|
|
11.30.05
Hi-- I also enjoyed the dinner. Again, congratulations on getting that increase from the funding
committee you told me about. It's really remarkable that you convinced them to give you exactly what you argued for--when in fact a cut had been considered initially. That's a great
testimonial to your preparation and argumentation skills. The merits of the case are indeed the
merits of the case. But the case could easily have been muffed by a poor presentation. I'm
sure Sharon appreciates all of this--especially since you are still new at this kind of thing (was it
just August 1 that you started?!!).
About brunch at Tutti's--I'll see Deborah today and ask her--she likes Tutti's, and it would be
a treat. Besides, it's been a while since she visited with you, and would like to catch up.
Love.....
I peeked over, but was disappointed to see only the reflection of the three people between myself and the family.
So I craned my neck farther. Still I couldn't see myself. I scooted closer to the person sitting next to me. Now I could see only the red of my coat sleeve in the fisheyed corner of the balloon's surface. The balloon bobbed playfully as the two children, soft-palleted, talked to one another, sometimes motioning with their hands. I started to get annoyed. Why didn't I appear in this subway tableau? Why just those three random people beside me. Why not me?
I scooted in even closer. And craned my neck even more. I was absolutely determined to see myself in the balloon. As if it had stole something from me and I was going to get it back. There was my coat sleeve. Now my lapel. Finally, I could see my the whole of my reflection in the balloon. Small. Peeping. Distorted in the balloons ending curve. What I saw in the balloon's round silver surface was the image of three strangers sitting normally, then what appeared to be a dumpy little girl in a red coat straining to see her own reflection.
This made me feel small and stupid.
11.28.05
This has, of course, been a very difficult and often sad couple of weeks for us. But we were much refreshed to spend Thanksgiving with my parents in Hollywood, Florida. My brother was there too, as was my sister and her boyfriend Joel. And special guest NONNA.
We had only been there a couple of hours when my grandmother discovered that my wedding dress (which had been her wedding dress back in 1937) was hanging in a closet. She told my sister that if she wanted to wear the dress for her wedding (my sister isn't even engaged), she would have to get some sort of extenders for the bust. Then she said of me, "You know, your sister couldn't even fill out the top of the dress. But I had a bea-utiful bust line when I wore it."
Later that evening, Ali, Joel, Brian and I were we were chatting in the kitchen when my grandmother walked in. She slipped her arm around Ali's waist in a gesture that appeared at first to be uncharacteristically affectionate. Until she suddenly used her little old woman talons to grab my sister's side and scream "FAT ROLLS! I FOUND FAT ROLLS!"
We were all so mortified, we just stood there dumbfounded (including Ali's poor boyfriend). Now, I do want to say that for the record, my sister is a very nicely built person, and one of the last things someone would think upon seeing her would be "FAT ROLLS!"
"Nonna," I finally said, "Ali has a very nice body. She doesn't have any fat rolls."
"Then what are these?" She dug her little evil hands farther into my sister's flesh. Ali just laughed and tried to twist her body out of our grandmother's cretin-like death grip. Again, she repeated to Ali, "What are we going to do about these FAT ROLLS!"
I could certainly stop here, having elaborated on more than enough Nonna-evil for one blog entry. But there was more. Brian has been through a very stressful two months, and just recently lost his mother. So for condolences, my grandmother walked up to him and said, "I see you've got quite a bit of gray hairs now. You're not going to look so good in another five years."
The next morning, as we were eating breakfast, my grandmother leafed through an old photo album. At one point, she said, "Debbie, you were such a cute kid. What happened?!?" She cackled at her own joke, turned the page, and said, "Dennis, you were such a bright little boy. What happened?!? HEHEHEH" She turned the page again and pointed at a 20 year old photograph of my mother. "Elaine," she said, "You used to have such a nice figure. What happened?!?"
My mother half-laughed, half-rolled-her-eyes and turned away. At this point, we were all thoroughly annoyed with my grandmother. But she was obviously having the time of her life.
11.17.05
The funeral will be this 10:30 on Sunday morning in Clearwater, Florida.
Here is the next installment from Brian's journal from 1984: What is a Mother
11.14.05
But as my small apartment came back to me, I remembered that I lived in New York City. The sound was just a big truck in the night.
I got up and shuffled to the bathroom, only to find five new roaches at the bottom of our bathtub. So I scooped them up with a tissue and flushed them into the sweet hereafter.
For those of you who heard me screaming like a crazy bag lady in the bar about playing Oregon Trail on my computer, here is the link:
Today is my birthday. I am 29. But I feel much older. I feel like that ceramic mug you dropped on the kitchen floor and then glued back together. I am in a panic again. I purchased a plane ticket last night. I leave for Florida late this afternoon. Mostly because I can't stand this waiting around. I can't stand how I bother Brian by calling him up every five minutes asking the same questions, knowing that he doesn't have any answers. I can't stand how useless I feel, how I stare at my computer screen for hours as if it were an open window, how I am so tired, I can't stay awake, but am too anxious to remain asleep for very long.
But also, the thought of spending my 29th birthday grouchy, agitated, and alone makes me want to puke.
So for the low, low price of $147, I will be spending my birthday evening drinking cocktails from small bottles at 30,000 feet. Cheers!
11.12.05
Here are a few more pages from Brian's journal:
11.08.05
Last weekend, when I visited the hospice in Pinellas Park, clowns showed up and I had to hide. They are so so scary. Scarier even than protracted and painful death.
11.07.05
Now, I will present you with two items.
ITEM 2:
The next installment in my sister's drama, "Appalachian Psych Ward":
On Friday, we got a new patient in our group. This is an older gentleman who is in a wheelchair. We were watching a video about schizophrenia, and for some reason, he felt the need to wheel himself around the room. The main problem with this was that he kept wheeling himself into the corner, and then proceeded to continue to try to wheel forward (hitting his head against the wall, if you will). My supervisor had attempted to assist him on a couple of occasions ("Are you trying to leave the room?"), but it didn't get us anywhere. Eventually, the video was over, and the group was having a discussion about schizophrenia. Not only does this man like to tool around the group room aimlessly, he also likes to participate. That would be fine...if he could speak! He opened up his mouth, and it sounded something like this, "Whhhemm alllls akt pfelkl sppegh..." My supervisor has attempted to clarify his speech with him several times ("I didn't quite understand what you are saying, can you speak louder, can you repeat that" etc). Again, it was another losing battle and we just eventually ignored him. Unfortunately, he didn't quite pick up on the hint and spoke over us in gibberish. Much to my delight, though, he slept right through my group this morning, which was just fine with me! Sometimes I think the best treatment for some of these patients is a nice, long rest to calm their nerves and shut them up!
Nice jumpsuit, Brian!
11.03.05
Oh, boy!
11.02.05
"Do you think Brian will be home by Wednesday the 9th, because if so, I was wondering if he would like to escort me to a fundraiser that evening?"
This morning, my grandmother left a message on my home answering machine as I was getting ready for work. When I arrived at work, there was a message on my voicemail. Later on in the day, I was forwarded a message by a co-worker in a neighboring cubical. She said, "I think this call was meant for you."
The message was from my grandmother. It began: "Hello, Debbie. I just left a message on your other voicemail. . . "
NONNA! I ONLY HAVE ONE VOICEMAIL! You just left a message on SOMEONE ELSE'S voicemail.
I can't handle it anymore.
Maybe if I'm feeling down, I can read one of those nice very personal emails my grandmother has sent me recently. Here's a peek at the last 19:
Now, for a picture taken by Brian of the most inappropriate cookies to have at a hospice Halloween Party. Thanks, Brian! And thank you, hospice, for making the picture possible.
ps: It's my parents' 37th wedding anniversary today. Happy Anniversary, Parents! May you continue to put me on speakerphone when I call for many many years to come!
|
tikkun olam in space provided below
friends
neighbors
please feel free to contact me. I can be reached at: |