THAT'S ALL

     We are fine. We work, talk, eat (a lot), drive (a little, since the cars give us particular trouble this time) and laugh.

The trip for a Halloween party to
a local tea-house. 

     Sonny still has his job. Amazingly, most of the days he gets up on time to go there. He feels, he was taken advantage of by the Macy's (where he works) HR. His shift starts at 6:30 in the morning, and he doesn't have guts to change that. I am also taking advantage of his situation. He'd have to walk in the dark and the cold to take the bus and the BART (Bay Area's Subway system), if I don't let him use the car. And he can only use the car if he pays, what Mr. P. calls, "the

sweat equity": meaning, does different chores around the house. Then and only then he is able to drive our unreliable vehicles. Sometimes, like today, I have to give him a ride in order to have the car for my own needs.
     Taka's car is losing ground. We changed radiator on it, but almost immediately it began to smoke again. I could swear: the owner of the auto repair shop told me after installing the radiator that, there wasn't any significant leakage of the fluids from anywhere else, but now he says, he warned me of the leaking "head gasket". I was so happy before I even knew, what that was! Now we have to pay $800 to take care of the problem, and the mechanics said, there is a chance they'll find something else wrong, once they'll take half of the motor apart in order to get to the blasted "head gasket"! I think, it's a ploy to charge us for unending repairs. What can we do?! Perhaps, the lack of guts is a family affliction, because I can't see myself arguing with the mechanics!
     So, one of our Hondas is in the shop, getting "operated on", and Taka uses the other one for his commute to work. Which also means, I have to drive Sonny to his job early in the mornings, before his dad goes to work.
     Recently I went to see my acquaintances. I talked about them in a post named "To eat (meat) or not to eat?" This time the husband, Rafi, made us some pasta with sea kelp and a side of stewed cabbage. I won't go into the specifics of the meal, but as I walked into their living room afterwards, I forgot about a small step they have there. As the result, I landed rather heavily on one of my long suffering feet and at once felt strong, tearing pain in the sole of the arch. More than two weeks later, and I still can't walk freely without a cane or stand for more than 3 minutes without starting to feel the sharp ache. I am not letting myself get depressed about it, but that severely limited my activities.
     Do I get any help from the family? Sometimes, and, most of the time, only with a lot of prodding, pouting and screaming. Why it has to be so, I don't know. I guess, I am a bad mother and a stupid wife, who couldn't inspire more loyalty and compassion in my family.
     That's all.

DON'T DRIVE ME AWAY

     A lot of Jews were killed in a terrible Kaunas (the second largest city in Lithuania) ghetto. Just on October 28, 1941 around ten thousand people were shot. One day, the nazis and the Lithuanian police killed all the children. They were lured out of the houses with music. Those, whom their mothers didn't let go, were killed on the spot, right in front of the mothers.
     For a while the killing stopped, but in 1943 the ghetto came under the jurisdiction of the SS. The killing began anew.
     A young, 30 year old, Jew stood naked on the edge of the ditch. He was one of the first to be wounded and fall under the fire. Other bodies fell on top of him. Terrified, he tried to climb out of the ditch. He grabbed the edge of it with his hands. Laughing, a policeman stuck his hands with a bayonette. He fell back.
     He lay in the ditch until the night. Under him the pile of the bodies moved and moaned. At night he crawled out and walked toward the distant lights. He found a distant stead and somehow climbed over the fence; used a sheet hanging in the yard to cover himself.  With his wounded hands knocked on the door.
     A young woman opened it. He slumped against the doorpost and whispered: "Help me!".
     She pursed her lips. "Get out of here," - she said - "If they find you , they'll kill me and my children. Get out! Go back, where you came from!"
     He begged: "Don't drive me away, please!" He stood there, half naked, with injured hands and bloody head. She just kept repeating: Get away!"
     All of a sudden, from behind the curtain ran out a little blond girl. She hugged her mother's legs, raised her head and said: "Mommy, don't push him away: he is our Lord, Jesus Christ!"
     The family hid and cared for the man until he joined the forest guerillas. He fought in most daring operations. His comrades were surprised by his total lack of fear. He was killed at the very end of the war.
     I met and talked to the girl in 1988. She was 50 - younger, than I am now. I listened to her with the with the goose bumps running up and down my body.
At the end I said: "Well, yes, of course, you saw an exhausted man in a white robe with bloody hands and head, You were little, you made a mistake."

    She calmly looked in my eyes and carefully shook her head: "You don't understand, It really was Jesus."


Eugene Royzman
Source: http://roizman.livejournal.com/1652237.html

Meow!! BY G.A Rossini

I LOVE YOU!

     My mother's name on a small post-it looked absurd on Mr. P.'s chest. As we talked, it kept falling off, as if something (or someone?) didn't want the exercise to continue.
     "Look at me," - Mr. P. said - "tell your mother every resentment you might have toward her."
     When my mother was dying, I desperately resented her for, what I perceived, the lack of desire to stay alive. How stupid of me! She was, probably, despairing herself at the thought of her life going away and nothing we could do about it!
     Anyway, a lady-social worker at mom's hospital suggested, I should really try to work out my problems with mother, or, as that Jewish person put it, I'd be left "with the grizhas in the kishkis". If you don't understand Yiddish, that means: with the intestinal ulcers.
     I began to pray, and, as if by magic, the lifetime of unspoken or regularly shouted into each other's faces hurts just disappeared! I didn't forget them, but the bitterness was gone. 
     Now Mr. P. wanted me to rehash the things, I thought, I laid to rest. Oh, well: "In for a penny, in for a pound!"
     I thought, I laid them to rest. A lot of things I did. But some memories I couldn't even touch without the emotional pain paralyzing me for weeks. I never addressed them in hopes of healing. They just continued to fester in the depths of my mind. 
     As my mouth opened, the words began to tumble out. I still can't tell anyone about my worst traumas, but I talked of being upset that, my mother never taught me to be a wiser woman or what the real relationships demand from a person. She wasn't there for me, when I was on the verge of suicide, and she knew the reason for it too! Instead of offering some comfort or support, all she could do was to accuse me. 
     Mom, do you hear me? I love you and I want you to acknowledge your own lack of wisdom in raising your daughters! I love you!

WELCOMING PARTY

 
     Hanah's High School friend, Christina, invited us to her little daughter's "welcoming party". Since the cutie is already born, I guess, it was too late to have a Baby Shower!
     This is the second child (from a second husband!). The first one is on the picture to the left.
     Christina with her family recently moved in with her parents to a house near our own. It was nice of her to remember her "aunty" - as she calls me (never failing to melt my heart) - and invite us to a party!
     The baby Ava Nicole - what a beautiful name! - is very advanced for her age. She already tries to crawl, and the look in her eyes is extremely sharp and focused.
     I went a little crazy shopping for the baby. Who knows, when I'll have another chance to do it again (boo-hoo!!!). 
     Roberta and Serina came with me. A few of the family friends were there, others - sent presents. Christina's mother and grandmother made some snacks and a big meal for all of us.
     The older daughter, Alice, is a charming young lady of three - four years of age. I think, she feels a little insecure now, that her parents have another child, so she she expresses it by obsessively "imprinting" on anyone, whom she likes. Serina almost immediately "fell into her clutches", and Alice didn't let her get far away all through the festivities!
     We chatted and played games. On this photo Serina with her eyes covered has to gather as many cotton balls as she can into a box. She lost to another lady, but only by a small margin!
     For some time Alice got distracted by a small boy, whom she tried to make play with her.

     Then that family had to leave, and Alice switched her attention back to Serina and Roberta. The look in my niece's eyes became haunted, as for the next hour or so she was pressed into twirling Alice through the air or chasing her around the house. Then Alice noticed Roberta!

It happened before: for some reason, Alice feels spellbound, when she sees my elderly charge. Roberta says, it's because of her white hair. 

     The little girl glued herself to her side and played all the games there, brought all her treasures to show Roberta and Serina, put toy cat ears on Roberta's venerable white head and, finally, sprawled in her aching, I might add, lap and refused to budge

from there!
     I had to peel her off Roberta. Alice followed us to the car, as her family came out to say goodbye to us. She would've hurled herself into the car, if her grandmother didn't say a magic word: "Cake!" With that the flighty little princess forgot all about us and ran back to the house.

AHOY, HANAH!

     My eyes are not crying. My mind is steady, but I am confused, what to do or think. Hanah didn't respond to any of my e-mails for at least a month and a half. Before she left to finish her last semester of college, I asked her to choose a phone that she liked. I would've bought it for her. She didn't take that opportunity, and now I can't reach her by phone as well as by e-mail.
     I feel, like I'm a hostage to my love for and duty to her! I can't tell myself: "I don't care, I gave her all the opportunity to stay in touch or get a new phone. Now it's her own business, if she is in trouble or needs something!"

     Here is something to think about:

Codependent relationships are a type of dysfunctional helping relationship where one person supports or enables another person's addiction, poor mental health, immaturity, irresponsibility, or under-achievement.

     Am I codependent? I'm not giving in to my desire to catch the next bus to Arcata, find Hanah and make sure, she is OK. I stopped writing threatening e-mails to her. I did talk to some office at her college and asked to find out, if she is alright, but made sure to tell them NOT to force her to get in touch with me, if her professors say,  they see her in classes, and she is fine. 

     I guess, since I am not supporting her irresponsible attitude towards the family by hovering over and smothering Hanah, I am not codependent to her. What I am is: lost, apprehensive and scared. I wonder, if every parent on the planet, whose child left home for any period of time, feels that way!

PERCHANCE, TO DREAM!

     Why should today be different?!
     Drama, drama, drama. 
     

Roberta is 82. She can still surprise me with a shrewd remark or being the one to point out the right direction, when I get lost driving. But in the last year she lost a lot of that sharpness of perception and ability to make good decisions.
     It becomes more apparent at night.
     She goes to bed much earlier than I. I, usually, get absorbed in watching TV or working on this blog (alright, alright, I also check out what Facebook people have to say or play online Scrabble!).
     It gives me a real jolt, therefore, to suddenly see Roberta appear at my elbow. Usually, there is some     interesting thing to follow!
     On most of those occasions she is only half aware of what she is doing. How else can you explain, for example, her coming to the living room, where Sonny or Taka can see her, dressed only in a blouse and panties? Most importantly, she forgets to take her cane or walker!
     Last night I again didn't anticipate her arrival. She went to sleep, but in an hour I saw her stumbling down the ramp into the living room, sans any means to help her keep balance!
     She plopped on the couch after handing me

something. I stupidly peered into my hand: it was a scab she tore off her injured forehead! The scab still sported the strips of adhesive paper, which are supposed to hold the wound together. In her sleep my charge, probably, scratched the whole thing off!

     Sometimes I feel during a crazy situation, my mind turns 180 degrees! I felt it again, as I gazed at the place on Roberta's forehead, where sides of a neat line of her wound began to part by a few millimeters without the adhesive strps holding them together. 
     It wasn't too bad. I stuck a large band aid with some Neosporin onto Roberta's head and sent her back to sleep. 
     By the morning she managed to lose it, so I used two smaller band aids instead. She also totally forgot her night adventure. We spent the whole morning laughing about it. 
What else is there to do?!