Yesterday I made a cheesecake following my mom’s recipe. This is true New York style cheesecake; obscenely rich, creamy, and decadent. It’s also quite an undertaking to make with a pound of cream cheese, a pound of small curd cottage cheese, a pint of sour cream, grated lemon rind, lemon juice, sugar, vanilla, flour, a graham cracker crust, and four eggs.
Once everything is well mixed (thank goodness for a stand mixer) and poured into the pan you bake it for an hour and a quarter. Then you turn the oven off and let it cool for two hours before taking it out and letting it cool more on the counter. When it finally reaches room temperature, you cover it and refrigerate it. Twenty-fours hours in the refrigerator helps to bring everything together taste and consistency-wise. Or at least that is the plan.
In hindsight I should have either used less than all the batter when filling the springform pan. My pan was full to within a fraction of an inch of the top; this sucker is going to expand considerably as it cooks. Next time I’ll either leave an inch or so of clearance or make a collar out of parchment paper to contain the mushroom cap. Luckily I had the foresight to position the pan on a cookie sheet so nearly all of the overflow that spilled was caught and dealt with easily. While I haven’t had a piece yet I think the sides look slightly overdone. Instead of cooking it at 325 I need to lower the temp perhaps 15 or 20 degrees during the cooking stage. Despite the overflow and cracking in the top of the cake it looks and smells just like a cheesecake.
Towards the start of the cooling stage I called Illinois to talk to my parents, and to ask mom some questions about the finer details of cooling the cake. Do I open the oven door for the two-hour cooling period, or leave it shut? In talking to me dad I learned that her decline is speeding up. He says that she is now displaying some memory loss and some disorientation as to when and where, and what’s happened recently. I can only imagine how extremely difficult it must be for my father to see her decline on a daily basis. Last fall she had a bad episode of back pain and the pain medicine caused her to hallucinate quite badly. She is using the same medicine now, and the same or higher dosage, so it is hard to know if her lapses are drug induced or an indication of further spread of the cancer.
After talking to both of them I sat at my desk and just cried and cried. I fear her time is now very short, and I think this weekend will truly be the last visit I have with her. Dad says that she is becoming increasingly inward and reticent to talk, so I may not even get much of a visit with her this weekend. All of which just plain sucks.
Last night as a result of the suicide survivor’s group I’m attending, I came to a new understanding about faith. Or perhaps I should say the beliefs that sustain or hinder a person’s faith. For much of my life I have struggled with what I now call dogmatic religious beliefs. I’ve never been one to accept things merely at face value, especially if there was no supporting argument except for, “you just have to believe.'
Several years ago I ran across a quote from Reverend William Sloane Coffin that states, “Faith is not belief without proof, faith is trust with out reservation.” This simple statement has given me a entirely new outlook on matters of belief and faith. Perhaps it is only a semantic game, but I can easily trust without reservation things I couldn’t begin to believe without proof.
One of the key things I trust is that we all have multiple lives, that we are destined to instantiate on this physical plane again and again, learning lessons while traveling along a path towards achieving a state of complete grace and love. I have believed this to be true since the first time I read Jonathan Livingston Seagull at age fourteen. Other books, Illusions among them, and discussions with Michele and others, have given me a sense of peace about why I am here and where I am going.
Believing, as I do, that this current lifetime is but one step on a path stretching far into the distance, makes it easier to accept Michele’s death. I still feel pain and sorrow, and not a day goes by that I don’t want her back her with me. But I know in my heart, and in my soul, that she is okay. Moreover, I know I will rejoin her between the end of my current lifetime and the start of my next one. Perhaps she will even play a role in my next lifetime.
Where the group experience really hit me last night was seeing just how damaging to a person a dogmatic belief system can be, particularly if it is accepted with out question. At least two of my fellow survivors are really struggling to move past the mere idea of suicide, let alone the suicide of a loved one. My thought is that having been conditioned to accept things without question by their faith, they are ill-equipped to face a world filled with events that acceptance along cannot reconcile. More sobering than this thought is the question I am now asking myself: where in my own life am I as blindly accepting of beliefs or ideas detrimental to me, as they are of a religious foundation that is hindering them rather than helping them?
Six new television ads from the new “Get A Mac” campaign at Apple. The “Viruses” one is laugh-out-loud funny. (“I’m just going to crash…”)
Get A Mac Ads
verb 1 attempt to explain or justify (one’s own or another’s behavior or attitude) with logical, plausible reasons, even if they are not true or appropriate.
In the movie The Big Chill Jeff Goldblum’s character, Michael, gives the great line, “Rationalization is more important than sex. […] Ever gone a week without a rationalization?” In the past few weeks I have been struggling with rationalizations I’m making now, particularly since they are juxtaposed against ones that Michele and I made just a year ago.
You see, while Michele’s mom was declining in the winter and spring of 2005 we talked repeatedly about either her going to North Carolina, or the two of us going. Michele’s mom had a difficult mental illness that made seeing her tough at best. She had grown increasingly paranoid and scattered in the final months of her life. Michele struggled mightily with the decision to go or not go. Our financial situation played into her thoughts as well, even though I assured her that money was not an issue when it came to seeing family.
For many reasons we decided not to go visit her mom. The morning that we got a call at 2 am telling us that she was in the hospital and wasn’t expected to live, Michele was faced with the awful reality of her choice. After getting the money we needed from my parents, we made a mad 1500 mile dash through airports, and on planes in order to arrive at her bedside just an hour or two before she died. Michele never talked about any regrets resulting from not seeing her mom sooner, but I strongly suspect she felt them.
In the weeks since learning my mother’s cancer was terminal I have made several trips to see her. Many of the geographic barriers that played into the decision not to visit my mother-in-law don’t exist between where I live and my mom lives, and while I have some issues with my mom, they aren’t as severe as the ones existing between Michele and her mom. Still I am feeling guilty about being able to see my mom more or less when I want, while (I think) Michele felt like she couldn’t see her mom. Knowing that the relationship the two of them had was entirely theirs, and that it had existed long before I came on the scene, doesn’t really let me off the hook. If Michele were here now, she’d encourage me to see my mom as much or as little as I wanted. She would go with me or not as I wanted. I know that I offered her the same conditions and support last year, and yet I can’t help but feel badly.
I’m sorry Michele, that we lived so far from your mom, and that you weren’t able to have more contact with her. Or perhaps contact with her without all the stress of travel and staying in strange places. If I in anyway prevented you from having access to your family I am very sorry. My hope is that I didn’t interfere, that you were able to make the choices you did without interference from me.
One thing I did learn from her is how critically important it is to take care of one’s self in all interactions, big and small. While no one is pressuring me, I have felt like I should return to Illinois every weekend to be with my parents. I have had to overcome this desire in order to take care of myself. Rationalizations about everything I do these days, seems to be the defining factor of my life. I know rationalizations are always there, I’m just not used to them being so figure in my life.
I’m not sure how I missed Cinderella Man in the theater, but I am glad that I finally got to see it. A great comeback story made even better by being true.
Rating: Worth buying a copy of to add to your collection
In moments of lucidity, brief moments of calm snatched from between bouts of crying and rage, I wonder what happens next. Where does my life go from here? Will I become an eccentric old man who carefully observes the routines that allow him to navigate the endless cycle of weeks until his death? Or will I reinvent myself as an eligible, slightly tragic figure of a man, who is perhaps attractive to someone, and end up with a new relationship?
There are days, to be perfectly honest, when I can’t see continuing this lonely existence. Since I am currently in a place of pain and suffering it is hard to imagine life with out those emotions. I’m just of half way through the year long period of no major changes I set for myself following Michele’s departure from this mortal coil, and now I am faced with the loss of my mother. Not to give mom the short end or anything, but I am not going to languish for twelve more months starting now - I can’t.
Waiting a year to make major changes is fine and dandy for moving or taking on a new job. The emotional ruler I have to measure my reaction to a new dwelling or a new employment engagement is long on angst, anger and pain, but rather short on happiness and joy. Any situation that I felt good about today would likely be one I’d hate in a few months. So I won’t move, and I’ll only change jobs if I must. Certainly meeting new people is (or can be) as momentous as finding a job or moving. Since I don’t have a spare emotional ruler to size up people; I’d have to use the same one that would have me living in a cave and working for Ebenezer Scrooge.
The other factor working against me are the limited opportunities I have to meet people. Being an introvert I don’t gravitate towards social settings where I might come across new friends. I have started spending time on the weekend camped out in the nearby Panera Bread just to get out of the apartment and at least see other people. While being out like this is nice, it does at times make me painfully aware of all the people who are together. Having been single until my mid-thirties I now full well what it is like to be single in a world full of couples. My fear is that the landscape for people in their mid-forties is even bleaker.
I guess being an eccentric geek isn’t the worst future I could face.
Usually I don’t post about a book until I have finished with it, but I am enjoying Labyrinth, by Kate Mosse, too much to wait. A twist on the ever popular grail mystery, Labyrinth is very well written and engaging. Giving my personal beliefs and those I knew Michele held a couple of passages in the book have really struck a cord with me. Res contr’ Amor non es guirens, lai on sos poders s’atura.
Or, in English There is no protection against love, once it choose to exert its power
The other passage goes like this: The Bons Homes valued inner faith above outward display. The needed no consecrated buildings, no superstitious rituals, no humiliating obeisance designed to keep ordinary men apart from God. The did not worship images nor prostrate themselves before idols or instruments of torture. For the Bons Chretiens, the power of God lay in the word. The need only books and prayers, words spoken and read aloud. salvation was noting to do with the alms or relics of Sabbath prayers spoken in a language on the priests understood. In their eyes, all were equal in the Grace of the Holy Father – Jews or Saracen, man and woman, the beast of the fields and the birds of the air. There would be no hell, no final judgement, because through God’s grace all would be saved, although many would be destined to live life many times over before they regained God’s kingdom.
Powerful stuff, well written.
Updated: 5.6.2006 Rating: Excellent read, very satisfying all-around.
In lieu of a “45 Things About Me” list for my birthday next week, I give you:
[A is for age:] 45 [B is for booze of choice:] Vernor’s Ginger Ale [C is for career:] Software Engineer [D is for your dog’s name:] Nekko and Taz are cats, thank you very much [E is for essential item you use everyday:] Computers [F is for favorite song at the moment:] Going Under by Evanescence [G is for favorite games:] Cribbage [H is for Home town:] Decatur, IL [I is for instruments you play:] None [J is for jeans] Jeans are uncomfortable [K is for kids?:] None. Perhaps never [L is for last hug?:] Mom [M is for marriage:] Widower [N is for name of your crush:] Michele [O is for overnight hospital stays:] Tonsils and two tubes-in-ears episodes [P is for phobias:] Choking [Q is for quote:] “It doesn’t do well to leave a dragon out of your calculations. Especially if you live near one.” [R is for biggest regret:] Not moving to Colorado Springs to be with Michele. Maybe… [S is for status:] Upright. Breathing. Less than homicidal. Mostly. [T is for time you wake up:] 4:30 - 5:30 (without an alarm) [U is for underwear:] white cotton [V is for vegetable you love:] sweet corn [W is for worst habit:] Nothing I’m willing to share. ;-) [X is for x-rays you’ve had:] Left foot (heel spur), knees (blown ligament), elbow (dislocated), nose (broken), skull (fractured) [Y is for yummy food you make:] Chili [Z is for zodiac sign:] Taurus
(from EricaLucci.com)
One of the things that Michele was particularly good at, and that she got me doing, was talking about uncomfortable situations in advance so as to lessen the impact when they happened for real. Knowing that you are going into a difficult situation is one thing, but talking about it before hand, in a safe, controlled place, allows you to dump your fears, or anger, or other powerful emotion outside of a situation where expressing yourself fully might be ill-advised or difficult.
In just over a week the 45th anniversary of my birth will occur and I am full of mixed emotions regarding it this year. Throughout my childhood my birthdays were generally good ones. I had a roller skating party in the fourth grade (even my parents skated!), and took my best friend sailing one year. As I got older it seemed that less importance was placed on birthdays. By the time I was in my early twenties my birthday was often just another day. Michele put an end to all of that; she felt very strongly that birthdays were meant to be special. In the short time we had together she always had special gifts for me, and sent goodie baskets to my office so I could share with my co-workers, she even managed to have a surprise party for me at my favorite restaurant one year. Through her I learned to appreciate the idea of a day just for me.
This May my day will be difficult. Michele won’t be here to give me a special gift, or smile at me in that magical way she had. Adding to the stress level will be silent footfalls of death approaching to take my mother away. At present it seems she is strong enough to make it well into May, but the specter of her dying soon will color the occasion. After spending Thanksgiving with friends I learned that at least this first year I wanted to celebrate special days in my own way, usually by myself. I stayed away from Illinois on Christmas, having spent the weekend prior there with my parents. I want to stay away for my birthday as well, but I can’t not go as one of these visits will be the last ever with mom.
It may sound selfish to want to be alone on my birthday, but I know in my heart that nothing is going to make me feel good about not having Michele here to celebrate with me. Having to spend time with others, even family, is only going to make her absence more apparent. That a lot of focus will go to my mom (perhaps rightly so) will be difficult to swallow. I am honest enough with myself to know that I will be jealous of her getting attention on my day. So I am writing about it here as I don’t want to take that hurt with me and taint one of my last moments with her.
My plan is to pick a day, perhaps in a week or so, and go to our favorite restaurant, the one Michele loved more than any other, and let myself have a special dinner. And I’ll buy myself something that I want but wouldn’t ordinarily let myself have, as that is the kind of present Michele would get me. And I’ll let my mom give me one more hug, and one more “I love you” for the actual day.
You’d think that the relative good news I got this afternoon regarding my vision would have given me an entire evening of good. You’d be wrong. Lately it seems that the boiling water of my anger is always just below the surface waiting for the slightest reason to explode.
Tonight it was a stupid piece of software that I have been struggling with for three days now. Even following step-by-step the directions from Microsoft’s “help” service I was unable to make Windows OneCare work. And I’ve been mucking about with computers for thirty years. How on Earth do amateurs every get this stuff to work? My rage was limited to repeated screaming and yelling, and few hammer-fist strikes to the desktop. Afterwards I cried and cried. My sobbing continued for a good twenty minutes.
I don’t want my mom to die. No one wants anyone they love to die, but to face losing my mom just six months after losing my wife is almost more than I can bear. I hurt inside all the time, I feel like I can’t inhale all the way, and I can barely focus long enough to eat or dress myself. I understand in some dim way that the bouts of anger I’m having are really about two things. First I have some legitimate anger. Michele left me, and now my mom (who couldn’t or wouldn’t stop smoking) is going to die too. Next it’ll be my dad. Nekko, the older cat, is showing signs of age. She’ll die. And then finally Taz will go and I’ll be all alone.
It feels like everyone and everything I love dies. I’m a monster who is toxic to the ones I love. I use the anger to push things I love away from me. That’s the second part of my out bursts. Taz climbs into the crook of my arm and starts to lick me, which is her way of saying, “I love you”, only I can’t stand to be accepted and loved when I feel like I’m losing everything. I get mad at her for loving me no matter what, and I fly into a rage. After the storm passes, she comes out of hiding and climbs into the crook of my arm and licks me. Love is truly amazing.
The energy I spent earlier in my incensed rage as left me weak and spent now. I think the bubble that popped earlier when I learned I wasn’t seeing things (literally) wrong also released a lot of energy that had been pent up.
Tomorrow I’ll get up and breathe in and out.
And then I’ll go from there.