Honestly Scrapping
Thanks to Willow for awarding me with an Honest Scrap award. The award is meant to be given to fellow bloggers who blogs you find inspiring, so I’m quite touched to have been given it.
10 Honest Things About Me:
1. I honestly believe that the best thing you can give your children is a strong marriage. So I’m all for “date nights”, occassional weekends away, etc. I loved knowing that my parents were in love with each other and want to give that to our kid(s) too.
2. Although I’m Jewish and work for a Jewish organization, the closest I’ve come to a real religious experience was when I saw U2 in 1983 in a 1500 seat theatre. The hope and unity in the room was almost a physical thing and I remain a huge fan of them to this day.
3. My freelance career involves writing about Irish traditional music. When I started doing it, I knew virtually NOTHING about the music and had to learn (very quickly) who the major players were and why. Now, nine years in, I’m a bit of an authority on the subject.
4. Although I played clarinet for almost 13 years and sat first chair in my school’s band I’m a pretty horrible musician and have no sense of rhythm. That being said, I have a native American flute that I’m determined to master when I get back from the work convention.
5. I’m left-handed. Hubby is left-handed. A great portion of my friends are left-handed (I’m also an only child and have a great number of friends who are as well).
6. I’m a hoarder (but an organized one). I have tickets from every concert, play, and baseball game I’ve ever been to. But they’re in a box in the closet, not scattered around.
7. I love books but have to admit that the Ama.zon Kin.dle that hubby bought me is one of the best gifts I’ve ever gotten. Sometimes I just read to read but have been known to buy the physical book after I’ve read it electronically if it’s special to me.
8. There is a part of me that is happy that the adoption probably won’t go through for another 1.5-3 years. Although I’m anxious and excited to be a mother, I’m also excited about some of the things that hubby and I have planned to do in the meantime (trying to get the un-kid-friendly trips and such out of the way). That being said, I know that if something happens and I either get pregnant (ha!) or we’re referred sooner, I’ll be over the moon.
9. By the 3rd day I met hubby (we met on vacation) I knew that we’d probably get married. Even though we lived in different countries at the time.
10. I have NO sense of direction. I mean none. If I learn how to get somewhere, I can’t find my way back because I have problems flipping the landmarks over to the other side. It’s kind of like directional dyslexia.
Now for my Honest Scrap Awards (in no particular order)…..
74 Days
In August 2001 I began a project called 100words.net under a different pseudonym. You write 100 words a day – exactly – and posted it on the website. It was a good exercise in discipline. In culling out what was really important about the day; what was noticed.
Having looked back at years previously where I really had no memory of the ins and outs of my daily life, I found this project to be a way to capture at least the essence of a day; in this case 74 days that are very much on my mind today.
August 12, 2001 was my 36th birthday. I was living in NJ, in an apartment I’d been in for many years but was about to move to Queens as I was starting to spend more and more time in the city after work. In fact I had double leases in August so that I could paint and prep my new apartment. One foot in each life. I was a little out of sorts that year – truly single for the first time in years and enjoying it. There were a number of men in my life but none were relationships. Some were exes, some were friends, some were people collected in odd ways including the bland cousin of a major celebrity who’d decided that I was his dream girl (regardless of the fact that I felt VERY much the opposite). It was a time of introspection. I felt the change in the air. My life was in flux but I had no idea what direction things would take me in. I was excited and, honestly scared, about where things were headed.
In late August I went to a music show at the World Trade Center. Not only was the show amazing but I met a colleague that I’d only known by phone and email and who continues to be a close friend.
I’d renewed some old friendships while having scheduling problems getting in touch with current friends. I ended the month by piggy-backing on a trip to a science fiction convention that two close friends were going to. It was one of those frivolous spontaneous things that I was able to do as I had no commitments and, for the first time in my life, a little extra cash. Looking back, I think it’s funny as the last thing I probably needed, given my frame of mind, was to be thrown into the alternate universe of a scifi convention. But the weekend was fun if a little too intense and I’m shocked at the positive reactions that other people have to me. I meet someone although, back in the real world, any thought of it being a real relationship quickly dissipates.
Early September is filled with my tangling and untangling myself from that meeting. And looking expectantly towards my move and my October trip to Ireland. I was emotionally high and exhausted at the same time. Very uncharacteristically, I wasn’t really sleeping. Instead I was going to hear live music, staying up all night on the phone, wandering around my neighborhood hoping to burn off the emotional intensity that seemed unshakable around me.
I wrote last year, here, about my 9/11 experiences. Listening to WNYC internet radio as I write this, they’re talking about how the city has been split between those who were there and those who weren’t. And how those who weren’t just can’t understand. That was true at the time and I’m sure it is still now.
Mere days after 9/11 I moved to Queens – the day the bridge from NJ reopened. I remember not being able to watch TV or listen to the radio unless it was news or one goth album that I’d bought at the scifi fest and that was frighteningly appropriate. I unpacked. I volunteered at ground zero. I walked around in a fog, trying to find joy in the things that I loved – even though that was hard there was a solidarity, a certain comfort about being together with people you didn’t have to talk about it with. People who understood.
Somewhere in that time, my life settled. It felt uncomfortably and uncharacteristically calm. So long as the wind didn’t blow in just the “right” direction, so that you couldn’t smell the charred metal, life seemed to return to a new version of normal. I spent early October visiting friends, mending fences, trying to hold onto the new-found perspective that we all seemed to have in those days.
Mid-October was spent getting ready for my Ireland trip. My first trip abroad, I was taking it alone and was thrilled by that. I was planning on spending a few days doing nothing but listening to music. Of course, that isn’t really what happened. On my first night there, (yes, while in a pub listening to music), I met hubby. And from there on, it’s a different story altogether.
I look back and who I was during that time and I know that there are things that I’ve learned. And also, things that I’ve lost. In some ways I like myself better then but when I step back, I see that it’s the feeling of being in the center of a tornado that brought certain things out in me. I was focused but unstable in the intensity of my options and my life. I wonder now if it’s possible to retain the good out of that; to live in a (literally) calm place far removed from the glorious tumult of NYC and to hold those lessons in your heart.
The Elephant in the Refrigerator and other unresolved issues
Tomorrow I will be 44. That number doesn’t especially freak me out. I don’t feel 44 or what I think 44 is meant to feel like. People are still shocked to find out that I’m older than early 30’s. The only person I can really pinpoint at 44 is my father. When he was 44, I was 19 and in college. Here I am at 44 in the early stages of pursuing an adoption. The differences aren’t lost on me. It’s a different time. At least that’s what I tell myself! 
The one area where my age does rear it’s ugly head is in terms of fertility. Yes, we’ve moved on from that concept. Well. Mostly. In the back of our fridge is a cooler bag with some just-expired follistim. Lots of it. I’d planned on using it this spring for an unrecommended unmonitored cycle. But the Repronex cycle screwed up my system so badly that it’s just getting back on track now. It seemed like we should wait. Now we’re looking at September or October. Hubby and I don’t really talk about except when we need room in the fridge and he asks if we’re ever going to use or get rid of the bag and it’s contents.
I keep thinking I’ve moved on from trying to get pregnant. To some extent I have. I’m happy with the concept of adoption, however sad I am at the loss of the idea of having a biological child together. But I can’t help but keep an eye on my cycles, looking for signs of ovulation and planning accordingly. And I’m acutely aware that using our now out-of-date stash will mean that it and our chances are gone. I’ve closed the door but damn it’s hard to completely lock it.
And I realize all of the issues connected to it. For instance…on my mother’s side of the family, I have four cousins. My mom was the oldest of 3 sisters and I’m close to my aunt who is in the middle. The youngest and I have been pretty much estranged for years. I saw her my paternal grandmother’s funeral last year and we talked and caught up. I gave her my email address and have heard nothing (she didn’t offer hers) which is pretty much how we ended up not speaking in the first place I think. Anyhow, I’m pretty close the kids of my aunt, the middle sister. At least we’re friends on Facebook and exchange the occasional email and offers of visits, etc. I’ve had no contact with the two kids from my mom’s youngest sister. By choice.
Her daughter is about as close to a Jerry Springer guest as our family has. Her brother….well, I just don’t really know him. He was born two years after my mom died and named for her. I have to admit to a bit of resentment as I’d hoped to name a child after her and remember being quite upset about it at the time. But I was already in high school when he was born and we never had much contact.
A few weeks ago I put up a family photo on FB, as a laugh for my cousins. One of whom is HIS friend. I had a nagging feeling of guilt and so I friended him as well. It’s the kind of thing my mom would have wanted me to do. I realize thought that I have lingering issues there. I have a relatively small family. Hubby’s is larger but is 3500 miles away. I’m worried about adopting a child and not even giving them a thriving adoptive family.
That’s probably pretty silly. I don’t think that my cousin is going to really play any role in our child’s life. But I think that getting older is making me look at our dwindling family tree in a different light.
The time-frame of this adoption 18-36 months from the submission of the dossier, is going to give me a lot of time to deal with things like this. I wonder what my life will be like when this finally comes through though. Yes, it will give hubby and I time to get out of debt, travel, get some stuff worked out and out of our system. But it also creates an odd sort of statis; a feeling of inhaling and….just waiting. And sometime in there, I guess I need to lock the fertility door for good so that I can walk through a new one.
Playing Catch-Up
Everyday for the past week or two I’ve mentally cataloged the list of things I needed to blog about. But one thing or another keeps getting in my way: work, freelancing, sleep, a good book….so forgive this rather disjointed round-up (again!).
First off, a huge welcome to the world to Coleman, PeeSticksandStone’s son who was born a week ago today. Mother, baby, and father too! are doing great and I can’t wait to meet the baby when I’m in New York next month on business. Please stop by her site and offer your congrats and read about her surprisingly easy birth story.
Another welcome to….our new kitten. When I got my first cat, in 1988, it was after YEARS of wishing for a pet. I set out deliberately that day to choose a kitten and got a best friend, Nym, who lived to be 17. I got our current cat in 2006 when hubby was still living in the UK and we were waiting for immigration to work it’s magic. We wandered into a store that was holding an adoption fare and the cat, Willow, chose him and that was that. And she’s a great and constantly entertaining cat. But she isn’t a lap cat and I missed that about my old cat.
We’d thrown the idea around about getting a 2nd cat. Willow is extremely attached to our dog and I thought some feline company would be good for her when we take the dog away hiking for the weekend. And I really wanted another fluffy thing that wanted to be curled up beside me. And seeing Calliope’s post on her lost cat made me yearn for one – and a longhair this time. We visited a pet store that was having an adoption fare. We went for corn to feed the squirrels. I played with 2 kittens. Both were nice and sweet but neither was THE ONE.
I remembered that there was another store around the corner that fosters rescued cats. We peeked in. And I narrowed it down to 3. One, a silver tabby was beautiful and sweet but neither a total lapcat nor totally playful like Willow is. One, a pure white cat, came and sat on my lap the minute I sat on the floor. There was a “meant to be” quality to it but…she just wasn’t what I was looking for. All the while, a little grey ball of tribble-like fur with four white paws was darting around the store. She’d come close enough to say hello and would be off like a shot. The more time we spent there, the more she ventured out. And I knew we’d found our kitty.
First day home
Hubby has been tolerant enough to let me name her Dindi (pronounced Jinji) after one of my favorite Frank Sinatra songs. It’s a bit of homage to my dad who is the world’s biggest Sinatra fan and the name suits her.
She’s made friends with the dog. Willow….well, the hissing is getting less. We’ll see what happens. At the moment, Dindi is curled up behind me on my chair so I guess I was right about her being fine once she was out of the store and used to us!
Like most people, I spent the rest of the weekend watching coverage of the Michael Jackson situation. I’d wanted to write about it but…..I couldn’t put what I was thinking into words. I wasn’t the hugest fan in the world but I respected the hell out of him as a musician. I’m grateful that Becky at MommyWantsVodka wrote this post. Yes, this is what I wanted to say. We’re all guilty. And it’s sad.
On the adoption front….I have my 2-hour individual interview with our SW on Thursday. I’m trying to go in with an open mind but she has a very defensive manner that puts me off. She’ll say that there are no right or no wrong answers but then act differently when I answer her questions. I’m going to do a LOT of deep breathing before I go to see her. I need to be calm, and pleasant and tell her what she wants to hear without denying the truth. Can I do it? I’ll have to. But I’m not looking forward to it.
There’s more, I’m sure but I’m also crunched at work. Another post in and of itself but first I need to do it and then I can blog about it!
Wishing (If I Had A Photograph Of You)
June 6th was our 7th anniversary. We’ve been pretty good about keeping to the “traditional” or the newer “modern” gifts. You know….the first anniversary is “paper”, the second is “cotton”, etc….
Well, the 7th is either “Copper” or “Wool”. Yeah…um…. Copper is mostly garden features. Our rented garden is already highly featured and wool….well, I like sheep but you don’t get a lot of them in Nashville. So I was stumped.
Somewhere along the line, I started asking myself what I’d get hubby without those restrictions. And I looked at the spreadsheet where I list any gift ideas that happen to come to me. One of them was “Glam.our Sh.ots”. You know, that mall-based photo shop? But I’d heard so many bad things about them and then the one here went out of business so….
First off, I have to explains that hubby is a visual person. I’m not. I like to have photos of my love-ones and old family photos are my most-prized possessions (as so many of my family has passed away) but I don’t really have photos on my ipod, etc….I just don’t look at them like that. But he does. And when he’s away, he asked me to send him photos. There is nothing more uncomfortable for someone who doesn’t like to be in photos than to be asked to take some of yourself. But I’ve tried.
And I liked the idea of doing it “the right way”, you know, with a professional and all. So I started scouring the internet. And believe me, I came up with some, um, interesting, photographers. I settled on one whose work I really loved. Her photos were sexy but not vulgar or really even all that revealing. She also held day-long marathons in a B&B, booking four woman in a day and had hair and make-up people onsite along with a stable of “costumes”.
We chatted by email and she immediately put me at ease. Well, as much at ease as I could be given the post-infertility 20 pounds that haven’t shown any sign of going away. I deliberated waiting until Xmas to do this but was, frankly, stumped for an anniversary gift (See….Xmas is about a month before hubby’s birthday and then comes Valentine’s Day and then our anniversary by which time I’m plum out of ideas). And it just seemed to be the “right” gift.
I was about to put down my deposit when the photographer got some horrible health-related news. And I was back at square one. She gave me the name of another photographer who didn’t really seem to be the right fit and he suggested someone else and….although I was a bit sceptical, I hired her.
We met for a consult. Exchanged ideas. Planned out the day.
On the day of the shoot, I went and got a manicure (a rare occurrence made rarer by the lack of inexpensive nail salons around here) and then met the photographer and make-up guy at the hair studio. As someone whose idea of hair care involves slathering my hair with the appropriate products and then letting it air-dry (unless it’s REALLY a special occasion when I whip out my diffuser), the lengthy process of having my hair curled and the straightened and stuck into place was really a trip.
Then the make-up and boy was this an experience. I can put on a bit of light foundation, lipstick and mascara. But this was the full-blown deal including false eyelashes. I kid you not when I say that the process took well over an hour. This was an amazing experience. I’ve never felt so doted on – at the same time, I kept thinking about TV stars who have to go through this all the time. AH, now I see why they have to get into shoots so early!
We then all converged back at my house. The photographer brought a ton of clothes and costumes (including more sets of ruffled panties – which I didn’t use – than you could shake a stick at). And we covered my amazing leopard-print chaise lounge in a crimson and gold tapestry. I settled on a black bustier and accessories (including a mix of my grandmother’s and her grandmother’s rhinestones). While I was nervous at first, they both had me laughing through the whole thing. And she was great a direction so I didn’t feel like I had to wing it on my own.
We did some more shots upstairs in the mini-kilt my Scottish hubby had made for our first anniversary. And then some in an antique blue silk negligee that the photographer brought. It literally took hours but was such a surprisingly good time that I was sad to see it end.
As hubby was coming home from work though, I had to remove the false eyelashes and the bulk of the makeup. I didn’t have the heart to wash my hair out though as I don’t think I’ll ever get it looking that good again.
I chose from an online album and had prints made and put them all in a…..copper photo album (had to work that copper in somehow) and they were a hit. I literally catch my breath when I look at them – I can hardly believe it’s me. Amazing what you can do with some good make-up, the right lighting and just a little bit of photoshopping!
