Funerals combine three things I hate the most:
death, sentimentality, and small talk.
Monday, July 20, 2009
Thursday, July 16, 2009
What if
I've written about this before-- the ease with which you can spy on people on line. I joked with my kids that I needed to be on Facebook in order to stalk them, but it's really not so far from the truth. When your loved ones are far-flung, it's a way to connect without being intrusive. How far you take it is like anything in life: on the honor system. I promise I will not abuse the access you give me (there's a lesson our government needs to learn).
But the web also has the wonderful capability of reconnection, something new in human development. Haven't seen someone for 30 years? Google them. Some members of my high school class decided to set up our entire 2009 reunion just using the web, and found hundreds of grads on the "6-degrees" principle.
So I did something slightly forbidden-- I found an old, boyfriend?, on Facebook. He wasn't really ever my boyfriend, and our relationship in college was like slightly-too-close brother and sister, but he's definitely in the "what if" category. Not really the one that got away, but certainly one that was available for fishing if I'd put some effort into it. We danced around each other for years, and watched bemused while each hooked up (in the modern parlance) with someone else.
And there he is, the same evilly-goofy face I loved in college (sorry Mark, but there it is), and it brought such joy to see him after all these years. So where was I going with this?
Nothing. Just. I really love the web.
But the web also has the wonderful capability of reconnection, something new in human development. Haven't seen someone for 30 years? Google them. Some members of my high school class decided to set up our entire 2009 reunion just using the web, and found hundreds of grads on the "6-degrees" principle.
So I did something slightly forbidden-- I found an old, boyfriend?, on Facebook. He wasn't really ever my boyfriend, and our relationship in college was like slightly-too-close brother and sister, but he's definitely in the "what if" category. Not really the one that got away, but certainly one that was available for fishing if I'd put some effort into it. We danced around each other for years, and watched bemused while each hooked up (in the modern parlance) with someone else.
And there he is, the same evilly-goofy face I loved in college (sorry Mark, but there it is), and it brought such joy to see him after all these years. So where was I going with this?
Nothing. Just. I really love the web.
Monday, July 6, 2009
Cleaning day
My son moved out, the real one, the official one, the not living at home for sure anymore one. But his spirit, that is to say his STUFF lives on. He took what he "needed," although I personally think he needs more than he believes he does. He doesn't want to be anchored to things; I get that. However, he doesn't seem to mind anchoring us to his things, namely the items that he left here.
When your children move out for the first time, they take their things, and leave the memories. That's one of a parent's functions, I suppose, to be the repository of memory. But so much memory is locked up in stuff. Is the hideous peanut-shaped jar junk, or is it a precious childhood artifact? If I get rid of the admittedly brilliant 6th grade spanish class poster, will someone regret it? There are reams and reams of drawings; I have no idea what to do with them.
It's not so easy moving a child on. Memories seem ephemeral, but they attach themselves. They are sticky, and their things have weight.
When your children move out for the first time, they take their things, and leave the memories. That's one of a parent's functions, I suppose, to be the repository of memory. But so much memory is locked up in stuff. Is the hideous peanut-shaped jar junk, or is it a precious childhood artifact? If I get rid of the admittedly brilliant 6th grade spanish class poster, will someone regret it? There are reams and reams of drawings; I have no idea what to do with them.
It's not so easy moving a child on. Memories seem ephemeral, but they attach themselves. They are sticky, and their things have weight.
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
Mother's Day
Thanks for dinner, kids. You're the best and I love you very much.
Seng Lim and Nga Jee are back, Jules since mid-January, Nga since late April, and you see what happens. When they are here, I don't write about them. There are comic ways of saying this-- they suck all the air out of the room; and psychological ones-- their presence consumes me; and philosophical ones-- where do I end and they begin?
But the fact is that when they are here I don't need to think about our relationship, as I am now simply living it daily. Separation from them as adults feels like it was less traumatic than connection to them as infants, although I think they will tell you differently; their perception of it is different. They are creating themselves without me. I am simply remembering who I was for the 30 years before they arrived. When they were babies they were suddenly the two most important people in the world, and yet they were the ones who knew absolutely nothing about who I was, but merely knew who they needed me to be.
I used to say that they saved my life. My periodic wrenching melancholy might have killed me if I hadn't had these helpless dependents, and I used to fear their leaving; that without their need my melancholy would win. But in reality, their need has not disappeared or diminished, it has simply changed. Right now I think we are still finding out way through this changing relationship, but it's intriguing enough that I guess I'll stick around and find out where it goes.
Seng Lim and Nga Jee are back, Jules since mid-January, Nga since late April, and you see what happens. When they are here, I don't write about them. There are comic ways of saying this-- they suck all the air out of the room; and psychological ones-- their presence consumes me; and philosophical ones-- where do I end and they begin?
But the fact is that when they are here I don't need to think about our relationship, as I am now simply living it daily. Separation from them as adults feels like it was less traumatic than connection to them as infants, although I think they will tell you differently; their perception of it is different. They are creating themselves without me. I am simply remembering who I was for the 30 years before they arrived. When they were babies they were suddenly the two most important people in the world, and yet they were the ones who knew absolutely nothing about who I was, but merely knew who they needed me to be.
I used to say that they saved my life. My periodic wrenching melancholy might have killed me if I hadn't had these helpless dependents, and I used to fear their leaving; that without their need my melancholy would win. But in reality, their need has not disappeared or diminished, it has simply changed. Right now I think we are still finding out way through this changing relationship, but it's intriguing enough that I guess I'll stick around and find out where it goes.
Friday, March 20, 2009
The family I don't have
The family I do have is a wonderful family. A handsome and engaged husband, creative and active children who are fearlessly pursuing their dreams.
The family I do not have is the family of a former boss and dear friend. She and her husband are the parents I should have had; in fact they are the parents I did have, except that Jack and Lynn made choices that honored their artistic natures and unconventional attitudes. My own parents bought into the whole postwar 50s domestic nonsense, which fit them not at all.
I live my life in an unconventional way far more because of Lynn and Jack than because of my own parents. They showed me that artists could be artists, that you can raise your children according to your own rhythm and values. They let me understand that you can live a rich and even a consumerist life with no money. These are people who changed my life profoundly.
Yesterday I saw their entire family together. The grown son and daughter with their spouses and children. They are close knit, nice, welcoming and warm. I want intensely to be part of that circle. They all accept me; Lynn thinks of me nearly as a daughter. She loves me. But in fact it's an empty shibboleth. I know the stories and can say the words, but the clan is a closed one and I am not a part of it.
The family I do not have is the family of a former boss and dear friend. She and her husband are the parents I should have had; in fact they are the parents I did have, except that Jack and Lynn made choices that honored their artistic natures and unconventional attitudes. My own parents bought into the whole postwar 50s domestic nonsense, which fit them not at all.
I live my life in an unconventional way far more because of Lynn and Jack than because of my own parents. They showed me that artists could be artists, that you can raise your children according to your own rhythm and values. They let me understand that you can live a rich and even a consumerist life with no money. These are people who changed my life profoundly.
Yesterday I saw their entire family together. The grown son and daughter with their spouses and children. They are close knit, nice, welcoming and warm. I want intensely to be part of that circle. They all accept me; Lynn thinks of me nearly as a daughter. She loves me. But in fact it's an empty shibboleth. I know the stories and can say the words, but the clan is a closed one and I am not a part of it.
Saturday, March 14, 2009
Around the world
I managed to connect, at a remove, my daughter with a "cyber" friend, Joyce, in Singapore. Joyce went and saw Nga Jee skate a show, and I've been trying to wrap my brain around a world where I can meet someone on line, and then connect them on line with another person, who they can then meet. At 9 p.m. last night, when Nora was skating the show that Joyce was watching, I closed my eyes and imagined them in real time.
A generation ago, heck two decades ago, there would have been nearly no point in the exercise. Even telephoning internationally was expensive from the U.S. end and absurdly complex from Europe or Asia. If your loved one was across an ocean there was no point in thinking of them in "real time."
This makes me both more and less homesick for Nga. I know that she can reach me easily, so I wait by the phone so to speak; I'm afraid not to be sitting in front of the computer in case she looks for me. It makes it hard to let go in the way that I was able to let Seng Lim go when he was on the boat, because I knew I couldn't reach him, or now, when he's completely accessible.
A generation ago, heck two decades ago, there would have been nearly no point in the exercise. Even telephoning internationally was expensive from the U.S. end and absurdly complex from Europe or Asia. If your loved one was across an ocean there was no point in thinking of them in "real time."
This makes me both more and less homesick for Nga. I know that she can reach me easily, so I wait by the phone so to speak; I'm afraid not to be sitting in front of the computer in case she looks for me. It makes it hard to let go in the way that I was able to let Seng Lim go when he was on the boat, because I knew I couldn't reach him, or now, when he's completely accessible.
Friday, February 20, 2009
The sisters
I have a group of female friends-- Nancy, Sheila, Lynn, Susan, Kaikay. I call them the "sisters," they are people with whom I connected immediately and permanently. In one corner of my heart I believe that they are the lost sisters from my past lives. I never feel a need to seek approval or support from these women; it's a given. Friendship does not need to be sought, or affirmed, or renewed, or nurtured. It simply is.
And yet, despite having these strong connections, I find myself investing my emotional energy in seeking approval and affirmation from people who are never going to give it. My boss, in fact, every boss I ever had except for Susan and Lynn (who are each one of the sisters). I have a positive knack for finding bosses who are stingy with approval, or insecure about accepting input from subordinates. Or perhaps it's not that I have a knack for this, but that the sorts of people who seek administrative positions are people who thrive on this sort of petty bullshit, or who need the affirmation of the title to feel a sense of worth.
Probably this stems from some emotional need not met in my childhood. I'm constantly seeking praise from a father or mother figure, or something like that. Which makes me wonder what neuroses, what bad decisions based on misunderstood emotional needs, my kids will suffer?
And yet, despite having these strong connections, I find myself investing my emotional energy in seeking approval and affirmation from people who are never going to give it. My boss, in fact, every boss I ever had except for Susan and Lynn (who are each one of the sisters). I have a positive knack for finding bosses who are stingy with approval, or insecure about accepting input from subordinates. Or perhaps it's not that I have a knack for this, but that the sorts of people who seek administrative positions are people who thrive on this sort of petty bullshit, or who need the affirmation of the title to feel a sense of worth.
Probably this stems from some emotional need not met in my childhood. I'm constantly seeking praise from a father or mother figure, or something like that. Which makes me wonder what neuroses, what bad decisions based on misunderstood emotional needs, my kids will suffer?
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