Thank you

Dear Friends of Facebook,

Thank you, thank you, thank you.

Last spring, when I moved in with four young siblings so their lives could remain stable for the school year, there was much I didn’t know.

I didn’t know that I would be pushed far, far, beyond my emotional limits. (FAR)

I didn’t know I’d need more than half a year to fully recover, emotionally and physically, from those 15 weeks.

I never guessed that one morning the little brothers would take raw eggs into the bathtub and when discovered would run, naked and laughing, around the neighborhood for twenty minutes. At the time, I was overwhelmed, but I knew it would be a funny story later. Thankfully, that later has arrived.

I had no idea that we would be helped and held by the caring acts of friends, acquaintances, colleagues, and strangers. 

We were given meals and money, books and groceries. We were given an Easter Egg hunt. Two women were our weekend bookends; one friend came over every Friday, and another on Sundays. Folks met us at parks to play and came to the house to help. Two co-workers even took the sisters for overnights.

Store clerks provided calm, competent, kind service. I never knew what a gift that was until I lived with rattled nerves 24/7.

My Facebook world responded to every post with encouragement, admiration, love, and humor, also 24/7. It was a vital lifeline.

My co-workers met my exhaustion, stress, and neediness with grace and kindness.

Sometimes we serve by knowing when to stay away, so here’s a grateful shout-out to the friends and family who did that at my request, without hurt feelings, because I only wanted experienced child wranglers to come by.

Around week 6 of my adventure, I called it the worst great idea I ever had. However, now that I’m fine again, I’m so glad I did it. The siblings stayed together for longer than they would have otherwise. They finished the school year where they started it. Best of all, they were spared the trauma of what could have been numerous separations and sudden transitions. Instead, they had a single smooth and expected move into the two good homes where they continue to live. Thank you for helping that happen.

Plus, I got to fulfill a dream: to make a difference in someone elses’s life. Thank you for enabling me to do that. I couldn’t have done it alone.   

With Affection, Annie

Becoming a Foster Auntie.

 I am going to provide short-term foster care for some children.

Below are a bunch of the details, if you are interested.

Many of you have asked how you can support me during this time, and that is at the end.

I will be caring for four children. Two girls (2nd and 3rd grade) attendMeiridian Park, the school where I work.

They have little brothers, ages 3 & 4. Yes, they are potty-trained.

When the state took guardianship of the children, their mom chose to leave the house so the kids wouldn't have to go into foster care. A family member has been caring for them, but can no longer do that. When I heard they might have to go into a foster home for the rest of the school year, I had a not if there's anything I can do about it  moment and suggested that I move into the house until the end of the school year or until their mom is allowed to return home whichever comes first.

My goal in doing this is for the girls to stay at Meridian Park with as little disruption to their lives as possible for the rest of the school year. 

If they have to go to foster care after school ends, I won't like it, but I will move back home.

I am what's called a "Suitable Adult Caregiver," (something like that) which means I am known/trusted by the kids and have passed a criminal background check/fingerprinting. 

Their parents have visitation rights and I will supervise those. Their mom comes by and makes dinner and puts them to bed a few nights a week.I have a good relationship with their mom.

Their house is 17 miles away from the school they attend, where I work (long story)

The part I am most nervous about is being away from Barbara and my home and garden, and getting us all where we need to go in the mornings. Because mornings. 

But I think I can rise to the occasion. And I have asked for grace and patience on the part of my colleagues.

I will spend my first night there March 12.

Support needs I anticipate:

• Please stay in touch so I don't feel isolated
• Please come visit or meet me and the children at a park so I don't feel isolated.
• Shop for and deliver groceries to me. 
• Provide meals at least at first. I'm not sure how one cooks with young children around. I will go whole omnivore during this time for simplicity.

Many people have made kind comments of admiration about my doing this. I like that. Please don't stop 😏. 

However, I'm acutely aware of my shortcomings and have been thinking a lot about what it means to do what we can with what we are given. I plan to write more about that. Probably after this adventure is over.

Part of why this seems do-able right now is because all my main people are stable and healthy right now.  Barbara's parents and my parents have been gone for years. I have more to give than my life has needed.

Thanks for reading.

Our Grand Adventure, 2016

Every couple of years, Barbara and I go on Grand Adventures (aka big trips where we are quite active.) This year, we are hiking the 100 miles around Mt. Blanc, the largest mountain in Europe. This hike is commonly referred to as Tour Mont Blanc, or TMB.

What makes hiking/backpacking in Europe extra scrumptious is that YOU DON'T HAVE TO CAMP!

Camping is an option, but you can also stay in refugios/gites/hotels in the mountains. You get a shower, a bed, dinner and breakfast for about $50./person

One of my favorite parts of hiking this way is that part way through the day, you can stop at a refugio for a hot drink or a piece of cake. When we hiked for 5 days in the Dolomites (the Italian side of the Alps), I sampled many varieties of apple strudel. In France, I understand it will be chocolate cake. 

But I digress. 

On our Dolomites trip, we took a self-guided trip through a company I recommend- Distant Journeys (https://www.distantjourneys.com). They made all the arrangements for transfers, hotels, rifugios, etc.

This time, because TMB has a lot of infrastructure, and is a well-travelled, specific route, we made the arrangements ourselves. A book that helps a lot with this is: Trekking the Tour of Mont Blanc by Kev Reynolds. We are taking 13 days to make the trip: 12 days of hiking and one rest day, in the Italian town of Courmayeur. Where there is a spa with natural springs. 

When Distant Journeys planned our hike, they had connections that enabled us to stay in the nicer refugios, and we almost always had private rooms.

This time, we will spend some nights in dormitory rooms with up to fifteen other people. 

Truth: Snoring, both my own and others' is the part of this trip about which I feel most anxious. I am taking lots of earplugs to pass around. (Ambassador of Good Sleep.)

I am excited about meeting people from all over who are also hiking all or part of TMB. Perhaps the universal issue of snoring is an untapped avenue into world peace.

Besides seeing all the stunning natural beauty on trips like this, (and being fed) I also like that it offers a lot of solitude/coupletude  blended with the conviviality at the rifugios. It is a good balance for the introvert + extrovert couple that we are.

If you want to see the kind of scenery through which we'll be hiking, I recommend going to YouTube and watching any of the TMB videos.

Will the hiking be hard? Yes, and I'm sure there will be at least one day when I can barely make it. But hiking in Washington, where extreme steepness is common, is great preparation!

When we are done with TMB, we will spend ten days exploring the Provence region. First, we will take a train to Cassis, on the Mediterranean. Our plans there are loose. I hope to swim, explore calanques  I don't quite understand what they are yet; fjord-like, and perhaps visit other towns. 

After five days there, we go to Marseille to rent a car and then drive to the Luberon region, which is famous for it's lavender. Home base  will be the town of Rousillon.

Our last two days will be in the French town of Annecy, which we discovered almost by accident.

Towns, Mountains, Wandering, Water. And food I don't have to prepare. Yes.

Let me Tell You About my Friend Jane.

My beloved friend Jane Berkman died on May 3, 2015, after eight years of all that goes with ovarian cancer.
Let me tell you about my friend Jane.
In 1987, we met in the U.W Masters in Social Work program. I didn't have any classes with her for two quarters, but admired her beauty and high energy and colorful, flowy hippy clothes from across the boring, beige school of social work hallways.

In our third quarter, we took Introductory Group Process. During the first class, our professor told us to find someone to talk to. Very potentially awkward and group processy.
Jane and I made beelines for each other.
If memory serves, we bonded quickly about feminism, love of musicals, and shared humor. Probably  about food and body image, too.

For our second year internship, we both worked at the Sexual Assault Center at Harborview. It was a bad fit for me, for a lot of reasons. My confidence was in the toilet and I couldn't sleep. But every day, Jane was there, smiling at me, laughing, wanting to spend time with me and know me. She was like a sunny "Annie You're Adequate" vitamin supplement of friendship love.

When Barbara and I decided we wanted to become moms, Jane found Keith for us, the man who eventually helped Barbara make Corey. That of course, was a gift beyond measure. We called her Corey's Fairy Godmother.

Seventeen years ago, when I suffered a major depression and thought I might break up with Barbara, she was the one who said "I think you'll figure it out." We did.

Unfortunately, she later had her own experiences with major depression. I was able to support her in getting through that thing that's often so hard to understand unless you've gone through it.

We laughed a lot. We saw at least a dozen musicals together, at high schools, in Leavenworth, at the Fifth Avenue, and elsewhere. Sometimes we two hippy Jew-ish gals felt pretty out of place with the rest of the audience.

Jane and I weren't best friends, because neither of us is a best friend kind of gal.  We both have many friends whom we cherish. But of all my friends, Jane was the most like me temperamentally (Meyers-Briggs ENFP, for those in the know.) It was enormously comforting to spend time with someone who was relaxed in the same ways I am- kind of messy and disorganized and highly friendly and not totally prompt, and sometimes "too much" for people, and for whom grooming was pretty much an after thought every morning.

About a year ago, I had an unsatisfying party experience that left me feeling awkward in a way that doesn't happen much at this point in my life. Afterward, I realized part of the problem was that my preferred conversational style could be called "Early American Therapy Group," Not so everyone, of course!
Jane knew just what I meant and said that she was the same way. So comforting.

Jane never talked about her prognosis, so I didn't ask. But in early 2014, I got the impression that things had taken a turn for the worse, and we started having Comedy Night on Wednesdays. Because of children, schedules, travels, there had been many periods during our 27 years of friendship when we didn't see each other much, so to see Jane weekly was a total treat, even though the reason we could do it was horrible.
We gave each other weekly updates, ate something, and watched sitcoms as old as Mayberry, as silly as The Flying Nun, and as current as Modern Family.

I hoped laughter would be the best medicine.

Of course, our weekly mini-vacations didn't save her, but I'm so glad we tried.

I love you Jane, and I'm going to miss you so much. Already do.












 

Thoughts on the Morning of my Marriage Day

So.
I'm getting legally married this afternoon.
To my partner of 28 years.
Twenty-four years after we had a commitment ceremony in which we publically acknowledged our love and commitment to each other in front our our families and friends. While it gave us no legal advantages, it was meaningful and important to our hearts.

Maybe after we've had the ceremony with the judge, in front of a few family members, and after we've celebrated with friends at Mama's Mexican Kitchen, where we had our first date, it will seem more meaningful and important to me.
But so far, it's just seems kind of funny. We've been together for so long already. Calling each other "wife" is something we've occassionally done in irony. Now it's going to be real.

Marriage is not something I've longed for, not a lack I've felt.

My friend B.T., on the other hand, dressed up as a bride for Halloween when she was five. It was a true representation of her longing. (And yes, she did marry.)
(Not me, I was a ballerina in a pink tutu. Later, I was Miss America  with a glittery sash. I longed,for soo many years, to be famous: a dream I eventually rejected.)

I told a classmate in 6th grade that I didn't want to get married and have children because I wanted to travel. Around the same time I noticed that if I tried to imagine marrying a man, the dots didn't connect.
I dreamed of having an exotic life, preferably modelled after that of Dashiell Hammet and Lillian Hellman. Only without the alcoholism. Or the tortured emotional states. And perhaps with a bit more money and stability, and nicer friends. But very romantic and garret-y.

Along with coming out when I was twenty, I learned about ways in which the institution of marriage has not served women well.
Marriage, shmarriage, I didn't need it, and once I figured out I was a lesbian, I wasn't allowed it.

I heard the horrible stories of same-sex couples who were forbidden access to each other in hospitals, or in which one was forced to deport, or whose financial situations became dire when one of them died. Legal marriage could protect against that and I understood how important it was. But same-sex marriage seemed like a possibility for the far-off future.

Personally, we were careful, healthy, privileged and lucky. Our unmarried status wasn't something we thought much about and no harm came to us because of it.

Fast-forward to the new millenium.
All this talk about gay marriage and marriage equality! Where did it come from?
Barbara reminded me recently that we were asked to consider being one of the couples who would sue for the right to marry. We said no; it just wasn't an issue we felt passionately about. We certainly supported marriage equality. It was exciting when same-sex marriage became legal in Washington state last November and thrilling when DOMA was overturned this summer. I recognize that these as huge steps for our country.

But marriage still wasn't something I yearned for.

So why am I marrying Barbara this afternoon?

As far as I can tell, I'm getting married because I can.
Because it seems like a smart thing to do for legal and medical and financial reasons. Because people worked very hard for us to have this right and to not take advantage of it seems ungrateful.
Because others had greater imagination than I and believed we could have marriage equality now, instead of in the vague and distant future when we also had, say, jetpacks.

I'm getting married because I have a choice. I'm getting married because I can.
Do I want to? Thanks for asking.

I do.






 

Talking About a Taboo Topic

In the movie 8: A Mormon Proposition, a Mormon leader says "These people imagine they are attracted to the same sex," or words to that effect. I've found that view repeated, usually with vitriol, in many comment threads on FB and blogs.*

What arrogance, I thought. How can they label someone's experience "imagined" just because it's different from theirs?

Especially enraging is how this attitude completely dismisses the anguish many youth experience as they struggle with their sexual orientation. That Mormon leader's point of view is arrogant. And the Mormon church, parts of it at least, has been extremely hateful and hurtful to sexual minorities.

However, she is certainly not alone in her arrogance.
My own arrogance in giving credence to beliefs I don't understand is something with which I continue to struggle.

Disclosure: I'm (almost) completely uneducated in religion. But I've been exposed to it enough to have opinions.

My unvarnished take on religion goes like this:
I don't get it.
A lot of religious beliefs strike me as delusional.
Religion seems to provide an artificial source of comfort and security.
I'm confounded by what people believe in the name of their faith.
Since people of different faiths view their particular faith as "right" then how can any of them be "right?" And where does that leave them since religion isn't supposed to be an opinion like politics, it's supposed to be a truth passed down from (the one and only) God?
Religions provide hope for some kind of after-death eternity. While I have some loosy-goosy ideas about reincarnation, I wouldn't say I believe in it.  I just like the idea. How can people think they actually know what happens after we die?

As my smart partner once said to me, "I think that's why it's called faith."

I could go on. The list of ways I don't get religion is long.

Growing up, I didn't know many religious people. And right down there with golf, (that's another story) it was something the Gages just didn't do. I was taught not to "use the Lord's name in vain," but behind the scenes there was a fair amount of eye-rolling, pursing of lips, and talk of "religious kooks."

As I said, I'm (almost) as uneducated about religion as a person can be. I've tried, but it's so not my language, right along with that of auto mechanics, financial investments and football.

In adulthood, especially since I've become connected to the Society of Children's Writers and Illustrators, I've come to know and respect a handful of deeply religious women. Some, I love.
And we all treat each other lovingly.
If there was a Sisterhood of Big Hearts, we'd all belong to it.

I've talked about religion a little with some of them, but I don't I "get" it any more than I used to.

However, I've come to understand that, since I respect them, and think they are smart, and want to be a good friend, (the language of friendship is one I understand,) I want to have faith in their religious faith.
I want to challenge my arrogance, to the best of my ability.
I want to live by the Golden Rule.

If I don't want people to believe I'm "imagining" an important part of my life, it would behoove me to stop thinking, just because I don't get it, that there is something kind of delusional about an important part of theirs.

Maybe comparing my biases about religion to a Mormon leader's arrogance isn't a very good fit. But in the Sisterhood of Big Hearts, there is a lot of space for compassion, understanding and personal accountability, and I am going to keep trying to get it right.

*Yes, I usually avoid reading these, but they are a good way to get a pulse people's reactivity. Interesting sometimes.

Innocence, whose? Changed, what?

On this tenth anniversary of the Sept. 11th terrorist attacks, I feel sad when I remember that day; the sorrow, the horror, the confusion about what it meant for the future.

I remember the contrast between the sweetness of life with a first grader: lost teeth, Legos, learning to read, and the rage and fear and sorrow from all sides that were wrapped up in the attacks.

I also feel cranky; alienated and at odds about two phrases that were used often at that time and have returned as news media remembers.

There was a loss of innocence.

Whose innocence? About what? No one really said.
I assume this refers to a sense some folks had, before 9/11, that the United States was invulnerable to outside attacks.

But that kind of innocence only seems possible if one identifies so strongly with one's own country and point in history that the suffering of people from other parts of the world, or in this country at other times, never made any impression.
How can anyone have felt "innocent" if they knew about slavery and Jim Crow, the Holocaust, ethnic cleansing in Bosnia, apartheid, rape as a tool of war? The Oklahoma City bombing? I could go on, but...duh.
I think of myself as a positive, cheerful person, and I've lived a privilege life, but honey, my "innocence" was lost a long time ago.

Nothing will ever be the same.

Again, I wonder, for whom? And from what? This statement strikes me as histrionic.

On Sept. 12, 2001, we went to pick up kitty #2 from the Animal Shelter.
Gotta tell you, things were the same there. Animals in cages, needing homes.
At my son's school, there were happy kids at recess.
The traffic on I-5 was still bad.
I didn't have direct information about this, but am 100% sure that women in abusive relationships had been living a nightmare and continued to after 9/11.
If "the same" meant life had had a certain glow and security, life hadn't been "the same" for lots of people for a long time.

True, I had a stronger emotional response to the 9/11/01 attacks than I have to other terrorist attacks in other parts of the country. But I consider this due to my own ignorance, U.S. chauvanism, and lack of imagination. If I paid closer attention to other attacks and thought about the people they affected, and watched news reports about them, I imagine I'd have a similar reaction.

I guess it isn't exciting and dramatic enough, doesn't make people feel important enough if we say, simply; This was a horrible loss and trauma; the shock from that and  the time it takes to recover are universal experiences. Some things will change, some things will stay the same.

That, however, is what is true for me.