Pumpkin cheesecake

This is a variation of a recipe I originally found in Gourmet magazine in I believe, 1990.
The first couple of times I made this cheesecake I followed the recipe exactly, until I had to make a cheesecake for a work function and couldn't locate it, so I decided to fall back on my culinary roots and improvise. That led to the development of what I call my "basic batter" recipe that can be tweaked to create all sorts of different cheesecakes.
I've included a link to the original here - Pumpkin Cheesecake with Bourbon Sourcream topping.

Andrea, I have no way of knowing whether you're going to enjoy cooking as I do - regardless, it's honestly going to be a few years before you're going to want to tackle this, as the first couple of times, it's an honest to God pain in the ass to make.

Should you want to make a variant, I'm going to also give you the recipe for what I call my "basic batter" - it works as a stand alone, but it also lends itself to the addition of everything from fruit to chocolate.

The basic recipe:
4 packs of cream cheese, allowed to come to room temperature.
4 large eggs
1 1/2 cups of sugar
3 tablespoons vanilla extract
(note: to make a New York style cheesecake, add 8 oz sour cream)

Put all ingredients in a large bowl and mix until smooth. (I use a hand mixer, but if you're lucky enough to have my dream mixer, the KitchenAid, you'll find it goes much easier)
Add any other ingredients you want, such as frozen fruit, chocolate chips, etc, and pour into the springform pan that you've prepped with a crust.
Bake at 350 for at least an hour to an hour and a half, or until the center is set.
Turn off the oven, crack the door and let it cool for an hour before removing, then let cool further on the counter before putting in the refrigerator.
Let it set overnight in the refrigerator before serving.

That's it.
I promise over the years, you'll have the chance to sample this many times, and I hope I'm lucky enough to be around when you try to make this yourself. I love you!
Oh, and one other piece of advice - don't let Grandpa Don in the kitchen when you're trying to make this. He just gets in the way.

Christmas 2007 pics

This, of course, is your Grandpa Don.
The gentleman to the left is your Uncle Bobby.

This is your Aunt Sheba and Uncle Bobby, also known as De Wabbit or Rabbit.

Don't believe what your Aunt Sheba says about your Grandpa Don and I selling her to your Uncle Bobby for a 386 motherboard.

Neither Grandpa Don nor I know anything about what she's saying.

That's our story and we're sticking to it.

Christmas 2007 Dinner - Liftoff

Dinner went off perfectly - as you can see in the picture above, I ended up making roasted brussel sprouts, cauliflower, scalloped potatoes, the rib roast, stewed mushrooms, rolls, and pumpkin cheesecake.

Christmas 2007 Dinner - countdown

It's 12:15p Christmas Day, 2007 - company's due to arrive starting at 3ish, with dinner at around 5:30.
Right now, I'm being very bad and having 2 cups of leaded coffee (okay, probably 3) prior to starting the prep for the meal.
First on the agenda, getting the potatoes prepped. The recipe I'm using for the scalloped potatoes calls for peeled potatoes, however I prefer skin on, so that's how they're getting done. Thankfully, I have a mandoline, so prep for the scalloped potatoes will be a breeze.
Then, it'll be time to get the roast in and start on the brussel sprouts.
Once they're prepped, I'll tackle the cauliflower - I'm debating doing it whole head vs. bite size pieces - I guess I'll decide that shortly.
Pull out the dinner roll dough from the freezer and get them rising, then start the salad prep.

You see Andrea, all those years I spent in restaurant kitchens pays off - I can still pull off something like this dinner with excellent timing.

Plans are to start with a few "nummies for the tummies" as we call them, in this case it's St Brendan's Irish Liquer - and some minor munchies and a quick social call on one of the neighbors, Renee.
Okay, coffee cup's empty now so it's time to start prepping.
More later.

Christmas 2007

Okay, it's time you were introduced to one of my favorite soapbox topics, Christmas.
I was raised Jewish, however since I consider myself neo-pagan, and I've never been Christian, I have a respect for Christmas as a holiday, but don't really go out of my way to celebrate it - there are exceptions such as this year, when I worked the day before and the day after, and everyone just happened to be staying in town, so I grabbed the opportunity to cook Christmas dinner.
Anyway, this isn't about that - this is about what happened at work today - I brought in presents for a couple of people - I created some gift bags with various "spa" products, and got a lap blanket for another person, my supervisor got a gift card.
I passed out cards to other people, and gave them a little beanie bear Santa -
I gave the presents, and each one of them said "oh now I have to get you something" - which drives me nuts.
I didn't give you something so that you would go out and buy me something - I gave you a gift because I wanted to. I gave you something because I think you need a smile. I gave you something because I love you. I gave you something for whatever reason it happened to be, but I didn't give you something so you'd give me something back other than a hug or a sincere thank you.
(Except in your case, when I expect a thank you letter or email or phone call)
Remember this when you're dealing with me, Andrea. I'll spoil you rotten, but don't ever expect it from me. I'm not a vending machine, after all.
But wait until you're walking. That's when the fun really begins - you see, your Mom made me promise that I wouldn't send up bears bigger than you until you could walk.
That's how you got a bear collection. The old one is named Pinky, btw. - I don't know what you'll end up calling him.
He was my special friend when I was growing up, and I hope he's yours too - he's from the Sears Roebuck on Ponce De Leon catalog center, circa 1962 - nowadays, that's City Hall here in Atlanta.
He travelled by my side until the 5th grade, when I "outgrew" him.
Well, I never lost him and now he's living with you. I hope you enjoy him as much as I did.
Anyway, I'm rambling now because it's late and I'm tired.
I love you, little darling.

This is Pinky - he's a little worn, but still filled with love.
I hope you love him as much as I did.

Solstice 2007

Today is December 22nd, aka the Longest Night, aka Yule, Winter Solstice.
Today, the painting got finished and I finally got around to setting up my altar after over a year and a couple months in this space.
Now that I have a decent digital camera, I can take better pictures for upload than on the camera on the phone - so there'll be a photographic record for you too.

That's my altar up there.

Christmas 2007 Dinner

Because of my work schedule, I will be working Christmas Eve, off Christmas Day, and then back to work the 26th.
So what do I decide to do? Cook Christmas Dinner, of course.
Invited are Bobby and Sheba, along with Don and Ian. I'm planning on a rib roast, parmesan garlic potatoes, roasted brussel sprouts, whatever inspires me at the Farmer's Market, a salad, and my signature pumpkin cheesecake with bourbon sourcream topping.
I can't wait. I never get to cook for a crowd anymore - I'm looking forward to this.
More as it develops.

Don't believe everything Grandpa Don says

Andrea, here's a tidbit of information that'll do you a lot of good over the years - and the sooner you learn it, the better off you'll be. That information? Your Grandpa Don has the occasional habit of embellishing the truth. Now, don't get me wrong, I'm not calling him an outright liar - I'm just saying that sometimes, you have to dig through a mountain of bullshit to find that kernel of truth in something he says.
And don't get me started on his selective hearing.

Miscellaneous chatter

Andrea, you're getting ready to make your appearance in a couple of weeks - your mom says January 18th, but I have a feeling you're holding out for a couple days later, around January 20th, 21st - we'll see.
Don't freak out too badly, you're in Missouri, and it's cold and snowing.
Welcome to the world.
Just so you know, the big fuzzy thing is called a teddy bear.
He's a present from me to you - I'll be seeing you in the spring/early summer, when life becomes somewhat regular there and the snow's melted.
I know you won't remember our first meeting, however I will.
Don't worry, there will be plenty of time for you to get to know me.
I'm looking forward to having a little girl to spoil rotten. I checked the Grandparent handbook, and I get to supply you with the fun stuff, like dolls and tea sets. Or trucks if that's your toy of choice.
I don't care, I just get to spoil you. And then send you back to your parents.
(note to Jessica: I still won't be doing diaper duty.)
(Further note to Jessica: This is why I kept telling you to read my blog - years from now you could be prepared for this.)
So, Andrea, if you're not a Diva, you could have been one. .
Regardless, I know you're a Lady.

Vices (if you can call reading a vice)

One of the things you'll notice about me Andrea, is that I read. A lot.

It's a habit that Sam and Faye encouraged while I was growing up, taking us to the local library for their reading programs during the summer (back then, libraries gave out certificates for reading a set number of books over summer vacation, and both Jolene and I managed to astound more than a few librarians when we'd get 2 and 3 certificates over the summer) and it's a habit that I've never outgrown, or quite frankly, ever seen the need to outgrow. Of course, looking back, it also worked as a way to keep us quiet and out of their hair most of the time.

My taste in literature goes pretty much all over the map (as you'll see when you look over my library), however while there's a decided trend towards SciFi/Fantasy/Horror, I do have other genres I collect as well - but those tend to be author driven rather than content driven.

To cite an example, I don't usually like Mystery/Crime novels, however there are definitely exceptions to that - for example, I happen to enjoy the "Prey" series by John Sandford and have made an effort to collect all of them, as well as a series of novels involving a character named Alex Cross, by James Patterson, and I also enjoy the occasional Ann Rule "true crime" novel.
However, I must confess that of all the books in my collection, there is one author I've been collecting the longest, and that's Chelsea Quinn Yarbro.
I was introduced to her work in 1979, and have been an avid fan ever since.

I hope that you'll be interested in reading as well (I honestly look forward to telling you bedtime stories when you visit) and as you grow older, I'm hoping you learn to look at reading as the joy that it is, not as a chore to be endured. I know your Grandpa Don will agree with that statement.

Snark Fest

This is the first article I've ever linked to, so if it's not there when you click it, Andrea I apologize.
However, this is some of the finest snark I've read in a while, all about the 10 worst movie endings ever - Here's the link - MSN Movies
This critic cuts no slack and serves up some of the best sacred cow burger I've come across in quite a while. Check out his commentary on Spielberg.
Well, that's it, hope the link still works when you read this.

Biologicals, part 2c

In kicking off this search for my biologicals, I have tried to ensure the success of this venture in every way I can think of.
To this end, I have gotten a quote of $1350 from a search agency to find my birth mother.
Since I've only recently requested the information in my file, I have no way of knowing whether there's a no-contact order in place, whether she's registered with the program and is looking for me, or exactly what the situation is.
In speaking with the sales person/case worker for the search service, I did glean more information however; things such as my biological mother's age at the time of my birth was probably between 14 and 19, that indeed, based on my mother's age at the time of my adoption, it had to have been "private".
Infants, especially white infant males didn't get put in households with 50+ year old women as first children, even in the 1960's. And then to follow it up 2.5 years later with a baby girl.
I can remember when she was brought home, and how she was still bleeding from the umbilical cord - Jolene's adoption will have to remain a mystery, since I'm not legally allowed to persue that.
Mine, on the other hand, you'll see unfolding before you.
I guess this is what they mean by a blog evolving.

Dating

Andrea, your Uncle Merlin is a romantic. Not just your garden variety romantic, but what I believe is the last of a dying breed, the Southern Gentleman. I'm unerringly polite, I say "sir" and "ma'am" (and around me you will too. Believe me.) and I have certain standards I adhere to.
What does that have to do with the topic? I'm getting there.
When I ask someone out on a date, especially a first date, I expect that it's a real date. Since I asked them out, I will be providing transportation and activity for the evening, with their only real responsibility allowing me to enjoy their company and see if date #2 is called for.
That's how I was raised. I'm the man, ergo I pay when I ask someone on a date.
Sexist? Sorta, yeah. Do I give a shit? Nope.
The reason for this rant is because I recently encountered shock from someone I asked out when I mentioned these standards - apparently he was expecting to have to go Dutch.
Have standards changed so much? I know I'm old school, but I won't surrender my principles.
Okay, I've vented.

But you're still going to be using "sir" and "ma'am" around me. That's a requirement and simple manners.
But your dating issues are your mother's responsibility - have fun with that.
( guess what chickens have come home to roost, Jess )

Biologicals, part 2b

Some quick clarifications need to be made - when I paid my $35 fee today for the non-identifying contents of my adoption file, I got to ask a few questions, and this is what I found out.
First off, if there is not a non-disclosure form in the file, then I can pay $300 and they'll find my birth mother and find out whether she will allow contact.
They will also check to see if she registered with them (Georgia Adoption Registry), and if she has, then they will try to set up contact.
Contact. Wow.
Andrea, I don't know if I'm going to be alive when you're capable of really understanding this blog, but this is why I'm writing it. It's both therapeutic for me and hopefully allows you some insight into me. This is really big - and it's something that's going to take months to unfold - but it's something I've put into motion because I simply had to.
Of course, I'm really thinking in terms of contact here - there's always the chance that there's a non-disclosure form in the file or my biologicals don't want to meet me for reasons of their own.
I don't fantasize that I'm going to gain a new family, however I confess to fantasizing about finding genetic siblings - in my eyes that would be so cool - a few years too late, but cool none the less.
So I'm going to hope that either my biological has registered or that there's no non-disclosure in my file - and find out in about 4-6 weeks, just in time for my 47th birthday, and your arrival.

About that - little darling, I hope you'll forgive me for not being there when you arrived, however here's something you'll have discovered for yourself by the time you read this blog - your Uncle Merlin absolutely positively abhors snow and given that you're going to be born in Kansas City, Missouri in the middle of winter, (it's not my fault your parents are heathen savages), 'nuff said.

(Aside to Jessica: I love you darlin' !! *smoooch* )
I've been spoiled by living in Atlanta, where it hardly ever snows - and if it does snow, the city and surrounding areas come to a grinding halt if there's an inch on the ground. Yes, you read that correctly, an inch. Unfortunately, you happen to live in an area that has 3 seasons - winter, tornadoes and road construction. And yes, you detect that note of gloat because I don't have to deal with snow that's measured in feet.
And I won't deal with snow that's measured in feet, either.
Don't worry, you'll love visiting me. I'm fun.
And believe it or not, your Grandfather Don is a hoot.

Biologicals, part 2

Well Andrea, I've started the process to at least get some information about my biologicals. You may wonder why I've been using that term to refer to my genetic parents - the thing is, they're not my real parents, my real parents are Sam and Faye. And nothing can change that. Family comes from where and how and who you love, not genes.
Richard Bach wrote in his book, "Illusions: The Adventures of a Reluctant Messiah" that "it is rare that the members of one family grow up under the same roof."
The family I've "created" is living proof of that - just because we don't share DNA doesn't mean I don't love you like you were my own granddaughter. Never doubt that.
Anyway - back to the subject at hand - I've submitted the initial paperwork, and this is supposed to get me whatever's in my adoption file about my parents non-identifying characteristics.
I'm hoping that it sheds a little more light on the adoption itself, such as how it was achieved.
That is one of my most driving curiousities - I suspect - hell, I actually *expect* that money changed hands for my adoption, what I want to know is who paid for it.
You see, Andrea, Sam was a schoolteacher. And quite frankly, not the best paying job in the world.
On the other hand, all of Faye's siblings had either gone into lucrative careers or married men who did...Pattye married Harry, a CPA; Babe married Milt, an optometrist; Herm was an optometrist, Julius (retired when I was old enough to notice things like this) I believe based on what I can remember of family gossip, had a grocery store at one time and a liquor store at one time.

So, given this data, I theorize that Faye's brothers and sisters pooled their resources and bought me and 2.5 years later, bought Jolene, both to "repay" her for her sacrifices during their childhood (remember, they grew up during the Depression) , the marriages she had helped make, and the fact because she had married so late in life her childbearing years were behind her.

I'll post more about this later.

Adoption - finding my biologicals

Wow.
I'm finally unpacking the boxes of books, and I came across a set of forms from 1992 - the forms are for identifying the biological parents of adoptees; in 1990, Georgia opened its adoption records, allowing adoptees to gain access to their biological information and possibly contact with their biologicals.
This is something I'd actually considered in 1992, however Faye was still alive and I promised never to search for my biologicals while she was still alive. Due to the circumstances of both my and Jolene's adoptions, I expect that money changed hands, and things might not have been exactly by the book.
Which means, Andrea, that the adoptions were black market; I've wondered and indeed fantasized whether I might not have been one of my cousin's teenage "accidents", however aside from a basic resemblance, I'm doubtful. A psychologist would probably identify that as a desire to actually belong biologically, however peripherally, to the family unit I was raised with.

So, now the issue becomes do I seek out my genetic information, and possibly contact my biological parents? I'm not so concerned with the people as I am the genetics.
I need to know what I'm predisposed to genetically - for example, does diabetes run in the family, or is my current course of treatment just a temporary thing?
How about heart issues? Cancer? Baldness? These are things I need to know - so I'm going to initiate the paperwork to find these things out.
According to the law, there are two categories I can apply for information under - one is genetic information only, no identifying characteristics, and the other is genetic information with the possibility of contact.
I'm going for the contact option. There are a number of questions I need answered about other possibly genetic quirks that can only be asked in person, such as psychic ability (and if that doesn't get me shown the door or hung up on I don't know what will) and other siblings.
Wow. To finally get some answers.
What a head rush.

Spirituality

Lets see - I started life raised as a Conservative Jew, (the reason that Conservative is capitalized is because there are considered to be 3 "traditions" in Judaism - Orthodox, Conservative and Reform - it has absolutely nothing to do with political views) -

From early childhood, I knew something was different about me - strange things happening around me, knowing things I shouldn't have, being able to do things I theoretically shouldn't have - all contributed to my early acknowledgement of my "abilities" and my lifelong quest to understand and work with them.

As a result, I've been all over the map spiritually and indeed, what a long strange trip it's been - and have come to the conclusion that everyone is right - for themselves.

My Path is not yours and yours is not mine. We might walk side by side for a while, and we're going to end up at the same Place, but your Path is not mine.

I believe that there is indeed only One Ultimate Being, however It is so Ultimate that we are unable to comprehend It as a whole and have to break it into separate Truths. But no matter what, they are aspects of the One.

Anyway, my Pedigree as it were - early teen years, dabbled in La Vey magick (psychic puberty) because it was raw Power and it was fun.

Mid teens, (17) began study at Ravenwood - or as I affectionately call it, "Famous Witch School" - here I was taught in an amalgamation of Traditions: Gardnerian, Alexandrian, Brittani, Strega and Celtic, all of which eventually coalesced into what is now the Ravenwood tradition.

At about the age of 20, I came across a book called "The Spiral Dance" and it signalled the beginning of the end of my active relationship with Ravenwood - I became disenchanted with the politics and became Solitary - interacting only as a social function not as a religious one.

All the while, continuing my research and work - after moving to Miami in 1983, I became involved with a rather diverse group of folks, Burt, Mark, Vicky, Renee, George and Ben; together we explored everything from medium work to Santeria (disclaimer: at no time during study was an animal involved )

These experiences helped me to realize the Truth behind All is that there is only One.

After moving back to Atlanta in early 1985, I continued my Solitary path, however kept in association with my friends in Miami, going down on occasion to celebrate Samhein or Beltane, and act as a sort of Elder in addition to maintaining peripheral ties to Ravenwod.


I came across a group in Lawrenceville around 1989 - while my association with them didn't last long due to a basic philosophical incompatibility (I'll cover this for you later, Andrea) it did serve to create a study group consisting of Shawn, Amy, Greg, John, and Bryon.

Of this group, Amy was Wiccan, Greg was Wizardyn, John was Spiritual, Shawn was whatever, and Bryon was questioning. It was shortly after this group dissolved that I met your Grandpa Don.

To this day, I have refrained from active involvement in any group because I don't like politics mixed with my religion. No matter the group and no matter how well intentioned, politics eventually come into play and if you're not prepared, will end up tainting the group.

I think this covers enough basics for now; if I'm still around when you're capable of understanding what I've written on a deeper level, come tell me and I'll try to fill in the blanks for you.

Townhouse pics

The laundry area, with its new curtains

This is how it looks against the laminate

See how well the paint color does against the slate tile?

Living room - wrecked but painted !!

Dining room

This is the entry hall with the new paint job.

This is the new storm door I recently hung - to the right you can see the new kitchen window.

Finished - the painting is done

Well, it's taken 3 days, but the painting is now done, and in addition I have replaced the verticals at the back/patio door.
The only issue I'm having with the new paint job is that there's too much of it. (The color that is)
It's the same issue I have with white walls - it's too blank.
Getting the artwork back up and moving the furniture around will help I'm sure, but I can't help but think in terms of an accent wall just to keep things interesting.
I got an Oops paint for the laundry room, about 2 shades lighter than the peanut butter I have in the rest of the downstairs. The only issue is that there's only one gallon of it, and frankly the laundry room has priority.
I'll think of something once the art's up and the rooms are back to functional.
More later.

The family tree (Reader's Digest Version)

So as you can see, I haven't exactly led a boring existence to date.

And this is just the tip of the iceberg, Andrea - You see, being gay and a Witch in a family of (alleged) wife beaters, serial divorcee's, savvy businessmen (think Hillary and Whitewater) has made (and makes) me the proverbial "black sheep" of said family.
Of course, the fact that I don't pull punches socially does make me a wild card, however in my defense, I only fire off a bon mot when the situation calls for it.

I'll post more about my spiritual views later - hopefully it'll help you see that indeed, there is more to Heaven and Earth than is dreamt of by mortal man.

Back to the subject at hand, here's the breakdown of my family tree - (use this when I mention a relative) my mother Faye came from a family of 5 children, 2 boys and 3 girls, all first generation American. My father came from a family of 3, two boys and a girl also all first generation American.
Faye's brothers were Julius, & Herm, her sisters Babe and Pattye. Julius married Fanny, Herm married Arlen, Babe married Milt, and Pattye married Harry.
From these unions, Julius' son is Ronnie, Herm's daughter is Jody, Babe's sons are Rodney, Barton and Darryl, Pattye's son is Blake.
On my father Sam's side - his brother's name is Max, and his sister's name is Lucy - Max married Janet and Lucy married Marty - Max has a son and 2 daughters, Matt, Rosalie & Cheryl, and Lucy's sons are Eric, Allan and Jesse.
My mother's family was and is Atlanta bound, while Max lives/lived in Indianapolis while Lucy lives/lived in San Diego.
Make sure your Grandpa Don tells you about his side of the family too.

After all, crazy ain't just a Southern thing.

Life update November 2007

It occurs to me that the whole reason I'm writing this is so that my Great Niece Andrea will have some record of her Great Uncle Merlin and why he was such a fun wack job.
So, in that vein, here's what just happened.
I scheduled a visit with a new MD, partly on Sheba's recommendation, since he happens to be her Dr, and she loves him, and mainly because 1) I haven't had a physical in over 3 years, and 2) I want to get a Dr I can see every time, instead of getting whoever's got the duty at Emory Clinic.
With that in mind, I see the Dr.
I discussed various complaints with him, and during the discussion, managed to say enough that he put me down for a sleep study, for diagnosis and treatment of suspected sleep apnea.
Then, I have to pee in a cup - that gets analyzed, and he sees sugar in my urine. Not a good thing.
Then, I surrender 5 tubes of blood for further analysis.
I got the results Friday - aside from a serious abnormality in my blood sugar, (I'm close to 400 when I should be closer to 100), I'm healthy.
However, the blood sugar issue is being addressed by 10 units of subcutaneous insulin daily, and 2 doses of Metformin .
As of diagnosis, treatment is outlined as the insulin injection, oral medication and ideally to lose 50 more pounds.
I currently weigh 253 pounds and stand 6'4" tall, so when I reach the target weight of 200 or so pounds, I will look like a stick or probably a scarecrow.
Personal aside to Andrea: Your Uncle Merlin really was fat and jolly once upon a time -
Kinda like your Grandpa Don is now.
Personal aside to Don: By the time she reads and understands this, you will be fat and jolly, so shut up, bitch.
Now on another front, home renovations.
I'm so damn proud of myself at this point i can hardly stand it.
I have had new windows installed; top of the line, dual pane, gas filled, UV protected windows.
And in front of those windows, I have 2 inch faux wood blinds I hung myself.
I also hung a new storm door all by myself - matches the new windows.

I'm currently (literally) in the middle of painting the downstairs, having found the ideal color for the walls.
Of all things, it's called Peanut Butter (you'll have to search for the color yourself should you click the link, I couldn't capture it)
It makes the slate and the laminate stand out, the white trim really pops out.
I don't know if I'll still have this townhouse when you're older or if I've sold and moved to a single family house on some land.
I guess I'll have to get pictures up just in case. Let me finish painting first, though.
On that note, it's back to painting and I'll post again after awhile.

Pyewacket

Every witch should have a familiar, and Pyewacket was mine. This special lady shared my life for about 5 years before being killed by an asshole speeding on a residential street. I admit to sharing the blame in that, because I allowed her to be an indoor/outdoor cat instead of following common sense and restricting her to indoor life only.

Pyewacket came into my life one evening when Don and I went to see a friend who's cat had just had a litter of kittens. Since I was friendly with the queen, I wanted to see what she had brought into the world - the mother was solid black, and from the looks of the litter, she had found a Siamese to breed with, because of 8 kittens, 7 had the markings of a Sealpoint siamese, and only one was different - a black and white "cow" kitty.
As I was looking at the litter, I suddenly heard a little voice in my head say "Daddy" - and as soon as I heard that, the first words out of my mouth were "Awww shit, I've been picked" - believe me, adding another cat to my existing menagerie was the last thing on my mind at the time, however when something like this happens, there really is no choice.
Some 6 weeks later, while Don was out of town visiting relatives, she arrived at the house along with one of her littermates, who ostensibly was just visiting until I could get her to a friend's house in Griffin, Georgia. At this point, my menagerie of two dogs and two cats became a zoo.

A quick word of advice here for anyone contemplating "temporarily" boarding a cat for a friend - don't do it unless you're planning on keeping the cat. Inevitably, something happens and they can't take the cat and your household just increased by one permanent house guest.

Anyway, back to the subject at hand - Pyewacket - I chose this name for a couple of reasons - first, I loved the name - I first came across it in my teens, while doing research for a term paper on witchcraft in the 1600's; in a reproduction of a woodcut from that time, the scene showed Matthew Hopkins questioning two accused witches, having them name their familiars - the name was also used in a classic film "Bell, Book & Candle", starring Kim Novak, Jimmy Stewart, Elsa Lancaster, Jack Lemmon and other screen notables, as Kim Novak's familiar. Second, what better name for a familiar than Pyewacket?
She and I bonded from the start - this was evidenced by a number of things, mainly the fact that I could and did speak to her as you would a human, and she understood me.
When I moved from an apartment into a rental house and she became indoor/outdoor, this became more and more evident - at the time, I was working third shift and didn't have a car - I came home one morning and had forgotten to stop off and get cat food.
Normally, not a big issue, however apparently Pye was hungry and was rather adamant about letting me know this. I looked at her and said "Pye, Daddy's tired and just wants a nap for a little bit - I promise I'll go get food after I wake up - is that okay?"
Apparently, it wasn't, because she kept on meowing, insisting that she was hungry and wanted her food *NOW*. I got frustrated, and said to her "look, if you're that damn hungry, go out and catch something" and opened the back door - she proceeded to march out the back, tail held high...and about 3 steps from the back door, went immediately into a hunter's crouch, turned her head back to shoot a withering glare at me, went back to the crouch, and then within seconds, nabbed a bird.
My only reaction to that scene was to say to her "Baby girl, if I'd known you were really that hungry, I'd have gone to the store".
Another time, she brought home a dead garter snake for a present - I looked at her and said "Sweetie, Daddy appreciates the present, but I have no use for a dead snake - if you're going to bring me a snake, it should be alive" - well, the very next day she presented me with, you guessed it, a live garter snake. I ended up keeping the snake until it was well (there were puncture marks from her teeth) and released it back into the wild.
These are only two anecdotes from my life with her - there are a score of others, however I think these two best illustrate why I say she was special.

Ravenwood Church and Seminary of Wicca

Ravenwood.
(Please note, I also refer to it as "Witch School" or "Wicca U" or a number of other names, and I'm allowed. You're not.)
The very first "public" coven in America, and indeed the first in a number of other areas as well. At the time, located at 522 Moreland Avenue, for a number of years of my life it was the hub of my spiritual quest.
Lady Sintana was the driving force behind Ravenwood - at first, she really didn't know what to do with me - but as time went on, she saw me for the son I was, and the colleague I became.

There have been a lot of things said about Ravenwood over the years, and while I wasn't there when it opened its doors in 1976, I did start there in 1978 and was an active participant and occasional resident until approximately 1983 - so I am Ravenwood history, not to mention privvy to the truth behind some Ravenwood mythology, because I was there.

The house itself was and is a Victorian, currently in private hands. It began its life as Ravenwood in 1975/76, ostensibly as a retreat for Lady Circe, (Sintana's High Priestess) who at the time was living in Ohio and in search of warmer climes in order to "retire" (something that never happened). Sintana, who had been active on the burlesque circuit (this is one of the myths that tends to get glossed over, although anyone with Internet access can verify this) retired from the circuit and came down to Atlanta to open Ravenwood.

The house itself was a wreck when Sintana came down and she was forced to live in a hotel for a few weeks while it underwent an emergency renovation to become habitable. During this time, it was discovered that the house was haunted. Strange sounds and a sense of terror drove off many a volunteer during the early days of renovations, until one day Sintana (in her own words), had enough and drove out to the property to as she put it, "put that spook in its place". She never discussed exactly what she did, but the spook quieted down and enough renovations were done that she was able to move in and begin the process of opening Ravenwood.

Shortly after opening Ravenwood, Lady Circe came down for an extended visit, and the spook, which had been quiet for a while, came back with a roar. One of it's favorite tricks was to literally bounce the chair that Lady Circe was sitting in - more than one student at the time relayed how Circe and the spook would battle for supremacy - the spook banging on the floor directly below Circe and Lady Circe answering back with her cane - BOOM BOOM BOOM - then Lady Circe had an epiphany, that the reason the spook was so active was that it was lonely - and the easiest way to appease it would be to use the toilet in the basement.

Now, when someone says the toilet in the basement, you naturally assume that it's at least a finished half bath - that was not the case here. What we're talking about was quite literally, a toilet in the middle of an unfinished basement. And so, every morning while Lady Circe was in residence, she would go down into the basement for her morning toilet. And the spook quieted down again. Sintana later explained that her thoughts on the matter were that Circe was a very private person, and she couldn't bring herself to share a toilet with the other members of the house; that was why she did her toilet in the basement, as it afforded her some privacy.

I lived for a while at Ravenwood, taking classes and frankly, preparing for a role as a Priest of the religion. During this time, you wouldn't believe the stories I heard and the things I saw. Hence, my calling it "Wicca U." - Yeah, I'll admit that "Wicca", specifically Gardenarian Wicca, is a product of the 1930's rather than a millenia old "Old Religion", however the archetypal concepts themselves are indeed millenia old, and Universally valid. So, that makes me a Witch.

Back to Sintana - she knew how to work publicity, such as the stunts, for example, the time they "blessed" the Braves (who went on to a winning streak) - so Ravenwood became a known presence in the community. This was in the mid to late 70's, right after Ravenwood opened.

Now, she had a purpose, and it was the legal recognition of Wicca as a valid tax free religion, an achievement that was successfully realized in the early 1980's.

Fourth Wall

I can't believe how therapeutic this is turning out to be.
If you're reading this blog, please comment - it'll help me dredge up more.

I'm doing this as a present for my best friend's daughter's as of right now unborn child - she who I call my Grand-Niece. I figure by the time she's old enough to understand this blog, I'll be dead and I want her to know why her Uncle Alden was such a wack job.
But a *fun* wack job.

Addendum

Okay - the promised addendum to the post about my father's death.

The year is 2004, and Sheba & De Wabbit are living in Tennessee - but De Wabbit's work is talking about moving him down to Atlanta again - and so Sheba's looking for living space, and I'm helping - she likes the 85/N Druid Hills/Clairmont/Buford Hwy area, and since 1) I'm currently living on Buford Hwy, 2) I grew up in this area and know the apartment complexes like the back of my hand, 3) happen to be doing the computer work for one of the main management companies on Buford Hwy, I am the resident expert.
For grins and giggles, I take her over to the apartment complex I grew up in - they'd recently undergone a multi-million dollar renovation, and I was honestly curious as to what they'd done and what they were charging, given that the apartments had some of the largest square footage available in the area.
So we go and talk to the resident manager - she was happy to show off the office as the 2br small model, and we also looked at what they called the 2 br large - I wanted to show Sheba the 3 br, since I thought it would more easily accomodate the Sheba and Wabbit Show.
It turned out that the only 3 available *happened* to be the apartment I grew up in.
I mentioned that to the agent, and she asked me if I knew anything about an old Jewish man who was haunting their apartment.
The layout of the buildings happened to put her apartment back to back with my old apartment, and then she went on to tell what was happening - her roommate would dream of an old Jewish man, and when they left Jewish items, such as a prayer book, or some other Jewish memorabilia out, he would be relatively quiet/inactive, and that he had a bad habit of turning the air conditioner on.
The last part told me beyond a shadow of a doubt, that was my father's spirit.

You see, my father was ... not to put too fine a point on it, sexually frustrated by my mother, and because he was a High School teacher, sought visual stimulation from the young girls in his classes - he was a notorious "pencil dropper" - for those of you unfamiliar with the term or concept, it goes something like this - you're at the podium giving your lecture to the class. You're gesturing with your pencil/pen, and you drop it, conveniently near a pretty girl in a short skirt. When you lean down to pick it up, you hope for a flash.

So, hearing about the a/c trick confirmed for me immediately that this was some remnant of my father's personality - I told the leasing agent that the best thing she could do when he got active would be to read the Mourner's Kaddish, in phonetic Hebrew if she couldn't read the real thing, but that would help him to move on.

And for those of you who wonder what the a/c has to do with pencil dropping, let me say that the manager's apartment was occupied by three young women in their early 20's and leave it at that.

Since that time, the complex was sold again, however this time it was razed to the ground, and townhouses have gone up in their place -

Au revoir, Egg Chair

Well, I did it. The Egg Chair is now on its way to Washington D.C. and the townhouse of one of my best friends, Steve. And I have managed to make 3 people very happy in the process.
First and foremost, Steve...who has wanted this chair ever since he first saw it in my living room some 15 years ago. It is, as of this writing, in a cargo van headed to DC.
Next, my best friend Don - really my brother - he has hated that chair ever since I first acquired it at a yard sale for $26 some 15 years ago. This was a popular item in the 1960's, a stereo chair - surroundsound if you will - but it only hooked up to a stereo receiver. And it looked like the egg from Mork and Mindy, which is why we called it "the Egg Chair".
And then there's my sister Sheba - she who has been long encouraging me to downsize - well, this was a major downsize - as I told her after it happened, it was almost like having to surrender a child.
I have toted that thing around with me these 15 years, and until this move it always had a place.
Even after I replaced the Lego set entertainment center, I still didn't have enough room to bring it in off the patio. So Steve got it, and I'm going to miss it.
Au revoir, Egg Chair.

Quick note to Don - no matter what, the velvet Elvis stays.

Another sitting Shiva story, this one with a spook attached

So now, we skip ahead to 1990 - my father's been diagnosed with cancer, and my parents have convinced me to move into a one bedroom apartment in their complex, mainly by guilting me into agreeing.
Well, the inevitable happened, and my father died one morning in his bed. I was wakened by my mother pounding on my door and ringing my bell to get me to come and see what was happening to my father - for some reason, their phone line was out due to a screwup on Bell South's part and they had no phone - I got there, saw my father was in the middle of a seizure, and immediately flew to the upstairs neighbor to ask to borrow the phone to call 911.
The ambulance came, but did no good, and so the funeral home had to be called and arrangements made. They sent a hearse over, and after they removed the body I went home to change into something more appropriate. I had 2 cats at the time, Luciano and TJ - they were indoor/outdoor, as the apartment complex was quite large and there were expansive woods nearby.
Well, I got home and both were at the door wanting to come in. Then I opened the door, and neither would set foot inside - this next statement is going to sound so off the wall I'm almost ashamed to type it, however it's what I did, so here goes - I put myself into a light state of trance to see what the issue was, and found my father's spook (yeah, I know it's not the PC term) hovering near me, trying to figure out what the fuck had just happened.
My next actions may seem heartless to some, however I saw them as the required thing to do - I immediately told him that he had died, that he needed to go into the Light - this apparently didn't do anything for him, as I had to resort to stronger measures. I consecrated some salt and water, and Banished him from the apartment, telling him to go to the Light - apparently that worked, because he was then gone. And the cats came in the apartment immediately afterward.

That ends the spook part of this post - however there is an addendum to this tale that I'll post later.

So, we're sitting Shiva for my father - and I'm on my best behavior because I have an ounce of some sweet marijuana in my apartment, because when the relatives get on my last nerve, I go to my apartment and fire up a quick one. And my nerves improve.
Well, add to the cast of characters, my cousin's fiance - Laurie, who's major claim to fame is the fact that she's the Service Merchandise heiress. Ultra nouveau riche, speaks with an affected Bryn Mahr accent, and so plastic she'd melt in a high heat. Needless to say, I wasn't impressed by her when I met her, and didn't worship the ground she walked on like the rest of the relatives did simply because of her bank balance.
Well, Laurie came in with her future MIL, my Aunt Patty - and she brings this humongous deli platter - (Jews, like Southerners, believe in food as therapy for mourners) - cold cuts, cheeses, garnishes, the works - and I see this as my opportunity to leave. And I do, planning on coming back after some self medication.
I come back, and I find my mother sitting at the kitchen table, and Laurie trying to say how things are going to be, for example how my mother should be put into a home, they need to downsize the apartment, etc etc.
And I immediately fired this off - "Excuse me - you're not even a member of this family yet - and when you do become a member of this family, it's going to be by marriage not blood. And no, I don't give a shit what your bank balance is, trash is trash. Now get the fuck out of my face!" - this caused her to storm off, and my Aunt to go running after her. I never found out what got said, but that was the last time I ever saw Laurie again, even though she married my cousin.
There was one occasion about a year later, where we were supposed to have dinner with my Aunt, my cousin, Laurie and my mother, and I had planned on being saccharine sweet, saying "Laurie, have you put on weight?? Oh my God, you're pregnant, aren't you? Come on, tell me... you are, aren't you?" ... however that dinner got cancelled because she actually was pregnant.

Shiva and the Gossipy Aunt

So it's after my sister's funeral, and my parents are sitting Shiva at their apartment. All of my mother's family and extended family are in attendance, and mysteriously none of my father's family are present.
I didn't find out the reason for that until a few years later - my father's sister was in California, and so was legitimately excused, however my father's brother lived in Indiana, and indeed when he was called to inform him of the tragedy, wanted find out the funeral arrangements, however was told not to come by my mother.
So there I am, sitting next to my mother, surrounded by my mother's extended family, trying to ignore what she'd said only days before, and tell her that Jolene's in a better place now - she's with God. Your basic spiritual pablum, when there's nothing else you can say -
And my Aunt Babe heard me telling her this - and proceeded to gather the women into the kitchen. When she got there, she immediately started in on how I was trying to console my mother, saying "can you believe what he's telling her?" and things of that nature -

I politely excused myself from my mother's side, stood up and went into the kitchen.

I *slammed* my hand down on the kitchen table and looked Babe right in the eye as I said: "Excuse me...this is a time of great grief and mourning for myself and my family and I would appreciate it if you would take your hen party elsewhere!"
At that moment, Lord Colin snapped his fingers, called my name and managed to get me out of there before anything else was said. I found out later that when she tried to complain about what I had said and done that her brother-in-law told her "to shut up because I was completely right".

This really didn't sit too well with Babe. Our relationship was never the same afterwards, and she took great pains to make sure my life was a living hell whenever it crossed her path.
For example, I used to march in the Gay Pride Parade every year - well, over the years the parade path has changed, along with other features - however this was back when the march was honestly political and not economic. 'Nuff said about that.

So the parade path this particular year is down Peachtree Street to the steps of the Capital - and I'm marching along with everyone else, and while I can't remember how it happened, somehow I ended up on one of the parade cars, a Cadillac convertible, with a female impersonator named Mickey Day.
So we're riding along, having a great time, and I happen to look at the buildings we're passing...it so happens that my Uncle Milt had an optometry shop, on Peachtree at Little 5 Points, conveniently right along the parade route - Uncle Milt, however, had died some 10 years ago, leaving the shop to his wife, who is, you guessed it, Aunt Babe.
I look out over the crowd, and who do I see in the window of said shop? Aunt Babe.
Who has a phone glued to her ear? Aunt Babe.

Fast forward to my getting home - I've moved back in with the parents, as this is within 2 months of the accident. I get home, and the first thing my mother greets me with is "your Aunt Patty called and wanted to know why you were marching in the Gay Pride parade! What am I supposed to tell her?" I looked at her like she was crazy and said "that's funny, Aunt Babe was the one who saw me from the window of the shop - but Aunt Patty was the one who called? Tell her the truth! I'm gay!"
My mother immediately shot that down, saying "I can't tell her that!" - so I told her to say that I was "marching for Human Rights" ... something she apparently found acceptable, because she flew to the phone to call Aunt Patty and tell her this.
Needless to say, I avoided alone time with her after this - but family gatherings did tend to be ... interesting to say the least.

The Accident

At various times in my writing, I've referred to my sister and alluded to the fact that she died at an early age without going into detail.

To further clarify, she died in 1979 at the age of 15, I had just turned 18 a few months prior. I had not been living with the parents for a few months, having moved out due to a basic incompatibility between my burgeoning sexuality and spirituality and my parent's belief system which did not allow for either.

This left my sister at home to deal with the parents - who apparently felt that since they had failed with one child, they certainly weren't going to fail with the second. Things for her proceeded from tolerable when I was there to be the fall guy, to intolerable when I moved out. The straw that broke the camel's back was when she ran away with her then boyfriend Glenn and planned to go to California. She showed up on my door on a Thursday afternoon, and begged me not to report her location to the parents. I honestly thought that I could help her, and so I agreed.


The machinations of Fate intervened, and over the course of the next couple of days, not only did I come out to her, I managed to convince her that dropping out and running to California wasn't in her best interests, and that she should at least stay in school and graduate; I even volunteered to let her stay with me some weekends so she could at least have some time away from the parents, something I was sure I could manage to implement.

At this time, I was a student at Ravenwood Church and Seminary of Wicca, and had been for a number of months. One of the things that Ravenwood did was to host an Open House on Friday nights, and my sister attended one that Friday night. There again, Fate played a hand, as she met the people that would play a significant role in the rest of her life.


Jumping ahead to Sunday, the night of the accident; we (my roommate Barbara, myself, my sister and her boyfriend) went to dinner and then to Ravenwood, where I had been working on a poem to be used as an invocation to the Moon. Lady Sintana was downstairs, as were David and Barbara, and we were all around the dining room table. My sister was her usual self, flitting around, emptying ashtrays and helping straighten things up. There were also a young couple in the living room, who had encountered some problems with travelling and been recommended to Ravenwood by Traveler's Aid. The other people in the house at the time were Peggy and her boyfriend who were upstairs in her room, and Sintana's daughter Sybil and her boyfriend Harry. Sybil and Harry decided to go out for ice cream, and so weren't in the house when everything happened.

Sintana decided to go upstairs to bed, and Barbara mentioned having to work in the morning, so Glenn volunteered to take Barbara home and come back for us, since I was still working on my poem. About 20 minutes passed, and Glenn came back; since I was still working on my poem, Glenn sat down at the table to my right to wait for me to come to a stopping point; meanwhile, David, who had been sitting at the table across from me, got up, left the dining room and came back with a bowling bag.

He proceeded to open the bag and pull out a gun. To this day, I can't tell you what kind of gun it was aside from the fact that it wasn't a revolver and I think that makes it an automatic. He proceeded to eject the clip from the gun and pulled the bullet out of the chamber. I was watching this with some interest, since this was the first time I'd ever been this close to a gun. He blew in the chamber, and proceeded to clean it. Then, he put the clip back in the gun, and it was at this time that my sister walked around to him and said "I dare you". I looked up at this exchange, and thought that my sister was crazy, but just fooling around.

David looked at her like she had just sprouted 2 extra heads, and she repeated herself - "I dare you" - David looked at her again, and picked up the gun, holding it in a relaxed grip, and pulled back the hammer ... then the gun went off.

The first thing that went through my head was "okay, it was a blank and she just fainted..." but then I saw the blood and knew my life had been forever changed. My first reaction was to pick up the phone and dial the Operator (this was before 911) - to get the police and an ambulance-but for whatever reason, the phone didn't work immediately. I tried again, and managed to get through, giving the information to the Operator, and managed to get police and an ambulance dispatched.

Meanwhile, David (who was an unemployed EMT) was trying to do First Aid on my sister, and Glenn picked up the gun off the table and was acting like he was going to shoot David. I don't know what came over me, but I distinctly remember saying "NO! There's been enough Death tonight, put down the gun!" - thankfully, he did. I then turned and walked out of the dining room, to find Sintana flying down the stairs and the couple from Traveler's Aid coming to see what had happened - I stopped them and said "my sister's been shot", and broke down in tears.

The immediate aftermath was a blur, however police and emergency response times were nothing short of miraculous. I kind of believe that was due in no small part to the location of the accident, but that's irrelevant now. As it turned out, one of the emergency responders happened to be not only a Judge, but also the father of one of my former High School and Hebrew School classmates, and who knew me. Having brought myself under a degree of control, I asked him as he exited the dining room if my sister was alright, and he shook his head. The only thing I can remember at that point is grabbing a pillow and shoving it in my mouth before throwing myself into the couch and screaming from the very pit of my soul.

Immediately afterwards, I went to find Lady Sintana, and found her in the kitchen with David and a couple of policemen. I immediately went over to David and hugged him as Sintana and the policemen looked on in disbelief. I said "it was an accident... a horrible horrible accident"... then the policemen put David in handcuffs, as I said ... "you don't need to do that, it was an accident". As David was taken away, Glenn and I were taken down to the police station for our statements - while there, I realized that it was my responsibility to tell my parents that my baby sister had gotten killed under my watch.

Which they didn't know about because they had no idea where she was at the time.

So - from the police station, I made a number of phone calls - first to the Cantor at my parent's Synagogue, because not only had he known the family for years, his wife had been one of my teachers at Hebrew School. I called him because I needed him to call the Rabbi, to warn him that I was going to be calling and needing a house call due to the immensity of this emergency. After that, I called my mother's physician and got him to make a house call, because I knew, just absolutely knew, that this was going to kill my mother. I then convinced a City of Atlanta cop to drive us over there, because when my mother keeled over with a heart attack, I wanted a police officer to make the call for an ambulance because it would have been a quicker response.

We gathered outside my parents apartment ... me, the Rabbi, the Cantor, my mother's Dr, the Atlanta City cop, Barbara, and Lord Colin from Ravenwood - and I rang the bell. My father answered the door, and when he asked who it was, I had to say "It's me, and I've got some bad news ... there's been an accident and Jolene's dead. "

When he opened the door and saw all of us, I think he knew without my saying anything more that this was really happening - every parent's worst nightmare, the death of a child. We then went into the apartment to stand in the living room while my father went to get my mother.

When my mother came in, I had to repeat the news to her - that there had been a horrible accident, and Jolene was dead. What happened next remains permanently etched in my mind - my mother looked at me and said "Why wasn't it you? Why couldn't it have been you? We gave her everything, why wasn't it you?" - before breaking down in tears.

To this day, I cannot describe what I felt hearing those words - I did the only thing I could do, which was to excuse myself and go outside for air. When I got outside, I was walking in the parking lot and happened to look up and see the full Moon - and it was then I swore, on my sister's life, that I would be the greatest Witch in the world - [ that's something I've never before revealed, and something I honestly feel I've made great strides in achieving - not from a Power standpoint, but from a Spiritual one. ]

Next, sitting Shiva with the relatives and how the whole situation with the gossipy Aunt got started. I've put down enough for now, and need a break to regroup.

Random thoughts aka therapy issues

Back again to the adoption issue - it's like a toothache you keep probing with your tongue, no matter how much it hurts you just keep at it.

Well, it's not really *that* bad, but it's an appropriate metaphor.

I guess I'd always known on some level that I was adopted - one memory I have from childhood is waking from a dream where I'd flown through a knothole in the hardwood floor to be with my "real" parents - when I was let out of my room, I immediately went to that spot, and when quesitoned by my parents as to precisely *why* I was lying on the floor with my face plastered to that spot, I answered "because I want to see my real parents" - needless to say, that didn't go over very well and I got beaten for it.

That's another issue I'll have to tackle in another post - the beatings.
Child protective services would have had a field day with my parents.

So, back to the adoption issue. At different points in my childhood and adolescence, I point blank asked my mother if I was adopted, and she would always say "no".

I was pretty much satisfied with this, until one time when she contracted pneumonia, and I went against her wishes and contacted her physician for a status report.

His response completely floored me, because he said "well, she's doing as well as can be expected for a 77 year old woman" ... and I said "no, you're mistaken, she's only 67" - he said "no, I happen to have it on the best of authority that she's 77" - at which point, I said "that's impossible, because then she would have had to have been 53 when I was born and 55+ when my sister was born, and I know we're not in the Guiness Book of World Records for oldest births" - so I asked him point blank if I was adopted. His response? "Ask your mother"

What happened next was utterly amazing - I got a call from my mother chewing me out for calling her Doctor to find out how she was doing. I let the adoption issue drop for another couple of years, until one of my Uncles died.

For those of you unaware of Jewish funerary traditions, there is a ritual called "sitting Shiva" - this is the first week after the funeral, when you receive callers - it's the period of the most intense mourning, followed by a month of lessened grieving, then a year, culminating in the Yatzherit, or mourning candle lit on the day of the person's death.

Anyway, this was the day after the funeral itself, and my Aunt was receiving visitors, primarily the relatives, for Shiva. That night, I happened to be leaving at the same time as one of the cousins and his wife. Never having been particularly close to this cousin, I figured that opportunity was knocking, and I have to admit, I took advantage of the situation.

I stopped him and his wife, and after some nondescript chit chat, I fired my opening volley and came out and asked him directly, "there's something I need to know, and you're probably the best person to ask ... am I adopted?"

The color drained from his face, as I can guarantee that this was nowhere near any question he thought I'd fire off. He stammered for a second, and then his response back was something I'd heard before, "ask your mother". I looked at him and said, "you know my mother, what kind of response do you think I'm going to get, and why do you think I'm asking you?"

Thankfully, his wife was with him, looking on in amazement at this display of dysfunction. She hit him on his arm and said "look, if you know something you need to tell him, he's got a right to know!" ... so, after another few seconds of indecision, he came out and said "yes, you were adopted".

Finally having confirmation, I wasn't planning on addressing this with the parents until later, however that was not to be the case. The next day, back at the Aunt's house, I arrived earlier than my parents and was using the opportunity to socialize with relatives I hardly ever saw. When my parents arrived, I was told they needed to talk to me outside - when I went to see them, I was blindsided myself by my mother, who wanted to know why I had been asking the question I had, and by what right? (My family really did put the FUN in dysfunctional)

First off, I was shocked that my parents had heard about this, as they had already left the night before and I seriously doubted that my cousin would have gotten on the phone to alert them that he'd broken the silence. As it turned out, he hadn't called my parents but had called his mother (my mother's other sister) and in the course of telling her what had gone on that day, mentioned my question and his response, and bet her that she couldn't keep it to herself.

She couldn't. Apparently, no sooner than she hung up the phone with her son, she dialed my parents to let them know what had happened. In retrospect, this shouldn't have suprised me as this particular relative and I were definitely not close, dating back to an incident that occurred during Shiva for my sister. I'll relate that incident and some others in a separate post.

Anyway, back to the confrontation with the parents - there we were, in the front of my Aunt's house, with me in near hysterics over the fact that my parents had lied to me for over 25 years, and them defending the lie with the statement "we were told not to tell you" - not exactly the most compelling of arguments, but the only one my parents ever offered.

After about 20 minutes (that honestly seemed like an eternity) of raised voices, tears and I'm sure, relatives poised at the windows to catch every nuance of the drama unfolding outside, calm was again restored. When we went back inside, I was pulled aside by my cousin (the one who'd broken the silence) and asked what had just happened - when I told him, he immediately looked at his mother and said "you owe me $200".

That's when I knew how my parents came to know that I finally knew the truth.

Knowing made a lot of things easier to understand, especially when viewed through this filter - why we were the youngest cousins with the oldest parents, why we (my late sister and I) always felt somewhat alienated among the other relatives, why I knew so little of the actual family history and other things like that.

Somewhat back on track

My adoption.

Those two words open a big ole can of worms, so to speak ... and not just your garden variety earthworms and nightcrawlers either, there are some nasty Lovecraftian suckers in that can too.

As I stated previously, my parents were older when I was adopted, my mother was in her 50's and my father in his early 40's.

For the 1960's, not exactly the ideal ages that an agency would award a white male infant to, especially as a first child; later information confirmed this, that I was indeed a "private" adoption, aka "black market".

There are a number of reasons for this, both the adoption and why my parents - while I have nothing concrete to base it on, just the dynamics of the relationships between my mother and her siblings and my father and his, I'm pretty sure I'm close if not dead on.

Simply put, I was a reward. My mother was the oldest daughter, and the first American - as such, I believe she was put upon to help make good marriages for the rest of the family - incidentally, a job she apparently succeeded at, there were no divorces in that generation.

When the rest of the family were settled and producing grandchildren, then it became my mother's turn - exactly how she met my father is something that will never be known, however we were always told it was a blind date.

Regardless, they met and everything went in logical succession - love, engagement, marriage.

However, for whatever reason, and again this is complete conjecture on my part, my mother could not conceive - I believe probably due to her age at the time of her marriage, since my mother was about 15 - 16 years older than my father.

While women giving birth in their 40's and older is somewhat in vogue today due to advances in medical science, this was the late 50's to early 60's and such a thing was completely unheard of.

So, you have a conundrum...one I believe was answered by Fate in the form of teenage hormones. I have long suspected that I might have been fathered by one of my "cousins", however that's one of the Lovecraftian worms that I don't particularly care to deal with right now, so aside from a simple mention, it's not something I'll be addressing at this time.

Suffice it to say that the adoption went through, and about 2.5 years later, I was joined by a baby sister and we became the prototypical "nuclear" family; I've never delved into her adoption, however one memory does come to the fore - seeing her identical twin, in the exact same dress she owned, in the newspaper during a shopping trip.
Nothing more was ever said about that incident except for my parents to remark at the time that the girl in the picture looked exactly like my sister, down to the dress.

Okay, that's enough for now. I need a few minutes to regroup after dredging up all this and putting it on display - this is more shit than I've ever covered with a therapist.

Out of Sequence Part B

So, they installed the heat pump - great air flow downstairs, it's cooling, and I go to check the upstairs airflow. Sure enough, it's the same problem I had previously, no air flow at all upstairs.
The tech is stumped.
I figure hey, it's working, it's cooling, and it's not dripping through the half bath ceiling. Half a loaf is better than none, and the tech promises to come back to figure out what the problem is.

A week later, he comes back and gets in the attic, and voila, a 5 minute fix.
Seems that the damper for the upstairs ductwork had been turned off, and when it was adjusted, I had air flow upstairs again.

So now, I'm just waiting on the windows to be installed - after that, I'll be redoing the stairway and the upstairs with more of that Gunstock Oak laminate.
And I will call it complete for the time being.

Out of sequence part 1

Yeah, I know I said I'd do more on my childhood, however given what I currently have going on, I'm going to post about that instead right now...especially since it's way more relevant to me, and this is really all about me anyway.

So, last year I finally took the plunge into home ownership and bought a townhouse.
It looked like a good deal, given it was a foreclosure and apparently just needed some TLC. I did everything by the book, down to having it inspected prior to escrow to make sure I wasn't getting shafted or distracted by the price.

One thing that I made sure to point out to the home inspector was that there was absolutely *no* air flow upstairs. The A/C was running, but nothing was happening upstairs. I told him that a screwed up A/C was a deal breaker, as there were a couple of other properties in the same community I could have made offers on, which were larger and had working A/C.
However, according to the Inspector, "it was something a handyman could fix, nothing major" ...

I wish I'd gotten that in writing or as some sort of guarantee.

After suffering through a Georgia summer with absolutely no A/C except for fans (and let me tell you, the HOA really loved seeing fans in my windows) because it turned out *not* to be a "handyman fix" - the coil was dirty, the plenum (that's the box the air goes through to be cooled) was designed wrong, the duct work going to the attic was all screwed up, and that's just what I can remember off the top of my head, after having 9, yes NINE different companies come out to look at the system and give me bids on getting it either fixed or replaced.

Anyway, I ended up going with a heat pump as the replacement option rather than repair, figuring that a new system will offer far less complications than something essentially brought back from the dead, not to mention be Green and add serious bucks to the resale value. The heat pump will be installed near the end of September, just in time for the heat to break and the new A/C not see any real use (or so you'd think.... I'm seriously considering running the damn thing at meat locker temperatures just because I'll have a new A/C).

Unfortunately, going with the replacement option temporarily killed my plans for new kitchen cabinets, however thanks to a *kicking* 12 month no interest/no payment sale at Floor & Decor, I got laminate flooring for the downstairs, in addition to slate for the hall, kitchen and laundry area...why slate? Because the entry way and the downstairs half bath both have slate floors, and I love the look.

Originally, I'd planned on doing the work myself, however after running into serious issues with trying to install the laminate myself with no experience, I elected to turn both jobs over to professionals in order to make sure the job was done right.
The tile guy is doing the kitchen, hall, and laundry over the next couple of days, and the laminate guy is coming on Saturday to do the living/dining area.

Yeah, it's going to cost me more, however the results so far are stunning and in the long run, the value added by having the work done professionally instead of half assed more than makes up for the expense.

Again, since I'm at work I'll post more later.

Back from the Void

It's been a while since I've posted, not that anyone's really noticed.
Again, don't care, I just want something on record for posterity, however I really should try and do this on a far more regular basis to get that achieved.

I'm writing this from work, so brevity will have to be the operative phrase.

I'll try and post more about my childhood during the dinner break, and even try to be somewhat sequential, picking up where I left off.

Til then, au revoir

My mother, on her wedding day

My mother and father, at their wedding April 11, 1948

To the left are my paternal grandparents, and on the right are my maternal grandparents

My Aunt is the Maid of Honor in the middle, and the gentleman next to her I believe to be

the Rabbi who performed the ceremony.

Me and the family

Where should every good story start?

At the beginning, of course.
So, to begin:
I spent the 1960's and early 70's in a 2 bedroom apartment on Rock Springs Circle, in an apartment complex that has since been demolished to make way for condos.
I shared the space with my parents and younger sister, and we were raised Conservative Jewish.
My father was a High School teacher, my mother a housewife. My father was in his early 40's when I was born, and my mother was in her early 50's - (I didn't find out conclusively that I was adopted until I was 25 - more on that in a minute.)

Their relationship is a whole other series of postings, let me tell you.

I had a nurse for the first few years of my life, her name was Carrie. I don't remember much about her except that she was nice and she was a black woman. I'm thinking that she was there more for my baby sister, and I was part of the bargain, i.e. she took care of the two of us.
After that, my mother shared a maid with her sister for the next 30+ years - different women, however if she worked for my mother, she worked for my aunt also.

We were technically the "poor" relations, since my mother's brothers and sisters were all successful, being doctors or accountants, or married to them while my father was a school teacher.
He also always had a 2nd job going of some sort. I think coming through the Depression did that, though. In addition, he was also only first generation American, as were my mother and her family.

I was the 2nd youngest of all my cousins, my sister being the youngest in the family.
Dad had 2 siblings, a sister and a brother. He was the middle child.
Mom, I'm not real sure of the birth order with - I do know she had 2 sisters and at least 2 brothers, and it wasn't until one of my uncle's heart attacks that I found out that my maternal grandparents had 6 children in the Old Country who died prior to their emigration to America.

Of these various aunts and uncles, I had 11 cousins of various ages, the oldest at my birth was I believe late teens, early 20's, the youngest around 1 or 2 - for various reasons, we were never included in social activities with them except on rare occasion.

(Being the "poor" relations I suppose *did* have a bit to do with it)

Anyway, my sister arrived when I was about 2.5 - we shared a bedroom until 1973, when my mother found a 3 bedroom apartment within walking distance of my father's work and my High School.

Yes, my father taught at the same High School I attended.

I think I'll leave it at that for right now - want to talk about one of the biggest influences in my life?
That's gotta definitely rank right up there. I'd say Top 10, possibly even Top 5.
When I think about the shit I got away with simply because my father was who he was, I still have to shake my head.
That however, was severely compromised for the same reason.
Kids automatically hated me because of who my father was, because he was, among other things, one of the hardest teachers in one of the harder classes at the school.

C'est la vie. No use crying over it, I'm just recording it.
Enough for now, I'm going to see what else this software can do and then head to bed.
Not bad for a first night's writing, I'll see what else I can add later.

Dear Dorothy:

Hate you, hate Oz.

Got the shoes,

find your own damn way home.

Toto