milestones

GRADUATIONS

Posted on by tresswann

It’s the time of year when we once again have survived graduations.  Yes, survived.  Those of us who graduated survived.  And those of us who watched also survived.

A series of pictures recently came up in my memories in OneDrive. It is amazing now with technology that our memories are timed. These were photos taken  the day of my college graduation. The university had two ceremonies – one in the morning for the entire university and then one from the College in the afternoon. The afternoon ceremony is where you were given your actual diploma. In the morning pictures, I am radiant.

I thought at that time of my life that I was never going to get married and if I did, there would be no reception. People on both sides of my family did not marry or if they did, it was more of a matter of fact, justice of the peace situation. Therefore, graduation was going to be my day. Also, I had come by it hard. Due to unfortunate events, I had flunked out of school my sophomore year. I was put on probation which had only ended halfway through my senior year. Life had changed for me. I had become and continue to be manic about getting excellent grades. My father had also made me slightly paranoid. Decades ago when I graduated, technology was not a thing. Papers were typed painfully on a typewriter with carbon paper and copies. Copy machines were not ubiquitous. I always made an uncorrected carbon of all my work. I was a terrible typist and had been sent to school with typewriter erasers, erasable paper and white out. My father also insisted that I get a receipt from the department office anytime I handed a paper in that was not given directly to the professor. This was not welcomed by the office staff. I have memories of running up flights of stairs in Gilman Hall as the clock was tolling the hour to get a paper in on time. Students were not allowed to use the elevator. So, I was usually sweaty and semi hysterical by the time I reached the department.

I wanted nothing to go wrong my last semester. I even took an extra course to ensure that I had enough   credits to graduate even if by some weird quirk of fate, I happened to fail a course. I had two courses with a married couple. They were from Norway and returned home immediately after the semester ended. They were the last papers of my then college career and I did not make carbons nor did I get my usual receipt.

I had become very poor during my senior year. My father had lost his job during my junior year and I could no longer depend are my family for any kind of living expenses. I had run out of work study plus we had made a decision that I would concentrate totally on school my last semester. I had been working for 20 to 30 hours a week during the last part of my junior year and first semester senior year. I lived on a diet of eggs, grapefruit, rice, perch and smelts. I swore to myself that I would never eat a perch or smelt again and I have not. However, I knew if I was home I would be able to once again eat real food. There was a break between the end of term and senior week. This was the week with all the parties and celebrations. I left campus after turning in my papers and went home and took a temporary job. I needed money.

The university, of course, had my home phone number and address. The Dean was also very familiar with me due to my probationary status. I used to be able to look from my living room across the street into the building where the Dean was housed. At times, it seemed too close for comfort. It was a type of university housing although it was not on campus. My roommate had stayed behind on the break between classes and graduation ceremonies. We had a university extension. This was also back in the day when to have your own telephone was huge. Before we had the university extension, we would have to find a phone booth and make a collect call to reach home. We could receive calls on the university extension. All this is to explain the unnecessary horror of what happened on graduation day.

I was back on campus for a few days. I attended the balls and parties. My parents arrived the night before and we all went to the cocktail reception for graduates, sponsored by the university.

Graduation day was hot and sunny. I remember thinking that Nikki Z was the only smart one amongst us. I wore a striped sun dress (that’s what they were called then) and platform sandals under my cap and gown. Nikki wore shorts! She was the only one who didn’t have to actively fight wilting.

After lunch, we were lining up for the afternoon procession. Someone, I don’t remember who, tapped me on the shoulder and told me that I would not be graduating but could stay in the line and would receive a blank diploma. I did not have enough credits to graduate. My professors had absconded to Norway without turning in my grades. We later found out that they were only accessible by dog sled. Again, this was back in the days before cell phones. Indeed, international calls were still an expensive and lengthy process. I couldn’t cry at that time. I cannot even identify the feelings I had -shock, anger, disbelief, faintness, disappointment. I was told that they had been unable to contact me prior to this moment. My glow disappeared and was replaced by a pale, drawn angry face.

My college boyfriend had somehow worked his way so that he was beside me on the line. He had already graduated. He knew something was wrong when he saw my face and I was able to whisper part of the story to him. As always, he was and is incredible. I do not know how he did it but he was able to crouch at the end of my row. Meanwhile, my parents could not imagine why I looked so angry and  stiff as I received what they thought was my diploma.

I ran to them once the ceremony was over. I started to cry hysterically. Well, this was the way I was brought up. My mother slapped me across the face, told me to pull myself together and slapped a pair of sunglasses on me and told me to stop crying. Of course according to them it was all my fault. I did not have the receipt. How, looking back why would I have had it when I was in line from graduation? I did not have the carbons.

We were able to find out after that disastrous day that they had allegedly tried to reach me. This could not possibly be true. I was easily findable. We worked out a deal where I was able to recreate one of the papers and have it graded on a pass fail basis by another professor whom I had never met it was unbeknownst to me. My diploma was mailed to me.

I had actually been seeing a therapist prior to my graduation because I was so concerned about it. Hopkins gave you so many free counseling sessions and I’d saved mine up till the end. It definitely says something about the school that they realized decades ago that mental health was an important issue. At the time, I just thought it indicated how twisted the institution was. Many of us have had a type of PTSD  from our experiences there. I called my counselor to tell her what had happened. I wanted to take action against the school and I wanted her to attest to what had been done to me. She was in agreement with me. However, my parents were not. I was surprised when I posted the morning picture on Facebook with a brief snippet of my story that so many of my close friends never knew. My parents saw it as shameful. The shame should not have been on my part but on the university. I now know that my parents actions were predicated on their lives. It was also the era where deference was given to those in authority and girls and their concerns were minimized. I do not know if anything would have changed if I had retained a lawyer. I know I was not the only person that had this experience.

I did go on to get married, not once but twice! I did have a reception for the first one much to the surprise and dismay of my family. I have always done things that were not done. It wasn’t the last time that I got smacked across the face and had sunglasses slapped on me so that no one could see me cry. I do cry and sometimes I even let people see me do it.

Seven years ago, my husband was looking through things in the room I used as my office and discovered a mailing tube. He opened it and there was my diploma. He insisted on getting it framed. It hangs in my office right now. Survival!

Graduation

Posted on by tresswann

I attended my niece’s graduation via YouTube this weekend. It’s an upside of COVID. I was able to see her face more clearly than her parents. This is only the second undergraduate graduation I have attended since my own, decades ago. I attended my bonus son’s about 10 years ago or so. It was different because first of all, he was a boy and secondly, we had to deal with the issue of his mother. We never know what she’s going to do. It didn’t impact me on a visceral level. My niece’s graduation hit me in a whole different way.

I have seen her grow up since she was two and a half. Therefore, I had a much longer association with her. I have delighted in seeing her grow and excel. She is truly a remarkable young woman. Quite frankly, I am in awe of her and her accomplishments. However, it brought memories of my college graduation brutally back.

I had had a very hard time at my university. I really didn’t fit in, nor did I want to. I had academic challenges based on significant personal events. I had actually been forced to withdraw due to academic performance but was able to reenroll on a probationary basis. This has made me the maniac I am today about grades. I worked furiously. At that time in my life, I did not see marriage or definitely a wedding as having any place in my future. Therefore, I viewed my graduation as my day. This was going to be the hugest moment in my life. Because of everything that had happened to me academically, I always made carbon copies of my papers and I also demanded receipts for them when I turned them in. My last two papers were with a husband and wife team of professors. It was the last two and I neglected my usual practices. I could see the Dean’s office from my window. This becomes important to little bit later. The university had two ceremonies – one in the morning for everyone and then one in the afternoon for each college where the actual diploma would be received. The morning was glorious. I felt a real sense of accomplishment. I had overcome my obstacles.

Morning

In the afternoon, whilst getting into line, I received a tap on the shoulder and was informed that I had not met the requirements for graduation and would walk the ceremony and receive a blank. This was inconceivable to me. Decades later, as I write this, I am on the verge of tears. I have a radiant, joyful smile. I am known for it. My boyfriend saw at once that something was wrong. He crept over to my seat and found out what was happening. He sat at the end of my row. My parents in the audience could not understand why they could not see my smile.

When they reached me at the end of the ceremony and asked what the problem was, I became hysterical. My mother slapped me across the face, told me not to cry in front of people and placed her huge sunglasses over my eyes. My day was totally destroyed. Actually, I had been in therapy(the school gave you 10 free sessions a semester and I had hoarded mine) because I was so consumed with graduating. I discovered once we arrived home that the Dean allegedly had been trying to reach me. This was completely untrue. I also discovered that my two professors had not turned my grades in before they left the country. I cannot make this up. They had returned to Norway and were only accessible by dogsled. I had to recreate both final papers and have them graded by someone else. Memory shields me but I believe the only thing that could be done was to give me a pass and not a grade. I received my diploma in the mail later that summer. My parents being my parents, did not wish to make a fuss and would not consider suing the school. I have survived and overcome except that I am manically obsessed with A’s. Watching the graduation on Saturday brought it all back to me. I wept for my niece and I wept for me. It’s hard to believe that it has stayed with me for so long. It took me forever to be able to stand on campus without shaking or having stress reactions. I can attend reunions now without a lot of pain. I am proud of myself for my resiliency.

Afternoon

Graduation also carries with it the weight of great expectations as well as new possibilities. This can be weighty. At school, the job is simply to get the grades and coincidentally the knowledge. Then life happens and there’s supposed to be a job, no, a career. This is an unknown unless there is a particular affinity for a field such as medicine or law. My degree was in social and behavioral sciences with a concentration in urban anthropology of the Third World. My particular area of concentration was the synchretization of African religious beliefs in the New World. You might say it was my own fault. Surprisingly, in recent years these topics have come to the fore. I always was trendy and before my time. I did learn things I could use. I learned about how people communicated and acted in groups. I learned how to assimilate a vast amount of material in a short amount of time. This has consistently helped me throughout my working life. I also became part of an old boys network. It is old boys because at the time I was there, it was mostly boys. So, that was another unexpected benefit. I do very well in a male environment. I am more comfortable working in a room with all men than I am with women. It has taken me a long time to realize these strengths. I do wonder if my life would have been different had I been able to have that moment of radiant joy.

These thoughts have been on my mind since this weekend and I had begun writing. However, Tuesday changed them in a whole other way. To say I am grief stricken is an understatement. I do not know the words for how I feel. I only know that 19 little children are dead. 19 children have been shot to death at their school. They will never have graduation. The survivors will always have an incomprehensible loss. Their lives will be filled with ghosts. All their possibilities changed in a matter of moments. They will bear the weight forever.

My niece, the graduate, is a teacher. Her life has also inexplicably changed. These murders coming so closely on the heels of her graduation must surely impact her future. We can only imagine and then prefer not to imagine. Her moment of radiant joy will resonate for a long, long time.

In Which a Gypsy Contemplates Another Move

Posted on by tresswann

I lived with a man once who derogatorily declared that I was a gypsy and could move my life in a cargo van.  True.  But was that a bad thing?

I have moved very few times over my life and each time, the move has evolved and reflected where I am in life, not just physically. As I prepare to move again, I look back.  My days of gypsy moves are gone.  My youth has passed.  My mobility has become impaired.

I really didn’t move initially  in a real sense but lived away in college.  My second through fourth years were lived in Rogers House, a brick 4 story house across from the university.  It was a walkup. My first year there was on the 2nd floor.  It was emergency housing for me and I believe my friends helped me move in possessions and clothes. It was already furnished.  Every year, I had to leave and come back.  This involved travelling back and forth with my father only.  There was never enough room for my mother.  The third and fourth years, I lived on the fourth floor.  My father must have helped me.  I ran up and down those stairs several times a day.  It was a very modern apartment for the times. It had a trash compactor.  Well, as fit as we all were,  45 pounds of compacted trash were slightly beyond us.  We became known as “the girls with the garbage” because any time someone walked us home and walked up those four flights with expectations, they literally left with garbage.  I had to sit with hats on my lap in my father’s car when I left because there was no space. I can’t believe how easily I ran up and down those stairs and with stuff.  Who knew 40 years later that I would not be able to manage unaided the two steps up to my home.

I came home to my parents  and stayed put for years.  My postal worker and I started to look for a place to live together.  We couldn’t come to an agreement so I found my own place.  It was the 2nd floor of a house.  I absconded with my bed, my parents’ black and white TV, my bedroom set which had been theirs originally and my childhood desk.  My brother must have done that move.  My boyfriend certainly did not.  I bought a room divider at Ikea and lifted it in pieces up the stairs.  I acquired a color TV and VCR one Black Friday  which I also lifted up myself.

I became engaged, not to the postal worker.  We rented a cottage in another town.  My fiance rented a cargo van.  His brother and my best friend came along to help.  We should have known there was trouble ahead when a piece of furniture couldn’t get out the door. D’uh, take the door off the hinges.  Girls knew about that?  Yes, “girls” in their thirties knew that.  Girls had their own tools provided by their fathers and girls knew how to remove hinges.  A van and two packed Escort hatchbacks did the job.

Of course, the marriage was doomed. My brother knew this the night of the wedding when he came back to the cottage and I announced, “This is John’s room and over here is my room.”  I became almost clinically depressed.  My father said he would not help me with the move.  I had to hire a mover even though I was broke.  I packed 17 boxes and piled then in the living room before my then husband realized I was serious.  The mover expressed condolences to me on dealing with my parents and said “I give you three months.”  It was more like three years.  My father had cleared the garage for me and then decided he needed it back.  Rent storage space; load up the Escort and stack boxes.

Next move.  I met a man my parents detested; he of the gypsy comment.  He rented the cargo van and I loaded the Escort up yet again. It was 1 floor.  It did not work out.  I quietly found an apartment on the top floor of a house and just as quietly began to move things out.  I did have a problem.  I needed someone to drive the van.  My friend had a business with workers who liked me.  They would help.  However, her husband said he liked the man and could not take sides.  I took the man out to dinner and he knew immediately I was leaving him.  He drove the van cementing forever his version of the gypsy life with the cargo van.  My friend’s workers met us and it was the easiest move I ever had.  

Next move was from that apartment into a home of my own with my new husband. His 18 year old son and friend helped.  Just worked part time for “Joe the Mover.” He borrowed a box van.  We couldn’t rent something to let him drive.  He was too young.  The box van didn’t do it.  I had every Bon Appetit from 1984 -2006.  I had to resort to “rent a wreck” and a cargo van.  And I drove it and it was easy.  There was a basement with “mad crazy stairs” and an upstairs.  I didn’t even take a day off from work.  It appeared my gypsy days at ended.  I had a husband, furniture and a mortgage.

As my condition progressed and the neighborhood deteriorated, it became apparent it was time to move on.  There were no more cargo vans in my future.  The projected move was out of state and to the South no less. Let’s be real, a move to another country, just one without a passport.  A real mover.  As much as I advocate change, I still consider move and pack ugly four letter words. Moving requires an evaluation of where you have been, where you are and where you think you are going.  The destination is never clear or defined until you actually alight.  It’s painful, at least to me. Think about the optimism when one starts.  There is a reason the move is taking place.  It is a leap into an unknown.  There are simple things such as “Will the sun still make my walls glow?”  What is the library really like?  What sounds do you hear in the still, quiet of an evening? Then the most important questions – “What do I take and what do I leave behind?

A good friend and I have had this discussion in terms of the migrant experience.  What do you take in your grip? And what’s left behind?  As I contemplated this move, I had to reflect yet again on my grandmother and what she brought with her; how she brought  it and what she left behind.  Grandma brought crystal, champagne glasses with stems so thin, they break if you breathe.  Only one is left.  Other crystal that was her mother’s.  Silver service for at least 36 people.  It was for a way of life that no longer existed.  Tea cups. undefined Vases.  Trinkets.  A crystal heart with a silver cover holding a lock of her dead sister’s hair. The silver sandwich tray that the servants would put sandwiches out for Sunday supper.  The paper cross that held the rose rosary beads given to her by my grandfather. undefined Pictures of relatives; some lost to the mists of memories.  What was left behind?  Fiestaware dishes.  A way of life.  Friends.  Family.  Home.undefined

So, I was faced to evaluate what was worth sixty cents a pound to me. Definitely most of my books.  My great-grandfather said that books are your best friends. They represent the times in my life. There are the childhood books: Heidi, The Secret Garden, A Little Princess, Little Women, the Bobbsey Twins. College: Victorian poets, Fanon, Marx, TS Eliot. Life: Cookbooks, Dickens, Rhys. I would be leaving my life behind. My umpteen sets of dishes for every occasion.  This is  a fetish inherited from my grandmother and filtered through me.  A dining room set that I had to acquire when I bought a home.  All of a sudden, I am no longer a cargo van gypsy but a woman of substance; of nearly 12,000 pounds of “stuff” and a tractor trailer.

And I could no longer lift things or pack  due to my condition.  No more footloose and fancy-free days for me. It’s sobering.  Is this “weight” I wanted?  What do I leave behind?  It’s a new era so my friends and family are only a telephone call or video chat away.  I definitely lose a sense of place and time.  I knew the rhythms and scent of my life; the hot tar city smell, the salted beach sand, the magnolias, the mums, the roads.  And am I ever going to be that life packed into a cargo van gypsy again?  She has been left behind and I miss her terribly.

Uncommon Women and Others and Being Amazing

Posted on by tresswann

The first time I saw Uncommon Women and Others, I was completely electrified.  I saw it on PBS, shortly after I graduated college and just a few years after it had been written.  I watched it upstairs at my parents in what we called the office on their black and white TV.  We were always behind the times that way. It shocks me now to see old programs in color when  I have vivid recollections of them in black and white.  Uncommon Women resonated with me for several reasons.  Even though it was set at a Seven Sisters school and I went to a sub Ivy, I recognized that type of young woman.  There were lots at Goucher and some even at Hopkins where I attended.  In the play, the women are looking back at their lives from the vantage point of 30.  They had promised when they were 30, they were going to be amazing.  I was still in my 20’s and living with my parents.  I needed to believe that thirty could and would be amazing.

Watch this play and you will see early performances by Meryl Streep, Jill Eikenberry and Swoosie Kurtz.  Amazing.  It also confirmed my longing for strong, female friendships.  I had gone to what was essentially an all boys school.  I had rebelled against my mother who saw me at Vassar or Radcliffe.  I did want Bennington but she vetoed that because – shock- a women’s college with a woman president!  In many ways, she was a product of her era.

I did develop those strong female friendships along the way.  I am still in contact with my college roommate over 40 years later.  I have reconnected with some of the girls of my youth.  I have other women I have picked up along the way that have given me an incredible safety net, strength, support and love.  But sitting watching that black and white TV, I knew none of that.

I remember thinking as I watched that I wish there was a way to keep this, like a book, so I could take it out and look at it whenever I wanted.  A few years passed.  It came back on PBS.  By then, I was over 30 with a color television of my own and a VCR to record it.  The world was moving.  I wasn’t amazing but I was doing alright.  I was making crap money; had a glamorous job; and was not working up to my potential.  I was, however, known as a person with friends.  I had a therapist at that time who told me I defined myself as a friend.  I did not think it was a bad thing.

 

I, like the women in the play, began to believe at 40, I would be amazing.  Forty came and went and I was so not amazing.  I no longer had the glamorous job and was back with my parents.  Volunteering saved me.  I was lucky to have a volunteer position that involved raising money to support and advance women’s rights.  New York, my state, was never ever going to be able to compete against California.  There is just too much money there.  However, Uncommon Women and Others continued to resonate with me.  I used it in my stump speech all the time.  I believed that as a state, we could raise our fundraising and be amazing.  We, as women, could and would be amazing. Was this uncommon?

 

Time advanced.  I was ecstatic to discover Uncommon Women and Others on DVD.  I bought a handful and gave them to my important women friends one Christmas.  Technology was amazing.

 

Wendy Wasserstein wrote other, wonderful powerful plays about women.  I have been blessed to be able to see them.  These plays grew along with me. Women of a certain age will relate to The Heidi Chronicles. She became an iconic voice for women. Wendy Wasserstein was truly amazing and she died.

I passed 50 and was still waiting to be amazing, then 60.  I still aspire to be amazing.  As the years have passed, my concept of amazing has changed.  In my 20’s, I wanted the job, the car, the man, the friends.  It didn’t change much for my 30’s.  I did have all of that but somehow it wasn’t amazing enough.  My 40’s found me rebuilding – a broken marriage,  broken relationships, a different career, better friends and moments to be amazing.  I am very proud of the work I did for that organization and hoped I have helped other women find their “amazing”. 50’s – almost there.  I had created a sort of life that became blown up by disease.  I fought and continue to fight.  60? Still standing and literally that is remarkable and amazing.  I was filled with more fortitude than I thought possible.

 

Amazing changes through time and space.  Can I say now when I reach 70, I am going to be amazing?  Seventy sounds like a foreign country, unexplored and unimagined but closer.  I thought when I graduated college that I would go for my PhD in my 60’s.  Well, that ship sailed.  I still have the curiosity and the interest.  However, time and money have become finite.  I consider myself amazing sometimes because I have been able to find and hold uncommon women and “others” in my life.  I never could have imagined that or its importance when I first experienced the play. Sometimes, when I consider what life has thrown at me, I may be amazing.  I still keep on trying.  I try to walk.  I miss the feeling of speed and air when I am walking.  Sometimes, I miss working yet still I tick on. What makes us uncommon women and what makes us amazing?  I consider my uncommon women friends amazing.  Each in her own way is unique yet the same.  They are intelligent, curious, courageous, inspiring.  They lead.  They share.  They never stop changing.  They are principled.  They have style and substance whether they acknowledge it or not. I have fulfilled one of my wishes from when I first saw “Uncommon Women and Others”, I have those close female friends for decades, uncommon women each and everyone of them, and that is AMAZING!

Sliding on a Sunday Morning and Reflecting

Posted on by tresswann

t’s a slightly dreary Sunday, rainy.  We usually sleep till  around 7:30 a.am.  Tom got up at 6 to go to the bathroom, triggering the same in me.  I tried to getup but couldn’t sit up.  I need to pull myself sometimes with sheets.  I asked Tom to give me a push up.  No problem.  Then when  I tried to get out of bed instead of standing, I slid gracefully to the floor.  This is usually not a problem.  I  stand up like a toddler.  I grabbed the edge of the bed.  Not happening.  Tom wanted to help.  Sometimes, when I need to get out of the tub at night, he has to come in and help me bend my right leg so I can stand up.  “I need you to do the same thing as you do in the bath.”  He comes over, pulls my leg up and as soon as I try to pull the other one, the right collapses down.  We do it again and this time it jumps uncontrollably and collapses again.  One more time and the leg is jumping up and down even worse.  The first time this happened was in my neurologist office.  I swore at the time it was something he had done to me.  It happens periodically when I get dressed in the morning.  I usually just put my hand on it and stop it.  Tom says, “Isn’t this why you take the Baclufen?”  No, that’s for the spastic thing I do where my body tenses up and I walk like a Zombie.  It’s been happening more the last few days.  Nerves, I thought.  So, Tom pulls my right leg up again and it’s out of control and he has to press it to stop it.  Think of a tuning fork.

He has to walk me to the bathroom.  It’s only 10 -12 feet.  My issue becomes that sometimes in the morning I have problems getting up in the bathroom.  I don’t want another set of grab bars.  It’s insidious defeat.  Every once in a while which is mortifying I have to ask Tom for help.  This morning we anticipate the worst.

Now, I have to call out to my fellow blogger BBH with MS ’cause she discusses bathroom issues frankly.  Let me describe my situation this way: It’s like I can turn on the faucet and most times I can turn it off but sometimes I can’t tell if the tank is empty.  It pours out of me, that I feel, and then it just keeps on dribbling and dribbling.  Mind you when this started this morning, I was in a cozy sleep.  We had just changed the sheets to the high thread count Egyptian cotton.  It’s like sleeping in a lovely cocoon.  Well, that’s done. Luckily, I can stand up by myself in the bathroom.   Tom helps me get back into bed.  My right leg feels totally numb.  And this is the moment he decides to be amorous!  Are all men adolescent boys?  The only thing I want is to get feeling back in my leg and salvage some sleep.

Which brings me to reflection which may have brought on this whole spell.   Yesterday, I opened Facebook and it let me know I had a memory.  Did we remember before Facebook?  I had posted a picture of Jeremy’s college graduation picture with us five years ago.

DSCF0257

So, a couple of things:  I am relatively tiny in this picture.  I always think of myself as tall and huge.  The next thing that hit me is that this was on a grass field.  We returned early from our vacation to attend.  I had walked on the beach and felt normal.  It was a glorious moment.  Yes, it took me a bit longer to reach our seats on the grass at the graduation but I was walking without a cane and without the spectral leg.  Again, the deterioration has been insidious.  I am told I really haven’t deteriorated.  REALLY?  Ok, so I am grateful that I still can get around but this is so far from alright.  It is not alright!!!   Back to fighting and clawing back, one step at a time.

Lotteries and Windfalls

Posted on by tresswann

As with many people in the US a few weeks ago, we caught Lotto fever.  Over 1 billion is worth a flutter.  Overall, I am opposed to the lottery.  Originally in New York it was supposed to fund schools.  Really?  And look at the schools in Detroit.  But enough of that.

We bought a few dollars worth of tickets and began to speculate.  What would we do?  Husband announces that first thing we get the absolutely best doctor in the world for what we call MC (my condition).  Ok, you may say I am in denial but it works for me.  Everyone is different.  And after that we would buy a nice house.  We would pay off the one we currently live in.  I must paraphrase Hyacinth Bucket a.k.a Bouquet – the house that is now next to the used car lot with the massage parlor.  The parlor or message store as the police referred to it in a report I made after I had another flat in my driveway is temporarily gone.  Funny enough, as soon as we returned from police, the big sign in the front was gone.  Do I need to say more?

Then after a house for us, one for each of the boys and husband’s sister.  And then?  Well, lots to real charity.  In fact, the other night there was something on the news about local people being displaced and renovations  would have run a few million dollars.   Husband said, “We could have done that in a heartbeat if we had won.”  Well, we didn’t.

Recently, I have undergone significant financial reversals.  No, not the stock markets.  More along the line of no income.  It appears that hopefully after all the belt tightening, this is about to change.  As I anticipate this, another list to make.  Late last summer, a man who saw me commuting, pulled up his pants (nothing lewd here) and showed me a device on his leg.  He thought we had the same condition.  It’s a Walkaid and there’s also another product called Bioness.  They cost a few thousand.  We didn’t have any money when we spoke to the doctor about it and she said it might give me the same results as the Ampyra or it might be better.  It tops my new wish list.  I had to cut back on my traditional donations.  I was an officer at a bank years ago.  One of the first things I did when I received it was write checks to my favorite charities,  My co-worker thought I was odd but it used to give me a kick, almost as good as sex, more like a deep kiss.  Donations to AAUW’s Legal Advocacy fund and the County domestic violence unit.  My two favorites.

So what else have I been thinking about and missing?  Well, as I have said before clothing is my life.  Therefore, I shop.  I love the air in stores, the undercurrent, the lust.  It energizes me.  I remember being in Paris once hungry and tired but in track of a shop I had heard about.  I found it and revived like a flower in water.  Due to my own personal economic downturn I haven’t been able to do it for ages.  I am surprised.  This situation has made me less materialistic.  Clothes and cosmetics aren’t really part of this list. When I received word that things were going to be ok, I admit to flipping through a Smithsonian sales catalog and seeing some Christmas necklaces that would be wonderful for my elves next year.

So what else is on the list?  I want a car.  I wanted one for my milestone birthday.  And not just any car, a “luxury” car.  I am known for saying carwise I am OK with a box, wheels and a radio.  I certainly do not see a car as a reflection of who I am.  My ex-husband and my brother always derided me for that.  I wanna Buick, like the commercial.  It’s cute.  My brother-in-law who is amazing with dealers and dollars couldn’t make it work for me.  The car represents getting something for me and for once not settling.  That’s what it’s about.

This is what I have learned during this setback, downturn, whatever you want to call it.  I no longer want to settle. Not in terms of what I do for a living, not in terms of a car, not in terms of my health.  Oh, right after car on my list I have sliders for Zumba for my sneakers and a personal trainer.

It’s been a huge lesson and one way or another, in my mind, I have won my lottery.

January 2016 Check In and Prior Year

Posted on by tresswann

Start of a New Year so it’s time to not only look back at the previous month but also state of being (so much more than health) for the last year.

How did I feel this past Year?

It was definitely a mixed year.  I had some highs and lows.  Getting the Ampyra and being able to walk more was great.  I also was able to get nice “things”.  It was an acknowledgement that I was good enough.  I made my milestone.  I spent it with one of my best friends.  I lost 20 pounds because I ate right, not diet.

I lost my job and that’s what I did, it’s lost. So, maybe that’s a low.  We’ll see

How did I feel this past Month?

It’s the holidays – a bit frazzled.  I am surprised despite being home I didn’t get a lot done for the holidays. It’s like losing in a way.  Overall, a bit calmer.  Still trying to sort out.

What did you do for yourself this year?

Well, I did more exercise and was more mindful of my health.  The biggest thing is that I stood up on the job issue and have not taken it lying down.  I also validated myself  by believing I was good enough.

What did you do for yourself this month?

Well, the Elves Workshop was a blast.  I have more fun than they do.    Spent time with the kids which was great.  Applied for jobs like crazy.  Still trying to reconnect with me.  Restarted my gratitude journal and my journal.  The gym.

What did I eat this year and how did it make me feel –

The beginning of the year was better than the end.  I slowly drifted off plan.  It clearly reflects in my health.

What did I eat this month  and how did it make me feel –

Uh,  holidays?  Totally lost it.  Last year I didn’t touch the cookies.  This year I ate them all!  Still tried to mitigate when possible.

Did I exercise?  What did I do?  How did it feel –

I am going to answer for both the month and the year.  I increased it this year.  Partly due to the Ampyra, and part due to what I wanted and needed.  After the job ended, I started the gym more.   However, it’s not like in times past.  I realize it’s because I can’t take classes so miss the social bits.

For whom or what are you grateful?  What matters most in life?

Again, I feel blessed, especially at this time of year.  I can still walk.  I have friends I love and who love me.  Life is still full of possibilities.  I still feel joy.  Friends, health and love are what matter.

Do I have a higher purpose or driving force in my life?   Make a mission statement –

Still working on that mission statement.  I am thinking about joy.  Someone commented recently that I have always been smiling since I was a child.  And she should know.  So sharing that joy.    And whilst I don’t want to be a poster child, I am partly out about the MS.  Okay, I still don’t accept it.  However, if coming out prevents people being treated the way I have been jobwise, then so be it.  I guess at the end of the day I want my life to have mattered and changed someone else’s positively

Conventional medicine  Just the Ampyra and Baclufan.  Waiting for coverage for the biotin

Symptoms – Well the stress hasn’t helped.  I am a bit weaker.  My balance is the pits.  My hands are going but I am fighting.

What symptoms are most troublesome  – Walking as always. A bit wobbly too.

Do I blame myself for things – Same as always. Of course! Yes, I am still blaming myself for not being aggressive against this. However, getting back to me, slowly, slowly but surely!

How is stress level?

Moderate.  There are days it peaks for sure.  When I take money out of savings to live and when I have to charge things.  But not commuting is so huge.  This still applies.  Feeling not working but am optimistic.  Stress is down a bit and manageable.

What can I do tomorrow to make it better than today?

So aside from my Christmas pudding, a serious return to the right eating, sticking with the gym, gratitude and attitude.

Make 2016 count!

Politics, Friendship, and Mortality

Posted on by tresswann

I just found out a few hours ago that one of my childhood friends passed away in his sleep last night.  Losing anyone so young is hard.  Well young is relative but I still feel relatively young and as my former sister-in-law said earlier this year “anyone dying before 80 is young.”

So, my mother worked with his father and we grew up on the same street.  His dad drank heavily and so did he but that’s what we did then.  He transferred in high school to an exclusive Catholic high.  I went to college with 6 boys from that school.  They told me that his drinking so disgusted them that they themselves threw him off the bus.  We used to drink at the same bar in our late teens and early twenties.

A memory – the New Year’s Eve  I was 21, I ended up at a party at his house with my two best friends.  The other Tress(same name) and I had dates.  Let’s put it this way, she was going out with Donnie and when I was around we used to double with his best friend who was called Hoppy, seriously.  He was far from hoppy but around 6 foot something and a solid 200 pounds plus.  He was a time filler for me.  Our other friend was just along for the ride.  Our original plan was to have a sleepover at my parents and then the guys came up with this party plan.  Somehow towards the end of the evening we ended up at J’s house.  His parents were there and some others too.  Not mine; not only did they no longer go out on New Years anymore but my mother didn’t like his father – read heavy drinker.  And it must have been very heavy as the first time I was drunk in public  was at her boss’s home(same company)  when I was around 16.  Different era, different mores.  Anyway,  Hoppy takes me over to his parents “Ma, Dad, this is the girl I have been telling you about.”  Big shock to me.  I don’t, didn’t do relationships, especially at that age.  So I am doing the drunken nice girl chat with parents and when I get away, M,  my other friend is in Hoppy’s lap, cooing to him “I want it and want it now.”  Different era, stumbled out of the house and walked the two long blocks home including one block that was a ballfield.  And it was a four lane road opposite parkway woods and a parkway.  A drunk 20-something couldn’t do that now.  Went into the house and my parents called out and asked where everyone else was.  The other Tress is with Donnie at J’s house and M?  M is f*cking her brains out with Hoppy”  Now you have to understand that was a big evil word then and I am known for not using “bad” words.  Upshot?  Parents yell at me for the profanity and M  comes in much later.  The other Tress never spoke to her again.  I am more forgiving but have to admit that I saw her in the subway 20 years ago or so and she was completely grey! Revenge is a dish best served cold.

At that point in time,  J was getting his life back together.  We used to hang in the same bar and have drinks. He was working at the local grocery store stocking frozen food.  He was going back to school.  He was very, very smart.  We had always been in the advanced class.  Then he said he made a girl pregnant that he didn’t even really like (it may have been the alcohol talking) and that was it.

Fast forward years and the advent of FB.  He was mad crazy about his grandson and was a successful guy.  Our high school always has a picnic and three years ago, I went.  Topic for another day.  There’s a candid shot of the two of us jabbering away.

 

But and there is always a but, he was far right and I am far left.  I grew up in Levittown and far right is the way most people lean but back in the day things didn’t seem as absolute.  I always knew that my views were not held by most.  J and I had a teacher in 7th grade who on reflection probably was in the John Birch society.  I vaguely reflect an argument over my not saying the Pledge of Allegiance with J.  Still, see above, we drank together.  However, I just couldn’t take it on FB.  As we and society have aged, we have become more polarized.  I hate hate speech.  Uh, yeah Levittown – 99.6 or 99.7 white when I was growing up.  I was at a high school dinner in Levittown a few summers ago and they were talking about how Nixon was right with Watergate not ‘Nam but Watergate.  Put Obama into the picture and just imagine.  I have only unfriended one person on FB and it was another elementary school onwards person with racist hate.  So, I hid J.  I only saw innocuous likes.

I knew he had moved back onto the Island from a neighboring state.  Today,  I see that he was right here in my town.  He was truly a part of my growing up.  Because I hid him, I didn’t know.  We could have and should have been able to move beyond politics to that common childhood.

When did we as a society become so divisive?  I recently read that people are deciding where to move based on the overall political makeup of an area.  What happened to us?  Where is the veneer of tolerance?  Fake it till ya make it works sometimes.  We are cutting off discourse and therefore growth.  I am guilty.  I am thinking of what I missed the last few years by cutting J off.  It makes this loss huger.

We don’t know what Fate holds for us, why waste time.

I mourn for J and for missteps.

Carpe Diem.  RIP J and I’ll be lifting a glass to Auld Lang Syne.

Style and Grace and holding on to cry at home

Posted on by tresswann

I can’t tell you how many times I have said to myself hang on until you can get home and cry.  I was brought up not to cry in front of people, not my family particularly, but certainly the outside.  I have tried to live my life, especially when confronting obstacles and difficult situations, with style and grace.  It’s like a mantra for me.  Big girls don’t cry.  I have said “Style and Grace” every time I have been let go on a job.  I use it all the time, most recently in the situations I have been confronting on my job.  Okay lately,   I also take a bubble bath the night before potentially contentious meetings with Not Soap Radio – Bathing with Sharks.

I am getting tired of all of this.  I am hanging on.

So, I was not supposed to cry.  I didn’t receive my diploma on graduation day.  This was huge.  Additionally,  I never thought I would get married or have a wedding so this was going to be my day.  I was tapped on the shoulder and told I wasn’t graduating as we started the processional.  No one understood why I didn’t have my usual smile.  As we dispersed and I saw my parents, I started to cry.  My mother slapped me and covered my eyes with huge dark glasses.  I was out of work for ages and got a job.  I went in to have lunch with the owner.  He told me I didn’t have one; he had changed his mind.  Yes, here it comes another smack and dark glasses.  My husband was arrested and in jail right after my father died and I couldn’t get him out,  I sobbed on my sister-in-law till I wet her clothes.  Came home and started to sob.  My mother looked at me and said ” I thought I raised a grown up”.  And no, of course I didn’t cry when my parents died.  I gave both eulogies, no tears.  This comes at enormous cost. Yes,  I cry,  I gush rivers, just not publicly.  When I was diagnosed, no tears.  When the first physician’s assistant said “I think you have MS” I sobbed in the parking lot, not in front of her.  Maybe three times since 2008.

I am tired of holding on.

I had a meeting with the other ugly stepsister (work)  three weeks ago.  I thought I was being let go.  Stood outside and repeated Style and Grace, style and grace.  Summoned my grandmother’s spirit.  Walked into the room with my head held high and  SMILED.  Bathing with sharks.

So, this week:

I find out on my birthday that my health insurance company is closing.  Do you know how many years I had to wait to get covered for this drug?  It truly helps me walk longer and better.  If you saw me on the street you wouldn’t think so but it is better.  My new normal.  What happens with new insurance?  Scared.

Next,  I return to work and one of the ugly stepsisters wants a meeting with me to discuss what I do.  This is the woman that I reported to briefly.  I was like coyote ugly trying to chew my leg off when I was working with her.  So, once again we go through  “What do you do, how do you do it?” And  she is going to have someone who uses the word “wordsmith” to write something for me!  I can read the handwriting on the wall.

Husband has had a slip or several so I am back to being tense when I get home.  No real safe haven.

I had an appointment to discuss possible options yesterday.  Between the two meetings I literally couldn’t walk and was collapsing, bent over.

Today, I still felt still weak. Lots of training, walking, meetings.  Ran into guy who brought me back to this place. He’s been trying to save my job.  Calls me into a room so I thought I was finally getting the move and recognition.  NOT!!  My agent who handles my billing is going out of business.  No one else wants to take me on.  Essentially, this means I am out.  What do I do?  Go back to my desk and frigging smile!  Ok so I contact the trifecta- my doctor, lawyer, accountant.  In addition to my smile, I am known as a survivor.  Keep on murmuring style and grace.  My body is channeling all the stress and I lurch to the train.  They change the track and the escalator and elevator are broken.  Nearly fell going upstairs.  I do make it to the car.  My whole plan this afternoon was to get home like a pigeon and cry.  I started to cry close to home on the phone with my husband.  His response?  “Don’t be such a girl”.

No tears but my stress pattern is reverting to two I had years ago.  I used to have pre-fainting – pre hyposyncopia (sp).  I turn grey and my eyeballs roll  up in my head but I don’t faint.  Later years, I got palpitations.  Tonight both.  I know it’s holding the anger and the tears.  Now with this condition it goes through my body.

And tomorrow – style and grace.

October Warrior Check In

Posted on by tresswann

How do I feel today  -Better than I have in awhile.  I am going back to work tomorrow after a week off and I am dreading it for numerous reasons.  However, it appears the hurricane has passed us by, the sun is shining and I am focusing on the positive.  I have so much to be grateful for. I also feel that I am back on track.

What did you do for yourself today?

I read the Sunday Times, most of it, on Sunday!  I cooked something healthy and good.  I was indulgent and bought nail polish

What did I eat today and how did it make me feel – Eating right except for dinner tonight – will have small steak.  On holiday I did OK and tried to be in balance

Did I exercise?  What did I do?  How did it feel – Ah, every month there is a weak spot, still trying to calibrate Jawbone but I definitely have not walked nearly enough in the last week.  I feel weak but determined.

For whom or what are you grateful?  What matters most in life?

Friends and family.  Last night the boys and their girlfriends joined the nieces and I at a mystery dinner at the church.  The table read Reserved – “X – Family of 8″  It made me feel warm.  The fiancee declared in 10 months, I will really be a part of this family.  I was given beautiful presents for my birthday and a beautiful card.  I spent 4 days with one of my best friends on vacation last week.  It was restorative. I had all kinds of birthday wishes from near and far.  And as someone once said ” You know Santa and the Easter Bunny?!!!”  What more could I or should I want out of life.

Do I have a higher purpose or driving force in my life?   Make a mission statement –

Ok, still a problem. Still believe deeply in joy.  In the last few weeks due to the situation at work where  I am no longer being allowed my medical accommodation,  I am planning legal action.  I have been told this will benefit other people.  So, there you go.

How long have I been treated with conventional medicine Ampyra since April.  On my birthday, I read in the Times that my medical insurance company is closing so we are scared that I will lose this drug.

The first time I had a symptom – June 2004 walking on the beach boardwalk.  Lately,  I have been using the cane which I am going to rename a stick more and more each week.

What symptoms are most troublesome  -still hung up on the ugly shoes!  And my hands seem to be weakening.  Same as last month.  Getting a little wobbly.

Do I blame myself for things –  Of course!Yes, I am still blaming myself for not being aggressive against this. However, getting back to me, slowly, slowly but surely!

How is stress level? Middling, as I have not been at the office Sept 23 but have to go back tomorrow and face the music.  I know I will survicw

What can I do tomorrow to make it better than today?   Continue to take positive steps in eating, exercise and most importantly the pursuit of balance.

Until next month.