Time Passages

Annual Letter, Year Four

July 28, 2008

My Cerridwen Phoenix –

You will note the discrepancy in “annual letter” and the date, but don’t feel badly, as your brother’s was four months late this year, as well.

While managing the stuff of life – school events, careers and job changes, marriage, health and addictions - I fell a little behind. But I’ve also become aware of this tendency I have to procrastinate in the name of perfection. By now I’ve probably taught you that the only perfection is of your own making – the Sistine Chapel was only one person’s opinion of perfection.

Nonetheless, it is difficult to mind one’s own advice, and you being my daughter, I want to deliver a letter so profound and touching every year that I stand in my own way. So this morning I let go all of that, hand it over to God, and choose to write only what I have to say: Simple, boring, but a record of my thoughts on this 28th day of July in 2008, and a way for you to mark the passage of time – your time.

Time passes and changes so quickly, Kippy – a cliché that you’ve no doubt heard ad nauseum already in your life, but seems to have more veracity to me than any cliché I’ve known. Cindi Brassil and I were discussing this on the phone just the other day, how profoundly the truth of this matter has affected, and continues to affect, our lives. My Grandma Smales (Gigi – your great-grand on my Mother’s side) used to say that each year passing goes faster than those preceding it, and I’ve never known her to be more right on anything (her advice that good men are not found in bars was not all-together accurate, for I met a lovely young man in a bar w/ whom I enjoyed a nice relationship. On the other hand, I was rather a mess at that time, so perhaps the converse was true for him – good women are not found in bars.)

Anyway, may I suggest an experiment: Now that you have been alerted to the gravity of flying time, start a journal where you make note of this concept every year. I believe you will find it true, as well. It’s a well-spring of existential angst if there ever was one, which can lead to a funnel of depression (especially given our family history of that illness) so I would also encourage you to create a healthy response to this annual ritual, to use the truth for enlightenment. Do not be swayed by the stuff of women’s magazines, which proffer the “perfect resolutions” around December 31, each year. Ultimately this is nothing but advertising and cultural propaganda that creates more dis-ease than anything else.

More on the subject of “Time Passages” (which is an “old” song, by the band America, I think, from decades ago.) You came grocery shopping with me yesterday – turns out this is something you love to do and Sam hates to do, so it provides a natural source of one-on-one time for us to divide, always are we seeking the right balance of family and split time. You not only love to grocery shop, but I have come to as well, if accompanied by you (otherwise, still a bore-chore.) You actually do the work for me, and I’ve come to be known as “just the driver.” Well, I’m also good for plucking items off the high shelves, and describing for you the right place to locate some of the items. But for the most part, you push the cart (w/ your baby, purse and cell phone in the seat), you obtain the items and put them in cart – sometimes we play catch w/ them, but if I assist you in any unauthorized way (steering the cart), I am reprimanded sternly, as I am the daughter to your mom while there. You place every single item on the conveyer belt, even heavy O.J., put the bags in the car, close the car, replace the cart, etc etc. It’s rather relaxing for me, although I await the day that you can do everything, like pay!

Yesterday, a man was there who got out of your way allowing you to pass in front of him w/ the cart. You were choosing the frozen waffles and I was keenly aware of him just watching and watching. When he noticed me notice him, the man began waxing sentimental over the lost youth of his own child, now 15-years-old. He rambled on a great deal and I felt helpless – he’s telling my future, because there’s no way stop you, or time, and no way to get it back. While we all know this, we rarely stop to consider the real truth of the matter: It is a paramount example of how God is in control, rather than we. And few of us easily manage that level of faith.

Besides grocery shopping, you love to do hair. It feels so, soooo good that you can easily manipulate 15-30 minutes past bedtime, because I have a terrible time stopping you. Soon enough, you will figure this out, if you haven’t already. Kip, you are a tremendous helper, even beyond your assigned chores. You often start helping me without prompting and there are often days when I complete nearly every task with your help – or turn it over to you. I am proud of you, and I thank you. The flipside to your budding independence and attempts at being a “gown-up,” is you always nag me to drive (sure, I usually relent as soon as we enter Fords Landing and you go from your seat to my lap in 0.2 seconds); and… you smoke. You and your brother, both. This has turned you into a hypocrite, because you lecture neighbors and strangers on the ill-effects of the habit, but every time I turn around at home, you and Sam have found something to use as a cigarette. I will tell you what my mother was always telling me: “Do NOT smoke in my car.” Hopefully, you will actually obey. Your risk-taking has already reached a level that surpasses mine...

At the time of this writing, I am a couple of months into a new job as a counselor at a therapeutic boarding school. You really enjoy my new job “with the teen-agers?” Yes, with the teen-agers. I know that my happiness and sense of fulfillment is vicariously benefiting the family, and it is difficult (if not impossible) not to change as a parent and a person while working there. You love to go visit the school and share a meal with some of your favorite students, which include “Singletim” and Sarah W. (a Buckeye, showing your superb taste.) I enjoy marking time in this way, wondering where these kids will be when you finally read this, and whether you will even remember them.

Where will you be when you are Singletim’s age? If I see so much of myself in the big kids I work with, how much of you am I looking at? If I see so much of your future in my past, how do I head off the things that likely threaten you, like addiction and worse?

How do I save you from the horrors of girldom? Once you are reading this, time will be gone and moving ever faster. In every annual letter, I hope to impart the guidance and wisdom that will be a salve for your scars. Time guarantees them, but also heals them. Probably no accident that these letters are being written much later in time.

All my Love,
Mama

With music such an integral part of our lives, here are some of your current favorites:
Me and Julio Down by the Schoolyard - which you call “Mama Pajama”
Kodachrome – which you call Kodacrumb
Teach your Children (w/ the verse we have changed to “our house is very very very fine house, w/ two kids their beds, resting their weary heads.”)

A Means of Catching Up...

Recently, I received family photos from an Old School Chum - someone I met in Mrs. Ralston's 5th grade class, Central Elementary School, Wilmette, Il.

( The 10-yr-old Me is probably hard to miss, but the aforementioned OSC is harder to spot... Jon can be found glancing askew, next to Chrissy Bolan in green/white stripes, and behind Becky Short (wearing same white tee as I, which we earned biking for diabetes. Ah, the details I can remember... I can probably name all these kids, but none of you would know if I'm accurate. Dig my tube socks?)

Jon is married to another OSC, making the photos he sent me two for the price of one...

(Jon's bride, Jenni (Gussner) Fiegen, whom I met in 8th grade, is on left w/ headphones.)

In reciprocity, I tried to send photos of Mine, but continually received an "automatically generated Delivery Status Notification," which made me want to throw the computer away, naturally. Then a current (but not so young) friend said, "Good thing you have your blog, because that's how I always catch up with you."

* blink *

* blink blink *

Um... yes... Of course. That was going to be my next attempt, and surely I did not need to be reminded, but for the sake of said friend's eog, I'll thank him ... Cause that's what I'm all about.... Protecting people's egos.

Ironically, I was watching American Idol while typing this, and glanced up during a commercial only to see yet another OSC on the tele - Seana Kofoed, of Olive Garden fame (and Men in Trees and Law n' Order and Katherine Hepburn Story and, oh yes, Broadway... but it's that commercial that counts... Who doesn't appreciate that ol' soup, salad and breadstick combo?)

(Auditioning for Breadsticks. Fortunately, we're no longer in contact, as this photo might not please her. But, sadly, in the mounds of old photos I have, the pickins were slim that were not incriminating!)

Then this entire post turned into a trip...

(Jon w/ Ben Stilp - my only friend remaining from that time in my life, and one of the first I met after moving to Chicago, though he introduced me to Jon and some others as his friend from Paris.)

... A trip down that lane of memories, which, easily merges with a wide open highway of stories - some Cringe-worthy, some funny, a few sad, but all tales worth spinning with benefit of 20 years' hindsight. This disease of Alcoholism has cost me many things, perhaps the least of which (but annoying just the same) is difficulty finding high-school photos that do not feature me smoking and swigging, my lazy eye appearing to be more of a sleeping eye.

Those are stories for future blogs, however, especially considering the 20 years hindsight translates into 20 years of growing - not only up, but older, slower, sleepier!

So for now, I'll make this long story short: Jon, here's what I tried to send you "regular e-mail" yesterday, to no avail.

The wee people below are Samuel Hawk, 5 and 1/2, and Kennedy Phoenix (Kip), 4 y.o. (Dad, Jason, can be found amidst blog.)

C'ya at the Reunion...

Hide n' Seek

Can you find my baby boy?

No.
No you cannot. My baby boy no longer exists outside of memory. He has now graduated to "roller coasters." During a recent visit to the (admittedly distasteful) mall playground, it was observed that my first-born baby is now taller than the Shark's hand, which dictates entry into the cesspool. To quell his disappointment, I assured him that Roller Coasters are way cooler.

~ ~ ~

Can you find the big boy?

Living with Samuel can feel much like life in the Wild Kingdom. This creature, he is mercurial. He skulks and hides behind beauty, preparing to pounce, and can easily tear you apart with his jaws.
~ ~ ~
Can you find what's missing?

Neither could we. Either swallowed, or lost amid left-over, soggy nachos (will keep you posted if we come across later, when we finish those off!)

~ ~ ~

Absent his own first felled tooth, what will the Tooth Faery find under Samuel's pillow?

We chose from my own assorted baby teeth stashed away by Gramma Peg (although we skipped an actual "fitting"), and added it to this envelope with a note penned by Samuel: "Dear Tooth Faery - I lost my tooth so I'm using one of Mom's. Love Sam."

~ ~ ~

What did the Tooth Faery find when she looked in her coin purse?

Zilch. Zero. Nada.

And Mr. Faery was still in San Diego, his coins in his pockets clear across the country.
So where did TF come up with the cash for his tooth (a "hot" tooth, at that)?
She had to borrow a quarter from Sister Kennedy's bank. Fortunately, it only talks when you put money in ("feed me! feed me!") Otherwise, She'd have been called out on many accounts.

~ ~ ~

Borrowed teeth, borrowed money...
And yet there's no borrowing time, no return or exchanges.

These kids! These kids just keep on growing. Parts of them fall out, and they keep on going. At this, my second time around with all Faeries and Such (i.e. Mr. Clause, the Rabbit, and She of Teeth), I believe I could benefit more from their magic than can the kids...

If I place my wish under my pillow tonight, will I awake to find More Time stuck in an envelope?

Society Pages

Dover Community News

Society

Saturday, March 29, 2008

One Miss Kennedy Phoenix Cerridwen, known among the bourgeois as Kippy, hosted a Wee Tea on Saturday. Notable attendees included Elizabeth (Libby)West, Amelia Barton, and Sarah Brassil.

The ladies dined on finger sandwiches, fruit and, of course, scones. The tea, which was Lemon, flowed from an antique silver pot, imported from India. The event marked the occasion of the Host's fourth birthday.

Ever the planner, Miss Kennedy and her father, a member of Saint Johns 1 Lodge, Portsmouth, discuss advanced preparations for her Debutante Ball.

Mrs. Higginbotham

It was not all War and Crucifixion this weekend...

Kip expirimented with burkas,

and haunted us in living color...

And introducing, one Mrs. Higginbotham

Birthed of my own two hands, she has come to school my children.

Lessons

Recently, Sam enjoyed his first sleep-away at a friend's house during which, the Mother of Other tells me, he stated the following:

1. Junk food is bad for you.

2. Too much TV is bad for you.

3. Video games will rot your brain.

There is an element of hypocrisy in his words, though, as he partook of the junk and tried his hand at a video game.

Hypocrisy is one of many complex elements subtly portrayed in the concert I took Sam to last night. Our church choir performed The Armed Man: A Mass for Peace, which was a choral concert and media projection at our church. We could only stay for part, as the images became too graphic and scary for Sam (I was not aware of content when I decided to go), but some of what he saw prompted some difficult, but good, questions. For instance, it was the first time he had seen the symbol of crucifixion, as our church does not display such things. Driving home, he asked why they killed Jesus, how did they nail him up there, could that happen to me? And when I steered the conversation to the gifts that came from that event, and how Jesus forgave, he said, "Wait, let's get back to the nails." Eventually, though, he stated that Jesus should never have forgiven "those killers... How could he? They were so bad." So we returned to the topic of love and forgiveness.

I was quite concerned that the show would produce nightmares, even "daymares," as he was rather scared when we left. But I worried for nothing. A peaceful rest was had by all and he had a great day, although it began a bit violently. While I still attempted sleep, Sam played with his stuffed animals, then announced, "Mom - I nailed my crocodile the the cross." I never did see how he managed a "crocofixion," since croc has no arms to splay.

I hope Sam changes his mind about forgiveness.

I was delighted to return to my church, this morning, this time w/ Kip in tow. It was important for me to see the beautiful sanctuary, which usually inspires me so, back in its pure state, following the graphic images projected all over it. More beautiful, still, the delightful Pastor Mary, with her clergy-garb reflecting the beauty of the season... just days after musing to me over a Starbucks that "some people just become fuck-ups." It occurs to me that perhaps I should leave the crucifixion and war questions to Pastor Mary to field.

I had a particularly difficult time addressing the questions of war - an innocent game to five-year-old boys everywhere. It hurt when he said, "As long as that can't happen here, to us," and I didn't have the heart to tell him, and would certainly spare a 5 yr old, that it could and actually is happening. Too hard to explain that, though it's not here, "we" are involved. The issue of war is even so beyond my own head. I mean, he asked if "those are bad guys" when they showed a pic of the Russian army marching. Well, that depends on your perspective. If they are on the opposing side, then yes, I suppose they are bad guys. But soldiers, of any kind, are not inherently bad and are doing what they believe is the right and honorable thing. And, like I told Sam when he asks how in the world Jesus can forgive people that nail him to the cross: Everyone, every one, even the worst of us, start out as innocent babies who eat of their mother and know nothing but love... they just learn hate. So it's so hard to define "good guys" versus "bad guys," at least as far as soldiers are concerned. So far, last night, he has concluded that war is "stupid stupid stupid just stupid because people can be different and have their own opins" (opinions.)

Hypocrites, fuck-ups, good guys, bad guys, soldiers, pastors and pirates all start out this way... Pure of heart.

This is truly the stuff of life - relationships, nurturing children, and the juxtaposition of good versus bad. Without both, we could not exist. And through it all, even the evil, people have Hope.

{ For a sampling of the music and some of the images from The Armed Man, see this link:
http://youtube.com/watch?v=ezFNIyyGT2o&feature=related }

Addendum

Dear Samuel:

There are many who tell me I'm too hard on myself, and subsequently those relationships of which I am a part, as well the people around me. These people tell me to put the hammer down. I do not know if I agree with their assessment, but I do agree with your Father's counter-points to my "we've ruined the boy, and the girl is next" lamentation.

Although he has not read your Fifth Annual Letter, below, your Father recently spoke (via email) to the issue of The Effects of Our Relationship on Our Children (hereafter referred to as The Issue.) More on that in a minute...

Currently, you share my irreverent, sometimes morbid, sense of humor - you enjoy when I read you The Gashleycrumb Tinies, taking particular pleasure in the death of Ernest, who choked on a peach (you love peaches.) However, since completing your Fifth Letter, I have wondered if it is indeed a downer. So I want to post your Father's reframe on The Kids We Are Raising, despite The Issue:

We are raising two wonderful, warm-hearted, and great kids... We have created two kids who care for each other, who handle difficult feelings maybe a little more difficult than other kids (but I am not too sure about that), but who love each other and act like normal siblings. All I have to do is look at Sam helping Kip or Sam/Kip saying I love you, or Sam rubbing my back because it is what he learned from us about how to comfort people, or Sam and Kip saying, "It's OK Mommy/Daddy, It's OK." They are fantastic. What I see in them I see in us - working to accomplish a step in their evolution.

He might be horrified that his words appear on the net, so don't tell him. But I am going to tuck this addendum into your actual letter (the stash I have building in our safe!) Until then (that you read the letters), enjoy Edward Gorey and his Tinies... And note, none of those children died of a Bad Temper, or a Mean Mommy (unless, of course, it was Mommy who left out the lye? Hhmmm...)

Five + a quarter

Annual Letter, 2007 – Your Fifth Birthday

February 18, 2008

That’s right, February… 08… the next year… four months post-birthday.

This is no longer late, but now egregiously, embarrassingly overdue. I have no way to answer the question, “What happened?” except with an honest account of what distracted and paralyzed me. After all, these are the things which, unfortunately, characterized your Fifth Year, for the young child is imprisoned by his parents’ liabilities.

Already I can hear the admonishment of some (who won’t even read this), saying, “Kim, you don’t need to tell everything. They don’t need to know all of that.” And they would be correct; you need not know any of this. But I don’t know how to write the letter without disclosing the truth. And, as you will likely have come to learn about me, I am more inclined towards full disclosure than fearful omission, often to my credit, but not always. Furthermore, when life has become very difficult (usually because I am alone in my head too much) and my back is against the wall, I make changes. I work to recover, which means uncover. At these times it becomes more important to save my ass rather than save face. But finally, there is another, more important reason for my “truth in letter-writing,” and that reason is this lesson: In every painful twist and turn of life lies a gift. Usually the “Bad Thing” yields the gift, and if you remain open you will find it. You will find yourself saying, in Trouble’s aftermath, “I wouldn’t change a thing;” or, “I’m glad that _______ happened, because at least now I can ______.” Something to that effect. It is your will that characterizes the “Bad Thing” as such; when we try to direct our life and its players, and moan about the results, we notice “Bad Thing.” But when we realize we are not in control – that God has His plan and that everything will be okay regardless of his plan – we are open to the gifts. You cannot be open to life and Her Gifts if you are busy inflicting your own will. Simply put, this is Faith.

I am digressing into ethereal schmaltz, so let the explanation begin. The simple, easy truth (well simple, anyway) is that Mom and Dad fell apart, in their own ways. Our marriage hung by threads while we lived separate lives in the same house. Raising children is a team sport, and if the players are living in the same house, it is crucial they be united. Your Dad and I were divided, even for years before you came. This year it just became unbearable both to live in and to watch you suffer from that division. Of course, you learned to play us against one another – that was a given, as it takes much less conflict between parents than we had for a child to capitalize on that opportunity! More than that, you Parents’ Conflict invited Chaos and her Whole Family to live with us, and harboring this fugitive brought out a lot of Anxiety in you, as it should. Your Temper also arrived, and not just for dinner. Given the level of contention between Mom and Dad, which was constantly displayed in front of you, it was no stretch that Temper would take up residence. In fact, Mom had lived with her own Temper for as long as she can remember, struggling for years to rid of her. Dad, too, has his own Companion of similar ilk, and with all these “relatives” co-habitating, there was not much else for you to model after. Children model what they see and if they model it long enough, they become what they see, and we have been painfully aware that with each passing year of terrible models, you grow closer and closer to becoming.

The gift in all of this, however, is the model we introduced this past year. We finally entered Marriage Counseling (discussed for years and attempted the year prior, but creatively avoided with well-padded excuses.) Also to our credit, your father and I talk… we do so openly when we are not arguing and screaming and threatening. Years of living with Contention and her people clouded our talking to the point that we did not really know how, nor were we certain we wanted to again. But we tried, and as we talked, Contention became bored and threatened to walk out, leaving a bed available for Cooperation. Cooperation is difficult to connect with, after all these years, and our reunification has come in fits and starts, but she is coming around more and more lately. We love having her, especially for dinner – she even cleans up after herself as though she was never here.

Recall the Anxiety mentioned above, that you developed to cope with Chaos, etc? A five-year-old Anxiety is not overly trusting, and so it is taking time for him to open up to Cooperation. Fortunately she is patient, as is your father who is slightly better at Team Play than I. Both must often remind me that the temperament you carefully fashioned in response to the poor foundation initially provided by your parents took years to develop. So too will the change. But you are making great strides. And do not misunderstand: I do not write this Annual Letter as a plea to change who you are (by the time you read it, you will be Him.) But I do wish to give you a chance at peace, serenity, a model of love and kindness, rather than what you have seen. You will need these things to thrive, and as I mentioned, Mom and Dad have truly laid a shaky foundation for you – until now. A gift of our Marriage Recovery is the uncovering of assets – both ours and yours. The alternative would have been to remain stuck with Chaos, Anger, Resentment, and to raise an angry, resentful young man with no idea to show love and kindness.

Another curve in the journey of this year was my relapse, which unfortunately could not have affected me without affecting the Collective. What you don’t know while I write this but will as you read it, is that Mom is addicted to alcohol and drugs. If you are struggling with your own addiction as you hold this letter (a chance not so unlikely given the familial history on both sides, beginning both your parents) then this part will be helpful. Know that you never “recover” from addiction, but you can uncover serenity and live a life that is healthy, safe and substance free. You cannot do that, however, without working a program of recovery, so if you are not in a
12-Step program at this time, start now. (And, if I am dead at this time – not anticipated, but one never knows! – you will be correct that I am exploiting my early demise to guilt you into a program. Put this letter down, for a second, look Heavenward, and make a promise to your Dead Mother that you will get clean and sober, now.)
{I know – that was a far-flung digression… Projecting way into the future the mere possibility that you might be an addict, and that I’d be dead… But I am nothing if not a Mother, and thus entitled on occasion to inflict Mother Guilt, as well as worry 20 years in the future. By the way, if the addict-saga does not apply to you but it does to your sister and I am actually dead (again, not anticipated!) please apply the aforementioned to her.}

Perspectives vary on the “you need a program” bit, but people are full of opinions that don’t mean shit. You must listen to people who have experience in what you are dealing with; people who will share their experience, strength and hope. (Incidentally, that is another reason I disclose as much as I tend to – to share my experience, especially with you kids – and the strength and hope, the gifts that my experience yield.) When I met your father, I was “sober” just under one year. But I was more a "dry drunk," rather than truly sober as I did nothing to address the actual disease of addiction and the reasons I used in the first place. I simply stopped drinking, although this was not a simple feat. The disease, however, is one of the body, mind and spirit, and the bottle merely a symptom. Put down the bottle and you still have a disease – much like a person with lung cancer will still have cancer if she quits smoking upon diagnosis.

So I relapsed, and that brought me to some places I never thought I would be. Fortunately, though, I got myself to AA fairly quickly and began treating the disease, before I brought you kids down with me. But, a crucial and unavoidable part of recovery happens to be a major overhaul of one's relationships. Now I am learning to live Life on Life’s terms, and hoping you, Kip and your father do, as well. But this is not something I have any control over, and can only model for you. I thought there would be more to say on this issue, but to my great surprise, this is all I have for now.

Lest you come to believe that your 5-year-old self was so ensconced in Chaos that there was no joy, allow me to correct that. You became so independent this year, taking on your share of household chores, usually with zeal. You started a real pre-school, with a large peer-group and real teachers who truly teach you academics (age-appropriate.) You are thriving in this environment and learning to negotiate diplomacy, as required in the school-yard. I have been so thankful for this school, for the structure and safety they provide where we, your parents, have failed (or are working to correct.) Kippy is in her own age-appropriate classroom, and you provided a strong power of example for her as you entered this new phase of life with an open mind and heart, and adjusted very well. And, despite our challenges at home, you have always greeted me with a gleeful “Mooommmyyy!” while running into my arms, when I pick you up at day’s end. When you first started at this school, I was a few weeks out of back surgery and had to brace myself in a squat before you saw me, so powerful was your running hug!

You continue to demonstrate a keen “engineering” sense, in the way you design and build things. And your musical sense continues to develop, as you demonstrate a tremendous ability to memorize full lyrics after hearing the song just once or twice. You are remarkably on pitch, which leads me to wonder if American Idol will still be hit show when you are 16. Randy Jackson might not put you through to Hollywood, but you won’t be likely hear in his critique is, “Yo, Dog, it was really pitchy in spots.”

At the time of this writing, Mom and Dad still don’t know if they will be together when you read this. We certainly continue to work towards the goal of becoming a connected and loving team, and the outlook – though difficult and uncertain –is good. But Life, she is really Uncertainty (this is why it helps to befriend Faith.) Not only is one life uncertain, but joining two lives doubles the questions. And yet, I feel better writing to you about Uncertainty than I felt in October, because it was my Will interfered back then. My Will thought it could write this letter, and attempted to do so without Faith. It is with Faith and Love that I write to you, now: Faith tells me that I am doing the right thing in disclosing truth; and Love leads me to want to make amends to you. I have longed to make amends to you for some time, but have struggled with how. Perhaps this letter serves that purpose, for now.

All my love, Mom