Ahh! It's almost 11 p.m. and I am enjoying a rare few minutes all to myself. Ed and my mother are chatting in the living room. My brother is in bed. The TV is off. And I have the bedroom all to myself. All alone in the evening -- what a treasure!
This summer I found that my best shot at solitude was early in the morning. I began getting up much earlier than I needed to just so I could sit quietly and think, ponder, plan. Okay, and obsess, worry and brood sometimes, depending on what was going on in my life at the time. But mostly I made healthy use of the time, reading my scriptures, praying, perhaps writing in my journal. Occasionally I was able to retire to my room early in the evening so I could listen to music and work on a sewing project. But now that my husband is here, I rarely have a room all to myself.
It's true that I came to Arkansas so that I could be available to my family. I am so happy I was here this summer to watch Caroline while Nikki and Nick both finished their respective degrees. I'm happy that I can take my mom shopping or out to eat, go get her hair cut, take her for long Sunday drives and drink milkshakes from Sonic. I'm really pleased that my husband and my brother get along, watch football together, talk about world affairs. Both of them have been too isolated. Both are benefiting from their genuine friendship. Each is doing what he can to help the other. When I think on all we are doing together here, I feel that Ed and I are making a difference, helping each other and my family to live more fulfilling lives.
Still, between family and work, shopping and chores, I have almost no time for myself. I miss walking home from the subway on a fine summer evening. I made it a point to soak up the sights and sounds of my neighborhood, the intriguing aromas wafting from kitchen windows along the way. I knew every garden, every dog and cat along the route. I savored the smell of the ocean or the rain. I even miss riding the subway. Freed from the cares of driving, I had time to read, listen to music, observe my fellow travelers, even take a quick nap. I wasn't alone on the subway or on the Brooklyn sidewalks - in fact, I would've been afraid if I had been alone - but it was acceptable to be separate and apart, to pretend that I was alone. Here, in this house that is now my home, I feel obligated to be engaged and involved, and I'm often end the day utterly exhausted. So I try to carve out some "me" time whenever I can.
There's always something useful I "should" be doing, but I'm trying to remember that I'm no good to anyone when I'm worn out, resentful and stressed. Me time is a necessity if I am to be the sweet jelly in the middle of the sandwich that is my family.
Tuesday, October 25, 2011
Thursday, October 13, 2011
Homesick
Last night I took a few minutes to play around on Facebook while I watched TV with my mom. I came across some pictures posted by one of my friends back in New York and started showing them with Mom. Pictures of a going-away party for a young couple from the Chinese branch in Brooklyn. I showed them to Mom, telling her who was who, matching the children to their parents, telling her a little bit about them.
Mom has always been good at making me second-guess my decisions, or even my ability to make decisions. I really don't think she realizes this is what she's doing when she says "I know you miss your friends. Are you sure you don't regret coming home from New York?" In fact, she says it a lot, because she forgets that she just asked me a little while ago. So I get a lot of opportunities to assure her, and myself, that I'm happy with my decision, that I'm right where I want to be.
But of course I miss my friends! I regularly spent time with people from every corner of the world, and I will always cherish those friendships and the memories we made together.
I always wondered if I could learn a little Chinese (Mandarin or Cantonese - I knew speakers of both) to better communicate with the members of the Chinese Branch of my church in Brooklyn. I wanted to do it to show them how much I respect them for having the courage to come halfway around the world and carve out a life for their families while not speaking a word of English. But I never made the time to take a class. Still, I always looked forward to my visits to that Chinese Branch, where someone would always translate for me. Such delightful people, so kind to me and so eager to help me or teach me. It was one of these Chinese sisters who gave me an entire day of her time when I was packing up to move. She sorted the contents of my food storage pantry into 14 big boxes. I silently thank her every time I see those boxes.
I miss my beautiful Spanish-speaking friends, like Jose, who always smiles. He says that Spanish is the language of Heaven, we will all speak it one day. Consuelo, his wife, is the proudest, most devoted mother ever, and the finest friend.
I miss the delightful Caribbean people in Midwood, and their Relief Society president, Alice. She and her husband Frank live the Gospel like no one else I have ever known. I loved visiting that congregation because the women in Relief Society sang with such gusto, drowning me out entirely. That didn't happen in any other congregation in Brooklyn.
I miss my delightful Filipino family - for friends ARE family among Filipinos. Everyone seems to get a nickname. Mine is Momsy. Holidays won't be the same without karioke at the Soletas!
And of course in my own ward I had every nationality mixed together in one place. In my 14 years there I came to know people from Russia, Mongolia, Haiti, Hong Kong, Italy, Australia, Sierra Leone, Kenya, Puerto Rico and many other Caribbean islands, Belize, Peru, Ecuador, Argentina, El Salvador, and the equally foreign-to-me lands of California, Utah, Canada.
But that's not all. I worked each day with Jewish people from all over. More than a few had family members who were Holocaust survivors. Some were very secular, others very devout. Many had spent a year or more in Israel, spoke Hebrew and Yiddish, and happily educated me about the meaning and history of the Jewish holidays. I worked with Muslims and Buddhists, Catholics and Coptics, Greek and Russian Orthodox, and people who didn't feel the need of any higher power.
People think that New Yorkers are cold, unfriendly, distant, but I quickly learned that they are devoted friends, fiercely loyal, generous to a fault. A New York friend is a friend for life.
So yes, Mom, I do miss my friends and my adopted hometown. I'm doing my best to make my home in Arkansas, and I'm grateful for every day that I'm here with you. But I'm homesick. I find myself tearing up unexpectedly and more often than I'd like. I'm having trouble settling into my new church and job where almost everyone looks the same and sounds the same. I'm not as brave as my immigrant friends in New York who just dive in and make their way.
The lyrics to a hymn recently pulled me up short. Grief. "Jesus can heal my grief." That's what wrong with me, I am grieving! I couldn't sing anymore that morning. I stopped in mid-phrase so I wouldn't embarrass myself crying out loud. At least now I have a word for what I'm feeling. Why didn't I see it sooner? Grief has steps and phases. There's a process for moving through it and coming out better on the other side of it. I need to work on that and keep moving forward.
After all, I haven't lost my New York friends. I have Facebook and email and the phone, should I have a moment to make a call. So to all of you who read this - I love you, I miss you, but I'm okay and I'm where I need to be. I'm happy in the knowledge that you will go on being true New Yorkers, accepting and welcoming other people like me and becoming THEIR new friends for life. Thank you for enriching my life and teaching me so much about unconditional love and acceptance and what friendship is all about.
Mom has always been good at making me second-guess my decisions, or even my ability to make decisions. I really don't think she realizes this is what she's doing when she says "I know you miss your friends. Are you sure you don't regret coming home from New York?" In fact, she says it a lot, because she forgets that she just asked me a little while ago. So I get a lot of opportunities to assure her, and myself, that I'm happy with my decision, that I'm right where I want to be.
But of course I miss my friends! I regularly spent time with people from every corner of the world, and I will always cherish those friendships and the memories we made together.
I always wondered if I could learn a little Chinese (Mandarin or Cantonese - I knew speakers of both) to better communicate with the members of the Chinese Branch of my church in Brooklyn. I wanted to do it to show them how much I respect them for having the courage to come halfway around the world and carve out a life for their families while not speaking a word of English. But I never made the time to take a class. Still, I always looked forward to my visits to that Chinese Branch, where someone would always translate for me. Such delightful people, so kind to me and so eager to help me or teach me. It was one of these Chinese sisters who gave me an entire day of her time when I was packing up to move. She sorted the contents of my food storage pantry into 14 big boxes. I silently thank her every time I see those boxes.
I miss my beautiful Spanish-speaking friends, like Jose, who always smiles. He says that Spanish is the language of Heaven, we will all speak it one day. Consuelo, his wife, is the proudest, most devoted mother ever, and the finest friend.
I miss the delightful Caribbean people in Midwood, and their Relief Society president, Alice. She and her husband Frank live the Gospel like no one else I have ever known. I loved visiting that congregation because the women in Relief Society sang with such gusto, drowning me out entirely. That didn't happen in any other congregation in Brooklyn.
I miss my delightful Filipino family - for friends ARE family among Filipinos. Everyone seems to get a nickname. Mine is Momsy. Holidays won't be the same without karioke at the Soletas!
And of course in my own ward I had every nationality mixed together in one place. In my 14 years there I came to know people from Russia, Mongolia, Haiti, Hong Kong, Italy, Australia, Sierra Leone, Kenya, Puerto Rico and many other Caribbean islands, Belize, Peru, Ecuador, Argentina, El Salvador, and the equally foreign-to-me lands of California, Utah, Canada.
But that's not all. I worked each day with Jewish people from all over. More than a few had family members who were Holocaust survivors. Some were very secular, others very devout. Many had spent a year or more in Israel, spoke Hebrew and Yiddish, and happily educated me about the meaning and history of the Jewish holidays. I worked with Muslims and Buddhists, Catholics and Coptics, Greek and Russian Orthodox, and people who didn't feel the need of any higher power.
People think that New Yorkers are cold, unfriendly, distant, but I quickly learned that they are devoted friends, fiercely loyal, generous to a fault. A New York friend is a friend for life.
So yes, Mom, I do miss my friends and my adopted hometown. I'm doing my best to make my home in Arkansas, and I'm grateful for every day that I'm here with you. But I'm homesick. I find myself tearing up unexpectedly and more often than I'd like. I'm having trouble settling into my new church and job where almost everyone looks the same and sounds the same. I'm not as brave as my immigrant friends in New York who just dive in and make their way.
The lyrics to a hymn recently pulled me up short. Grief. "Jesus can heal my grief." That's what wrong with me, I am grieving! I couldn't sing anymore that morning. I stopped in mid-phrase so I wouldn't embarrass myself crying out loud. At least now I have a word for what I'm feeling. Why didn't I see it sooner? Grief has steps and phases. There's a process for moving through it and coming out better on the other side of it. I need to work on that and keep moving forward.
After all, I haven't lost my New York friends. I have Facebook and email and the phone, should I have a moment to make a call. So to all of you who read this - I love you, I miss you, but I'm okay and I'm where I need to be. I'm happy in the knowledge that you will go on being true New Yorkers, accepting and welcoming other people like me and becoming THEIR new friends for life. Thank you for enriching my life and teaching me so much about unconditional love and acceptance and what friendship is all about.
Tuesday, October 4, 2011
Last night I watched "Dancing With the Stars" with my mom. The theme for the evening was "my favorite year," and I was very touched by some of the dancers' presentations and stories. A couple even brought me to tears.
I awoke before the alarm went off this morning. As I lay there in the dark, my husband leaned up against me, my cats tucked in around my legs and feet, I realized I was wondering what MY favorite year has been. Surely there is a favorite among the 50-odd years I've passed through so far. These dancers could choose one, so surely I could too. I began sorting through my experiences.
Nancy Grace chose the year her children were born. Definitely a significant event. She chose that year even though she and one of the babies almost died at childbirth. What about the year my only child came along? I remember the ease of giving birth, the joy of meeting my daughter and watching her grow. I also well recall the unrelenting exhaustion as I learned to juggle work, school, marriage and motherhood, and the death of my father one month before my baby's first birthday. No, not my favorite year.
Okay, what about the year I got married? Either time? I was so happy planning my wedding to Mike. We were poor students, but I found just the right dress for next to nothing, designed my own invitations, and we had a lovely fall wedding at my parents' house on The Mountain with my best friend Elaine by my side, my cousin at the piano, our immediate families gathered round. By the end of that first year, though, I was convinced that God sent some people to Earth to be happy, and some to suffer, and I was among the latter. No, still not my favorite year.
I was more happy the day I married Ed. We didn't go to the expense of a family wedding - we'd both been married before, after all. Instead, we planned a fun weekend in Eureka Springs at an historic bed and breakfast. We were married by the owner of the vintage photography shop where we had our pictures made, each of us dressed in our lovely turn-of-the-century costumes. I will always carry that weekend in my heart. But maybe not that year, since I spent most of it locked in a bitter court battle with Mike for custody of our little girl. A year with good days, but probably not a favorite.
Right now I think my favorite year was my very first in New York. Ed found us the perfect little apartment in Brooklyn. For the first time in my life I wasn't worried about money - we both had good jobs. We went out every week, to museums, concerts, jazz bars, plays, Central Park. We ate breakfast every Saturday at a little neighborhood diner, discovered the myriad offerings of the street vendors in Manhattan. We quickly felt like New Yorkers. It had been traumatic to leave Arkansas. My daughter didn't want to come with us, preferring the familiarity of her little hometown in Arkansas, It broke my heart to leave her, but I looked forward to sharing the City with her when she visited. We wound up not having nearly enough of those visits, and I spent a small fortune periodically flying home to Arkansas to see her and everyone else. Which brings me back to the present...
Will this year turn out to be my favorite, when I look back on it somewhere down the road? I began it fretting over whether I would EVER get back to Arkansas to take care of my mother, be with my daughter, get to know my granddaughter. In every conversation with them I heard of another missed opportunity to be together. At the same time I was heartsick knowing that coming home to them would mean leaving my home in New York, the city and people I have come to love so much. Every day I struggled with the knowledge that gaining the one would mean giving up the other. So every day I found myself saying goodbye to something about the City, savoring, lingering over mundane experiences. Would this be my last walk in this park, down that street? My last smell of sea air, my last snowstorm? Will I ever see Lizzy the wild turkey in Battery Park again? Play with the Johnson triplets? Hug my friend Cherry, hear Pres. Nelson sing in church? Will this be the last time I have to drive around for half an hour looking for a place to park late at night? The last ride home in a livery car, tired from a late night at work but enthralled by the lights and sounds of the City? It's been such an emotional experience. Will this someday be my favorite year? Perhaps.
"Favorite" doesn't have to mean "most perfect." It's the best because something memorable happened, because I made a life-changing decision for all the right reasons. I'm spending time daily with my mother, seeing my daughter and granddaughter every week, and getting to know myself better in the process. It's been a very good year.
I awoke before the alarm went off this morning. As I lay there in the dark, my husband leaned up against me, my cats tucked in around my legs and feet, I realized I was wondering what MY favorite year has been. Surely there is a favorite among the 50-odd years I've passed through so far. These dancers could choose one, so surely I could too. I began sorting through my experiences.
Nancy Grace chose the year her children were born. Definitely a significant event. She chose that year even though she and one of the babies almost died at childbirth. What about the year my only child came along? I remember the ease of giving birth, the joy of meeting my daughter and watching her grow. I also well recall the unrelenting exhaustion as I learned to juggle work, school, marriage and motherhood, and the death of my father one month before my baby's first birthday. No, not my favorite year.
Okay, what about the year I got married? Either time? I was so happy planning my wedding to Mike. We were poor students, but I found just the right dress for next to nothing, designed my own invitations, and we had a lovely fall wedding at my parents' house on The Mountain with my best friend Elaine by my side, my cousin at the piano, our immediate families gathered round. By the end of that first year, though, I was convinced that God sent some people to Earth to be happy, and some to suffer, and I was among the latter. No, still not my favorite year.
I was more happy the day I married Ed. We didn't go to the expense of a family wedding - we'd both been married before, after all. Instead, we planned a fun weekend in Eureka Springs at an historic bed and breakfast. We were married by the owner of the vintage photography shop where we had our pictures made, each of us dressed in our lovely turn-of-the-century costumes. I will always carry that weekend in my heart. But maybe not that year, since I spent most of it locked in a bitter court battle with Mike for custody of our little girl. A year with good days, but probably not a favorite.
Right now I think my favorite year was my very first in New York. Ed found us the perfect little apartment in Brooklyn. For the first time in my life I wasn't worried about money - we both had good jobs. We went out every week, to museums, concerts, jazz bars, plays, Central Park. We ate breakfast every Saturday at a little neighborhood diner, discovered the myriad offerings of the street vendors in Manhattan. We quickly felt like New Yorkers. It had been traumatic to leave Arkansas. My daughter didn't want to come with us, preferring the familiarity of her little hometown in Arkansas, It broke my heart to leave her, but I looked forward to sharing the City with her when she visited. We wound up not having nearly enough of those visits, and I spent a small fortune periodically flying home to Arkansas to see her and everyone else. Which brings me back to the present...
Will this year turn out to be my favorite, when I look back on it somewhere down the road? I began it fretting over whether I would EVER get back to Arkansas to take care of my mother, be with my daughter, get to know my granddaughter. In every conversation with them I heard of another missed opportunity to be together. At the same time I was heartsick knowing that coming home to them would mean leaving my home in New York, the city and people I have come to love so much. Every day I struggled with the knowledge that gaining the one would mean giving up the other. So every day I found myself saying goodbye to something about the City, savoring, lingering over mundane experiences. Would this be my last walk in this park, down that street? My last smell of sea air, my last snowstorm? Will I ever see Lizzy the wild turkey in Battery Park again? Play with the Johnson triplets? Hug my friend Cherry, hear Pres. Nelson sing in church? Will this be the last time I have to drive around for half an hour looking for a place to park late at night? The last ride home in a livery car, tired from a late night at work but enthralled by the lights and sounds of the City? It's been such an emotional experience. Will this someday be my favorite year? Perhaps.
"Favorite" doesn't have to mean "most perfect." It's the best because something memorable happened, because I made a life-changing decision for all the right reasons. I'm spending time daily with my mother, seeing my daughter and granddaughter every week, and getting to know myself better in the process. It's been a very good year.
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