The Edge

I made Brendan drive us all out to Wellfleet last week during our vacation in Cape Cod.  It was out of the way and took awhile to get there, but I insisted and he relented and even agreed that perhaps it was a good idea.  I just felt this strange need to be there, in a place where I had once stood decades before; I felt as though my soul needed to breathe in that particular air and gaze upon on that particular stretch of sand. 
While standing at the edge of the water, at the point where ocean meets land, I was reminded of some things that seem important and noteworthy.  Before me the sea spread out, wide and expansive, reaching as far as nowhere and more powerful than anything.  The sand dunes, like mountains, plunge down steeply to meet it and in between the two I realized this: we are nothing.  Insignificant.  A mere blip on the radar that is this time on this earth in this universe.  The feeling that came with this realization was one of immediate and overwhelming peace: no matter what I do in this life, the world is much, much bigger than my circumstances, choices, mistakes, or ideas at any moment in time.  It will all go on whether I am here or not, wave after wave will pound the shore and grains of sand will move in the water and wind and rain. 
Then I turned around and saw this:

and this:

Two shivering kids waiting for their mama to finish with her crazy picture taking so they could run on the open expanse in front of them; one husband, knowing his wife needed to see this for some reason that stretches back in time to another family trip that was clouded with grave sadness, waiting patiently for the time to be enough, for the ocean to soak into her pores and restore her.
Seeing them there, waiting for me, I realized that we are bigger than the sky, our actions are broader reaching than any ocean, more grand than any sand dune.  The connections we have with the people around us are the biggest thing I know; I remembered that as much as we are nothing we are also everything, entirely significant.  All I have to do is look in their eyes and I can see it:  we are bigger than we know.  Being at that edge, on that particular stretch of sand, refilled my soul and brought back to the forefront all that I know about life and family and friends and connection: slow down and be, give each other a little room and time when it’s needed, live with intention and listen with an open heart.  Allow them to grow and change, and bend like the dune grass in the wind when they need me to change and grow.  Enjoy this push and pull of life.  Dream bigger than the ocean, but remember my own insignificance in all of this. 
Perhaps this is why the ocean calls to me, why it calls to so many people across time and religion and state and country and continent: to realize that we are everything and nothing all at once.  Maybe we need this reminder as much as we need food and  water, air and shelter.    Maybe we just need to be able to stand on the edge of something and find an inner peace and a reserve within ourselves that fills whatever emptiness the rest of the world and life carves out.  Maybe we just need that reminder to be human again. 

Elopement!

There is something so romantic about an elopement, isn’t there?  Two people in love who just don’t care about the big wedding, finding it more important to just make it official and to begin their life together in commitment.  Because when you are in love, and you are planning to spend your life together, why wait to get started?  Rather than repeat their vows in front of the masses, they hold hands quietly in their very own yard and make their promises to each other with the trees and the water, the wind and the rain as their witnesses.  Beautiful!
Congratulations, my big brother, and welcome the the family, my new sister (in-law).  We love you very, very, very much!

So Happy Together

  
When I was a little girl my grandparents had one of those old record players that was more of a sideboard than music making machine.  It took up half of their living room and the inside was lined in soft red felt.  Tucked inside were albums left behind by my father and his siblings, plus a few beloved by my grandmother…Kenny Rogers and Dolly Parton come to mind.  I spent countless hours listening to the slightly scratchy sound of record revolving beneath needle, singing, badly I am sure, you gotta know when to hold ‘em, know when to fold ‘em, know when to walk away, know when to run.  Those records were the soundtrack of my early childhood, the songs I sang while swinging and roller skating and playing dolls on their front lawn.

My very favorite album was a 45 by The Turtles: So Happy Together.  I cannot imagine how much I annoyed my grandparents by listening to that record over and over and over again.  I remember so clearly the feeling of singing the lyrics at the top of my lungs and twirling around and around in the space between my grandmother’s rocking chair and the record player, making myself dizzy with motion and high ideals for my future.  So happy together!  For a child of divorced parents the idea that love could last, that people could be happy together for the long haul, was captivating. 

Fast forward nearly three decades and I still know all of the words to that song.  I sing it in the shower when no one else is listening and I still believe in those high ideals.  Love can last.  My past bumps into my future and I have just celebrated 11 years with the man who helps me believe, every day, that anything is possible.  I know now that love takes work, that the happiness we achieve is special because we are both invested in it and we both want to move forward side by side.  We can be happy together because we are partners on the same team. 

The song was right, the lyrics were true: 

I can’t see me loving nobody but you

for all my life

when you’re with me

baby the skies will be blue

for all my life

me and you

and you and me

no matter how they tossed the dice

it had to be

the only one for me is you

and you for me

so happy together

I love you, Brendan.  Thank you for making so happy together possible.

Ten

I forgot to mention that we also celebrated our tenth wedding anniversary! Our anniversary was the same day as our closing for the new house, so it was a bit busy to say the least. We did our final walk thru in the morning, drove to Latham for the closing, and then arrived "home" to start cleaning. PErhaps it wasn't the most romantic of celebrations, but I do think it's pretty cool that we bought each other a new house for the ten year mark!

Because 'Happily Ever After' is Really Just the Beginning of the NextStory

Once upon a time a boy and a girl fell in love.  They got married, bought a house, sold it, bought another house, sold it, bought another house, and for awhile they lived happily ever after.  And then the boy and the girl wanted a family so they brought home a rabbit and a dog, and then another dog and for awhile they lived happily ever after.  The boy and girl went on to adopt two gloriously funny and wildly wonderful kids and they lived happily ever after.

And while the boy and the girl were living happily ever after with their two kids, two dogs, and one house rabbit, they found a house that they loved.  It was a beautiful old house, full of architectural detail and the kind of quality craftmsanship that is difficult to come by in this day and age, and they wanted this house.  They wanted to be the family to bring it back to life, to make it shine and glow from the inside out with love.  But this house was right next to a sometimes stinky paper mill and the work it needed was big and scary.  The boy and girl let this house fall away, although sometimes they would look at the pictures they had taken of it and they would dream about the "what ifs" with a mixture of relief and regret.

And then one day the boy and the girl were driving through the same fun little city and they came across an open house sign.  On a whim they went in, bringing with them their wild and funny kids, and the girl fell in love all over again as she watched her children laugh and play in the big open rooms on the old hardwood floors.  Over time the boy fell in love, too, with the idea of pocket doors and a grand old staircase, a fireplace with original tile and a neighborhood within walking distance to the very cute downtown and the very nice parochial school.  The boy and girl looked at each other with big questions in their eyes, then they talked and talked and wondered and worried and thought and crunched numbers, until eventually they decided, in a very grown-up and well-thought-out way, that this house should not slip away, that this house could shine from the inside out with their love, that this house could be the place where their children could grow up surrounded by history and community.

The boy and the girl made a leap of faith in the form of an offer, they negotiated, they got the house, and they put their own house on the market.  And then the boy and the girl accepted an offer on their house.  They were nervous and excited, and they lived happily ever after.

Happy Birthday, Frances

My grandmother would have been 88 today.  This is the first time December 5th has passed in my lifetime without her and I find myself missing her awfully lately.  A thousand times a day I think of something to ask her: where did she get those great twirly chairs, which are now in my loft, that Beth and I used to spin ourselves sick on in her living room?  What does she think of the new president elect?  What lessons from the Great Depression, which encompassed her childhood, are the most important to remember and bring back now that we’re possibly heading into that sort of economic climate again?  What was her very favorite Christmas cookie?  What were the holidays like for her as a child?  How did she ever manage to raise five daughters and still look both elegant and put together in every photograph I have seen of her?  If she could have lived anywhere in the world where would she live?  How do I make braided rugs?  Where does one buy corn toasties?  I start for the phone a few times a week with her phone number rolling through my head, my fingers just about to graze the receiver when I realize that I cannot call her anymore.  I regret, so deeply, all of the times I thought to call her, but didn’t, when I still could have.
Despite this ache of missing her, I sometimes get the strangest sense that she is here, that if I could catch the light at a certain angle I would be able to see her sitting at my table sipping cup of hot black coffee, and if I close my eyes I can hear her laugh as clearly as if she really were right here.  With all that we do not know about death, it seems perfectly plausible to me that a woman known for her stubbornness in life would find a way for her energy to stick around those she loved in death, if that was what she wanted.  Maybe that isn’t the case, but the thought that it could possibly be brings me great comfort in her physical absence.  I hope, wherever her spirit has gone, that she can feel the love I have for her, today and every day.  If she could read this she would give me that certain look, both pleased and embarrassed, and she would say “Oh, Sara” in a tone that belied both her love and her tendency to reprimand us when we were being good by doing something nice for her.  I miss that, so much.

Eight, By Way Of Thirteen

I was seventeen, mere weeks away from beginning my senior year of high school. You were home from college for the summer and you had grown your hair out; when you let it down it twisted into the most beautiful, silky black curls. I was not looking to get into a relationship; more specifically speaking I did not want a long distance relationship at all, as the one I'd had the previous year had ended badly with me on the unfortunate side of hurt. Coming from a similar situation you weren't looking for a relationship either.

At a party of my ex-boyfriend's (the one who caused the hurt) we got to chatting and you asked for my phone number under the guise of wanting to look at some Grateful Dead bootleg tapes my late cousin had left my brother. We made plans to get together at my house. We spent about ten minutes looking at tapes, then spent the rest of the afternoon talking on my front stoop. The silences were comfortable. I talked you into going to a Crosby, Stills, & Nash concert at SPAC with me that night. It was our first date, more than 13 years ago now.

Five years and one month (give or take) after our first date, we married on the most beautiful of September days. The sky was that crisp blue that is only seen at the very end of summer, the leaves were just starting to change color, and there was a warm breeze that lifted my veil as I walked up the steps of the church. When I walked down the aisle to meet you at the altar, I smiled and waved to our families and friends, and my cheeks were already sore from smiling so much. I was more sure in that moment than I had ever been about anything before in my life, and perhaps since. I was completely, entirely happy, and without fear. If it weren't for bothersome gravity I am quite sure I would have floated up the aisle to meet you.

Looking back, we were practically babies when we met, with goals and dreams and ideas about life that had barely taken shape in our minds, let alone come to fruition, but I think I knew on that first date that I would love you. From that very first date you have felt like home to me, like the one place in the world where I could be myself, wholly and truly. Wherever you were was where I wanted to be. Later in our relationship I would picture the children we would have, twin girls with black ringlets to match the ones you cut off when you went for your first job interview, and boys with your same twinkly eyes and dimples.

So life didn't work out quite the way we imagined, but as I sit here by myself tonight (you are working 2nd shift...hello, stalkers) on the eve of our eighth wedding anniversary, I cannot imagine it working out any other way than this. The trials of our relationship, of our marriage, have made us stronger. I truly believe that we are better people for what we have been through together, and after all of these years you are still the one I want to call when something goes right or when something is wrong. I love waking up next to you, seeing your black hair, now sprinkled with a very distinguished-looking gray, sticking up with bed head. I love seeing our kids race each other to the back door when your car pulls in the drive after a long day at work, and watching your face change from harassed to delighted as you sweep each of them into your arms for a hug. I love having a beer with you on hot summer days, and talking about anything and everything, or simply saying nothing at all, just enjoying the comfortable silences. I love working on projects with you around our house, our very own home team striving to reach a common goal. I love you, the same as I did all of those years ago when I said "I will", although today it is a deeper, more refined love than it was then.
Happy Anniversary, B. Thank goodness neither of us paid any attention to what we thought we wanted 13 years ago. Thank goodness I found you, and you found me. Here's to us, and to the future! Cheers!

Big News!!!!

I am perhaps one of the most negligent writers you know, but this time I have an excellent reason:













 Her name is Lee, Hee Seon.  Hee means happy, and Seon (pronounced 'sun') means good.

This beautiful girl is going to be our daughter!  She was born August 24 and weighed in at 6.4 lbs.  At her October 6th well baby checkup she weighed 8.6 lbs.  She is healthy, strong, and alert.  And did I mention beautiful?  We are reeling with joy and excitement!

 

When we applied for a second child with our adoption agency last month, we never in a million years thought we'd have a referral so soon.  We expected to wait until at least July of 2007 for a referral, with the baby possibly coming home at the end of the summer.  When our agency director called to let us know she had a refrral for us I nearly fainted!  We cannot wait to bring Hee Seon home...if all goes well she should arrive in February or March of 2007.



Have you ever seen such cute hair?  It sticks straight up!  And is it just me, or does she seem to have as much hair as Harrison already?  And those toes!  And her little fists!  She looks so long and slender, but I have to remember that she's not even two months old in these photos.  It is amazing how quickly you can become attached to a face in a photograph.  When I close my eyes I can picture her perfectly...I have studied every centimeter of each photo, as I will for the next four or more months, soaking in each detail and memorizing each wisp of hair, the curve of her chin, and every little wrinkle on her ankles.

 Harry already anwers "Emma" when you ask him what his baby sister's name is, and he loves looking at her pictures.  We're positively giddy right now.  Pinch us.  Is this for real?

We interrupt your regularly scheduled program to bring you thisbulletin:

Where do I begin?

Friday's move of Grandma (and a few of her belongings) into her retirement community went well. Her apartment is beautiful! With views of mountains and fields which will be gorgeous this fall, and the western exposure of the windows makes for amazing sunsets. She will indeed be happy there once she's settled in.*

Saturday's major move also went well. We ran ahead of schedule and were able to move almost all of the things she wants there, and we unpacked it all, too. Her furniture looks great in the space, and we were again impressed with the quality of light and the great views. I ended the day especially pleased that Grandma seemed happy and relaxed for the first time in weeks. All of this activity and her inability to help due to her emphysema has had her frustrated and anxiety ridden for weeks, so it was good to see her smile easily yesterday afternoon.

Today around noon I got the call that Grandma had fallen out of bed last night (thank God my Aunt B stayed with her!!!) and fractured her hip. She was rushed to the ER, and now awaits surgery tomorrow. I was a wreck all day because I didn't really know how well she was doing, and all of the people in the know were by her side, making sure she was receiving the very best care. The good news is she is ok, and the break wasn't as bad as it could have been. She will have three pins inserted into her hip bone and will have to be in rehab for a minimum of six weeks until her bones fuse back together. But while she's in rehab we're going to try to get her into a pulmonary rehab program as well, which would be AMAZING! If she could learn how to live with her disease, and learn ways in which to control it through breathing exercises, posture, and slower movement it would be incredible. When a door closes, a window opens, I guess. I am going to see her tomorrow before her surgery, which leads me to my next order of business, which is as follows:

Lately I've been feeling like my life is getting out of control. With Grandma in the hospital, and her house due to go on the market in three weeks there is major work to be done, and I need to take some of the pressure off my mom. I am also about two months behind on housework (don't ask) and I NEED to scrub this place from top to bottom. I have about twenty projects in some degree of 'close to finished' that I want to complete, once and for all. We're also preparing to head into a second adoption, and with the aforementioned changes to Korea's program we need to research our options so that we are armed with knowledge before we make any moves. My dogs need to go to obedience school before I permanently lock them out of the house (kidding, I would never do that). Our backyard is about to lose the 40+ trees that Brendan has marked for death, and we're going to have to make some semblance of order back there before the snow flies again...rest assured this will not entirely deforest our lot, but rather will open up the backyard for a pool, a play area for H, and a better doggie run area. Oh, and did I mention that I need to get some sleep? 'Cause, you know, toddlers are extremely tiring little beings!

So I'm going on a break and I'll be back sometime later, when life holds more order, when I feel more in control. I may post now and again when I get the time, but it's going to be sparse...er, more sparse than usual.

When I do come back, whenever that may be, some necessary changes will be made the SF News...we're looking into password protection which will require a move, and you're going to need to let me know how to reach you if you want to keep reading. So e-mail me (rileyandcharlotte@yahoo.com) or leave your e-mail in the comments. And let me know who you are so I don't think you're a stalker or something.

Farewell for now. Send healing thoughts to my Gram, and check back once in awhile if you wish.

*It will obviously be awhile before she is able to get settled in...October at the earliest.

The end of an era

My 86 year old Grandma, Frances, is about to move out of her home of the last 53 years, during the hottest week of the summer, and she has emphysema. Oy! It's a good move for her as she'll be headed into an assisted living facility on her own terms, where she can have the levels of care she needs now and in the future, whatever that may hold. She is nervous and excited at once but seems overall to be in good spirits.

I am the one who is having trouble with her moving. I can't stop thinking about what it means to leave your home of 53 years. This is the home where she raised her five daughters, where she travelled through time from a young bride to an old woman, where she said goodbye to her husband as his mind was lost to Alzheimer's, and where she has now watched her great grandson play in the same yard where her own babies once toddled. This is the house my grandfather, Hans, designed and built using stone, brick, and other materials found locally, but with design elements borrowed from Frank Lloyd Wright and desert Native Americans. This is the house where both of them created works of art; my grandmother made pottery, weaved, and was a talented quilter, knitter, and embroiderer, and my grandfather was a sculptor and an innovator in general (he built a catamaran, and he started a ski center). Although Grandma claims she's not a sentimental type, I keep wondering how it feels to sift through a lifetime of seemingly insignificant objects in an effort to choose which ones to keep, which ones to give away to a special family member, and which ones to discard. She has a story for every single thing in that house, and she can tell you with amazing accuracy who gave her what, with details including where that person was working at that time, and what his/her children and grandchildren are doing today. She has a brain like a card catalogue; it lists the ways in which each person is connected to the next, a huge web of the people she has known and the life she has led.

What will I miss? I'll miss bounding up the steps to the front terrace, seeing her head of pure white hair through the picture windows of the kitchen, and calling out to her (Hi Gram!) so as not to startle her when I swing open the door. She always looks up quickly to see who has come calling, and her wide, bright grin upon seeing me has always made my heart sing with the knowledge that I am someone special to her. I'll miss sitting on the high marble hearth of the grand stone fireplace in front of a crackling fire, as Brendan and I often did when we lived there for six months while waiting for our own home to be built. I'll miss days spent by the swimming pool, practicing backward dives and swimming laps. Harrison will miss this pool, too, as it has become his most favorite hangout of late. I'll miss walking through the living room and seeing my grandfather's sculptures on display, and my great uncle's watercolour paintings on the walls. I'll miss the garage, which is not really a garage but more of a cool summertime hangout, complete with a built-in couch and stone barbecue. I'll miss driving through the stone gateposts, which lend the property a sense of grandeur and serve to separate the house form the street and offer one more layer of privacy in addition to the mature birch and oak trees that line the driveway and front yard. I'll miss stepping into the cool basement where my grandfather's woodworking shop was, and where after 13 years of him being gone his suspenders still hang on a nail next to his workbench. And if you look very closely, you can make out the shape of his old leather shoes beneath a barstool, where they rest under a layer of sawdust and woodchips. I'll miss it all, you see, because I love that house, that home. I love the people who lived within those walls, and the woman who still does live there, for tonight at least.

Tomorrow we'll move Grandma to her new apartment, where she'll turn a new page in her life, where she will undoubtedly make many new friends, and where (hopefully) she will live happily and contentedly for as long as Mother Nature allows. Her house will be packed up, refreshed with coats of new paint, and put on the real estate market within a couple of weeks. And hopefully (please cross your fingers and toes) someone will look past the repairs it needs and the quirkiness of it all to embrace the spirit and design of the house. Hopefully, someone will love it just as much, if not more, than we all do, and will become someone else's beloved family home. Nothing would please me more than seeing children playing beneath those old trees, and shouts of laughter coming from the pool.

One year ago...

...almost exactly to the minute, Brendan and I were sitting on a bench in the hallway of the International Terminal of JFK Airport, trembling together, as we waited for our son to come through immigration. Our son. Our son! How nervous we were, how excited! His plane landed at 3:15 pm, earlier than expected. At roughly 4:08 pm our lovely greeter, Marge, placed a wriggly bundle of boy in my arms, and our family was made.

Happy one year, Harrison! We love you very, very, very much!

And that's final!

Certificate of Adoption

I, (Woman on a power trip), clerk of the family court of Saratoga County, do hereby certify that I have inspected the records of this court and find that:

AN ORDER OF ADOPTION was signed on the 19th day of July, 2006, by Hon. Courtenay W. Hall, Judge of the Family Court of the County of Saratoga, granting the petition of Sara Sullivan and Brendan Sullivan, adoptive parents of a child now known as Harrison (middle names excluded for privacy) Sullivan who was born at Pyongtaek, Kyonggi-do, Korea on the 13th day of February, 2005.

Signed, Woman on a power trip, a.k.a. Saratoga County Clerk
That's it, he is ours. He belongs to us, and we belong to him, officially.

I didn't think the day would be very emotional for me. After all, the moment he was placed in my arms at JFK airport I knew in a very primal sort of way that he was my child. Since that moment those feelings have grown stronger and stronger, and I didn't think I needed a piece of paper to tell me what my heart already knew for sure. But yesterday, after our 15 minutes in court, I found myself blinking back happy tears at random points during the day. I'd catch the glint of sun in Harrison's eyes, the swirl of his hair above his right temple, or the bottoms of his feet dirty from running through the yard, and I would feel my heart swell and my eyes fill. He is ours. Those are the three most delicious, most significant, most beautiful words in the English Language today. He is ours.

And we are his.

For those wondering, he did not wear his grumpy pants yesterday. He was smiling and happy and very active. He was thrilled to have most of his grandparents in one place, and he liked all of the recording equipment used in the courtroom. And the judge was funny, which put us at ease. After the extraordinarily ridiculous hoops we had to jump through to get to that point the actual proceeding went very smoothly, and our attorney seemed somewhat competant.

What is next? Birth certificates, citizenship certificates, and social security cards, oh my!