3.



I am too old for this. Somebody get me the damn Tylenol.