When my swim coach told me that Julia played cello, I thought it was too good to be true. I dreamed of finding chamber musicians to play with. There couldn't be one sharing my swim lane! "Do you know the Brahms cello sonatas?" I asked her while we were getting dressed. The beautiful melody that opens Brahms' E minor cello sonata magically flowed right out of her mouth. "Come to my house tomorrow night after work," I told her. Lucky for me, she agreed.
Today, I swam in the 5 AM class instead of our usual 6 AM. When Julia asked why, I admitted that I had insomnia due to a worry about my middle daughter. "Oh, I see," she answered. "Last time you were super worried, it turned out to be a problem fit for a radio segment."
Sure, she had a point. While Julia was enjoying dinner with me and Eric, we became increasingly worried about Summer's absence. Sadly, I really worry with passion. Turns out, Summer was attending a diner for students accepted at Princeton and her cell phone was off. OK, so that wasn't nearly as bad as it could have been but this...
When my sister was in a relationship with Greg and I suggested she date other guys just to make sure he was the right one, she showed anger- the only anger I've ever witnessed from her. "I will never talk to you about my social life again!" From that I've learned, any influence from family must be given early.
Emily chose the first apartment she saw both before college and after college. She did the same with her job. "Shouldn't you fill out some other applications just in case this job doesn't work out?" She did not. She went through the 6 month application process to become a 911 dispatcher and with her brains, hard work, typing skills and excellent memory, she got the job. All of that worked out wonderfully and she continues to thrive in this very important work. However, I am unable to embrace this selection process for guys.
"Have you ever been married?" I asked Julia in the hot tub last week. I knew she had an MD, a PhD, she had lived in the deep south, she has a family heirloom grand piano, a formidable music collection, and a sister anyone would admire but I had never asked her this.
Call me manipulative. Tell me I'm the mother my daughter will never recover from. But I can't help it. I spelled out my wishes, threatening to curtail my 4 day a week dog watching services if they're not met. ( I love watching Fancy and Tobe too- Havanese/Daschund and Schitzu- best dogs since my old standard poodle). Join 1-2 orchestras, even though you'll miss some practices/concerts due to work. Take your last 5 credits of college in person (with on-line option for days you'll miss). Go out to dinner with 10 guys before you go steady with anyone. Let us know if you'd like a gym membership for Chanukah.
I told her she thinks it's normal and even annoying that guys are always falling all over her. If she is true to herself, this "problem" will last her entire life. (She knows that her grandmother Iris has guys falling all over her.) However, the quality of the guys will change with time.
Julia's never been married. I asked her why. "The guys I dated didn't like music. They didn't respect my Catholicism." She was true to herself. When I leave the locker room, Julia offers advice like "Make sure your Christmas bonus is bigger than your bail." Today her advice was re-read David Copperfield and keep a journal.
I don't know if Julia is happy with all her past choices but as her friend, I'm happy she is exactly who she is today.
Wednesday, November 13, 2013
Sunday, August 25, 2013
Montlake and Ballard
Summer's been rude to me most of the day. Plus, I nearly tripped on the ancient birkenstocks she left near my computer. Tripping could be a disaster since my left achille's is only partially healed. It's almost like she could tell my mood was too good. Eric's trying to help too. If I was a flamenco dancer, he would tamp me into early retirement with his plain vanilla expectations.
But, I'm happy to report to my kind reader that nothing worked. My day was excellent. After a quick swim at the Y, I surprised Eric, his mom, and her cousin (Joan) by arriving home 10 minutes before our scheduled departure. I got to drink black coffee while Joan drank her hot chocolate and chattered cheerfully about her excellent health. Then Eric and I dropped Joan and Carol on Fun Center Way (I'm not kidding) where they boarded a bus headed for Vancouver BC where they'll board a Holland America Cruise to Alaska. The two women are first cousins, best friends, and newly widowed. I wanted to jump on the bus too but my vanilla husband is actually better than a cruise.
Rocking chairs on the driveway were the next stop. Eric and I planned our upcoming camping trip while we waited for Summer to wake up. Then I biked to the Kirkland Park and Ride. Almost anything is exciting when you're waiting for a bus. I was very happy to see my beautiful 19 year old daughter ride up, smiling under her snow white helmet.
Almost as soon as you enter the University of Washington district, you join a stream of bikers that likely annoys cars and may even encourage them to drive elsewhere. We easily glided over the Montlake bridge and onto the Burke Gilman Trail. On our left, the medical school provided a massive and reassuring presence. On our right, we caught glimpses of the Gothic buildings and manicured lawns of campus. Peace Park, the industrial side of Lake Union and the edge of Gasworks park were stepping stones to my favorite part of the trail. The huge metal trellis of the Aurora Bridge soars over the Washington Ship canal which connects Lake Union with Puget Sound. A tiny pocket of house boats is close enough to touch and a happy statue sits next to the water watching bikers, walkers and strollers. The trail curves to stay close to the water. I stopped to wait for Summer while the Fremont bridge was up to allow The Harmony and a few sailboats to pass.
"Did you see the yacht called Harmony?" I yelled to Summer as she blew past me.
"I don't even know what a yacht looks like," was the reply I could barely hear. The next time she was unlucky enough to be next to me, she asked where we were going.
"That's helpful," she said sarcastically before leaving in the dust.
I told her everything I knew. We were headed to Ballard.
Six months ago, Lauren told me she wanted to live in a place with community. My cynical brain started wailing about how there used to be small towns where people knew and cared about each other. Well, there still are places like Clatskanie, Oregon but try getting a job in one of those. Luckily years of training from my husband taught me to keep those dark thoughts to myself.
And Voila! Lauren went out into the neighborhoods and found Ballard! Bright flags and the smell of hot dogs announced our arrival to the Ballard Farmer's market. Summer promptly disappeared amongst the stalls while my bike and I entered the lobby of the Ballard Inn through an open door. When an attendant caught me map reading on a comfy black and white couch, she said I could stay all day. Happy with that, I left to explore the Olympic Athletic Club.
"Come explore with me!" Summer called on my cell. I was so excited, I left my boot and bike and we found home made sodas (I chose cilantro, lime, and Jalepeno pepper flavor), soaps, men's and women's hats, and a vintage clothing store. Eventually, the traffic released Lauren and Eric into our midst and we quickly bought fresh veggie quesadillas and magical ointment before the stalls closed at 3 PM and a convoy of vans chased the pedestrians to the sidewalks. The farmer's market was so fun, I almost forgot the original mission: see Lauren's new apartment.
We stuttered along on bike and feet passing ice cream shops, sushi joints, and pubs with microbrew. Lauren was irritated by our touristy over appreciation of her neighborhood and wanted us to hurry. I saw a big shiny apartment building.
"You can live there after you get a raise, Lauren!"
"Absolutely not." She dismissed my silly idea. "I saw a bumper sticker that said Ballard welcomes the Condo Overlords. " She went on to explain that established Ballardites like herself (she hasn't moved in yet but she will on Saturday), don't want new people flooding in.
We all poured into the library near her home. In spite of the soaring wood and metal construction, it was welcoming and filled to capacity. Summer plunked down in seats strictly reserved for teens and smiled smugly at her old sister and parents who had to stand. Next we passed a community garden with a handwritten sign on a checkered background. Neighborhood barbeque, EVERY Wednesday, 6:30 to dark, Everyone welcome.
"Will you go?" I asked Lauren.
"No." I could have predicted her answer. She's concise. She likes to write about people but would rather not mingle with the general public.
I got way ahead of Summer while on the Burke Gilman trail headed back to the bus. But a phone call from Emily stopped me. "Please come! she said. I cleaned up and the tea kettle is waiting for you." Summer grunted her consent. We arrived at Emily and Lauren's apartment to find a vacuum cleaner exhausted after an unsuccessful attempt to clean up after Emmy's precious little dogs. But Emily's cheer and hot tea made it all worthwhile. Lauren even came out of her bedroom retreat to join the party. Both girls would move out in six days and I savored one last time under their joint hospitality.
Summer can't wait to return to college in a few days. I loved having her home. She's the one member of my family that shares my love for bike trails. When she's 2,850 miles away, she'll have loving thoughts about me too. Summer and Eric's TV shows are nearly over now, so I'm going to sign off and act normal.
But, I'm happy to report to my kind reader that nothing worked. My day was excellent. After a quick swim at the Y, I surprised Eric, his mom, and her cousin (Joan) by arriving home 10 minutes before our scheduled departure. I got to drink black coffee while Joan drank her hot chocolate and chattered cheerfully about her excellent health. Then Eric and I dropped Joan and Carol on Fun Center Way (I'm not kidding) where they boarded a bus headed for Vancouver BC where they'll board a Holland America Cruise to Alaska. The two women are first cousins, best friends, and newly widowed. I wanted to jump on the bus too but my vanilla husband is actually better than a cruise.
Rocking chairs on the driveway were the next stop. Eric and I planned our upcoming camping trip while we waited for Summer to wake up. Then I biked to the Kirkland Park and Ride. Almost anything is exciting when you're waiting for a bus. I was very happy to see my beautiful 19 year old daughter ride up, smiling under her snow white helmet.
Almost as soon as you enter the University of Washington district, you join a stream of bikers that likely annoys cars and may even encourage them to drive elsewhere. We easily glided over the Montlake bridge and onto the Burke Gilman Trail. On our left, the medical school provided a massive and reassuring presence. On our right, we caught glimpses of the Gothic buildings and manicured lawns of campus. Peace Park, the industrial side of Lake Union and the edge of Gasworks park were stepping stones to my favorite part of the trail. The huge metal trellis of the Aurora Bridge soars over the Washington Ship canal which connects Lake Union with Puget Sound. A tiny pocket of house boats is close enough to touch and a happy statue sits next to the water watching bikers, walkers and strollers. The trail curves to stay close to the water. I stopped to wait for Summer while the Fremont bridge was up to allow The Harmony and a few sailboats to pass.
"Did you see the yacht called Harmony?" I yelled to Summer as she blew past me.
"I don't even know what a yacht looks like," was the reply I could barely hear. The next time she was unlucky enough to be next to me, she asked where we were going.
"That's helpful," she said sarcastically before leaving in the dust.
I told her everything I knew. We were headed to Ballard.
Six months ago, Lauren told me she wanted to live in a place with community. My cynical brain started wailing about how there used to be small towns where people knew and cared about each other. Well, there still are places like Clatskanie, Oregon but try getting a job in one of those. Luckily years of training from my husband taught me to keep those dark thoughts to myself.
And Voila! Lauren went out into the neighborhoods and found Ballard! Bright flags and the smell of hot dogs announced our arrival to the Ballard Farmer's market. Summer promptly disappeared amongst the stalls while my bike and I entered the lobby of the Ballard Inn through an open door. When an attendant caught me map reading on a comfy black and white couch, she said I could stay all day. Happy with that, I left to explore the Olympic Athletic Club.
"Come explore with me!" Summer called on my cell. I was so excited, I left my boot and bike and we found home made sodas (I chose cilantro, lime, and Jalepeno pepper flavor), soaps, men's and women's hats, and a vintage clothing store. Eventually, the traffic released Lauren and Eric into our midst and we quickly bought fresh veggie quesadillas and magical ointment before the stalls closed at 3 PM and a convoy of vans chased the pedestrians to the sidewalks. The farmer's market was so fun, I almost forgot the original mission: see Lauren's new apartment.
We stuttered along on bike and feet passing ice cream shops, sushi joints, and pubs with microbrew. Lauren was irritated by our touristy over appreciation of her neighborhood and wanted us to hurry. I saw a big shiny apartment building.
"You can live there after you get a raise, Lauren!"
"Absolutely not." She dismissed my silly idea. "I saw a bumper sticker that said Ballard welcomes the Condo Overlords. " She went on to explain that established Ballardites like herself (she hasn't moved in yet but she will on Saturday), don't want new people flooding in.
We all poured into the library near her home. In spite of the soaring wood and metal construction, it was welcoming and filled to capacity. Summer plunked down in seats strictly reserved for teens and smiled smugly at her old sister and parents who had to stand. Next we passed a community garden with a handwritten sign on a checkered background. Neighborhood barbeque, EVERY Wednesday, 6:30 to dark, Everyone welcome.
"Will you go?" I asked Lauren.
"No." I could have predicted her answer. She's concise. She likes to write about people but would rather not mingle with the general public.
I got way ahead of Summer while on the Burke Gilman trail headed back to the bus. But a phone call from Emily stopped me. "Please come! she said. I cleaned up and the tea kettle is waiting for you." Summer grunted her consent. We arrived at Emily and Lauren's apartment to find a vacuum cleaner exhausted after an unsuccessful attempt to clean up after Emmy's precious little dogs. But Emily's cheer and hot tea made it all worthwhile. Lauren even came out of her bedroom retreat to join the party. Both girls would move out in six days and I savored one last time under their joint hospitality.
Summer can't wait to return to college in a few days. I loved having her home. She's the one member of my family that shares my love for bike trails. When she's 2,850 miles away, she'll have loving thoughts about me too. Summer and Eric's TV shows are nearly over now, so I'm going to sign off and act normal.
Saturday, June 22, 2013
Sisters at Baker Lake
"It makes me so sad to see you like this, Gwennie!" Tragedy was written all over my sister Solange's face. I admit, I sobbed for a few hours when it first happened but I know a few people who would trade conditions with me in a second. Solange was just as upset over her daughter's curly hair and her son's awkward gait. Thanks to her influence, we both used to feel sorry for toys we neglected.
"There is a bright side," I countered as I limped to a lounge chair in my garage and sat heavily with my bum leg stretched out. I dropped my crutch and smiled at the huge pile of sleeping bags, camp kitchen supplies, tents, loose flashlights, and overstuffed canvas bags in front of me.
"I really love your house, Gwen. Wouldn't it be a lot easier if we had the kids sleep in tents in the back yard? Then we'd still have coffee, we can go running and biking..." Her voice trailed off ...
About 10 minutes later, Solange, Eric, and Summer had loaded everything into the van, the Subaru and the clamshell above the van. It looked like a miracle to a person who could barely shower or put a bowl in the dishwasher.
"Can I do anything do help, Gwen?" My sunny sister, Judy, had just gotten in from 2 red eye flights with her 8 and 9 year old kids. It wasn't til she returned with my coffee mug cleaned and filled with water that I remembered that she was hungry and was facing a chaotic garage rather than the homemade lunch she was promised. Thank goodness, my daughter Emily who refused in no uncertain terms to come camping, brought Vietnamese sandwiches for everyone. Judy actually finished her food for the first time in her life.
It required the full 2 1/2 hour drive to Baker Lake to sever me and my sisters from our phones. My extended absence greeting probably infuriated everyone in my car as well as the poor patients destined to hear it later. Solange had to log in to find out where her husband biked that day and how his speed compared with their mountain biking teammates. When Judy signed off, the huge network of people that collaborate with her to employ the disabled temporarily lost their guiding light.
Finally freed from the car, we wandered around Panorama Point Campground. The forest floor was covered with soft mounds of earth pushed up by tree roots. Soft gray daylight brightened as soon as you stepped from the woods to the beach. The greenish blue lake water stroked the pebbles like a whispered version of the ocean's surf. Rocky peaks with bright white snow filling all but their craggiest edges looked the same size as the wooded hills in front of them. Clouds moved among these giants as if misty dreams can stand up to concrete.
Solange would have gladly put up both tents by herself leaving lazy kids and sluggish sisters behind but after struggling to insert the poles into the corner loops, she accepted help from me and Judy.
"Even mosquitos like younger women better. I don't get it- I dye my hair and everything." Solange complained when we were finally relaxing around the fire. Solange felt older than her daughters but she couldn't stand "old people," who complained about fast bikers. I had been lulled into thinking I'm near retirement myself thanks to all of my retired music and pickleball friends. And now, I had a handicapped tag. Solange was only 14 months younger than me. "Women are so useless, " Solange also informed us. "They get boob jobs, go shopping and complain about their husband's mountain biking. But horrible as some marriages may be, divorce is worse....Every single mass murderer comes from divorced parents."
"Best camping trip ever!!" interrupted Zachary, Judy's 9 year old son. His cousin helped him hold his marshmallow just outside the flames.
Judy looked at her sweet little boy laughing. "I love my divorce, thank you very much."
Raindrops fell on my face, gently waking me from a deep sleep. I did not want to leave my hammock cocoon. It wasn't until I felt the wetness seeping into my backside that I finally rolled out and joined Solange in her pup tent. "Poor Gwen! Get in here!" She said before falling back asleep. I was the first to wake up the next morning. I dunked my hair in the lake, soaked my good foot, and rinsed my face. I had swum in the lake before and I would do it again. I wish my patients would recover too. David with stage 4 lymphoma. Annette recovering from a self inflicted gunshot wound to face criminal charges. And 4 year old Arnav who fell out his second story window to land in the ICU. The clouds obscured all the large mountains but I felt them all around me.
"There is a bright side," I countered as I limped to a lounge chair in my garage and sat heavily with my bum leg stretched out. I dropped my crutch and smiled at the huge pile of sleeping bags, camp kitchen supplies, tents, loose flashlights, and overstuffed canvas bags in front of me.
"I really love your house, Gwen. Wouldn't it be a lot easier if we had the kids sleep in tents in the back yard? Then we'd still have coffee, we can go running and biking..." Her voice trailed off ...
About 10 minutes later, Solange, Eric, and Summer had loaded everything into the van, the Subaru and the clamshell above the van. It looked like a miracle to a person who could barely shower or put a bowl in the dishwasher.
"Can I do anything do help, Gwen?" My sunny sister, Judy, had just gotten in from 2 red eye flights with her 8 and 9 year old kids. It wasn't til she returned with my coffee mug cleaned and filled with water that I remembered that she was hungry and was facing a chaotic garage rather than the homemade lunch she was promised. Thank goodness, my daughter Emily who refused in no uncertain terms to come camping, brought Vietnamese sandwiches for everyone. Judy actually finished her food for the first time in her life.
It required the full 2 1/2 hour drive to Baker Lake to sever me and my sisters from our phones. My extended absence greeting probably infuriated everyone in my car as well as the poor patients destined to hear it later. Solange had to log in to find out where her husband biked that day and how his speed compared with their mountain biking teammates. When Judy signed off, the huge network of people that collaborate with her to employ the disabled temporarily lost their guiding light.
Finally freed from the car, we wandered around Panorama Point Campground. The forest floor was covered with soft mounds of earth pushed up by tree roots. Soft gray daylight brightened as soon as you stepped from the woods to the beach. The greenish blue lake water stroked the pebbles like a whispered version of the ocean's surf. Rocky peaks with bright white snow filling all but their craggiest edges looked the same size as the wooded hills in front of them. Clouds moved among these giants as if misty dreams can stand up to concrete.
Solange would have gladly put up both tents by herself leaving lazy kids and sluggish sisters behind but after struggling to insert the poles into the corner loops, she accepted help from me and Judy.
"Even mosquitos like younger women better. I don't get it- I dye my hair and everything." Solange complained when we were finally relaxing around the fire. Solange felt older than her daughters but she couldn't stand "old people," who complained about fast bikers. I had been lulled into thinking I'm near retirement myself thanks to all of my retired music and pickleball friends. And now, I had a handicapped tag. Solange was only 14 months younger than me. "Women are so useless, " Solange also informed us. "They get boob jobs, go shopping and complain about their husband's mountain biking. But horrible as some marriages may be, divorce is worse....Every single mass murderer comes from divorced parents."
"Best camping trip ever!!" interrupted Zachary, Judy's 9 year old son. His cousin helped him hold his marshmallow just outside the flames.
Judy looked at her sweet little boy laughing. "I love my divorce, thank you very much."
Raindrops fell on my face, gently waking me from a deep sleep. I did not want to leave my hammock cocoon. It wasn't until I felt the wetness seeping into my backside that I finally rolled out and joined Solange in her pup tent. "Poor Gwen! Get in here!" She said before falling back asleep. I was the first to wake up the next morning. I dunked my hair in the lake, soaked my good foot, and rinsed my face. I had swum in the lake before and I would do it again. I wish my patients would recover too. David with stage 4 lymphoma. Annette recovering from a self inflicted gunshot wound to face criminal charges. And 4 year old Arnav who fell out his second story window to land in the ICU. The clouds obscured all the large mountains but I felt them all around me.
Tuesday, January 15, 2013
Emilene
“When I have children, I’ll love them forever until I die!” Emily was crying. I wasn’t. I had gotten all my tears and sobs out talking to my mom on the phone before Emily came over.
I know it’s healthy to practice gratitude and optimism but black doubts sometime drown those. Emily makes $9.65/hour at Samena. That’s about $360 per week or $18K/year. She’s not ready for grad school and even if she was, she would probably be rejected due to a GPA of 2.5 or worse. “I don’t want to live with random people. I’m a private person!” If Emily’s lucky, she’ll get to live with Lauren after graduation but will she be able to afford half the rent?
I just wanted to snuggle up under blankets with hot chocolate and watch TV and coddle my daughter forever. But my mom steered me clear of that. I wanted to adopt her dog for her. So what if she prefers indoor plumbing! Emily would have more time, more money, more friends and more housing options! But Eric plead against it. (Very rare to hear that emotion in his voice) “We have to let her know we won’t take care of any babies.” Yowsa. This is about more than carpet cleaning.
“Emily. Daddy and I love you. We love you more than we love ourselves.” I hugged my make up free 21 year old with her brand new case of acne. “If we thought you couldn’t support yourself, we wouldn’t make you…” Emily nodded slightly. “We know you can do it but you don’t. The only way you’ll know is by doing it.”
That night, 3:30 AM I was awake. How much could she amass if she saved $72/week? At age 22, she should have a lot of time to compound interest. Could a community college certification get her a job that paid better than a psychology bachelor’s degree from University of Washington? I had ideas for short term goals: resume, choose the best website for job search. Teach cello lessons. For anxiety run, get into counseling since insurance will cover and it can help long term. Accomplish something to lift mood even if it’s cleaning out the bathroom sink. Of course, long term ideas occurred to me also: Look at job availibility before selecting type of grad school. Work really hard at job, volunteer opportunities, and possibly grad school or post bac. Do not get married or have kids until you’re confident, happy, and independent. I emailed Emily every link and word.
She calmly thanked me for all that while encouraging me to adopt a more normal schedule. (Sit by fire when cold, and watch Parks and Recreation and Arrested Development for entertainment were her other helpful pieces of advice.)
Today, I received her resume, a cover letter and news of applications to a 911 dispatch job and a physician recruitment firm.
I saw a new patient who wants to restart cigarettes…ever since he quit 18 months ago, his bm’s have gotten less and less frequent. He now goes about once a week. Also, he calmly lies in bed all night without sleeping. He even blames the lack of cigarettes for his shoulder, knee and foot pain. I’m the first doc he’s seen in 14 years and I hope I can help. A one year old patient returned from vacation in Norway to get her shots-calming Chinese conversation from her mom kept her on the right side of hysterics. Another new patient is a communications grad from UW, newly laid off and newly married but pretty confident that he’ll find work in addition to being a basketball official. Luckily, I noticed an urgent request for records… my 42 year smoker patient who just had a stroke will be seeing a neurologist tomorrow morning at 9 AM. Also, my Pakistani patient just discharged from the hospital with urosepsis (possibly due to long term antibiotics for acne?) is safely home with his new wife.
So, at 9 PM with Emily texting me to go home already, I was about to leave. Until I picked up a business card my friend Judy Simon had given me. Unbridled Therapy: traditional or equine therapy by a young licenced marriage and family therapist in Kirkland. I just had to send Emily one more email. And I really had to thank my mom.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)