December has been a month filled with many emotions, feelings, circumstances and amazing blessings. The situation with my birthmother aside (which was important in itself), this month has held life, death, love, anger, hope and joy.
My Grammie took very ill on the 8th of the month and was rushed into hospital and placed in palliative care after it was determined that her liver was completely toxic with no chance of recovery. Grief stricken and somewhat unprepared, my parents and brother and I headed out of town (three hour drive) to see her on the 10th.
When we arrived and walked into her room...I seriously had to wonder if this woman I was trying to shake awake was really my Grammie. She was yellow, very thin and tiny (not my usual Grammie...nor the one I had just seen about two months prior to this) and unable to speak. It wasn't until I looked at her prescription bottles and noted her name on them...that I came to realize that this was my Gram and that she was nearing the end...and quickly, at that.
My Grammie lost her best friend and soulmate, my Grampie, in 1997 and was a pillar of strength when he passed...as she was for the entire family throughout the years. She was stubborn, independent, faith-filled, happy, funny, compassionate, loyal, loving and not someone you would want to mess with. She was 82 and still climbing ladders to clean her house. She loved God and she loved life and her family.
My family was grateful that she could still understand what we were saying...when we kissed her, told her we were all there and although she couldn't speak, her face lit up when my father thanked her for making the pie she always makes every Christmas...just for him. She understood. We told her we were headed to her house with the rest of the family for lunch - which she would have wanted...and told her we'd be back in a few hours.
Upon heading back out of town, we stopped in again...and Grammie was slipping into a coma. I can't put into words how difficult it was to rub her arm, her head and kiss her forehead...knowing that it would be the last time I would be able to do this. I couldn't say goodbye...because, it really isn't goodbye...it's just a matter of time before we'll meet again. So, I told her I loved her...and that we would see her again soon, because we will.
On December 12th, I arrived home from work, to a letter from Chicken Soup for the Soul. Some years ago, they caught wind of a personal story/essay I wrote about some life experiences...and published it in one of their teen books. Apparently...they are currently compiling 15th Anniversary books of their BEST stories...and mine was chosen as one of them...and chosen to be published - AGAIN - in their New York Times rated #1 selling books. As a writer...to have anything published rocks...but to be published in a book that sells around the world, twice...definitely takes the cake.
That evening...my brother finally proposed to his long-time gal...who, through sobs, yelled YES!!! and we were (and are!) thrilled. She's adorable, so good for my bro and I love her so much.
Saturday, the 13th, we all woke to the news that Grammie passed away just before midnight. I like to believe that she was floating around in the in-between when my bro was on his knee. She would have been thrilled.
We buried my Grammie last Monday. Leaving the graveyard was, by far, the most difficult thing ever. I kept my hand on the pale pink casket for what seemed to be forever. Grief-stricken...I knew that she was in Heaven, with Grampie (not to mention God) and free from any discomfort. But my heart hurt. It still hurts.
Last weekend I spent some time with my best bud and her baby cousin...who is almost five months old and an absolute angel. He came to his family after tragedy struck...and after the tragic loss of his uncle...and I'm unsure that they would have made it through everything they did...had he not come along. The way he came...was difficult in itself. However, looking at his sweet face, I realized that life continues...in the midst of pain and tragic circumstances that we all face. He is life. Continuing life...and hope for a much needed future.
This morning as my family unwrapped many gifts - really, we were spoiled! - we all opened one that my Grammie put together before she took so ill. She wrapped them. She wrote the cards. For a moment...she was back. She was there...with all of us, as we touched the gifts that she touched.
This month has held such sadness...and heartache...and I know that for many of you, the holidays are not always happy times. But in the not so happy times...there are such huge blessings around us, if we're willing to stop and look for them. As I said to my buddy, CP, yesterday...through the sadness...God is still SO great.
God continues to bless me in ways that I'm unsure I even deserve.
Life doesn't stop. It continues. Even when we wish for time to stand still...or time to rewind...or time to fast forward...it continues, by our choice or not. In order to have life, we must have death. And when we find ourselves in the dark...we can be assured that the light will come again...it's His promise to us all.
We just have to hang on and focus on the light.
Thursday, December 25, 2008
Friday, December 19, 2008
Roots
Simone Weil said, “To be rooted is perhaps the most important, but least understood, need of the human soul.”
I believe that as humans we long for connection. We long to be needed. We long to be heard and understood. We long to be loved. We long for a place to belong…and indeed, to feel rooted and secure.
As an adoptee, the need to be – and feel – rooted runs very deep in my heart and soul.
With my birthmother’s decision to step away from our reunion and run in the opposite direction (while, I must add, throwing as many knives as she could at me), I recognize that I will now only biologically be rooted in my birth family. I have incredibly mixed emotions, thoughts and feelings in regard to this.
I was waiting for a better ending. A better ending to MY story. In fact, as a writer, I never really wrote my story fully, because I felt like I didn’t have an ending to complete the story. It’s difficult to write a story, without an ending and even more difficult to write a story when you don’t like how it ends.
I wanted ending option A. The one where the reunion goes well and you live happily ever after. I would have even settled for ending option B, where you reunite…connect…and then part and move along with your lives. I did not want the ending option I received. But yet, it’s mine and somehow I must integrate it into my life. I must feel it and talk it out.
I also recognize (and have hope for) the possibility that my ending can, now, finally be a new beginning.
That the roots that I do have can grow stronger and more secure and that new ones can begin to form…where they really matter. In the people who are invested in my life and well-being. In those who care about me, related biologically or not.
And, more importantly, in love.
I believe that as humans we long for connection. We long to be needed. We long to be heard and understood. We long to be loved. We long for a place to belong…and indeed, to feel rooted and secure.
As an adoptee, the need to be – and feel – rooted runs very deep in my heart and soul.
With my birthmother’s decision to step away from our reunion and run in the opposite direction (while, I must add, throwing as many knives as she could at me), I recognize that I will now only biologically be rooted in my birth family. I have incredibly mixed emotions, thoughts and feelings in regard to this.
I was waiting for a better ending. A better ending to MY story. In fact, as a writer, I never really wrote my story fully, because I felt like I didn’t have an ending to complete the story. It’s difficult to write a story, without an ending and even more difficult to write a story when you don’t like how it ends.
I wanted ending option A. The one where the reunion goes well and you live happily ever after. I would have even settled for ending option B, where you reunite…connect…and then part and move along with your lives. I did not want the ending option I received. But yet, it’s mine and somehow I must integrate it into my life. I must feel it and talk it out.
I also recognize (and have hope for) the possibility that my ending can, now, finally be a new beginning.
That the roots that I do have can grow stronger and more secure and that new ones can begin to form…where they really matter. In the people who are invested in my life and well-being. In those who care about me, related biologically or not.
And, more importantly, in love.
Sunday, December 14, 2008
Honesty is the best policy
Yes, there is a lot that has taken place since I posted last. I don't have enough time at present to update on it all - but, I will - be patient!
I do feel like sounding off on one experience, though.
Last Sunday I took Sally up on an invite to go to the kid's Christmas party for the 'Home' (the adoption agency which I was adopted through and numerous other people were, too and the Home still exists to this day). Sal no longer works there, but she did for many years and still gets an invite every year. Basically the party is for kids...adopted kids. If you haven't noticed...I am not a 'kid'.
But, since Sal seems to work in my life in amazing ways, I said yes to the invite. I also said, "Umm, you realize I'm 30 years old...right?" Her reply was, "Yes, I do, but you're still a Home baby." I swear I had never been taken to these Christmas parties as a child (although my mom insists she and my father took my brother and I once...and that we didn't like it).
We arrived...did the name-tag business (fyi...name-tags are a pet peeve of mine...probably because - surprisingly - I'm a really private person) and Sal introduced me to a couple of people...and then we both parted. Sal connected with a ton of people and families and I made my way around the room chatting with various adopted kids...but mostly adoptive parents and their relatives.
I connected with one woman, who I will call Sarah. She and her hubby had two adopted boys...ages 8-ish and 4 years old.
Sarah actually approached me, as did many other people...because while my Sal made her rounds...she kept pointing me out to people as the "30 year old Home baby". So this would be the first thing out of their mouths when I said, "Hi, I'm Laurel." (The first few times I was thinking...what the heck? Then I clued in and found it amusing.)
I tend to ask a lot of questions when I meet people. It's not because I'm nosey...but I'm just genuinely interested in people's stories. And, given that everyone at this party was connected to adoption in some way...it was an open door to this subject. So, I asked a lot of Sarah.
Sarah shared with me that her boys knew they were adopted. Her oldest son had a semi-open adoption with letters (and pictures?) exchanged at least twice a year w/his bmom. Her youngest son had a closed adoption, although she and her hubby had met his bmom. Her oldest son did not know of his open adoption or that his parents have contact with his birthmother. Sarah said that it would be too difficult for him to understand. I said I begged to differ.
While we were chatting, her eldest kept coming over, standing close...walking by...standing with us. When he would do this, his mother would talk in a hushed tone, ask him to leave or say something about 'the lady that grew him in her tummy.'
Yes, that's correct. She refers to his birthmother as 'the lady that grew him in her tummy'. I was actually shocked. It's almost 2009 and there is still this secrecy and speaking in some kind of code?
I shared some of my story...about growing up knowing that I was adopted and what questions I had and offered some advice (as gently as I could).
The most shocking piece of info she shared with me? She said that she told her son that although it's not a secret that he's adopted...that he shouldn't go sharing this info at school and with others, because, "it's a private family matter."
I felt so sad for her son. She said he is pretty quiet...that he's brought up the subject more lately...but not too much. His behavior there, to me, weighed so heavy on my heart...because I knew he wanted more info. And all he wanted was the truth. He doesn't need to know his entire story, of how he got here...he just wants some simple truth.
I'm all for giving children age appropriate information...but this was not even that. It was lies. This is my opinion. Fear on the adoptive parents part...which leads to questions and surpressed feelings on the childs part.
It's not my place to judge...but this family is missing out on an amazing connection to bring more love and honesty into their family.
I think it would be ENTIRELY age appropriate to let their son know that 'some lady' didn't carry him for nine months...but that his BIRTHMOTHER did. To let their son know that his BIRTHMOTHER loved him so much...that she chose his parents for him, and that she still loves him so much that she wants news on how he's doing and how big he's getting. That's not an overload for a kid to understand. It's pretty simple, and I believe, would answer a lot of questions for him...and give him a more secure foundation. I'm sure he's trying to figure out in his little heart who this 'lady that grew him' is and what that is all about.
This experience struck me hard. It made me shake my head and wonder why they would choose to deal with adoption in this way. I certainly could tell that these two boys were the apple of their mother and father's eye. They were both adorable, beautiful, smart and well-mannered kids.
But, really. How about some honesty, folks?
I do feel like sounding off on one experience, though.
Last Sunday I took Sally up on an invite to go to the kid's Christmas party for the 'Home' (the adoption agency which I was adopted through and numerous other people were, too and the Home still exists to this day). Sal no longer works there, but she did for many years and still gets an invite every year. Basically the party is for kids...adopted kids. If you haven't noticed...I am not a 'kid'.
But, since Sal seems to work in my life in amazing ways, I said yes to the invite. I also said, "Umm, you realize I'm 30 years old...right?" Her reply was, "Yes, I do, but you're still a Home baby." I swear I had never been taken to these Christmas parties as a child (although my mom insists she and my father took my brother and I once...and that we didn't like it).
We arrived...did the name-tag business (fyi...name-tags are a pet peeve of mine...probably because - surprisingly - I'm a really private person) and Sal introduced me to a couple of people...and then we both parted. Sal connected with a ton of people and families and I made my way around the room chatting with various adopted kids...but mostly adoptive parents and their relatives.
I connected with one woman, who I will call Sarah. She and her hubby had two adopted boys...ages 8-ish and 4 years old.
Sarah actually approached me, as did many other people...because while my Sal made her rounds...she kept pointing me out to people as the "30 year old Home baby". So this would be the first thing out of their mouths when I said, "Hi, I'm Laurel." (The first few times I was thinking...what the heck? Then I clued in and found it amusing.)
I tend to ask a lot of questions when I meet people. It's not because I'm nosey...but I'm just genuinely interested in people's stories. And, given that everyone at this party was connected to adoption in some way...it was an open door to this subject. So, I asked a lot of Sarah.
Sarah shared with me that her boys knew they were adopted. Her oldest son had a semi-open adoption with letters (and pictures?) exchanged at least twice a year w/his bmom. Her youngest son had a closed adoption, although she and her hubby had met his bmom. Her oldest son did not know of his open adoption or that his parents have contact with his birthmother. Sarah said that it would be too difficult for him to understand. I said I begged to differ.
While we were chatting, her eldest kept coming over, standing close...walking by...standing with us. When he would do this, his mother would talk in a hushed tone, ask him to leave or say something about 'the lady that grew him in her tummy.'
Yes, that's correct. She refers to his birthmother as 'the lady that grew him in her tummy'. I was actually shocked. It's almost 2009 and there is still this secrecy and speaking in some kind of code?
I shared some of my story...about growing up knowing that I was adopted and what questions I had and offered some advice (as gently as I could).
The most shocking piece of info she shared with me? She said that she told her son that although it's not a secret that he's adopted...that he shouldn't go sharing this info at school and with others, because, "it's a private family matter."
I felt so sad for her son. She said he is pretty quiet...that he's brought up the subject more lately...but not too much. His behavior there, to me, weighed so heavy on my heart...because I knew he wanted more info. And all he wanted was the truth. He doesn't need to know his entire story, of how he got here...he just wants some simple truth.
I'm all for giving children age appropriate information...but this was not even that. It was lies. This is my opinion. Fear on the adoptive parents part...which leads to questions and surpressed feelings on the childs part.
It's not my place to judge...but this family is missing out on an amazing connection to bring more love and honesty into their family.
I think it would be ENTIRELY age appropriate to let their son know that 'some lady' didn't carry him for nine months...but that his BIRTHMOTHER did. To let their son know that his BIRTHMOTHER loved him so much...that she chose his parents for him, and that she still loves him so much that she wants news on how he's doing and how big he's getting. That's not an overload for a kid to understand. It's pretty simple, and I believe, would answer a lot of questions for him...and give him a more secure foundation. I'm sure he's trying to figure out in his little heart who this 'lady that grew him' is and what that is all about.
This experience struck me hard. It made me shake my head and wonder why they would choose to deal with adoption in this way. I certainly could tell that these two boys were the apple of their mother and father's eye. They were both adorable, beautiful, smart and well-mannered kids.
But, really. How about some honesty, folks?
Saturday, December 6, 2008
Wow...
I called M this afternoon (I tried yesterday and last night and got no answer). Today she answered. She is not coming to meet with me next Sunday. Something to do with baking...she forgot...something.... But, my ability to listen ended after she said, "I'm not coming."
Instead, I heard:
- You're not good enough
- I'm putting myself first
- I'd rather bake than spend time with you
- I can't even spare an hour for you
- You left me, so now I'm leaving you
- We've basically spent 30 years apart, let's keep that going
- You're not worthy
- I don't care about you
- I don't love you
...and numerous other things.
It was all I could do to hold it together. She started to talk about my sister, the weather and decorations, but I cut her off and said I needed to go.
I have no words.
My heart...it just hurts.
(Note: to the folks following my blog...thanks for your comments and questions - I appreciate them.)
Instead, I heard:
- You're not good enough
- I'm putting myself first
- I'd rather bake than spend time with you
- I can't even spare an hour for you
- You left me, so now I'm leaving you
- We've basically spent 30 years apart, let's keep that going
- You're not worthy
- I don't care about you
- I don't love you
...and numerous other things.
It was all I could do to hold it together. She started to talk about my sister, the weather and decorations, but I cut her off and said I needed to go.
I have no words.
My heart...it just hurts.
(Note: to the folks following my blog...thanks for your comments and questions - I appreciate them.)
Friday, December 5, 2008
Nine sleeps...
I’m prepping to meet with my birthmother, M. We’re meeting on the 14th – and just so everyone is aware – that is in 9 sleeps. I’ve been riding a wave of emotions.
I’ve written the letter, to read to M. Initially I wrote this letter to get my thoughts out of my head and heart, with no intention in sending it to her or sharing it with her. But, now, I will be reading it to her next Sunday. It’s six pages long, now. It’s completely finished (and approved by Sal), except for a little bit at the end that I need to add.
Sal and I had picked the 14th date some weeks ago, but I only summoned up the courage to call M, last week. I had not really spoken to her (on the phone) since September. I had sent her two notes to let her know that I was thinking of her, in the mail. I also did call her and leave a voicemail, too. I called her this time to see if she was willing to meet with Sal and I on the 14th.
When M answered the phone, I said, “Hi, it’s Laurel calling…” and immediately her tone changed. She said, “Oh, you’re calling me NOW? Where have you been?” She was mad. I tried to focus on my intention for the call. Getting her to come to the city and meet me with (with Sal in the room). But, she did everything to get the conversation as furthest away from my intention as possible.
I would compare the convo that we had to that of convincing a child to eat their supper…in order to get their dessert. In this situation, the supper is the real issue and feelings on the table…and the dessert is me. It was like being in the middle of the sea in a dingy…it was just out of control.
M told me that I keep leaving her. That I left her in the first place…and she said, “Please don’t leave me, Laurel. Please don’t leave me.” Then she circled around to not coming to the meeting…or maybe she could make time for it…and then she said she would. It went back and forth like this. She was extremely manipulative. I just kept steering the dingy back towards land…and focused on my intention. To get her here.
What does one say when someone begs you to stay? To not leave them, again? I said nothing. What could I say?
M is the one who made the decision to place me for adoption. I had no choice. It’s done…we can’t go back…so don’t take me back there. Yet, my emotions take me often, ‘back there’. I steered away from that subject, because neither of us would win. And, I’m not going to convince her to eat her supper…if she can’t or won’t. And unless she does eat her supper…there is no chance for us to have any kind of relationship.
I am desperately sad. I am desperately grieving. I am desperately trying not to let those tears start to pour out…because it’s possible that they will never end. There is so much pain, sadness and just…an overwhelming sense of loss, in all of this. I’m not ignoring the amazing things that adoption has provided to me…but I’m not talking about that right now.
M throws a few points at me regularly.
1. “You have no idea what it is like to be a mother and to have to give away your child.”
She’s correct. But in turn, she doesn’t know what it’s like to be a child given up, by their mother. I don’t argue that I don’t get it…that I’m not in her shoes…but, I do have the ability to try to imagine and to feel that of course it was difficult. I know that.
2. “I could have had an abortion, but I didn’t.”
Yes, M, you could have had an abortion. You could have also kept me…but you did neither. Also, I am completely pro-choice…so choosing NOT to have an abortion or choosing TO have an abortion does not score any brownie points with me. I don’t have the right to judge anyone’s choices…and when you make a choice like that…it’s a woman’s choice and she has to deal with God on that one.
3. “Oh…really???” (In response to me saying I have some adoption issues I need to sort out.)
Are you kidding me? Do you really, honestly and wholeheartedly believe that I came out of this unscathed? That I don’t hurt? That I don’t have questions? That I only bother with you when I have a few free minutes and take pity on you? M is completely selfish on this point. And, I’ve come to understand that her denial is all about lies. In order for her to keep going…she had to make up lies for the choice she made…and go into denial. Her child – me – had to have a perfect life, in order for her to have to live with her decision…and I think she believes I did.
After she begged me not to leave her for the 5th time, I gave her the date and time and asked her if she could be there…yes or no. She said yes. Of course she’ll be there…she wants her dessert. We all do. But will she be willing to eat her supper first? Will she be willing to taste it’s awfulness and darkness? Will she swallow it…knowing that the dessert will take that bad taste away…if she can bear to live with it first?
I’m going to see a friend tomorrow…just before noon…she lives about an hour outside of my city. I’m going to read her my letter. I’m unsure how this is going to happen, because I can’t even read the letter to myself. I really am afraid of the tears…and the feelings.
I’m also frustrated that I haven’t shared any of this with my family. I can’t, because they can’t support me in the way I need. In seeps jealousy and fear…and I have enough to deal with than to have to comfort my mother…when she should know that I love her to death and would never leave her. I just wish that I could trust that she won’t get short with me…or bring up all of her fears and put them on my plate. It’s a tricky situation. I just can’t go there…so here I am, depending on some friends and on a woman – Sally – that I haven’t even known for a year.
It’s just difficult. All of this.
Now I have to call M and give her the address where we're meeting. I'm going to call her - hopefully - before I leave work...so I can say I need to head into a meeting. I don't feel like paddling a dingy today.
And, on we go…
I’ve written the letter, to read to M. Initially I wrote this letter to get my thoughts out of my head and heart, with no intention in sending it to her or sharing it with her. But, now, I will be reading it to her next Sunday. It’s six pages long, now. It’s completely finished (and approved by Sal), except for a little bit at the end that I need to add.
Sal and I had picked the 14th date some weeks ago, but I only summoned up the courage to call M, last week. I had not really spoken to her (on the phone) since September. I had sent her two notes to let her know that I was thinking of her, in the mail. I also did call her and leave a voicemail, too. I called her this time to see if she was willing to meet with Sal and I on the 14th.
When M answered the phone, I said, “Hi, it’s Laurel calling…” and immediately her tone changed. She said, “Oh, you’re calling me NOW? Where have you been?” She was mad. I tried to focus on my intention for the call. Getting her to come to the city and meet me with (with Sal in the room). But, she did everything to get the conversation as furthest away from my intention as possible.
I would compare the convo that we had to that of convincing a child to eat their supper…in order to get their dessert. In this situation, the supper is the real issue and feelings on the table…and the dessert is me. It was like being in the middle of the sea in a dingy…it was just out of control.
M told me that I keep leaving her. That I left her in the first place…and she said, “Please don’t leave me, Laurel. Please don’t leave me.” Then she circled around to not coming to the meeting…or maybe she could make time for it…and then she said she would. It went back and forth like this. She was extremely manipulative. I just kept steering the dingy back towards land…and focused on my intention. To get her here.
What does one say when someone begs you to stay? To not leave them, again? I said nothing. What could I say?
M is the one who made the decision to place me for adoption. I had no choice. It’s done…we can’t go back…so don’t take me back there. Yet, my emotions take me often, ‘back there’. I steered away from that subject, because neither of us would win. And, I’m not going to convince her to eat her supper…if she can’t or won’t. And unless she does eat her supper…there is no chance for us to have any kind of relationship.
I am desperately sad. I am desperately grieving. I am desperately trying not to let those tears start to pour out…because it’s possible that they will never end. There is so much pain, sadness and just…an overwhelming sense of loss, in all of this. I’m not ignoring the amazing things that adoption has provided to me…but I’m not talking about that right now.
M throws a few points at me regularly.
1. “You have no idea what it is like to be a mother and to have to give away your child.”
She’s correct. But in turn, she doesn’t know what it’s like to be a child given up, by their mother. I don’t argue that I don’t get it…that I’m not in her shoes…but, I do have the ability to try to imagine and to feel that of course it was difficult. I know that.
2. “I could have had an abortion, but I didn’t.”
Yes, M, you could have had an abortion. You could have also kept me…but you did neither. Also, I am completely pro-choice…so choosing NOT to have an abortion or choosing TO have an abortion does not score any brownie points with me. I don’t have the right to judge anyone’s choices…and when you make a choice like that…it’s a woman’s choice and she has to deal with God on that one.
3. “Oh…really???” (In response to me saying I have some adoption issues I need to sort out.)
Are you kidding me? Do you really, honestly and wholeheartedly believe that I came out of this unscathed? That I don’t hurt? That I don’t have questions? That I only bother with you when I have a few free minutes and take pity on you? M is completely selfish on this point. And, I’ve come to understand that her denial is all about lies. In order for her to keep going…she had to make up lies for the choice she made…and go into denial. Her child – me – had to have a perfect life, in order for her to have to live with her decision…and I think she believes I did.
After she begged me not to leave her for the 5th time, I gave her the date and time and asked her if she could be there…yes or no. She said yes. Of course she’ll be there…she wants her dessert. We all do. But will she be willing to eat her supper first? Will she be willing to taste it’s awfulness and darkness? Will she swallow it…knowing that the dessert will take that bad taste away…if she can bear to live with it first?
I’m going to see a friend tomorrow…just before noon…she lives about an hour outside of my city. I’m going to read her my letter. I’m unsure how this is going to happen, because I can’t even read the letter to myself. I really am afraid of the tears…and the feelings.
I’m also frustrated that I haven’t shared any of this with my family. I can’t, because they can’t support me in the way I need. In seeps jealousy and fear…and I have enough to deal with than to have to comfort my mother…when she should know that I love her to death and would never leave her. I just wish that I could trust that she won’t get short with me…or bring up all of her fears and put them on my plate. It’s a tricky situation. I just can’t go there…so here I am, depending on some friends and on a woman – Sally – that I haven’t even known for a year.
It’s just difficult. All of this.
Now I have to call M and give her the address where we're meeting. I'm going to call her - hopefully - before I leave work...so I can say I need to head into a meeting. I don't feel like paddling a dingy today.
And, on we go…
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