A grapevine it's not

Went into work today expecting the same old thing; just another Saturday wedding. Well, it started off that way. But the people we were going to meet would change the day.

Turns out the bride’s family were quite special. Seems that having seven children of their own was not enough. They needed a few more children to love, on which to dote. So they proceeded to adopt 33 more for a total brood of 40. However, the most important part of this story is not their selflessness or need to love. You see, the children they adopted come from all over the world and they all have some kind of handicap.

Some of these kids—those still living at home—came to the wedding and I had the pleasure of having them at one of my tables. Yes, I said pleasure. Those of you who know me realize how absolutely off that sentiment is. But really, these children were some of the kindest, most pleasant, polite, interactive children I’ve ever met. I didn’t stop smiling all evening.

Josie, the Vietnamese girl whose arms and feet were not fully developed, danced all night and watched over all the others. The Chinese flower girl, who ended up taking off both her prosthetic legs because they were chafing too much, continue to push along her flower basket the rest of the night as she used her arms to propel herself along. And I must mention the biological children, who were completely at peace and in love with their super extended family.

One of my fellow workers commented that, though the children are fine in their microcosm, he feels bad for them once they enter the ‘real world’.

“They’ll find prejudice, ridicule and resentment wherever they go.”

“Perhaps,” I said. “But their self-confidence and the self-reliance they’ve been taught, in addition to the love they’ve been showered with, will give them the ability to persevere and overcome any uncomfortable situation.”

At the end of the night I found one of the purple silk Gerberas from the little girl’s basket. I brought it home with me and it now sits in a small vase on the kitchen bar; in sight at all times so I can remember the amazing family I met one day.

Wasn’t sure what to expect but, after watching the Beyond the Lighted Stage special last month, decided to get tickets anyway considering how much we enjoyed that. Well, we were not disappointed.

I guess the most impressive thing for me is Geddy Lee can still hit the high notes. Their sound is timeless, and they’re just as powerful and in sync as always. They played most of Moving Pictures as well as a handful of track from other albums. This was possible only because the show’s total time was three hours., Now that’s value for your money!

The visuals were awesome. From the washing machines with video windows, to the machinist/steampunk graphics on the rear screen, to the enormous arachnid light rig that moved as though self animated, nothing was left out. The camera angles also were unique, focusing from the top and bottom and following the artists as they moved.

The highlight for me was Neal Peart’s solo, of course. The man is a master. Watching him play is truly a delight. He had what I thought was a complete round drumkit but was, in fact, two kits: the first a regular acoustic, the second a digital, programmed one which sounded spooky and mesmerizing. Wish I did acid ;) He stood up in the middle of his set, the kit rotated, he sat down again, and continued.

Closer to the Heart, an obvious classic, was done in half time, which they switched in and out of seamlessly in the middle of the song. Working Man, the last song of the encore, was begun in Reggae style and, once again, merged into regular time effortlessly. YYZ well, it was exactly what I would’ve expected it to sound like live.

These three guys have lost none of their ability or momentum. They’re great showmen, beginning and ending the evening with short movies in which they played all characters, in costume, making fun of themselves. I’d say if you have a chance to see the show go but, alas, the last show’s tonight in West Palm.

A happy note about the Amphitheatre: we found the perfect seats! Center section, last row. The visuals are fine, the sound great, and the bar at your back. Not only that, being in the last row allowed us to simply jump over the seat-back to use the restroom. Ah, the simple things :)

This sign, posted in a restaurant, violates the American with disabilities act. Really?! What about the rights of Americans in general? If I’m at a restaurant paying for my dinner, paying to have a relaxing time, the last thing I want to hear is a screaming child near me.

Some say parents with handicapped kids have the right to go out to dinner as much as the rest of us. Yes, of course they do; they more than many others. So plan a grownup date and get someone to watch the child.

While in Saudi Arabia, as a woman I was forced to sit in the ‘family’ section of all restaurants. For different reasons, why can’t we have something similar here? There’s no difference in service or food, the area is merely separated so the parent(s) don’t have to worry about getting up and going outside.

I don’t have kids, nor do I want them. But if I had one, and he/she was yelling in any public place, I would most certainly do something about it. I’m sorry, but I don’t feel like I need to be subjected to someone else’s problem. I have enough of my own that from which I’m paying to escape.

have to see my mother get Alzheimer’s and my father lose his mind over it. Never thought I’d see the day my mother didn’t want to—actually forgot how to—cook, and my dad would have to do it for himself. Never thought I’d have a brother who would leave his parents with his college debt and procede to completely abandon them. Never thought I’d be trying to take care of my aging parents at age 40 and dealing with the proud reticence of my father.

Life over the last 2 years has been trying at best. Heartbreak is constant. Anger ever-present between my father and I. It switches between us depending on the day and circumstances. I get it, as does my angel-like husband, but it doesn’t make it any easier to take. Dealing with my mother on a daily basis, living in a big house in the middle of nowhere, with no hobbies or knowledge of the area, with only us as contact; it’s wonder he’s not blown his face off already. Yes, he’s threatened it, but his makeup would never allow him to go through with such an act of cowardice. A man with a history like his would never cave to such menial acts.

My mother, once a vibrant, energetic woman, is now a meek, fearful, shell of her former self. Storm clouds freak her out, as do open shutters as evening falls. She cannot stand more that ten minutes without my father, asking repeatedly where he is, when he’ll return. She used to be an excellent cook, mother, caregiver, translator, and wife. Once.

They moved from Argentina 2 years ago even after my insistent pleas for them to stay put. Their gorgeous apartment was paid for, the family close, the friends closer. My mom’s reticence to cook was taken care of simply by the number of excellent take out shops in their town. I warned my dad that everything was much more expensive here, that they’d have issues with health insurance, that they wouldn’t be able to live off their social security checks anymore. But alas, all fell on deaf ears. Today he rues the day he chose to ignore me.

When they moved here (Florida) the housing boom was still at 80%. They bought their house outright and began making the obligatory settling-in purchases. Sadly, the market did not mirror their glee and my parent’s once sufficient retirement turned into and inadequate pile. Neither of them work and Medicare and AARP take most of their scant checks. Having worked in Argentina half their lives, their checks do not reflect their years of dedicated labor. As such, I fear when my mom goes into assisted living, there will only be enough money for two or so years. My work life suddenly became much more active.

I always believed having kids young was a fools quest. Why would you ruin your life having to take care of screaming babies during your prime? Go travel, explore, do, see, think, act. Independent me never considered the implications of older baby-making. I get it now. In what I consider to be my prime I’m locked into my daily grind, working like mad, with no vacations, caring for ‘children’. Anytime we’ve tried to get away for more than 4 days things fall apart. Not having anyone else in the area I can’t call on anyone to pay them a visit.

So while I never thought I’d be experiencing any of the above, I am. Do I like it? No. Am I adapting? Yes. After all, do really I have a choice?

An interesting subject this afternoon on HLN.

From experience I can tell you that 40 is way too old to be bearing children. No, not for the mother, but for the children. Think about it: how old will the child be when the mother is at her retirement age; or at 70, when things generally begin failing? Said child will be 30 years old, at the prime of its life, having to deal with an aging parent, unable to do things most 30 year olds are doing because they have to babysit or play nanny. Fair? Personally I don’t think so. I’m having to deal with something similar right now, plus 10 years. And I’m a little bitter since my parents didn’t have to deal with ailing progenitors until they were in their 50s.

Ok now for the mother’s side. As someone who never wanted a child for fear that my life would be affected in ways I was too selfish to accept, I understand where the mother’s coming from. Live your life to its fullest and only then give birth. Fair enough. But please see opposing viewpoint above.

It’s been unbearably hot this summer, much hotter than I remember it being the last few years. Like the stupidity that hits folks on the highways and byways when it begins to rain, the heat seems to affect some in similar fashion on our lakes. Case in point: the two personal water crafts that smashed into each other as Rick was taking his turn on the wakeboard.

We had no idea how bad it was as we set out to make sure everyone involved was alright. As we reached the area we noticed styrofoam littered throughout and realized the collision was way worse than we though. We called out twice “Is everyone alright?”; twice we got back “No!”. Then we saw the blood and Corey, Erick and I jumped in—Corey as lifeguard, Erick as translator one, and me as translator two and little girl rescuer. Of course they were Latino.

Once we got the six year old into the boat and made sure all she had was a bloody nose and lip, I called 911, always fun. Corey had the two boys apart from jet ski #1 asking them the usual questions to determine if they were ok. The man we assumed was the father had a protruding tibia so Erick stayed with him to make sure he didn’t slip into shock, which he undoubtedly was already somewhat.

Then we realized—or rather the kids pointed out—that ski #2 was sinking. Well of course it was! The entire front left ‘quarter panel’ was demolished. So after Rick and Matt tied #1 onto the back of the boat they managed to finally get #2 over and tied as well. We headed to the boat ramp to meet the sirens.

Once there things progressed as usual: way too many departments on scene, way too many officials wanting to be in charge, crying family members and thankful hugs. Paperwork was filled out, questions answered, ski #2 pulled onshore to keep the gas from leaking onto the lake, and ‘you’re welcomes’ spoken.

After dropping Erick and Ryan at their vehicle, we made our way to Shantelle’s dock, sans the over-the-limit citation Rick feared we’d get with 11 on our boat. Of course, as soon as we tried to get a rider back in the water it started to rain. So that was our exciting rescue day :)

Whew! Got a kick-ass two inches of rain yesterday; all within 45 minutes or so. Went out this AM and all the plants are happy and green green green, especially since we got lightning. The cicadas are ecstatic. It’s loud out there!! Now it’s time to clean up the overflow areas or leaves and soil…small price to pay :)

I have to realize that, no matter what I say, my father will do whatever he wants anyway—starting from the day he called me from Argentina to tell me he was moving back. So, in light of this unavoidable fact, I relinquish command.

I’ve never wanted anything but the best for both of them. Nor have i ever wanted any of their money, if there’s anything left after the many moves anyway. After speaking with C the other day, as I lay in bed chit-chatting with mom, I learned that I’m the enemy. I always get mad at him no matter what he does, even after it’s something I’ve asked him to do for his benefit. I yell and get angry for no apparent reason and phone calls with me are difficult.

Well dad, the towel has officially been thrown in. Go on and do as you will, I won’t do a thing to stop you. As much as I wish you’d listen when I tell you selling your house is a mistake, I know you’re gonna do the opposite of anything I say. So go on and lose $40,000, even though you can scarcely afford it. Go on and have dinners out every night for the same reason. Pack up the house as if you’re really gonna take every piece of furniture cross-continent again. As much as they frustrate me, I’ll still take your calls. And once you’ve moved away (again) we’ll visit once a year or two…on the way to go snowboarding…when we can afford it.

I came out this morning to make some coffee, begin getting moving for the day, when I look out the door’s window and see the pot with the Carolina Wren’s nest topped over. Ah, horror!!!!! There’s a nest in there!! So I put some chooz on and headed out to recover what might be left.

There were brand new babies in there! Sadly one was dead, but the other four and their nest came up easily enough when I scooped them up. And as soon as the heat from my hand started to seep in they began do ‘peep’.

We were working at 14:00 so, after spending an hour on the phone attempting to reach someone to take them, we set out toward Belle Isle. I got instruction to wet some dog food and feed them on the way, since they’d been without nourishment for a while. And they ate!! I fed birdie babies :D

This makes two found nests on the property. Hopefully there wont be more. But I’m thankful there are people out there willing and able to accept the fallen.