In life, some days are just horrible, no-good, terrible days. Today is one of those days.
I wish I could jump back in time to hear your voice and feel your hug. But, to paraphrase Joni Mitchell, those stupid, stinking painted ponies keep going up and down and round and round on the carousel of time.
I saw a moment between a mother and daughter — the mother comforting a crying daughter, and taking her home to care of her — and I thought that was what you would have done, just as you did a long time ago even into my late 20s, when I would run home because I was scared of life and responsibilities and failure. I was sad for the daughter but I knew she would be all right — her mother’s love is strong and her nurturing so apparent.
Carly Simon thinks her mother is dancing with Benjamin Franklin on the other side of the moon. I think you are lecturing G-d about changing things in the world. I know you’re busy because the world is a bit of a mess these days.
Stop by for a chat in my dreams when you have a moment –
He who dies with the most toys pays for the U-Haul following the hearse.
I was just on the phone canceling FOR THE SECOND TIME some stupid customer protection service on a credit card. I tried to cancel it two months ago and I had to endure a surly response from my customer service representative — the definition of oxymoron. The first cancellation didn’t go through (probably because my surly representative thought he would gain points by delaying the termination — a little paranoia is part of Manhattan survival skills) and I am on the phone again, with serieuse attitude coming from the Mr. Customer Service who is not the mere definition of oxymoron but is the true personification of oxymoron. Definitely a call center in the US because no one can fake that decidedly American accent. So, there’s a silver lining — the abusive person was a fellow American and his job was not outsourced. I don’t know if I would have remained as calm (a stretch) as I was had I realized that an American job was lost so I could be berated in this manner. He reminded me that the call was being recorded as was the call from my prior excellent customer service experience. I said that I was glad it was being recorded because I would love everyone and anyone to hear the tone and manner of the customer service representatives. We concluded our business and we ended the phone call. Now that I blog I don’t have to regale my partner, who needs me to rant like she needs a hole in the head, and she can have a little less stress this evening. Thank you to everyone who reads this because I (and my partner) owe you big time.
Even though I have mentioned Anderson Cooper’s maddeningly, intense coverage of everything large and small, he did save my life once although we have never met.
This episode happened a little over a year ago. I was having a really bad day at work. Everything that could go wrong did, in fact, go wrong. There was an enormous amount of colleague in-fighting, and nasty in-fighting at that. And, everyone came to me to settle the arguments and assess responsibility. All that meant was that everyone then blamed me. My son was having issues at school and I had to meet with the principal. A dear friend of the family was falling faster into the swirl of dementia and I was part of the “first response team”. The economy and my business were under severe pressure — showing the signs of the great crash that was coming.
I was scared and I was tired and I felt a little hopeless, and everything started to boil over. I understood in that moment that normal, ordinary people can fall off a cliff. But I stopped and thought about how this would play on the 24-hour news cycle: a panel of experts — white, gay and Jewish — would be disowning me as not white (someone would figure out something), not gay (because I was once engaged to a man) and not Jewish (reform, shreform) while another panel of experts — NRA supporters and ultra-right — would look into my background pointing to all the ways that, had I followed, their doctrine, I would have been ok. And then there is the blogging through commercials. So, I decided that I could not put my beloved family through that circus and I left the office and worked from home the rest of the day. And that is how Anderson Cooper saved my life.
Billie Jean was not my lover, either.
Death doesn’t erase parts of a person that are more conveniently forgotten or “forgiven”. As Elie Wiesel once said, only the victims [or hurt parties] can forgive. Leave the cleansing for G-d. Not that I want only to harp on the allegations or the bizarre physical transformations swirling around Michael Jackson. We just need to recognize the complexities of a person and then give that person his or her due. Because each of us is a jumble of good and bad impulses and acts.
I think we idolize “winners”. And our “winners” cannot have feet of clay or disappoints their fans, so they either fall from grace or their sins are overlooked. Unless, of course, the erstwhile “winner” emerges triumphant from adversity and then we have an inspirational Sunday movie about it.
No one fits neatly into the pigeon holes our society creates for us.
Look at my statistics:
I am not married to the mother of my child but we live together (we are waiting for same sex marriage to be legal) so we have a “child AT RISK” . “At risk” for what is never spelled out but clearly it is beyond what a civil society can bear.
I have a high paying job and we own our home so we are upstanding members of the community.
I am a finance lawyer so I am a blood sucking parasite who doomed our economy.
We have our widower fathers over to dinner on Sunday nights along with my sister and brother-in-law so we are the Cleavers or Ozzie and Harriet.
We are members of a synagogue, so we are righteous.
We have never railed against heterosexuality, so we are prophets.
We are lesbians so we are dangerous to family values and a scourge.
We love this nation and we were against the Iraqi war, so for 8 years we were unpatriotic enemy sympathizers.
Call me Sybil.
I don’t know when the phrase “staycation” moved into the lexicon, but my partner and I started about three years to go on a semi-annual weekend away in New York City (where we live) while trusted people stayed with our beloved little (ok not so little anymore) baby.
It was a vacation without travel hassles and delays, without time lost getting somewhere and we live in a one of the greatest cities. Also, we could be a cab ride away from our son or our fathers (who are widowers) should anything happen. What I really mean is that we would always be a cab ride away from any emergency room in Manhattan because I always imagine the worst. The old joke about a jewish mother’s calling a relative and saying, “worry! I will tell you later why,” captures my personality exactly. I can go from a stubbed toe to nuclear holocaust in 5 seconds. (If ,let’s say, Kim Dong Il stubs his toe and gets really mad, then he wants to lash out . . . . you see how this gets out of hand.) But, I digress.
So we love staycations. We also have vacations with our son. Let me be more precise. Prior to the Great Recession, we had staycations and vacations. Today we had a parkation. G-d bless the conservancies and public-private partnerships that keep our city parks and waterfronts habitable. I would humbly ask for more sanitary rest rooms, and I am grateful that I have a son so I don’t often have to yell, “squat!! NOOOOOO sitting!!”