staying engaged

It was the summer of 1973, and I remember going to some theater event with all of the teens from my camp. The only part of the outing that I distinctly recall is that some of the older guys – my brother’s age so I didn’t know them too well – carried transistor radios to the performance, where they stealthily listened to the Watergate hearings. (Their interest in politics and public service stayed intact: many years later one of those boys was a New York City Councilmember; another founded Freedom to Marry, which led to the Supreme Court decision recognizing same sex marriage.)

Yes, Watergate was a big f-g deal, something everyone seemed to be following, whether they were interested in politics or not. And the facts bear out my memories: at one point or another, 4 out of 5 households watched part of the hearings! I remember that it seemed unheard of to have a President who was so deceitful. I remember learning the names of those around him: Haldeman and Erlichman, which sounded like a Jewish law firm, there was G. Gordon Liddy, who would never be part of that firm, there was John Mitchell, among others. Their roles and titles have blurred over the years but those names are seared in my memory just as were a bunch of teenage guys hovering over radios listening breathlessly as the national drama unfolded.

Watching the Jan 6 hearings life is so different. Instead of radios we all have phones that we can check for the latest news. We all have endless updates on whatever devices we use.  There are a million more options and distractions for those who want to ignore the whole terrible thing. That great saying attributed to Daniel Patrick Moynihan “You are entitled to your opinion. But you are not entitled to your own facts.” is a joke now, as people clearly do have different facts they cling to.  Among Republicans in a recent poll, 25 percent said Trump bears “not much” responsibility for the events of January 6th and 44 percent said he bears none at all. We’re so much more divisive. And while activism is alive and well, there are so many who have just completely checked out, in disgust or boredom or just being too overwhelmed with life to tune in to such a travesty and tragedy. 

But I am my mother’s daughter so while I’m repulsed by much of what I hear and see, I stay riveted. I listened in horror as an election worker named Shaye Moss talked about how she and her mother, called Lady Ruby by those who knew her, were targeted by Trump and Guliani for rigging the vote. Two public servants who were threatened and harassed until they were virtual prisoners in their homes. In fact the FBI warned Lady Ruby to leave her home for two months around the time of January 6th because agents worried for her safety. Shaye’s grandmother called her in terror that a mob was at her door screaming that they were going to make a citizens arrest! Shaye left the job she loved, where as a Black woman, she reverently helped older Black voters who held especially dear the right to vote, as people who had been denied that right for so long. But she had to leave the work that had meaning to her, because of threats on her life. An honest and innocent person, her life has been destroyed by lies.

My mother worked at the polls every election, like these women. She worked in our town which was overwhelmingly Republican even through she was a committed Democrat. It didn’t matter; she was doing a job she felt was important and meaningful. Like these women she was as honest as they come, kind and helpful to those who came to exercise their right to vote. 

My mother raised us to be engaged caring citizens, something I’ve always taken to heart. It isn’t an easy task, and yet it is never more important than now when we have so many options for not being engaged. And yet I understand that need to disengage at times: I rely on TV as much to inform me about current events as to take me as far as I can get from reality.

Because it’s hard not to feel disheartened by everything from ceaseless stories of gun violence to the videos of people storming the capital, to say enough already, just give me some old Seinfeld episodes and let me laugh in peace. Which is what I did after watching news analysis of the day’s hearings. I sat and watched a familiar sitcom and laughed, and then I felt able to go to sleep without knots in my stomach.

I’ll continue to watch the hearings or recaps and then take breaks for my mental health. Watergate seems so mild in comparison. No one was killed or committed suicide, innocent people’s lives weren’t destroyed. It was a botched burglary of the Democratic Party Headquarters at the Watergate apartment complex and the guilty were brought to justice, including the resignation of Nixon. I don’t expect such a satisfying ending this time, but I’ll be watching till the finish.

same old beauty

When people ask “What are your weekend plans?” I generally have nothing much to say, no special activity or event to report. On Saturday morning we go to Shoprite with V and his bt (behavior technician) J, who is very good with V and brings terms like “tools for adulthood” to life… as something so simple as grocery shopping is not so simple for us. There’s the preparation: making a list, making sure we are wearing shoes. Then getting in the car and driving to the store, bringing in reusable bags and getting a cart and then pushing that cart through the store, stopping along the way. Red peppers? Find them in the produce section; get a bag and open it; place two peppers inside; tie a knot in the bag and put it in the cart. And so on, a multi-pronged exercise with each item on the list. And then there’s waiting in line and emptying the cart, putting the items on the conveyor belt, saying hello to the cashier and bagger (and handing him or her the bags). Something so basic is really complex when you break it down, all the more so when you have challenges navigating the world.

We get home and J leaves and we have the rest of the day to ourselves. It’s a lot of time to fill and yet we do. At some point we go out for a walk around the lake if we’re lucky. J comes again Sunday morning and the day is much of a repeat of the day before. J and V spend a few hours together. This past Sunday they made banana bread. The whole house smelled amazing. Since V is still just indoors I’ve been going out in the yard on my own, sitting in my favorite chair or the hammock and reading, enjoying the perfect weather. Later we went back around the lake.

Yup, weekends are much the same and not very exciting and yet in that sameness is much beauty. Walking around the lake really is the highlight of the day. Like “shopping”, “walking” encompasses more than that one word. It is movement and passing other people and dogs and other creatures like the geese and ducks that are everywhere on and beside the lake. It’s a magnificently designed and landscaped public park that I am very grateful to have nearby. This past weekend I took photos to capture some of it, to appreciate rather than lament that we don’t go out anywhere new or do anything more interesting. This routine is what works for now and as T says on almost every walk, “This is the most beautiful park!” If V won’t go out in the yard or for our neighborhood walks anymore at least we have this little pocket of paradise.

And there is something to be said for the ritual and comfort of routines, especially when they involve such swaths of bright green and blue as these last weeks have given us. And given the continued way the world, or at least our very troubled country, is going – there’s a new massacre to absorb almost every day it seems, and it’s with a heavy heart that I approach the news nowadays – I’ll take the sameness over the scary unknown for the moment.

I let the park and the gorgeous little lake console me from all the grief and dread out there in the bigger world. And I accept that the question what did you do this weekend doesn’t have much of an answer to it. Which given the alternatives is fine by me. I’m grateful to have the same old beauty.

salt and pepper days

After 15 years of gardening I decided to call it quits for this year. Too much going on with V and I don’t have the time and energy to devote to it, although this is often the case. I buy and plant with determination and excitement for the new season and then my efforts peter out:  I get lazy with weeding and forgetful about watering despite having a snake hose that once set up, I simply have to turn on from the outdoor spigot.  Last year I bought a fabric weed barrier at the suggestion of my neighbor who swears by them. (although when I first googled what she called it – a “weed blanket” – I got links to some very nice materials with marijuana insignias on them rather than the gardening cover that she’s right, cuts way back on weeding.) Still, I didn’t feel up to the whole gardening process this year. But then on my birthday I received a knock on the door from my next door neighbor asking if I’d like four tomato plants, as he had bought more than he needed. It was the perfect gift (he had no idea it was my birthday) and has led me to slightly alter my gardenless plan to just include tomatoes and some herbs I still have to get.  So I can still play in the dirt, just without too much commitment. 

My birthday was nice in a low key way like that. I got up really early and went for a walk before it got hot (92 was the high for this past steamy weekend!) or anyone was up. V went to Friendship Circle and we did our usual nearby shopping (Costco, Trader Joe’s) and then I came home and took it easy for a while. V was in a good mood – he often is, which makes days with no help easier – and he hung out while T made us a midday barbecue. Steak and hot dogs for the carnivorous guys, salmon and an Impossible burger for me. 

V is still refusing to go into our big beautiful yard, which is like going to the Frick and not looking at the Rembrandts, missing out on all that beauty right in front of you. It’s still a mystery why he won’t go out to a place that he practically lived in for most summers of his life; like many things with V he can’t explain himself and we are left to try to figure things out. And so yard time has become a solo activity, which is lovely in a way – there’s nothing I like more than lying in the hammock looking up at the trees – and yet how wonderful a large yard is for socializing, and what a waste it feels like not to be out there together in these glorious spring days or even better, to once again have people over. But alas it’s not to be and I work on accepting another yard-deprived season. Instead we went for our favorite walk around the lake at a nearby park that is the one outdoor spot that V still likes these days. And it’s beautiful.

Later T & I watched The Last Waltz while V played on his phone and listened to the music. It’s a brilliant documentary showcasing the Band and an array of guest musicians, including Van Morrison, Joni Mitchell, Muddy Waters, Neil Young and the Staple Singers. I cannot believe it came out in 1978, when I saw and loved it on a big screen in a movie theatre. Watching a great movie on a TV screen is not the same magical experience as watching in communion with an audience and while I really appreciate it the second time around, life creeps in: keeping an eye on V, who sits still and then gets restless; googling all the performers, including the five members of the Band, three of whom would have early deaths; getting up to eat something (why do we always want to eat at the movies, whether at home or in a theatre?) I also put things in a context I didn’t have the first time around: I am aware that I am clear across the country from the stage where the filmed concert takes place, that Scorcese had yet again made a guy-centered movie, with only a few women performers; and that everyone on that stage would either be dead or like me, 44 years older than when the film came out, most still leading creative lives. Some, like Bob Dylan – who turned 80 last year – still on tour, bless him. Others, like Neil Young, are still churning out interesting albums and putting his opinions out into the public square.

We do not go gentle into that good night, we keep as active as we can, we take up new passions and causes, we recommit to projects great and small, we value our friendships and cherish family more than ever, we look at those older than us with reverence and curiosity.  At least most of the older people I know do that. Especially women: We may be invisible to the outside world with the exception of an occasional Grace and Frankie, but to those who know us we still have much to contribute.  At least that’s how I like to see it. Age is not something to fight but rather to embrace with humor and humility.  I am the youngest sibling, the youngest cousin of my generation, the baby of the family now with salt and pepper hair. It’s hard to wrap my head around that and yet it’s a privilege, this getting older.

And so another lap around the sun. I put on my hat and go out to water the tomato plants and then for a long walk, enjoying all of it while I can.

Savoring May

I rarely show pics of V here yet can’t resist sharing this recent photo of him with a friend at the equine therapy center where he interns once a week. So apropos of nothing here’s a sweet shot.

I wrote a post I didn’t publish (that happens occasionally) because it seemed so petty in light of everything going on with those I know and beyond, in the bigger world, from a racist attack in Buffalo to ongoing war to Roe to the recent victories of so many far right candidates. It was a simple homage to May, one of my favorite months. I celebrate my birthday; I also celebrate the heart of spring with all its blooming trees and flowers. In the course of the month I get to see them go from bud to flower to a lovely if bittersweet plethora of petals on the ground, another season come and gone. So I savor May for what it brings and how fleeting it is in all its beauty.

Family news, both good and bad. B graduated and is looking for a job, then a place to live. I’m still wrapping my head around the fact that he is now in Seattle. It’s taken me enough time just to settle into the reality of being a bicoastal family. On top of that a new city to learn again. Yet I’m so delighted that some of my favorite people live there and will be wonderful company when I visit.  I’m proud of and excited for B and whatever is to come. I have faith in him and his path.

On the bad side, my brother and dad both have COVID. Both cases appear to be mild, thankfully. I worry about them both but especially my father. Yet at 95 he seems to be faring okay relatively speaking. So many friends and family have been sick with it recently, with cases ranging from asymptomatic to some really rough days of flu-like symptoms. It makes me all the more aware of how vulnerable we all are, in many ways. I pray that they both will be well soon.

On the homefront some nice in person time with friends: a simple breakfast that felt monumental because it’s been quite a while since I’ve sat down with a friend in person, and it had been more months than we could figure – time taking on a certain convoluted sense during the pandemic – since I’d seen this particular friend. The winter and early spring just took that opportunity to sit outside away and only now with the recent warming do we start to gather again. It’s been so nice to be out for longer walks, seeing so many more of my neighbors out, all of us so happy to be out in our shirtsleeves with no bulky outerwear. I walked to the restaurant and nabbed an outdoor table and ordered a fresh squeezed juice as I waited for my friend to arrive, just sitting and people watching, a favorite pastime I only now realize that I always took for granted. Now I savor those few minutes on a perfectly moderate day – it will be scorching hot soon enough – to watch the world go by.

Later in the week we went to our neighbor’s quinceaneros, which is a lot like a bat mitzvah except instead of bagels and lox there’s pork and plantains, and the kids are two years older. Also no torah portion. In a tent in their backyard there was a buffet of delicious food and a DJ set up and plenty of dancing. Where do 15 year olds learn such perfect choreography these days? Tik Tok? Insta? Snapchat? I am not up on where this age group gets its info but they all dance in unison and it’s fun to watch. The DJ plays some tunes that gets us older generations up on our feet and it’s an altogether fun evening, a rare night out for T & me, all right across the street. Thankfully we were able to tap into services V receives now that he’s 21 to have someone – a very nice woman, it turns out – to come over to be with him so that we could go out.  There are some benefits to this whole new 21+ world we’ve entered that we are just starting to tap into.  

So nothing too thrilling  and yet it felt that way to me. To be out among people again.  I’m hoping to stay healthy so I can keep seeing people I love in person. 

Wishes to all to be safe and well.

hoping for love

In the book Far from the Tree (about how families accommodate children with physical, mental and social disabilities and difference) there is a section on children with multiple disabilities. A mother talks about having her adult child with complex physical and mental disabilities who went into a group home. Her son was provided adequate care – competent and conscientious in keeping him well and safe – but she didn’t feel that there was anyone there who actually loved him.

When I first read that it really stuck a chord, even though we were years from dealing with adulthood. And when I heard Andrew Solomon, the book’s author give a reading, I had the chance to ask him about that passage during a question and answer period at the end of his reading. He agreed that it was powerful and heartbreaking. I cannot recall his exact response, only that it was empathic and yet he had no real answer to this dilemma. And I was left still adrift in my heart imagining that world without love.

Years later now that V is an adult and we are just starting to look at potential homes, that question is omnipresent.  We are looking at two homes with openings for one more individual. The agency that manages the houses has a good reputation, and our lawyer encourages us to be proactive as we tour and meet with them.  Yes, it may be well managed, there may be adequate competent staff who will help take care of him and hopefully encourage him to keep increasing his independent living and social skills, but who is to say that V will be loved? 

And V, with all his challenges – both the ones I have shared here and other worse ones I prefer to remain private – is still, in our eyes, eminently lovable.  For all the difficulties and delays he has, he is a charming young man, filled with intelligence and unbridled joy at the simplest things.  Even at times when we are too exhausted to be fully engaged, our home is filled with love for him.  And who is to say that he will get that any place else?

We feel that he is loved at school, and for that I am enormously grateful. Actually I can’t say for sure that he is loved but he is celebrated for who he is. (The school, after all, is called Celebrate the Children.) He is embraced and accepted. His strengths are emphasized over his deficits.
Since school and home take up most of his time, we know he is in good hands, that he is appreciated for the unique person he is. And when he’s not, like out in public where people can be judgemental, it’s a small part of his life, and besides, it only bothers me. He couldn’t care less.

V is very intuitive. We always describe him as having strong receptive language and limited expressive language, meaning that he cannot talk beyond letting others know his basic needs or mood. I want water, I am happy. Yet he understands so much. We are quick to shift our pronouns from “he” to “you” when we realize he is listening to let him know he is in on the conversation. Because who knows? Intelligence is a difficult mysterious thing to measure. That is one of many lessons I’ve learned on this journey. We all have some intelligence, whether it’s musical and mechanical like V or verbal and analytical like me. V and I test at extreme ends of the continuum, so it is humbling to acknowledge and appreciate where and how he shines. There is no way of assuring that others will see those strengths.

And there is no way of knowing that someone will be loved, in any circumstance. The most loving couplings can come to a bitter end, friendships fade away or fall apart, love is not a guarantee for life. And yet don’t we all want to at least start with, and strive for love in our lives, in some form or another? Whether it’s a romantic partner, or dear friends or family that are woven into the fabric of our lives? Don’t animals bring us great joy and love? There are so many ways to have a world with love in it. We often don’t appreciate when it is there, especially if we don’t have typical family circumstances.Yet most of us are lucky enough to have love in our lives.

So much of the process of getting proper funding for V’s future was emphasizing the negative. Long interview sessions where we were pulling out every painful episode, downplaying all the ways that V has been relatively stable this last school year. Having to tell his school case manager that the disability agency didn’t want to hear about what a great year he was having but rather about the few incidents where he exhibited behavior with which to judge him, to lower his scores and thus receive much needed funding for his future we would never receive otherwise. It was a brutal multi-step process that left me sad and depleted. 

So how to shift to the positive, to move forward even though everything, even love, is unknown? I have faith that we can, with due diligence, find that good fit in a residential setting. We can only hope that the direct service professionals (DSPs) who are with V when he is not in school or a day program will be kind, and more that they will, if not love,at least grow to like V and see his charms.  But that is not a requirement, and it is so hard to know although I’ve seen many more instances where caring bonds form than not. Many DSPs, whether working with seniors or adults with disabilities, grow fond of those they help, they get to know them, become attached, feel invested in the well being of those who they serve.That is the best case scenario and it happens all the time. Yet what if it doesn’t? Is there a way to know? 

Nothing is certain. We just have to hope that our lovable son will be treated well, that he will be shown kindness and respect, and if we are lucky, love.

Another Move, with Anchor

B just moved to Seattle, after a good year in Portland, He’ll have more job opportunities and family there: his wonderful aunt and uncle and cousins, I’m so proud of him for forging his path, although I wish I was closer. We text and talk a lot but there’s nothing like spending time with someone and while we are on separate coasts that won’t be as often as I’d like.

I just finished reading Station Eleven (after watching the TV series), a book I picked up in Powell’s on my last trip to Portland. It took me a while to get into it: it’s about a post-pandemic time far worse than what we’ve experienced in the last few years, and at first I didn’t want to go there because I thought it would be too depressing. But reading about the before and after, in which there is no electricity, no phones or WIFI, no way to even know if your loved ones are alive – likely not, as most people died from the Georgia flu – it’s made me appreciate what we do have. Like telephones and computers and airplanes and ways to be in touch with those we care about most. 

Modern life is often exasperating and alienating and yet we find ways to connect in positive ways, amidst all the violence in the world and online vitriol.  My family helps me from feeling too socially isolated, for while I don’t see them that often I feel their love, and hope that it’s reciprocal. I’m not in a position to travel as much as I’d like or to offer as much help as I wish I could to others and I can feel bad about that.  If it wasn’t for V I’d fly out and help B settle in when the time comes, just like I did in Portland but since I was just out in March I probably will wait a few more months.  

In the meantime B will start anew, finding work and a place to live.  While he’s making these big changes and decisions he will have family, and that makes such a difference.  Especially in our family which is warm, welcoming, hamish and helpful.  B appreciates and values his family connections a lot.  I’m heartened that he feels so close to them, and that they will be physically so much closer.  I’m so appreciative of their offers to help him out on his journey, to be there for him in ways so generous and caring. 

At some point in the future we will find a residential placement for V and then we will have the freedom to be on the West Coast more often.  Like B, we’ll have some big changes in our lives.   I can feel overwhelmed thinking about that future and all the variables still to be determined.  And yet having family, including some friends who have become family, helps me from feeling too unmoored.  And having family for B will give him a loving anchor.  I have confidence in his intelligence, good judgment, self-awareness and emotional maturity. Yet I am so grateful that he has his aunt and uncle and cousins to help steer the course, that he will be less alone than he was in Portland, as well as that turned out. 

So onward B.  I have faith that this next chapter will be full of good things. And I’ll be there as much as I can. For now my thoughts and love are with him and our loved ones on the West Coast.

toward adulthood

V’s 21st birthday was in February and a lot has happened since then. As of March he has been registered with a support coordination agency that oversees all the services he will receive as an adult. We already are receiving two afternoons a week of respite and in May he will have his first overnight stay in a home, so that we can go to our neighbor’s quinceanera.

And just this week we found out the big news that he has been approved for residential services and we can start looking at group homes. That is a huge step and one we do not take lightly. Finding a home that provides the best quality care, where he will be treated with kindness and respect, a place that is a good fit for him – that will be the hard part.

The fact is that V is still the same young man that he was months ago, with all the same major challenges and delays, yet he now is in a new category with its own rules and protocol and endless hoops that we keep jumping through. I’m grateful for each step we take and services we can get, yet I worry a lot about how he’ll do in this new world.

We soon enough will see. He has his first weekend away in an adult program next month. Run by Camp Fatima, an organization with a team of dedicated volunteers, the camp is free to participants, just like the Elks Camp was during all those wonderful seasons when V attended for a week.  This will be different, though: it’s a much shorter period of time and most importantly, instead of having a 1:1 aide, the ratio will be 1:3 or 4, far less close supervision than he is used to or that he needs. (School is 1:1 or 2, by comparison.) This is the future, a bigger ratio of support to consumer, and already I am worried about how he will fare.  If he doesn’t do well how does that portend for the following weekend, when he will have his first overnight in a home, the one we planned so that we can go out?

I recognize the need for respite, and the next step of a home for him but only when it is beneficial for all of us.  It is so hard to know how V will adapt to the adult world.  We are doing everything we can, with the help of a good home BT (behavior technician) to work on independent living skills, yet still there is a long way to go.  There are so many everyday activities of daily living that he is resistant to or not accustomed to, from taking showers – he’s grown used to baths – to getting his hair cut. T cuts little bits when he is sleeping but then he wakes up and resists, so he has a raggedy back of the head, something we have covered up all winter as he wears hoodies most of the time. 

And will he adjust to not wearing a hoodie when it gets warmer? Like many idiosyncrasies, this is a sensory issue: he likes the feeling of having a hood over his neck and head. We even have short sleeved hoodies, which are hard to come by, yet even with that on the other day when it was going up to 80 degrees he nearly had a meltdown when I wouldn’t let him wear a sweatshirt. How about wearing sneakers again instead of the slip on shoes he has worn down in the back because he wears them like crocs? There are so many adaptations that will need to be made. 

We just adjusted his meds, under the supervision of his psychiatrist, so he won’t be so hard to wake up in the morning. Yet he still takes one medication at night that affects his appetite, so that he often doesn’t want breakfast until he’s been up for several hours. School, where he has more supports, allows him to eat something mid-morning when he finally is hungry, but how will that work for his weekend away or more in the future, when he lives in a group home?

There is so much to worry about and yet I realize how fruitless that is, and wish that this constricted knot I feel all the time could be loosened and I could look to this big new future with hope, curiosity, and acceptance each step of the way. I know that is the more skillful way to get through this next period of time. And yet I have become such a worrier, dredging up past and current difficulties and mapping them onto this still unwritten future. And yet in my gut I feel that, like the rest of us, he will learn and grow when he is in new situations where more is expected or required of him.

Fortunately I have some help to navigate the path ahead: case managers and counselors, a support group, wonderful friends and family, and for now a lawyer. I cannot write this chapter yet, only the preface in which I stand at the doorway and try to remember to breathe, to move forward one step at a time with trust and faith.

on good news

Optimist: a person who is inclined to be hopeful and to expect good outcomes.

Whenever there is good news I think of my mother, who despite the odds remained an optimist throughout her life. I didn’t exactly inherit her outlook, yet I’ve found that, now especially, with so much bad news out there, I positively pounce on the good. So after a period where it felt there would be no relief from the sad, scary state of the world, there are a few things to celebrate, the type of news my mom would have appreciated.  I still can imagine her delight at any tale where justice prevails and the righteous or underdog rules the day and the unjust rue the day. Where babies are born and new beginnings are possible.  Yes, it’s in this all too rare time of glad tidings that I think of her most, my very smart and devoted to causes mother, ever the optimist even in the worst of times and more so in the best of times. This would have been an especially nice week for her.

First there was the stunning victory in Staten Island by the upstart Amazon Labor Union which was formed by Christian Smalls, a man who had been fired and staged a walkout over a lack of worker protections, and was called “not very smart or articulate” by a senior Amazon lawyer in a memo that got leaked to 1,000 people (oops). Along with his work best friend and $120,000 budget raised by Gofundme, their totally grassroots campaign (think baked ziti and barbecues) was victorious over the Goliath Amazon, which shelled out more than $4 million in loose change on consultant fees and held mandatory meetings with captive audiences at which they urged workers to reject the union. The organizers won by being a persistent presence, letting the workers get to know who they were – fellow workers – and what they were about: higher wages, longer breaks (yes, workers do pee in bottles because they don’t have time for bathroom breaks and yes management is okay with that), paid sick leave and time off for the many injuries sustained on the job by warehouse workers. 

I have a complex relationship with Amazon, probably like a lot of people who use it regularly as much as we don’t support their labor practices.  It’s hard to give up something so user-friendly when so much in my life right now is difficult, multi-step, complicated. My cousin just had a baby and with just a few clicks I was able to send some swaddling blankets and a note that arrived a day later. And yet to support a place that is so worker-unfriendly doesn’t feel right. The best scenario would be unionizing. So I’m delighted with this victory and will try to honor my mother’s sense of optimism by hoping it is not an anomaly but a sign of more to come; quite possible since the pandemic has been a catalyst for pro-union campaigns, which are often organized by young people of color like Smalls.

The second first: a black woman Supreme Court justice (SCOTUS). Ketanji Brown Jackson, with all Democratic and 3 Republican Senators supporting her, paving the way for her confirmation in the Senate on Thursday. 

I watched some of the hearings but it was hard to stomach the way she was treated, the questions she got flung her way, ridiculous and mean-spirited pontificating, asking questions about what a woman is and racist babies and her hidden agenda to put in place critical race theory in the schools, not that the people asking these questions even knew what they were talking about.  

As reported in the Washington Post

in the four days of the hearings for Jackson’s nomination, senators on the Judiciary Committee used the words “child porn,” “pornography,” and “pornographer” 165 times. They used some version of “sex” (“sexual assault,” “sex crimes,” and so on) 142 times. They said “pedophile” 15 times and “predators” 13 times, one time more than the Bill of Rights came up. 

And in the face of that she displayed what most of us aim for, although we may fall short: remaining calm and cool under pressure and showing grace in the face of what can only be described as its opposite.  She was a role model especially for girls and young women, and an inspiration to millions who watched the proceedings.

In the midst of all this, via texts and emails I learn of the birth of one then two cousins in the span of a few days. Two brand new healthy beautiful beings launched into this crazy world. Both with middle names honoring loved ones no longer with us, linking to ancestors in a most meaningful and heartfelt way. With the love and commitment that went into doing that, the happy families, the sense of hope and possibility; my mother would have been kvelling.  

I know she would be thrilled by all this good news, that it would buoy her spirits as it did mine, coming as it does after the daily reports from Ukraine that has taken up most of the news coverage of late. As the child of socially conscious Russian immigrants, she’d be heartbroken by the daily headlines, and heartened by these other stories– not ignoring one for the other but taking it all in with more focus on the upbeat than the down.  I admit I’ll never be the optimist that she was and yet it’s nice to stop and catch my breath and revel in the good news of the past week

Side effects

1. The 11 hour dental appointment

V takes medication at night to help him go to sleep. We spent many years of sleep-deprived nights trying all sorts of alternative treatments but when it comes down to a major sleep disorder like his there is usually no getting around taking some sort of medication. After much tweaking, V has an effective cocktail that includes several meds, none of which are sleep aids per se but all of which have drowsiness as a major side effect. Since the challenges around the pandemic we’ve added a new med to the mix which help with sleep at night and calm during the day.
V usually succumbs to the cocktail (“Warning: may cause drowsiness” is a good thing : ) so he goes to bed earlier and sleeps longer and wakes better regulated. However, the drugs’ impact lingers through the early morning: he is a little harder to wake up, and he often is very thirsty.

So when he was scheduled for dental surgery requiring anesthesia (he can no longer go to the dentist without it due to excessive fear and anxiety) and the instructions state emphatically NO FOOD OR DRINK before procedure my concern is how we are going to get him up so early and then keep him from drinking water when he gets up. So we plan ahead very carefully: we’ll wake him up minutes before we have to get in the car (the appointment is for 6:30 am) and hide every glass and container that could possibly hold water. The plan works and he gets up, uses the bathroom, gets dressed and gets in the car, still groggy.

We get to the hospital and sure enough there is a water dispenser right in the waiting room so I have him stand in the hallway with me until his name is called. I am so relieved that we’ve gotten him to the appointment with the requisite fasting. Success! I think, the hard part is over. But that’s just the beginning…
He is promptly given a large dose of anesthesia – he resists the shot as much as he can but eventually the medical team maneuvers it into his arm. He fights it for a few minutes – we’re told that patients sometimes have hallucinations when first getting anesthesia – and then succumbs to the strong sedative effects.

Three hours later he is out of surgery and we’re told to come to the post-op room to wait for the anesthesia to wear off. One to two hours, as the forms I read so closely had told us. T and I both go into the room to wait with him. We sit surrounded by people who are also dozing after surgeries. One by one we hear them awaken and the nurses offering them something to eat and drink, giving them their postoperative instructions, asking how they are getting home etc. It’s a big holding cell and we are but one small part of it.

Only V doesn’t wake up. Could this be the extra large dose of anesthesia, the medications he takes at night still in his system or likely some combination that completely knocks him out? After two hours, I cancel a 2 o’clock appointment I was sure I’d be home for. More hours go by and still we can’t arouse him. I tell the host that I won’t be able to attend a meeting scheduled for 5 pm. Five hours later we are able to get him to open his eyes, only to shut them again. After most of his life doing anything we can to get him to sleep, here we are trying anything possible to get him to wake up.

The rules are that he cannot leave the hospital until he can stand up on his own. By the time he lethargically says that he needs the bathroom, we find that his legs are still wobbly. A nurse wheels him to the bathroom in a wheelchair, he comes back and we wait some more, the room now practically empty. We watch as one shift of nurses leaves and another set arrives.
Finally at around 5 pm, we’re able to rouse him. We leave the house at 6 am and return at 6 pm, exhausted in different ways from V, who practically collapses into his favorite chair, refuses all food and drink, then eventually stumbles up the stairs where he goes back to sleep for another 10 hours, still feeling the effects of the sedation. And to think I was worried about the fasting.

2. Movie Time

On the positive side, I’ve taken advantage of V’s generally earlier bedtime to go to one of my happy places: the movies. It’s not as good as being in a theater (although I don’t know if I’ll ever be as enthralled to be so close to so many people for a prolonged period of time) but it is a way to transport myself after a long day. Even 10 hours at the dentist’s. It’s also fun right now to have viewed a number of the films vying for awards this time of year.

2022 Academy Award nominated movies I have seen so far:

Don’t Look Up
Drive My Car
The Power of the Dog
West Side Story
King Richard
The Hand of God
Being the Ricardos
The Lost Daughter

Summer of Soul

I liked some more than others, loved a few, and would recommend any of them.
Drive my Car was probably my favorite, just because it was the sort of not much happens but so much happens that is the earmark of a great short story (it is based on one by Haruki Murakami). Plus Checkov has a leading role. Summer of Soul is fantastic in every way. West Side Story had that brilliant score and lyrics by Leonard Bernstein and Stephen Sondheim, and wonderful choreography. Olivia Coleman (The Lost Daughter) can do no wrong and the performances and cinematography in the Power of the Dog are riveting. Flee is animation for adults, a heart wrenchingly moving story of a family fleeing Afghanistan.

On the top of my figure out how to stream list: Belfast, Parallel Mothers, Licorice
Pizza, CODA.

Hoping that we can – as much as possible – sleep well and wake up easily.

Portland: 3rd time a charm

Are those roses real? Are those trees really flowering in March? Was I really away this past week? Just days ago a free woman in Portland?

Back home, still recharged and energized from a wonderful trip to see B. I have mostly memories as I didn’t bring much back with me beyond some local coffee and chocolate, books from Powell’s, and these few photos taken on my daily wanderings. It was great to see B in person and have time together. Walks in Washington Park (where the Rose Garden and Japanese Gardens are located); in the Pearl district where the hotel is; in B’s neighborhood in the Alphabet District. He really landed in a perfect location. And after three visits I’m getting to know his part of the city better. Lots of down time at his place and at the hotel, where he brings some school work to do since my room has a good work space.

I loved having my own hotel room. I know people who travel all the time get sick of hotel rooms but after being stuck at home for far too long I found it absolutely delightful. My only disappointment was that I had hoped to see more dogs since it was a Residence Inn with pets welcome. The room was a suite as big as the studio apartment I lived in for 12 years. Anyone who has lived in a studio has a different sense of space. Well before tiny houses were ever a thing, small apartments have been a longstanding way of life, especially in urban settings.

You realize that you can sacrifice square footage in exchange for a low price or a great location,
that people really don’t need that much space when they live in the middle of a city.
So I look at B’s studio and I think, it’s perfect! It’s smaller than mine was but it has a cute little eat in kitchen and a room big enough for a bed and sofa and a decent sized bathroom, and it is in a fabulous neighborhood with everything you could ever need or want a walk away and any other destination in the city can be reached via electric scooter – B’s favorite way to get around – or a great public transit system. Just right for someone in his 20’s.

So much works in Portland, only the terrible homelessness crisis keeps it from being an ideal city. Yet in terms of urban planning (public transportation, bike lanes, low density) it feels eminently livable. What does “livable” even mean? In practical terms, I like that I am not terrified every time I cross the street that someone will come speeding by; I like the way drivers slow all the way to a stop, and smile at you, like they were glad that you were out for your walk and causing them a ten second delay, the opposite of the Jersey attitude of racing ahead, seeing stop signs as mere suggestions and red lights as optional. Portland operates at a different pace, friendly, less frenetic or congested yet still with all the resources of a big urban setting.

Solo in the city was so much a part of my life for so many years, so it was nice to get out for walks – only one rainy day, pretty lucky this time of year – and explore or simply set out to a destination, like  Powell’s Books, where I spent several hours total over the trip browsing through books. I also got a 3 day guest pass from B to go swimming at his gym (near my hotel), which was a real treat. I haven’t done lap swimming since Labor Day, and it was a great way to start the day.  Travel can be all about adventure, it can also be about comfort and ritual, if even for a few days of getting up at the same time, going for a swim, eating a good breakfast (included with my stay), heading out to see B.

There are schedules and rituals at home as well, but I feel so burnt out from them. There’s also a lot of worry, every morning hoping it will be a good day, that V will be well-rested and well-regulated because when he’s not it affects everything. So leaving T in charge of V, for which I am grateful,  and having four full days to spend with B I feel some sense of balance rather than this lopsided existence where how I am is a reflection of how V is. I don’t know where B will end up permanently but wherever it is I’d like to be nearby much of the time. Which brings up complicated issues if we find V a group home in NJ and B remains in the Pacific Northwest. We don’t have the resources for a bicoastal life.

But I’m getting ahead of myself. For now, I am so glad that I was able to get on a plane and get out to be with B on his turf, to spend quality time in person with my wonderful older son. I miss him already.