Things have moved quickly over the last few weeks. I visited my mother in Colorado, came back home for a day and then left for Pennsylvania for a 3-day work meeting. Then back to NYC the day of the apocalyptic rain. Three of us Ditmarstons were on the move, and we all got home via public transportation, only to sit in traffic for an hour on the way to a wedding in downtown Brooklyn. 

But we made the vows, barely, and had a great time. We made a family toast that was perhaps over-Jewy, especially for us, the atheist family. The toast prompted the wife of the lesbian, Lutheran officiant to seek me out and tell me a comedic Jew story. I was baffled until Calvin cleared it up. “We over mazeled,” he said, referring to our family toast, in which he and I ended our sections with “Mazel tov!” We advertised a Judaism we do not practice. 

Wyatt/Shane got loaded on white wine, and that was a trip. He became garrulous and a 45-year-old drunken mom hit on him, sparking the notice of every other woman at the table, including Daisy, me, and another mom, who snuck that observation into Daisy’s Tarot card reading. He is 16 years old, though stands six foot two and has long dirty blond hair. He looks like a man but he is not a man. Oh, I cannot imagine what happens to him when we’re not around. To his credit, he didn’t seem to notice he was being eyed by a 45-year-old lady, but boy, we saw it. 

What a wedding! Oysters! Amazing oysters circulated. The ceremony occurred directly in front of the East River, crowded with ferries and big business-doing boats covered in mist and drizzling rain. It was glorious. They are a well-matched couple and I think it’s going to be a good marriage. 

Our former babysitter was the bride, so we were seated at a table with other families she worked for, and the now-young-adult kids. My son Wyatt was especially close to the bride and yet he, out of all of us, has the fewest memories he is willing to share. I think he was so close to her that she was part of him and he simply does not remember her. He used to jump off our couch into her arms as a very tall 6-year old. He loved her and she loved him, and I hope she took his rather uninspired (and tipsy) toast in stride. She lives inside him and will forever. 

The next day I stayed in bed until I absolutely had to get out of it and had to go to a PTA fundraiser, which was fun. The next day I just stayed in bed. 

Life is easier on me lately. Something big has shifted inside me and I’m finding it easier to take things in stride. For example, I am not getting mad at things anymore as much. It’s nice. As I write this, I am overcome by fatigue. I want to stop writing right now and leave this topic alone. Does this mean it’s very important or very, very boring? I have no idea. I have analyzed my anger and defensiveness to death, but I have not investigated this fatigue/boredom/abandonment issue. 

I do keep coming back to my lack of reaction to assholes and narcissists. When someone is going on and on, saying things I wish they would not say or revealing unwelcome things to me, a voice in my head says, “well, let’s give this a few more minutes and then let’s get the fuck out.” And then I do exactly that. And there’s no problem. 

Don’t get me wrong. I still live in a world of self-recrimination and regret. I still make inappropriate remarks quite often, but I never try to hurt anyone. I’m really clear that my intentions are always on the up and up, and I’m very proud of that. So when I do hurt someone’s feelings, and I do all the time, I address it sincerely and apologize. 

But this world of.. what is this world? This world where I’m not afraid of myself and what I might say in a spasm of insecurity. What is this world? Have other people been living in it and enjoying it? Why did no one tell me how nice it is to not scatter grenades for oneself around? 

The neighbor, oh the neighbor

Calvin and I are wondering if we are living in a protracted hospice state with her. She just seems to be deteriorating rapidly and every day emergency medical workers show up. The broken leg means she needs help going up and down the stairs, and so ambulance people come regularly to do this for her appointments. But there are many other instances in which she sits on her stoop smoking and blasting music and waiting for the ambulance people to show up. 

These are no fun because during those periods she’s been yelling at our stoop. She screams our address and our names, and we just try to avoid the whole thing. She even hectored poor Wyatt/Shane.

Last night a cop car, an ambulance, and a fire truck showed up but she was no where to be found and would not answer her phone. All the neighbors gathered around and giggled. One chatty cop told us that EMT guys were idiots. We told him the neighbor was mentally ill. 

I also got in touch with another neighbor who has agreed to write a letter of support for me in my housing court hearing. She’s going to say that the illegal additions to the house happened when she was a kid, long before we bought the house. 

How I’m going to get this notarized is still a work in progress. But it is hampered by the departure of my neighborhood boyfriend, the pharmacist. 

My neighborhood boyfriend has left the neighborhood

His pharmacy is boarded up and it is sad.