keep passing the open windows

Home for the Holidays

The holidays have become something to survive rather than relish. The other night when were at Chanukkah dinner the children were SO excited to open their presents. I had forgotten how great it is to be a child on such a day. Ben is still at the age where he thought the best present was the discarded wrapping paper.I always swore that we would not be one of those families with ten million toys lying around the house. Yeah right. It looks like a nursery school here. And we're just plain running out of room. So many friends have generously given us their kids' toys and I never feel like I can turn anything down because it's FREE and we can sure use free. The holidays are so stressful because I always wish that I could get something nice for my parents and grandparents, but it's just not possible. I am just too poor. And before you tell me I should make them something, my family will kill me if I give ONE MORE HOMEMADE GIFT. I got away with it when I was still in art school, but now there's just no damned excuse except that I AM A LOSER. All the people in Berkeley left town and all that was left were their animals and we are feeding ALL OF THEM. Foxy is a Chow/German shepherd mix who belongs to my friend Brianna. She is staying for us for 2 weeks while her mom is in Norway. Foxy is a sweet dog who is also a bit skittish. When she arrived here she seemed to think she had entered the seventh circle of hell. Not only are there 2 obnoxious dogs that already live here, but there is a BABY. And not just any baby but one that makes NOISE constantly. So Foxy spent the first week cowering under a table in the living room. She has finally ventured out a bit, but is easily scared back into her hiding place. Benny started playing with his maracas and Foxy thought the bombs were dropping. Then there's Akuma. Akuma is our friends' cat. Every time I go over to feed him, he is waiting at the gate, meowing angrily at me as if I were a negligent waiter. No wonder the tips suck.

Dancing with the Devil

I want so badly to be a funny person. I want to be funny and energetic and never melancholic. But alas, that is not how I came out. I came out moody and difficult and with a dance card half promised to the devil. That's what I call it when the dark mood descends upon me. I do not call it despression or melancholy. I call it dancing with the devil.And today we were doing the tango all day long. It's probably the" post-Thanksgiving I have a dysfunctional family blues". All I want to do is lie in bed with a good book and for the world to leave me there to rot. And all I want is a few stiff drinks, which I do not have because experience has taught me that it makes matters worse, not better. And frankly, I do not have enough stamina to be an alcoholic. So why am I writing about this? I have no idea. Beats lying I guess.

Dread

Tomorrow I have to drive to Sacramento for my birth father's funeral. Okay. I admit it. I am DREADING it. I cared a good deal for Robert, but showing up at his born-again Christain church does not seem like the appropriate way for me to express that. I ask myself why I am going at all. People will say that I am doing it for me. And perhaps I am. But it feels like I am doing it for the other members of his family.This of course brings me again to the question of what makes a family. Are they my family? I don't really know. Most likely I will never see his sister, his wife, or his children again after tomorrow. But I want Ben to be there to show people that Robert does live on in him. That even though Robert has died, there is still a part of him that endures in Ben.

Endings are Really Beginnings in Disguise

On Wednesday evening my birth father, Robert Whitmore, lost his decade long battle with lymphoma. Unfortunately, I did not know him very well. I am adopted and had never known my birth parents. Robert and I met a little over two years ago after I completed a short film I did about searching for and finding my birth parents.bob_tahme.jpg Ever since I found Robert and Tahme (my birth mother) I have given a great deal of thought to the nature of family and what it means. In all honesty I have not come up with any answers, only more questions. Once I had Ben, my questions just increased. Robert introduced me to people as his daughter and referred to himself as my father. But this felt disrespectful to me for my parents who had raised me and basically done all the heavy lifting. Jim is my dad; Robert is my biological parent. But as an adult I know a bit about regret and that decisions and choices you make in your youth are not necessarily the ones you would make today. bob_ben_02.jpg Now that Bob is gone from this world, I know that I will never have the opportunity to really know him. I grieve that. But I am also so fortunate to have had the opportunity to know him and for him to meet Ben. He was a good man, with a big heart. He had a great deal of faith in God. I do not share this faith, but I am glad that it gave him such solace. He died with complete assurance that he was going to a better, more peaceful place. And when I think about how frightening it must be to leave this world, I envy him that. I will miss him and I will miss what might have been. But Bob believes that we will meet again. And perhaps we will.

All I Got Was This Lousy Rave Braid Thing-y

in

Well I did it. I survived my 20th high school reunion. And in one piece and with relatively little hangover, which was a miracle since I was mixing my liquor like an amateur. Although I did have a little trouble making coffee the next morning at the Brekhus'. Josh kindly reminded me that putting the coffee pot under the filter was an essential, if less than glamorous, step. The night started off well with Jenny B opening a bottle of Veuve Cliquot that belonged, of course, to her parents. Nothing symbolizes regressing back to high school like stealing mom and dad's liquor. And our friend Chuck had hoofed it all the way from Michigan at the last minute and that was a welcome surprise. Not only would the ladies have a handsome escort to the ball, but there would be at least one interesting person to talk to (not including the usual suspects of course).

So we all got dressed and left our husbands with ten children. Yep. 10. At least they had a big house for them all to run around in. Josh only had one to look after and he can't walk, so I figured the odds were working in his favor. And I only got one. "where are the...?" phone call from him all night. What a superstar!

We arrived at the Four Points Sheraton Hotel (nothing but the best!) at 7:00 and I almost instantly thought that coming was a HUGE mistake and how the hell was I going to get out of this one. About two minutes later the heel on my left boot broke. It was not a big enough reason to leave, only something that annoyed me all night because I had to be sure not to lean back in order to keep the heel on. That's what I get for wearing high heels for the first time in my life.

There's not much to tell about the evening itself. People looked really good and this pissed me off enormously. I was expecting a bunch of people to have put on weight (like yours truly); be on tons of prescription medicine (ditto); and have existential angst (no seriously, our class was not, on the whole, bright enough to even know what the word 'angst' means, never mind 'existential'). While we were driving there everyone talked about their crushes and who they made out with in high school, wondering if their old flame would be there. I kept thinking how glad I was that I never really dated anyone from our high school. Just as I was sitting down to dinner and thinking how relieved I was, the guy I made out with freshman year walked up to our table and sat down. And the Alzheimer's has officially set in.

One of the highlights of the evening was watching Val kick it up on the dance floor. Only eight weeks after delivering her second child, she looked amazing and was dancing up a storm to celebrate the fact that she wasn't lugging a human being around anymore (well at least not in her body). She was probably also glad not to have her 2 year-old hanging on her for attention, while the newborn is attached to her boob. God knows that alone is enough to make you dance like a maniac.

The person who I thought looked the best was a woman that I did not even remember. She was, of course, someone who was low-profile and I thought she was now stunning. Looking back at her senior portrait she was beautiful even then, but in the European, interesting way that, let's face it, teenagers just don't get. And frankly, the 'popular girls' had great bodies and all, but they were as skanky as ever. There were some people who impressed me as being warmer and more genuine than I remember and there were a few people who had good hearts, but were a bit of a mess in high school, that I was happy to see had gotten it together and are now flourishing. It was an interesting event from a sociological standpoint, but as Lisa so succinctly put it, "I expected it to be more fun".

< 24 Hours

in

In less than 24 hours I will be at my twentieth high school reunion. Twenty years! I feel so damn old. I wonder if anyone will still be wearing an ACDC tee-shirt or listening to Journey. I wonder how many men will be bald. Okay so here's where I admit that I was actually a cheerleader. Yep me. Hard to believe and not something I admit lightly, but it's true. In some warped teenage desire to fit in I decided that this was the way to go. Boy was I wrong. At least I rebelled by constantly being out of step with everyone else as illustrated below:

I know that i am in the minority in that I am still close to my friends from high school. Here we are at our graduation (except Val and JVH who are missing in the pic):

We are all going to the reunion sans spouses (who are staying at our friend Jenny's parents house and taking care of all of the kids). Afterwards we are spending the night at 66 Winship for old time's sake. Except this time we won't get busted for drinking, unless it's by our children.

So as of Sunday I should have some funny stuff to report and some pictures of our aging class of 1985. Hopefully, I will not make a total drunken ass of myself. But if I were you, I wouldn't bet money on it.

168 Hours and Counting

Last night I was looking at my high school yearbook and beginning to panic about my upcoming reunion. I was immediately transported back to being 17 years old again. What the fuck have I gotten myself into? Am I really doing this voluntarily? If nothing else, I hope it will at least provide me with a great deal of material for this blog. I will treat it like a sociological experiment on the American high school. Do you think everyone still feathers their hair? God I hope so.

What's Done Is Done

in

bb_w_camera.jpg Well I did it. I sent in my check for my 20th high school reunion. There's no turning back. The above picture is of me a few years ago when I had time to take care of myself and exercise. If I still looked like that I would feel great about going to the reunion. Hint: after a baby and no time to exercise I don't look that good anymore. I will just have to trust that people will see beyond my appearance and well...they won't. So I just have to get really drunk and try not to give a shit as I enter what Laurie Notaro calls the "wicked, unforgiving terrain of nostalgia". And besides, fuck 'em if they can't take a joke.

Humanity is Tragedy

Josh and I went to see a great film today called The Constant Gardener. It was extremely well made, well written , well acted and, well, depressing. What is it about great movies always being so damn depressing? Not to give anything away, but the movie is about corporate greed once again showing reckless disregard for human life. Considering the way we treat each other I am dumbfounded when people are shocked that I do not believe in God. What kind of god would allow such a world?

Wild World

in

When Ben was born it was, of course, an amazing moment. Not just because of its inherent miraculousness alone, but also because of the environment. We were in an operating room (which was a drag), but all of the hospital personnel were women. I found this to be comforting in a world that had previously been dominated by old, white men. The anesthesiologist was playing Cat Stevens and the moment Ben came into the world, the song 'Wild World' was playing. It was perfect. Today I went to walk around the Lafayette Reservoir with my friend Maura. After listening to NPR on the drive over, I was devastated by the news of the destruction of Katrina and the Bush administration's apathetic response. As I passed all of the rich, white women with their $800 strollers and perfectly manicured hands and coiffed hair and their cell phones glued to their ears, moving obliviously through space, their worlds untouched, while children and the elderly are starving and dying in the South I realized what a wild world it is.

Let's do something to help these poor people. Here are some suggestions. Please offer others if you have them.

Donate money: http://www.redcross.org/ http://www.catholiccharitiesusa.org

Donate goods: http://beenthere.typepad.com/been_there/2005/09/a_clearinghouse.html

Buy a CD: http://cdbaby.com/group/redcross

Buy a photograph: http://www.flickr.com/groups/katrina_auction/

And here's and article on what a bad job Bush is doing: http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/9174806/site/newsweek/

f**cking sick ?

Woke up this morning with a cold. And I thought, I CAN"T BE SICK. No way, no how. What was I going to do? Explain to five month-old Ben that I just wasn't feeling up to taking care of him today and since Josh is in Boston, Ben should just change his own diapers and occupy himself today. If i could just get those useless corgis to earn their keep. How many hours until Josh gets back?

beginnings

Just what the world needs. Another narcissistic blog from a thirty-something mommy. Ugh! But I can't help myself. I am writing this while the breast pump is working it's magic. Need I say more? Desperately in need of SOME creative outlet. So this is it. My rantings and ramblings for the world to see. What will she say next?