This isn't about divorce. This is about losing (yet another) friend. This one was extremely hard because Julie knew everyone. Julie was not a fading violet. Julie made herself, her feelings and her opinions known. Without hesitation. She was born with the brutally honest gene. She believed in unflinching realism and practiced it with aplomb. At first, I couldn't stand it. My feeling was: if you're my friend, be nice to me and make me feel good about myself; if you're not my friend, then you can tell me I have trouble paying attention and I'm disorganized. I was still 'young' then. I met her when I was pregnant. She would give me a hug and a kiss but would tell me when I sucked at something. Her behavior confused me. Plus, she looked and acted like the one person I could not stand in high school. Same look. Same 'my-sh#&-doesn't-stink attitude. Same I'm-God's-gift ego. Same over-sized breasts on a pint-sized body. Yep, we were NOT going to get along. But, joy oh joy! she was assigned to my grade level and my partner teacher was her mentor. I couldn't wait to go out on maternity leave.
We butted heads for years. I felt she could dish it out abundantly, but she couldn't take it. Once I scolded her for making my class line up before the lunch bell rang. She was so upset, she had her husband help her write a letter to me, and she wanted to 'meet' with me to discuss it. I blew her off. She brought her husband to the 'meeting'. I didn't care and I didn't cave. She ticked me off like only that one other person could. I wasn't going to give her any credence. Her letter meant nothing to me.
She didn't understand why I stayed with Bill. I didn't understand why she thought everybody should have to listen to her drivel. She thought I was scatter-brained. I thought she was opinionated. She thought I was disorganized. I thought she was rigid. She thought I had no class discipline plan. I thought she was mean and bossy to her students.
Then she had babies and experienced postpartum dementia. I realized how poorly I used my planning time. Her marriage faltered, they separated, and she reconciled so her children could be raised in a household with both parents. My husband continued with an addiction. She got cancer. My daughter rebelled. Life took its toll on both of us and we mellowed. We started looking at each other through different eyes. Somewhere along the way we began to accept each other, respect each other and tolerate our differences. We respectfully, even lovingly, agreed to disagree on some issues, but in the end it turned out that we held similar philosophies about children, education and home life. She was always more structured and strong-willed than I, but I had discovered that she cared about me. I saw that this strong-willed and opinionated woman was fiercely loyal and supportive of her friends. She loved her job. She loved a party and a good time. She loved beer. She loved her alma mater. She loved her colleagues and when someone was suffering, she was there to help. She helped one friend fill out divorce papers, she helped another while her husband died of cancer, she invited several of us to be in a pilates test group at a local upscale studio for free, she got a yoga teacher to do classes at school for us, she got a pilates teacher to give us classes, and invited us all to go to Vegas while she and her husband renewed their wedding vows then got the casino to open a private $5 blackjack table for us. She was self-confident and fearless.
She had a determination to live every day of her life with gusto. She was her brutally honest self about her cancer and her prognosis. Once she posted on Facebook that she had melanoma of the liver, a pretty dire form of cancer, and one of our colleagues responded, "Yeah, but does that cancer know what it's up against in that host?" Julie was a fighter. She fought that cancer like nobody I've ever heard of. She fought and fought and fought.
On June 13, I spent a couple of hours at her house. From her chair, she was running the show. She was checking her son's homework and his grades online. She scolded her daughter for coming home late from a babysitting job. She told her daughter she would not be able to attend both the bat mitzvahs on August 27, that she could RSVP to one invitation and not attend the other while the daughter was planning on attending the ceremony for one and the reception for the other. Her father was replacing the front threshold, her mother was working in the kitchen, her cousin from Australia was cooking. On July 11 she died. The memorial service was yesterday. The bat mitzvahs are next weekend.
Her service was at a church that was far too small to hold the crowd that came to honor her. She was eulogized. Songs were sung. Memories were shared. And as in many instances, I learned more about her at the service, and that made me hold her in higher esteem.
I will look across the yard at her room and, for my remaining one or two years at this school, I will see her face, I will hear her voice, I will miss her energy. And one thing I will really, really miss is that fierce little fun-sized spitfire who could look an administrator in the face and not buy any of the crap they were trying to sell. I will miss the little woman who would not be cowed by someone's bullying. I will miss the elfin kindergarten teacher who loved SCNKIDS and drove a cardinal and gold Mustang V8 every day I knew her. Her kids will grow up without a mother and I hope ---- I really hope ---she made some video messages to play to them on the various momentous events in their lives. Because nobody, I mean NOBODY, can replace her. Especially for them.
Sunday, August 21, 2011
Conversations About Marriage
This evening I went to a barbecue with Kyle's father's family. It was the first time I met several of them. I met the grandfather and his wife while the grandmother and her new husband were also there. I met an aunt and uncle, and Jack was there with his girlfriend as well. (Jack has had this girlfriend for fourteen years. Why do people want ME to date him? I see an obstacle.....) I met two cousins and several friends.
It was interesting to sit with the sets of grandparents. They get along quite well. Alone with me, the grandfather spoke candidly about his three marriages. His first was the one that produced his three children. (I thought that was tidy.) He said he didn't know what happened to that marriage. He had a midlife crisis, moved to the Marina and started dating younger women. It was just, well, a crisis. He left his wife with a nice house, a Jaguar and three teenagers. I don't know if she got the short end of the stick. His second wife was borne out of this midlife crisis: she was thirteen years younger than he. When I mentioned this to Kyle at home, he said, "Oh, Sandy. That crazy bitch! I'd forgotten about her. She used to carry a Derringer in her purse. She was nuts." That fits in with what the grandfather said, but he was very diplomatic about it. He said you should never be married to someone that much younger than you. You're from different generations and you just can't really understand each other. She got very involved in working with Vietnam vets and, while moving his hands away from one another, he said they just grew apart. His reflection was that he went into his first marriage when he was 23 and his first wife was 20. He said he didn't know who he was, or who he was going to become, and he felt the same about her. He said, "How could I have known what I was going to grow up to be? How did she know? I didn't do anything wrong. There was nothing I could have foreseen that would have told me my marriages weren't going to work." Then he said, "But if I had met Marge," his third and current wife, "when I was 23, I would have only had one marriage." I have serious doubts about that last statement, but Marge is definitely a special and lovely woman. Her first marriage had lasted twenty eight years. She gave no reason for its demise. She was just glad it ended. At a few points during the evening, she compared her first marriage to her current one. She said in her first marriage, she did all the driving. In this marriage, her husband does. In her first marriage she did a lot of boating and traveling. In this one they hang around home and take a trip or two every now and then. She had been a flight attendant, a special needs teacher, and an esthetitcian. Her first wedding had been formal, in a church, with all the trimmings. Her second one was in a living room. When the pastor asked if the Grandpa Bernie would take her to be his lawful wedded wife, he said, "I don't know. I'd like to phone a friend." She was shocked. So when the pastor asked her if she would take him to be her lawful wedded husband she said, "I don't know. I'd like to poll the audience." "Good comeback. And quick," I said. She's a good match for him. Her skin was flawless and wrinkle-free. Must be tricks of the esthetician trade. The two wives at the party, Bernie's first and third, really like each other and they understand their common 'husband'. The husbands like each other, too, sat next to each other, and chatted amiably. These people have let go and have moved on.
I think back on my first ex. We had a tumultuous divorce. He didn't want to let me go and followed me day and night. It was before O.J. Simpson, before there was a name for it. He stalked me. I was frightened. I spent a lot of time looking over my shoulder, and when I did, he was usually there. He waited for me outside my apartment building on my birthday and when I returned from buying a new pair of sandals, he refused to let me go in my apartment unless I let him in with me. Since there was no way that was going to happen, I spent the whole day walking around town with him. In my new sandals. I called the police. They said to humor him, try to calm him down, spend some time with him so he'd go away. By the end of the day I had terrible blisters on my feet. After ten weeks of that type of behavior, I fled to Europe. Eighteen years later I threw those sandals away in a trash can in Chicago and, oddly enough, that same month I had my first civil encounter with him at a reunion of a group we had sung in, a group that had toured Europe and the United States extensively. It was a little awkward at first, but I broke the ice with something I said, and we relaxed. Time had healed our wounds. We could be in the same room and talk politely. He looked exactly the same as he had when we had been married. He was married to his third wife who he had met online. She had moved down from Seattle to marry him, and brought her teenage son in tow. I saw him again five years later, at another reunion for the same group. This time I didn't even recognize him. He had changed dramatically. He wore glasses, his facial features had shifted, he looked like his father, and his third marriage had ended. He said, "You're wondering who I am, aren't you?" Yes, I was, but knew it was he when he had brushed his hand on my bottom while I was posing for a picture with some others. Yep, he was becoming just like his father, too.
But back to Grandpa Bernie. How do you know if your marriage, a union that looks so beautiful, is going to work? Should you NOT be too young? Should you NOT marry someone too much younger or older? Should you marry someone whose wit is as sharp as yours? What's the magic formula? At times it seems easier to spot what not to do than what to do, what not to look for than what to look for. It's a strange animal this business of going about choosing a spouse. Will I ever sift through the layers of meshing personalities and creating unions? Will it ever make sense to me?
One thing I know: I can't just 'settle'.
It was interesting to sit with the sets of grandparents. They get along quite well. Alone with me, the grandfather spoke candidly about his three marriages. His first was the one that produced his three children. (I thought that was tidy.) He said he didn't know what happened to that marriage. He had a midlife crisis, moved to the Marina and started dating younger women. It was just, well, a crisis. He left his wife with a nice house, a Jaguar and three teenagers. I don't know if she got the short end of the stick. His second wife was borne out of this midlife crisis: she was thirteen years younger than he. When I mentioned this to Kyle at home, he said, "Oh, Sandy. That crazy bitch! I'd forgotten about her. She used to carry a Derringer in her purse. She was nuts." That fits in with what the grandfather said, but he was very diplomatic about it. He said you should never be married to someone that much younger than you. You're from different generations and you just can't really understand each other. She got very involved in working with Vietnam vets and, while moving his hands away from one another, he said they just grew apart. His reflection was that he went into his first marriage when he was 23 and his first wife was 20. He said he didn't know who he was, or who he was going to become, and he felt the same about her. He said, "How could I have known what I was going to grow up to be? How did she know? I didn't do anything wrong. There was nothing I could have foreseen that would have told me my marriages weren't going to work." Then he said, "But if I had met Marge," his third and current wife, "when I was 23, I would have only had one marriage." I have serious doubts about that last statement, but Marge is definitely a special and lovely woman. Her first marriage had lasted twenty eight years. She gave no reason for its demise. She was just glad it ended. At a few points during the evening, she compared her first marriage to her current one. She said in her first marriage, she did all the driving. In this marriage, her husband does. In her first marriage she did a lot of boating and traveling. In this one they hang around home and take a trip or two every now and then. She had been a flight attendant, a special needs teacher, and an esthetitcian. Her first wedding had been formal, in a church, with all the trimmings. Her second one was in a living room. When the pastor asked if the Grandpa Bernie would take her to be his lawful wedded wife, he said, "I don't know. I'd like to phone a friend." She was shocked. So when the pastor asked her if she would take him to be her lawful wedded husband she said, "I don't know. I'd like to poll the audience." "Good comeback. And quick," I said. She's a good match for him. Her skin was flawless and wrinkle-free. Must be tricks of the esthetician trade. The two wives at the party, Bernie's first and third, really like each other and they understand their common 'husband'. The husbands like each other, too, sat next to each other, and chatted amiably. These people have let go and have moved on.
I think back on my first ex. We had a tumultuous divorce. He didn't want to let me go and followed me day and night. It was before O.J. Simpson, before there was a name for it. He stalked me. I was frightened. I spent a lot of time looking over my shoulder, and when I did, he was usually there. He waited for me outside my apartment building on my birthday and when I returned from buying a new pair of sandals, he refused to let me go in my apartment unless I let him in with me. Since there was no way that was going to happen, I spent the whole day walking around town with him. In my new sandals. I called the police. They said to humor him, try to calm him down, spend some time with him so he'd go away. By the end of the day I had terrible blisters on my feet. After ten weeks of that type of behavior, I fled to Europe. Eighteen years later I threw those sandals away in a trash can in Chicago and, oddly enough, that same month I had my first civil encounter with him at a reunion of a group we had sung in, a group that had toured Europe and the United States extensively. It was a little awkward at first, but I broke the ice with something I said, and we relaxed. Time had healed our wounds. We could be in the same room and talk politely. He looked exactly the same as he had when we had been married. He was married to his third wife who he had met online. She had moved down from Seattle to marry him, and brought her teenage son in tow. I saw him again five years later, at another reunion for the same group. This time I didn't even recognize him. He had changed dramatically. He wore glasses, his facial features had shifted, he looked like his father, and his third marriage had ended. He said, "You're wondering who I am, aren't you?" Yes, I was, but knew it was he when he had brushed his hand on my bottom while I was posing for a picture with some others. Yep, he was becoming just like his father, too.
But back to Grandpa Bernie. How do you know if your marriage, a union that looks so beautiful, is going to work? Should you NOT be too young? Should you NOT marry someone too much younger or older? Should you marry someone whose wit is as sharp as yours? What's the magic formula? At times it seems easier to spot what not to do than what to do, what not to look for than what to look for. It's a strange animal this business of going about choosing a spouse. Will I ever sift through the layers of meshing personalities and creating unions? Will it ever make sense to me?
One thing I know: I can't just 'settle'.
Is It Love?
This morning's sermon was called 'How is Your Love Life?' It was on some of the provocative-sounding verses from Song of Songs. It wasn't really about sex, but the verses read, when viewed in a purely carnal and not a theological light, pretty erotically. And for me, hearing those verses were evocative of past romantic experiences. So, guess who was daydreaming through the sermon?
I thought about when I first fell in love with Bill. I thought about the feelings of passion, the craving for his body, the unquenchable quest I had to touch him, feel him and be with him. I remember being out with him and the sensation of our bodies melding together at the slightest touch. A touch, even a short kiss seemed to produce heat. I was consumed with the physical aspect of our relationship for a long time. Vestiges of that passion continued throughout the marriage. But sitting in church today I wondered:
Was that lust?
Or was that love?
And where is the intersection of love and lust?
I thought, is this what newlyweds who have not had premarital sex feel? Then I thought, no, it's to painful for the bride for the first week in those cases. But I bet it goes on for a good amount of time at the beginning of a marriage. Does it help build a strong foundation for a healthy, longterm marriage? I have some friends who waited until marriage and then had successful, longterm unions. I'll have to ask them.
But again, not only 'where' is the intersection of love and lust but 'what' is the intersection of love and lust? I think there's a healthy and an unhealthy intersection. Do the lines between these intersections blur? Did I find myself in one of these blurry areas? How do you see clearly when you're in this area?
But here's another point about me and lust. Once I have sexual relations with a man, I drop about thirty IQ points. The veil comes down and my judgment is skewed. I see the person through different eyes, and my ability to engage in critical thinking about them is greatly diminished. This would be a great argument for celibacy. Are we wired to marry, then have sex, and become unable to think logically about our partner? Is this only something women experience after intercourse? It's certainly been my experience.
I thought about when I first fell in love with Bill. I thought about the feelings of passion, the craving for his body, the unquenchable quest I had to touch him, feel him and be with him. I remember being out with him and the sensation of our bodies melding together at the slightest touch. A touch, even a short kiss seemed to produce heat. I was consumed with the physical aspect of our relationship for a long time. Vestiges of that passion continued throughout the marriage. But sitting in church today I wondered:
Was that lust?
Or was that love?
And where is the intersection of love and lust?
I thought, is this what newlyweds who have not had premarital sex feel? Then I thought, no, it's to painful for the bride for the first week in those cases. But I bet it goes on for a good amount of time at the beginning of a marriage. Does it help build a strong foundation for a healthy, longterm marriage? I have some friends who waited until marriage and then had successful, longterm unions. I'll have to ask them.
But again, not only 'where' is the intersection of love and lust but 'what' is the intersection of love and lust? I think there's a healthy and an unhealthy intersection. Do the lines between these intersections blur? Did I find myself in one of these blurry areas? How do you see clearly when you're in this area?
But here's another point about me and lust. Once I have sexual relations with a man, I drop about thirty IQ points. The veil comes down and my judgment is skewed. I see the person through different eyes, and my ability to engage in critical thinking about them is greatly diminished. This would be a great argument for celibacy. Are we wired to marry, then have sex, and become unable to think logically about our partner? Is this only something women experience after intercourse? It's certainly been my experience.
Cells
During the summers my income is sparse. I have a little job that pays one-half of one month's bills. I save all year in two credit unions to manage the rest of the summer expenses. Being ordered to pay Bill $5000 is off-the-charts ridiculous in some ways. In fact, it has become comical in my mind. I have joked this summer about different ways to come up this seemingly enormous amount of money. So, here they are:
1. Try to get two $20 bills to reproduce. Turn on some Barry White, light some candles, put some champagne on ice
2. Plant a money tree. (Don't let the dogs eat the foliage.)
3. Sell a kidney on Craigslist. "For sale! One 60-year-old kidney. Gently used. No alcohol since last Tuesday. 15% discount if you harvest it yourself."
4. Street walk. You never know which guys have fantasies about 60-year-old kindergarten teachers. And after we're done, I could teach them the alphabet or how to tie their shoes.
5. Have multiple yard sales. Sell every single thing that isn't nailed down. You'd be surprised what people will buy.
Notice how I have not included killing Dad. I'm not THAT desperate.
Bill has always known this about me and summers. When he would start bugging me about buying things during the summer, I would say, "I'm a teacher. It's summer." Duh.
Both last summer and this summer, my cell phone bills went very high. July, August, and September last year brought bills in excess of $400. I finally made an assertive call to the cell phone company last fall and they ended up crediting me over $800 for a mistake they'd made. But this summer my July bill was $521 and my August bill was $397. This bill is usually about $200. A quick call to the cell phone carrier revealed that, of the 1500 minutes a month we have on our family plan, Bill had used 1482. The good news was that I could deduct that amount from the checks I had to send him because the county doesn't have any paychecks to deduct from during July and August. In August Bill had used 1164 minutes. Bill let me know he thought I should add more minutes to the plan. He said it would cost about $5 a month. Nope. Not so. The September month started last Sunday. By Thursday Bill had used almost 480 minutes. Talking to the cell phone company on one phone and my attorney on the other, we had to cut Bill off. Sorry, but if you can't play nice in the sandbox, you can't play at all. Get your own sandbox and you can throw all the sand you want, Bill.
1. Try to get two $20 bills to reproduce. Turn on some Barry White, light some candles, put some champagne on ice
2. Plant a money tree. (Don't let the dogs eat the foliage.)
3. Sell a kidney on Craigslist. "For sale! One 60-year-old kidney. Gently used. No alcohol since last Tuesday. 15% discount if you harvest it yourself."
4. Street walk. You never know which guys have fantasies about 60-year-old kindergarten teachers. And after we're done, I could teach them the alphabet or how to tie their shoes.
5. Have multiple yard sales. Sell every single thing that isn't nailed down. You'd be surprised what people will buy.
Notice how I have not included killing Dad. I'm not THAT desperate.
Bill has always known this about me and summers. When he would start bugging me about buying things during the summer, I would say, "I'm a teacher. It's summer." Duh.
Both last summer and this summer, my cell phone bills went very high. July, August, and September last year brought bills in excess of $400. I finally made an assertive call to the cell phone company last fall and they ended up crediting me over $800 for a mistake they'd made. But this summer my July bill was $521 and my August bill was $397. This bill is usually about $200. A quick call to the cell phone carrier revealed that, of the 1500 minutes a month we have on our family plan, Bill had used 1482. The good news was that I could deduct that amount from the checks I had to send him because the county doesn't have any paychecks to deduct from during July and August. In August Bill had used 1164 minutes. Bill let me know he thought I should add more minutes to the plan. He said it would cost about $5 a month. Nope. Not so. The September month started last Sunday. By Thursday Bill had used almost 480 minutes. Talking to the cell phone company on one phone and my attorney on the other, we had to cut Bill off. Sorry, but if you can't play nice in the sandbox, you can't play at all. Get your own sandbox and you can throw all the sand you want, Bill.
Contact
One night on my vacation up north, I was at a weekly volleyball game my brother and his family play with friends. As we were walking to the car to go to dinner afterwards, my phone rang. "Cindy, this is Chris."
"Oh, God. Chris, can you ever forgive me? I didn't know what Bill and your dad had cooked up. I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry. Can you ever forgive me for breaking your trust? For just being stupid?"
Here's the hard part for me. What I allowed happen reveals an unsavory part of my character. I don't know if I can ever forgive myself for not shoving that stupid contract in Bill's face. I have to live with the consequences for not standing up for what I knew was right. I have to own that. I can't make it go away. The only thing I can do now is make amends with Chris and change myself so that never happens to me again. How I can do that is part of the journey I'm on.
Stand up for what you know is right. Don't be bullied. Don't be coerced. Don't be seduced into something that makes you feel uncomfortable. Don't let yourself be manipulated, not even by someone you love. Especially not by someone you love.
Chris and I spoke for an hour. There was much to catch up on and a lot of 'input' I needed to give. She had gotten my phone number from Bill. He had given her his version of our divorce and I gave her mine. She said, "His version didn't make sense and he kept going back on his story. You make sense. And I believe you." During that conversation Laura came by and spoke to Chris. We arranged to meet in a few days.
We spent the day together. We went to a very nice quiet restaurant near the beach where you can sit in an arbored patio. We had a good time. During those hours we found out how she has been these eight years, that she had another bout with breast cancer, and that she lives in a much nicer place. She had always been dead-on accurate about Bill. She's the one who called him on being manic-depressive in 1993. She knew he and their dad had cooked up something with the estate. She was always right about him. She knew him better than I. And I knew him pretty well. At one point I told her I thought Bill had really loved me. She agreed. She even said that at one point he had told her he had married the right woman. I had always felt that, too, but when she said it it felt like true, solid confirmation.
She trusts me again. And better yet, I am forgiven. I can't 'undo' what I allowed to happen, but I can make better choices from here on out. We are in touch. Laura, Kyle and I will not break her trust or tell Bill where she lives. But I feel we are healing an important part of our lives.
"Oh, God. Chris, can you ever forgive me? I didn't know what Bill and your dad had cooked up. I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry. Can you ever forgive me for breaking your trust? For just being stupid?"
Here's the hard part for me. What I allowed happen reveals an unsavory part of my character. I don't know if I can ever forgive myself for not shoving that stupid contract in Bill's face. I have to live with the consequences for not standing up for what I knew was right. I have to own that. I can't make it go away. The only thing I can do now is make amends with Chris and change myself so that never happens to me again. How I can do that is part of the journey I'm on.
Stand up for what you know is right. Don't be bullied. Don't be coerced. Don't be seduced into something that makes you feel uncomfortable. Don't let yourself be manipulated, not even by someone you love. Especially not by someone you love.
Chris and I spoke for an hour. There was much to catch up on and a lot of 'input' I needed to give. She had gotten my phone number from Bill. He had given her his version of our divorce and I gave her mine. She said, "His version didn't make sense and he kept going back on his story. You make sense. And I believe you." During that conversation Laura came by and spoke to Chris. We arranged to meet in a few days.
We spent the day together. We went to a very nice quiet restaurant near the beach where you can sit in an arbored patio. We had a good time. During those hours we found out how she has been these eight years, that she had another bout with breast cancer, and that she lives in a much nicer place. She had always been dead-on accurate about Bill. She's the one who called him on being manic-depressive in 1993. She knew he and their dad had cooked up something with the estate. She was always right about him. She knew him better than I. And I knew him pretty well. At one point I told her I thought Bill had really loved me. She agreed. She even said that at one point he had told her he had married the right woman. I had always felt that, too, but when she said it it felt like true, solid confirmation.
She trusts me again. And better yet, I am forgiven. I can't 'undo' what I allowed to happen, but I can make better choices from here on out. We are in touch. Laura, Kyle and I will not break her trust or tell Bill where she lives. But I feel we are healing an important part of our lives.
Monday, August 15, 2011
Auntie Chris
When Bill's mother died in 2001, his sister came down from San Francisco. She had made several trips to see her mother during those last months of her life. The mom died right after the infamous 9/11. We were already traumatized by that event and knew that Betty's days were numbered. She had had breast cancer in 1990, had made it the traditional five years without any recurrence, but got the bad news of a new site at about five years and four months. After that we all watched as it slowly spread from one spot to another. In the end she had cancer in the lining of her lungs, her bones and her brain. It was the brain cancer that really finished her.
As Chris, Bill's older sister, was driving their father down to the little local newspaper to put in an obituary, he said something, and she pulled over to the side of the road and chewed him out. Trust me, she had her reasons. This man had been a horrible father to her for much of her life. For much of her childhood, dinner time was torture for Chris. Her father would spend much of the mealtime insulting and criticizing her. Bill had vivid memories of his sister curling up on her bed with a 'stomach ache' every night when their mother would call them down to the table. Mental and verbal abuse can be so destructive, and Christine was the recipient of abundant doses of both. In the end she was her mother's advocate and, at times, her mother's voice. But always, always, she knew she had to be her mother's champion against her father. For whatever reasons, the mom didn't stand up to the father. If her marriage went south, she would have no means to support herself. But more importantly, she was an optimistic and loving person, who just wanted to be happy and enjoy life. She had no trouble doing her part of the jobs traditionally assigned to mothers and housewives. She also headed the local fine arts council.
After the incident on the way to the newspaper, (according to Bill) the dad wanted to cut Chris out of the family trust. But the trust had become irrevocable upon the mother's death. The dad wanted to find a way around it. I knew nothing of this until the disastrous events that surrounded their father's death.
Their father died about 22 months after their mom. He just rusted out. Bill took very good care of him during that time. He spent a couple of days a week at the house, arranged for care, and eventually took over paying all his bills. His dad would not allow us to touch or dispose of anything in the house while he was alive. We honored that wish. During that time Chris told me that if she were to somehow die, she didn't want her father to see her. Not dead. Not alive. She resented the father he had been to her and the husband he had been to her mother. There are stories but I won't go into them here.
Upon the dad's death, Chris came down again. Bill said he didn't want to split up the belongings with his sister because he was afraid they might 'get into it'. Would I pack up the house with her? He would come in on days when Chris wasn't there and put orange tape on things he wanted for himself. She would put pink tape on things she wanted. She and I would clean out the possessions and leave out items for an estate sale. We contracted with a woman who ran estate sales. That part went fairly well. Every Friday evening when I arrived at the house, I was relieved at the sparse number of orange-taped items I found. We had enough of our own 'stuff' at home but I didn't want to deny Bill access to items that might have sentimental value to him. Unfortunately, on the final Friday I was greeted with a flurry of orange-taped 'treasures' and sank with disappointment.
Chris will admit she's a hoarder. She's not proud of it but she has managed to accept this about herself. Her home is one of those places where you have to follow paths through piles of old newspapers, she frequent thrift stores and purchases things for no apparent reason, she has clothes hanging in her shower, and her oven is filled with packages. Where she showers and how she bakes is a mystery to me. There were lots of pink-taped items as well. It was up to her to take her things back up to San Francisco.
When the parents' bank accounts were emptied and the estate finished, both Chris and Bill agreed that they both trusted me to be in charge of all the funds. I opened a checking account at a nearby bank and deposited all the money.
As all this came to a close, Bill said that Chris wanted to give him some money from the estate for having managed their dad's care for the last two years. I asked him how much and he said he wanted Chris to tell him how much she wanted to give him. Chris asked me how much he wanted. I didn't know. I would ask him again and I would get a sort of 'let's see what she'll offer me' response. She said she didn't know. She asked me how much I thought he wanted. And this is where I stepped in it. Using my logic, I thought that maybe $1000 a month would be fair. But that was MY way of thinking. On my recommendation, Chris offered him $20,000 - $25,000. I guess that wasn't enough. Apparently, not nearly enough.
Bill and I agreed he wouldn't come to my classroom to talk about business. I had to finally insist on that in 2000 after years of trying to 'deal' with him while managing masses of five-year-olds. I couldn't give my full attention to anything when I was on the job. But a day or two after Chris made her 'offer', Bill appeared in my classroom and slapped an official-looking paper on my desk. It was a notarized contract between Bill and his dad paying Bill $75,000 for the 'excellent care' Bill gave the dad during the last two years of his life. Remember now, I had been entrusted with all the proceeds from the estate. I was doling out the monies to these siblings who had, at times, a tempestuous relationship. But they both trusted me. So, there I was, staring at a notarized contract (while wrangling 20+ kindergarteners). I felt I had been set up. But this was my husband. I felt I was over a barrel. In retrospect, I realized this was a crucial moment that I didn't handle the best way for all involved. In a different world,----or should I say if I had to do it all over again--- I should have told him what he could do with his notarized contract, let him sue my ass, and ended the marriage. That is, I should have called his bluff. But I was at WORK! How clever a move was that? Bill knew EXACTLY what he was doing. He bullied me into writing a check. I did. And the result was complete alienation from his sister for the next eight years. She hired a lawyer to settle the estate with Bill. She didn't see or answer or contact us. She moved. Laura's high school graduation announcement was returned to sender. She was lost to us.
As Chris, Bill's older sister, was driving their father down to the little local newspaper to put in an obituary, he said something, and she pulled over to the side of the road and chewed him out. Trust me, she had her reasons. This man had been a horrible father to her for much of her life. For much of her childhood, dinner time was torture for Chris. Her father would spend much of the mealtime insulting and criticizing her. Bill had vivid memories of his sister curling up on her bed with a 'stomach ache' every night when their mother would call them down to the table. Mental and verbal abuse can be so destructive, and Christine was the recipient of abundant doses of both. In the end she was her mother's advocate and, at times, her mother's voice. But always, always, she knew she had to be her mother's champion against her father. For whatever reasons, the mom didn't stand up to the father. If her marriage went south, she would have no means to support herself. But more importantly, she was an optimistic and loving person, who just wanted to be happy and enjoy life. She had no trouble doing her part of the jobs traditionally assigned to mothers and housewives. She also headed the local fine arts council.
After the incident on the way to the newspaper, (according to Bill) the dad wanted to cut Chris out of the family trust. But the trust had become irrevocable upon the mother's death. The dad wanted to find a way around it. I knew nothing of this until the disastrous events that surrounded their father's death.
Their father died about 22 months after their mom. He just rusted out. Bill took very good care of him during that time. He spent a couple of days a week at the house, arranged for care, and eventually took over paying all his bills. His dad would not allow us to touch or dispose of anything in the house while he was alive. We honored that wish. During that time Chris told me that if she were to somehow die, she didn't want her father to see her. Not dead. Not alive. She resented the father he had been to her and the husband he had been to her mother. There are stories but I won't go into them here.
Upon the dad's death, Chris came down again. Bill said he didn't want to split up the belongings with his sister because he was afraid they might 'get into it'. Would I pack up the house with her? He would come in on days when Chris wasn't there and put orange tape on things he wanted for himself. She would put pink tape on things she wanted. She and I would clean out the possessions and leave out items for an estate sale. We contracted with a woman who ran estate sales. That part went fairly well. Every Friday evening when I arrived at the house, I was relieved at the sparse number of orange-taped items I found. We had enough of our own 'stuff' at home but I didn't want to deny Bill access to items that might have sentimental value to him. Unfortunately, on the final Friday I was greeted with a flurry of orange-taped 'treasures' and sank with disappointment.
Chris will admit she's a hoarder. She's not proud of it but she has managed to accept this about herself. Her home is one of those places where you have to follow paths through piles of old newspapers, she frequent thrift stores and purchases things for no apparent reason, she has clothes hanging in her shower, and her oven is filled with packages. Where she showers and how she bakes is a mystery to me. There were lots of pink-taped items as well. It was up to her to take her things back up to San Francisco.
When the parents' bank accounts were emptied and the estate finished, both Chris and Bill agreed that they both trusted me to be in charge of all the funds. I opened a checking account at a nearby bank and deposited all the money.
As all this came to a close, Bill said that Chris wanted to give him some money from the estate for having managed their dad's care for the last two years. I asked him how much and he said he wanted Chris to tell him how much she wanted to give him. Chris asked me how much he wanted. I didn't know. I would ask him again and I would get a sort of 'let's see what she'll offer me' response. She said she didn't know. She asked me how much I thought he wanted. And this is where I stepped in it. Using my logic, I thought that maybe $1000 a month would be fair. But that was MY way of thinking. On my recommendation, Chris offered him $20,000 - $25,000. I guess that wasn't enough. Apparently, not nearly enough.
Bill and I agreed he wouldn't come to my classroom to talk about business. I had to finally insist on that in 2000 after years of trying to 'deal' with him while managing masses of five-year-olds. I couldn't give my full attention to anything when I was on the job. But a day or two after Chris made her 'offer', Bill appeared in my classroom and slapped an official-looking paper on my desk. It was a notarized contract between Bill and his dad paying Bill $75,000 for the 'excellent care' Bill gave the dad during the last two years of his life. Remember now, I had been entrusted with all the proceeds from the estate. I was doling out the monies to these siblings who had, at times, a tempestuous relationship. But they both trusted me. So, there I was, staring at a notarized contract (while wrangling 20+ kindergarteners). I felt I had been set up. But this was my husband. I felt I was over a barrel. In retrospect, I realized this was a crucial moment that I didn't handle the best way for all involved. In a different world,----or should I say if I had to do it all over again--- I should have told him what he could do with his notarized contract, let him sue my ass, and ended the marriage. That is, I should have called his bluff. But I was at WORK! How clever a move was that? Bill knew EXACTLY what he was doing. He bullied me into writing a check. I did. And the result was complete alienation from his sister for the next eight years. She hired a lawyer to settle the estate with Bill. She didn't see or answer or contact us. She moved. Laura's high school graduation announcement was returned to sender. She was lost to us.
The Cat's Out
Today the cat got out of the bag. Kyle told his brother, on what he thought was a private Facebook message, that Laura is pregnant. What ensued was a maelstrom of events and conversations.
The first conversation involved me and Kyle. Laura sent me a text message, "Bethie knows I'm pg. Kyle flapped his big mouth on FACEBOOK!!!" Kyle and I were both in the family room so I asked him how that happened. He was surprised. He said he had sent his oldest brother a private message but the brother had responded on Kyle's wall. Then he went on the offense. Why shouldn't we tell people? He doesn't care if anyone knows. I said we had agreed we wouldn't let it be common knowledge until she was past her first trimester so we wouldn't have scads of people to 'untell' if she had another miscarriage. Then he sort of turned on me, and I have to say I didn't like it one bit. He accused me of being ashamed to tell my friends my unmarried daughter was pregnant. That's not exactly a lie but that wasn't my motivation. He accused me of not wanting people in my church to know. That's also true but not a huge concern for me. Judgmental Christians are a dime a dozen and I'm used to them. I'm frankly more concerned about them finding out that my father is gay than my unmarried daughter is pregnant. But, truthfully, neither one is a very pleasant situation for me. I understand this is the way Kyle argues. I stood my ground but left the discussion with a bad taste in my mouth.
Since I knew my sister knew, I decided to call her. She was very happy for to hear the news. She is very happy for all of us. She knows I will have discomfort when my dad finds out but reminded me that he is no one to judge. If, when I tell him, he tries to cast aspersions on Laura, I can remind him of a couple of family faux pas he made. Then suddenly I was embroiled in a conversation with her about our other sister and the never-ending conflict between the two of them. It hurt me deeply because she feels I have let her down in this. I feel I have no greater obligation than to speak honestly about where I stand and what I feel about this conflict. I can't blindly defend her. Although I feel she is being victimized by our other sister, I worry about alienating our little sister and thus cutting lines of communication as well as ruining opportunities to patch things up between the two of them.
As the night wore on, Laura also got angry, not about the pg news getting out, but about Kyle telling her that he and I were going to set up a chore list so we can all get ourselves into a cleaning and job routine before this blessed event happens. She sobbed uncontrollably as she drew a bath for herself, "I'm so tired, and you and Kyle think I'm a lazy slob. He thinks my job isn't important and that I don't do anything at work."
(Oh, Lord. What did he say to her? Is it her hormones? Are we being unfair to her?)
The first conversation involved me and Kyle. Laura sent me a text message, "Bethie knows I'm pg. Kyle flapped his big mouth on FACEBOOK!!!" Kyle and I were both in the family room so I asked him how that happened. He was surprised. He said he had sent his oldest brother a private message but the brother had responded on Kyle's wall. Then he went on the offense. Why shouldn't we tell people? He doesn't care if anyone knows. I said we had agreed we wouldn't let it be common knowledge until she was past her first trimester so we wouldn't have scads of people to 'untell' if she had another miscarriage. Then he sort of turned on me, and I have to say I didn't like it one bit. He accused me of being ashamed to tell my friends my unmarried daughter was pregnant. That's not exactly a lie but that wasn't my motivation. He accused me of not wanting people in my church to know. That's also true but not a huge concern for me. Judgmental Christians are a dime a dozen and I'm used to them. I'm frankly more concerned about them finding out that my father is gay than my unmarried daughter is pregnant. But, truthfully, neither one is a very pleasant situation for me. I understand this is the way Kyle argues. I stood my ground but left the discussion with a bad taste in my mouth.
Since I knew my sister knew, I decided to call her. She was very happy for to hear the news. She is very happy for all of us. She knows I will have discomfort when my dad finds out but reminded me that he is no one to judge. If, when I tell him, he tries to cast aspersions on Laura, I can remind him of a couple of family faux pas he made. Then suddenly I was embroiled in a conversation with her about our other sister and the never-ending conflict between the two of them. It hurt me deeply because she feels I have let her down in this. I feel I have no greater obligation than to speak honestly about where I stand and what I feel about this conflict. I can't blindly defend her. Although I feel she is being victimized by our other sister, I worry about alienating our little sister and thus cutting lines of communication as well as ruining opportunities to patch things up between the two of them.
As the night wore on, Laura also got angry, not about the pg news getting out, but about Kyle telling her that he and I were going to set up a chore list so we can all get ourselves into a cleaning and job routine before this blessed event happens. She sobbed uncontrollably as she drew a bath for herself, "I'm so tired, and you and Kyle think I'm a lazy slob. He thinks my job isn't important and that I don't do anything at work."
(Oh, Lord. What did he say to her? Is it her hormones? Are we being unfair to her?)
Sunday, August 14, 2011
TMI
I see that I haven't posted anything at all this month. I was visiting family out of town for the first week and in an intense workshop for the second while trying to catch up on the things that had accumulated during the first. It's calming down now. But only a little. So much has happened in the last two weeks that I almost don't know how to organize it all or where to start.
Generally, these are the main topics du jour, each one of which will get an entry in my writings this week: First, Bill has a new attorney. This, coupled with a new judge, makes me nervous. What leaned heavily in my favor last year could go completely against me this year if somebody out there buys the cancer card if it's carefully delivered by able legal counsel. Second, we gave Bill's dog to a couple in Malibu who foster and adopt large dogs over five years old. Three weeks later the dog was diagnosed with cancer(melanoma of the mouth, to be exact). The husband was in love with Matt and wanted to try to put him through radiation therapy. The therapy, however, caused Matt to become aggressive. Matt had the couple afraid he would seriously injure their other pets. In addition, the wife has a skin condition for which she has to use prescription lotions and creams. One day she came into the bathroom to find that Matt had eaten all of them. She picked up the phone, called us, and told us to come pick up Matt. The third thing that has happened was that Bill's sister called me when we were up north. I hadn't heard from her since Bill pulled a fast one with their parents' estate in 2003 and ripped her off. This particular piece will be a very long and interesting entry for me to write later this week. And lastly, Kyle's best friend has been hospitalized on a 5150 and diagnosed with bipolar disorder. Since he has the same medical coverage as I,-----not to mention my vast up-close and personal experience with bipolar disorder-------I was able to guide his dad to the bipolar expert at the facility. In addition, the father won't let him back in the house until he is really clean and sober. This means a a 60- or 90-day inpatient treatment first. The father will pay. Fortunately he has the means. Oh, yes! And one more thing: Kyle's van broke down immediately after we returned from our trip. There is good news, though. A cancer and dread disease policy I carry on my family finally paid me for the three weeks Bill was in the hospital for his intestinal bypass. They shorted me about $1500 so they will be hearing from me tomorrow. But the check in the mail was a welcome relief. I was going to be completely out of money by the 23rd. I had even swallowed my pride and asked Dad for the loan I had asked for last summer but never took. I will probably take the loan anyway just to smack down some of my credit card debt, but not until after my divorce is final.
Despite the above paragraph, and the ongoing aggravation of listening to my dad's negative spin on people and things and his quickly diminishing short-term memory, my life abounds with blessings, one of which is people. My joy in people seems to be growing by the day, and it is this particular revelation that leads me to believe not only that my life is moving in an absolutely wonderful direction but that Bill and I were not right for each other. He was so anti-social. Even when he made overtures, he always ended up alienating folks. Now that I am without him, I am in a constant state of appreciation and joy for the people with whom I come in contact. Being with people used to drain my batteries. Now they charge them. Are all people this amazing? People, my faith, my attitude, all come together to give me a great outlook on life. I could definitely do with a few more good breaks but the net result is a happy existence.
Generally, these are the main topics du jour, each one of which will get an entry in my writings this week: First, Bill has a new attorney. This, coupled with a new judge, makes me nervous. What leaned heavily in my favor last year could go completely against me this year if somebody out there buys the cancer card if it's carefully delivered by able legal counsel. Second, we gave Bill's dog to a couple in Malibu who foster and adopt large dogs over five years old. Three weeks later the dog was diagnosed with cancer(melanoma of the mouth, to be exact). The husband was in love with Matt and wanted to try to put him through radiation therapy. The therapy, however, caused Matt to become aggressive. Matt had the couple afraid he would seriously injure their other pets. In addition, the wife has a skin condition for which she has to use prescription lotions and creams. One day she came into the bathroom to find that Matt had eaten all of them. She picked up the phone, called us, and told us to come pick up Matt. The third thing that has happened was that Bill's sister called me when we were up north. I hadn't heard from her since Bill pulled a fast one with their parents' estate in 2003 and ripped her off. This particular piece will be a very long and interesting entry for me to write later this week. And lastly, Kyle's best friend has been hospitalized on a 5150 and diagnosed with bipolar disorder. Since he has the same medical coverage as I,-----not to mention my vast up-close and personal experience with bipolar disorder-------I was able to guide his dad to the bipolar expert at the facility. In addition, the father won't let him back in the house until he is really clean and sober. This means a a 60- or 90-day inpatient treatment first. The father will pay. Fortunately he has the means. Oh, yes! And one more thing: Kyle's van broke down immediately after we returned from our trip. There is good news, though. A cancer and dread disease policy I carry on my family finally paid me for the three weeks Bill was in the hospital for his intestinal bypass. They shorted me about $1500 so they will be hearing from me tomorrow. But the check in the mail was a welcome relief. I was going to be completely out of money by the 23rd. I had even swallowed my pride and asked Dad for the loan I had asked for last summer but never took. I will probably take the loan anyway just to smack down some of my credit card debt, but not until after my divorce is final.
Despite the above paragraph, and the ongoing aggravation of listening to my dad's negative spin on people and things and his quickly diminishing short-term memory, my life abounds with blessings, one of which is people. My joy in people seems to be growing by the day, and it is this particular revelation that leads me to believe not only that my life is moving in an absolutely wonderful direction but that Bill and I were not right for each other. He was so anti-social. Even when he made overtures, he always ended up alienating folks. Now that I am without him, I am in a constant state of appreciation and joy for the people with whom I come in contact. Being with people used to drain my batteries. Now they charge them. Are all people this amazing? People, my faith, my attitude, all come together to give me a great outlook on life. I could definitely do with a few more good breaks but the net result is a happy existence.
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