do you want to make me cry?

Then show me the last ten minutes of Six Feet Under. I will sob. Usually it happens when Nate appears in the hospital to his mother as she is dying. But really, the entire ten minutes send me off into weepy land.

I have been in love with Six Feet Under since the show was first created. It was good television. Good writing. Phenomenal acting. Amazing storytelling. Creatively told and shown.

But it was more than that. What made this show matter so damn much to me was the relationship between Claire and her brothers. Each one resembled various aspects of the relationships between my brothers and me. Perhaps that one that was most strongly resonant is the one between Nate and Claire. Like my oldest brother, Nate was not with the family at the beginning of the series. He moves back upon the death of his father. He has been away. Living his own life. And being apart from the whole family.

My oldest brother moved away when he was 18. He went to college. He went to grad school. He found a job in California. He struggled with what to do when my mother became ill. But stayed in California. Eventually getting married and having a family. He found his way back here a few years back and I am incredibly thrilled to have him local. And to have my sister in law nearby and get to know my nieces.

But I think what happens when you have a sibling move away when you're only 8 is that person becomes incredibly mysterious. He had this whole life that none of us were a part of. He was exotic. He became almost mythic. He was the prodigal son. I remember when he was in grad school and he disappeared for a week. My mother went crazy looking for him. It turns out he ran off to Venezuela for a vacation and didn't tell anyone. When he came back, my mom was furious but my dad just laughed. He wanted to know what his old stomping grounds were like.

That's what people do around my brother. They just love him. And as the little sister, whenever he came back from college or on any visit - I could not wait to see him. It continued even through my adult years. If he was here for New Year's Eve, I didn't make plans because I wanted to hang out with him. If he was here in the summer and wanted to rent a house in Cape Cod I was totally going even if it meant I was going to be with my parents, brothers, sisters in law and babies all week.

And I always wanted his approval, acceptance, inclusion. When he started sending me mix tapes I felt hip. When I got a care package from this mythical place called Trader Joe's in college, I knew I would be awesome.

Nate and Claire have a very similar relationship. Or at least that's the part of their relationship I always identified with. In the series finale when she sees Nate's ghost cheering her on, I imagined my brother saying similar things. There was this very natural relationship there and it just rang so strongly. Like in this scene:



Of course, this is all the more creepy when I take into account the fact there is an undeniable similarity between Peter Krause and my brother. I've been struggling to find pictures that prove this, but alas every picture of my brother involves him making a face of sorts. It's not an exact match. There's more of a general quality. And the facial expression - holy bejesus, it's ridiculous.

So, yeah. Want me to cry? Show me this:






[This is not to say that my other brother and I are not close. The relationship Claire has with David is very similar. We've always been around each other. We sort of know how the other thinks. Also, he looks way more like Ben Affleck.]

Rainy weekend musings

It's rained pretty much non-stop this weekend. I sort of like it. It fits my mood.

I spend last night with my oldest niece. She is now 13 and is a total grown up. She likes shopping. And to attempt philosophical conversations. And quotes Aristotle on her blackboard. When she caught me smiling at the blackboard she seriously informed me that there is nothing funny about Aristotle.

We spent the night in the mall and I managed to channel my own teenager years as a mallrat (Oh How I love the smell of commerce in the morning!) and do some of my own shopping I had put off for a good long while. We eventually got hungry and had to find a place to eat that did not have a three hour wait and provided reasonable gluten free options for me.

We settled on a restaurant and halfway through our meal I remembered that my last time there was with my mom. One of her favorite past times was to go to the mall and shop. She also loved to devour a hamburger with french fries. It was something I tried to consistently make time for with her. I loved it. I didn't get sad about eating there. I had fun. My niece cracks me up.

I was in a bothered mood most of the weekend however. And it's times like this I begin to feel so much resentment towards the hand I was dealt in life and the choices I made. I have been making a very concerted effort for over a year now to "forget regret" and not look back in anger towards the things that happened in life. My mom got sick. I chose to stay at home and decided against various life experiences. I shut myself down in a lot of circumstances because it was just easier. And now - I'm trying to move beyond that. It takes a lot of effort to break down walls once they're built. It's a little bit like scar tissue. The walls start to layer over each other at some point.

Usually when I've let people in it's after months (and in some cases years). Months before I ever allowed any sort of vulnerability in front of them. Before I ever said what I've been feeling. Or call to vent about a crappy day. I don't do it. Or didn't do it. I'm trying to do more of it now. But I am always so wary. I don't want to be burdensome. I've had the friends who called me every single time something went wrong. Every bad date. Every bad work day. Every bad argument. I used to get the call. I've had to cut them out. (that is also an ever evolving process) I don't ever want to be "that person." It takes me a long, long, long time to trust people. And when I have that trust I expect it to be respected and valued. And when people trust me, I value that trust.

When that trust is broken it hurts. It hurts a lot. When something I don't give out easily is devalued I get angry. I don't like to feel betrayed. Or to be allowed in a situation where I'm left feeling the fool.

Needless to say something happened with a friend. Or someone considered a friend. I'll survive. And maybe remain friends with this person in the future. Stuff happens. The particulars don't matter. I'm not angry so much as upset that I wasn't respected.

The best cure for this was definitely a night with a 13 year old. The world through her eyes is one of such promise. At one point during our long chats she mentioned that maybe she should be a reporter because newspapers could use her help. A few minutes later she confessed to loving space too much to want to be a reporter. And then she asked me why I was a lawyer because in her words "you are sooooooooooooo not a suit person. You bought a pair of red converse because a character in a tv show wore them for pete's sake!" (true words - mouths of babe - you know the saying)

I hope we can have more of these nights. I told her last night my mission was to be the cool aunt. Her response was "done, now what will you do for me?" That's my girl.

[I'll admit that the title of the "cool aunt" was easy to achieve. I was only a teenager when she was born and we've always had a sister bond. Her brother raids my comic book collection. Her sisters are routinely raiding my accessories drawer.]

I get nervous of watching these kids grow up. I want to always remain close to them. I want them to always feel free to come to me when they need help. It's something I never really had. They have better relationships with their parents than I did, but it would have been nice to have someone I felt safe to talk to outside of my parents when I was a kid. Someone who wouldn't judge. Someone who would maybe encourage me to be more open with my feelings. So that when I hit my thirties I wasn't still learning that it's okay to be a little vulnerable every so often. I hope I can do that for them.

Has it really been a year?

I call this picture Mermaid mom.

My mom died one year ago tomorrow. I honestly don't know how that happened. Where did the year go? What do I have to show for it?

I guess the question is what happens now? I've been waiting for this year to be over. And now it's here and I have no idea what to do.

I feel like I should mark it somehow. But all I do is think about where I was exactly one year ago. Last week I was at a meeting. The entire time I thought about how I was at the same place for a similar meeting. I even parked in almost the same place. Hell, it may have been the exact same parking spot.

On Sunday, I went to my brother's house to have dinner with his in-laws. A year ago, we did the same thing. That night was when everything started.

This whole week has been a mess of "last year at this time." My mom passed away on a Wednesday. That would have technically been today. This whole night people were over. I remember eating chicken and drinking wine. I remember calling the few people I wanted to talk to. I remember sitting on my porch talking to my friend Sara and feeling a little shaky but shocked at how calm I was. I remember sitting on the floor in a corner of the "green room" and talking to my friend Jess. I remember that I had on a red dress. I wore that to the hospital. I thought my mom would like it. She loved the color red. She didn't notice. I believe she had no idea I was there. I haven't worn it since. I remember ripping it off and putting on a t-shirt and jeans for the rest of the night.

I remember everything. The feelings and images are burned in my head. I remember that last hour. I remember the feeling in my body when we had to make a decision. I can still remember the feeling of the nurse's hand on my back when we sat in the room.

I remember it all. But I can't believe it happened. I'm still a little blown away. I still catch my breath at realizing she isn't here.

I am terrified of forgetting her. Or of just remembering the parts that were really bad. She had been sick most of my life. I don't want to just remember that.

Obviously, it's been hard. And I feel like tomorrow has to mean more than just one year. Does it all change? After tomorrow, nothing is new. The new reality is over. It's no longer a matter of "This is the first ______ since my mom died." I've already experienced it. Now what?

I miss that smile.

My mom and I at my niece's softball game last summer.

My mom and I. I think I'm not even one yet. I had massive ringlets at my first birthday.

My parents at Balboa Island.
I love this picture.

My mom and I went up to the Berkshires a few years back for some shopping and lunch. We stopped off in Stockbridge where this picture was taken. We had just had lunch at Alice's Restaurant.

It's amazing what you can find

These two boxes had been in my parent's basement, (well, my basement) as long as I can remember. In fact, the address label on the box said 1968.

It appears my grandmother bought them. They were ordered through I tried a google search to see what I could come up with for Signet China. And apparently there is a lot. But I was under the impression it was a catalog as well. I will keep investigating.

But we have the address label.






And a warning to be careful.


And the boxes are actually sort of cool.

I remember seeing the boxes when I was a kid. They had always been in the basement taking up space. My dad would get annoyed because they were in the wine cellar portion of the basement. And took up space. I remember being told at some point the dishes were mine. That my mom had picked them out for me. Or maybe that was my interpretation. I mean, I was probably about 10.

Clearly since the dishes were bought way, way before I was born (nine years), they were not bought for me. My grandmother bought them and had them sent to my parent's house. For whatever reason, she did not give them to the intended person and my mom held on to them. Nine years later when a little girl was born (moi), it was decided they would become part of my hope chest.

And voila.

It's kind of nutty. The craziest bit is that they are green. Green is my favorite color.

It's almost as if there is some sort of psychic intervention at play...

Family ...

Family stresses me out. Maybe it's my overthinking tendencies, but my goodness! How can I not?

I spent the night with a bunch of cousins who I don't see that often. It was also the first time I saw any of them since my mom died. It's hard not to walk into this restaurant and wonder what they are thinking. It's also hard to wonder why I choose to go to these events. It's hard to sit there and clearly not be part of the conversation with these moms. They all have kids within months of each other. They were all married with a year or so of one another.

I went out to meet a relative visiting from South America. She was lovely. However, when it came time to talk to me. I froze up. I don't know why.

Actually I do. I always feel inferior around these relatives. Despite the fact that I am an attorney. Despite my life experiences. Despite my grades in school. Despite it all, I feel like I don't compare. Why the hell do I let them get to me in this way?

Is it because I'm not married? Is it because I don't have the same interests? Is it because I never actually hung out with them? I don't know. But once a year or so I get invited to these dinners and I go. I go because I want to be included. Or part of their clique. Or so I think before I go. And usually as I go through the doors I start to get a constriction in my throat and regret my decision. I have a fine time throughout the evening. And I did last night.

But I find myself amused by certain things. Like when I was asked if I was born 1982. Or when someone remembered how big a fan of Hugh Grant I was. Or when I kept being referred to as the smart one.

I mean, really? Do they just not have anything to talk about with me?

But I go. The evening is behind me. And now I can put it behind me. Follow everyone on facebook and wait until the next one in a year.

Unsettling

I woke up this morning early. I had a doctor appointment about 45 minutes away from my house at 7:30. I noticed that my computer was on so I decided to shut it down and as I went to do so, I noticed a new email. It was from a cousin in Italy. Someone I have never met. Someone I did not actually know existed until a few months ago.

Attached to the email was a picture of her and my mom and a third person. My mom is probably 16 or so in the picture. She's gorgeous. Her smile radiates out of her. I saw the picture and smiled. Said "Hi Mamma!"

I had to shut down and leave the house. The picture left my thoughts for a while as I drove to Storrs. Met with a new doctor and discussed why I was still having "tummy issues." It's been ten months since I was diagnosed with celiac and I thought I'd feel better now. But, I'm not consistently feeling great. One suggestion to emerge is giving up coffee. And while I hate that idea, I realize it's probably worthwhile to attempt. I notice how I feel when I drink coffee on occassion. It doesn't sit well. I decided to give it the old college try and give it up. Maybe just giving my system a rest from certain irritants will make a difference. It's logical. It makes sense. So goodbye to coffee. For a little while at least.

When I made it into work and booted up my computer, I remembered the email. I clicked on the picture again and smiled. But am so unsettled. I don't know who this woman staring at me is. I want to know who she is. I want to know this version of my mother. I got robbed of that experience and I'll never get over that.

I think it might be time to call my uncle. Or send a card. Or hand over an olive branch. I think I'm ready to start thinking about it. I just don't know if I'm ready to go to that place yet. Or how to even get to that place.

But as I figure it out, I'll just look at my pictures and smile. I miss that smile. We saw it so rarely in her last few years. It's nice to see it here.

The most random and crazy of happenstances

So, I named the blog "Crazy Random Happenstance" for the simple reason that I'm a nerd. And I loved Dr. Horrible's Sing A-Long Blog (and now watch it on my iPod while running at the gym.) And I needed a name and poof! it just appeared out of nowhere.

And then as things sometimes happen in life, you realize the truth behind certain cliched phrases. Like that one time my sophomore year of college when my neighbor was looking at a bumper sticker on someone's back pack and she said "Mean people really do suck." I mean, duh. But it's like so totally true. And so the same with crazy random happenstances. Something that maybe didn't pop into my everyday vocabulary until just this past July, but I am realizing more and more that there are a lot of these little random happenstances in life. In fact, one might even say that life is just one big crazy random happenstance.

Okay, so there's my quick philosophy theory for this Friday evening.

This week's Crazy Random Happenstance of choice - my family. Or to be more specific, my mother's family. A few years back when my aunt died, I started to realize how much about my parent's I didn't know. I could get a lot of knowledge about my dad through his nieces and his sisters. But my mom was a different story. She came to the U.S when she was 20 with her mother and her brother. My mom's memory has been pretty fuzzy since she had her initial cardiac event when I was 14 and lost her short term memory. My grandmother passed away when I was still in college. And over the years, family tensions and stubborn minds have prevailed keeping us pretty distant from the rest of her family aside from a niece and nephew. The family tensions and stubborn minds are on all sides. And have trickled down through generations. And now even I am stuck unable to really talk to my uncle or try to re-connect with my cousins.

Since my mom died in October, I've had this really desperate need to know more about her. I want to know who she was before she became my mom. Before she moved here. What were her dreams and her hopes. Stuff I never had the chance to really talk about. How many people have those heart to hearts with their mom when they are 13 and younger? I know I didn't. But I think we would have been close when I was older. We were close. But it was different. Our relationship was very much flip flopped. And as such, there was a lot I never got to as. Or if I did ask I was never sure what was true.

This desperate need has translated to a few near phone calls to my uncle. A few attempts to pry stories out of my dad (who only take on story teller roles after he's had a few glasses of wine.) A few random conversations with cousins who knew my mom from the minute she married into my dad's family. But those conversations were all pretty superficial. And I can't yet bring myself to call my uncle. What would I say? How do you overcome a family's lifetime of anger with a simple phone call? And is it even up to me to do it? That I still need to mull over. I'm still reeling from the fact that my mother is dead. How can I move forward on that front?

And where is the crazy random happenstance in all of this?

This week I received an email from my mom's cousin in Italy. A person I did not even know existed. A person who was looking for me because he is trying to finish a family tree. It's like someone just threw me a little gift. Out of nowhere. And now I need to act on it.

There's trepidation for sure. How did this person even know I exist? Why now? Why me? Why not my brother who visited my mother's hometown?

But not to act on it would be wrong. And contrary to everything I keep saying I want. I want to know who my mom was - so who best than someone who apparently played with her as a child. Maybe I can finally find a way to name all the people in my mother's old photos.

And that is where my random life keeps heading.



And my gluten free food recommendation for the week - Trader Joe's Gluten Free Ginger Snaps. Spicy + Sweet = AWESOME