Daughter #1 arrived back in Texas rather unexpectedly. We had tried so hard to convince her that staying in California was the best thing for her to do, seeing that she wasn't going to be able to bring her daughter here. I guess we were trying the tough love approach, hoping that somehow it would sink in and have a positive effect on the rest of her life. We explained that she didn't need to go to school this semester, she could just work and get to know her daughter better. We explained that she could go to any one of a thousand schools in California, that they would welcome her and her GI bill money into their school.
What made the arrival even more shocking was that she had been here already for almost a week before she appeared at the door. There was no hi or hello, no apology or explanation, but just an "I'm here to pick up my stuff" kind of attitude. Really all she could say was that she had told "Daddy" that she was going to come. Of course she forgot the part where he told her that it wasn't a good idea and that we couldn't support her if she came.
So she's here, but not in communication with us. She's here and living with a neighbor's cousin. She's here, but it's as though she isn't here. Except that our granddaughter has lost her mother. Precious little girl knows that she has a mother, but her mother has never taken care of her, never taken her home, never been a 24/7, 365 days a year kind of mother. It goes against everything that I ever believed about having a child or being a mom. But then I have to face the music, that I am not in charge and my daughter is an adult who is making her own decisions. It hurts really badly when I think about it too much, so I have to lay it aside and think that Precious Girl's Nana( her other grandmother) loves her and takes care of her and supports her like a mom should and maybe that's OK.
Thursday, August 11, 2011
Monday, August 1, 2011
The Fair
It's getting close to "back to school" time here in Texas. Not so in New York state, where I grew up. There , they have another month of summer vacation left. Soon enough the cooler winds will begin to blow and it will feel like autumn is really coming. Its been 25 years since the last time I attended the Schaghticoke fair, the fair of my childhood memories. Fair time signaled the end of summer and the beginning of the school year for me for all of my growing up years.
Fair time was freedom time for me, a time when my world centered on whatever livestock and exhibits I had taken to fair that year. Fair time meant seeing people you didn't see but once a year and doing things that you didn't get to do but once a year. It meant thinking you owned the fairgrounds and that you were really important because you were showing livestock at the fair. People knew you by your family and by whatever 4-H club you were in.
Schaghticoke Fair was our county fair so it was the most important fair to our family. We often had up to 20 head of cattle there at our peak, as well as 20-30 sheep of different breeds. A few years we also showed dairy goats at Schaghticoke Fair. During my high school years, I was the only child in my family to still be in 4-H, so I literally did it all. My mother would come up to the fairgrounds during the day to stay in the cattle barns and guard our exhibit. Sometimes she would come down to the sheep barns, especially if it was a show day, but she enjoyed the cattle people best. My brother would come up to help with the open class cattle, especially if we had several milking cattle. The milkers were taken to a milking parlor there on the fairgrounds and were milked there early in the morning and again in the afternoon.
We had several show days because of the variety of animals we took to the fair. There was a sheep show day with both 4-H and open class shows held for all the breeds represented there. My breed was Southdowns, which I always loved because of their little bear like faces. Our family had several breeds of sheep, but the Southdowns were mine. They were shorter and more docile than some of the other breeds like Cheviots and Suffolks. I say this in past tense because the modern day Southdown has become a much taller, leaner breed than it once was.
Sheep showing day was long and hot. Sheep are not the most cooperative animals and they are shown by placing one hand under their necks and holding oto the fold of skin while placing the other hand on the top side of the neck for security. When the judge came to review the animals, the showman's optimal postion was squatting at the sheeps side holding onto only the underside of the animals neck so the judge could have a good view of the whole animal. Because of this rather light hold on the sheep, and the sheep's skiddish nature, many sheep ended up being lost in the ring. The sheep would give one good buck up and the handhold was gone. Also the lanolin from the wool would make your hands extra greesy and add to the"catching the sheep" fun.
Sheep showmanship class involved alot of preparation on the 4-h ers part. You wanted to show a sheep that was fairly tame and knew you well. The sheep had to be washed and blocked and trimmed so that it looked like a snowy white rectangular shaped sheep. Blocking and trimming would take many hours of putting the sheep up onto the show stand and carding , then trimming the wool for just the right shape. A lot of practice was needed to get this right because it was easy to gouge the sheep's wool or make it look uneven.
Years of practice blocking and trimming had me frequently winning showmanship in high school and I was also chosen to be a Master blocker and trimmer at State Fair. I believe the techniques for getting sheep ready have totally changed since I last showed and many sheep are slicked sheared a few weeks before the show so no blocking can be down. Halters are also used in some shows which must make the back breaking work of squatting and grabbing the animal under the neck a thing of the past.
The cattle shows were held on different days. All the 4-H cattle shows were held the same day, but open class was held on various days depending on breed. I was a good showman, but never as good with cattle as I was with sheep. It probably had to do with preparation because you really had to work with your animal before show day so you worked as a team.
I did have other 4-H projects such as flowers, vegetables, demonstrations, dog obedience,dairy goats and an occasional sewing project, but nothing matched the livestock, either in terms of time spent or importance in my life at that time.
Fair time was freedom time for me, a time when my world centered on whatever livestock and exhibits I had taken to fair that year. Fair time meant seeing people you didn't see but once a year and doing things that you didn't get to do but once a year. It meant thinking you owned the fairgrounds and that you were really important because you were showing livestock at the fair. People knew you by your family and by whatever 4-H club you were in.
Schaghticoke Fair was our county fair so it was the most important fair to our family. We often had up to 20 head of cattle there at our peak, as well as 20-30 sheep of different breeds. A few years we also showed dairy goats at Schaghticoke Fair. During my high school years, I was the only child in my family to still be in 4-H, so I literally did it all. My mother would come up to the fairgrounds during the day to stay in the cattle barns and guard our exhibit. Sometimes she would come down to the sheep barns, especially if it was a show day, but she enjoyed the cattle people best. My brother would come up to help with the open class cattle, especially if we had several milking cattle. The milkers were taken to a milking parlor there on the fairgrounds and were milked there early in the morning and again in the afternoon.
We had several show days because of the variety of animals we took to the fair. There was a sheep show day with both 4-H and open class shows held for all the breeds represented there. My breed was Southdowns, which I always loved because of their little bear like faces. Our family had several breeds of sheep, but the Southdowns were mine. They were shorter and more docile than some of the other breeds like Cheviots and Suffolks. I say this in past tense because the modern day Southdown has become a much taller, leaner breed than it once was.
Sheep showing day was long and hot. Sheep are not the most cooperative animals and they are shown by placing one hand under their necks and holding oto the fold of skin while placing the other hand on the top side of the neck for security. When the judge came to review the animals, the showman's optimal postion was squatting at the sheeps side holding onto only the underside of the animals neck so the judge could have a good view of the whole animal. Because of this rather light hold on the sheep, and the sheep's skiddish nature, many sheep ended up being lost in the ring. The sheep would give one good buck up and the handhold was gone. Also the lanolin from the wool would make your hands extra greesy and add to the"catching the sheep" fun.
Sheep showmanship class involved alot of preparation on the 4-h ers part. You wanted to show a sheep that was fairly tame and knew you well. The sheep had to be washed and blocked and trimmed so that it looked like a snowy white rectangular shaped sheep. Blocking and trimming would take many hours of putting the sheep up onto the show stand and carding , then trimming the wool for just the right shape. A lot of practice was needed to get this right because it was easy to gouge the sheep's wool or make it look uneven.
Years of practice blocking and trimming had me frequently winning showmanship in high school and I was also chosen to be a Master blocker and trimmer at State Fair. I believe the techniques for getting sheep ready have totally changed since I last showed and many sheep are slicked sheared a few weeks before the show so no blocking can be down. Halters are also used in some shows which must make the back breaking work of squatting and grabbing the animal under the neck a thing of the past.
The cattle shows were held on different days. All the 4-H cattle shows were held the same day, but open class was held on various days depending on breed. I was a good showman, but never as good with cattle as I was with sheep. It probably had to do with preparation because you really had to work with your animal before show day so you worked as a team.
I did have other 4-H projects such as flowers, vegetables, demonstrations, dog obedience,dairy goats and an occasional sewing project, but nothing matched the livestock, either in terms of time spent or importance in my life at that time.
Saturday, July 9, 2011
62 years
Today is my parents 62nd anniversary. Wouldn't it be lovely if I could tell the story of a happily married couple who have lived lovingly and shared that love with their children? Too bad that's only a fairy tale for me. I believe that there was a time of love, a time when they shared common ideas and goals. Because I am the 5th and youngest child, I didn't live through my parents time of happiness. By the time I arrived, they had already formed an unhappy bond full of disdain for each other and opposing life goals. What one dreamed of, the other suffered through. Many times throughout my childhood I asked myself why they didn't get a divorce, why they didn't separate, but there were no really clear answers.
Today, as an adult, I look at their marriage through mature eyes . My head tells me that their relationship was codependent, that they couldn't live without each other even though they showed such outward disdain for one another. My mom was always the stronger one and she used that strength to bully my dad into doing whatever it was that she wanted him to do. Usually that meant lots of yelling and demanding that he get down to the barn to do chores. Since he never liked the farm or wanted the animals, he was always slow to respond and never quite in the manner that she wanted, Back and forth, back and forth, with Mom as the aggressor and Dad as the resistor.
In the later years of my parents time living together, things changed for the worse for several reasons. After Mom had her brain injury in 2004 and came back to the farm after a month in rehab, she became more dependent on my Dad to help her in the house. He was happy to see her come home initially, but soon they turned back to their old habits of yelling and criticizing each other. Mom's cognitive function never got back to where she had been before the accident and gradually it became obvious that she was declining. She still wanted to retain control over my dad and she did that through constant threats, yelling and checking up on what he was doing. His response was to withdraw, drink alcohol and stay in his room upstairs and watch TV. He didn't eat much and became very thin and weak. He was taken to the hospital a number of times due to falling and being unable to get up, and after the last time in 2008, he never returned to the farm again. My mom continued to live there by herself until August 2009 when an animal friend of hers whom she had bottle fed since birth, came into the house and head butted her(as rams are prone to do) causing her to fall and break her hip. As they say in the movies, the surgery was successful to pin the hip, but the patient....never recovered. Her brain took the biggest hit of all post-surgery and not only did she become completely confused and disoriented, but she also never walked nor stood again.
62 years. What does it mean? It means that my parents managed to raise 5 decent kids in spite of their own difficulties. It means that those 5 kids have given birth to 15 kids and adopted 11 from countries all over the world including Haiti, Honduras,Korea and the United States. Among us we have different lifestyles, different religious beliefs, different ways of expressing ourselves, but all of us have contributed something positive to the world.
Today, as an adult, I look at their marriage through mature eyes . My head tells me that their relationship was codependent, that they couldn't live without each other even though they showed such outward disdain for one another. My mom was always the stronger one and she used that strength to bully my dad into doing whatever it was that she wanted him to do. Usually that meant lots of yelling and demanding that he get down to the barn to do chores. Since he never liked the farm or wanted the animals, he was always slow to respond and never quite in the manner that she wanted, Back and forth, back and forth, with Mom as the aggressor and Dad as the resistor.
In the later years of my parents time living together, things changed for the worse for several reasons. After Mom had her brain injury in 2004 and came back to the farm after a month in rehab, she became more dependent on my Dad to help her in the house. He was happy to see her come home initially, but soon they turned back to their old habits of yelling and criticizing each other. Mom's cognitive function never got back to where she had been before the accident and gradually it became obvious that she was declining. She still wanted to retain control over my dad and she did that through constant threats, yelling and checking up on what he was doing. His response was to withdraw, drink alcohol and stay in his room upstairs and watch TV. He didn't eat much and became very thin and weak. He was taken to the hospital a number of times due to falling and being unable to get up, and after the last time in 2008, he never returned to the farm again. My mom continued to live there by herself until August 2009 when an animal friend of hers whom she had bottle fed since birth, came into the house and head butted her(as rams are prone to do) causing her to fall and break her hip. As they say in the movies, the surgery was successful to pin the hip, but the patient....never recovered. Her brain took the biggest hit of all post-surgery and not only did she become completely confused and disoriented, but she also never walked nor stood again.
62 years. What does it mean? It means that my parents managed to raise 5 decent kids in spite of their own difficulties. It means that those 5 kids have given birth to 15 kids and adopted 11 from countries all over the world including Haiti, Honduras,Korea and the United States. Among us we have different lifestyles, different religious beliefs, different ways of expressing ourselves, but all of us have contributed something positive to the world.
Sunday, June 19, 2011
Daughter mine
I have a daughter that I loved so much and she went away. While she was gone, she became a different person;someone I don't know. After 11 years of near silence, she arrived back at home and stayed for two months. I didn't know what to say to her, I was afraid of her.
I've been walking on egg shells for the past two months. We pass each other in the house, she going into the kitchen and me going out. We exchange pleasantries, but anything deeper than that causes hostility, resentment and anger.
She's a veteran now after having served in the Navy for almost 10 years. She will talk about Navy things and the carrier. She'll tell you about the young Navy kids she trained and scared to death. She'll swear like a sailor and tell you how she will defend her little brother by kicking anyone's a** who comes near him. Finally she'll tell you how they discharged her from the Navy for being over the physical weight standards for too long.
She's full of anger. She's full of the kind of anger that rears its ugly head at unexpected moments, like when you're trying to have a meaningful conversation about some important issue and BAMM..you get shot down, told that your suggestions, advice, thoughts are not welcome. I don't know what my role is. Is my only purpose to provide a cheap place to live, to hang out ? Then there's the issue of money. She doesn't have much. She asked me if she could borrow some money to send to her ex...to pay for my granddaughter's health insurance. I said sure, as long as you pay me back. She needed to go back to California so she could work on getting physical custody of her daughter, but she didn't have the money to pay for the ticket. She asked me if I could pay for the ticket and I said yes, and I expect to be paid back, While she was at it, she used my credit card to pay her phone bill and didn't ask me about that at all. I don't know now if I will ever see any of the money I lent her.
She won't talk to me except to ask for money. She tells everything to her "Daddy". She tells Daddy that I am judgmental, that I talk to people about her and she doesn't like that. She wants everything to be private. I'm not sure what her level of privacy even means. It feels like she is trying to hide some deep, dark secrets. I have been wondering about those secrets since her daughter was born . Why have I never been allowed to speak to Precious Girl's other grandmother, who has taken care of her since she was born? Precious Girl is a beautiful, well behaved little girl. I know her other grandmother loves her and takes good care of her. Why have I been kept away? I would have loved to have had a conversation about how Precious Girl's doing and was there anything I could help with. But I was never allowed. My daughter refused to give me her mother in laws phone number and so almost seven years have passed in silence.
She's gone back to California now. She says she wants to bring her daughter here, to Texas. I would love to be a part of my granddaughter's life, but I feel in my heart like its not going to happen. I don't think my daughter can live here with me, with her Dad, without fracturing the very essence of who I am, who I know myself to be. She wants to be here with us for all the wrong reasons; so that she can live cheaply and use her GI bill housing money to buy a car and insurance, so that we can help her out at her beck and calling. She is not able to acknowledge that we might have some experience, some wisdom,some common sense advice that would go a long way toward helping her get herself into a better situation, Worst of all, God forbid that anyone would imply that she has been a less than stellar parent. Somehow, in her mind, she has made it so that all the reasons for not raising her daughter herself, all the reasons for not even seeing her daughter much over the past year since she's been out of the Navy; everything is justified.
We gave her the best of everything we had. We stayed in Honduras for an six extra months in order to complete her adoption and immigration paperwork. We vowed we wouldn't leave Honduras if we couldn't get her paperwork signed. She was welcomed to the USA by loving grandparents who went out of their way to make sure she had everything they could offer, She was part of our family, the oldest of 5 children. Although she never excelled at school, she excelled at being social and having friends, Adults at church loved her; kids loved her and would flock to her. Our priest at church was so impressed with her that he wanted to encourage her to think about going to seminary. It seems like a long time ago,so long that I have trouble remembering her sweetness anymore. I want to remember her the way she was, not the way she is now. It sounds like I am living in a fantasy world, that I can't accept who she has become. It's because I can't yet see who she has become, like her true nature is hiding behind a facade of anger.
I've been walking on egg shells for the past two months. We pass each other in the house, she going into the kitchen and me going out. We exchange pleasantries, but anything deeper than that causes hostility, resentment and anger.
She's a veteran now after having served in the Navy for almost 10 years. She will talk about Navy things and the carrier. She'll tell you about the young Navy kids she trained and scared to death. She'll swear like a sailor and tell you how she will defend her little brother by kicking anyone's a** who comes near him. Finally she'll tell you how they discharged her from the Navy for being over the physical weight standards for too long.
She's full of anger. She's full of the kind of anger that rears its ugly head at unexpected moments, like when you're trying to have a meaningful conversation about some important issue and BAMM..you get shot down, told that your suggestions, advice, thoughts are not welcome. I don't know what my role is. Is my only purpose to provide a cheap place to live, to hang out ? Then there's the issue of money. She doesn't have much. She asked me if she could borrow some money to send to her ex...to pay for my granddaughter's health insurance. I said sure, as long as you pay me back. She needed to go back to California so she could work on getting physical custody of her daughter, but she didn't have the money to pay for the ticket. She asked me if I could pay for the ticket and I said yes, and I expect to be paid back, While she was at it, she used my credit card to pay her phone bill and didn't ask me about that at all. I don't know now if I will ever see any of the money I lent her.
She won't talk to me except to ask for money. She tells everything to her "Daddy". She tells Daddy that I am judgmental, that I talk to people about her and she doesn't like that. She wants everything to be private. I'm not sure what her level of privacy even means. It feels like she is trying to hide some deep, dark secrets. I have been wondering about those secrets since her daughter was born . Why have I never been allowed to speak to Precious Girl's other grandmother, who has taken care of her since she was born? Precious Girl is a beautiful, well behaved little girl. I know her other grandmother loves her and takes good care of her. Why have I been kept away? I would have loved to have had a conversation about how Precious Girl's doing and was there anything I could help with. But I was never allowed. My daughter refused to give me her mother in laws phone number and so almost seven years have passed in silence.
She's gone back to California now. She says she wants to bring her daughter here, to Texas. I would love to be a part of my granddaughter's life, but I feel in my heart like its not going to happen. I don't think my daughter can live here with me, with her Dad, without fracturing the very essence of who I am, who I know myself to be. She wants to be here with us for all the wrong reasons; so that she can live cheaply and use her GI bill housing money to buy a car and insurance, so that we can help her out at her beck and calling. She is not able to acknowledge that we might have some experience, some wisdom,some common sense advice that would go a long way toward helping her get herself into a better situation, Worst of all, God forbid that anyone would imply that she has been a less than stellar parent. Somehow, in her mind, she has made it so that all the reasons for not raising her daughter herself, all the reasons for not even seeing her daughter much over the past year since she's been out of the Navy; everything is justified.
We gave her the best of everything we had. We stayed in Honduras for an six extra months in order to complete her adoption and immigration paperwork. We vowed we wouldn't leave Honduras if we couldn't get her paperwork signed. She was welcomed to the USA by loving grandparents who went out of their way to make sure she had everything they could offer, She was part of our family, the oldest of 5 children. Although she never excelled at school, she excelled at being social and having friends, Adults at church loved her; kids loved her and would flock to her. Our priest at church was so impressed with her that he wanted to encourage her to think about going to seminary. It seems like a long time ago,so long that I have trouble remembering her sweetness anymore. I want to remember her the way she was, not the way she is now. It sounds like I am living in a fantasy world, that I can't accept who she has become. It's because I can't yet see who she has become, like her true nature is hiding behind a facade of anger.
Thursday, February 24, 2011
A blast from the past
Our new found friend said Lloyd was coming to council and would be there shortly The Rt. Rev. Lloyd Allen , Bishop of Honduras , is his official title. Well, Paul became a whirling dervish. He changed his name tag to read looking for Bishop Lloyd and he could barely contain his excitement. You see, we go way back..back to when we were all teachers at St. Johns School in Puerto Cortes, Honduras. Lloyd was one of us, he was a Honduran native who spoke fluent Spanish and English. Later he went to seminary and we saw him here in Brownsville in 1988 or so. So many years ago, and yet we have talked on the phone many times since then so it doesn't seem so long ago.
Finally council started and there he was, sitting at the Bishops table. Paul couldn't wait , he couldn't contain himself so minutes later, I see him sitting at the Bishops table talking to Lloyd. Of course I was a little jealous because he had gotten there first. But I found my moment and went and gave Lloyd a hug. And so it went throughout Council. Of course it felt different for us because we couldn't have him to ourselves, because everyone wanted to shake his hand and tell him what a good speech he had made and most importantly because he had come to council to present and receive from everyone. He did a great job and we were so proud of him and felt proud that we had been part of his journey. We knew him then as our friend, as Paul's best man , as Sarah's godfather and we know him now as a great spiritual leader and someone who is moving his country out of the darkness and into its own light.
We were finally able to take him out to lunch, to one of my favorites-Cracker Barrel- and really talk about whats happening with him, where he's been and where he's going. It was so good to see him, talk with him, make future plans with him and honestly start revisiting our journey to Honduras and how we can go back. We know we're going back for a few weeks to see the country and how its progressed and to see what we are called to do, as a couple. No decisions yet, but lots of thoughts , prayers and dreams floating around. And so the story continues....
Friday, February 11, 2011
Perspective and bias
How much are the decisions that we make influenced by our past? When others are making decisions about us, how much of the decision making process is truly looking at the facts and how much is influenced by bias due to allegiances, money or in the worst case scenario, pure bigotry?
Over the past two years, I have been struggling with the effects of an automobile accident that I was involved in while working. Initially when I went to the doctor , the diagnosis was a back strain/sprain. I had neurological symptoms of something else, but that was the doctors starting place. When I returned to the doctor, he sent me for an MRI to see if I had a lumbar disk herniation. At that point I was referred to the neurosurgeon because of the symptoms I was having.
I lingered with the assigned neurosurgeon although he was not about to recommend anything that workmen's comp wouldn't pay for. In fact, I got to hate going to see him because he really didnt do or say anything other than how are you. Basically I had a recurring L5-S1 disk herniation which I could take pain medication for, have physical therapy for or eventually have surgery if the pain was too bad. Workmen's compensation left me high and dry. They brought in their big wig lawyer in the end, who said that all my symptoms were from the previous disk herniation/surgery I had. It didn't matter if other doctors disagreed or said that I certainly had additional injuries. All that mattered was that their slick Houston lawyer had ways to make me look bad by twisting what I said for his advantage.
Anyway, I'm free! Free to go to whatever doctor I choose and have whatever treatment is best for me. Its not being paid for by Workmens Comp, but maybe it doesn't matter.
Over the past two years, I have been struggling with the effects of an automobile accident that I was involved in while working. Initially when I went to the doctor , the diagnosis was a back strain/sprain. I had neurological symptoms of something else, but that was the doctors starting place. When I returned to the doctor, he sent me for an MRI to see if I had a lumbar disk herniation. At that point I was referred to the neurosurgeon because of the symptoms I was having.
I lingered with the assigned neurosurgeon although he was not about to recommend anything that workmen's comp wouldn't pay for. In fact, I got to hate going to see him because he really didnt do or say anything other than how are you. Basically I had a recurring L5-S1 disk herniation which I could take pain medication for, have physical therapy for or eventually have surgery if the pain was too bad. Workmen's compensation left me high and dry. They brought in their big wig lawyer in the end, who said that all my symptoms were from the previous disk herniation/surgery I had. It didn't matter if other doctors disagreed or said that I certainly had additional injuries. All that mattered was that their slick Houston lawyer had ways to make me look bad by twisting what I said for his advantage.
Anyway, I'm free! Free to go to whatever doctor I choose and have whatever treatment is best for me. Its not being paid for by Workmens Comp, but maybe it doesn't matter.
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