A dilemma

Once again I am caught by my own idle talk. Fifteen months ago I said I needed to go back to work, tongue in cheek, in repsonse to the acknowledgement that what I wanted to do with my free time took $ and for the first time since 1984 I didn't have a job and I had not won the lottery. So I put my name in for a project management job thinking, who would hire me, it was turning 68. And they did, and here I am. It is a time limited gig, ending at at Thanksgiving because of business rules that it is 18 months and you are our or convert to and FTE. I have been looking forward to Thanksgiving. I planned to start looking in mid November for something that would carry me to December 2017. My official retirement target date. When what should appear but a jolly old man and, no, no, no. A project Bruce has been working on lost a PM and is preparing to let the other one go. It is an opportunity for him to bring in his own team. Ray, a great guy I have worked with before is taking PM 1 job and I just interviewed for PM 2. The job is something I like doing and am good at, it pays way better and will be based in Atlanta and next fall in NJ, where hubby is now AND Ashby will be. So what is the dilemma.

My need to please. My current boss appeals to my smartest girl on the block drive. Please don't leave, she is marketing me to everyone on the team who may have an FTE opening in the fall. I am loved. How can I leave. Oh vanity you are my Achilles heel.

The other true worry is Miss Zena. For the first two months I will be in Atlanta a lot. Not full time but 4 days a week for several weeks while I build a team.

I think I answered my own question. I talked to my $ guy who recommended working until Dec 2017 and some downsizing so I can retire the way I want to. This gig is better than the projected so I can start a new furniture fund for the new abode. I am lucky to have options. I am grateful to be asked. So one more interview tomorrow and see if they actually offer me the job.

 

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Wednesday October 5

Wednesday is Jason's birthday.  It is a big milestone - 16.  Except we won't be celebrating it with him and his Mom and brother, he will not be blowing out the candles or ordering his favorite meal, dessert first.  He will be a hole in our hearts that we can never fill.  In My Sister's Keeper, Jodi Picoult writes, In the English Language there are orphans and widows, but there is no word for the parent who loses a child.  Through her character Kate, There should be a statute of limitation on grief.  A rule book that says it is all right to wake up crying, but only for a month. That after forty-two days you will no longer turn with your heart racing, certain you have heard her call your name.  That there will be no fine imposed if you feel the need to clean out her desk; take down her artwork form the refrigerator; turn over a school portrait as you pass - if only because it cuts you fresh again to see it.  That it is okay to measure the time she has been gone, the way we once measured her birthdays.  See, as much as you want to hold on to the bitter sore memory that someone has left this world, you are still in it.  And the very act of living is a tide; at first it seems to make no difference at all, and then one day you look down and see how much pain has eroded.  

I wonder how he keeps tabs on us.  Was he sad that he missed us and sorry for the hurt he brought to his Mom and brother? Was he happy to see us talking to each other? Does he check up on us? Or has he taken on a new role of looking after other children who are hurt and afraid, children who feel that no one hears them.  If there are better angels, wings that brush against the faces of people so they instinctively know something or someone is there, I would gladly mourn him without any comforting breeze if I thought he had moved on as another of the better angels to comfort a child at risk so that one less mother or brother counts the days he has been gone like they used to count his birthdays.

Jason, in your honor I will eat dessert first on your birthday.  I will wish that you would wrap your Mom and brother in the shelter of your wings and when they laugh and feel guilty, remind them that you would have thought it was funny too.

Birthdays

Over the years I have discovered how differently people treat birthdays. Sadly it has only been the past few years that I gave it any serious thought. I grew up thinking that birthdays were special days but for me were also dangerous territory. To be "puffed up" or demanding attention because it was all about me were characteristics bound to land me in trouble. The correct answer to "is there something you want" was no, really I have everything I want, just come share my cake. So after almost 70 years of that answer I truly don't want anything. It is not a skill I have.

I know people who have birthday months. A woman I know is on a month long trip with her hubby celebrating a milestone birthday that features Mimosas for breakfast at a series of inns and B&Bs. Several people I know always take their birthday or birthday week off work. My Catholic WASP background cringes. For years I have worked on my birthday, for heavens sake it isn't a national holiday.

So now at 69, a year from the next big one what do I think. Mom said not to waste my 70's, she thought I had not taken advantage of my 60's, that these would be the last years I could physically do some of the things on my wish list and that when I was in my last days I would not look back with happiness remembering I always said, oh we can do what you want, I really don't have anything I want.

Dad always said a birthday isn't about you, it is about being thankful that you had the time and the love of the people you shared your life with. I never really understood what he was saying until he was gone. For me his birthday was one of the high holy days, no matter the distance or the effort you had to go home. Now I miss that call to come home, to put aside angers or frustrations for that one time. I miss him every birthday and I am sad that I have never been able to create that neutral zone that draws my children for one day to be together. Unlike my Dad who despite his flaws created a free zone that said his life had been well lived because he had loved each of us to his utmost, and that was enough. Every year when we came together I think it was because we didn't want to disappoint him, because we knew he loved us best.

So where does this all leave me? This is the big count down to 70. I believe i will live to see all of my grandchildren launched into adulthood. I will hopefully see my great grandchildren. Mom shared the unexplainable loss of Ashley's sister but never the heart wrenching loss of an older grandchild. I will have to answer for my part in failing Jason. I am the third generation if a dysfunctional family. Of sons and daughters who are separated by old angers. My grandmother was the Iron Madam who demanded, or cajoled a family to stay together. My Dad was the force that kept us together. But neither of them knew how to grow it in to the fabric of their off-springs fabric of being. For both of them it only lasted while they willed it in to being. I am not that strong. My greatest sadness is that the legacy I will leave is mine, of only children with other people who intersected with their lives.

So maybe my challenge is to break that chain, or at least to have each of my children know I loved them best. That every time I mark the passing of another year I am thankful for them and that they are my greatest accomplishments and my greatest mysteries.

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Guns and logic

To buy a one month prescription of Ritalin, that is fairly essential to my keeping my job and my marriage I need to bring a paper scrip, and my drivers license to the pharmacy every thirty days. My script and license are entered into a state database so I don't scam the system and get more than prescribed. But I could stroll into a gun show and buy an automatic weapon with enough ammo to wipe out a small village with a smile and cash. Think about the logic of regulating my purchase of a prescription or zirtec d and not a weapon.

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Old terrifies me

No one is watching me, taking stock of when my quirks hint at actual memory loss. I don't think it is imminent, but I am concerned that I don't have anyone who will know or maybe I worry I won't believe anyone when the warning signs rear their heads. I don't want to be my mother. As much as I love her, she quit and then life wouldn't grant her an exit door. She was done, her purpose in life was Dad, and kids and house and they were gone. We visited but we were exhausting with our petty transient worries, or we tried to hard to cheer her up. Dad was gone, the reason she got up in the morning, the central organizing point of her life was gone in the blink of an eye. Without him she could not keep the lid on Pandora's box. She kept opening the trunk of bad memories, taking them out and examining them over and over. He wasn't there to stop her. Regrets, anger, exhaustion won but still the sun rose in the morning and she had to face another day. Her last years are a warning of what happens when you train yourself to have no opinions or wants. Plywood screwed to the top of a $50 typing desk with power strips screwed to the side is fine for McGyver, but it is ok to want something else for yourself.

But I digress. Last week I took my car in for an oil change and inspection. When I came out and paid my bill in the entrance bay they said my keys were in the car, so I walked over to the closest "blonde" vehicle and opened the passenger door to put my bag in. I looked puzzled, where is my dog seat? The very nice techs said gently that wasn't my car, it was a GMC (blonde) my Escalade was one lane over. I laughed and said that is what happens when you buy your car by color. I am fairly certain that story is being told over and over in the service bay. I am not sure what to chalk that up to.

Many years ago I came home to visit after Mom had several rooms painted and the art (and that is a generous term) was still sitting on the floor. For me who moved frequently (the rumor was I moved so often so I would not have to clean the oven) you restored your house to order immediately. I was worried and Mom's answer did not reassure me. She said essentially it really didn't matter and she was tired. I am afraid. I put the liners in the hay racks on the porches in early May. I was waiting for the plumber to come and fix the outside faucet problems, and he did that last week. I still have not been motivated to fill the planters. They sit empty looking at me. Are they omens?

More next time on why I have a post it over my coffee machine that says "Don't be Aunt Jane".

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Catching up

So what's new? Big changes at home. Hubby is working in northern NJ for the next year. He has an apartment close to work and hope to have him come home at least every other weekend. Flying home isn't as easy as it has been other times. Like all things NY/NJ the airport is overcrowded, getting there is in Traffic and parking expensive. Hopefully it will be a gig that is challenging and interesting. I am still a contractor at Wells but luckily got bounced out of my treasured cube and sent home to work. The work is periodically interesting, and sometimes frustrating but I keep saying to myself it is a job, they pay me and I am not in charge. The job is scheduled to end December 4.

I am working on climbing out of the miasma of inaction. With no one to cook for, or reason to get dressed before hubby comes home at 6 I have fallen into thinking yoga pants are clothes and cereal with a topping of fruit is dinner. I am making lists and working on a schedule that gets me dressed and makeup on before taking Zena to daycare. Baby steps. Next step is to fill the planters and set up the drip system. I can't blame "frost" any longer.

Had a wonderful weekend in Long Island to see the daughter of dear friends married. They invited four of us to join their family and friends. It was an amazing event. A true NY Wedding complete with glitter, dancing, to die for food and a ceremony that would be hard to top. The bride and groom were New Yorkers complete with active bar scene life, a cadre of friends starting with the grooms best man who was a friend from sonogram days to now, fraternity brothers, high school and work buds. The couple is 30 and as the groom said this is payback time for all of the weddings they had been in. Thirteen groomsmen and eight bridesmaids filled out the wedding party. The bride was breath taking and the groom handsome. It was black tie and the guests complied with tuxes and long sparkly gowns. Most of the guys wore their tuxes like second skins being part of the NY scene, it was the older guests like hubby who were in rented duds being at the "country club" event stage in clothing now. The band played non-stop, the guests danced, which now seems to be a group activity requiring aerobic strength jumping up and down. No more pairing off, looking longingly in each other's eyes, this is a group where members drop in and out, are drawn into the inner circle of energy or drift to the second ring. As the evening wore on there were dance offs with the bride at the center of the guys locking are in a circle out doing one another as one became the spotlight. The bride has more energy than a Zumba instructor and was quick to raise the tempo if it seemed to flag. She is not your typical princess bride, scooping up the front of her gown in a combination la la skirt and tango swirl. As the evening peaked at midnight there was the pre-requisite throwing the bride in the air by the groomsmen, followed by tossing the groom all be it not as gently. We bailed shortly after midnight but heard the giggle and good nights of the wedding party after they closed the hotel bar after a nightcap at 3.

We took advantage of a no golf Saturday to drive out to Montauk the scene of a serial The Affair to see the lighthouse and have lunch at Lunch the Lobster Bar. A true cold water lobster roll was our treat. Made a stop in East Hampton to see the beach and check out the beach cottages. Just in case anyone cares renting at house in the Hamptons is definitely off my list of possible things I might want to do. Give me a Carolina beach any day.

Heading home to another week. Norms mom Jean is with me and I am treating us to a car taking us home. It will wrap up an elegant weekend of luxuries we don't usually indulge in. Not sure why but maybe this will be the start of something new.

 

 

 

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A (fill-in the blank) changes everything

Work. How did I forget that work changes everything. It seemed like such a good idea at first. Tempt the fates, toss my name in the pot. Then the ego boosting lure. They called me right away. They offered me a choice: responsibility and more money or little responsibility and less money. I took the second. What I forgot is my hard wiring doesn't let me just let things run off the rails without offering to help. Guess I might want to rethink this sometime. But the part I did forget is the cost of working. I get nothing done at home. Christmas and a deadline coincided. My poor house was barely decorated, no baking -probably good - no parties, barely got the rooms ready for Meagan and Ashby to visit. My whole standard for having people over to watch the game has sunk to clean kitchen, sodas, water, maybe crackers and cheese and a take away menu. No theme napkins, staggered snacks, fresh veggies and dip. I don't know how mothers juggle children, home and work. Guess we will see what Spring brings.

 

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