Happy Halloween
I don’t like Halloween.  To me it is just a dark portal I must go through to get to the good holidays where you get turkey and presents.  To prove I have always felt this way I present the following excerpt from Letter’s to David, a soon to be finished play I have been working on for only twenty years.
Written by DeAnne to David
October 1990
The entire month of October I am starring in the role of Magician’s Assistant #3 in a tacky magic show at Knott’s Berry Farm’s Halloween Haunt. The magician is a 22- year -old kid and unfortunately, for him, assistants numbers one and two are old like me and almost as bitter. I’m pretty sure we are terrorizing him but at least now he has learned things like “never give me a fucking note on stage”.  These lessons we are teaching him will last a lifetime.  He really should be thanking us.  In the opening number I am revealed out of a box dressed like something out of the Thriller video.  The problem is I have a wee bit of clausterphobia so I always leave the fake door in the back of the box where we are hidden cracked just a little. So far, no one has noticed.  After the three of us “ghouls” are revealed we then proceed to do the “funk dance number”. It’s pretty sad because I am not usually funky and am even less so in a rubber head. I HATE being dressed as a ghoul. I find it repulsive. I don’t want to be ugly. I was always a princess or a ballerina for Halloween except for 1967 when I was Davy Jones from the Monkees .  At any rate, for the rest of the show I lucked out and I just go change into a tight black dress and point at stuff pretending to like magic.  Poor Linda has to wear a lovely costume with knives and blood oozing out of her head and Renee has to wear an ugly witch costume before they change into their black dresses and join me in the land of Ta Da! Last night when The Kid was sawing Linda in half something went wrong and he just waved his arms madly over the box as if he were casting a spell and then walked off leaving Linda, in half, alone on stage smiling at the audience until the curtain closed on her head.  It was the best ever.  The worst part of this whole thing is I have to walk through the park to get to and from the theater where I try to dodge the 500 people Knott’s hired to dress like gross, mutilated, bleeding, oozing, deformed zombies …many of whom do not need make-up.  It really bothers me. Wasn’t anyone else a princess?                       (end of letter)


2006 Don and the cutest duck ever.

This makes the twenty-third Halloween I have had to suffer through since I wrote that letter and since Addie is only eight I guess I have a few more.  Right now said eight-year-old is yelling at me to come curl her hair. Tonight she is going to be an Arch Angel.  Not regular old cherubim or seraphim but Arch Angel with a tiara.  No halo for her. No kidding.

Adoption/Adaption
She made it all the way to the top.

That teeny little pink dot at the top of the rope is Addie in her gymnastics class yesterday.  Every Freshman’s  gym class nightmare is not a problem at all for her.  She went right up and was the only one in her class to do so.  She constantly amazes me with her abilities and talents.  She also figured out the pool/spa remote this week (which I have never been able to do as it is ridiculously and unnecessarily complicated, even Don says so) because she thought the pool was too cold and decided it should be a toasty 104 degrees.  We only discovered it because there was steam coming off the pool yesterday morning.  I can’t wait to see the gas bill.

When we first met Addie we were rather taken with the dignity and courage this little ten-month-old baby had.  She settled in with us so bravely.  She really looked at us like, “This is it now?”  Her adaptability was astonishing.  She was forced to and became a survivor very early in her life.  She isn’t so good with adaptability these days.  In fact changes of any kind, even to something she enjoys, send her over the edge.  She had to make so many huge changes in her early life I can understand why she might be over it.  She is the first kid I have ever known that when asked to do something will look at you calmly and say, “No.”  We often disintegrate into huge emotional battles when we ask her to do something.  I won’t even talk about trying to get her to bed at night or getting her to school in the mornings.  Let’s suffice it to say if you had to do it for even one day you would understand why I went to Portland.

As much as I  can empathize I will never understand what it feels like to be her and to be adopted.  She speaks about her Chinese Mom and wishes she could meet her but she does not want to go to China or learn Chinese. (She says she doesn’t have a Chinese Dad and when I told her everyone had a Dad she responded, “India doesn’t, she has two Moms.” I didn’t think it was the right time to talk about sperm donors so I just let it go.)

My Addie

We are working with a therapist who specializes in adoption issues.  She was adopted herself as well as having adopted a child from China.  I may not understand how Addie feels but this woman does and she is helping Addie develop her own “Lifebook” and understand who she is and why she feels the way she does.  She will also help Don and I with the changes we need to make. Well, Mostly Don since I am already pretty perfect.

I’m fairly certain if we can climb this “mountain o’troubles” we will be fine.  Addie is the strongest most determined person I know.  In fact, all Don and I really
need to do is hold the rope and she could climb it by herself.

Last But Never Least

Did I mention I went to Portland?  Well if I didn’t then I will tell you now I was in Portland last week.  It was great.  I just love that city.  Books, coffee, movies, yoga, coffee, books, and coffee.  The people are great and there is no sales tax so the more you spend the more you save!  Don says there is something not quite right with that logic, but I see it as losing money if you don’t shop in Portland.
While I was there I went to see the Oregon Ballet Theater do Midsummer Nights Dream and a piece by some Spanish choreographer named Nacho (the choreographer not the piece).  It was fantastic and apparently this man is a very famous choreographer at present but I am so far out of the loop I have never heard of him.  As I sat in the audience reading the program I started to do some math (never a good idea) and realized it has been thirteen years since I was last on a stage.  My view in a theater is now from the front looking at the action instead of being on the stage looking past the lights out into the dark.  It’s is a beautiful vantage point I was so lucky to experience.  Sometimes from the stage you can see the faces of the people in the front rows but mostly it’s a sea of anonymous bodies outlined by a little light.   When there are empty seats, and you can always see those gaping holes, it messes with the symmetry and if an entire section is empty it looks so deserted and lonely.  The last job I had was Faust at the LA Opera.  It was hard dancing and I was almost thirty-nine years old.  It was the last time I was in the kind of shape it takes to be a dancer and it was the last time I had the view from the stage.  I knew it was probably my last trip to the rodeo and I tried to enjoy every moment.  I did not beat myself up after a performance if it wasn’t perfect because by then I had realized there was no perfect.  I did my best and that was good enough.  It’s nice to know when something is ending. If even nicer when you are ready for it to end.
First job 1978. Disneyland Christmas Parade
No fancy Instagram filter because it was really 1978.
 
Last job 2000.  Faust with Karen Christenberry Stimming.
I was really fortunate to have known it was the “last time” for my dance career.  There are so many “last times” and I don’t know when they happened.  When was the last time I carried Sofie?  When did Addie call me Mommy for the last time before switching to calling me Mom?  When was the last time I spoke to my father?  When was the last day I was the most important woman in Andrew’s life until it became Lauren?  Thank Goddess we don’t know when it is the last time for things or it would make life unbearable.   It is so intensely bittersweet.  We continue to grow, change and live our lives differently not even aware of the things we don’t do or have anymore because all the lasts are being replaced by new firsts.  That’s why we are not paralyzed by sorrow.  The firsts slip in sometimes as quietly as the lasts slip away and keep us in balance.  The lasts make us who we are and the firsts make us who we will become

That was a lot of thinking so I was really happy when the ballet started because my brain was starting to hurt. The dancers were beautiful, young, and strong and we were in our right places.  They were on the stage and I was watching .  It was a truly beautiful thing.
Doing make up for the last time.  (Yes, I documented it.)

Stumped No More

The unexamined life is not worth living.  Socrates said that but I don’t think he was planning on quite so many self help books.  If it is true an unexamined life is not worth living than my life must be worth a fortune.  Too much examination and unfortunately, for you, I have made you examine right along with me.  What else am I supposed to do?  I can’t drink or take drugs anymore so my outlet seems to be writing all this self discovery down.  Turns out it was a good idea to write it down because after fifty I sometimes forget what it is I discovered. It’s nice to have a record. Now, just because I can’t drink doesn’t mean you shouldn’t so go ahead and fix yourself a nice cocktail before you read the rest.  I’ll wait.

Welcome back!  I wanted to elaborate on yesterdays post about living out of the country.  Besides the obvious, no responsibility,  there was more to it.  Of course it is easier to live by yourself but I am making living with other people harder than it has to be.  I feel so put upon like I should be doing more all the time.  The truth is no one is asking me to do more for them.  It is all coming from me.  Discovery!

We are going to quit talking about me (only for a second).  The other night Sofie babysat Addie while Don and I went to dinner with some friends.  Around the time we were finishing up my phone rang:

Sofie:  Mom you have got to come home right now.  Addie is insane.

Me:  What happened.

Sofie:  Everything was fine and then I told her it was time for bed and she went nuts. I tried to catch her and then I had to sit on her to keep her from running away again.  She bit me and was screaming so loud I think the neighbors are going to call the cops.

Me:  Where is she now?

Sofie: She locked herself in your bedroom.

Me:  Go out to the sliding glass door.  It is probably unlocked and you can get in that way.  We are on our way home.

Sofie went to the sliding glass door but Addie had already locked that as well.  Sofie was none too pleased.

Sofie, age 16: (picking up a rock, hysterical)  Addie open this door or I will break the glass!

Addie, age 8:  (calm and collected) If you do you are going to have pay for that with your own money.  It will probably cost $1,000.

At this point Sofie decided to throw herself on the grass as if she had passed out.

Addie (calmly calling my cellphone) Mom? Hi it’s me.  Sofie is outside your door pretending she is dead.

Me: How do you know she isn’t really dead?

Addie:  She keeps gasping and rolling around.

Sofie:  AHHHHH!!

Don got on the phone and like a hostage negotiator talked Addie down and into opening up the door to let Sofie in our bedroom.  He also let Addie know that he had told Sofie where to find the little tool thingy to unlock the door.

Addie: Where is it?

Don:  There are two of them and I am not telling you.

He didn’t have to tell her.  By the time we got home she had looked for and found both of the tool thingys.  She won’t tell us where they are.

I’m going to wrap this up now by getting back to the important subject- examining me.  Here is what I have discovered here in Portland: It is easier to maintain a sense of self when you are not surrounded by crazy demanding people. Duh.  However, they are my crazy demanding people and I want to be where they are so I’m going to have to figure out how.  Maybe less examining and more enjoying.  Sounds like a plan.

Addie, beautiful yet deadly like a Bond girl.
Sofie and Elouise

Stumped at Stumptown

I am in Portland by myself and I have come to find myself.  This is the fourth time I have come to Portland in the last three years.  I like it here but maybe I should start looking for myself somewhere else because I can’t seem to find anything here but coffee and books. Don and I were talking the other day and to paraphrase, because he said it nicer, “There is nothing to you anymore.  You just react to whatever is going on.”  It didn’t even make me mad because he is correct and like I said he said it nicer. I feel like a mouse (a really cute one) and Don and the kids are cats that bat me back and forth across the floor and I am just waiting in fear until they tire of the game and  pounce on me and eat me.

I am not sure why I don’t have much sense of self.  It doesn’t help that  my kids are very difficult and extremely willful.  They will never be mice and I admire that about them.  I want my girls to, as CEO Cheryl Strayhan says to “lean in”,  but they are leaning in so much they are knocking me over. My fault not theirs.

I have realized that the times in my life I was the most content and felt the best were times I was on the road or living out of the country.  Hence my need to travel alone now to try to recreate that feeling.  It was so simple and straightforward. I just went to work and went home.  I couldn’t look for another job. I was not worried about paying bills.  I felt more secure being who I was because no one really knew me.  I was a stranger in a strange land already different so it didn’t matter.  The only problem I ever had to deal with was the occasional producer who would ask me to work on my “attitude problem”.  Whatever.

Now,  how to recreate the feeling of well being and sense of self in my own world.  The only thing I seem able to recreate easily is the attitude problem.  Whatever.  I’m not sure how I am going to do this but you can be sure I will let you know when I figure it out and I will pontificate about how you should do the same thing.  On that subject,  never listen to anything I say.  Example: do not go off your anti-depressants or throw away your bathroom scale, at least not at the same time. It was a really bad idea.  Whatever.

Return to The Valley of The Dolls

Here is what happened.  I tried to go off anti-depressants and it didn’t work.  I did a long slow taper and in retrospect saw a long slow decline into insanity.  Well, not really insanity, but close.  Now, I am back on “the stuff” and I am just starting to feel really good again.  Here is my new thought: I love drugs. 
Somehow through all the depressed haze I managed to become a certified EMT.  It felt like I was slogging through muck but I did it.  I even did pretty well.  I won’t tell you my final grade in the super difficult UCLA course with people less than half my age because I am not the type to laud my accomplishments and I don’t need the praise.  Let’s just say I received somewhere between 95-97% and leave it at that.
Yours Truly on my Ambulance Ride Along
Now what?  I do not know.  Addie starts school tomorrow and Sofie has been back for three weeks already.  Sofie has a car so I don’t drive her to school anymore.  All the other Mother’s of sixteen-year-olds are sad they can’t take them to school any longer and I’m like, “Woo Hoo!!”  Only eight more years until Addie can drive and I can’t wait.  When we were at the DMV getting Sofie’s permit she told me the new driving age was eighteen.  I fell to the floor in a heap screaming, “Why, why?  I have a plan, an out!  Now I have to drive Addie another two years! Why do bad things happen to good people?”  Ten minutes later she told me that was a mistake and Addie can still drive at sixteen.  Oh.  Never mind.
I’m not sure what I will do with my days now. I might work as an EMT, start a class for women, write a play, or watch The Today Show (Matt Lauer!).  I am blissfully aware I have the luxury of choice and I am happy I feel well enough to enjoy it.  Did I just write that I was happy?  Yikes!  Let’s not get carried away.

Update

I can’t ever write anymore because I am always doing homework.  Well, that and not going to Bikrim and having just the teensiest of nervous breakdowns have made writing difficult.  When last we spoke I told you I was having a bit of trouble getting off Cymbalta.  Well, faster than you can say, “Oh my God my life is out of control I am not doing anything to make myself feel better I turned fifty-two I’m so old and I haven’t accomplished anything it is too late for me my life has no meaning all I want to do is sleep and eat I hate myself.”, I realized I was pretty depressed.  Now, to his credit Don had noticed it quite a bit before but we all now that until something is my idea it does not exist.  So, for now, my Doctor suggested I take more Prozac and see how I feel in a few months.  I have eagerly if not sadly agreed.  I have not been enjoying my life and I know for certain my family has not been enjoying me.  Although, I don’t want to take drugs so I can stand other people I will do whatever it takes to make sure my family can stand me. I am feeling better and I may even go back to yoga.  There you have it.

In other news, EMT school is half way over.  Thank God.  I am not enjoying it (could be the clinical depression, I don’t know) but I really want to finish. Why?  I have no freaking idea.  I do not want to be an EMT.   I do like having the skills and it makes me feel a little more in control in a world that is feeling more and more out of my control.  At least if there is a problem I can try to fix it.  And as Don says, “There is no downside to being an EMT.”  So if you have a heart attack, choke, or get an arterial bleed at my house I know what to do.  I still can’t find a pulse on anyone, but I can not be good at everything.  I am not sure how I have managed to keep up in school feeling the way I have and I am even doing pretty well.  Most importantly I am way above the class average.  I have always taught my children,  it does not matter how well you do. It matters more how you well you do in comparison to others.  Wait.  Is that wrong? Whatever.

And in case you thought I was not paying attention to news and politics, well you would be right.  I did however hear the other day that Sarah Palin, Rick Santorum, and Rick Perry were speaking at the NRA convention.  America’s best and brightest.  All you need to know.

Brains!

I have been using my brain too much and it is tired.  The first day of EMT school the instructor told us that if we have been out of school for, “ten years or so”,  the workload may take a little getting used to.  Ten years?  Try thirty.  Also the good news is 98% of people passing the UCLA EMT course go o to pass the National Certification Exam.  I had to ruin it by raising my hand and asking how many pass the class. Answer:49%  Hmm.

Anyway the bad news is I am old, but the good news is I am old!  Just having paid attention to life and  reading a lot has given me a rudimentary knowledge of a wide variety of subjects.  Combine that with having taught childbirth classes, being a dancer, and watching all twelve seasons of ER and Bam! take that Exam One on Anatomy, Physiology, the Respiritory, Cardiac, and Nervous Systems and Medical Terminology. Oy,  I am so screwed.  This was perhaps not the best time to go off antidepressants.
 Even with my excruciatingly slow taper I am having some “trouble”. I am experiencing brain zaps (feels like an electrical jolt through your brain), extreme irritability (known to have that anyway), intestinal problems, edema in hands and feet, weight gain, joint pain, headache,  a rash down my spine that I am convinced is toxins leaving the nervous system and did I mention extreme irritability? I have been so unpleasant I even caught Don breaking a Cymbalta capsule into my diet coke. I am so mad at myself for not researching this drug before I took it.  The problem with antidepressants is when you are depressed you want to feel better so badly you just do what your told..  Or I did anyway.  They helped me a great deal eleven years ago but now I don’t need them but and here is the kicker – it is a Mother Fucking bitch to get off. (Sorry about the language Aunt Shawna.)  The best part is when I called my Doctor and said I was having trouble and she said she was surprised.  Huh???  Now we all know I am a self confessed drama queen but I do not make stuff up.  In fact I pride myself at being above the petty physical foibles the rest of you have to deal with.  I have given birth to two children with out drugs, I go to Bikram Yoga and I live with Don Todd.  Obviously I can withstand extreme physical and mental stress so if I say this sucks then you can trust me- this sucks.  I think I may even have screamed that into the phone at my doctor but I can’t remember because I had a brain zap and had to lay down.  So, now I am on 5 mg Prozac for a month until I can “settle down little missy.”
Today is better except I went to Bikram and thirty minutes into class I had a lower back spasm and had to lay on the floor on my side (recovery position for you EMT students) for an hour.  I love me.

Kittens!  Who wants a kitten?

Four Kittens and An EMT

Four Kittens and an EMT

If I ever write a porno film that is what I am going to title it.  My wild foster MaMa cat had FOUR kittens. I thought there were only three but there are three normal size ones and a little tiny one.  The other day I was running around the house all excited about my cats and because everyone on Facebook was talking about gay marriage:

Don- You have eight cats, a blog, and you are studying to be an EMT.  You are one missed hair appointment away from being a lesbian.

Me- You have no idea.

Like I would ever miss a hair appointment.  I may be close to becoming a lesbian but I am not close to having roots- please.

I have been going off antidepressants.  I have been taking them in one form or another for over eleven years and slowly tapering off since January.  I am going to try life unmedicated because I feel pretty good these days and I seem to have developed some alternative skills.  One of the unknown to me perks of Bikram yoga is it is a fantastic mood stabilizer and elevator.  My mood might be elevated because I am always so happy to have survived the class, but whatever- I’ll take it.  I wasn’t aware how difficult it is to get off these drugs.  Doctors tell you that you can’t get addicted just dependent. What they don’t tell you is dependent just means you don’t crave it but you still just can’t stop taking it.  I have heard horror stories but so far I have only had mild versions of the withdrawal symptoms. I think it is because I am tapering so slowly and I am really determined.  Also, I refuse to stay on a drug just because it is uncomfortable to get off it.  I certainly have no problem with antidepressants and they really helped me but I wish I had known upfront this was no easy task.  It was easier to quit drinking and using xanax.  Just saying.  So, I’ll keep you posted.

I start EMT training at UCLA next week.  I don’t really want to be an EMT (although I would look just darling in the uniform with a walkie talkie!) but I really want the skills.  I have been thinking
about it for years and I was actually becoming wistful when I heard a siren.  I am really excited.  I’m pretty sure the class will be packed with fifty-two year old women.  If anyone calls me Mom they are going to get punched.  I just hope I don’t pass out or throw up. Oh!  Maybe Bobby Sherman will be my teacher!  Did you know he became on EMT?  Can you imagine being in an accident and waking up to see Bobby Sherman hovering over you?  I would think I had died and gone to 60’s pop star heaven.  Of course, I would be the only one in the class old enough to know who he is.   Oh well. it’s all groovy.  I think it’s far out that Don’s Old Lady is going to blow her mind learning how to heal. Out of sight man!!!  Peace and Love!

Juno the MaMa Cat
It’s a beautiful spring day.  Flowers are blooming in our yard and new life abounds. We have been fostering a semi-feral pregnant cat in our playhouse for the last week. I named her Juno because she is a pregnant teen-ager.  I just went out to check on her and clean the litter box and guess what?  Three kittens!  No kittens at breakfast, three kitchens at lunch!  She even gave birth in the fancy cardboard birthing box with beach towels I made for her.  I never see her when I go in to feed her because she hides but she stays right with them now.  How brave of her.  She is scared to death but stays with her babies.  She has them all cleaned up and everything. I wish people had the same parenting instincts as cats.  It is life affirming to witness this and I am so excited and relieved it all went well. Anyone want a kitten?
Juno the Cat with her new babies.