Words to Live By

It's About Time

2006-03-10T18:56:00.000-08:00

This is it, folks. Time to fold up my infertility blog and move on -- or, over -- to the next big thing. Will I still blog about infertility? Of course, once a member of the club, always a member. I've learned so much and met so many kick-ass ladies because of it, I am almost thankful. Almost.

Somehow, there's a lot of other stuff to blog about. I hope you'll continue reading me here.

Fifteen

2006-03-06T20:24:00.000-08:00

Has it really only been 5 days since my last post? Seems like it was a long time ago...

Over the weekend I attended my first Quinceanera. It was for the daughter of the chick who sits next to me at work who drives me crazy with all her drama (or "my colleague"). I've been hearing about this event for a year. She's spent so much time on the phone with the caterer and the choreographer and the videographer and the tailor I don't know how she's managed to do any work. I had never heard of a Quinceanera until last year. Basically, its a mock wedding, a wedding without a groom.

From About.com: "A Quinceanera (the term refers both to the celebration and to the girl who has turned 15) is similar in concept to a debutante's "coming out party" in other countries [its most popular in Mexico although its celebrated in other Hispanic cultures]. The celebration is a means of acknowledging that a young woman has reached sexual maturity and is now an adult, ready to assume additional family and social responsibilities. In addition, the celebration is intended to reaffirm religious faith, good morals, and the virtues of traditional family values."

Not being churchy-types, we didn't attend the church service (the "thanksgiving Mass"), but the reception part of it was enough to give us the taste. A girl in a white dress with a tiara and an escort, surrounded by 14 couples in lavender dresses and tuxedos, a 3-tiered cake, flowers, a Latino heartthrob wedding singer dude, place cards at the plated dinner...I could have swore somebody should have gotten married.

Actually, it was heartening to see 30 kids in the 14 to 16 age range all dressed up, doing a choreographed waltz and wishing their friend well. The picture was spoiled a bit by those who insisted on wearing sunglasses and talking on their cell phones, but I guess you can't completely take the street out of the kids.

I was enjoying all the pomp and pagaentry when the DJ pulls out a screen and a projector. Time for the photo collage. As I sat behind my colleague and her daughter, watching them laugh at the funny baby pictures and seeing the progression from tiny swaddled bundle to toddler to roller-skates and cheerleading pom-poms, I couldn't help but feel a little bit jealous. OK, a lot. Tears welled up in my eyes and I had to pretend I was having trouble with my contacts for a few minutes.

One of the reasons why this chick bothers me so much is she is one of those mothers who constantly complains about her child. She had her daughter when she was 18 and has always been a single mother. She is rude to her, hangs up on her, and is always telling me how lucky I am that I don't have kids and how she will never have another one, and (of course), that I can have hers if I want.

If I could, I would take her up on that one. Damn. It sucks that I won't ever have a 15 year-old daughter.

Five for Fighting -- 100 Years mp3

Whiskers on Kittens

2006-03-01T17:50:00.000-08:00

So what the hell is this blog about these days?

Even though it's been a year since we got off The Baby Train (as I so tactfully like to say), stories I hear that involve ART continue to fascinate me, even though I'll never take advantage of new technologies or have to worry about having to choose between donor egg and adoption. This story in the Washington Post was particularly interesting, if nothing else than for the human nature aspect. I must say I really like that some sperm banks are now giving the donor the choice of whether or not their identity can be made public (when their offspring reach 18), and I fully support the choice of a donor that elects NOT to.

In other random Donna-ness, here are some of my favorite things at the moment.

Market Pantry (Target brand) Lemon Shortbread Cookies with White Chocolate Chunks. Just get some.

Lipton Diet Green Tea with citrus -- delicious and full of antixoidants!

Fairview Pinotage 2003 -- an excellent South African red wine.

Songs sung in French (Coloratura, can you help me with translation here?):
Sarah Harmer - Salamandre mp3
Madeleine Peyroux - J'ai Deux Amours mp3

Pageantry. I can't get enough of it. All that figure skating at the Olympics has refueled my need for live performances involving dance, costumes and competition. Fortunately, I live in a part of the country that has a thriving winter color guard and drum corps community. Sound like geeky band stuff? Think again.

2006 Infiniti FX35
I don't need a new car, my 2001 VW Jetta does just fine, but damn...that is one sweet ride. I'm in love with this color too.

Got any new favorites to share?

Lucky -- Review

2006-02-24T16:45:00.000-08:00

Excerpt from Amazon's synopsis:
"When Alice Sebold was a college freshman at Syracuse University, she was attacked and raped on the last night of school. In a ham-handed attempt to mollify her, a policeman later told her that a young woman had been murdered there and, by comparison, Sebold should consider herself lucky. That dubious "luck" is the focus of this fiercely observed memoir about how an incident of such profound violence can change the course of one's life. Sebold launches her memoir headlong into the rape itself, laying out its visceral physical as well as mental violence, and from there spins a narrative of her life before and after the incident, weaving memories of parental alcoholism together with her post-rape addiction to heroin."

Her account of the rape was very disturbing (I’m sure it would be to anyone, but was particularly so for me), but I was expecting this book to be about how she healed; how she went on with day to day life after experiencing such a horrible event. For background and clarity she gives us a lot of information about her family, particularly her mother, who suffers from severe panic attacks, but little about how that affected her. That’s my main criticism of the book in a nutshell – it is written in first person but reads like a newspaper account.

More than three quarters of the book is taken up with the rape, the trial, and then the rape of her best friend (in their apartment -- the rapist made her friend move into Alice’s bedroom so he could rape her in the same bed that a previous rape victim slept in – talk about creepy).

Finally you get to the short “Aftermath” chapter (seriously, its 10 pages!), and all of a sudden you are filled in with all the self-destructive behavior that she was still engaged in, more than 10 years later.

“…I had published a piece in the New York Times Magazine, a first-hand account of my rape. In it, I beseeched people to talk about rape and to listen to articulate victims when they had a story to tell. …I celebrated with four dime bags and a Greek boyfriend who had once been my student. Then Oprah called, having read the article. I went on the show. I was the victim who fought back. …[I] flew back home to snort heroin.”

Now I don’t know for sure, maybe I would want to snort heroin too if I were on Oprah, but does that sound like someone who should be held up as an example of someone who fought back and reclaimed their life?

She is successful almost in spite of herself, and, ironically, it isn’t until she is quoted in a book called Trauma and Recovery (in the first half), that she figures out that she is suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder. As she reads first-person accounts by Vietnam vets she is finally able to start feeling, and therefore, healing.

She tells us her therapist had mentioned PTSD a year earlier but she dismissed it as “so much psycho-babble.” Wait – she has a therapist?? I’m sure there was a lot of fodder from those sessions that could have found a place in the book. I wish she had spent as much energy and pages on the aftermath and the healing as she did on the earlier events that made them necessary.

It takes a lot of guts to publish an account of your own rape, and I applaud her for doing so. It’s not an easy book to read, and despite my criticisms, I would recommend it.

I’ll discuss my own issues soon – suffice it to say for now that I wasn’t so “lucky” as to see my rapist go to trial and then to prison.

Holiday Photo Blogging

2006-02-20T12:59:00.000-08:00

Today is Presidents' Day here in the US. I still haven't quite figured out who's birthday it is, or if today is neither Washington nor Lincoln's birthdays, just a day picked between them to celebrate. I'm sure one of my American readers can fill me in.

I finished reading Lucky last night. I need to work on the post-reading entry, it will take a little bit of time to make my thoughts coherent, and it will be the start of a trend of The Dark Side of Donna posts, so, y'all can look forward to that!

Instead, here's some more snow pictures of my house and property, plus an obligatory cute dog picture.

Front of the house. Our bedroom is at the top of the A, behind the little deck on the second story. There's no snow on the right side because the trees caught it all before it could get to the ground. It rained last night so most of the snow is gone now.

Directly behind the house. Right before we moved in 6 years ago a huge oak tree fell and took out a bunch of other trees with it. We've been cutting firewood from the pile ever since. Other than the fireline around the house and the driveway, the 2 acre property is all trees.

Tucker and Bailey waiting for Daddy to get out of the shower.

Snow Day

2006-02-18T11:30:00.000-08:00

Remember I told you the other day it was in the mid-70s and we ate our V-Day lunch outside? Yesterday and today...not so much. As I write this its 35 degrees and snowing. Keep in mind we are 2500 feet above sea level, even though we are only 10 miles from the ocean (can you say steep hills on the way to Donna's house?).

These pictures were taken this morning by D. in his bathrobe from our deck.

We've spent time with D's son every weekend for the last month. When we picked him up before Cirque I even met D's ex. I was a little nervous about meeting her, but she was very gracious, hugged us both and told D it was nice to see him again (they haven't seen each other since they split up more than 20 years ago). I keep expecting to be uncomfortable -- if this had been my family, someone would have been an asshole long before now, I'm sure. Just when I thought C was a little too good to be true, we found out that he smokes. A tiny blip on the radar, but at least it's something to put on the right side of the ledger. Not that I think underneath this polite and thoughtful exterior there lives a serial killer, but I'm just too jaded and cynical to accept all sweetness and light. Seriously, how sad is that?

I'm having a tough time getting through Lucky. I generally read right before I go to sleep and I've been having strange dreams and restless nights. When I finish the book I'll give a more detailed review; not so much of the book, but how it affected me.

Raise your hand if you remember this song!

Cool Change -- Little River Band

Let me know if you have trouble downloading this, I'm trying out a new archiving tool. I thought this was a fitting choice for this post, both because of the weather and my struggle to change my negative thinking patterns.

Reason #897

2006-02-13T18:22:00.000-08:00

I can't even count the reasons why I love the San Francisco Bay Area -- the weather, the restaurants, the beaches, the different characters of the cities...not least of these is the politics. I realize I live in an exceedingly liberal area and it is not in any way, shape or form representative of the country at large. I literally would not survive in a more conservative part of the country. Not that I'm a raving lunatic or anything, I just think everybody should stay out of everybody else's business.

In September 2003 and again in September 2005 the City Council of my little beach town called for an investigation into impeaching Bush and Cheney. Last week the news came out her big sister San Franciso's City Council is working up a resolution calling for the "full investigation, impeachment or resignation'' of those two yokels. Their alleged crimes include:

-- Waging an unnecessary war in Iraq.
-- Authorizing torture of terrorist prisoners.
-- Failing to respond adequately to Hurricane Katrina.
-- And not to be forgotten -- ordering the secret wiretapping of U.S. citizens without a warrant.

Read the entire article at SF Gate if you're interested. Discuss amongst yourselves, and enjoy the tunes. It was 73 today, so sunny and warm D. and I ate our Valentine's Day lunch outside on the restaurant's patio.

The Magnetic Fields -- Come Back from San Francisco mp3
Led Zeppelin -- Going to California mp3
Mamas and the Papas -- California Dreamin' mp3

If you want to hear and see the video for Rufus Wainwright's "California", head on over to my girl Tiffanni's blog.

Newsworthy

2006-02-10T11:04:00.000-08:00

This was posted over at Bird in Hand the other day and I am stealing it to share with you.

From NPR: Babies' Cells Linger, May Protect Mothers
February 8, 2006 · Some scientists have proposed that when a woman has a baby, she gets not just a son or a daughter, but a gift of cells that stays behind and protects her for the rest of her life. That's because a baby's cells linger in its mom's body for decades and -- like stem cells -- may help to repair damage when she gets sick. It's such an enticing idea that even the scientists who came up with the idea worry that it may be too beautiful to be true.

Actually, the study shows that when a women gets pregnant, regardless of whether a live baby results, she still gets the benefit of these fetal cells. Some small consolation for those of us who have been pregnant but don't have a baby to show for it. Read and/or listen to the entire article here and tell me what you think.

Secondly, the other harbinger of all things newsworthy, Access Hollywood, recently posted a story on their website called "Celeb Hot Moms May Redefine Motherhood". I almost didn't read the article since it seemed to rehash what a lot of other stories have said lately -- its cool and hip and hot to be a Mom in Hollywood these days. However, deep in the article were two paragraphs that grabbed me. My comments are in parentheses.

"It's hard to imagine that there was a time when motherhood, especially the unwed kind, could spell the end of an actress's career. In 1935, Loretta Young resorted to pretending to adopt her own baby daughter, and later altered the child's emerging family resemblance through painful plastic surgery, rather than admit that she and Clark Gable were the parents. [This was alleged in a 1994 book, "Uncommon Knowledge," written by Loretta's daughter, Judy Lewis, who claimed she was the result of an affair between a married Gable and Miss Young. According to Ms. Lewis, Miss Young had her baby in secret in late 1935, then eventually "adopted" the child when she was 2. A spokesman denied it, and in a 1995 New York Times interview, Miss Young refused to discuss the story, calling it a "rumor of a bygone time," and adding, "I have made peace with my daughter."]

"Hollywood actresses wanted to keep their luster as an attractive, young unmarried woman," says film historian James Robert Parish, author of "The Hollywood Book of Love."

Motherhood was out of the question, Parish says. "In the '20s, '30s and '40s, big actresses would have abortions --Judy Garland, Jean Harlow, Marilyn Monroe, Joan Crawford, not only because the studios would be mad, but because they were so afraid someone else would replace them in the public's affection."

I'm happy that at least in this regard, Hollywood and our society has made some progress.

Lucky

2006-02-06T14:19:00.000-08:00

This has been a busy weekend, but a great one.

Friday I had the privilege of meeting up with Manuela and Statia, as well as non-blogger Amber, who I met at the Bay Area IF Blogapalooza a while back. Manuela's Mr. Pink Line was also there, what a cute couple they are! He was very gracious and interested in our conversation and just a really cool guy. Manuela is every bit as fabulous as you would think she would be; so gregarious and smart, just the right mix of tough and sweet. Statia is so self-aware and confident and direct, she scares me just a little bit. In a good way. If I had my shit that together 10 years ago just think what I could have accomplished. Watch out for Statia, she's headed for big things. Amber is sophisticated and whip-smart, quiet yet strong. Sort of like a latte with a tequila chaser.

Speaking of alcohol, it flowed freely...cable cars, lemon drops, amaretto sours, scotch -- and that was without Amber (she's 15 weeks and looked amazing in a leather skirt and Italian stilettos).

We met here...

...then headed up to the 21st floor and talked for hours.

Yesterday we went to see Cirque du Soleil's latest touring show, Corteo. If you've never seen one of their shows, you MUST go. I've seen almost all of them; we try to go every year when they are in town. Synopsis from the Cirque website: "Corteo, which means "cortege" in Italian, is a festive parade imagined by a clown. The clown pictures his own funeral taking place in a carnival atmosphere, watched over by quietly caring angels. Juxtaposing the large with the small, the ridiculous with the tragic and the magic of perfection with the charm of imperfection, the show highlights the strength and fragility of the clown, as well as his wisdom and kindness, to illustrate the portion of humanity that is within each of us. The music, by turns lyrical and playful, carries Corteo through a timeless celebration in which illusion teases reality." The only word I can come up with is magical. Usually it is the acts that amaze me, but this time it was the back-story of the clown and the angels that enthralled me.

One of my favorite parts was when the clown brought out his tiny lady friend, Valentina (a full-grown woman who had to have been less than 3 feet tall). She was riding in a little contraption attached to huge balloons. He gently guided her over the audience and people pushed on her feet as she glided down to them, sending her around the tent.

These pictures don't begin to do the show justice, you have to see it for yourself. My step-son C. ended up joining us, which was an added bonus. Last night my jaw hurt from smiling for hours.

I really am lucky to have all that I do. I've found that learning to be happy is a process, a skill, like learning to do anything else. I'm wary and distrustful of happiness, a part of me is sure it will be taken away at any moment, like it has so many times before. But I am making progress.

I'm about to start reading Lucky by Alice Sebold, her memoir about being raped. I had a hard time with The Lovely Bones, Sebold's novel about a little girl who is murdered and then narrates the story looking down upon the family she left behind. I'm more than a little anxious about reading this book but I think it will be good for me. My own rape is tied to my separate history of sexual abuse, and is something I know I haven't dealt with fully. I feel like I am ready to at least peel back that page a little bit, even if it is someone else's story. You have to start somewhere.

Return to Narnia

2006-02-02T20:34:00.000-08:00

I don't usually comment on politics, but I heard something in the State of the Union speech that really got my hackles up. This is a quote:

"A hopeful society has institutions of science and medicine that do not cut ethical corners, and that recognize the matchless value of every life. Tonight I ask you to pass legislation to prohibit the most egregious abuses of medical research: human cloning in all its forms, creating or implanting embryos for experiments, creating human-animal hybrids, and buying, selling, or patenting human embryos. Human life is a gift from our Creator -- and that gift should never be discarded, devalued or put up for sale."

WTF? First of all, there were far too many references to our Creator, God, whatever you want to call it, in this speech. But what really burns me is W's attempt to put the lid back on stem cell research, science that is already helping people in other countries. This is the best he could come up with? I for one can see a lot of benefits of creating human-animal hybrids, anyone who saw The Chronicles of Narnia knows that.

Mr. Tumnus is a faun: half-man, half-goat. He made a great cup of tea and was a true friend. Also, always had an umbrella handy.

There might not be a lot of practical uses for a faun, but a centaur, that's a whole different thing.

General Oreius here is H-O-T.

The Secret History

2006-02-01T10:35:00.000-08:00

I just finished reading The Secret History by Donna Tartt. I read her second novel, The Little Friend, first, and I almost didn't pick up her debut novel as I didn't enjoy Friend that much. They seem to have been written by different authors, which I suppose is a testament to her abilities. This book is meaty and thick, both in length and in language, not a beach read -- my kind of writing.

Excerpt of synopsis from Amazon: Part psychological thriller, part chronicle of debauched, wasted youth, it suffers from a basically improbable plot, a fault Tartt often redeems through the bravado of her execution. Narrator Richard Papen comes from a lower-class family and a loveless California home to the "hermetic, overheated atmosphere" of Vermont's Hampden College. Almost too easily, he is accepted into a clique of five socially sophisticated students who study Classics with an idiosyncratic, morally fraudulent professor. Finally they reveal to Richard that they accidentally killed a man during a bacchanalian frenzy; when one of their number seems ready to spill the secret, the group--now including Richard--must kill him, too.

It took her ten years to write this book, and another ten before her second was published. This fact certainly puts a bit of a dark tint on my rose-colored view of becoming a novelist one day!

I'm currently reading The Amber Room by Steve Berry. In contrast, this book is a very easy read and reminds me a lot (too much) of The DaVinci Code. Since there is a large, glowing quote from Dan Brown on the dust jacket I am guessing they are colleagues. Like Code, this book seems as though it was written with the thought of it being made into a movie, ignoring many opportunities for insight into characters' thoughts and foregoing description of places and people in lieu of action. This topic interests me greatly, so I'll look for a good historical non-fiction account of the room and the search for it after World War II.

So, a recommendation for The Secret History and a pass on The Amber Room from me.

Ode to Annie

2006-01-28T18:36:00.000-08:00

I'm starting to bore myself here folks, so if you came back, thank you. Emotionally I'm doing better, but now I have a cold; which could explain some of the melancholy I've been experiencing.

Even though Rule #1 is This Blog is All About Me, today I've decided to give everyone a break and give you some tunes.

I've loved Annie Lennox for 20-old years now, going way back to the early Eurythmics' days. I cut my eye teeth on the dance floor of the clubs in the Vancouver suburbs on "Sweet Dreams", "Love is a Stranger" and "Here Comes the Rain Again"...who didn't? The dance clubs were the place I let loose my conservative, bookish persona and introduced the world to the chick who would get up on the speakers to dance in front of the video screen. I'm sure alcohol helped in those endeavours. People from school or other parts of my life would barely recognize me, and I met several boyfriends at the clubs. None of those relationships worked out, as they were surprised to find the girl they were dating wasn't always Speaker Girl. One of them was one of the great loves of my life though...definitely the one who got away (back to England). Dammit, how did I get back to me??

There is an excellent biography/discography here if you want to know more details about Annie, who is far more interesting than me. Her three solo albums are Diva (1992), Medusa (1995), and Bare (2003), all of them chock-full of amazing vocal performances. Here's a song from each (right click on the link and Save Target As to download).

Cold (Diva) mp3

Waiting in Vain (Medusa) mp3

A Thousand Beautiful Things (Bare) - mp3

Overwhelmed

2006-01-25T11:22:00.000-08:00

You are correct, I am over thinking this. And yet, I can't stop. Today I am overwhelmed and feel like I have nothing to give to anyone.

I took on a second client this week, working for a good friend that I've worked with and for before. Easy work, some of it from home, good money. Even when you add together the time for both clients, it still doesn't equal a full-time job. And yet, I wonder if I've bitten off more than I can chew.

Last night I was at the hairdresser for my once-every-five-week attempt to keep the gray at bay. I've been seeing the same stylist for a long time and we chat easily. She also struggled with IF and was never successful, so I feel her to be a kindred spirit of sorts. Usually the salon is a haven for me, but last night it was filled with children and babies. Ugh. How dare they invade my inner sanctum. I told my stylist about D.'s son resurfacing, she was happy for us, as is everyone. As I sat there surrounded by the sounds of children and adults interacting with them, I could feel myself sinking. I couldn't hear anything after a while, the voice in my head was so loud.

"You are never going to have a child," it said.

Fuck. I need a drink.

It's five o'clock somewhere.

Stop Making Sense

2006-01-23T20:38:00.000-08:00

I apologize upfront for this post, it will most likely be a lot of rambling and disjointed-ness.

I've asked my brain for some assistance in sorting out the reality that my husband's child will soon be 24. Wait, back up! "My husband's son" doesn't make sense, because any son of his would be a son of mine. No? OK, never mind.

I started thinking maybe in the grand scheme of things it was probably a good thing that we didn't have a baby, since that would have happened in the last couple of years, because how weird would that have been to have a child and a grandchild around the same age? Oh, wait. My Dad has a son and a grandson almost exactly the same age, and two grandchildren younger than his son. Crap.

My maternal grandmother had her first child at 20 and her last (her 9th) at 41. It would have been quite possible for her eldest daughter (my mother) to have been pregnant at the same time as her mother; thankfully this didn't happen, although there is only 7 years between my youngest uncle and my brothers.

My parents had their first children (twins) when they were 24, and their last child (me) when they were 31. Their first grandchild was born when they were 44, their last grandchild when they were 64. In between there, at 57 my Dad had a baby with his girlfriend, which completely throws off the entire timeline.

D's brother and sister both had their first child at 28, and D's brother became a grandfather at 49. D had his son at 24 and became a grandfather at 46.

So why am I so confused and conflicted by the thought of having a 24 year-old step-son? D's sister is 14 years older than me and has two children in their 20's, and D's brother is 11 years older than me and has a daughter in her early 20's and a granddaughter in single digits. But, my sister is only 15 months older than me and has a 15 year-old, an 11 year-old and an 8 year-old.

To add to the mix, I would have a 22 year-old son or daughter of my own had I not terminated my pregnancy back in 1984.

So, simutaneously it seems that I am way too young AND exactly the right age to have a son (step or otherwise) in his mid-20s. I've been told so many times that it was normal and even relatively easy to have a baby after 35 or 40, my view of the world is skewed. Go figure.

Norah Jones -- Crazy (Live) -- Mp3

Fresh Start

2006-01-22T15:16:00.000-08:00

First, I want to talk about cheese and honey sandwiches. Take an english muffin and put a piece of cheese on one side. I usually use swiss but you can use whatever you like. Trim the cheese so it doesn't drip off the sides and bake in the toaster oven until the cheese starts to color just a little bit. Let it cool for a minute and then put a drizzle of honey on the other side and eat like a sandwich. It's good, really. Try it.

I know you are all dying to hear how our meeting went last night. I've been struggling to find eloquent words to describe it but I've given up so I can post something.

So, we get there and look around a bit and realize he isn't there yet. We wait outside and a car pulls up and he gets out, D. recognizes him immediately. They shake hands and with the other arm, hug each other. Then he hugs me. He's very tall, easily two inches taller than his father. A very good-looking kid. We all admit to being a bit nervous and C. pulls out some pictures of S. to fill in the time. C. bought S. a little snake as a pet and they have a long discussion about the python D. used to have, the first of many similarities. We get seated and just start talking, after about 10 minutes we've all settled in and most of the nervousness is gone and we are just chatting.

I won't bore you with all the details, but over the course of the evening we found out they have a lot in common: love seafood, don't drink coffee, martial arts, guitar, hunting (this one was huge for D., he can be a part of their group that goes every year), loves the outdoors, animals (dogs in particular), on and on. He really wants to be a writer (!) but is going back to school to finish out his degree so he can have a real job while he pursues that. Something we ALL have in common.

He's very polite, articulate, quietly confident, loves his little boy and his family (despite a lot of ups and downs over the years), has beautiful skin, his father's eyes and a gentle soul. He was very gracious and thankful to D's Mom, telling her how much he appreciated the effort she made to be a part of his life when he was younger.

The two of them were sitting on the couch at Mom's while I sat in a chair across the room; sitting there watching them talk and joke around, it brought tears to my eyes a couple of times. It was definitely NOT about me, my heart was just so glad for them both. On the way home we were talking and I said again what a shame it was that they had been separated all this time, and how great it would have been if they had been a part of each other's lives in some way through the years. D. said if that were true then maybe we wouldn't be together. Can I tell you how much I love this man? And is it possible to love someone you just met?

Neil Finn -- Throw Your Arms Around Me (Live) -- Mp3

Wild and Crazy

2006-01-20T14:43:00.000-08:00

Am I scaring people away with all this heaviness? I know there are tons of lurkers out there, I'd love to hear from you, particularly anyone who has adult step-children.

I was tagged by Jude so I thought I would lighten things up a bit today and give you 5 weird things about me.

1. I wear my watch on my right wrist even though I am right-handed; I found it really difficult to fasten the strap when its on my left. Consequently, people often think I am left-handed at first glance.

2. I have a very acute sense of smell, D. calls me The Super Sniffer. Sometimes that's a good thing (chocolate chip cookies), and sometimes it is not (roadkill).

3. I cannot say the word "malevolent". I can barely type it.

4. I have a problem with left and right. I have slight dyslexia and that seems to be the way it expresses itself. If I had a dime for every time someone said to me, "No, your OTHER right!", I'd be sitting on a velvet chaise lounge having someone feed me grapes while they fanned me as I typed this.

5. I love cheese and honey sandwiches. Maybe it's a Canadian thing.

After our dinner tomorrow we are all going over to see D.'s Mom. It's her 85th birthday and she is tickled pink that she will get to see her youngest grandson again.

48 Hours

2006-01-19T17:15:00.000-08:00

Just about 48 hours from now we will be sitting down to dinner with C.

I'm doing a bit better, but it still feels bittersweet. Before, D. and I carried the shared burden of being a childless couple, and our own private agony over why it was so for each of us separately, and us together. Now, the rules have changed. He is a father and a grandfather over there and I'm still over here, childless. I know that isn't the reality of the situation, he's no more C's father in the sense of being his parent than I am his step-mother, but there is a blood bond there that I will never share.

On the flip side of that coin, as long as I've known him, he's been a father, and had the opportunity to go through his partner's pregnancy and watch the birth of his son, and spent the first year watching over him and watching him grow and learn. Ironically, that is why D. was so hesitant to have a baby with me (the fear of going through all that again), and what made it possible for me to even entertain the idea (my fears being calmed by being with someone who had already been through it).

'Tis a tattered web I weave.

A Thousand Words

2006-01-16T13:48:00.000-08:00

We have pictures. Four pictures of C. and his son, S., taken last summer. Father and son have the same eyes, the same shape of face, the same hair. Not just the same color and type of hair, but the same hair CUT. We went over to his Mom's on Saturday to show her the pictures, and she noticed right away they have the same hands. She brought out an old photo album from when C. was a baby, for comparison purposes. Looking at those old photos just made me so sad.

First, because D's brother and sister had their kids at about the same time, C. is the youngest by barely a year, there is less than 5 years between the four children. There are pictures of all the cousins, everybody together at family gatherings, etc. It would have been so perfect if D. had been able to keep his son as part of his life, he would have gotten so much support and C. would have grown up with the other three, who are all wonderful young adults now. Seeing D. with C. in his arms just broke my heart. Then it was broken again when I looked at C. and his son, who are now separated.

Then, there's the selfish part. I wonder how this will change things in my relationship with D. Now more than ever, I assume there won't be any more discussion about us having a child by any means, he's at the beginning of a new chapter with his son and grandson. His family tree continues, while mine just ends in a stump. I'll never know what its like to see my eyes in someone else's face, or to hear my Dad's sense of humor passed on. Back when we were considering a surrogate I had myself convinced that the fact that it wouldn't be my bio-child didn't matter, I wanted D's genes to continue. That's bullshit. It DOES matter. As I've said before, biology and the need to procreate is hard-wired. We are all innately selfish creatures with a desire for immortality.

C. seems like a wonderful young man and I will be happy to welcome him into my life. I'm just feeling sorry for myself. Unless something changes, I'll be there when father and son reunite, this coming Saturday.

The Kinks -- Picture Book Mp3

Freedom of Information

2006-01-11T13:06:00.000-08:00

There's still communication going back and forth between D. and his son (C.), providing more details and insights. We've both been struck by how similar their writing styles are. Sadly, they both became separated from their sons at an early age, something which may have been the catalyst for C. wishing to seek D. out. C. indicated in one of his messages that he thinks "we may be more similar than either of us would have imagined."

We've now found out that my Aunt died of pneumonia and that she'd been ill for quite some time. In order to obtain her records from the institution I have to file a request with the Canadian equivalent of the Freedom of Information Act through the Ministry for Children and Family Development. They will make a copy of her file and someone has to come to their offices and pick it up in person, showing identification. Obviously I'm not going to be able to do that, so I hope my brother will help me out. My contact from the institution's survivor's group said not to be surprised to see information blacked out, that it would only consist of "what they dared to write in her file". I'm not quite sure why I feel so compelled to find out as much as I can about her. Partly its just pure curiousity; I can't imagine being deaf and blind, never mind growing up in such a place. I'd love to write about it, maybe that's my first novel.

In obtusely-related news, last Thursday Dubya signed into law a prohibition on posting annoying web messages or sending annoying e-mail messages without disclosing your true identity. Does this mean the end of blog trolls? Here's the relevant language: "Whoever...utilizes any device or software that can be used to originate telecommunications or other types of communications that are transmitted, in whole or in part, by the Internet... without disclosing his identity and with intent to annoy, abuse, threaten, or harass any person...who receives the communications...shall be fined under title 18 or imprisoned not more than two years, or both." Read the CNET article here.

Lost and Found

2006-01-09T13:47:00.000-08:00

As I mentioned a while back, I'm working on a new blog but its not ready for prime time yet. I have a Very Talented Designer working on the graphics and template. I'll keep this one for archive purposes but I felt it was the right time to start fresh, and with all the changes to the template it was just easier to get a new URL so we could play around with it and not drive my readers crazy while it was going through design stages.

I sort of wanted to start out the new year with the new blog, but I cannot hold onto my good news any longer. Remember my "Seven Things" post from last month? It looks like #3 on the list of Things to Do Before I Die is going to happen a lot sooner than I thought. Go ahead, look.

Last week D. got an email from his son, out of the blue. It was carefully worded, cautiously optimistic, respectful, with fine grammar and syntax...everything we could have wished for. I want to be very careful about their privacy so I can't give you all the details, but I can tell you he's close by, he has a son of his own, and seems remarkably baggage-free, considering what he's been through. They're writing back and forth right now exchanging information, and a face-to-face meeting is in the works. D. was stunned but happy (as was I), and seems to be in a really good space about everything, as does his son.

Obviously this doesn't lessen my sadness regarding our failure to have a child of our own, but it goes a long way to lighten the heartache of knowing D. had a son out there who didn't know him. Now they both have a chance to make a fresh start. Funny how your life can change in an instant, and all of a sudden you are on a new path. Happy new year, indeed.

New Beginnings

2006-01-08T11:34:00.000-08:00

My sincerest thanks to everyone who sent me their condolences...I'm actually doing OK. I'm working on posting some good news for a change, and some other big changes. Stay tuned.

Too Little, Too Late

2005-12-30T12:17:00.000-08:00

Just when I thought I was going to skate through the rest of the year without falling through the ice, I receive a phone call from my Dad. My aunt, his sister, passed away quietly on Wednesday. Faithful readers will remember this is the aunt I never knew existed until I was a teenager, who was born deaf and blind and spent her entire life in an institution. I pressed my family to take the simple steps necessary to find her, which we did, in October . I regret terribly that I never got the chance to meet her, and, even worse, that neither my Dad nor his brother got the chance to see her before she died. I had no idea she was so ill.

The silver lining in all of this is at least the government worker knew how to get in touch with her family (she is a ward of the court); if we had not made contact with her caregivers I don't know how hard they would have searched for next of kin.

If you have people in your life that you love and you haven't told them recently, tell them today. It might be your last chance.

Peter Gabriel -- I Grieve -- Mp3

Child of Mary

2005-12-26T20:54:00.000-08:00

I talked to my mother (Mary) today. After many years of heart-breaking passive-aggressiveness and long periods of silence, we've come to an understanding about the amount and type of communication that works between us. We speak on the phone twice, maybe three times a year -- her birthday, my birthday, and Christmas -- and send the obligatory cards back and forth. I send her a Christmas centerpiece or wreath (without flowers, she's allergic) every year, and she sends me a few pictures of herself and a gift I will never use. When we talk on the phone we discuss safe topics like the weather, trips we've taken recently or the dogs. Occasionally, if I open the door even a crack, she'll launch headlong into her latest mysterious medical condition that no doctor can seem to diagnose. When this happens I wait patiently in silence until she realizes I am not saying anything and changes the subject. Not exactly the ideal mother-daughter relationship, but after all the pain and anger that she's caused me I think it's the best that I can do.

Our trip to Yosemite was slightly disappointing, as there was absolutely NO snow to be found, at least not at the altitude we were at, you could see tiny spots on the tops of mountains. The bare trees do have a certain kind of sad beauty, but I missed the quiet magic that seeing them covered with snow brings.

Our hotel was a full hour's drive from the hotel where the big dinner was, which was unexpected, so that night involved driving back and forth and back and forth as we had to get our table assignment in person and the time cut-off was 2 hours before the dinner started. Once we finally got there (a bit late), it was really wonderful. At one point a beautiful little girl of about 10 was dancing and singing and stopped on her way down the causeway to hand me the ribbon she was carrying and grabbed D. for an impromptu dance. I smiled sweetly in the spotlight as my heart jumped into my throat and tears welled behind my eyes, watching my husband twirl her around joyfully.

The next day we returned to Yosemite Valley to do some hiking and wander around the Ahwahnee in the daylight.

All day there were performances by the opera chorale that stars in the dinner. We managed to get a comfy seat on a couch to listen to them sing carols. Sitting in a room decorated to the hilt, everyone around me singing along, I sat silently, feeling disconnected during the religious selections and barren and sad during the children's carols. We left before Santa arrived; I couldn't bear to watch all the children in the room squealing with delight in their adorable outfits.

The last few years we've started the tradition of taking D's Mom to the movies on Christmas Day. This year we saw the Chronicles of Narnia. I read the books when I was a child, they were some of my favorites. It was completely delightful, and went a long way to fulfill my wish for a magical snow-covered fantasy. The computer generation was absolutely amazing, especially the lion, and the children were very good. I wonder why only British children get to have these types of wonderful adventures? From Mary Poppins to Harry Potter to Lord of the Rings to Narnia, its really not fair. I have added a new actor to my "Famous Men I'd Like To Do" list, he's just a baby, only 18, but undeniably delicious: William Mosely, who plays the eldest of the four children.

We watched several of the programs on TV recently about the Virgin Mary and Mary Magdalene, the childhood of Jesus, Noah's ark, etc. While I don't doubt that some of even all of these people may have existed, their divinity and the debate over whether the Bible is fact or fiction makes me slightly angry and slightly crazy. Going back to my mother and my childhood, one thing that I am thankful for is the utter lack of religion in our household. I think I would have been much worse off if I had to struggle with the dichotomy of an omnipotent and omniscient power that was goodness personified, watching over me, with the reality of my existence. Although his views are more extreme than mine, Penn Jillette wrote a very interesting article for NPR a while back, and some of the things he writes ring true for me. [I'm not a huge Penn Jillette fan, I think he's very strange, and he jumped on the celebrity wacky baby name wagon as well.] To those who have a strong faith of the God of your understanding, I envy you. All I have is myself, my loved ones and the blogosphere.

Wassail

2005-12-19T17:54:00.000-08:00

No, its not a synonym for "whassup", it actually means "A festive occasion on which toasts are drunk; the ale or wine in which such toasts are made." I know I've been telling you all I can't get into Christmas and haven't done many of the traditions this year, but for some reason it was my idea to attend perhaps the most extravagant Christmas pageant/banquet on the West Coast, the Bracebridge Dinner at the Ahwahnee Hotel in Yosemite National Park.

Its well worth the short read to find out the long and interesting history of the Dinner. Its only been in the last couple of years that you can even get tickets without winning a lottery. I have a friend who has been twice and she spoke so highly of it we decided to make the trip this year. The dinner itself is very expensive (let's put it this way, the 17-person Bay Area Blogapalooza luncheon cost about the same as it will for just the two of us to attend), so that's another reason we are forgoing most of the other Christmas stuff -- i.e. presents -- this year. We aren't staying at the Ahwahnee, that was way out of the price range, but we are staying here, which is close-by and was given rave reviews by my boss. I'm hoping that the combination of the snow, the old English traditions and spending three quality days alone with D. will salve my weary soul. We leave early Thursday morning and return late Christmas Eve. I suspect Christmas Day will find us holed up at home with the pups. In any case, this will be my last entry for a bit. Everyone have a safe and happy holiday.

Mother

2005-12-18T16:23:00.000-08:00

Many times I've read and heard Infertiles lamenting about how strangers are always asking them if they have kids. This happens in places where you might expect it -- the park or the baby clothes section of a store -- and when you don't -- while you're getting coffee or having your hair done. I don't have this problem. Seriously, nobody EVER asks me if I have kids. Do I just not give off maternal vibes, or am I so unapproachable people are afraid to ask me about anything?

I was chatting with one of my single girlfriends the other day, she said people ask her all the time if she has kids while she's at the grocery store, but that could be tied to the fact that she eats like a 10 year-old boy. Cap*n Crunch and chocolate milk doesn't exactly scream Executive. She said its because I don't look like a Soccer Mom, or the haggard Mom of an infant for sure, I'm always so put together. That's part vanity and part circumstance, but she has a point, I don't own a velour tracksuit and I almost never go out of the house without make-up and my hair in a ponytail with baby spit-up on my shoulder. I figure if I'm going to put in my contacts I might as well spend another 5 minutes to put on a bit of make-up and brush my hair.

Still, I wonder if its my appearance or something deeper.

For those of you dying to know how that copper satin gown looked on a real live me, here you go, and a bonus shot of Mister GQ in his new three-piece suit. The party was the same as it always is, but they had a passable Australian shiraz for me to drink and that helped immensely.