Doozlife

I have a horrible backlog of writing floating around in my head, yet somehow I keep pushing it to the back burner. Until I get around to getting that out of my head, you should check out The Mamas. It’s a new blog I’ve started with a friend of mine and a group of talented, smart and funny parents. We were looking for a venue for moms who work full-time (that includes those that stay at home because that’s a full-time job too) to talk about the ups and downs of parenting. I love that they’re all really honest and not afraid to be the kind of parents that they are … which is awesome!

Oh puppies.

   

lost brother, originally uploaded by Yaronimus Maximus.

I love Flickr. Not because it’s easy to use, or because it’s the first photo site I’d ever used (both are good reasons), but because at any given time, I can type in a few words to describe what I’m thinking about and get all sorts of interesting results. And often times, they describe exactly what I’m feeling in a way that I never could. 

In the past weeks, I’ve been thinking about my brother. Surprised to hear I have a brother? Most people are because I almost never speak of him. The reason? There isn’t much to say. I haven’t seen him in more than a decade and I honestly cannot recall the last time I spoke with him. He’s been estranged from us, which is a nicer way of saying we don’t speak anymore. And honestly, I don’t even remember what happened. It isn’t as if it was just one thing. There were a series of events that led up to all of us letting go of even the smallest threads that held us together.

He was adopted when he was 3 years old, the second in the family. Though I am a year younger, I had been adopted first. He came to us without a word of English, singing and sometimes shouting in Korean. Like myself and my sister, he was an orphan. I don’t know much about his background, but my mother often tells us that he was on the streets trying to fend for himself. She says that when he arrived, he would steal things and hide them out of fear. My memories are of him as a child are of him singing and laughing, playing Atari, hopping across our bunk beds and being bitten by our dog Princess. When we were kids, he was very much my father’s boy. He played hockey and adored my father. I remember him often goofing off a lot to make my parents laugh but also constantly pushing the limits. He had all of the bad ideas, the things that our parents told us not to do. Jumping off of the roof of the garage into our in-ground pool? His idea. Sneaking things we shouldn’t be eating? His idea. Watching things we shouldn’t be watching? His idea. It makes me realize now that his limit pushing started quite young. After my sister arrived, we both established our roles when we were babysat (and eventually were allowed to babysit). My role was (and as is often today) the responsible one and my brother’s role was the fun one. My sister adored him because he constantly allowed her to do things that I knew she should not. He cultivated that relationship and I can remember being resentful of his both his carelessness and her adoration of him.

And then, my father died. And everything changed. My brother seemed lost and lashed out at my mother. As he entered high school, he started messing around with drugs. He always wanted to seem like a big shot (something like my Dad, I suppose) and was always into something new that would elevate him further. His reputation proceeded him. When I entered high school, at one point the principal grabbed me by the back of my neck and said,”I hope you’re not like your brother.” Instead of being scared, I remember yanking myself away angrily and knowing even then that it was a ridiculous gesture. My mom and brother fought and it often centered around everything being my mother’s fault … including my father’s death. Eventually, he moved out and agreed to move in with my grandfather to finish high school and to stay out of trouble. The idea being, that a very small town in northern Michigan would prove easier to keep ones focus. Hardly.

He did finish high school in a small town where I am certain he was not only singled out for being Asian, but also had many a racist/prejudiced comment made. I went to school outside of Detroit and am still imprinted with the comments and ridicule I endured in grade school. I don’t want to portray northern Michigan as racist, but I can assure you that it has its moments. Shortly after, in an effort to make my grandfather happy he joined the Navy. My grandfather had served in the Navy when he was a young man and often told us stories of his time aboard a ship. He (my grandfather) had an undying belief in my brother and so wanted him to succeed. Although he loved us all, it was clear that he preferred his grandson over girls. I remember him once telling me not to get pregnant. That slightly sums up the way he felt about girls. That’s not to say he didn’t love us, but he was very old-fashioned. And so off to the Navy he went and he loved it. Despite his differences with my mother, he sent letters and spoke with her. We drove to Waukegan past Great America and a fake pyramid to attend his graduation from boot camp prior to being sent to Coronado, CA (a base notorious for its meth use). 

This could very well have been the beginning of our threads unraveling for good. He seemed happy in the Navy,  but as with many things in his life, it was short lived as maybe the shine wore off the idea and the day-to-day was much harder to deal with. He began using crystal meth. I recall being in college and receiving erratic phone calls from him at all hours of the morning. He would often be cleaning something after being up for days. Soon after, he received a dishonorable discharge for a drug test he failed to pass. I begged him to come back to MI. At the time, I thought the environment was the issue and believed that if he came back and started a new life, he could get back into school and straighten things out.

He did come back. He got a place and got a job at a car dealership. Started to drive around a big fancy truck he couldn’t afford. He was forever talking a big talk, showing off and wanting people to know that he had succeeded and was doing well. Now that I look back, it seems like he was running. I don’t remember what happened next very clearly. I just know that he made some promises he couldn’t keep. I know he took my sisters savings late one night and my mom threatened to call the police if he didn’t give it back. And then we didn’t speak … and what started out as weeks turned into months and years and here we are.

Looking back now, my impression of him is frozen in time and probably not 100% accurate. Memory does funny things to actual events. When I think of him, I think of him as a hustler. As someone that always wanted to be flashy and a stand out, but always wanted the quick fix. There was seemingly never any longer term thought. He went through cars, places to live and even friends with such a reckless ferocity that I could never keep up, much less understand where he was coming from. But, most of all, I don’t feel as though I ever really knew him. I could never have a real conversation with him. There was always something else going on behind whatever he was saying to me. There was a false sense of sibling camaraderie that always seemed staged and disingenuous from both of us. Even the time we shared as brother and sister didn’t seem to factor in properly to our relationship as adults (or at least twenty-somethings). I never understood him and I’m sure it was the same for him. I think now, that he needed help. Some sort of counseling or therapy earlier on to help him to deal with both my father’s death and his deeply ingrained feelings of never being good enough. Back then, it seemed impossible with my mother raising three kids with the mound of debt my father left, a large mortgage and having newly gone back to work.

So, here we are. You would think with the reach of the interwebs that I would randomly find him on Facebook or somewhere like that. But, as of yet, no dice. My mother said he may have spent some time in prison for insurance or loan fraud. I’m not sure if that’s true. She swears she saw him at a casino in Traverse City, but I don’t know if it was really him. I do know that she continues to be tortured about the whereabouts of her son. A part of her (that, I now understand) cannot ever let go of the thought that somehow this is her fault. I disagree with her completely. We all make choices in life. But, since having my own son, I can empathize with her. Most of the time I wonder how he is and if he’s found a new family. He’s got the advantage in contact, as my mom’s phone number is the number my grandparents had for almost 30 years. I cannot begin to imagine being disconnected from your family, free floating through life without the grounding of the people that new you before you could make your own mistakes. The people that know the most about why.

In the end, I hope that he has a family. I hope that he thinks about us as well. I hope that he knows we think about him. Most of all, I hope that he’s found some sense of peace and happiness in his life. 

I’m feeling pretty low. So is Penny. She hurt her paw today and can’t seem to get comfortable. I just gave her a little pain reliever/anti-inflammatory in the hopes she’ll get a little relief. Unfortunately, there’s no magic pill to get rid of this cold/sinus infection/blocker of my happiness. I know that over the counter meds just kill the symptoms and don’t actually solve the problem and hey, I’m okay with that. Sadly though, my sinusitis refuses to backdown to medication that should make me peel my eyelids back.

And did I mention D is still sick too? He’s cold has been lingering for a week and a half and though he’s pretty much back to full strength, he has a leftover cough and constantly runny little nose. We may be hitting the pediatrician this week just to make sure that he’s truly on the mend.

Sheesh, what a household full of sickies. Despite the fact that Friday was the first day of Spring, this lingering winter is really starting to get to me. I’m keeping my fingers crossed for a little sunshine to help us out. So, large glowing thing, if you’re out there somewhere … please come our way before we get any pastier.

There should be a movie called “The Z-Strain” and it can be about the particular brand of uber germ that continues to cycle through my office. Everyone has had it … TWICE. It somehow adds insult to injury that tomorrow is the first day of Spring. Really? Because I’m still wearing a down coat.

In the meantime, poor D is finally getting over a cold that’s lasted over a week. This winter has been brutal … from the abnormal snowfall to the seemingly constant colds. I’m holding on for flip flop weather.

The bright light? I managed to secure two tickets to My Bloody Valentine at the WaMu (or shall we call it Chase?) theater. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity for sure. Bring your earplugs kids.

There is no story to this post and thankfully so. If I have to talk about “telling a story” outside of the work week, I just might poke my eye out with the shift key (no time to explain). So, this post will have no point, it will ramble and not even both to knit together a them or a point. You might be asking yourself,”Wait, how is this different than the usual posts?” and you would be right in doing so.

I’ve been getting quite a bit of reading done lately, thanks to a successive list of excellent recommendations and good finds. The last two books have been stand outs for sure and actually fall into the Holy Grail of all categories for me: inspiration. The Creative Habit by Twyla Tharpe is a book that I’ve been annoying all of my collective creative co-workers (which is pretty much ALL of them) with. I picked it up after seeing a recommend for it over at 43 Folders and read it cover to cover. I managed to get it pretty quickly from the library and knew once I started reading that it was a book that I needed to own and would be coming back to. It wasn’t the typical, you are an artiste, do funky things to inspire yourself, lock yourself in a room kind of stuff. It was written much more broadly with fantastic examples (to illustrate her points, not to demonstrate) of a broad spectrum of people who all achieved great things through talent and discipline. I’m not explaining it very well, but just know that it actually also gave me a slightly different point of view towards my actual day-to-day work. In short, book=good.

I read this on the heels of Twenty Fragments of a Ravenous Youth which was also excellent and also inspiring (though in a much more subtle way). The story chronicles the experience of a self-recognized country bumpkin who has moved to Shanghai to start a career. The writing is fresh and seems to capture what the experience of a single girl in modern day China might really be like. Through her earlier life, very much a reflection of China’s past and her current life (working everyday, eating noodle bowls and watching a pirated copy of Betty Blue) her story made me a little nostalgic for that anything is possible/nothing’s happening feeling I used to have back in my twenties.

Remember when I said there would be no damn theme? Have you heard the new Yeah Yeah Yeahs? It’s called Zero and if the entire album is like what I’ve heard so far, then I’m TOTALLY sold. It’s digitally released in the US on the 10th and in store on March 31st. I’ve been going through this “I detest all of my music” phase and I’m looking for the YYYs new album to pull me out of it.

Why is the Sony Xperia so damned expensive and when is it going to be offered by a US carrier (so I can avoid spending $799 for the current free agent version)? I don’t have an iPhone. Surprising? Yes. Logical? Yes. My company pays for my phone and service (which also happens to have an unlimited data plan) and honestly I can’t justify the cost of an extra phone. And I have to tell you, other phones just aren’t as sexy. I had high hopes for the G1s, but Android doesn’t support Exchange. What the hell? That’s a deal breaker for me.

Heather Armstrong (Dooce) is coming to speak at Third Place Books at the end of March to read from her book It Sucked and Then I Cried: How I Had a Baby, a Breakdown, and a Much Needed Margarita. I’m definitely going!

Heff watched the boy (who was already down for the night) while Mark and I went out last night. It was a spur of the moment kind of thing, so we didn’t have any specific plans. We found out that while we were waiting for D to be old enough for us to turn back into our former selves, we realized we are not our former selves. Who knew? We went to a small bar called Gainsbourg (yes, named after Serge) and had a couple of drinks and a couple small plates of unimpressive food. Turns out, we’re not that big on drinking as our main social activity anymore. NOW what are we going to do? Just kidding. We did decide that next time we are going to make reservations at Crush for dinner. We still have a gift certificate and offer of baby sitting from my sister and it’s been ages since I’d been there last.

Working on something else, but I’ll save that for later. Good Sunday night.

Is it possible that RAM could improve one’s quality of life? Yes, yes it can. I just installed a stick of RAM into the old Cougar and I have to say, it’s made her quite snappy. She needs more, this was somewhat of a test to see if it was even worth it. Now I’m convinced that I just need a gelaskin to sexy things up and make her last a bit longer. Despite the fact that I’m a little pissed at Apple for being so expensive, the truth remains that I’ve had The Cougar for a LONG time and still don’t feel the urge to give up on her yet. If it had been a PC, I would have long ago upgraded.

That said, I’m still giving a little thought to buying a mini, mostly for work and ease of moving around where my larger machine isn’t needed. It’s a hard sell though. I’ve pretty much worked on Apple machines for the life of my computer experience and the thought of having a laptop running Win 7 makes me throw up in my mouth just a little.

Every letter I type could be the last. Better make it good. After a long and happy life my Powerbook (commonly known as ‘the cougar’) has started to take a dump. It started with a system failure message I’ve never seen before and then escalated into a cmd line screen that refused to respond to mac-boot. I’m afraid she’s got a touch of dementia. She’s served me well over the years and though she is starting to look her age (due to a missing key, plucked off by a certain small person we shall not name). She survived a trip back to Apple to fix a faulty monitor and a dead firewire port. This is the first time that she’s actually had any issues at all running applications and this is by far my favorite keyboard touch (though I do like the new thin keyboards as well). I do not have the dough lying around to buy a new laptop right now (especially not the setup I’d need), so I’ll be dropping by the Mac store in the U-District to pick up some replacement ram later. Hopefully, that will fix the issue and stretch the long life out a bit longer.

WARNING: This post is going to be ramble-y.

A lot of things have been going through my mind lately and while I used to be able to capture those things on paper, I find that it’s not so easy anymore. Things number one: instead of making the typical New Year’s Resolutions … things I plan to do in 2009, I thought it might be more realistic to think about the kind of person I’d like to be this year. Here’s what I have so far:

• I’d like to be the kind of person that leaves small gifts for the mailman. Why? Because it’s always good to let someone you rely on six days a week that you appreciate their consistency (and the fact that they always take the time to bring up the packages to the door and say hello). Oh and also, it’s just plain nice.
• I’d like to be the kind of person that writes letters. Why? Isn’t it obvious? Think about the last time you received a letter (it doesn’t count if it’s addressed to “Resident at …”). Did you read it more than once? Did you save it for a moment when you could drink a cup of tea and savor it? Now tell me when the last time was that you did that for an email. Exactly.
• I want to be the sort of person that remembers birthdays. Sigh. I used to be really good at this and have become lax. I don’t mean the facebook ubiquitious birthday email. I mean a birthday phone call, or a birthday card.
• Oh and I’d also like to be the kind of person that laughs more. You know the kind of laughter you have when your mouth is open, but nothing is coming out and you are in actual physical pain from the funniness? Yeah, that’s the kind of laughter I need more of. Okay, this one is a little cheat-y, but you it’s important.

Okay, so that’s a relatively short list but I’m working on it. I’ll let you know how that goes. I almost added that I’d like to be the sort of person that can eat crusty bread, but I WILL be that sort of person in another week or so (fingers crossed). Let me just say, if your doctor recommends your child have their tonsils removed do them a favor and just get it over with! Because, if they wait until they are in their thirties and won’t be able to eat anything for solid for two whole weeks they are going to be very grumpy. Just a bit of advice.

I think Mark is really going to take over the Dooz site to do a Dooz-A-Day sort of thing where he’ll post a different photo of him each day specifically for our families and friends that are far away … ahem, so most of them. I’m planning on working on that this weekend, along with archiving some of the old posts.

I spoke with my stepfather today and he sounded a little bit better. His road to recovery is going to be tough and a little long, but we’re grateful for the small things right now. He made a few jokes which is really important. He’s always been a really positive person and adaptable in a way that few people really are. It’s hard to be grounded (I can’t travel until I’m well again) so far away when he’s been so ill. Thankfully, he’s at least out of ICU and no longer intubated and is breathing fine on his own and without the assistance of oxygen. We’ll be keeping out fingers crossed because I’d also like to be the kind of person who has a healthy father. Can’t afford to lose two in one lifetime. That doesn’t seem fair, does it?

The end.

To celebrate the new year, I thought I’d have my tonsils taken out. Yes, thank you for asking, that IS in fact a surgery that one usually has when you’re ten. Not me. I have supreme powers of procrastination and not until I had been plagued with tonsilitis did I finally decide to just have the suckers yanked out. Was it worth it? Ask me in nine days when I can eat things that are crunchy.

Meanwhile, my dad (step-dad) has been really sick. He had routine surgery on New Year’s eve (two days before mine) and had to return to the hospital after being released. Things have not been good since. I won’t list all of the details here, but the end result is that he’s still in the ICU and they just found out that he also has somehow contracted ecoli. It’s not good and the timing couldn’t be poorer. My doctor was very clear in stating that I shouldn’t travel for two weeks after the surgery. To say we’re worried would be an understatement and it just adds to the many reasons that 2008 wasn’t the best year ever. Here’s to hoping that 2009 is the year that Chuck made a quick and miraculous recovery.