Fog City Mommy

Rick didn’t go to pre-school today.  Instead, we went to the steps of City Hall here in our lovely city and watched the happy couples get married.  they beamed, they glowed and it was as if you could feel the joy in the air as couple after couple came out of city hall married.  some had been together a few years, some over fifty five.

gay marriage has come to California and I am proud to call this lovely city my home.

Here is the thing: people are complaining that God would never want this “abomination” to take place.  bible thumpers everywhere are screaming and up in arms that God made Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve.  I myself am a practicing Catholic.  I believe that Jesus is my savior.  I go to Mass two times a week.  I pray the rosery at night.  HOWEVER, God believed in love.  LOVE.

I would like to tell you about  couple I know.  they have been together since they were 20.  In fact, they met on their 20th birthday at a joint bday party in college.  Being born on the same day (sept 21st) was something they found to be faith.  One was jewish, the other catholic.  as their relationship progressed they saw the best and worst of times together.  Parents died, jobs were won, jobs were lost.  On 9-11 they were separated as one worked in the towers and another in Brooklyn.   Luckily, after a few days, they found each other again and they clung to each other.  One still goes to temple, the other to church.  they have seen babies born, they have seen friends die.  one had cancer, the other shaved their head when they lost the hair due to chemo.  they stayed up together through the illness.  for 23 years they have been each other’s pillars.

I love my brother John.  I love his partner Matt.  they found their homes in one another and they are each others worlds.  They have two boys, twins, age 13.  I love my nephews and they love “pops and dad”.  And this week, all of them are moving to berkeley.  and in two weeks, I will proudly stand by their side as they announce to the world that they love each other and take their wedding vows they have waited over two decades to be “given permission” to do.

love makes a family.  love makes a home.  I don’t care if the Bible thumpers think it’s wrong, this is one catholic who thinks that her family has found love and god agrees with that.

Don’t forget what John stated in 19:67:

“all you need is love.”~John

for love is all you need.

Today Rick and I were in the Haight Ashbury area when we saw it;

A smart car.

it was freaking tiny.  Rick likes to point out muni buses and trucks (which are his favorite)  He pointed to the smart car and simply said, “huh?”  I agreed.   I don’t understand the smart car.  I mean, I DO understand it and it’s a great idea, but really, it looks like a glorified clown car.

and just when I was commenting  in my head that I am surprised a clown didn’t come out of the car… out comes this lady with four grocery bags (all paper of course because plastic bags are illeagal here in my home city).  She put them down and reached into the car and pulled out a dog leash with a dog attached to it.

not just any dog,

A GREAT DANE.

HOW THE HELL DID ALL THAT FIT INTO A SMART CAR?!?!

Only here, in my lovely home town….

Now that Rick and I are both sick, my mother is staying. so if you hear a story about a murder, please don’t judge. I kid. I kid.

Rick and I made a fort this afternoon in the living room. pillows, blankets, place to relax and watch movies. Shrek 2 was the first choice. I slept through most of it. I figured Rick did too.  Nope.  according to my mom, he laid there and watched the whole thing.  That’s cool, it’s a funny movie.

I decided that we could watch my all time favorite Disney movie: 101 Dalmatians (animated).  I put it in and snuggle down with Rick.  He has a bottle and I have juice.  the movie starts and Rick looks at me and gets up.  he walks over to the bookshelf and pulls down a DVD and comes back to me.  Ratatouille.  I said, “lets watch 101 doggies, ok?”  Rick went back to the dvd shelf and returned with another movie.  Monsters Inc.  “no rick, 101 doggies.”  I pointed at the TV and said “look at the dogs!”

Rick looked, sighed and went back to the shelf.  he came back with Finding Nemo, Toy Story, Shrek, Shark Tale, Cars, and a bugs’ life.

I guess it’s a sign of the times.  hand drawn is out, animated with computers is in.

So how does this tie into home?  Next (after Ratatouille, which we are watching now) we are going to watch Wizard of oz.  maybe I can get him to nap.  and that is the epitome of wanting home.

Back to my rant about my mother…

Like I said, i love my mom but she is a little out of touch.  But she came from Oakley to watch Rick while I was working.  She ven stayed on the couch the past few nights so she wouldn’t have to commute back and forth.  when gas has hit 4.47 a gallon and you live at least 2 hours away, it’s a good thing to stay with your slightly frazzled daughter.

So where am I going with this?  well, the topic this month is about home for nablopomofocodoloto.  and today I realized my home is where ever my rick is.  I came home from work today and not only did he run into my arms, he climbed on me, wrapping his chubby 3 year old legs around my waist, kissed me and hugged me for a solid three minutes.

it was in those moments I felt as though if he could, Rick would have just melted into my body.  its the comfort of knowing your mom is there.  we melded for a few minutes and then Rick went to bed.  I drank a glass of wine with my mom and chatted.

later in the night, I woke up.  I didn’t feel good.  with my current history of health issues, this concerns me.  I slid out of bed.  Rick was asleep in his room, mom dozing on the couch.  I headed to the bathroom, dropped to my knees and promptly threw up.  when I was done retching, I laid down on the cold floor and closed my eyes.  the floor felt good on the sweat that my body was producing.  I had a fever.  I am not sure how long I was laying there but when I opened my eyes, my mom was there in her nightie, with a wet wash cloth and some Tylenol.  She brought me back to my room, tucked me in my bed and took my temp.  it was 101.4.   she laid down next to me and sung me my lullaby from my childhood.  I snuggled next to her, trying to meld with her.

It doesn’t matter how old you are or where you live or what you do for a living.  when you are sick, you want the person who cares for you the most.  for better or for worse, that’s my mom.  and for better or worse for Rick, that’s me.  This is the moment where I realize I know the meaning of being “home.”

Rick has been sick the past few days.  I, of course, have to work.  You can’t send a sick child to preschool.  you can’t send him to day care.

Enter my mother.

Don’t get me wrong, I love my mother.  She raised the 8 of us after my dad died while working as a Secretary in a law office in SF.  about 7 years ago she married Wolf (not kidding, that is his name.  in fact the only name changed in my blog is my brother Owen.  the rest of the people are the same.)  Wolf is a nice guy.  He’s also wealthy, which puts my mom in a place where she doesn’t really have to do anything anymore.  She sits at home in Oakley, a middle of nowhere place in the east bay, in her giant house and gardens.  Hey, she’s 72!  let her be, right?

well, having all this money has made her a little out of touch with reality.  She wants to go to Spain.  She wants all the kids and grandkids to join her for her birthday in Madrid.  She has no idea that Iris has been laid off, there is all sorts of problems with Clem’s health, John and Matt just bought a house (in berkeley no less!) , and linus knocked up his fiancee.

Gas is 4.55 a gallon.  Rent is going up (nevermind rent control, it still sucks). Sean was injered at work so he is off work and not paying for Ricks’ preschool.  the world is going to hell in a handbag, but let’s all go to Madrid!

John asked me why don’t I just live somewhere cheaper with better work?  Easy to say for a lawyer.  the problem is, this is my home.  I don’t know anything else.  even the annoying mother and step father make life here home.

oh, there is more to this entry but I am tired and will come back to the bitching at a later date…

~u2

I find myself curled up on the end of Rick’s bed, watching his every breath. He is sick with a fever and moaning a little like the the wind that is rushing through the trees outside. The trees are moaning like a ghost, the la llorna type of wait that chills you to the bone. the fog brushes through the sky, leaving the windows damp in the process of running by.

But my baby is sick. Even though he is no longer a baby, but a small of of three, when he gets sick my heart just stops. I wait with the night, waiting on each breath. I hold him when he cries out. I whisper sweet nothings when he moans. I stay awake, at rapt attention, into the early hours of the morning.

There is something about sitting up with Rick that makes me ponder home. When he is away, I feel empty. When he is here, I am content and happy. when he is away, the house is silent. it’s not my home. home is filled with laughter, silliness, conversation and love. When he is gone, it’s empty.
This is not my home. My home is with Rick. Where ever he is, my heart is with him. when he hurts, I hurt too. when he laughs, i laugh. when he loves, I feel like my heart will explode with joy.

but here is the time where my heart breaks and every shadow in the house is a new stranger and a new cold danger. It’s haunting. and the moaning wind and the settling of the house doesn’t help. All I can do is sit and guard my baby, late into the night, with his angels watching over him and try to keep the monsters at bay.

Robert Frost has a point in the quote above.  I have several homes if that is true.  All my siblings (all 7 of them) have homes around the world.  does this mean I am home in Prague, Tokyo, Manhattan, Austin, Reno, Chicago, and London?  Sure.  I am always welcome to visit the family.

my friends are around the world as well.  does this mean I am home with them?  of course.

But I really feel like SF is my home.  I have been here for over 30 years (except for a brief stint in Santa Cruz in the early 90s).  I admit the sounds of the Muni trains at night buzzing by the house relaxes me.  It’s the familiar smell of the salty ocean and the crack of the baseball bats.  It’s the clanging of the cable car’s bells.  The rumble of the earthquakes. the creeping fog.  All of this brings me comfort.

Speaking of my siblings, you know there is trouble when the phone rings very early in the morning and you note on your caller ID that it’s the 800 video realy service calling you.  It means one of your Usher’s syndrome siblings are trying to get a hold of you.

This happened early this morning (and by early I mean about 730am on my day off with the little boy next to me.)  I always fret.  My siblings KNOW not to call before 830 because Rick sleeps in.  I pick up:

“hello?”

“Hello this is interpreter 5930 calling on behalf of John Zander.  I have-”

“I know how this works.  John, why are you calling so early?  who died?”

There is a pause.  I can hear the swish of the interpreters hands as she signs via video relay to John, in NY.

“No one’s dead.  Sorry, I was just too excited.” comes the reply via interpreter 5930

“What’s going on?”

more silence.

“Matt and I bought a house in Berkeley.”

“Since when do you want to live in California again?”

“Since Matt proposed to me and California made it ok!!”

Yep, My 43 year old brother is marrying his partner of 23 years.  and I have never been happier for them.

I guess John found his home in Matt.  We should all be so lucky.

Welcome to my attempt, and please note it’s an attempt, at blogging month.  this month’s topic is home.

Home.  what does that it mean to me?  I guess it’s a place where you live.  a place where you love.  a place where you feel… at home.

Of course, I was born and raised in SF.  I could say this city is my home.  I was born at French Hospital (which no longer exists) and grew up in the Marina and have lived all over the city.  Currently I am in the Castro (or according to some right wing freaks, “the abyss of america”).  it’s almost home.  but not really.

I think the Mission was my favorite place to live.  I lived there with my ex for almost 10 years.  The culture is great, the food is good and life was fun.  But it’s no place to live with a child.

I guess we will continue later.  Rick just woke up and is calling me.