Her New Life

First: it’s hard to jump back into blogging after a long absence. I want to catch up on every single thing I wanted to blog about but didn’t, but that would take about 400 hours. So I won’t. I’ll just start with today.

Our older daughter is somewhere in that landscape above, in her new town that she loves, where she’ll be living as of August 26th. She has been at orientation, has signed up for her fall classes, gotten her official ID, slept on a hard mattress (”Can I bring my own mattress to college?”) and generally gotten very excited about her new life.

She met with her advisor. She pored through the 500-page course catalog and picked classes that she’s interested in, which I gather has been quite the heady experience. I have to say, I’m kinda jealous. When I went to college, I entered a very rigid program that had like one elective every year. I was pretty locked in and they told ME what I was going to take, and when. It didn’t go so well. But here she is, with literally thousands of options. It must be a little mind boggling.

It’s weird, getting text messages throughout the day. She discussed her options with someone named Jill (the advisor), not with us. She emailed us the final decisions. They look great. But we’re not part of that decision making loop. At all.

She took a small step into a potential major, something she’s never really mentioned before. I know this can and likely will change a lot between now and when she’s done, but… This could be my new life, she texted. It’s all kind of awesome and sort of incomprehensible too.

 

Farewell, Kar

I can’t believe I am writing two memorial posts in a row, but here it is.

I received notice this weekend that a dear friend, mentor, fellow writer and amazing human being Kartar Dhillon  passed away. I am so sad about this because I’ve had “go visit Kar” on my to-do list for the longest time, and I wrote to other friends and we kept meaning to make a concrete plan, but then everyone got very busy and we never got our act together and then we received this news.

I should have figured that she wasn’t well because every year, without fail, Kar would send me a detailed, thoughtful and handwritten letter in response to my mass-produced family holiday card. Except this year I didn’t hear back after the holidays and I made a resolution to go and visit. Except I didn’t.

I first met Kar in 1995, when we were both published in the anthology Growing Up Asian American. We met at a reading at the now-closed Clean Well Lighted Place for Books. Kar and I were on an authors’ panel with Maxine Hong Kingston, and both of us were all starstruck and nervous. We bonded in the back room and I invited her to join Rice Papers, a writing group for Asian American women.  She had just begun writing, in her 80s, and was glad to have the company. That group, which still meets sporadically, was so amazing. We had members ranging from 19 to 80something, and we went on to do our own group readings (at the now-closed - do you sense a pattern? - O’Hana Cultural Center), art galleries and bookstores. We published several of our own group anthologies, met together to cook and eat, laugh and write and read.  We had one memorable writing-and-eating retreat up at Lake Tahoe, and I remember Kar’s awesome homemade chapatis and green beans.

Kar was wise and humorous, infinitely intelligent, warm, creative, and fiercely dedicated to justice. Her children and grandchildren are activists, writers, filmmakers. Here is a piece that she wrote about her family’s beginnings in Astoria, Oregon. She was also a visual artist and had many sheafs of newsprint with charcoal portraits she’d made.

Even though I did not see her often in recent years, I will miss Kar a lot and will never forget what an inspiring and wonderful woman she was. Thank you for everything you were, Kar.

 

Julia

I found out this weekend that a blogger/adoptee/amazing human being named Julia passed away. I read her blog and it never failed to move me. But I didn’t email her on a personal level other than leaving comments on her blog. I am not sure she knew who I was. But she was a strong presence in my mind and I read all of her posts without fail.

I guess I didn’t truly understand how sick she was because she was even blogging a bit last week. I knew it was very serious and she was waiting for a bone marrow transplant. I learned a little bit more when I read this article, which was only published the day before she died. I sobbed when I read Lee Herrick’spoem for her. Yesterday, I took some time and read her entire blog, every post, from the beginning in 2006. It cracked my heart open.

It is an odd thing to feel so close to somebody I never knew or even had a personal exchange with.Others connected with her on a much deeper level.  I hope that her blog stays up for a very long time so that her words can touch others. I send my heartfelt condolences to those who love her.

 

In Praise of Low-Key Birthday Parties

I have been sick as a DOG this week, and I am still hacking and coughing my lungs out. Tonight is/was my younger daughter’s fourteenth birthday party. I am so grateful for her simple wishes, easily executed desires and independence. I think if she were, say, turning, FOUR, I would be in deep despair.

But she didn’t need or want much. We took a quick trip to the big drugstore for some amusing goody-bag stuffers (Chapstick, plastic dinosaurs and punchballs). We got a fruit tart (she didn’t want cake) and balloons. Five friends came over. We drove to the local gourmet-ish food court and everyone fanned out to purchase their own dinner. There was a table full of Indian food, fettucine Alfredo, teriyaki and tempura. Stopped at Blockbuster to rent movies. Ate the tart, opened presents. Now everyone is in PJs (including me), they’re voting on which movies to watch, and I am actually BLOGGING and resting in bed.

Now THIS is how to throw a birthday party. I’ve thrown some doozies in my day: a doggy themed party, a miniature party, a teddy bear picnic, outings to the Santa Cruz boardwalk and a spa party for the 17 yr old. But this one has been so easy. Happy Birthday, my fabulous fourteen. It sounds like you’re having fun on the other side of the wall.

 

Heads UP, Asian American writers!!

I’ve recently discovered a very cool new literary magazine, the Kartika Review, by Asian American writers. The quality is excellent; I particularly loved one story in their first issue, “A Christmas of Her Own,” by Geri Lipschultz Wong.

So they are pretty new and they are actively seeking submissions by Asian American writers. Please forward this info to all the talented AA writers YOU know. And if that’s what you are, submit something yourself!!

Also, the editors have a really fascinating blog that reveals a lot of behind-the-slush-pile look at the publishing end of things. Check it out.

 

Rest in Peace, Uncle Charlie

My uncle-in-law, or my husband’s uncle, passed away this weekend. Here they are at that family reunion and anniversary party this summer. He was doing really great then.

I probably only spent a total of two days in the presence of Uncle Charlie, spread out over twenty years, but he was always amazingly kind and funny and terribly interested in ANYthing you had to say. My husband totally adored him. He was, as they say, a good egg.

He will be very missed.

 

The Big What Ifs

So last week my husband and I finally got around to dealing with the task we’ve been putting off, like, forever. We met with a lawyer to discuss our various wishes, should various terrible things befall various members of our family. In other words, our will. Our living trust. Our medical decisions. MAN. This conversation just took us places we did not want to go, but we soldiered on, because we just have to do it. Most of it was fairly straightforward and sensible, but a couple of the questions just threw me.

What if my husband AND my children and I died simultaneously?  What would happen with my mother? Who would be in charge of her, her stuff and ours? Who would make decisions for her?  The thought of this possibility was more upsetting than all the other stuff put together.  How bewildered and overwhelmed she would be. AGH. Well, of course the chance of that exact thing happening is the tiniest fraction of a percentage point, but STILL.  We named a relative of my husband’s and just have to hope this is one of those things we prepare for but  never happens.

The thing that really undid me, though, was this: naming someone to make medical decisions for ME, should my husband not be around, and if I am not capable, and my daughters not old enough. Of course HE instantly named one of his siblings for that position, ie if I were not around. But I did a quick inventory in my mind and suddenly I felt very alone. The only child of an elderly parent.

The thing is, I do have some biological half siblings. One of whom I used to be very close to. One who lives very nearby. But we have not spoken or communicated in over eight years. If our relationship had gone well it is quite possible that I could have named her in this position. But that just does not feel possible now, not in the remotest sense.

My husband recommended and offered that I name one of his siblings, whom I love dearly, but who lives very far away and is not MY sibling. I suddenly felt like I didn’t want to put this burden on HIS family. I want MY family, dammit. I want somebody in my own family to be willing and able to do this for me.  I have cousins from my adoptive family but they are as remote, relationally, as my birth family.  They’re not like HIS cousin, who is more like a brother, or his brother, who would do anything for him.

The whole thing just made me feel really sad and alone and made me hope more than anything that none of this will be necessary. But thinking about it was hard. Really hard.

PS. HAPPY EPILOGUE. After reading this post, my best friend contacted me immediately and said, WHY don’t you name ME? and I kind of stuttered, well, you’re far away and and and, but yeah, that’s who I would want. So I name her and she’s naming me and it’s almost like, wow, getting married or betrothed to say, I will fight for what you want, when you are at your deathbed. I’m very moved.

 

The Things We Do For Love

(photo credit: Jenny Rosenberg) It’s been a heck of a few weeks. I haven’t had time to blog, write, or do nearly anything because of the overwhelming presence of Crew. First, last weekend, our older daughter’s team rowed at the Southwest Junior Regional Championships near Sacramento. This was the big kahuna, the race(s) that would determine if their lightweight boat would go to Nationals. This is like the playoffs. The ones who win get to move on, and everyone else is done. She really, really wanted to go to Nationals for the final event of her high school rowing career. Her boat has spoken, dreamed, tasted, fought for, worked out for, nothing else all year. You could hear the echoes of that word — “Nationals. Nationals” in every conversation they had. They wanted it SO SO badly. But they had many obstacles and frustrations over the past month, and it wasn’t clear whether their dream was going to come true or not.

Then the big weekend came. My daughter had a big obstacle that turned huge, and worrisome. I fretted for her, I fretted for her boat, and their dreams. I paced and wept and wrung my hands. But finally, they pulled it out. It all came together. In the second-to-last race of the weekend, when everyone else was packing up to go home, they did it. They qualified. You know, I’ve never been much of a sports mom until now. I’ve never reallllly understood those words, the thrill of victory, the agony of defeat. But I felt them down to my bones last weekend as I paced at the shoreline.

My job as volunteer travel coordinator of the team kicked into high gear. The great news is that 28 rowers from Oakland Strokes qualified to go to the US Rowing Youth National Championships in Cincinnati in June. But it meant about 500 extra emails piling into my inbox as I worked out the details for each of those kids and their families.

The kids are seriously training now. Sometimes twice-daily practices. New oars (see blisters, above). Maybe a newer, lighter boat. They’re on their way. Some people might think what she’s doing is crazy, it’s extreme, it’s risky and whatever. But I swear, this sport has given her so much that I will be grateful for the rest of my life. This is a girl with so much energy and passion and potential for drama, that it could have so easily been channeled into things that were not so great for her. Instead she has spent the last two years passionately engaged, focused, committed, responsible. She has made deep, deep friendships. She has been tested a million ways and learned things that will serve her forever.

Some people might look at those hands and say, how can you do that, but I just say thank you.

 

Wide Open Weekend

I can’t believe it. We have NO, I mean ZERO plans this weekend. ZERO.  I don’t think this has happened in, what… a year? I can’t even remember.  Do people have weekends like this, when there is NOTHING on the calendar? I never do.

I feel kind of giddy. I am determined that I am not going to fill this weekend with errands and tasks and to-do stuff. No no no!! I will spend maybe an hour or two this morning doing a few things, and then I think I am going to take daughter and mom to Japantown in SF. She has been asking to go to J-town for over a year now, and there is never any time. How sad is that?

Is it really possible? 48 hours of open space?

Finally I feel like I can breathe, a little bit.

 

Chicken, Headless

That would be me, running around every waking moment, even in my mind when I’m sitting still. I’ve been incredibly, incredibly tired this week. Yesterday during my workout I kept laying down and almost falling asleep, and when it was over I really couldn’t move. I put my head down and closed my eyes. All I wanted was to sleeeeep.

This is the crunch time of crunch times. The travel-coordinator job for my daughter’s team is really kicking my butt. The upcoming regionals race next weekend is going to be a 4-day circus that involves buses, four hotels, 3 catered dinners, dozens of chaperones and some super intense racing. A lot is at stake. Tensions are high. I’m in charge of more logistics than I can shake a stick at.  Last night my husband said, “No way you’re doing this again next year, are you?” And I hesitated. Partly it’s a question of whether daughter #2 will join the team. If she doesn’t it’s all over. If she does though, part of me masochistically does want to do this job again, to see if I can do it right, do it better, more smoothly. This year has been the steepest learning curve, and I want it to be better.

I’m also in crunch time for Pact Camp. It’s getting very exciting at this point, and it’s feeling very REAL. It’s my fourth year of coordinating camp, and it is feeling smoother, more professional and better each time. Each year we learn a lot and each year I think it improves.  Sometimes when I’m in this time of year I wonder if I will ever write anything (besides this blog) again. But I know the end of July is coming and it will all feel different.

It’s exhausting but all of it is rewarding. And I think back on the time before I had this job. I had a LOT more free time. But I was much unhappier. I frittered away many hours feeling useless.  I don’t feel useless anymore. I just feel like I wish I had so so so much more time.

When I come home from work, I make dinner and then I usually have a couple of hours of travel work to do. Yesterday I think I exchanged over 100 emails and phone calls.  At night, there’s always more to do. Ditto on the weekends and I even was dealing with this stuff when we were on “vacation” in Hawaii.  I am longing for a writing colony.

Am I complaining? I’m not really complaining. I could stop any of this right now. I could quit. But I’m not doing that because it’s all good, it’s just too much good stuff all at the same time.