clickmom

disgusted

So, yesterday there were some serious thanksgiving firsts happening. For one thing I have never in my life had thanksgiving dinner sitting around the television. But that's where the 3 of us who are suffering through this pandemic together found ourselves.

It was the most uncomfortable mood ever in any holiday, maybe since I was 17 and not talking to my dad for some reason. I had to admit to my mother I couldn't remember why after a few weeks and then we made up. Anyways..... Evan and his girlfriend came by earlier in the day to pick up some food I had prepared for them and while we were sitting on the porch chatting I mentioned that Marion had texted (she texted me first! A huge moment for me. I was so deliciously happy right up until that moment) when the husband declares that he will "never say that name" meaning Marion's chosen name as opposed to her "dead" name, Matt.

Folks, this is why I do not own a gun. Because had I been carrying, I would have just pulled my weapon out and removed the problem right on the spot. No one fucks with my kids. But, knowing this about myself, and not wanting to drag myself through the whole process of defending myself against murder (obviously justifiable, in this case) charges, I was forced into the position of trying to reason with a demented , mean, self centered dying man, who had made up his atrophying mind and wasn't about to budge. He was as horrible as one could imagine someone who has no sympathy, empathy, or respect for any other person could be.

Now I have had to reshuffle my lottery fantasy. 1. Win the lottery. 2. Ship the husband off to a care home, abandon him, and move on with my life. 3. Save democracy. I really don't feel like that is asking too much.

I ended up sobbing from ANGER in the kitchen and Josh came in to hug me. Can you imagine how I felt 45 minutes later when I had to serve this POS who was threatening to disrespect and emotionally harm my kid a plate of all the delicious food I had slaved over a stove to prepare that day? It was not easy. Good thing I didn't have any rat poison either.

Even right now, I can not bring myself to look him in the eye. I am disgusted by him.

 

Yesterday I took sweet pea up to the playing fields behind my house for a quick walk at the end of the day. The end of the day comes so early that when I want to photograph in the woods I have to leave the house after lunch just to get enough daylight. It doesn't help that the sun goes so low that there is only ambient light sky left in the woods a full hour before sunset. I hate winter. And a lurking pandemic winter breathing down my neck is even worse.

But, anyways.... Yesterday I didn't do a good walk with sweet pea, so I took her to the fields by my house and right in the beginning of the walk I turned to walk south.

It was a cloudless day, so the sky was winter pale blue, no clouds in sight and the sun was low in the west and very orange, shining it's orange rays on the tops of the trees. I was strolling down the path, admiring the rich dark red color of the dying oak tree leaves, made redder by the orange sunlight, and how the crescent moon was sitting perfectly behind the deep red leaves when a little flock of about 5 crows flew right over the tree in what looked like slow motion. The sun was so low it shone on their undersides as they flew above me and reflected down as gold flashes when they slowly raised and lowered their wings. I wondered for a quick moment if I should try to capture this in a video but I just as quickly decided that it was too lovely and too perfect for me to take my gaze away from it and that I would instead watch it with such awe and intensity that I would burn it into my memory so I could pull it up and re-watch it any time I wanted. It would be a blissful moment that would live only in my memory. Maybe I will try to recreate it with a collage of photographs, or a print or something but maybe it will just be what I see when I close my eyes and need to relive a moment of grace. 

Photo proof

Brian existed!

I found some old stuff. Was going through the photos and lo and behold! It’s a photo of Brian, lil sis and me from 1970!! Judging by the styling vest and slim build I’d say that the person taking the photo (Reflection in the mirror) must have been my uncle.

I know the world is full of strange coincidences but how extra strange is it that I just wrote this crazy post about Brian, who I haven’t seen or thought of (practically) since 1970 (that’s when we moved on up the east side, Jefferson style) and then a photo of us together turns up. I have no clue even what his last name was. Unless it was Kroll. Like his grandmother’s. I don’t even know if he had a dad. So strange.

I didn’t win the lottery...yet.

Can I tell you something embarrassing I thought? So, I buy a single power ball ticket for every game. And I happened to notice that this month the drawing is both on my biological father’s and my REAL dad’s (the man who stepped up and was there for me every step of the way) birthdays. But the bio dad’s day came up first and I’ve been talking to him (both are dead) and telling him that if he could bring up my numbers I’d forgive him for everything, all the abuse, the abandonment .... etc... you know, maybe I’m just ready to let it go anyways. But my numbers didn’t come up and I was actually really upset and disappointed, more that I wanted a concrete sign that it’s time to go to that gracious place where you release all the resentment and the person who took something/hurt you and they are just another person, without the sting,and you’re not carrying that living pain around anymore.

Maybe I’m just ready and not stinking rich.

Rolling down hill and mazes

So the totally bizarre dreams from which I wake up exhausted and disturbed have stopped but I have started dreaming again. Last night’s dream seems like it could be particularly meaningful if I knew how to understand what dreams meant because in the dream first I was with a young friend of my dear departed friend bob (who I’ve never met in real life, only on Facebook) and we were driving. We drove somewhere, she had some drinks and I didn’t and then I realize she was a little too drunk to drive back. I knew we were ready to leave because the husband was in the car with us and another man got in the car with us. I knew the other men belonged with us but I don’t know who he was. I asked her to stop the car after she did some questionable maneuvers. She did stop but the car started to roll down the hill and somehow someone managed to reach over and press the brakes or maybe we were screaming at her “press the brake press the brake” and when she did press the brake we put the car in park and then she agreed to switch with me. I got in the driver’s seat, started to drive and realized that the car was standard which I used to know how to drive (because I had a standard car in college) but definitely it’s been a long time. But as I was dreaming that dream I knew that I had just had another dream in which I was driving my own car and left it parked on a hill and it rolled into something and smashed the hood up but the car still ran.

Then I was in a place that in my mind was a Cracker Barrel except I don’t really know what a Cracker Barrel looks like and I was trying to leave but everything was a crazy whole building maze that went upstairs and then downstairs but the downstairs were complicated slides and the cushions that you had to sit down and scoot over and turn around. I have that kind of dream a lot where stairs don’t lead anywhere or stairs take some dead end turns. The husband was following me and I was just trying to tell people he can’t do these things can’t we just leave easily?

So, I’m thinking it’s a combination of losing control (rolling down hill) and not knowing which direction to go in (mazes). Pretty much sums up my life for the last five years so I don’t need to explain any further

"creme"

When I was a little kid, less than 5 years old for sure because we still lived in Queens and not Manhattan, my mom left me with a teenaged baby sitter. I snuck off with a box of oreos and licked the "creme" out of a whole row of them. I only liked the "creme". When the baby sitter finally paid me some attention, she discovered what I had done, yelled at me for wasting food (or more correctly: "food") and told me I had to eat to the cookie part too because it was bad to waste food.

I knew she was an idiot and that her "punishment" made no sense at all. Who punishes a kid by making them eat cookies? I also totally understood that oreos weren't "food." I didn't care for the cookie part so when she left me alone in my room (again) to finish off the oreos, I began to slowly nibble on a couple of the undesirable previously discarded cookie parts and then once I realized she wasn't coming back to check on me I wrapped the cookies, 2 at a time in tissues, and tossed them in the waste paper basket. 

I vaguely recall confessing to my mother when she came back (she probably discovered what was in the waste paper basket) and I believe she sided with me. 

The round about point of this story is that I have been stress eating for days, democracy literally hangs on the results of this election, and currently there are 2 "creme-less" big stacks of cookie parts right next to my key board. I won't need tissues to toss them this time. I will definitely be discussing my inability to cope with stress in any way other than shoving food into my face with my newest shrink on Friday. 

The baby sitter my mother most often left me and lil sis with back in the good old Queens days was an old lady named Mrs. Kroll. In my mind she looks like the wicked witch from snow white- in the old hag form, but in truth she was probably the age I am now and I just thought she was ancient. Mrs. Kroll used to bring her grandson, Brian with her, because something was wrong with Brian's mom, who was the daughter of Mrs. Kroll and lived with her. I do have a vague memory of Mrs. Kroll's daughter lying in a propped up bed, and I know at the time I thought it was because she was in car accident but you know, I was practically a toddler, so the truth is a mystery. But Brian was around a lot. And we had meals with Mrs. Kroll a lot, And Brian did not like to eat. Mrs. Kroll would spoon the food into his mouth like he was a baby (he was younger than I was but not a baby) and then he wouldn't swallow. Mrs. Kroll would react with all of the emotions, she would beg, plead, cry, pray and then she'd get angry and try to squeeze his cheeks so he was forced to swallow, she's hit him and start to yell and scream, and to be honest it was quite terrifying to witness. It might be why as a kid I ate enormous amounts of food in search of approval from my parents. More fodder to explore with the newest shrink.