Under the Glass Bell

If These Old Walls Could Speak

We went out with a real estate agent today. We'd put house hunting on hold for six months or so. Things are slowing down again so we're gearing up to find a place. Oak Park or River Forest is our destination.

We saw three places today, one of which had a perfect ground floor, basement and back yard. The second and third stories, not so much. One bedroom was weird in that you had to walk through it in order to get to the stairs that led up to the play room in the attic space. Also, the master bedroom had a tiny bath with only a shower and the closet space sucked. I was excited, however, this was the type of place that we are looking for and it was well within our price range. It was also in the best grade school district in the area and within walking distance of the Synagogue.

I'm feeling overwhelmed from the trip today though. It's crazy to walk through a house, currently loaded with another family's life, and think about how the space will work for you when your two year old and a potential child yet conceived are teenagers. This place had a living room, family room, rec room and play room. I plotted it out in my head. So, C could be downstairs with his friends playing Wii in the rec room, but only on weekends, so I wouldn't be disturbed in my office. And then, Kid #2 could hang with his/her friends in the family room. B and I could be reading the Economist and the New Yorker respectively in the living room in front of a fire. Then, we'd all gather for a huge dinner in the dining room.

Uh...you talkin' to me? How in the hell did I get here?

Baby C stayed with T, M & the kids while we were out house hunting. We took him in and he immediately ran after Coco (one of their kitties) yelling "Coco! Coco!" He barely waved goodbye to us as we walked out the door. He had such a good time with them. And, they wore him out! He FELL ASLEEP in the car on the way home. He hasn't slept in the car since he was nine months old.

Next topic of discussion: potty training! (Or "potty learning" as the books say.) He seems to be ready to go in that he's exhibiting all of the "signs". B and I are both cautious (scared shitless - pardon the pun). Evidence indicates that potty learning has broken better parents than us. Anyone know the patron saint of the potties that we can pray to? We're going to need all of the help we can get.

This. This. This is a house of cards.

The day after my last post, I was to head to New Orleans for a conference. My cold was still pretty bad and I tried to take a later flight, but no dice. So I landed in New Orleans at 10:30 on Monday. I'd never been before. I stepped off the plane into the warmest air I'd felt in a good six months. It was stifling, actually, but once I got downtown, it felt breezy and nice. I checked into Hotel Monteleone.

But before that, I, along with a couple of business associates, hopped into Diana's cab. Diana being a very chipper New Orleansian, who had nothing but goodness and light flowing through her veins. We asked about the hurricane recovery and she said that it had been a rough year, but that the city really hoped to see a big difference in the coming year. Insurance companies held up a lot of funds, but hopefully, things would be soon be worked out for many who were stuck.

As I rode the 20 minutes downtown, I sucked on my lemon mint riccola and looked out the window. I saw house after house where you could still see a visible waterline zoom by. Suddenly, I had a million questions. How far back had the water come? How long did it take to drain? It's funny how it seems to all make sense, or actually, not make any sense when you are physically standing there.

We eventually drove by the Superdome. It felt creepy and sad, even in the spectacular sunlight.

We reached the hotel and decided we'd meet back at noon to venture out for lunch. I checked email and then, we ended up at Brennan's. What a glorious lunch. One of the best I've ever had. Glorious can be a dopey word, but it really applies to this lunch, believe you me. I had a pasta with bordelaise sauce and an amazing salad. I wrapped it up with the banana's foster, which was invented at Brennan's. Holy shit, was that good. I've never been a huge fan of banana's foster, but now, I get it.

I walked back to the hotel feeling light and happy and sated. I walked by shop after amazing shop. I was tempted to play hooky on the work that I had to go back to the hotel and do. But, I was good and went and did my bit.

I had a client call at 4. I was waiting for them to buzz me at about 2 minutes till when my phone rang. I saw on the caller ID that it was my mom, but it didn't make sense to me as to why she would be calling. She actually didn't know I was in new orleans, so was thrown off for a second. And then she told me that my aunt had passed away that morning.

I couldn't understand what she was saying. It didn't make any sense. My Aunt M was only 60. And in perfect health. This could not be right.

I don't remember the rest of the conversation. There wasn't much to say. I hung up and felt like I was sitting in a completely different hotel room than I had checked into. That's not such an odd phenomena after one hears shocking news. I remember about eight years ago, my friend T called me at work to tell me that our friend, F had been killed in a drive by shooting. I was looking out through a set of blinds when she told me and I remember one moment when it was like my vision changed and I was no longer looking out into a courtyard. Rather, I was just staring at long rows of green space formed by the metal slats of the blinds. I had to blink hard several times to get my perspective back.

There was no shaking it off or blinking to get my perspective back this time. I immediately started sobbing and called B. This couldn't be. Aunt M...what to even say? She had an energy about her that was infectious. She was full of such unconditional love. She was comfort. Period. You thought of her or went to see her and you felt comfort. I grew up two miles away from her. Her youngest is my age. She had two other kids both a couple of years older. And my uncle? They were a couple that were just joined at the hip. How could this possibly be? I still don't get it. I feel gypped. We all do. Completely ripped off.

So I called B. And he tried to get me a flight out of there to get back to Chicago that night. Ever been away on business and then had a deep personal hurt inflicted on you? Christ. You don't even know how to act. I had to notify those I was with, of course. And let the conference sponsors know that I wouldn't be speaking. There was only one flight I could get, which was leaving in an hour and a half to Dallas. First class was the only thing available. I'd have a two hour layover in Dallas and then would make it back to Chicago after midnight.

I started to get worried. I was obviously in some kind of shock because I couldn't remember what it was that I was doing. I had to actually write down the airline I was flying and where I was supposed to go. I made a point to put the paper in my pocket because I kept losing things. I found myself just wandering around my hotel room instead of booking it to the airport.

I got to the airport and had some leftover time. So I wandered through the stores and bought a couple of books and a stuffed monkey wearing a camo shirt for Baby C. I bought coffee w/ chicory for B. A colleague of mine just wrote an article for Playboy. So, I bought it. I sat in first class with my sunglasses on to hide my red-rimmed eyes, sipping chardonnay and reading Playboy all the while hacking my post-cold cough. The guy next to me must have thought I was a piece of work. I welcomed the distraction of reading.

The Dallas airport really feels like Texas. So I went from the foreignness of New Orleans to big, brash Texas. I sat in the food court, eating a pretzel dog with strawberry lemonade talking to B on my cell openly crying and saying, "How in the fuck did I get to Texas?" I bought C a stuffed pony and managed to catch an earlier flight. B and C picked me up at the airport at 11:30. My own little family. They were there to take me into their arms and bring me home. I squeezed C so hard that he squealed.

I was dazed and slept most of the next day. And then that night we drove to my parents house. They are three and a half hours away. Rarely can I cry around my family. I've had to do too much caretaking of them to afford myself that luxury. That's old shit, but still the status quo for me and them.

My dad cried more in front of me in the past week than he ever has in all the time leading up to this. It makes me really uncomfortable. It scares me. It is so much easier when they just keep things as they always were.

I'll write more about the funeral later. That day is an entry in itself. That day. That town. My sister. This entry is more about grief, sudden grief and what sudden, unexpected death means.

This. This. This is a house of cards. If my aunt M can just drop down dead with no warning, anyone can. My mom, my dad, B. How can life be like that? Why must we live under these circumstances? Who thought this plan up? I could go off on an existential mind-fuck right now, but honestly, I don't have the energy for it. My take away is that I loved my aunt. I miss her so much already. We can't take anyone for granted. I have to fix things with my sister. I have to buy a weekend/summer home down by my parents. I love everyone. Everyone loves me.

Dead Meat, Don't You Know You're Dead Meat

A few years back, I either read something in the New Yorker or some how stumbled across the story of Tobias Schneebaum. Maybe it was an NPR story. I don't know. I checked his "Keep the River on Your Right" out of the library. And while I was enjoying it, I don' t believe that I ever finished it. I'd forgotten all about it when Tivo picked up a movie called, "Keep the River on Your Right." And sure enough, it was a documentary on Schneebaum going back to Peru, where he had basically left our society and joined up with a tribe of natives as an "anthropologist" 40 years ago. I put antropologist in quotes because he caught a lot of flack from the scientific communicty because he participated in life with the tribe. He had sexual relationships with members and partook in cannibalism in one instance. The movie is really worth a rental. It's an amazing story. He's an amazing man. I'm sad to see that he died about a year and a half ago. He was in his mid-eighties. Oh, and to top all of this off? He was a known painter and gay Jew who lived in Manhattan. It's a trip. Inspires me to engage more deeply in life. So, I just went to Half.com and bought his book, "Keep the River on Your Right".

And then I had to buy a bit more. Cause books are so damn cheap on Half.com. I broke down and bought Annie Leibovitz's new book for $45. I'm dying to see it. I also added another Rumer Godden book to my collection. And, my beloved Joan Didion, Play It As It Lays. I snagged my mom's copy of The Jungle over Christmas. I'm 3/4 f the way through it. I believe I was in high school or even junior high when I read it last. Heartbreaking stuff. It made a big impression on me the first time I read it, even more so now that I live in Chicago and I am an adult. Should be required reading for all Americans.

I knitted my sister a tea cozy for Christmas. It turned out to be quite delightful. It had an eight ball motif. I finished it using a crochet stitch and wove in all my ends. With each stitch I knitted, I tried to feel my love for her despite all of the anger and resentment that I have held towards her over the past year. You see, my sister, who is an odd duck, and oftentimes lives in her own little world ignoring the rest of us, skipped my sons bris when he was born last January. That after I explained the month before how important it was that we were all there. And she did not call to tell me that she was't coming. She just didn't show up. She didn't call after I had my emergency C-section. She didn't send flowers or a gift or an email. My mom brougt flowers and had signed my sister's name. Every gift that was supposed to be from my sister was signed in my mom's handwriting.

This is so hurtful to me. It breaks my heart. And I am so angry. When C was two months old, she called out of nowhere to tell me that she had a new job possibility. And was all chipper and proud and acted as if nothing had happened. She still hadn't acknowledged my son's birth in any way. And I was cordial and wished her well. And then she had the nerve to ask what was wrong. And I unloaded. How dare you not show up for your nephew's bris. How dare you not call to ask me how I was even once dring the entire pregnancy. And you have the nerve to call me and act like life is fine and you're just checking in?

Two words: Fuck You.

I tried to take the high road after I unloaded. I sent her flowers congratulating her on her opportunity. Nothing. Sent pictures of the baby. Nothing. She did not come to the shower my aunt threw for C and I last April. And skipped out on every family get together since. She had only met my son once when he went to stay w/ my mom and dad for a few days while B and I were off on business. They were "sick" for Thanksgiving. But, did show up for Christmas. And it was awkward. And it was weird. But I tried to play it straight. To be kind. And give her a gift that I made with my own two hands, stitch by stitch. Each stitch containing my own prayer of love and forgiveness and struggle to accept her as she is.

Not much progress was made. But at least we were in the same room. And were civil. And she giggled at my silly, lovely baby. Hanukkah was better than Christmas, thank god. I love the festival of lights. I love the Menorrah. I love the food. And the gathering of our friends. I love the blackberry pearl my hub bought me. I love the Hanukkah prayer and the story of cleaning the temple and only having enough oil for one day, however, it lasted for eigt. Miracles come in all shapes and forms. If only I can conjure one in my heart to accept my sister as she is and to let go of what I think I need from her.

My Boy

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