I thought it was bad enough to have to witness and deal with my parents' dysfunctional marriage for the first 36 years of my life...but no. After my father's death from cancer at age 63, I was dragged along and into my mother's post-widowhood sex-fuelled, romantic escapades.
I guess it really shouldn't have surprised me to find out that bereavement support groups are full of widowers looking to get laid, or to get laid, married and looked after by a replacement wife. My mother was up for the first part of the expectations, but none of the latter.
My mother had been very beautiful (like the movie star Rita Hayworth), especially in her younger years; she was ardently pursued by innumerable men from the time she was a teenager. Her basic personality was likely narcissitic already, and being adored and worshipped by men only served to cement a self-centered orientation and a view of herself as a sex kitten.
I don't know how my gangly, boyish-looking and immature father wound up being the one to win her hand, poor bastard. He'd had some pretty stiff competition. It was these other suitors that I heard about over, and over, and over again while I was growing up. Every time they fought, which was frequently, my mother would wail and list off the names of all the other men she could have, and should have married, rather than my dad. It was the never-ending "Woulda-Coulda-Shoulda Roll Call" of my unhappily wed mother. To this day, I can reel off the list of suitors' names from memory, but one stood out in particular. I will refer to him as "Cameron Donaldson", and it was his name that was invoked most often as the man she wished she'd married instead of my dad.
To put it extremely mildly, she was a very emotionally and mentally unstable person and wore my father out to the extent that it led to his untimely death. Then the job of being her "keeper" fell to me.
Without my father's daily stabilizing and controlling influence, my mother deteriorated to the extent that I eventually had to have her involuntarily committed to a psychiatric hospital in the summer of 1998. They got her stabilized enough over the course of 30 days to release her, but told me she was about "the most intractable personality" they had ever encountered; it was unlikely she could be helped or that anything would ever change, especially considering she denied the diagnoses (there were several) and refused all medications.
She was only in her mid-sixties at the time of her release from the psych ward and, as she had recently sold her large home, she initially went to live with an ex-nun whom she had met through a hospice bereavement support group after my dad died. This arrangement lasted all of a few weeks, until her crazy and insensitive behaviours caused the former nun so much stress that she actually burst blood vessels in her eyes that then bled from their sockets!
The ex-nun let it be known to the bereavement support group that she'd invited my mother to find other accommodation. My mother could have easily moved into a condo that she'd owned for years, but it seems she preferred renting the condo out and getting the money, and living off someone else for low, or no cost.
Mom was seen as pretty "hot stuff" in the bereavement support group and had several men vying for her. She took up with one and started living with him after the former nun gave her the boot. I will refer to him as "Whistlin' Roy", because his manner of speech had a very weird whistling quality to it.
I didn't trust Whistlin' Roy one iota and my suspicions were confirmed when an old acquaintance contacted me out of concern and told me Roy had married her widowed mother and taken her to the cleaners; they even suspected him of stealing and selling her mother's wedding rings from her first marriage to my acquaintance's father. My acquaintance's mother had died, which was how Whistlin' Roy came to be in the bereavement support group and met my mother.
My mother happily used Roy for about a couple of years - lived in his shabby little house and sailed with him in the summer on his little boat. She got to live off him to an extent (they shared food expenses and she probably contributed to utility costs) and he got sex. But that wasn't nearly enough for Whistlin' Roy.
Roy knew she had money (my father left her very comfortably off) and he was determined to get some of it. But Roy completely underestimated my mother. She was the Queen of Skinflints - nothing, and I mean nothing got between her and her money. This was a woman who, if she arranged to meet you downtown for coffee, would insist on going into the lobby of her bank branch for the free coffee and newspaper they offered. Even if you offered to take her to Starbucks as your treat, she would refuse and insist the lukewarm bank swill was perfectly fine. This was a woman who, driving on a rainy and cold winter day, would not let you turn on the heat or defogger in the car, as she believed it used more gas to run these comfort and safety features. She'd hand you a well-used rag to keep wiping off the condensation on the inside of the windshield as you shivered. This was a woman who, when she did buy a new car once, had them remove and credit her for the $35.00 AM radio, saying to the salesman "If I want music in the car, I can sing."
Whistlin' Roy tried everything he could to get her to spend money. He even resorting to calling me to get ideas on how to get at her funds. It was my 40th birthday and we were just headed out the door for a nice dinner. I should have known better than to pick up the phone, but this was before we had call display. On the other end of the phone was a very drunk and weepy Whistlin' Roy. I told him we had birthday dinner reservations he was making me late for, but that didn't stop him from bleating on about how he'd tried everything he could think of to get my mother to spend some money on him, but nothing had worked. She would not buy him a better car or a bigger boat, and he was totally frustrated that he "could not get her to open her wallet." I was astounded at his nerve, yet somehow fascinated that he could possibly think this was an appropriate conversation to have with the daughter of the woman you were essentially out to swindle!
I'd had enough of his whining and outright asked "If she's so bloody awful and making you so miserable, then why do you stay involved with her?" His answer? "Because she's a great screw."
Great. How delightful. Just what every girl wants to hear about her mother on her 40th birthday. But, it was true to character for my mother; I knew that on his deathbed my father had thanked her "for all the great sex." So it wasn't the first time I'd heard about my mother's aptitude.
Whistlin' Roy screwed himself right out of the relationship through his unrelenting financial pressure on my mother. Well, that and then there was the fact that her first love had recently become a widower and looked her up. After decades of hearing his name invoked during marital spats, I finally met Cameron Donaldson when he took up with my mother after a 50 year hiatus.
In the beginning the outward appearance of their romance was actually quite delightful. It was like both of them were again 17 and 24 - their respective ages when they first dated. My grandmother had apparently put the kibosh on the original relationship, deeming Cam too old for her daughter. But they had both carried a torch for each other for five decades. They retreated into the past at his rustic lakeside retreat that had been in his family for ages; my mother's name was still visible in the guestbook there from when she had signed it 50 years previously.
I was glad they seemed so happy together; I stayed out of their way and kept my fingers crossed that she could somehow keep it together and make this work. My mother was good at "honeymoon" phases, what she was incapable of was any of the tough slogging required in real relationships. Tough slogging soon came up in the form of Cam's grown daughters and his grandkids, and his expectations that my mother contribute financially to their life together.
He soon proposed and my mother accepted. He gave her a ring with a lot of diamonds that had been his beloved mother's - a ring he had never even bestowed on his first wife. His daughters were cheesed off, about this and a lot of other things, some valid and some petty.
The first wedding date got postponed when my mother would not agree to the pre-nup Cam was insisting on. Basically, she refused to share in their living costs in any way. Despite the red flags that should have raised for Cam, over the course of the next few months he watered down the pre-nup agreement enough that she eventually signed. They agreed everything they owned when they came to the union would remain solely their own in the event of a split, and my mother agreed to contribute $200.00 a month to their joint living expenses. I'm thinking the sex must have been r-e-a-l-l-y good for her to have gotten Cam to agree to this paltry sum!
All too soon after their wedding in 2001, they were both privately contacting me and complaining about each other. Between the two of them they had life experience totalling 143 years, and yet they were incapable of any insights or strategies for overcoming their respective foibles and deficits.
In addition to tangling with Cam, my mother ran afoul in her role as stepmother and stepgrandmother. Prior to the wedding, she had portrayed a more maternal aspect - smilingly hosting and cooking for the clan at Cam's home in town and at the lakeside family retreat, and feigning interest in her stepdaughters and their children. I knew this was a total charade that would be completely unsustainable. Hearing about what was being required of her - things she never would lift a finger to do even for her own blood family - made me snort and say to my husband "I wonder how long she'll be able to last?" Not long at all, it turned out.
Everything had unravelled by the summer of 2004. Cam called me to give me the heads-up that he was going to be tossing my mother out of his home and filing for divorce. He found her impossible to live with and she had never lived up to any agreement she'd made with him. She refused to pay the $200.00 per month stipulated in their pre-nup, and also refused to reimburse him for her share of some holidays they had taken together to Hawaii, California and to Newfoundland. Her excuse was that he had made all the arrangements and paid far more for the airfares and accommodation than she ever would have, therefore she was not beholden to pay him back. According to her, she would have waited for an airline "seat sale" and gotten a cheaper flight, and she would have stayed at a hostel or the "Y" as opposed to the beachfront condo Cam booked in Maui. He'd had enough.
My mother finally moved into the condo she'd owned all along and re-started her life as a widow/divorcee. She refused to return the Donaldson family ring and Cam dealt with this by having their separation agreement stipulate it would be returned to his family on her death. In the ensuing years, my mother tried to insist that if she pre-deceased Cam I was not to ever return this ring. Did I mention Cam and his eldest daughter were both lawyers? I told my mother in no uncertain terms that I would not renege on a legal agreement she had made, and that it was totally unreasonable for her to order me to do otherwise. I said "If anything ever happens to you, one of the first things I am doing is returning that ring!" This infuriated her (not being able to control people from the grave).
My mother had a debilitating stroke in 2009 and died early in 2010. Cam was vacationing in Mexico at the time with his third wife. When they got back home, I contacted him and made arrangements to drop off the cursed ring.
I literally felt my dead mother's grip on me loosen considerably when I fulfilled this obligation - it felt good to be clear and capable of doing the right thing, something she was seldom able to do in her own life. It wasn't much of a redemptive moment with respect to my relationship with her, but that was typical of all her relationships - don't expect much of her. Because of this, I've always expected a lot of myself and I learned not to let me down, and that's more valuable than any diamond ring.
Todo bien. (It's all good.)
Monday, June 21, 2010
Sunday, May 30, 2010
On Sibling Betrayal
For the past 23 years or so, I thought I had developed a great relationship with my older sister; "Gigi" is what I call her on my blog. We weren't close growing up - she always seemed much older than the four calendar years that separated our birthdates.
She was the rebellious older kid, the moody and boy-crazy teenager who drove my parents to distraction. There was just no connection...they didn't understand their daughter and were unable to parent her constructively as a result. They probably did a lot of damage and were at the root of her self-destructive choices in men and life.
My parents and sister fought a lot; I tried to keep my head down and didn't have as much trouble toeing their line and complying with their expectations (which were basically "do what we tell you, when we tell you, and don't have an opinion that differs from ours"). She moved out on her own when she was 18 (I was 14) and we really had nothing much to do with each other for the next 12 years. There was no animosity or anything - we just had nothing much in common and were absorbed in our own young lives.
She had chosen to remain in eastern Canada when my father retired and moved my mother and me back to the west coast when I was entering my last year of high school. She did come out west for a brief stint, but the same problems of my parents trying to control her again produced conflict, and she went east permanently to live - eventually residing 3,000 km away from our parents and me.
I made efforts to visit Gigi, starting in about 1986. She and her then-husband were kind and gracious hosts - we had a nice time together and started to build an adult relationship. We shared many common experiences and views with respect to our upbringing, and some of the more staggering shortcomings of our parents (continuous infidelities on both their parts, continual raging fights over money, and total obliviousness towards the personal natures and emotional needs of their daughters).
It was nice to be able to have someone with whom I could "sanity check" with respect to my upbringing - someone who was there and witnessed/experienced it all as well. We laughed long and loud about a lot of it - it was either that, or cry. We were great kids who had been cursed with absolutely dysfunctional parents who were incapable of insight, growth or change.
I guess Gigi decided she had to stay away for her own mental health. From 1976 to 1995, I was the offspring who dealt with both our parents in every way - from the good stuff (which consisted of me ensuring all birthdays and major holidays were taken care of - I did all the gift buying, hosting and cooking for these events) to the bad stuff, and there was mostly bad stuff. No 23 year old should have to come home from work to find her father waiting on the doorstep of her apartment, in tears and needing to unload about the latest crisis with her mother. No daughter should be pressured/guilted into skipping her university classes to drive her mother around to hotel after hotel, and be sent in to grill the front desk staff in her mother's effort to catch the daughter's father cheating. I was even dragged into their (very brief) stint of marriage counselling with a psychiatrist(!) when that doctor could not figure them out nor find a way to help them. Gigi got to skip all of this.
In 1995, when our father was diagnosed with terminal cancer, Gigi came west (my parents paid for her flight, as usual) and together we nursed him for the three short weeks up until his death at home. With his passing I became our mother's keeper, and what a job that proved to be.
By the summer of 1998 my mother was so far off her rocker that I actually had to have her involuntarily committed to a psychiatric hospital for 30 days. Gigi did not come out to help during this time, and had very little concept of the crisis. It was then one nightmare after another with our mother - a horrendous rollercoaster - 11 solid years of bi-polar, obsessive compulsive, narcisisstic behaviour, all of which I had to manage without one ounce of involvement or support from my absent sister.
I wanted to have a relationship with my sister and always looked out for her interests with our mother. I would not countenance any criticism from our mother of Gigi and always assured Gigi I was looking out for her re: eventual inheritance (our mother was very comfortably off, but a hoarder who constantly alluded to the fact she may leave it all to charity).
Since 2003, my husband and I flew Gigi out west 3 to 4 times on our airmiles and hosted her visits at our beachfront cottage (these visits were secret from our mother, as Gigi did not want to see her). Gigi was also our guest in Mexico at our little condo there. I kind of thought of Gigi, my husband and me as the Three Muskateers - all for one and one for all. I thought we had each others' backs. Not so, it turns out.
Our mother had a stroke in January 2009, and I had to take over all her affairs via the legal Power of Attorney she had granted me several years prior. Her financial affairs were very secure, but a total mess - investments spread all over Hell's half acre. It took me a minimum of 60 hours just to track it all down at various financial institutions, document it, and get a handle on managing it, as she was headed for a nursing home. This was on top of dealing with the health system and our mother's indescribable behaviour and condition post-stroke. It was beyond horrendous and exhausting in the extreme.
I kept my sister fully apprised of everything by phone and in writing, and included her in a trip to see a lawyer, when she visited our mother for a week about a month after the stroke. We needed what the lawyer called a "Game Plan Memo" that would outline my future actions as Power of Attorney and the handling/management of our mother's assets.
What was particularly problematic was that I was on title of our mother's waterfront condo, and it was also willed to me, when what my mother actually now intended was for my sister to inherit the condo and for me to get the equivalent value in cash from her estate (i.e., "equal consideration"). I had been working with a lawyer to figure out the best way to get the condo solely in my sister's name (with "life interest" to our mother), with "equal consideration" specified for me, so we'd all know where we stood and everyone's interests were fairly looked after.
For 5 months this "Game Plan Memo" was in the works and Gigi never voiced any concerns, apart from the fact that our mother should have independent legal advice before enacting any part of the plan. The problem with this was our mother's psychiatric issues - which made it virtually impossible to get her to commit to any legal agreement and stick with it. She was legally "competent" but her propensity for "flip flopping" would make a dying fish on a dock look stationary.
No improvement in our mother's condition, and certain financial circumstances in my life meant that by July 2009 it looked logical to enact the Game Plan Memo - to put the quarter million dollar+ condo solely in Gigi's name with "life interest" to our mother, and to specify that I had sole right to the equivalent value in cash from our mother's assets/estate.
I called Gigi to discuss this and get her agreement to proceed, and let her know I would like to be able to access some (not all) of the over $250K in "equal consideration." I thought this would be a pro forma discussion because the written details had been known and discussed for months between us, and our mother - who understood and had no objections, and it had been reviewed by two lawyers (Gigi's and mine). Wrong.
Gigi calmly proceeded to tell me she had been expecting this call and would have no part in "bailing" me out of what she deemed to be my self-created financial predicament, that I could not "use our mother as a bank", that my husband and I live way beyond our means and, yes, too bad about the global financial economic meltdown and related reversals in my finances and consulting business, but we'd made our bed and would have to lie in it. This from the woman who owns nothing, who earns less than minimum wage teaching yoga, and who actually lives on a few hundred a month stipend from her ailing, geriatric second husband.
I think I now know how an animal feels when the jaws of a well-concealed trap snap shut on it. Gigi was simply laying low and waiting for me to make this move. She'd had ample opportunity for months previously to tell me she was not on board with the Game Plan Memo, and did not do so. Sly.
Gigi wanted our mother's condo in her name and was willing for that aspect of the Game Plan Memo to proceed; what she vehemently objected to was my accessing any money ("equal consideration") any time in advance of our mother's death. In other words, she was completely happy to possibly get an appreciating asset completely in her own name, and to make me wait to access equal value, even though she knew I had need of some money now.
She was so committed to "foiling" what she called my "little financial bailout plan", that she then wrote our mother and told her she actually no longer wanted the condo, thereby negating the "equal consideration" claim she thought I would have. She also demanded to be made co-executor of our mother's will, offering the reason for this request as the fact that my husband will outlive hers??
Gigi then told me, "If you need some money, you need to ask our mother directly." So, I did ask our mother for some money to pay down our substantial condo remediation loan (we were unlucky enough to have bought into a "leaky condo") and, lo and behold, with the approval of her independent investment advisor, our mother gave me a considerable amount of money towards paying off that loan.
Gigi went ballistic. Even though I then put it in writing to Gigi that I considered this an advance on my eventual inheritance, Gigi was simply furious that I got "bailed out." I really felt she wanted to see me and my husband hurting and having to liquidate real estate investments at a loss, in order to stay afloat in a time of financial duress.
It was so hurtful to realize she wanted to see me suffer. I realized with horror that she had likely resented me and judged our lifestyle for years, even while she was benefitting from it (e.g., me constantly buffering her from our mother, ensuring our mother kept her in the will, and also providing her with nice vacations).
She did some nice things for me during these years as well, but that is beside the point. We did nice things for each other, but she wound up seriously betraying me, in that when the chips were down and I really needed her support and understanding, she sanctimoniously told me to reap what she felt I'd sown. And I could feel her visceral satisfaction in communicating that to me.
So I continued to soldier on, dealing alone with all the horrendousness that was our mother's post-stroke condition, behaviour and world. My sister was interested in nothing beyond ensuring her inheritance would be secure.
I was released from all this in January 2010 when our mother died. Since my relationship with my sister had died the previous summer, and our father had died in 1995, I now consider myself "family-of-origin free."
On a recent "Oprah" show, a guest said "The ones who love you when you need them...those are the people who are your family." I agree. My family never really loved me when I needed them, but I am so lucky in that other people have loved me in abundance, and I consider those people to be my true family.
Todo bien. (It's all good.)
She was the rebellious older kid, the moody and boy-crazy teenager who drove my parents to distraction. There was just no connection...they didn't understand their daughter and were unable to parent her constructively as a result. They probably did a lot of damage and were at the root of her self-destructive choices in men and life.
My parents and sister fought a lot; I tried to keep my head down and didn't have as much trouble toeing their line and complying with their expectations (which were basically "do what we tell you, when we tell you, and don't have an opinion that differs from ours"). She moved out on her own when she was 18 (I was 14) and we really had nothing much to do with each other for the next 12 years. There was no animosity or anything - we just had nothing much in common and were absorbed in our own young lives.
She had chosen to remain in eastern Canada when my father retired and moved my mother and me back to the west coast when I was entering my last year of high school. She did come out west for a brief stint, but the same problems of my parents trying to control her again produced conflict, and she went east permanently to live - eventually residing 3,000 km away from our parents and me.
I made efforts to visit Gigi, starting in about 1986. She and her then-husband were kind and gracious hosts - we had a nice time together and started to build an adult relationship. We shared many common experiences and views with respect to our upbringing, and some of the more staggering shortcomings of our parents (continuous infidelities on both their parts, continual raging fights over money, and total obliviousness towards the personal natures and emotional needs of their daughters).
It was nice to be able to have someone with whom I could "sanity check" with respect to my upbringing - someone who was there and witnessed/experienced it all as well. We laughed long and loud about a lot of it - it was either that, or cry. We were great kids who had been cursed with absolutely dysfunctional parents who were incapable of insight, growth or change.
I guess Gigi decided she had to stay away for her own mental health. From 1976 to 1995, I was the offspring who dealt with both our parents in every way - from the good stuff (which consisted of me ensuring all birthdays and major holidays were taken care of - I did all the gift buying, hosting and cooking for these events) to the bad stuff, and there was mostly bad stuff. No 23 year old should have to come home from work to find her father waiting on the doorstep of her apartment, in tears and needing to unload about the latest crisis with her mother. No daughter should be pressured/guilted into skipping her university classes to drive her mother around to hotel after hotel, and be sent in to grill the front desk staff in her mother's effort to catch the daughter's father cheating. I was even dragged into their (very brief) stint of marriage counselling with a psychiatrist(!) when that doctor could not figure them out nor find a way to help them. Gigi got to skip all of this.
In 1995, when our father was diagnosed with terminal cancer, Gigi came west (my parents paid for her flight, as usual) and together we nursed him for the three short weeks up until his death at home. With his passing I became our mother's keeper, and what a job that proved to be.
By the summer of 1998 my mother was so far off her rocker that I actually had to have her involuntarily committed to a psychiatric hospital for 30 days. Gigi did not come out to help during this time, and had very little concept of the crisis. It was then one nightmare after another with our mother - a horrendous rollercoaster - 11 solid years of bi-polar, obsessive compulsive, narcisisstic behaviour, all of which I had to manage without one ounce of involvement or support from my absent sister.
I wanted to have a relationship with my sister and always looked out for her interests with our mother. I would not countenance any criticism from our mother of Gigi and always assured Gigi I was looking out for her re: eventual inheritance (our mother was very comfortably off, but a hoarder who constantly alluded to the fact she may leave it all to charity).
Since 2003, my husband and I flew Gigi out west 3 to 4 times on our airmiles and hosted her visits at our beachfront cottage (these visits were secret from our mother, as Gigi did not want to see her). Gigi was also our guest in Mexico at our little condo there. I kind of thought of Gigi, my husband and me as the Three Muskateers - all for one and one for all. I thought we had each others' backs. Not so, it turns out.
Our mother had a stroke in January 2009, and I had to take over all her affairs via the legal Power of Attorney she had granted me several years prior. Her financial affairs were very secure, but a total mess - investments spread all over Hell's half acre. It took me a minimum of 60 hours just to track it all down at various financial institutions, document it, and get a handle on managing it, as she was headed for a nursing home. This was on top of dealing with the health system and our mother's indescribable behaviour and condition post-stroke. It was beyond horrendous and exhausting in the extreme.
I kept my sister fully apprised of everything by phone and in writing, and included her in a trip to see a lawyer, when she visited our mother for a week about a month after the stroke. We needed what the lawyer called a "Game Plan Memo" that would outline my future actions as Power of Attorney and the handling/management of our mother's assets.
What was particularly problematic was that I was on title of our mother's waterfront condo, and it was also willed to me, when what my mother actually now intended was for my sister to inherit the condo and for me to get the equivalent value in cash from her estate (i.e., "equal consideration"). I had been working with a lawyer to figure out the best way to get the condo solely in my sister's name (with "life interest" to our mother), with "equal consideration" specified for me, so we'd all know where we stood and everyone's interests were fairly looked after.
For 5 months this "Game Plan Memo" was in the works and Gigi never voiced any concerns, apart from the fact that our mother should have independent legal advice before enacting any part of the plan. The problem with this was our mother's psychiatric issues - which made it virtually impossible to get her to commit to any legal agreement and stick with it. She was legally "competent" but her propensity for "flip flopping" would make a dying fish on a dock look stationary.
No improvement in our mother's condition, and certain financial circumstances in my life meant that by July 2009 it looked logical to enact the Game Plan Memo - to put the quarter million dollar+ condo solely in Gigi's name with "life interest" to our mother, and to specify that I had sole right to the equivalent value in cash from our mother's assets/estate.
I called Gigi to discuss this and get her agreement to proceed, and let her know I would like to be able to access some (not all) of the over $250K in "equal consideration." I thought this would be a pro forma discussion because the written details had been known and discussed for months between us, and our mother - who understood and had no objections, and it had been reviewed by two lawyers (Gigi's and mine). Wrong.
Gigi calmly proceeded to tell me she had been expecting this call and would have no part in "bailing" me out of what she deemed to be my self-created financial predicament, that I could not "use our mother as a bank", that my husband and I live way beyond our means and, yes, too bad about the global financial economic meltdown and related reversals in my finances and consulting business, but we'd made our bed and would have to lie in it. This from the woman who owns nothing, who earns less than minimum wage teaching yoga, and who actually lives on a few hundred a month stipend from her ailing, geriatric second husband.
I think I now know how an animal feels when the jaws of a well-concealed trap snap shut on it. Gigi was simply laying low and waiting for me to make this move. She'd had ample opportunity for months previously to tell me she was not on board with the Game Plan Memo, and did not do so. Sly.
Gigi wanted our mother's condo in her name and was willing for that aspect of the Game Plan Memo to proceed; what she vehemently objected to was my accessing any money ("equal consideration") any time in advance of our mother's death. In other words, she was completely happy to possibly get an appreciating asset completely in her own name, and to make me wait to access equal value, even though she knew I had need of some money now.
She was so committed to "foiling" what she called my "little financial bailout plan", that she then wrote our mother and told her she actually no longer wanted the condo, thereby negating the "equal consideration" claim she thought I would have. She also demanded to be made co-executor of our mother's will, offering the reason for this request as the fact that my husband will outlive hers??
Gigi then told me, "If you need some money, you need to ask our mother directly." So, I did ask our mother for some money to pay down our substantial condo remediation loan (we were unlucky enough to have bought into a "leaky condo") and, lo and behold, with the approval of her independent investment advisor, our mother gave me a considerable amount of money towards paying off that loan.
Gigi went ballistic. Even though I then put it in writing to Gigi that I considered this an advance on my eventual inheritance, Gigi was simply furious that I got "bailed out." I really felt she wanted to see me and my husband hurting and having to liquidate real estate investments at a loss, in order to stay afloat in a time of financial duress.
It was so hurtful to realize she wanted to see me suffer. I realized with horror that she had likely resented me and judged our lifestyle for years, even while she was benefitting from it (e.g., me constantly buffering her from our mother, ensuring our mother kept her in the will, and also providing her with nice vacations).
She did some nice things for me during these years as well, but that is beside the point. We did nice things for each other, but she wound up seriously betraying me, in that when the chips were down and I really needed her support and understanding, she sanctimoniously told me to reap what she felt I'd sown. And I could feel her visceral satisfaction in communicating that to me.
So I continued to soldier on, dealing alone with all the horrendousness that was our mother's post-stroke condition, behaviour and world. My sister was interested in nothing beyond ensuring her inheritance would be secure.
I was released from all this in January 2010 when our mother died. Since my relationship with my sister had died the previous summer, and our father had died in 1995, I now consider myself "family-of-origin free."
On a recent "Oprah" show, a guest said "The ones who love you when you need them...those are the people who are your family." I agree. My family never really loved me when I needed them, but I am so lucky in that other people have loved me in abundance, and I consider those people to be my true family.
Todo bien. (It's all good.)
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
A Dark Night of the Soul
I've been clashing with people (or they have been clashing with me) over the content of my blogging. Some of it is to do with my stance (personal thoughts and feelings) on the issues and experiences I choose to write about; some of it is to do with the privacy concerns of people I may reference (although not by name) in telling my life stories.
I don't experience life in a vacuum, I live in relationship and interaction with other people; some are closer to me than others. They have affected me both in the past and in the present - my experiences with others have significantly shaped me. I can't write meaningfully, or in any way that would make sense, by avoiding all references to other people (or at least to those who are now telling me they object to being referenced, and expect me to cease and desist from further mentioning them ever again).
And I'm not talking about blogging any kind of earthshattering exposes, or something intentionally hurtful. I am talking about sensitively exploring my life, thoughts and feelings with respect to things I have experienced and learned. And we do not learn in isolation - we learn a lot of life lessons in response to other key people and situations.
But, quite naturally, some people don't want to be featured in my sharing what I've learned and why. I can understand their opposition; what I cannot do is accommodate their demands for silence on anything that might have related to them. That is censorship, plain and simple.
Let's be clear, I am writing about myself - the references to others are peripheral and are only meant to explain what has catalyzed my thoughts, feelings and blog posts. And I am not writing anything untrue, slanderous, libellous or defamatory.
But, what I am learning about the blog-reader lens is that "it's all about me" (meaning it's about the reader, not the blogger). Everything goes through the reader's filter which removes the overall purpose and thrust of the writing content, leaving only perceptions of "You mentioned me and I feel what you said/how you said it makes me look bad." Or, another criticism is "That's not solely your story to tell", or "You didn't tell all sides of the story."
Well, I am not aspiring to investigative journalism here and there is no blogging requirement to be 100% dispassionate, balanced in presenting all sides, and completely objective. I am only giving my perspective on fact-based truth as I lived it and how I've made sense of it. And I do not intend to stop.
Todo bien. (It's all good.)
I don't experience life in a vacuum, I live in relationship and interaction with other people; some are closer to me than others. They have affected me both in the past and in the present - my experiences with others have significantly shaped me. I can't write meaningfully, or in any way that would make sense, by avoiding all references to other people (or at least to those who are now telling me they object to being referenced, and expect me to cease and desist from further mentioning them ever again).
And I'm not talking about blogging any kind of earthshattering exposes, or something intentionally hurtful. I am talking about sensitively exploring my life, thoughts and feelings with respect to things I have experienced and learned. And we do not learn in isolation - we learn a lot of life lessons in response to other key people and situations.
But, quite naturally, some people don't want to be featured in my sharing what I've learned and why. I can understand their opposition; what I cannot do is accommodate their demands for silence on anything that might have related to them. That is censorship, plain and simple.
Let's be clear, I am writing about myself - the references to others are peripheral and are only meant to explain what has catalyzed my thoughts, feelings and blog posts. And I am not writing anything untrue, slanderous, libellous or defamatory.
But, what I am learning about the blog-reader lens is that "it's all about me" (meaning it's about the reader, not the blogger). Everything goes through the reader's filter which removes the overall purpose and thrust of the writing content, leaving only perceptions of "You mentioned me and I feel what you said/how you said it makes me look bad." Or, another criticism is "That's not solely your story to tell", or "You didn't tell all sides of the story."
Well, I am not aspiring to investigative journalism here and there is no blogging requirement to be 100% dispassionate, balanced in presenting all sides, and completely objective. I am only giving my perspective on fact-based truth as I lived it and how I've made sense of it. And I do not intend to stop.
Todo bien. (It's all good.)
Thursday, May 6, 2010
The "Why Stopper"
Lately I have been back into reading, just devouring books - and not fluffy ones either (oh, except for the Stephanie Meyers' vampire series "Twilight", which have hooked me!).
I have been reading a lot of non-fiction to help me better understand the conundrums that face us (i.e., the military/industrial complex, agri-business, big pharma, the global financial system, and politics in general).
Reading is one of my great passions - I adore it. I could read the entire day (and night) away if the subject matter grabs me. It intrigues me and it makes me think more deeply. It makes for better conversations because I'm better informed. Reading is like life blood to me. Could not live without it.
One of the best things about reading is it means I watch less television. I can't remember the last time I watched "The Young and the Restless" and I love that soap opera! But I haven't missed seeing it of late. My mind is too full of other fascinating stuff.
I did turn on the TV today during the noon news hour and saw a commercial that completely shocked me. It's for a digital device/application called the "Why Stopper" that can be programmed to answer all of your kid's questions. So, rather than be bugged with the "why, why, why" phase of your growing and developing offspring, you can digitally outsource the answering of the little enquiring mind (i.e., get off the hook for answering questions like "Why do birds fly?" and "Why is the sky blue?" by punching in the query and passing your phone to your kid to listen to the answer). Talk about promoting parental abdication!
Hey, here's an idea - make sure you put it on speaker phone so you can actually learn the answer yourself, dumbo!
I predict that people who use the "Why Stopper" with their children will soon find out it shuts down all communication and their relationship goes kaput. Think about it - how would you feel if you asked your significant other an important (to you) question and they whipped out a device, punched in the query and handed it over to you to listen to a surrogate respond?! The relationship would not be long for this world is my bet.
Some questions are hard to answer - no doubt about that. I remember about 19 years ago when my youngest stepdaughter was 9 years old. We were parked in the car while her dad was inside a store running an errand. She had her nose in a Danielle Steele novel (her mother was letting her read it, don't ask me to explain it) and out from the back seat came this question: "Lisa, what's incest?"
Gulp. If I had had a "Why Stopper" I might have used it on that one. But, I didn't have such a thing and had to use my adult brain and plain old common sense to construct an answer that was both true and suitable for the consumption of a 9 year old. I can't remember exactly what I said, but her 13 year old sister, who was also in the backseat, smiled approvingly and said I not only answered the question, but that she also learned something! Whew. Bullet dodged.
When my husband got back in the car, he took one look at my face and said "Whaaat?!?" I told him he wasn't allowed to leave me on my own to deal with his kids ever again (just kidding).
Todo bien. (It's all good).
I have been reading a lot of non-fiction to help me better understand the conundrums that face us (i.e., the military/industrial complex, agri-business, big pharma, the global financial system, and politics in general).
Reading is one of my great passions - I adore it. I could read the entire day (and night) away if the subject matter grabs me. It intrigues me and it makes me think more deeply. It makes for better conversations because I'm better informed. Reading is like life blood to me. Could not live without it.
One of the best things about reading is it means I watch less television. I can't remember the last time I watched "The Young and the Restless" and I love that soap opera! But I haven't missed seeing it of late. My mind is too full of other fascinating stuff.
I did turn on the TV today during the noon news hour and saw a commercial that completely shocked me. It's for a digital device/application called the "Why Stopper" that can be programmed to answer all of your kid's questions. So, rather than be bugged with the "why, why, why" phase of your growing and developing offspring, you can digitally outsource the answering of the little enquiring mind (i.e., get off the hook for answering questions like "Why do birds fly?" and "Why is the sky blue?" by punching in the query and passing your phone to your kid to listen to the answer). Talk about promoting parental abdication!
Hey, here's an idea - make sure you put it on speaker phone so you can actually learn the answer yourself, dumbo!
I predict that people who use the "Why Stopper" with their children will soon find out it shuts down all communication and their relationship goes kaput. Think about it - how would you feel if you asked your significant other an important (to you) question and they whipped out a device, punched in the query and handed it over to you to listen to a surrogate respond?! The relationship would not be long for this world is my bet.
Some questions are hard to answer - no doubt about that. I remember about 19 years ago when my youngest stepdaughter was 9 years old. We were parked in the car while her dad was inside a store running an errand. She had her nose in a Danielle Steele novel (her mother was letting her read it, don't ask me to explain it) and out from the back seat came this question: "Lisa, what's incest?"
Gulp. If I had had a "Why Stopper" I might have used it on that one. But, I didn't have such a thing and had to use my adult brain and plain old common sense to construct an answer that was both true and suitable for the consumption of a 9 year old. I can't remember exactly what I said, but her 13 year old sister, who was also in the backseat, smiled approvingly and said I not only answered the question, but that she also learned something! Whew. Bullet dodged.
When my husband got back in the car, he took one look at my face and said "Whaaat?!?" I told him he wasn't allowed to leave me on my own to deal with his kids ever again (just kidding).
Todo bien. (It's all good).
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
Hard Truth in a Chinese Fortune Cookie
Last evening I had a craving for Chinese food. This hardly ever happens as it's about my least favourite cuisine, whereas it is my husband's No. 1 favourite. So, of course I told him about my craving expecting he'd be delighted. Well, it turns out he's been "off" Chinese food for a while now (feels there's too much MSG/other glutamates and things that make him feel stuffed up). But, since the hotel we're staying at (while our condo is being repaired from a freak sewer back-up) is just two blocks away from China Town, we wandered over.
We were hoping to find a smorgasbord option - we both like quite different dishes, so sharing doesn't work well when it's just the two of us. A buffet would be the best of all worlds. Alas, not only was there no buffet option, most of China Town's restaurants are closed for dinner. After crossing back and forth across the main street several times comparing the menus of the few open restaurants, the very cold wind drove us into one place.
Dinner was okay - nothing great about it, nothing terrible about it. They didn't serve anything I was craving (specifically ginger fried beef and curry fried tofu and broccoli). What made the evening stunningly memorable was my fortune cookie.
I found two fortunes inside my cookie. One was the usual sort of thing we've all come to expect: "You will live a long, prosperous life." How many times have you or your dining companions gotten that one? It deserves a Seinfeld-esque reaction of "Yadda, yadda, yadda." WHATever.
The second one made me first gasp and then burst out laughing. It said "You constantly struggle for self improvement - and it shows." I howled at the (likely unintended?) double entendre. What exactly shows? The struggle? Or the self improvement? Too, too funny.
I admit I do struggle in the pursuit of self improvement. Hell, I've made a business and career out of self improvement (i.e., coaching) and at times that's been a struggle. But what is it that I want to showcase...certainly NOT the struggle! What I want to showcase, for myself and others, are the results of the struggle.
I can't remember the last time a fortune cookie made me stop and think - if ever. I thank the food craving that came out of nowhere and brought me such a thought provoking message, one that will hopefully help me in my "constant struggle"!
Todo bien. (It's all good.)
We were hoping to find a smorgasbord option - we both like quite different dishes, so sharing doesn't work well when it's just the two of us. A buffet would be the best of all worlds. Alas, not only was there no buffet option, most of China Town's restaurants are closed for dinner. After crossing back and forth across the main street several times comparing the menus of the few open restaurants, the very cold wind drove us into one place.
Dinner was okay - nothing great about it, nothing terrible about it. They didn't serve anything I was craving (specifically ginger fried beef and curry fried tofu and broccoli). What made the evening stunningly memorable was my fortune cookie.
I found two fortunes inside my cookie. One was the usual sort of thing we've all come to expect: "You will live a long, prosperous life." How many times have you or your dining companions gotten that one? It deserves a Seinfeld-esque reaction of "Yadda, yadda, yadda." WHATever.
The second one made me first gasp and then burst out laughing. It said "You constantly struggle for self improvement - and it shows." I howled at the (likely unintended?) double entendre. What exactly shows? The struggle? Or the self improvement? Too, too funny.
I admit I do struggle in the pursuit of self improvement. Hell, I've made a business and career out of self improvement (i.e., coaching) and at times that's been a struggle. But what is it that I want to showcase...certainly NOT the struggle! What I want to showcase, for myself and others, are the results of the struggle.
I can't remember the last time a fortune cookie made me stop and think - if ever. I thank the food craving that came out of nowhere and brought me such a thought provoking message, one that will hopefully help me in my "constant struggle"!
Todo bien. (It's all good.)
Friday, April 30, 2010
Motherless This Mother's Day and Glad About It
Think of me what you will, but the truth I am going to tell is that my mother was a real piece-of-work. It wasn't totally her fault - she was formally diagnosed with bi-polar disorder (manic depression), obsessive-compulsive disorder, narcissism, and borderline personality disorder back in 1998. Any one of these mental health issues would be a lot to handle (for the person and their family), but the combination of these made her absolutely horrendous to deal with and simply impossible to like, never mind love.
I better understood her and the intractability of what I was dealing with when I read "People of the Lie" by Dr. M. Scott Peck. If you have someone in your family or life who is making you feel as if YOU are the crazy one, you need to read this book (you can also read the basic premise and outline of the book on Wikipedia; Dr. Peck was advocating for a psychiatric definition and diagnosis of a form of personality "evil". Sounds pretty strong, but for those of you who have lived with this kind of "evil" you will get what he's talking about).
When I read the Harry Potter series, I came across the description of "Dementors" - the guards of the Azkhaban Prison. The very presence of these wraiths simply sucked the life and soul right out of anyone. I suspect author J.K. Rowling had experiences in her life with people like my mother!
While my sister and I were growing up, we came to realize how selfish and self absorbed Mom was but, society constantly reminds you she's your mother and you are expected to love her and care for her, simply because she gave you life, and you must make all necessary sacrifices. I can assure you, my mother made no sacrifices for her family. She came first in everything. I came to realize she was incapable of putting anyone's feelings or wants ahead of her own (unless there was something in it for her).
My father died of cancer back in 1995 at the age of 63. He had been my mother's "keeper", the stress of which I believe led to his early demise. After his death, "keeper" duty fell to me, as the only child living in the same city as Mom. I have one sister (I call her "Gigi" on this blog) but she'd purposely lived 3,000 km away from our mother for decades. Gigi rarely visited and really could not grasp our mother's ensuing decline.
Fast forward to January 2009 when, at 76, Mom had a stroke, wound up partially paralyzed and unable to live on her own any more. Now she was both mentally AND physically ill, and dealing with her and her health care and nursing needs all fell to me. It was made all the more difficult because she alienated everyone in the health care system she came into contact with.
I felt a lot of guilt because, after a few months, I came to deeply resent the drain on my time, energy, emotions and mental health. And, aside from the lingering effects of the stroke, my mother was pretty physically healthy, so I knew I could be looking at a long 10-15 years of dancing attendance on her in the nursing home.
The conventional wisdom is that when parents are aging and failing, you step up gladly and assume the responsibility because of all they did for you when you were a child. The assumption is you should be glad for the opportunity to show them the same patient, loving care and attention and unconditional support that they gave to you. But, what if you didn't get any of that from your parents? What if they have no "parental credit" in your bank to draw on?
Further, it is not an apples-to-apples comparison (child care to elder care). the fact is parents have the assurance of knowing things will get better - the child will soon be out of diapers and able to do more for herself with every passing day, week and month. Kids are really only highly dependent on parents for the first 4-5 years of their life.
However, it is the exact opposite with caring for aging parents. Things will only get worse - you have nothing to look forward to (except them dying - yes, we get to the point where we want them gone, admit it). They are only going to become sicker, more dependent, and more of a drain on you. Perhaps you can endure it better if you love your parent and feel they have really been there for you throughout your life. But, if you feel they have never been there for you, it's an unfair situation that I describe as "To those who have been given precious little, much will be required"!
I only had to suffer for a year. In January 2010, my mother accidentally set herself on fire with a Christmas candle in the nursing home and died. Grisly. Unbelievable. I would never have wished such a thing on her. But, as Mother's Day approaches, I do feel released from the 51 year sentence that bound me to her out of obligation.
Todo bien. (It's all good).
I better understood her and the intractability of what I was dealing with when I read "People of the Lie" by Dr. M. Scott Peck. If you have someone in your family or life who is making you feel as if YOU are the crazy one, you need to read this book (you can also read the basic premise and outline of the book on Wikipedia; Dr. Peck was advocating for a psychiatric definition and diagnosis of a form of personality "evil". Sounds pretty strong, but for those of you who have lived with this kind of "evil" you will get what he's talking about).
When I read the Harry Potter series, I came across the description of "Dementors" - the guards of the Azkhaban Prison. The very presence of these wraiths simply sucked the life and soul right out of anyone. I suspect author J.K. Rowling had experiences in her life with people like my mother!
While my sister and I were growing up, we came to realize how selfish and self absorbed Mom was but, society constantly reminds you she's your mother and you are expected to love her and care for her, simply because she gave you life, and you must make all necessary sacrifices. I can assure you, my mother made no sacrifices for her family. She came first in everything. I came to realize she was incapable of putting anyone's feelings or wants ahead of her own (unless there was something in it for her).
My father died of cancer back in 1995 at the age of 63. He had been my mother's "keeper", the stress of which I believe led to his early demise. After his death, "keeper" duty fell to me, as the only child living in the same city as Mom. I have one sister (I call her "Gigi" on this blog) but she'd purposely lived 3,000 km away from our mother for decades. Gigi rarely visited and really could not grasp our mother's ensuing decline.
Fast forward to January 2009 when, at 76, Mom had a stroke, wound up partially paralyzed and unable to live on her own any more. Now she was both mentally AND physically ill, and dealing with her and her health care and nursing needs all fell to me. It was made all the more difficult because she alienated everyone in the health care system she came into contact with.
I felt a lot of guilt because, after a few months, I came to deeply resent the drain on my time, energy, emotions and mental health. And, aside from the lingering effects of the stroke, my mother was pretty physically healthy, so I knew I could be looking at a long 10-15 years of dancing attendance on her in the nursing home.
The conventional wisdom is that when parents are aging and failing, you step up gladly and assume the responsibility because of all they did for you when you were a child. The assumption is you should be glad for the opportunity to show them the same patient, loving care and attention and unconditional support that they gave to you. But, what if you didn't get any of that from your parents? What if they have no "parental credit" in your bank to draw on?
Further, it is not an apples-to-apples comparison (child care to elder care). the fact is parents have the assurance of knowing things will get better - the child will soon be out of diapers and able to do more for herself with every passing day, week and month. Kids are really only highly dependent on parents for the first 4-5 years of their life.
However, it is the exact opposite with caring for aging parents. Things will only get worse - you have nothing to look forward to (except them dying - yes, we get to the point where we want them gone, admit it). They are only going to become sicker, more dependent, and more of a drain on you. Perhaps you can endure it better if you love your parent and feel they have really been there for you throughout your life. But, if you feel they have never been there for you, it's an unfair situation that I describe as "To those who have been given precious little, much will be required"!
I only had to suffer for a year. In January 2010, my mother accidentally set herself on fire with a Christmas candle in the nursing home and died. Grisly. Unbelievable. I would never have wished such a thing on her. But, as Mother's Day approaches, I do feel released from the 51 year sentence that bound me to her out of obligation.
Todo bien. (It's all good).
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Living at "Fawlty Towers"
My recent experiences with maid service (both at our condo in Mexico and now here at the hotel we're living at while our Victoria condo flood damage is fixed) remind me of the hilarious John Cleese (of Monty Python fame) British comedy series "Fawlty Towers."
One of the Fawlty Towers staff members was a waiter/manservant named "Manuel" who was from Spain and didn't speak English. The mix-ups stemming from the language barrier and associated misunderstandings were a scream. I think they only made 12 episodes of the show, but it's classic British comedy and available on DVD if you've never seen it and need some belly laughs.
Basil Fawlty (John Cleese), the inn's propietor, was constantly frustrated by Manuel's lack of understanding including his head cocked sideways in confusion and perpetual answer of "Que?" (means "What?" in Spanish). Many screwball events unfold with Basil always apologizing to the inn's guests explaining "Don't mind him, he's from Barcelona."
The sweet lady who provides the weekly housekeeping services at the Mexican six-plex where we have a unit doesn't speak a word of English. When I need her to do (or not do) something, I have to rely on my pathetic "Spanglish" and pantomime - neither of which work in the least to bridge the communication gap. I see the "Manuel" confusion cross her face and can just hear her thinking "Que?" as I try to communicate a request.
I've given up trying, at John's urging, as he found it so stressful watching me simply confuse this poor woman. And all I was trying to do was tell her she didn't have to wash the dirty dishes in the sink, that I would do it myself. She smiles, nods and says "Si", then fills the sink with hot soapy water and starts washing!
Today, at the hotel suite in Canada where we're camping while the flood damage is repaired, I had deja vu when the Asian housekeeping lady came to clean the suite. Apparently she doesn't speak any English either, as I told her (and motioned!) not to wash the dirty lunch dishes in the sink as I would do it myself. She smiled, nodded, said "Yes", and then proceeded to fill the sink and wash the dishes! I looked at John and he just shook his head at me, silently begging me to just shut up and let her do her job her own way.
I will lay low on any requests of the housekeeping staff at this hotel because we've heard them speaking in Japanese and Chinese (which could mean Mandarin or Cantonese, or both). We are so ill-equipped to deal with this United Nations of domestic help in our lives! I can't make myself understood in Spanish, even when I've gotten out my dictionary and really tried. There's no way I can wade into Japanese and possibly two Chinese languages.
While I was typing this post, the front desk here called up and asked if we had water running in our suite. I said no, and asked what was up. Apparently there is water dripping into the suite beneath us! This is so parallel to what happened at our condo and landed us here at "Fawlty Towers"! I call it that because of the language barrier, the fact their wireless internet only works intermittently, and I can't really say they "clean" the place all that well (I've spotted and killed some silverfish).
We're moving to a new hotel on May 1st for the next couple of months and I'm really hoping they speak my lingo. Fingers crossed.
Todo bien. (It's all good).
One of the Fawlty Towers staff members was a waiter/manservant named "Manuel" who was from Spain and didn't speak English. The mix-ups stemming from the language barrier and associated misunderstandings were a scream. I think they only made 12 episodes of the show, but it's classic British comedy and available on DVD if you've never seen it and need some belly laughs.
Basil Fawlty (John Cleese), the inn's propietor, was constantly frustrated by Manuel's lack of understanding including his head cocked sideways in confusion and perpetual answer of "Que?" (means "What?" in Spanish). Many screwball events unfold with Basil always apologizing to the inn's guests explaining "Don't mind him, he's from Barcelona."
The sweet lady who provides the weekly housekeeping services at the Mexican six-plex where we have a unit doesn't speak a word of English. When I need her to do (or not do) something, I have to rely on my pathetic "Spanglish" and pantomime - neither of which work in the least to bridge the communication gap. I see the "Manuel" confusion cross her face and can just hear her thinking "Que?" as I try to communicate a request.
I've given up trying, at John's urging, as he found it so stressful watching me simply confuse this poor woman. And all I was trying to do was tell her she didn't have to wash the dirty dishes in the sink, that I would do it myself. She smiles, nods and says "Si", then fills the sink with hot soapy water and starts washing!
Today, at the hotel suite in Canada where we're camping while the flood damage is repaired, I had deja vu when the Asian housekeeping lady came to clean the suite. Apparently she doesn't speak any English either, as I told her (and motioned!) not to wash the dirty lunch dishes in the sink as I would do it myself. She smiled, nodded, said "Yes", and then proceeded to fill the sink and wash the dishes! I looked at John and he just shook his head at me, silently begging me to just shut up and let her do her job her own way.
I will lay low on any requests of the housekeeping staff at this hotel because we've heard them speaking in Japanese and Chinese (which could mean Mandarin or Cantonese, or both). We are so ill-equipped to deal with this United Nations of domestic help in our lives! I can't make myself understood in Spanish, even when I've gotten out my dictionary and really tried. There's no way I can wade into Japanese and possibly two Chinese languages.
While I was typing this post, the front desk here called up and asked if we had water running in our suite. I said no, and asked what was up. Apparently there is water dripping into the suite beneath us! This is so parallel to what happened at our condo and landed us here at "Fawlty Towers"! I call it that because of the language barrier, the fact their wireless internet only works intermittently, and I can't really say they "clean" the place all that well (I've spotted and killed some silverfish).
We're moving to a new hotel on May 1st for the next couple of months and I'm really hoping they speak my lingo. Fingers crossed.
Todo bien. (It's all good).
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