Reconciliation?

My mom and step-dad have been working on their divorce agreement for over two years. They were weeks away from finalizing the deal. I couldn't wait for the whole damn business to be over and done with.

But then... plot twist! Surprise developments! My step-dad decided that he'd had enough of his new girlfriend. He told my mom that he wanted to put the divorce process on hold, because maybe now he wants to stay married to her.

Santa Maria!

When he told me, I didn't know what to feel first. Happy because they might get back together? Upset because we all had to go through so much pain and then he went and changed his mind? Confused because I don't yet know if this development will make things better or worse?

My mom, of course, has similar mixed emotions, multiplied by a factor of 100. But the bottom line for her, after having had a few weeks to digest the news, is that she's happy. His desire to return to her is flattering, at the very least. He's going to have to do some fancy footwork if he ever wants to move back in with her, but he seems willing to try.

How do I feel about it? So far it seems to be making them both happy, so I'm happy. Tentatively happy, pending God knows what might happen next.

They have always been an odd couple. For every nice thing I've ever heard my mother say about my step-dad, she's tabled twenty complaints. Yet, she insists that she loves him, and thinks the world of him.

For his part, my step-dad has proved to be very difficult to live with. In the past, and I'm guessing this will have to change, he expected my mom to do every speck of housekeeping, including the traditional husbands' jobs of taking out the trash and yardwork. He's also an untidy, disorganized person. When my parents lived together, every spare inch of the house was covered with his stuff. Papers, bags, unopened mail, discarded socks, used plates, etc. My mom would clean up, and within hours the mess would grow back, like mushrooms spontaneously springing up after rain.

He seems to be constitutionally incapable of overcoming this problem. His brain just isn't wired to catagorize and control the physical world. I do believe that this is the case, that he's not just being a selfish jerk. He's both brilliant and eccentric, like one of those absent-minded professors who win the Nobel prize in chemistry and then go out in public with their pants on backwards.

My mother is wired for tidiness. A place for everything and everything in its place. Of course his messiness drives her crazy.

Another thing they differ on is public perception. My mom spends a lot of her time worrying about What Other People Think. My step-dad just does his thing, his eccentric, sometimes embarrassing thing, without a care in the world. For example, Scene: My parents enter a restaurant. There are no empty, cleared tables, so they sit down at one that still has plates on it from the previous diners. My step-dad begins to eat leftover french fries off one of the plates. My mom wishes she could put her head inside her purse and crawl under the table.

(He's also been known to lick his finger and press it against the surface of a dirty restaurant table to gather cake crumbs, then lick his finger to eat the crumbs. Judge if you must. )

These are some of the reasons why I'm not jumping for joy. How much have they each changed? How much room for adaptation is there as they rediscover their lost love? That remains to be seen. Certainly there are many ways in which they may still irritate each other. So. We'll see.

Progress report: No progress.

It's been more than a year since my parents announced to me that they're splitting up, but the process is nowhere near being finished.  This will come as no surprise to anyone who's been through a divorce.  However, one would expect that by now my step-dad would have all his personal stuff moved out of my mom's house.  Clothes, papers, and the like.  

Those of you who were reading over the summer got to hear about my adventures with Ken and my mom as we worked together to pack some of my step-dad's stuff into boxes.  Or more accurately: Ken did most of the work, while I concentrated on distracting my mom, because she couldn't be witness to the process without getting emotionally triggered by every piece of his crap that came to light on its way into the boxes.

We cleared out the whole 2nd floor and half of the first floor by Hallowe'en.  It took a long time because Ken could only be in the house for 2 hours at a time, even with allergy medication, because he's allergic to cats.   Even though we worked on it every Sunday, progress was painfully slow.

Why, you might ask, were we packing for my step-dad?  Why wasn't he doing it himself?  Because if he doesn't want to do something, he doesn't do it.  Full stop, end of story.  He's good at two things: making money, and playing golf.  And if you have enough money that you're willing to throw at your problems, you can usually find someone to do the dirty work for you.  Lucky for him that he has cash to spare.

It kind of makes sense that he wants other people to do everything for him.  Outside of his line of work, his incompetence is frightening.  Even when he is motivated to do something, he screws it up in ways that defy imagining.  Sometimes he seems to verge on "idiot savant" territory.  Yes, it's that bad.

My mom is sick to death of my step-dad's habit of sloughing off responsibility.  For 27 years she did all the dirty work in the house, organized his life for him, and picked through the recycling bin every week to pull out the imortant mail he invariably threw in there due to sheer carelessness.

She decided that he should take some responsibility for shipping his crap to California.  When he was in town this past week she told him he should arrange for a courier to come by and pick up the boxes.  Not only that, but she was washing her hands of the whole problem.  It was his job to do everything, including sit around and wait for the courier to do the pickup.

When I heard that she was putting this all on him, I cringed inwardly.  I knew exactly what would happen.  And lo, it came to pass, just as I had predicted.

When the courier arrived, the boxes had not been brought up from the basement into the front hall.  Not only that, but none of them was labelled with an address, and several of them weren't even sealed.  He thought that all he had to do was make one phone call, and the courier would spirit all the boxes out of the basement, directly to California, without him lifting a finger.

My mom was there and told me what happened at the pick-up.  The driver got angry and said that he was on a schedule; he didn't have time to wait for my step-dad to prepare the boxes. My step-dad insisted that he could do it all quick-quick if the guy would just wait a minute.  Then he shoved a marker into my mom's hand and told her that she'd better go downstairs and start labelling boxes. Nice tactic, eh?  He's still sloughing stuff off onto her.

Meanwhile, the courier was standing with the front door open, and one of my mom's Never-Allowed-Outside cats escaped.  So of course my mom freaked out and went chasing after the cat in the snow.  The courier threw up his hands in disgust and left.  The boxes are still in the basement, innocent of all plans regarding their removal.

Even hearing my mom tell the story makes my stomach churn.  It's too much of a reminder of what it was like to live in the house with the two of them for 15 years.  Every simple thing became a fiasco.  The two of them always at odds with each other.  She was always pushing for him to do things which he would simply not do.  Her disappointment and anger were constant.  His lack of caring was equally consistent.

I'm having flashbacks to the misery of my childhood.   And the kicker is, the only way I'm going to get any closure on this situation is to go back and take care of things myself.  She won't do it on principle, and he won't do it because he doesn't want to.  So I'll end up doing it.  When that whole house is packed up and clean, maybe I'll get some peace.

OK, I'm not in a crisis anymore - and I forget how to write about normal life.  How does this work again?  It's so much easier to pick a topic when there is a giant worry on my mind.

I saw my step-dad again.  Last time we spoke, I told him that I was ready to get to know his new* girlfriend.  They've been together for a year now.  It's time to face up to reality and stop pretending like she doesn't exist.  For reasons both practical and moral, I need to build a relationship with her.  But we can start with babysteps.

Like this: he brought in some photos of her.  He doesn't have any current ones.  She's around 70 years old now.  But he did have some ancient snaps of back in the day, when they were young lovers in Scotland.  This was in the early 1960's, when they were in their early 20's.  My first thought when I saw the photo he held out to me was:

"Hey, that's Bjork!"

There was more than just a passing resemblance.  She was a beauty alright, and she could have been Bjork's identical twin.  My step-dad had no idea who Bjork was, aside from the mention she recently got in the news for offering to help out Iceland's economy.  I went online and found some photos.  He was also impressed by the similarity.

I wonder what she looks like now.  Apparently she dyes her hair blond.  I can't picture it.

*By new I mean: they dated in their 20's, split up, and then got back together almost 50 years later, at the expense of my parents marriage. (for the benefit of my newer readers)

Recombobulating

I think I'm back to "normal" now. Yaaaaaaaaaay!

All that cathartic purge-writing, followed by large doses of support from all y'all were better than any medicine a doctor could have prescribed.

Also, I had a chance to get some stuff off my chest with respect to my step-dad. He's back in town for a few days. Ken and I met him on Sunday, in the freezing cold, at 4:45 pm when the sun was beginning to set, in the middle of a vast industrial park in Markham. He's shipping his car to Florida, where he'll be spending most of the next few months. It's kind of weird to put a car on top of a train to move it from point A to point B, but even at $800 I guess it's cheaper than renting wheels all winter. He dropped off his car at the rail depot and we drove him back into town.

It's almost exactly one year since I got the news that my parents were splitting up. During that year, I listened to a lot of bitterness (mostly justified) from my mom. But for whatever subconcious reason, maybe my need to provide balance and the desire to keep both of my parents close to my heart, I didn't allow myself to agree with her. I saw her side; I saw his side. I tried to remain calm.

But since my mom finally announced that she was starting to feel like herself again, in early November, starting to feel happy and optimistic about the future, something shifted in me. It wasn't necessary for me to hold the centre, so I finally let down my defenses and started feeling my real feelings. I got sad, and angry.

By Sunday I decided that I had to talk to my step-dad about my feelings, because it got so that I anytime I talked with him I'd get all crabby and then snap at Ken or some other innocent 3rd party.

I broached the subject over dinner. I told him that I would love him no matter what, and he would always be my dad, but I was really angry with him. He made a selfish decision that hurt a lot of people. He wasn't miserable with my mother. In fact he was quite content. But after 27 years of marriage he saw something he liked more, and so he went after it because he "didn't want to have regrets" on his deathbed.

How about regretting how much he hurt my mother? And me, and the rest of the family?

I told him that to me, marriage vows are for real. I left my first marriage, but not easily. I was literally going crazy in that relationship. If I had stayed, I would have had to be medicated in order to function. Talking it out wasn't working. We had been going round in the same negative circles for years. He wasn't open to the idea of going to a counsellor. I stayed until I lost all hope for happiness in that marriage, then left for the sake of survival. And I hated that I had to leave.

He says it was a tough decision for him. In the end, he turned to his guiding philosophy: a channelled entity by the name of Seth. According to Seth, the most important thing is self-actualization. There is no mention of "Do unto others as you would have them do unto you." It's all about doing what feels good and right for you. Other people have to look out for themselves. So much for love. I hate Seth a lot right now.

Be that as it may, my step-dad is not planning to reconsider his beliefs. I have to accept that if I want to have him in my life. Also, I'd better be ready for him to make more decisions in the future that may hurt me. That sucks. However, he doesn't go out of his way to be mean. Mostly he's very generous, and he tries to be kind, if it doesn't interfere with his convenience too much.

That'll have to be good enough.

The good part is that he's so self-confident and unworried about what other people think of him that he was able to hear me out without getting upset. He listened, and he said that he understands my feelings. He even told me that he feels guilty, although he tries to push the feeling away. When the anniversary of the split came around, he started having guilt-nightmares that were keeping him up at night. Good. I think it's only fair that he feel some consequence from the decision that he made.

So maybe I'm not ready to fully forgive him yet, but I feel a thousand pounds lighter after telling him what was on my mind. And I'll always love him because... how could I stop?

The bottom line is that the process of going to pieces that started in mid-November and carried on throughout the holidays has finally reversed itself. I feel like I've put myself back together again. It's not exactly the same configuration as before, but I'm here, and feeling good.

I made it through the mess. Now, on to better things.
:-)

Permission to Ramble

Usually, I hold myself to a high standard of blog-writing. I like to plan my piece ahead of time, maybe spend a few days mulling it over. When the idea has ripened inside my head I type it out, and then I subject it to a review process. If I'm not 100% happy with what I've written, I let it sit as a draft for a while until I can figure out what I need to change.

This week, I don't have it in me to be that mentally organized. I'm maxed out. There's been so much going on in my life that my brain has reached its processing limit. My immediate consciousness is floating on a sea of STUFF.

Some of the stuff is good. Some of it is not so good. It's all interesting. My life has certainly been rich with experiences lately. There are numerous things I'd like to write about, but I'm so fried that I don't think I could do any of them justice. I could easily write a full post or more about any of the following, if my brain was working better:

I've done a couple of shifts in Babyland, my church's nursery for the 0-3 years age group. The experiences I'm having there would come as no surprise to parents, but for me it's like taking a trip to an alien planet. I haven't babysat in around 20 years, therefore it's been approximately that long since I've had any meaningful contact with babies. Let me tell you, the babies are blowing my mind.

Last weekend, on the same day that I shot a gun for the first time in my life, I went to a giant Christian song-and-dance extravaganza in Toronto's domed stadium. People were jumping up and praising the Lord! The teenagers in front of me were dancing and clapping. The man two seats down from me wept. The woman on my other side sat primly with her hands folded in her lap the whole time. It was a huge, bizarre, unprecendented... I don't know how to quantify it. I can't explain how I felt. Glad that I went, and other than that, many mixed feelings. It was a trip down the rabbit hole, that's for sure.

(I have yet to experience people speaking in tongues or rolling on the floor. That is something I really want to see for myself someday. I am very curious.)

I'm still helping my parents, mostly my mom, with their divorce. I had to write a letter to my mom's lawyer outlining my step-dad's business interests. I don't know how to feel about that either. Stuck in the middle, I guess.

Ken and I are more than halfway through packing up my step-dad's stuff. That's good news: progress. But I'm getting burned out on the process, so we're going to take a break from it for a few weeks. I haven't even told my mom yet. It' s just too hard, all the emotions that come up while we're going through his things, and how upset my mom gets, even though she tries not to show it. We only pack for around 2 hours each weekend (time limit imposed due to Ken's allergies combined with my mom's cats), but even that has become too much. I just can't face it right now.

Work has been insanely busy. On top of that, there are multiple emotionally intense situations going on at work that I'm involved in. Staff quarrelling and I need to facilitate a solution. Pressure from the doctors. Major protocol changes. Significant physical reorganization of the workspace.

On top of that, someone, with the best of intentions, outted me to my colleagues. By this I mean: I had only spoken to one person in my workplace regarding my new faith in God, and church attendance. Something happened that is a very long story, and it was the right thing at the time, but events transpired that revealed my new faith to the people I work closest with, all on the same day. I felt like I was walking around work naked, it was that exposing.

Is there more? Probably. There's always something. But I'm writing this on a lunch break and my time is now up. You get the picture.

Please pray or cross your fingers for me to get my marbles back into my head as soon as possible. Thank you!

Ups and Downs

I've felt buffeted by life this week.   Last weekend I got thrown off course, and since then I haven't been able to get back on track.  I'm getting there, but slowly.

I saw my step-dad on Saturday.  As most of you will already know, he left my mom in January.  Since then, he's been commuting between Toronto, where he's lived for the past 30+ years, and California, the home of his new girlfriend.  He's been spending a lot more time down there than up here.

When he first moved out, he told me that he was planning to keep a small home here.  He wanted to spend winters mostly down south, but live in Toronto during the summer.  I expected that he would be in the market for a condo, and had already given him the contact information for my real estate agent.

This summer came and went, and he didn't get around to looking for a place in Toronto.  However, I thought he was just putting it off, waiting for the divorce settlement to be finalized so that he knew what kind of price he could afford.

Ken and I have been packing up his stuff at my mom's house for him, as he's been too busy travelling to attend to it himself, and my mom wants it out a.s.a.p.  I mentioned to him that I could arrange for a self-storage facility to house the boxes until he got his living situation ironed out.  

"Oh," he said, "you may as well just ship them all down to [girlfriend]'s place.  Just pick whichever courier can send them cheapest by ground."

That's how I found out that he's not planning on living here anymore.  He's moving in with her for keeps.  He'll be in Toronto on business for one week out of every month, during which time he'll be so busy that I'll be lucky if I get to spend any time with him.

Even though I might not have seen him much more if he was technically living here, it was still a blow.  I mean, he's the dad I grew up with.  And he's moving across the continent.  In fact, he's already effectively moved away; it's just a matter of shipping his stuff to him.  And he never even talked about it with me, let alone trying to break it to me gently.  When the realization hit, it was like a punch in the heart.  I didn't sleep much that night.

That's the downs.  What are the ups?

I have faith to carry me through.  Previously, the kind of sleepless night I spent last Saturday would have been a miserable eternity of emotional torture.  I could get myself into a state of mind where merely existing was unbearable.  Prayer makes a world of difference.  I didn't feel alone, or hopeless, or desperate, just very sad.  I knew I had to feel the feelings until I was done, and then I'd be OK again.  And that's what happened.

I have people who care about me.  Since I've connected with God's love, I've been much more able to accept love from everyone else.  I used to describe myself as an emotional anorexic, able to sit in front of an all-you-can eat love buffet with my lips pressed together, starving to death.  The most well-meaning people could not get through to me once I put up my walls.

Now when I need love, I go and get it.  A dear friend let me bend her ear on Tuesday night, pouring out my story over sushi.  My adorable sister joined me last night for dinner, lighting up my heart with her smile.  Ken has been amazing, caring for me with devotion.  And the best part is that I can actually take in the love, and be sustained by it.

I will always remember 2008 as the year I turned from an introvert into an extrovert.  If you'd known me all my loner life, you'd know just how amazing that transformation is.   Not to insult introverts in general.  My introversion wasn't a product of my inborn personality, but came about as a result of hurts and fear.  I feel like I'm finally getting a chance to be the me I was always meant to be, and I'm completely grateful.

Singing from Italy

Another birthday has come and gone.  This one was beautiful, in many ways.

Every year since I was a small child, my family has gathered around my mother's table to celebrate my birthday dinner.  And ever since I grew old enough to appreciate how fortunate I am to be surrounded by my family (even though they drive me crazy on a regular basis), my heart swells and my eyes mist over when the lights dim and their beloved faces are lit by the glow of flickering candles on a home-baked cake carried in by my mother.

I always knew a day would come when there would be one or more faces missing.  I assumed that the first to go would be my grandparents.  Any other 36-year-olds out there who still have all four grandparents living in this world?  My oldest grandfather at age 95, is frail in body, but he's still as stubborn as a mule.  "They're gonna have to shoot me," he says.

No, it wasn't one of my grandparents who was missing from the party.  It was my step-dad, gone since he separated from my mother in January of this year.

I was sure that he would forget my birthday.  He's notoriously absent-minded and disorganized, and always relied on my mother to notify him of important family dates.  Not only that, but he's away in Italy at the moment, far from any reminders of his usual schedule.

I was so sure that he would forget, and so desirous of receiving his blessing for my coming year, that when I spoke to him the day before my birthday, I prompted him to wish me "Happy Birthday".  

"Oh," he said, surprised. "I thought it wasn't until tomorrow."  

"It is!" I said, more surprised than him.  "I didn't think you would remember!"

"It's in my planner," he said.  "I was going to call you.  I'll still call you tomorrow, to sing to you."

 I'm pretty sure my mom must have reminded him, when they had one of their many conversations about the administrative processes they are now going through.  But even so, how sweet of him!  Singing for someone is always a lovely gift.

Another thing that I kind of forgot was that he's in a different time zone.  Usually he doesn't wake up until around 11:00 am.  Since his new girlfriend's house is in California, three time zones later, half the time he's not available by phone until after 2:00 pm Toronto time.  So imagine my surprise when my phone rang at 8:55 am on Saturday morning.  It was my step-dad, singing Happy Birthday to me.

After I got over the shock, I realized that it was 2:55 pm in Italy.  Still, this year he earned the distinction of being the first person to wish me a happy birthday on the Actual Day.

It was a good start to an excellent day.  A summery sun shone in a blue sky, and there were many good things in store.  Friends, family, gifts, cake.

And in the evening, at my mother’s house, when my family sang the birthday song for me, I only felt a little smidge of sadness at my step-dad's absence.  My mother leaned over and whispered to me "I eats you last!", her code for "I love you", and even that smidge was erased.

Moving On

Last Sunday was a day that I will remember for the rest of my life.

Ken and I arrived at my mom's house with 25 cardboard boxes, to pack up my step-dad's stuff.

He's been out of town a lot lately, to put it mildly.  Travelling here, there, everywhere.  Florida, California, and next week he's off to Italy for a month.  Effectively, he's homeless.  While in Toronto for business, he stays at a hotel with only what he can carry in his suitcase.

8 months after he told my mom that he was leaving her for another woman, all his stuff was still in the house.  His jackets were hanging in the front hall closet.  His shoes were still by the front door.  My mom asked him again and again to clear out because every item of his was a reminder of her pain.  He just never got around to it.

In the end, Ken and I got permission to take care of things.  He gave us basic instructions.  He wants to keep all his books in storage.  Clothing was to be divided by size into two catagories: donations to charity (a.k.a small sizes) and keepers (what fits now).  That's just about all he has, really.

Things we found while packing up his bedroom:

• All the ties I ever gave him for Father's Days
• A stack of credit cards with expiry dates ranging from 1998 to 2003
• The prayer book he was given at his Bar Mitzvah in 1951
• His collection of watches, most of them inexpensive but visually interesting
• Dense clouds of dust

Ken actually did most of the packing, while I did my best to distract my mom with a computer lesson.  Every time she heard Ken go up and down the stairs carrying boxes, she compared it to an undertaker removing a body. 

Of course we also spent some time talking about what was going on, and how she felt about it.   But there was only so much to be said.  My mom isn't one to fall apart in front of any audience, even me, for more than a few moments at a time.

We finished packing up his bedroom, and now have several other areas of the house to deal with.  It'll take around 3 or 4 more sessions to get it all done.

Now my mom walks by his room, glances in, and sees boxes and empty shelves where his stuff used to be.  Every empty space is a reminder of her pain.

It's a good thing that time heals all wounds.  Time has its work cut out for it.

The Big Split - Update

My parents' divorce, initiated in January of this year, is moving along, but slowly, ever so slowly. My step-dad is in no hurry to make it final, although I don't see him deliberately dragging his heels either. He's a busy man, and he left the matter in his lawyer's hands.

The lawyer, seeing that my parents aren't planning to fight each other to the grave over the settlement, put their proceedings down to the bottom of his priority pile. I guess it's not a juicy enough case for him to bother with, financially speaking.

My step-dad is supposedly trying his best to get the lawyer to do some lawyering and move this thing along.

That's the status on the paperwork. I know my mom is anxious to get it all sorted out because there are questions about her financial security that remain to be answered. I have faith that my step-dad will be honourable and fair, but my mom won't have a good night's sleep until she sees it all in writing, in triplicate, signed and witnessed. I can't blame her for that.

Then there's all my step-dad's stuff. His clothes. His books. His exercise equipment. His files. Etc. There is 27 years of accumultated life debris in my mom's house, and in the 6 months since he moved out my step-dad has removed only enough clothes to fill one suitcase, his golf clubs, and a few essential papers. His shoes are still in the front hall. His coat is still in the closet.

The challenge is that he's effectively homeless at the moment. His new lady-friend lives in the Southern U.S. and apparently isn't eager to leave her home to move permanently to Canada. However, all his business is in Toronto, so he can't very well relocate permanently down south. He (he speaks in the singular, but I'm sure it's actually they) have been flying back and forth, living in hotels and short-term rentals, since January. So where is all that stuff going to go?

Ken and I have offered to help my mom pack it all up and ship it into storage, if she wants. She's not ready to take us up on the offer, especially not until the financial agreements are settled. Wisely, she doesn't want to tick him off and possibly compromise his willingness to cooperate in the divorce proceedings.

We'll see what happens when the papers are all finalized. We might be having a bonfire in her backyard.

The Meeting

As most of you know by now, my mom and my step-dad are separated and proceeding with a divorce. They have quite a few shared assets to divvy up. Neither of them wants a big, long, lawyer-fueled divorce war. They'd rather sit down like civilized people and talk business until they find an agreement they can both live with.

My mom is at a disadvantage, because she's not exactly a business-woman. My step-dad has speculated in the stock market and other financial venues since I can remember. My mom was content to squirrel away a few dollars here and there into GIC's and savings bonds in order to have something for a rainy day. Anything more complex than compound interest indimidates her completely.

So when my step-dad invited her to meet for a disscussion of their financial affairs, she asked me to come along for moral support, and for a second opinion.

Try to imagine, for a moment, how much I was dreading this meeting. They might both claim to want an amicable resolution, but emotions are running high - higher still because financial matters are at stake. I pictured myself caught in the middle of a pitched battle, or a pinched silence. I didn't sleep well the night before.

I asked for permission to bring Ken along, and my folks agreed. I thought it would be easier with another person there to diffuse any tensions.

The evening of the meeting came. And guess what? No arguments. No awkward silences. It was the four of us, meeting as a family, albeit in an "adjusted" state, to have dinner and discuss business. At the end, while my step-dad was away from the table for a moment, I turned to my mom and said:

"It's weird, but this divorce is really bringing us together as a family."

Maybe it's one last burst of togetherness before everyone goes their separate ways. Or maybe my folks will be able to stay friends. Who knows? My step-dad wants to. My mom's not ready to decided yet. Time will tell.

Kitty Update

The Dude says "Hi".



Here he is sitting on the kitchen counter, where he's not allowed. At least, in theory. I pointed out this transgression to my mom.

Mom: [tickling The Dude behind his ears] No no! You're not supposed to be up here!

Me: Mom, I'm beginning to doubt your commitment to disciplining these cats.

She just laughed. Although later in the day she mentioned that they've been lying on their backs under her bed, chewing holes in the underside of the box spring mattress. I think they must be part termite.



Stinker was too hyper to sit still for a photo. This slightly blurry shot was the best one I managed to get.

Mom and I were planning to have a computer lesson on Sunday, but the weather was against us. It was TOO NICE out! The first plan (the most sensible one), was that I would come over after lunch and we'd put our heads right down and get to work. Then my mom had the thought that maybe we could meet and have lunch together. Then it turned out that the place we planned to eat was closed for renovations, so we went for a walk around the neighbourhood to find somewhere else. We lingered over lunch, which was prolonged further still by my mom's ritual insistance that I get "a little something" for desert. Of course I gave in.

Finally the dishes were cleared, the bill was paid, and we were out the door. Just a few blocks' walk to my mom's house, and we could get right to work. But then there was an open house that we just had to see, of a rare million-dollar condo in a historical building...

We got to back to my mom's place exactly 11 minutes before I was supposed to leave again to go meet a friend. Then I had to take a few pictures of the cats...

Maybe we'll do better next week!

Right now my priority is making sure my mom enjoys our time together, since she's still pretty blue from my step-dad's departure. From that perspective I can say: Mission Accomplished!

Missing Persons

Every year, around my birthday, my mom hosts an informal party for the family. Every year, the lights are turned down; my mom emerges from the kitchen, carefully bearing a hand-baked cake, aflame with a ridiculous number of candles; and my family sings the birthday song to me. My heart swells and my eyes get swimmy.

In past years, I've gazed upon the familiar faces, grateful to have them all around the table together, singing to me, one more time. I thought: It can't last forever. Sooner or later, a year will come when one face is missing. And that will be a sad year.

I always expected one of my mother's parents to be the first missing person. They're both near 90 years old now. They can't live forever.

I was wrong. This is going to be that sad year, and the missing person is going to be my step-dad. He's back in Toronto now, living in a rented house with his new lady-friend, but he may as well be on Mars.

It was tough not having him at the Passover Ceders. Not only did I miss his familiar presence, but it became clear that he had an important role to play in our family dynamic, and no one has stepped in to fill the breach.

Superficially, he was kind of a dork. He was always being shushed for talking when we were supposed to be reciting prayers. My grandmother was forever saying "Not yet!" as he gobbled down a ceremonial food before the proper blessings were said. And he invariably spilled something that left a nasty stain on the tablecloth.

I never before appreciated the silver lining to his incredibly casual attitude. Pretty much everyone else on my mom's side of the family is sensitive, fussy, and easily offended. Everyone takes everything personally. Everyone cares way too much. Especially around each other, where it all gets multiplied to the nth degree.

My step-dad was always there, leaning back in his chair, a mild grin on his face, observing the nonsense and making light of it. He'd have another swig of wine and say "Come on now" to whoever it was who was getting overly wound up at that moment. He'd make a joke about the situation. It wasn't a knee-slappingly funny joke, but it soothed the tension in the air. Minus his presence last weekend, the tension level cranked up higher and higher until I thought the air itself might snap.

It doesn't help that one of my mom's sisters and her husband have been aggressively forward about continuing to socialize with my step-dad. They didn't sit down with my mom to discuss the situation, or show any concern for her feelings whatsoever. My mom feels betrayed. I would too, in her shoes.

So, overall, it's a bad, bad scene. So bad that last Saturday I was tempted to get up in the middle of dinner and walk out the door. Could I fill my step-father's shoes? I'm tempted to try, but I don't know if my family would accept it from me the way they did from him. It could just end up making things worse. That's a big gamble to take, when it could split the family further.

However, knowing me, if the atmosphere from Saturday night becomes the new normal for family gatherings, I won't be able to stand it for long. I'll either speak up, or walk out, or both. So, I guess only time will tell.

Dining in the Trenches

It's 11:51 PM as I write this. Way past my normal bedtime, and my eyelids are drooping, but I have to "blog it out" so I can sleep with a clear mind.

Tonight was, without a doubt, the most stressful Ceder/family dinner in recent memory. Eight people were present, and five of those eight walked into the evening with an emotional fuse already lit and fizzing. People were snapping at each other. There was yelling from the kitchen. Person A brought wine, and Person B barked that it wasn't sweet enough. C brought a cake, and D shrieked that it was the wrong kind of cake: it should have been a little square one, not a big round one, and in the end the cake was not served because of this fiasco. Don't ask me to explain why it was that much of a problem; I don't get it either.

It seemed like we couldn't go ten minutes without a conflict and raised voices. Whoever wasn't involved in the yelling either participated non-verbally (via pained looks, frowns, and sighs), or kept their head down and tried not to make eye contact with anyone. I opted for the second strategy.

The rituals of the Ceder were not given weight for their own sake, but as grounds for further arguments. It was not, I will venture to say, a spiritually uplifting evening.

Bah!

And now I shall offer some positives from the day:
Gorgeous weather!
Lunch with my multi-talented and effervescent little sister!
Cute T-shirts purchased at the schmatte store: 3 for $5 !
Ken declared that he has "turned the corner" in his recovery from bronchitis!
I get to sleep in tomorrow!
Or shall I say today. It's 12:08 AM now. Definitely time for bed.

Buckle Up

Today is the long-anticipated day that Ken and I will take my mom to buy a computer. We're picking her up at 9 am to make sure that we can get a parking spot at Yorkdale Mall, and be the first customers in the computer store. We want to make this easy on her, because she's not exactly comfortable with computers, and I know she's probably going to be freaked out.

Ken will drive slowly when she's in the car. People who aren't used to driving with him get nervous when he drives at his usual speed.

I've learned, when he warns me that he's going to make a U-turn, to jam my elbow into the door (in anticipation of the centrifugal force of the U) and to hold my head back against the head-rest (so that when he gets aligned with his new lane and puts the pedal to the metal, my head doesn't snap back as the rest of me accelerates). He used to squeal the tires a lot, but then he got Pirelli's. Pirelli's aren't squealers. Maybe it's got something to do with being Italian, and the influence of the mafia on that culture. You know what happens to squealers in the mafia...

We've decided that it's best for my mom to get a Mac. It'll be a lot less hassle and maintenance than a PC. And most importantly, none of her well-meaning friends and relatives know anything about Macs, so they won't "just have a little look-see" and "install an upgrade" that screws everything up.

My step-dad was constantly the victim of "helpers" who were fixated on tinkering with his PC. They were like "Oh, you should download this utility that you don't even understand, because I have a compulsion to mess with your system" and then as soon as they were done with the "upgrade" they'd bugger off and his computer would crash out. He spent hours on the phone with help desks trying to repair the damage. The same goofballs would be back next week with a new gimmick, and before he knew it, they were typing away, files were downloading, and the cycle began anew.

My mom's too polite to fend off these wanna-be geeks. Getting a Mac is the best and maybe the only defense.

The only down-side to this decision is that I'm the only one who will be able to teach her how to use this computer. She barely knows the PC well enough to send e-mail. Word documents are completely beyond her. I'm in for a long haul of one-on-one tutoring. I'll be praying for patience. If you pray, please put in a good word for me on this matter. I'll need all the help that I can get.

Post Number 111

Don't ask me what happened at post 100. I must have had an attack of apathy that day. "Meh, Post 100... everyone has 100 posts. Who cares?" Anyway, celebrating post # 111 is just as good. Hurray! I made it this far!

This also marks my 61st consecutive daily post. I've been daily since December 25, 2007. How much longer can I go on? Only time will tell.

My step-dad is back in town. Good news - he didn't get eaten by alligators. He invited Ken and I out for dinner again, but this time he's not trying to include my mom. That's a relief. I guess the reality of the situation finally sank in.

My mom is still bravely carrying on. She's now comfortable enough on her computer to be sending me e-mails. I can't tell you how shocking it is for me to receive e-mail from my mom. She's not even entirely comfortable operating a DVD player, so it's amazing that she's managed to learn Outlook. I'm proud of her.

Tinker and The Dude (my mom's cats) continue to misbehave in spectacular fashion. Last week one of them climbed up to the shelf that she'd had specially installed to keep her houseplants out of the reach of Bad Kitty Paws, and SMASH! Her favourite ceramic flowerpot was in pieces on the floor. Earth flew everywhere - down the back of a cabinet, and all over her kitchen countertop. It took her ages to tidy up.

Tinker (a.k.a. Stinker, in my books) has developed an oral fixation. He chews everything. He's gnawed through 2 phone cords. He took a chunk of wood off a carved, antique table. The other day she forgot to hide the rubber band from her daily newspaper, and he ate half of it before she realized what was going on. And last night she caught him nibbling at the filler between the wooden slats of her hardwood bedroom floor.

There is food in your dish, Stinker. Eat that, and leave my mom's stuff alone! You're driving her to distraction. Bad cat!

Parent Divorce Update

My step-dad has a new crib now. He and his woman are renting a condo in Florida for the remainder of the winter. He came up to Toronto for a few days on business this week. My mom let him stay at the house so that he would have a chance to go through his mail, which has been piling up for weeks.

She says it's hard when he comes and goes like this. Every time he leaves, she feels the pain of losing him all over again. She always makes plans so that she's not in the house when he re-packs his suitcase and rolls out, so that she doesn't have to say goodbye yet again.

So. What did he do on Wednesday before he locked up and flew back to his new Florida love nest?

He left her a Valentine's Day card on the mantel.

Poor mom. Yeah. Happy Freaking Valentine's day. "I'll always love you. Let's be friends, when I'm not off bonking my new gal pal." He really wants to have his cake and eat it too.

I said to her: "Look. I'll call him and tell him he has to be really mean to you, so that you can be glad to see him go." No more of that mushy stuff. When he re-declares his love for her as he's got one foot out the door on the way to the airport, it just drives her crazy.

I had a chance to talk to him on the phone today. He was on his cellphone and driving at the same time, as usual. We were talking about this and that, when I heard another voice, muffled, at his end. It must be The Woman. I heard his muffled reply, and then he came back to me.

Him: We're just on the highway. There's nothing on either side of us for miles but swamps full of alligators. Not even rest stop. I think we're a little lost.

Me: Uh, wow.

Him (giggling a bit): Well, I guess I'd better go. I have to figure out where we are. I'll talk to you tomorrow, if the alligators don't get us.

Me: Okay. Drive real fast now, so the alligators can't catch you!

Him (laughing): Alright, dear. I'll talk to you soon.

That's typical step-dad: getting lost, not taking it seriously, and running into trouble with dangerous animals. He'd better hope that his new gal has a high tolerance for shenanigans. She ain't seen nothin' yet.

Sunday Night Dinner

I'm relieved to report that the Sunday night dinner was accomplished without drama.

My step-dad took Ken and I out to the same fancy Indian restaurant as last time, where we feasted on fresh naan, rich curries, chicken jalfresi, and garlic shrimp.

The restaurant is called The Kama Sutra. It's a large, almost square space, dim, candle-lit, with wine-red walls; wooden floors stained such a dark brown that they're almost black; and gold-painted moldings and trim. Every table has a pristine, white tablecloth and linen napkins. The wait staff wear black from head to toe. There are a few gold-framed, Indian-themed paintings hanging on the walls, and subtle, traditional Indian music plays in the background.

It's the kind of place that I feel I should dress up for.

It wasn't too busy, which was a nice change from how it's been when we've been there on Friday or Saturday nights.

I have a limited tolerance for noisy restaurants. After a couple of hours, I lose the ability to tune out the ambient noise and focus on the conversation at my table. I start to feel overwhelmed, anxious, and irritable. By that time, everyone else is still contentedly nursing their coffee. I'm dying to leave, but it would be rude to try to rush them, so I always try to hold out as long as possible. I fidget, I do deep breathing, I smile and nod. Then when it's time to put on our coats and go, I'm the first the run out the door.

Last night wasn't like that. We had a very civilized conversation about business, the economy, and politics, as usual. The candle flames flickering on silverware and wine glasses created a cozy atmosphere. Even by the time my chamomile tea was served, I was in no rush to leave.

I was a bit sad, missing my mom, but this is the new normal, and I can get used to it. Life goes on, and there are still many good things to be enjoyed.

Revised Script

I am. So. Confused.

The last time I had spoken to my mom, she had just returned from her first meeting with a divorce lawyer, with the intention of being officially unburdened of my step-dad as quickly as possible. (If anyone is here for the first time, the "my folks are splitting up" tag will give you the story so far in installments. He left her for another woman; she's devastated; etc.) The visit with the lawyer upset her so much that she could barely think straight.

Understandably. I mean, this is it. The end of a 27-year marriage, a 32-year overall relationship. Done. Finished. Kaput. We had even gone out for a very creepy Last Supper, the night before my step-dad flew off to live with his mistress in a rented condo in Florida. At a fancy Indian restaurant, my mom sat silently and picked at her chicken Biryani while Ken and I tried to carry on some semblance of a normal conversation with my step-dad. It was draining, but we got through it. That was supposed to be The End.

Throughout this whole process, my step-dad has cherished the notion that perhaps he and my mom can Still Be Friends. This was the whole idea behind the final dinner; it was supposed to affirm that our bonds as a family can transcend his decision to move in with another woman. He wants to have his cake and eat it too. We all humoured him, because my mom didn't want to fight about it while he was still in the house. My mom said it would be easier if we all just played along, and so we did.

He's been living with his mistress for more than a week now, and my mom has been adjusting to living alone. I speak to her almost every day, and she has commented frequently on how deluded my step-dad is to think that we can still play-act at being a family when he's in town. She's all about how he's made his bed and he must sleep in it, and he'll find out the hard way that he can't have everything, yadda yadda.

So imagine my surprise, my complete incomprehension, when my step-dad called me up to invite Ken and I out for dinner on Sunday (he's commuting to Toronto for business), and said it would be nice if my mom came too. I didn't call him back until the following day. I said that we were free for dinner, but I didn't think it was a good idea to ask my mom. His reply: "I talked to her last night and she said she'd like to come. She said it sounded like a nice idea."

A nice idea.

???!!!

Now I didn't know if she'd had a change of heart, or if she was toying with him, or what, but GAWD! I had a headache. And a dinner date on Sunday. I had no idea what was going on.

Finally, after a full day, I did have a chance to speak with my mom. Her explanation was that she thought she should agree to go because I might want her to do so. Why would I want her to do that? She thought it might make things easier for me. How would it make things easier? She wasn't really able to clarify that for me. Is this her way of trying to hang on to the relationship? (I didn't actually ask her that one.)

Anyway, I let her know that I didn't expect her to be going on any more such dinner dates. And she said she'd let him know that she's not going. That's the story so far. Who knows where it'll be tomorrow.

Family Fallout

My family. They've been trying their best to be supportive of my mom since they found out that my step-dad is leaving her, but it sometimes seems to me that they're doing more harm than good.

Remember how my step-dad broke up with my mom via a voice mail message? Here's how my mom broke the news to me and my family.

It's a Friday night. My step-dad is out of town on a getaway with his girlfriend. My mom has told him that he has to make up his mind and let her know what his intentions are a.s.a.p., because she's not willing to wait around like a hopeful fool while he explores his new relationship. He has to make a decision, and then live with it.

My mom has invited her parents, myself, and my aunt over for dinner in order to have some company.

I am the last to arrive. Everyone is sitting in the living room, making polite conversation, obviously avoiding the subject of my step-dad. My mom calls me into the kitchen. She seems agitated. She tells me that there's a message on the phone that I have to listen to, and then she wants me to erase it so that she never has to hear it again.

Figuring that it's just another one of my step-dad's regular insensitivities, I get into their voice mail system, and listen to the message. What I hear is my step-dad telling my mother that he's decided to leave her for the other woman. He says that he loves her, but he loves the other woman more. I keep myself very still as I listen, because the family has started to gravitate into the kitchen. I can see their curious heads poking through the doorway, watching my mom wring her hands and asking each other "What's wrong? What's happening?"

I'm shocked and also confused. I'm not sure if my mom wants to tell the family now, or just continue with the dinner as though nothing's wrong. I can't guess at what internal forces are motivating her, or what compelled her to have me listen to this message, which is now burned into my memory banks forever.

(Upon reflection I do understand; she wanted a witness to the crime. I wish I'd never heard it. I wish I didn't have to be the witness. And yet, I'm glad that I was able to be there and be strong for her.)

Not wanting to make any assumptions, I delete the message and say nothing to the family members who are clustering around nervously. A few moments pass, and when my mom doesn't give me any cues, I join the faltering conversation about the price of gas. A few beats later, my mom turns to me and says quietly "Please I need a hug." Then she all but falls into my arms.

The family is all looking at me for an explanation. I ask her "Do you want them to know now?" She says "You tell them." So, with my mother in my arms, her back to the gathered, anxious faces, I break the news to them.

Immediately, they all start talking at once. Their voices swarm and overlap. My mom retreats to the motions of getting dinner out of the oven.

My grandfather is monologuing about how my step-dad is just a hedonist, and that any man worth his salt should agonize about living his life properly until the day that he dies. My aunt and grandmother are tag-teaming, telling my mom that we should throw all my step-dad's stuff out onto the lawn right now, and she should kick him in the balls, etc. I also hear them both agree that I should reject him as a dad and never speak to him again.

It didn't occur to them that maybe they should shut up and LISTEN to my mom. No one asked her how she was feeling, or what she felt ready to do. No one expressed sympathy, or held her hand. They just freaked out.

In the time that has passed since the news sank in, my family has not changed their approach. They have not become more sensitive. They have their agenda for what should happen next, and whether they are delivering the message with passive aggression or overt aggression, they are still not listening to my mom. They're not listening to me either, for that matter.

I'm now in a situation, for the second time in my life, where they want me to reject a father to prove my loyalty to them. If I don't cut him off completely, they'll see it as a betrayal. And I'm not planning to cut him off, for many reasons, some of which are financial.

I don't have a tidy wrap-up for this story. It's an ongoing drama. It's too bad, because I know that my family means well, and that they're trying their best. I don't want this to tear us all apart.

The Big Split, Part I

When I heard the news that my mom and step-dad were separating, the worst thing was the shock. It was so sudden! One day we were all sitting down to a warm, friendly dinner together, and only a few days later I heard that he was jetting off to Arizona to take a holiday with his mistress.

However, the actual process of their separation is going to be very slow. This is going to be a long, drawn-out process with legal and financial complexities, paperwork, arguments, and confusion. Just getting him moved out of the house is going to be a painful and involved process of packing and discussions.

Thinking about it like that, and knowing how hard it's going to be on my mom, makes me wish that it were possible to get it all over with in one big shock, like ripping off a band-aid.

I was married for five years the first time around. The logistics of dividing our lives was daunting when we went our separate ways. Splitting up our CD collection and photo albums added fuel to flaring arguments.

To simplify things, and because I wanted to start a new life, I barely took anything beyond my clothes and books. I packed up enough kitchen basics to get me started, and I took the toaster oven, because he barely used it and I make toast every morning. He let me take the old TV without an argument because he was looking for an excuse to buy a flatscreen, but he did put up a fight for the toaster oven. Go figure...

Of course the toughest joint possession to deal with was the house. We had bought a house jointly with his mother only a year before we split up.

Everyone say it together now: BAD IDEA!

Even though the house was divided into two separate apartments, that much proximity to my mother-in-law was one of the final nails in the coffin. Not that she's a bad person, by any stretch of the imagination. It's just that his relationship with her was so clearly much more valuable to him than his relationship with me. He barely ever did a lick of housework in the five years we lived together, despite my complaints, but he would run to her beck and call for any task she wanted done. It was too much.

In the end, dividing our material possessions turned out to be infinitely easier than dividing our identities. We had started dating in tenth grade and had been together ever since. We had essentially grown up together, and I had considered him my best friend for many of those years.

I once heard it said that trying to extract oneself from a long-term relationship is like trying to separate two eggs that have been scrambled together. And that is exactly how I felt. I was a scrambled egg, and I couldn't tell which pieces belonged to me and which to him.

To be continued...