Official American

This morning, at the Miami Convention Center, my daughter in law was one of 3,000 people who swore the Oath of Allegiance to the United States, becoming full fledged American citizens. Actually, she was one of 6,000 people, because there was to be a second ceremony beginning at 1:00 p.m.!

We had no idea what to expect when we headed toward the convention center at 7:15 this morning. Within a block of the place, we could already see the masses of people and cars cramming the surrounding sidewalks and roadways. None of us handle crowds very well, and it was little disconcerting when the security guards abruptly separated us into two lines, sending Nantana off on her own before we had an opportunity to settle on a meeting place or exit strategy. With a lot of neck craning, we managed to catch of glimpse of her as she entered the convention center, so we at least had an idea where she was seated.

The ceremony itself was very nice, and included a video presentation called "The Faces of America," a photo montage portraying immigrants throught the country's history, comments from the national Secretary of Immigration, and, of course, the mass swearing of the Oath.

I was particularly interested in the "roll call" of nations being represented. As each applicants country of origin was read, they were to stand and remain standing. Of course, since we were in Miami, the great majority of new citizens came from Cuba and The Dominican Republic. But, there were also at least 50 other countries represented as well.

For Nantana, this brings an end to almost nine years of dealing with the INS, a process she and Brian began back in 1998 when they applied for her K-1 visa (or "fiancee's visa" as it's also called!) They've spent lots of time and money making sure they followed all the proper procedures and did everything correctly. When she decided to apply for citizenship, she did all the research, studied hard, and scored a perfect score on every test. That's the kind of woman she is - she gives her best effort to everything she does, and she gets things done the way they should be. She deserves every right and privelge associated with being an American citizen. This country is lucky to have her - and so is our family!

Congratulations, Nantana :)

My Little Psychopath

That's what I've started calling my young friend Liz. I care about her, I'm very concerned about her, and I want to help her, but she is one very seriously messed up young woman. I just finished talking with her for the third time this week. As is her usual pattern, she was crying when she called me, and she was driving. Tonight, she said she had had a "horrible day," and she just needed someone to talk to until she got home." Her litany of problems is far heavier than any 24 year old should have to bear. Serious psychologial problems (obsessive compulsive disorder, depression, destructive behaviors, i.e. cutting and attempted suicide), emotional estrangement from her mother, overwhelming stress on the job, financial difficulties, moving residences more than three times in one year...added to that, this week she has strep throat, intestinal flu, and got into a car accident. Oh...my...god...

All I have to say is, "Tell me what's going on..." and she's very happy to regale me with the litany of all the horrible things that have happened to her since the last time we talked. I know she's looking for a mother figure- someone to sympathize, croon comforting words, and, yes, offer to fly in and rescue her from all this distress. Liz did finally tell her mother the whole truth about her situation, but (at least according to Liz) her mother "has nothing to offer" in the way of help, either literally or emotionally.

I know Liz's mother - not terribly well, but we've met on several occasions. I would characterize Sara as a woman who has been soured on life. Her husband died suddenly and unexpectedly, leaving her with two young daughters to raise. She's had a hard time keeping a job, so the past 15 years have been a continuous struggle for her. Still...when Liz tells me things that her mother says and does which seem utterly insensitive to me, I struggle to keep from calling this woman on the phone and screaming at her to get out there and take care of her daughter. Yet I also realize that having Liz for a daughter must have been a daunting proposition - needy, disturbed, and at the same time, exceedingly bright - she would have been a challenge for the most well rounded of parents. After all, Sara, like every mother, is only human. Perhaps this child has just sucked her dry??

The one good thing about this situation is that every time I talk to this girl, every time I think about her life and how fragile it is, I'm reminded once again how lucky I am to have had loving, supportive relationships. From the foundation of caring and respect I was fortunate enough to receive from my parents, and in my relationship with my husband, I was able to provide my own child with the kind of support he needed to help him overcome some tough emotional times in his life and go on to become a healthy and stable adult.

Of course I wasn't a "perfect mother" by any stretch of the imagination, but hopfully I didn't leave my child feeling abandonded and completely bereft, like Liz apparently feels. But I know that even with the best of intentions, parents can go wrong. Every child is different, with unique needs and expectations. Sometimes we think we're doing the right thing, and it turns out to be completely wrong based on the needs of that individual child. And sometimes you don't know that until it's way too late.

I'm hoping it's not too late for Liz. As much as I care about what happens to her, I can't be the mother she's looking for. And I don't think she wants me to be. What she really wants is unconditional love and nurturing from her own mother. Right now, she's not getting it~I really hope someday soon she will.

What a Difference A Week Makes

Last week at this time, I was going totally crazy. I felt dangerously stressed out, more so than I can ever remember. Today, I came home from work early, did a little laundry, relaxed with a cup of Zen tea, and watched a marvelous thunderstorm from the safety of my big green living room chair. I read some wonderful haiku (on the subject of nurturing, no less!), wrote my post for tomorrow (Write on Wednesday is back!), and actually made dinner myself (pork tenderloin "Diane" with wild rice and steamed baby carrots -it smells yummy!)

So, what's the big difference?? I have nothing in my musical agenda this week. No concerts, no rehearsals, no performances scheduled (until May 25, that is).

It's clear where the source of my stress seems to lie.

Why is it, though, that the thing I love doing most in the world causes me so much angst???

It all comes down to another four letter word, the word that appears here on the Byline, and in my morning pages, over and over again.

TIME.

Sigh.

Hearing From You

Each year on Mother's Day, one of the women in our church sponsors the alter flower displays with this dedication: "To all the mothers who won't hear from their children on this day." I don't know this woman well, so I don't understand the particular story behind her annual message. Is she a mother who is estranged from her child? Did her child go missing and was never recovered? And the fact that she refers to "children" also disturbs me. Does she have more than one child she "won't hear from"? I've asked some of my friends at church who have been members there longer than I, yet no one seems to know the history of this poignant message.As a mother, I think it would be devastating to be ignorant of what's happening in your child's life. My son and I had a ritual that developed as soon as he started school~started having a life away from home, so to speak~a ritual he called "day telling." Sometimes it took place over dinner, but most often at bedtime. And yes, it was largely another delaying tactic in his never ending effort to avoid sleep. But I fell for it every time, because I loved hearing every miniscule detail of his day, of the time he spent apart from me. Naturally, when children grow up and have lives and families of their own, we don't expect the same level of communication. But I'm still just as tickled to hear his voice on the phone as I was to hear him call out that it was "day telling time." Mothers need to "hear from their children," no matter what age or stage of life they're in.

Every Mother's Day, my heart goes out to this woman. When I see her in Coffee Hour, I want to hug her, to say how sorry I am that she doesn't hear from her child, for whatever reason.

I consider my own good fortune on this Mother's Day, my luck in having a son whom I "hear from" on a regular basis, and who still happily shares stories of his day, as well as a mother whom I speak with (if not spend time with!) nearly every day, sharing the good and not so good news of our daily lives.

And for all those mothers whose lines of communication with their children have been severed, may you "hear from them" very soon.

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In an effort to enable more mothers to hear from their children in days to come, consider visting CODEPINK and joining the effort to celebrate Mother's Day in its original spirit - a day when American women unite for an end to war. In 1870, Julia Ward Howe called for action with her Mother's Day Proclamation:

We will not have great questions decided by irrelevant agencies,

Our husbands shall not come to us reeking of carnage, for caresses and applause.

Our sons shall not be taken from us to unlearn

All that we have been able to teach them of charity, mercy and patience.

We women of one country

Will be too tender of those of another country

To allow our sons to be trained to injure theirs.

Whew!

Whirlwinds, cyclones, hurricanes, dervishes...all perfect ways to describe my life these past few days, even weeks or months, really. From the time I get up in the morning, until I finally lay my head on the pillow each night, I feel as if I'm in a constant state of motion.

Yesterday, as I was driving (for the third time in one day!) toward the high school for (yet another!) rehearsal, I found myself teary eyed. Maybe it was the warm spring breeze and cloudless blue sky, or perhaps it was the song I happened across on the radio, a folk song called 45 Years From Now. Most likely it was because yesterday was my 31st wedding anniversary, and I was remembering what my life was like in those newlywed days. I had so much time back then...each day seemed to last an eternity, because I was home alone while Jim was working long hours, building his career. I worked too, but desultorily, part time music jobs, teaching piano lessons, taking some classes here and there. Mostly, I played house. Decorating, cooking, shopping, all the things that 21 year old girls with their first home like to do.

The pace of my life stepped up quite a bit when Brian was born. Still, the days seemed endlessly long, with so much time to fill, caring for and playing with an active, curious little boy. There always seemed to be time for walks in the park, or sledding on the hills, reading, watching movies, play dates and games.

Truthfully, sometimes during those years, time weighed heavily on my hands. For many years, Jim worked excruciatingly long hours - 60 or 70 in a week. And he traveled, too, for extended periods of time. I learned how to live almost alone, almost a single mother sometimes. In those days, the time between dinner and bedtime was horribly long, and I clearly remember feeling overburdened, restless, and resentful.

It's a cliche, I know, but I would love to go back to those days, to the time when my life revolved around nothing more than a child and a house, (and occasionally a man), when the due date on a stack of library books was the only deadline I needed to worry about, when the most pressing thing on my agenda was baking chocolate chip cookies or playing another round of Candyland.

Where did all that time go? The older I get, the faster it speeds by, and I'm constantly trying to cram all my responsibilities and committments into days that seem to be getting shorter and shorter. The proud young "homemaker" who cleaned house religiously every Monday and Thursday, tried out one new recipe from the Betty Crocker Cookbook each week, and was up to date on every episode of Dr. T. Berry Brazelton's What Every Baby Knows, has not dusted or vacuumed in weeks, relies on Papa Romano's and Chin's Chinese far too often, and hasn't even spoken to her son in almost two weeks. Whew.

So, how do I fix this mess I'm in? How do I dial back a life that is out of control and spiraling into disaster? Because this past week has left me feeling that disaster is lurking around the corner unless I find more time for myself and the things that are important to me.

I'm moving that question to the top of my list of things to figure out~as soon as I have the time.

PS...I wrote this poem last summer, and it's very appropriate to this post...

Time

Flying doesn't begin to describe what happens to it

More like disintegrate, evaporate, eviscerate

My lack of it cuts me like the sharpest of knives in my drawer

The one I use for carrots or steak Little pieces of it get swept into the dust bin tossed away before I know they're gone Panicked I rummage through trash hoping to find a morsel I can still put to good use Elated I grab scraps - ten minutes here fifteen there Could it be I've found one hour soggy and tattered amidst the rubble? Clutching this treasure this time of my own, I weep Then throw wide the door and fly