JOY

As I recover from my annual knock-me-on-my-ass cold and finish thank-you notes from the holidays, I've been reflecting on the holiday season that was actually packed with lovely things...

On Christmas Eve I got to have brunch with Mami, liquor shop with my Dad, and see my original nugget, home from teaching and selling cheese in NOLA.  On Christmas my parents and I went to a really good movie, did some decorating, and opened some presents.  That evening we hung out with our second immediate family and their extended family for lots of food and gab.  Later I went to a bar two blocks away for a major high school flashback (plus more drinking legally minus making out in bathrooms).  Even later that night  I came as close to fulfilling a freshman fantasy as you can without ruining it.

The next day we had our 3rd annual party and it was a doozy.  I felt a little extra pressure to make sure it was one people talked about until next year because Megan is overseas and I wanted to make her proud, plus some lovely sisters even came down from Minny just for the occasion.  I think I succeeded; the number of people that tell me they look forward to the party more than the actual holiday supports this, as well as the number of people that slept on various surfaces around my parents house that night after playing games until 5am that are always a bad idea except for when you're drunk enough.  (We were.)

I stuck around town a few extra days to hang out with some snowed in East-Coasters, and it meant more quality time all around, especially with my parents and miniature people.  (See below.)

To top it all off, I got to go to New York for one of my besties 30th birthday party a couple of weeks later, thanks to the generosity and airline miles of a dear friend.  It was, as Tommy put it, one of the "Top 5 epic weekends".  Truly.  Complete with margaritas and whiskey all over Brooklyn, speeding cabs in the snow, making friends with Australian strangers, karaoke in more than one private room, discovering that bar time isn't until almost dawn (with the drawback that you can't get pizza in Brooklyn at almost dawn), one cousin, one favorite musician, one really Bad Kitty, some of the best friends that the universe has ever beheld, and last but certainly not least a big Packer win celebrated with a bunch of fellow cheeseheads plus my new future ex-husband who doesn't know it yet.

Some select moments that make me happy all over:

Which one is my mother?  Sometimes we can't tell:

Another Big and Mini that I love:

 

Epic Morning After brunch:

 

2nd Day of Recovery Lunch:

 

In this picture there are two of the best friends anyone could ask for (who also happen to be sisters), three glasses of wine (out of the shot), one baby whom I love, and one puffer fish bath toy:

"I will buy you beer one day...":

Rachel's favorite French beer to start NYE:

New Year's Day Roses and Champagne:

Somebody's afraid of heights...

Bad Kitty...

"And maybe be your baby tonight...":

"Maybe be my baby tonight..." from Caitlin Scanlon on Vimeo.



I sort of want to live in Tommy's video of his trip to WI:

Horray Wisconsin! from thomas schwenn on Vimeo.

Coffee, Wine, Home

About a week and a half ago (before coverage of the northeastern portion of the country, which is another story...)  I was working for a few hours in the afternoon with Fuzz at Common Roots and it all sank in a little bit... I walked there, and would walk home.  When I broke the coffee grinder a couple weeks ago, I walked there, bought a couple cups, and walked home.  Walked.  For the last few years I lived in one of the most beautiful places on the planet, with two of my favorite people.  But I couldn't walk to get myself a cup of coffee.  I know this might ring hollow to a lot of folks, but as I was sitting with my friend drinking coffee, then a glass of wine because it seemed like the right thing and we could, I realized I was exactly where I should be.

There is the stress of not being employed and the worry about how long it will take to find something I can love.  There is the settling in with the roommates.  There is the weather getting just cold enough to make me realize how bitter cold it is actually going to get.  There is a lot of Vikings fans.  (There's a lot of Packers fans too though, so I'm not alone.)  But then there's being able to walk to get coffee, wine, pho, ice cream, cheese curds...  There's the walk to the lake that I can run around.  There's the beauty of the electric autumn trees.  There's music, so much music.  I haven't been in a place that's this musically inclined since Viejo San Juan.  (There - reggaeton and salsa.  Here - indie rock and local hip hop.  It's all delicious.)

So I'm going to shop for mittens and sweaters and other winter accessories.  When I see a Vikings Jersey I will smile and so "Go Pack!"  I will find a job, and it will be because I want to be there and I chose it. This apartment will be my home.  I am home.

Start

I'm in Minneapolis.

I arrived 9 days ago, but then left for three days, so it's just now that I feel like I'm actually here.  Mostly.  I've slept most of the last 2 days on an air mattress that I think might be responsible for a backache and some really strange dreams.

I have to get a bed.  I have to get a job.  I have to start getting out of bed before lunchtime.  I have to stop letting the fact that the movers in charge of my stuff are jerks put me in a bad mood.  I have to write some thank-you for the wonderful, generous, loving things people did to help me leave.  I have a lot to do.

It's cold in the mornings, warm in the afternoons, and other than rain last week sunny and cheerful outside.

So it begins.

June Was a Big Month...

Which should explain why I only published three blogs over the month.

I was my best friends maid of honor and shared a magical weekend with her family, mine, and a group of some of the most wonderful people on the planet.  I loved taking charge and knowing what needed to be done without her having to tell me, I loved feeling like I was really helping her marry this man, whom I love too; I loved being around all the people, I loved the ceremony of it all, I loved the kids, I loved staying up until sunrise every night with her brother who became a man and a father in the eight years since I had last seen him, I loved all the music and drinking and food, all the quotations that only those of us who were around all weekend really get ("that's what she said"), I loved my sister being such a help to me and everyone and my parents being able to celebrate with us, I loved being around my oldest and best friends for days straight, and I love being included in everything this family that invited me in 20 years ago did.

I spent about 36 hours in Virginia for a wedding that most of this country would consider invalid.  The 'best-of-times-worst-of-times' year of my life was survived because of a small group of friends, a few of whom have survived in this group we call the Jager Girls.  (Yes, that Jager.)  That year in Fayetteville we drank a lot, we fought a little, we never got arrested, and together we survived what was for most of us the most difficult year of our lives.  They are the ones that didn't ask but just showed up after Brendan died; they cooked and brought liquor (Jager, duh) and cigarettes, distraction, tissues, hugs, and so much love.
Around that time two years ago Mel was about to leave the job she had held and excelled at for most of her adult life because they said she couldn't love Dawn and still do her job.  (They are proof, by the way, that that rule is bullshit.)  Dawn and Mel live together in Virginia now and as of early June are happily (and legally, thanks to the District of Columbia) married.  I got to be there to celebrate, help with a garter, drink a lot, cry a little, laugh more than anything, and love some of my favorite women (and some of their children) in the world.

My sister spent the last three years, arguably the most difficult of her life, working on a masters degree from a very important and very expensive school.  She'd argue the ivy is bullshit but damn if it doesn't have a nice ring to it.  She finished in May.  In June (the day I came back to Madison from VA) we had a nice little party for her.  Our sister from another mister gave us the theme, my mom and I brainstormed the map as guestbook, I found Dora napkins, and we had enough sparkling goodness that Megan had a full glass the whole night.  It was lovely.

The day after Megan's party was the day before the 2-year mark of our brother dying.  This year it rained, and there were fewer people, but it was just about perfect.  There was printing and drinking and crying and laughing.  Brendan was remembered, and toasted more than once.  This sting is so much less now than it was even a year ago, yet the absence is larger than ever.  It's been that much longer since I heard him laugh, since I heard him say "HI sister...".  I have some new shirts, and Solve has many more fans.  He'll never be gone, but my life will never be whole.

A few days later, I came back to California.  I wasn't as happy as I should have been to come home, but seeing Aunt and Uncle and the dogs (who helped Uncle pick me up from the bus stop, along with a cold beer hidden under an ice pack) made it warm and loving. 

Now I am moving forward.  Spending lots of time on things that feel good and spending enough time on things that I have to.  I am making decisions and sticking to them.  I am practicing trusting myself.  I am feeling loved.  I am feeling hope.  I am so excited for what's to come.  I am 10 days in to being 29, and it's going to be a great year.

Old Friends Are Gold

"p.s. You can't do a V-day post without thinking of me because of youth and roses and snow and walks and Pulp Fiction and kisses in the rain and Madison and weddings and my family and decades of each other.  Pretty simple, really."

One of my best friends in the whole world also happened to love me when we were teenagers.  I loved him too.  Sometimes he seems to forget what a long and tricky path we took to get here so I have to remind him.   

My Trip to Wisconsin So Far...

Snow
Hugs
Portraits
Love
Wine
Kisses
Dresses
Jameson
Besties
Crapples
Candles
Love
Coffee
Scrabble
Food Stamps
Casablanca
Beer
Photos
Love
Bridesmaids
Quiet
Socks
Love

Snow Day

Everybody loves a snow day.

Many of my folks enjoyed a doozy of a snow day yesterday in Madison. 

This is taken from the side of my parents porch before they started shoveling:

This is some time later, taken looking down the block, after quite a bit of shoveling:

















 I miss it so much. 

Dearest

Dear You,

I recorded a voice memo to myself a while ago, the morning you left, telling myself that it was probably for the best we hadn't had sex this time because we probably would have went and fallen in love. It is probably for the best that we've ruled out a relationship because I have a feeling that might be it for both of us.

Everything with you is simple, everything between us is so simple, which is why this is complicated. I don't talk about you with my friends except when they ask, and they usually don't because they've seen us together and yet they know you're not my boyfriend... so they know it couldn't be easy either way.

When I hear love and heartbreak songs on the radio, I think of others, ones who have all hurt. When I hear something that reminds me of home I think of you.

We had our bullshit between us early and I'm glad you got it out of the way. I'm also glad you apologized when we saw each other unexpectedly and I'm so glad I decided to listen. I'm so glad you walked me home that night and walked up the hill for me every night after.

You are a sweet surprise, you are comfort and safety, and you are probably impossible. We will both probably look back in five or ten years and think of one another with a smile, and wonder why or what if for just a moment, or a few if we're feeling nostalgic.

The truth is that's ok because I'd rather have you as a memory than not to have you at all.
The truth really is that I'd rather have you as my present than a part of my past.

Love,

Me

Dreamsharer/Go With It

I love telling people about my dreams.

I especially love telling people when they played a role it the dream. In fact, I wish I knew more about me showing up in other peoples dreams. I can't remember the last time that anybody told me about one. In fact, I can't remember the last time anybody told me about a dream period.

Is sharing your dreams with people a social faux pas? I know your own dreams are never as interesting to someone else as they are to yourself, but I just find them fascinating. A glimpse into our unconsciousness that's unavailable through any other avenue. Why not share?

I feel like my dreams have gotten closer and closer to my waking thoughts in the last couple of years. I used to have dreams that had characters in them that were ostensibly people I knew in real life but were so ludicrous and physically impossible that they wouldn't really affect me much beyond thinking I had a funny dream.

My anxiety dreams alwas used to be about calculus. Usually centering around not knowing where a final was or having a final and not having opened the book nor attending a class all semester. (By the way I haven't been in a math class since first semester freshman year in college. So, almost a decade.) These days I dream about things that have concrete connections to my real life. For example, my sister and I spent many hours planning a 40th wedding anniversary party for my parents last month. In the week before I flew home, I had a very vivid dream that I was in my parents house as I realized not only was our entire neighborhood starting to burn, but that our house was on fire. The only thing I could think was that I had to save my parents wedding photo album.

I've found also that my dreams have a weird way of being a reality check for me. That house burning dream forced me to admit, although not out loud, that I was really stressing out about the planning and worried about all the things that could go wrong. I tend to dream about men that I'm attracted to, whether or not there is actual sexual content in the dream, and I wake up having to own up to it to myself. Which is a good thing actually, but can be really frustrating when in the dream I was cuddled up to a man-friend but when I wake it's a teddy bear.

This is not to say that I think my unconscious thoughts are truths that I need to face up to. I had a dream that involved my ex, who in real life just had a baby with his new wife, and his mother and me, and I really wanted to tell him how much I cared about him and was happy for him. In real life, while I wish him no harm, I certainly don't have anything I need to say to him.

I know I've considered more seriously dreams since Brendan died, which from what I understand is pretty standard in grief. Dreams took on a new meaning for me last summer, when things were still so sharp and so very painful, and I had some dreams with and about Brendan. In the dreams I felt him alive, and that of course made it that much more difficult to wake up. The one I remember most vividly was one night before I was traveling home for a weekend. In the dream it was present tense, we were walking around I think Chicago, and I was explaining to Brendan what had happened and why he'd been gone for a few months. I skipped the part about him dying, because he couldn't have, because I was talking to him. At the end of the dream we were just sitting somewhere and I really had to pee. I told him, "I'm not going to go. I'll hold it. I'll stay asleep, so don't go anywhere. I'm staying asleep." That was the hardest dream to wake up from.

One of the better words of advice and comfort I've received from anyone was from one of my grief counselors. I was telling her about this dream and saying how badly, how desperately I wanted it to really be Brendan, how much I felt that this was him somehow but I didn't know if it was or if it felt like it was because I wanted it to be so badly. Her response? "Who cares?" I hadn't thought about it like that. She pointed out that whatever it was, why question it? Why diagnose and analyze it? It felt real, it felt good, so go with it.

It felt real, it felt good, so go with it.

Home

It is a beautiful sunny summer day in Madison, Wisconsin. There are sounds of construction, birds, neighbors talking, my Dad talking, bikes going by... I am near convinced this is the best city in the world. I feel like I am waiting for something to prove to me that it has serious drawbacks so I don't just give up and move on back. I have slept about 4 - 5 hours every night for the last five, and I don't want to take a nap because that would mean less awake time with my family, my friends, and Madison.

When it rains...

My sister and I are planning a 40th wedding anniversary party for our parents. Since they happened to be married 39 years and one week exactly before their youngest child was killed, this has turned out to much more of an emotional enterprise than it might normally be.

My head is spinning - the planning of everything (anniversary party, somehow marking Megan's 30th although she is trying to pass it off, and then commemorating Brendan on the anniversary of his death) is taking a lot more time and energy than I bargained for. It's all happily spent and well worth it, but I am exhausted. I fly back to Wisconsin in two days and am preparing to strap in and enjoy the ride.

It's always the best and the worst of times, isn't it? A huge happy milestone so intrinsically intertwined with tragic loss and heartbreak. I am ready to celebrate and commemorate, and then I will be ready to take a big breath, and a long nap.

Mother's Daughter

Who would have thought that Mother's Day would be so full of almost-crying moments for me?

Very early this morning in the car I was listening to NPR as they closed one of their shows by announcing who did what (for example "This show was executively produced by Ona Motapia") but instead of saying their own names they said Daughter or Son of their mother's name. It took about a minute to do all the credits like that and I laughed first then got all choked up. And I know it wasn't just because I was up before dawn on a Sunday because that's par for the course these days.

Mid-morning I made the Mom Day phone call to the home base in Wisconsin, chit chatted with Daddy for a few, who then passed the phone to my sweet little mother. Most of our conversation consisted of talking about re-doing the windows of the house and spring allergy attacks, but at some random unexpected point in the conversation I had to take a moment of deep breaths so I didn't burst into tears. Not that crying on the phone to Mom is totally out of the ordinary, but it doesn't usually happen when talking about weather/home improvement.

Earlier this evening I was again listening to NPR as I worked on my very slow-going needlepoint project, and I caught the tail end of a story which consisted of a grown son who was given up for adoption speaking one side, and his biological mother speaking on the other. It was the story of him finding her and greeting her for the first time, and when the woman spoke of the feeling when the child that she had given up walked up to her to "initiate a hug" I choked up and once again had to reach for the kleenex.

I don't have kids and I'm not expecting them anytime soon, so the multiple teary-eyed moments caught me a little off guard. Maybe because as I'm watching more and more of my friends and contemporaries have kids I can relate more closely to parenthood? Maybe because I recently realized for the first time that I do indeed want to raise children one day?

Maybe because deep inside I'm just a little girl who really misses her Mommy.

Bananie

When I was in Kansas City over a weekend a little while back with a big chunk of my huge extended and adopted family, I spent most of the first day and night laughing at things coming out of my cousin Annie's mouth.

Although I am easily entertained and still find fart jokes pretty funny, this night also included at some point our youngest uncle deciding, since we were raiding his liquor cabinet anyway, to just set up a whole whiskey tasting extravaganza for about seven of us ranging from ages 19-30.
Absinthe however after about 5 'tastes' of different whiskeys is something I won't mind not repeating but boy did I feel good.

Annie is almost exactly six years younger than me and we grew up about a mile apart, and since I remember her being born AND worked as her 'nanny' for about a summer and half when I was in high school, I feel totally justified in claiming responsibility for 'basically raising her'. I coined that phrase over these last holidays during one of the first times we were in a bar legally together and I walked in and announced to her that "Mommy's gonna get drunk tonight" after which I proceeded to drink liquor at an exceedingly fast pace, cheered on by Annie, my sister, and a group of friends, until I found myself (along with everyone else) leaving Annie at the bar and going home to lock myself in the bathroom wondering why a tweezers wouldn't hold my hair up on my head, while Annie continued to drink bad tequila in my parents kitchen with a friend of ours.

Since that night, and since I told her parents that story complete with me claiming rearing responsibility and they found it hilarious, I try to work "I basically raised you" into almost any conversation I have with Annie.

I was railing on her about something that I was not proud of her for, like, having to leave Kansas City too early, or, maybe, not drinking something I wanted her to (frankly, I have no recollection what it was but those are two good guesses) and I said, "You are no child of mine!" to which she responded, and I know because I took this down word for word,
"You cannot just toss me and claim me at your will! I will not be that for you!"

Now, I understand this might very well be one of those you-had-to-be-there moments. However, just imagine how Annie, every time I say I may have had something to do with bringing her up, basically rolls her eyes and maybe squeezes out a chuckle for my sake. So for her to react with such endearing passion just about made me wanna weep, but I was too busy holding my pee in from laughing too hard.














Caitlin & Annie, 1990ish. Shortly before the jagerbombs.

Gratitude and Awe

Warning: What follows is on the mushy mush side, so consider yourself warned...


I've had a rough couple of weeks.

I have been feeling more fragile since I have been since last summer, and everything has been hitting me harder. It really kinda feels like the world is falling apart, got some bad news regarding the murder trial for my brother's death, and to top it off I had some sort of back spasm that resulted in me being in pain for the better part of this week.

Yet there is such undeniable beauty and love around me that it can't help but filter through my clouds - I am so thankful.

I spoke with my mother last weekend on her birthday and I got off the phone choked up because I love her so much, and because I get to have her love me too. We haven't always had the easiest of relationships (basically, 6th through 12th grade had some pretty rough spots) but she is one of the more amazing women that has ever walked this planet. She has survived unimaginable heartbreak, more than one time, and still loves us fiercely and beautifully.

I had talked to my aunt and uncle last night for about an hour about my mental/emotional state, and I am still so in awe of the love and support and advice that they give me so freely, so generously. They have been my soft place to land in some situations that could have been so much more horrible. AND I get to see them every day and learn from these two incredible people.

Today I drove down to the city just to spend the evening with a group of friends at a barbecue at a beautiful house on a hill. This is an incredible group that is made up mostly of people that I grew up with in Wisconsin who have ended up in northern California. Most of us have known each other since 9th grade, if not before, and we've traveled wildly different paths to get here. Some are married, some in grad school, and we are about to add the first baby to the group! We manage to get together every few months or so and it never fails to be damn good time that I never want to end. They are such different and interesting and good people, and I get to be included. I just love that. My stomach always hurts after these gatherings from laughing so much.

I went out last night with two best friends and I just had so much fun. Drinking, laughing, flirting, being a big fishy in a tiny tiny pond. The hangover was so worth it. Krystal told me today that the best part of last night was seeing me laugh and just be Caitlin, having fun. And I just did - after talking to auntie and uncle and being with my girlfriends I was able to shake off some of this weight and feel good. (Even if it was party fueled by booze and the weight comes right back tomorrow, it was so worth it.)



Shortly after Brendan died I told someone that I didn't believe in a god, but if I'd ever seen God, it was in the love and support that carried my family through those first weeks. I'm expanding that. I still see whatever That is in the people I am so unbelievably fortunate to have in my life.

I left my heart in...

I was looking for something in my email today and I came upon this email that I sent my aunt and uncle here in California about eight months after I had left CA and accidentally stayed in Puerto Rico. I found it to describe pretty well how I feel about my (too) short time in San Francisco and the haven that is my aunt and uncle's farm a bit north of the city, where I live now.

"Anyway I miss you both terribly. I've been really homesick for Cali lately, for the city and for the farm. I miss the afternoon sun in San Fran, the way it warms everybody up and you can see smiles, I miss walking back from the Farmer's market the bags hurting my arms because I way overestimated how much I could comfortably carry, I miss my bed, I miss the dive bars where the sorority girl sits next to the tattoo artist both happily drinking PBR. I miss the taquerias, I miss the BART, I miss the Mexican preachers w/ the bullhorns by the BART. I miss both bridges. I miss my family. I miss when you go around the last curve to your house and it appears on the hill and the sun hits the pond. I miss [the dog], and the pool, and the way he bounds into the pool to get as close to you as possible even though his nails are seriously dangerous. I miss pizza from the wood oven, duck, steak, lamb, roasting tomatoes. I miss the guest room and my room in the house. Sunday morning coffee and NYTimes and laundry and martinis and wine at night. And disco party karaoke. And you both.

That was probably a vent that I could have left to myself, but it's out so there ya go. I think I see myself less and less here for long term and more and more really just giving it a year, more or less. I miss home."

It took me almost two more years and helluva bumpy road but I finally did come back to stay, going on two years now.