A Surefire Way to Brighten Your Day

Someone sent this video to me.
I liked it so much I wanted to share.

Rich Diversity or Impoverished Tolerance? You Be the Judge

Who'da thunk we'd find any of this in Elburn, a psychic fair AND far right attitudes opposing it? There is more than one path to divinity, and it's my own opinion that finding the divine in oneself entails finding the divine in others--with love, tolerance, and understanding, regardless of philosophical differences. Who knows? Maybe to divine IS divine. When such ability is used to aid and heal, who is to say that it isn't a gift from God? Or Goddess? 

There is much stock to be taken from the creed, "An it harm none, do as thou wilt." And I can tell you, my friends, those words of wisdom do not come from Christian philosophy. But this one does, and an equal amount of stock should be taken from it, "Do unto others as thou wilt have others do unto you." That includes not imposing one's views upon others, unbidden and judgmentally. 

With all due respect to my numerous fundamentalist friends, I'm headed to that Elburn psychic fair with my mom, in just a bit. And not to protest. ...Unless it's to oppose narrow-minded, judgmental, moral elitism. But then again, to each his own. Intolerance, get thee behind me.

Psychic fair faces opposition in Elburn

June 25th, 2009, The Elburn Herald

• Letter: Connecting with dead not harmless
• Community center announces open gym
• Letter: Fireworks, celebrations and community character
• Elburn village notes

Filed Under: Elburn

Tags: Denise Vanvliet • Elburn and Countryside Community Center • Gary Augustine • Parents Advocating 4 Kids

Others say ‘A Day With Your Angels’ OK by Martha Quetsch

ELBURN—Some village residents, including a minister, are disturbed about an event that will bring psychics and mediums to the Elburn & Countryside Community Center Saturday, saying its focus is dangerous.

However, Denise Vanvliet, who is organizing the event, said “A Day With Your Angels” will be entirely positive.

“No devil worship, nothing like that,” said Vanvliet, massage therapist and owner of Intuition Institute, a community center business tenant.

“A Day With Your Angels” will be held from 11 a.m. to 4 p.m. in the gymnasium of the Community Center, 525 N. Main St. Vendors and exhibitors will include people offering aura readings, palm readings and Reiki mini-sessions to enhance a person’s energy flow, Vanvliet said.

Gary Augustine, pastor of the Evangelical Fellowship Church in Elburn, does not want children who might be at the community center to be exposed to “the dark side of spiritism and the demonic.” He and other church representatives have gathered together for community-wide prayer meetings since hearing about the event, and they will hold one on Friday at 8 p.m. in the Community Center gymnasium to pray for protection against the dangers they believe it will present.

On Saturday, a group of parents will be at the event representing Parents Advocating 4 Kids (PAK) to suggest with signs and literature that the community center where children congregate might not be the best place for a psychic fair, just as you might not want a shark exhibit in a water slide pool for kids, Augustine said.

The children who will be at the Community Center that day include those attending martial arts and dance classes, which are held in other areas of the building, Community Center Board member Jack Hansen said.

Hansen said he does not see anything wrong with allowing the event to take place at the Community Center, since nothing the vendors and exhibitors plan to do is illegal. The Community Center will receive a rental fee for ”A Day With Your Angels” and for the prayer meeting on Friday.

“We welcome both of these kind of events. They bring people to the community center,” Hansen said.

“Day With Your Angels” also will feature clothing and handbag vendors, and Paisano’s pizza.

News Flash on Hot Flashes

Okay, it's not really a news flash, and neither is it a brilliant stroke of genius. And if I'm the only person to have thought of this remedy, then I would be seriously concerned about the state of human intelligence. However, last night as "Whew, I'm hot" turned into "Oh crap, a hot flash" and my great big box fan was doing precious little to provide relief, I suddenly remembered my assortment of ice packs in the freezer. I normally keep them handy for migraines and muscle spasms, but as I prepared for bed last night feeling as if I had suddenly become a drenching wet human furnace, it miraculously occurred to me that those ice packs can serve another purpose: Hot Flash Nipping. Nip your Hot Flash in the bud by taking one ice-solid ice pack and placing it at the crown of your head. Use a headband to hold it in place if you have to. Then place a second ice pack at your C1, the hollow where your skull and your neck join. Hold in place (shifting position of pack at neck as needed) until pack softens and is body temperature. Guaranteed relief within 5 minutes. Or by the time ice pack melts. Whichever comes first.

US Boy Says He Wants to Stay in Brazil--I hope it works out better for this father than it did for me!

Nothing is worse than your own child rejecting you in favor of another person. I know this. The worst part is what the child is going through, and being helpless as a parent to make it better. It's excruciatingly unfair to have to place your parenthood on trial, to let strangers in a foreign country decide whether or not your own stolen child should be returned to you. It makes me sick.

This man's story is my own.

What the hell is wrong with people???


By MARCO SIBAJA, Associated Press Writer Marco Sibaja, Associated Press Writer – Thu Jun 18, 5:18 am ET

BRASILIA, Brazil – A 9-year-old boy at the center of an international custody battle told a psychologist he wants to stay with his stepfamily in Brazil rather than return to the U.S. with his biological father, according to a transcript of the interview.

In the transcript, released by the Brazilian family's lawyers on Wednesday, Sean Goldman tells the psychologist that if he is sent back to New Jersey to be with David Goldman he will "break down totally."

"I want to stay here in Brazil," the 9-year-old repeats in the interview.

The interview with Sean Goldman was conducted Monday by psychologist Terezinha Feres-Carneiro in a Rio de Janeiro hospital. It wasn't immediately clear who paid for the psychologist's services.

When asked to draw a picture of his family, the boy drew only his stepfather, sister and Brazilian grandparents.

The transcript's release follows comments last week by David Goldman that a hearing in Brazil had made public an issue that he said he had been legally barred from discussion previously: "The psychological damage that has been inflicted on my son is finally out in the open."

"There's no words to describe the anxiety and the pain that I feel from that," he said.

Goldman's lawyer told the judges about reports by three court-appointed psychologists who found Sean was suffering.

Calls to David Goldman and his lawyer late Wednesday were not immediately returned.

In 2004, Sean's mother, Bruna Bianchi, took him for a two-week vacation to her native Brazil and never returned. She divorced David Goldman in Brazil and married Rio de Janeiro lawyer Joao Paulo Lins e Silva.

She died last year, and a Rio state court granted Lins e Silva temporary custody of Sean.

A lower court in Brazil later ruled that Sean Goldman be returned to the U.S., but that decision was suspended after a petition was filed arguing that removing Sean from his current family environment would hurt the boy.

Last week, Brazil's Supreme Court rebuffed the petition, instead ruling the decision on the boy's fate must be made by a federal court.

At Rainbow's End

This morning, the sun shone through my north-east window, causing a rainbow to appear on one of my walls. It arced down and ended right at Alex's baby picture, taken when he was just a few weeks old, that sits atop my bookcase.

Since there is nothing hanging in the window to cause a rainbow, and because I'd never seen a rainbow appear in my bedroom before, I thought it was pretty remarkable. I took several pictures and pulled Mom out of bed to come see... And just before she walked in, my gaze landed on an object that lay in the sunlight. The sun was refracting off a dusty, upturned DVD.

I have to admit, I was disappointed. I had hoped it was a message from one of my grandparents, perhaps, letting me know all was well with them and my son, but I couldn't deny the obvious mundane source of my rainbow.

It was still pretty, though, and what a lovely symbol it made with Alex at its end!

Translation!

Tuesday, May 19, 2009 at 11:43am

I asked Alex's lawyer to translate the card from Greek to English. In short, this is what it reads:

I took
the M from Honey,
the T from Song,
the H from Hope,
the R from Rose,
the A from Love
and I made the word
Mother.

It was really nice to get a card from him... Now that the shock has worn off, I'm smiling about it. I've written him a Thank You card, already!

<3 <3 <3

How Do You Spell "Happy Mother's Day" in Greek?

Monday, May 18, 2009 at 6:55pm

Mother's Day this year, as last year, and the year before that, was spent without much fanfare or even recognition.

But, today, I received a letter from my 9-year-old son, sent from Greece, where he lives with his father. Inside the envelope was a hand-made Mother's Day card, no doubt created in school at the table where Alex sits with three other students.

I wonder what went on in his head as he made that card, so diligently copying down the text from the whiteboard, so carefully coloring the illustration? Was he thinking of giving the card to his Oma, my ex-mother-in-law, whom, in my presence, my son had often referred to as "mother"? Was he perhaps sad that he couldn't give this card to his real mother, because he had been brainwashed into believing he didn't want to have anything to do with me? Did he, for one single moment, wish he could celebrate Mother's Day like the rest of his classmates? Or even just to go home at the end of the day, knowing Mommy was there waiting for him with a smile on her face and a bear hug in her arms, meant for him and no one else?

Does he miss me? Does he love me? Why is his father suddenly encouraging (seemingly) Alex's contact with me and his grandparents?

I don't know. But today, I received a letter from my son, and inside the envelope was a hand-made Mother's Day card. When I opened it, so many questions formed in my mind.

Not the least of which was, "What does this say?"

It was written in Greek.

Rest in Peace, Grandma

The call came and mom walked in on my while I was undressing to give me the news. My dad is doing well, though I noticed his hands were uncharacteristically cold and clammy when I hugged him while he was making phone calls last night. I was sad. I cried. But mostly I felt... relieved for her. She's happy with Grandpa, now, and the rest of her family and friends.

There will be no Chicago service for my grandmother. She'd asked to see everyone on Mother's Day, so we all came. Aside from the immediate family, there's no one left who has survived her.

She'll be cremated, then Dad and Karyn will go to Clearwater, Florida, to hold a service in her community there. She and Grandpa had lived there since 1977 or so. In 1994, Grandpa died, and Grandma stayed on. Then in 2004 or 2005, Dad and Karyn moved Grandma back up to Chicago to keep her near. When they take her ashes back to Florida, she'll be interred beside Grandpa.

My beautiful, gentle Grandma, with the blue eyes and pink lips, a love for music and dance, who walked with grace in a scented aura of face powder and perfume, and religiously ate chocolate chip cookies and milk at night before bed.

I love you.

Some wishes do come true

Thursday, May 7, 2009 at 9:04pm

It's my mom's 63rd birthday today. I was busy this afternoon getting her stuff ready for later on: Found a cake, flowers, balloons, putting the finishing touches on a necklace I made for her using her favorite color combination and wrapping it, writing out her card.

Most importantly, she received a happy birthday phone call this morning from my Alex, her estranged grandson, at the behest of his father. I think that's what made her day, that phone call. She even got a clear and certain "I love you" out of it.

I know she's felt utterly betrayed by Alex and his father. She'd bent over backwards to give Alfi financial and emotional support. She adored (still does) Alex in her quiet, unassuming way, took him to movies, drew with him, read with him, did her best to ease the pain of divorce in his so-tender little-boy heart. And Alex loved her very much, in return.

Though it's clear that Alfi is behind the words Alex has uttered against his grandparents, the pain and sense of betrayal is very real, and no less than my own. Walking through my own pain, I sometimes lose sight of my mother's. That phone call--that I Love You--gave her a much-needed and well-deserved sense of validation, much more than any card, cake, flowers, or handmade gift ever could.

Happy Birthday, Mom! I Love You, too!

My new Deluxe Computer Cart from WalMart

Tuesday, April 14, 2009 at 9:07pm

I'm actually quite excited about this new acquisition. Now I don't have to sit on my bed (or the floor), cross-legged and wreaking havoc on my lower back and knees. I found this neat thing at WalMart, only $29.95. How could I resist?

Karyn, I'm posting this for you...

DeLuxe Computer Cart from WalMart
April 2009

My space
April 2009

Somewhere Over the Rainbow

Sunday, April 5, 2009 at 6:49am

We had our own personal rainbow last Tuesday after heavy rain and thunder and gloom all day long.

After a crazy rainy day, we had a rainbow!
Tuesday March 31, 2009

It snowed last night!

Sunday, March 29, 2009 at 9:48am

Pic of our late-March snowstorm. Very pretty, but I hope I can get out of the garage later on!

the backyard as viewed from the kitchen. Winter 2009

Long story short--a brief history of events over Thanksgiving holiday.

In November, just a week before my planned vacation with Davy in England over the Thanksgiving holiday, I received a phone call from my son in Greece.  I was naked in a dressing room, trying on a new bra. 

As it happens, my ex-husband had been apprehended and was in custody in a Greek jail in Alexandroupoli. I'd been told by Authorities from the American Consulate in Thessaloniki and the American Embassy in Athens that I should get on a plane immediately and pick up my son. They would bring him to Thessaloniki, where I would pick up an emergency US passport for him, and we could come back home together.

So that night, I began my preparations. Not knowing whether I would make it to England as planned, I stopped over in London to meet Davy for the very first time at Heathrow. Enjoying my time with him, I was a little casual about getting through security on time. I actually didn't know that I had to be through security by a certain length of time before the gate opened. So, I missed my plane to Athens. Davy helped me change my flight to a later time, retrieve my luggage and check it back in again. Then, he hung around and we talked and drank tea together until it was time for me to go. We said goodbye, and I gave Davy my bottle of Starbucks Frappuccino to hold on to until we met again.

When I left London for Athens, I was seated beside a man from Beirut. He was around my age, and called himself Charlie. He'd been living in London for a good 20 years or so, and had just broken up with his long-time girlfriend. We talked and laughed (he was good-looking, too. Very casually dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved t-shirt with stylish sneakers with squared toes), drank wine together...  He wanted to give me his phone number. He wanted me to come with him back home to Beirut for a bit. Extremely flattered that a guy like that would even pretend to be so interested in me--his motives were irrelevant--I said no, no, no. Thanks for all your flattery, but no. But he still tried to convince me, for whatever reasons he had on his agenda. He was very persistent.

Our plane was late to land in Athens, and I had to run like crazy to catch the next one to Thessaloniki, my final destination. He ran with me and helped to get me to where I needed to be. At the security checkpoint, I gave him a hug and kissed him quickly on the cheek in thanks. He turned his head and tried to kiss me again on the lips, but I turned away, accepting his phone number instead. "If you need anything, just call me. I'll come find you," he said. He dictated the number to me, but I didn't save it. I deliberately snapped my phone shut before hitting the save button and waved a hasty goodbye.

Around midnight Monday morning, I finally made it to Thessaloniki and into my hotel room . I'd been travelling since Saturday afternoon and wide awake since 5 am the Friday before.

Monday afternoon, I was told by my Consulate contact that I had to go to Alexandroupoli to pick up Alex, and that I should do it the very next day. I was also told that my ex-mother-in-law was suing me for custody of my own son, and that I needed to find a lawyer.

After 8 days of hell in the town of Alexandroupoli (I was in Greece 10 days altogether), the female judge was unable to reach a decision.  Because of Alfi's pigheaded vindictiveness, I came to the realization that if I didn't leave Alex there, none of us--not me, not my parents, not my family and friends, and most importantly, not Alex--would live in peace for years to come, or perhaps never.  So, during a bizarre outburst amongst Alex, my parents on the phone, and the Oma, I made my decision.  At 5:30 that afternoon, while tempers were still raging, I did something I'd always wanted to do.  In English, I vented all my feelings about my mother-in-law to her face, then told her to fuck off.  

One last time, I asked Alex if staying in Greece with his father and the Oma was really what he wanted.  

"Yes," he said.  

"Even if it means you might never see me again?" 

"Yes," he said, again.

Heartbroken, I nodded.  Making sure he remembered my maiden name, and that he had my parents' phone number, and mine, I gave Alex one last hug and kiss, and exited the apartment with bags in hand.  

But not before I swiped my son's American and German passports, which the Oma had so carelessly and arrogantly left on the coffee table during my stay.  If my ex husband and mother-in-law meant to keep Alex, I wasn't going to make it easy for them to travel and hide, again.  At least for a little while.

It was 5:30 in the afternoon when I left Alex at the Oma's apartment, and night had already fallen.  On foot, I navigated the dark side streets toward the nearest bus depot. As I walked, I called Davy and asked him to meet me in Newcastle the next day.

By 6:15, I was on a bus headed back to Thessaloniki, 4.5 hours away. I'd taken two Xanax at once, just to get through the trip without losing my shit in front of all those people, but still, I couldn't quell the tears.

Twenty-seven hours and three planes later, I landed at Newcastle, on the northeastern coast of England, where Davy greeted me with open arms.  I did not want to return home.  I did not want to reenter the real world.  I was in pain;  I'd just lost my son.  I needed to heal.  The remaining days of my vacation were spent in with Davy in a cottage at Seahouses.  

That bottle of Starbuck's Frappuccino was waiting for me when I arrived.  I saved that bottle until the morning I departed for Chicago, just a few days later.  In the meantime, I had a lovely, relaxing visit on the coast within walking distance of Bamburgh Castle.  Davy and I strolled along the coast, picked seashells, visited pubs, enjoyed scampi and fish and chips, and did a little sightseeing.  Davy was the perfect host, his presence sweet and comforting, and parting was bittersweet.

Returning home was necessary, and it took me a few weeks to recover and reintegrate.  I will never forget Alex and "the Oma" prancing out of the courtroom, their arms around each other, smiling, passing by me without a single glance from my son, after the judge had announced that Alex could return to his Oma's house, with or without me.  That sense of loss and desolation, a mortal wound to my heart and soul, will never leave...  

I've lost a son but gained a friend. I will never forget the heart-wrenching pain of that Thanksgiving holiday. 

Fiction: A Single Moment

“When are you coming downtown to see me? It’s been too long.” 

The words send an unexpected frisson of excitement through me.  My breath quickens, my eyes close. 

I imagine a dreary day, much like today.  We’re standing in a secluded area somewhere downtown. It’s a narrow alleyway, perhaps. Quiet, deserted. Tall brick walls rise on three sides of us. Traffic whishes softly on the street, but the sidewalk is deserted, the weather having chased most pedestrians indoors or to their cars.

My back is to you as I speak, looking at something, pointing it out. You move behind me, quietly, but I sense your approach as palpably as if we're connected by a taut, invisible cord. You are so close I feel the heat of your breath against my ear. For a moment we stand together like that, savoring the longing between us, not quite touching, savoring the tension. 

Finally, you lower your lips to my neck and softly kiss me there. I sigh.  You grow bolder, folding your arms around my waist.  You press your body against mine and nibble the skin of my neck. Tingles of pleasure surge through my core like bolts of lightning.  I gasp. 

 The desire is too strong. I shouldn’t have come here.  I knew so even when I agreed to meet you.  I knew my visit wasn’t only about old friends reuniting, old souls reconnecting. It was about this, this desire, this passion, this feeling of fulfillment, of complete understanding between souls, of pleasure too long denied—none of which, perhaps, should ever have been cast aside.  All of it rolled into an electric bundle of emotion that leaves our nerve-endings zinging with the possibility of what might have been. Of what might yet be. 

I turn around and wrap my arms around your neck, my mouth meeting yours.  Overcome by your own passion, you force me backward until I’m trapped between you and the wall, two strong and insurmountable forces that bind me, refusing me quarter.  Your hardness presses against my softness, urging me, coaxing me into submission.  Your hands caress my hair, my face and neck.  They slide over my body, beneath my shirt, across the sensitive skin of my midriff to my breasts, molding them to your palms. 

In the misty drizzle, I kiss along your jawline to nibble at your earlobe and along your neck. I love to bite you, to feel your flesh between my teeth, to taste the flavor of you on my tongue. I love to be bitten by you until I shiver and moan.  The sensation of your body against mine is bliss. 

The rain comes harder now, pelting our bodies. Our lips meet again, and I taste the rain on your mouth, cool droplets mixed with moist heat.  I drink you up, parched and needy.  When you  pull away, I moan plaintively.  You smile, your hips still pressed against mine.  We stand like that a moment, catching our breath, our foreheads touching, our pounding hearts bound between us. 

Tenderly, you take my hand, lace your fingers through mine and lead me out of the alley. The moment is too soon over, but there will come another. 

Because one always does.

What kept you busy when you were a kid?

I read a lot. 

 I played piano. tried to teach myself ballet and clarinet. 

 Played Encyclopedia Brown "pretend" (you know, role playing) with the neighbor boys (why did i always mostly have guy friends???) 

 Explored the very tiny strip of woods near our house to the very edges of its borders (about a block big). 

 Rollerskated in the basement with my best friend, Kathy, to the Olivia Newton John album (yes, vinyl), Physical. 

 Pretended the living room floor was a morass of molten rock, and pretended I floated on a raft created from a green rectangular ottoman after I had amputated its legs. 

 Watched Creature Feature on Saturday afternoons. And Son of Svengoolie Saturday night, right after Dance Fever with Denny Terrio. (Did I just date myself?)  

And my all-time favorite: pointed an 8x10 mirror toward the ceiling, pressed right up against my middle so I couldn't see the floor. Then, I looked down into the mirror and tried to walk around the house, perceiving the ceiling as the floor. Trickier than it sounds. And kinda weird, too, now that I think about it! 

My sister is 10.5 years younger than me, so I was basically an only child. 

Oh, the things children come up with to keep themselves busy...

If only it were just bad gas...

Let's see. What's happened this week, so far? 

 1. Wednesday, my car stopped working. I had to pay $1000 to have it fixed and $30 for a rental. I got my car back Wednesday night and drove it to work Thursday morning. It stopped working again. My dad took it in to another repair shop, and they said they couldn't find anything wrong with it. Maybe it's just bad gas, or moisture in the gas tank. Will have to see what the next days bring. 

 2. My fish died. and for the grand prize ball-buster: 

 3. My husband has kidnapped my son. Yes, you read that right. And yes, I'm dead serious. He e-mailed his lawyer this morning, the day they are due back from Germany, and said that they are staying in Germany, thus violating the Hague Convention. I've made phone calls left and right and can't locate them. He's in a shitload of trouble, if he can be found, AND if the German government agrees to cooperate. So much for my positive outlook on the New Year. 

 Yay 2008!

Some Snowy Pics of the New Year

It's a new year, and a time for new beginnings. I've learned lots of lessons in 2007, and have even reclaimed control of my life in a way I would never have imagined ten years ago. 2007 was a year of doors opening. I'm hoping 2008 will be the gateway to new paths and new adventures of personal development and spiritual awakenings. And, of course, a healthy romance or two! (Did you note the "healthy" part???)

I've spent the last two weeks sick as a dog. Today is the first day I've felt good in a long time, physically and emotionally. In fact, I'm feeling nearly inspired. Isn't that a great way to start off the New Year? Inspired? Perhaps I'll soon feel energetic enough to start writing again. Wow. Imagine that... To bad NaNoWriMo is already past...

My son is spending the holidays with his father in Germany. He's been gone about 10 days, now, and I miss him terribly. He's due back in Chicago on Friday, and supposed be back in my care on Saturday. Hopefully that will happen without incident.

It's recently snowed a lot, and I snapped these photos of our backyard and sent them to my wonderful love bug of a son in an email a few minutes ago. As beautiful as Germany is, I'm so happy to be back home in the States for good.

Coming to a Close

I'm beginning to wrap things up here on Blogit. I'm preparing to join the rank and file who have left this... busy and preoccupying forum. I haven't been around much in the last year since returning to the US. I'm working full-time, going through a divorce, and am now a single mom. Weeks go by before I think about this place, and it's begun to harbor a sense of obligation... "Oh, dear. Haven't been by Blogit for a while. Maybe I should drop in and say hello. I should write.

What have I to write about?"

Been too busy to be introspective and philosophical about more than my husband's derangement.

And now, Christmas is coming, and the New Year. I need to start cleaning things up a bit.
After much deliberation, Blogit is going to go. I've been copying and deleting my entries, one by one. Blogit had served its purpose during my lonely last year in Germany, during my final year of hausfraudom, when i had the leisure to think and mull while chopping onions and staring through a haze of tears out the kitchen window, or while mopping the floors and wondering if I had enough time to jot down an idea or two before I had to pick up my son from Kindergarten, or before my husband came home from work and freaked out if he saw me at the computer...

Back when i had time and energy to consider the importance and interrelatedness of things--and write about them.

Now, my head is full of work, and overtime, and ex-husbandry, and custody, and my son's well-being... What have I to write about when not even a half-assed poem can be pulled from my tortured heart?

Those of you who are left, I'll miss you. And I'll say a final goodbye before I go...

Du Droppe Ynne

Dropping by to say hello. Can't believe it's October already. Goodness.

My emotional life is in total upheaval. It's all I can manage to work, care for my son, see him off to bed, and veg out in front of the TV. I can't even read longer than a few minutes before falling into exhausted sleep.

My imminent ex-husband is a nutjob, plain and simple. I had been picking up our son every day from his apartment on my way home from work. He was belligerent and uncooperative, and made the pick-up process hell. I can't even get into stories about that, or else I'll be here all night reliving the madness.

Our last court date was meant to address his petition for immediate possession of our son. It resulted in Alex remaining with me for the duration. Also, instead of me picking up Alex from his apartment everyday and dealing with him incessantly tormenting me by being argumentative and difficult, my ex was ordered to drop off our son at my parents' house--where my son and I are staying--every evening so there would be no interaction between us.

That was a BIG load off my shoulders. A month later, I feel like a new person. Wow. I'm no longer the emotional shambles i had been. I feel a little bit of healing has been accomplished. But I also discovered the wounds are barely closed. Had some drama with the ex last night that ruffled my feathers. But I've worked out solutions, and manaed to let the ball roll where it will, following my ex's own momentum. We'll see where that takes us.

Touching Base

I took my son to the Ren Faire yesterday. I had asked a friend of mine to meet us there, but we hadn't managed to nail down a definite yes or no by Saturday morning. So, I figured just me and my kid would go it on our own, and I was quite good with that. But then Saturday morning, shortly before we set out, my parents decided they would meet us there later in the day. Great!

I used to work at the Faire. I played recorder in a duet for several years. It was hot, grueling work--and I wasn't even an actor. I trotted from set to set with my recorders and my partner, fending of crippling stage fright. I could act in front of a crowd, but I could barely squeak out a tune and keep up any kind of chit chat or banter between songs. But I enjoyed it. I enjoyed the sounds and smells of that place. I loved camping there among the other actors in the copse of trees behind the furthest, lowest portion of the Faire site. I loved nearly everyone I worked with, tho I was too shy to make many close friends outside the musicians' circle. Many people I admired and liked seemed too smart, too quick, too outgoing for the likes of me, a rather quiet and introspective sort.

My last season at the Faire was nine years ago. Nine. That's almost a decade. I've been away longer than I was there, and yet I feel as close to it as I ever did. When I returned last year for the first time since I married and moved to Germany, I was a nervous wreck. But people I knew were still there, and every single one of them recognized me. Every single one of them greeted me with a hug and a smile. It was a phenomenal homecoming. I couldn't have asked for anything better. The day I visited for the first time in eight years was no less than magical.

So, my son and I arrived Saturday about 9:15 am. As we sat together on the stage in front of the main gate, I imagined the smells of open fires and breakfast cooking, of the sounds of morning meeting, and remembered being laced into my costume: bodice over corset over skirts over chemise over bloomers over stockings as I sipped a frozen cappuccino, already beginning to regulate my water intake--just enough to remain somewhat hydrated, yet not enough to have to run to the privy more than twice during our 10-hour performance day. We were admonished daily to keep ourselves thoroughly hydrated, and that we should be peeing AT LEAST twice during the day. But have you ever crammed yourself in a dirty port-a-potty and had to wrestle down your bloomers and panties beneath an ankle-length shirt and two full, ankle-length skirts, the waistbands of everything bound beneath a tightly-laced corset on a hot, humid day, when everything sticks and the smells of that privy wafts around you, while trying not to let anything of yours touch anything of it??? No? Ugh. And I didn't even wear a hoopskirt and brocade outergarments...

Around 6 pm, however, I would sneak a tankard of Zinfandel from Katherine the barmaid (drinking alcohol was frowned upon, but, well, you know) and that would always tip the scales. By 7:30 pm, when I began to strip off my constricting costume, buzzed and sweating and woozy from heat and exhaustion, I would barely make it to the privy in time!

Ah, yes, those were good times. And I miss them.

So, I sat there remembering all of that until we were shooed off the stage by Odorferious Thunderbottom (OTB), Keeper of the Privies, who entertained us for the fifteen minutes or so before the gates opened. And my seven-year-old son, to my surprise, heckled that man like a professional, at one point rendering Mr. Thunderbottom retortless. OTB had three couples onstage, and he gave each one a multiple-choice question. The first couple was asked what OTB's official title was. There were four possibilities, two of which I will make up because I don't rememer them all. What is OTB's official title? a) keeper of the privies, b) village idiot, c) the Queen's boy toy, d) Sheriff of Nottingham's right-hand man. And without missing a beat, my level-headed-young-man-turned-professional-heckler shouted out, "The Queen's boy toy!" eliciting a laugh from the crowd. I was both proud and mortified. And my son, of course, had no idea what he'd just said, but he couldn't have chosen a better answer! And a little part of me couldn't help but wonder if I'd find him up there one day, say ten years from now, priming the crowd for a day at the Faire?

We had a good day. During OTB's opening show and my son's sassy brassiness, my friend called to say they would be there in about two hours. So, a day I had planned alone with my son, ended up surrounded by friends and family of all kinds. My kid did get shy again when he met his hero, Robin Hood. I know Robin Hood personally, and while I had explained to my son who Robin really is (an actor who is a friend of mine, his name is... and I know him from when I performed there... etc.), my son was still in awe. His previous brashness was instantly replaced by shy self-consciousness while Robin knelt beside him and made small talk. I think my son was flattered that Robin remembered him from last year.

I didn't walk around meeting a greeting all my friends from long ago. Not really. I stopped to say hello where I ran across them. But I was there with my folks, and my best friend and her husband, and my son. I'm in the middle of a divorce, and involved in some other personal entanglements, and all of that leaves me feeling emotionally drained. I remained mostly distant. I didn't walk around to see other people's performances, except where my friends or Alex had expressed an interest. In fact, I think we only saw two, no three, performances, two of the Robin Hood scenes.

I plan to go back this summer, on a weekend my son is with his dad, and I'll be alone. I'm looking forward to going there alone. Walking around, musing, completely within myself. Probably yearning to play music with someone. This time, tho, I'll visit sets and be more social.