328. Happy New Year

Hoping 2011 is easier emotionally, psychology, and physically than 2010. I am not sad to see the year over and looking forward to the wax - enough of the wane. Happy New Year and a big thank you to all my loyal readers...all three of you. Only 37 days to go!

- Posted using BlogPress for iPad (now that it is available for iPad!)

327. Violated

Last night while we were away from our house someone broke in. The thief didn't take too much, thankfully, but the idea of someone in our house, riffling through our things is a horribly violating feeling. He came in through a window in the kitchen. By the appearance of doors and drawers look through most of our things. We haven't made it home yet to inventory the lost, but the best we can figure, the thief took our Christmas presents that had just arrived via Fed Ex from Colorado.

326. Bésame

My Grandmother died last night. She was 100 years old last April. I am more shocked than sad. In my life, she always was. At some point you begin to think that she was immortal. I barely cried and now I am beginning to worry that with all the loss and heartache I have no empathy left to give.

My biological paternal Grandmother died well before I was born. Thankfully my grandfather remarried a graceful and wonderful woman. Her name was Alice, but her nickname was “Bayto”…that was some anglos child’s miss interpretation of “bésame”. – Spanish for give me a kiss. That was Bayto, a kiss first and all love to follow.  As I mentioned, she was there before my own consciousness, but my earliest memory of her was a building a Christmas diorama of a beautiful angel presented in a box. She picked me up at home and drove me to the craft store, Moskatels. (It no longer exists we both outlasted it.) We carefully picked out each thing we needed to create the angel. She never was impatient like my own busy mother. We took our time and then drove to her home and spent what seemed like hours creating this glorious angel. I can see the finished project in my head and I wish I had it to this day.

Bayto was such an amazing woman. She was tiny, and it was even more evident among the giants of the Brill family. She was all of 4’10” (my grandfather was 6’2”). She was smart, very smart and well spoken. She grew up in Mexico – an outsider as a Protestant among Catholics. Her father was associated with Poncho Via and she made that sound like an admirable thing. She was always impeccably dressed and in the most classic fashions. She kept her figure by never eating more than more than half her plate. She received many trophies for shooting and believed that god was a fairytale. I will miss her. But at 100 years old it was time for her to have her peace – no question.

325. Frame of Reference

Today I touched a meteor that was over 4.5 billions years old. All morning Curtis and I struggled with Katie and her obnoxious behavior. It was bad enough that  by 9 o'clock in the morning I was wondering if we would make it through the day. Everything comment she said to us was angry and nasty. Every interaction with her sister was a competition. Everything we wanted to do was stupid or boring or nothing she was interested. Everyone of her actions was impulsive. Everything was difficult. For us, everything was exhausting.  (I know you are thinking, "Listen to Mom's black and white thinking... " but really, it was all rough. No gray today.)

When we got back home and I was looking through photographs of the day and I came across a shot of the  ancient meteor. It got me thinking. As humans we are so unique. We are so self absorbed and concerned about our lives, but we are individually on this earth for such a very short period of time. The expectancy of our lives is about 75 years. One day is rather insignificant in the scheme of humans... but that won't stop me from trying to make her a better one.

324. Generations

Ancestors admiring descendants as descendants admire this year's Christmas tree.

323. Vertigo

The illness, not the movie - I am spinning like a top. The blank wall straight ahead is the only thing I can stare at.

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322. Merry Christmas

Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night.

321. Church

I went to church for the first time in years. Most people know that I am not a very religious person - swearing like a sailor is the first dead give away. But I was baptized and raised Roman Catholic. My mom left the Church after my parents decided to get a divorce. Divorce was not an option as a Catholic, so she could have her marriage annulled and her children determined to be illegitimate, or just leave the faith behind... hard choice? I continued to go to church with my Grandma for a good chunk of my childhood and at some point decided that it wasn't for me. My other Grandmother once told me that god was a fairytale to her. She wasn't exposed to early enough in order to believe. But I was. And although I left religion behind years ago, I do believe in god... may be not the benevolent-male-figure-in-a-white-robe kind of god, but I do believe in the idea of spirituality.

When I was about 12 years old my brother Matt and I each had albino cockatiels. We were given them as a replacement for the parakeets that died saving the family from carbon monoxide poisoning. The cockatiels were great pets and I spent hours training them. One day I walked out of the house with them on my shoulder. For some reason, Spike, my brother's bird, flew away. He was gone - high and far in a matter of seconds - a yellow dot disappearing in the blue sky. I felt terrible and for the next week I did the only thing I knew how to do to remedy the situation - I prayed. I prayed for days, and days. I made a promise to always believe in god if I could only get Spike back for my brother. At the end of 7 days (magic number) of non-stop prayer, I walked out one morning to hear the bird's unique song not far away. I looked across the street in the direction of the neighbor's house. Way up in the tree, a very tall white ash, at the very top was a bright, yellow, little cockatiel. My brother climbed the 50 foot tree to try to retrieve Spike which enlisted another round of instant prayers as visions of my brother plunging to his death terrified me more than the bird's demise. In the end, all was good. The bird and brother returned safely to the nest. The bird lived until the ripe old age of 20 years, impressive for the species. But in the end, solidified, my belief, not in religion but in god.

320. Tradition

Tradition is an odd thing. It is what makes us comfortable. It is what sparks all the warm and fuzzy memories that we live for. But it can also be rigid and traumatic when not followed exactly as planned.

Our own Christmas tradition has been so disrupted by parental illness and demise. We ventured east to Tucson to spend it with Curtis' dad and stepmom. For the past couple of weeks I have been so excited to get out of Los Angeles and come to the desert to visit my in-laws - an escape, a fresh start, a needed break. It was a busy couple of days and finally today we were all home to put up the tree. Trimming a tree should be fun and enjoyable, but it wasn't. In the end all the participants noted those that were missing. In blending all the traditions nobody's ritual seemed the right fit and we all felt a bit let down. Emotional pain is an interesting monster. You hope you can leave it behind, but it travels with you even if you least expect it and don't care for it to come along.

319. Self Conscious

It is that time of year when you run into a lot of family members. That's the point of holidays - right? And family like to talk about what you have been up to lately - right? Well for the last week, my family has been asking me and commenting on my blog. It is wonderful that someone is reading it. At least you can count on the family. But every night that I sit down to write I never imagine anyone (even beloved family members) reading it. All this face-to-face comments is making me self conscious so I am finding it impossible to write about the days events.

318. Light Pollution

One thing that I have found remarkable about Tucson is how dark it is - you can always see the stars. I guess in order to prevent the city from interfering with near by observatories the city has a strict outdoor lighting code. Well things do change. I can only guess that the code has changed?

317. Holiday Spirit

My step dad Ken really enjoyed the holidays. He loved to over indulge in friends, gifts, food, and drink. The Christmas tree was always tall and bushy. The gifts were overwhelming. And as us five kids grew up and reproduced so did the amount of gifts. Ken was unusual in so many ways. He loved to wrap each gift with extreme care and uniqueness. It took a month of steady daily wrapping to accomplish the tasks. When Christmas arrived we had to take turns and open each gift one at a time, but only after we paused to admire the wrapping. He would beam back a smile with delight. Within a matter of hours all his labor was undone into piles of ripped paper that was shoved into trash bags and destined for the recycling can.

Last Christmas was the first without my step dad. My mom needed help to try and make it special. By the time the day arrived I was depressed and exhausted. This year we decided to head to Arizona to spend Christmas with Curtis' family. The last Christmas we spent in Arizona was just before Curtis' mom passed away a few years ago. So Christmas will be different from the past years no matter what - significant loved ones are missing. But we are really looking forward to this week and starting some new traditions.

316. Three Little Pigs

To explain would only diminish the joy this image brings me.

315. Remain calm at all times...

I spilled energy gel on my iPhone a few months ago - the super sticky and thick substance oozed into the speaker and microphone assembly and my iPhone has never been the same. Curtis, my husband, decided to order a new speaker and battery for it and try and repair it. 

The parts on the phone are ridiculously tiny. Apple must have a room full of four year olds with awesome dexterity assembling phones all day long. We (well really Curtis) took the phone apart, too all the guts out, swapped out the bad parts and put in back together... over an hour later... mild success. The speaker works, the microphone kind-of works, and now there is minimal cell reception. The whole process made me so nervous that I began pacing. The phone is like a child to me and I just can't see it all exposed like that. I had to sequester myself to the bedroom before I wore the finish off the floor. At the moment, he is still working on it - reviewing information and You Tube videos to see if he can diagnose the reception issue. I have to hand it to him... he is much calmer than me. All those tiny screws and micro connectors are making me crazy.

314. Surprise

Going to a friend's surprise party and will be home late. So here's tonight's pic.




- excuse the typos...posted via Windo's iPhone

313. Ask

When I call my mom I don't know what to say. So much of her life is now defined by her illness. She doesn't work, read, or socialize so those typical topics are not available for discussion. I can tell her about my kids activities, but at some point, there just isn't much to talk about that does not involve her health or long term outcome. It must be annoying and exhausting for her. She was a doctor and she was never short of interesting things to discuss. For the past year that was my go to conversation. Bringing up some "medical"topic always sparked a good conversation. But recently that seems to have slipped from her memory too. My aunt mentioned that highly intelligent people who get dementia are able to hold it together and function much longer time than those with average intelligence. But at some point, even the people of the highest intelligence start to lose reality and when they do, they lose it so much faster. It makes sense.

I ran into a friend today and she asked me why I hadn't returned her call. I made the excuse that I was busy with the kids, work, and my ailing mother (all true), but I haven't called her back because all my friends seem to want to ask me about is my mom. It is because they are wonderful friends that are concerned for me and what I am going through, but at some point, her illness begins to define not just her, but me too. She has got to be sick of every conversation being about her health,  and I too am geting sick of every conversation being about her health. I need a break.

This friend today mentioned that she saw me out of the corner of her eye, at quick glance, and that I reminded her of my mom. First, it is time to stand up straighter! But the comment terrified me. For loved ones, the diagnosis of dementia leads to our greatest fears - of  all sorts. A loved one lost in the city, a loved one being taken advantage of, a love one wondering into traffic. These are not my greatest fears for my mom's diagnosis. No mine is more selfish.   My greatest fear is this diagnosis is genetic and that yes I am so much like my mom.

312. Busing

I have been looking at middle schools for my daughter and the more schools I look at the more I reflect on my own experience. In the mid 1970's in Los Angeles while LAUSD was already floundering with the teaching method of whole language the administration made another fabulous decision - busing. Busing was an attempt to integrate the mostly caucasian schools of the San Fernando Valley with the more racially diverse schools of the city. So at the age of 9 years old I had to catch a 6:45 am bus and ride it for an hour and a half to Sheridan Street School in Boil Heights. At the end of the day, I had to ride it home. Three hours on the bus a day in order to some how better integrate our schools. Most of my time at Sheridan was great. I learned to play the cello in orchestra. Because Sheridan was a Title I school they had amazing music facilities beyond those at my home school in Encino. My teacher, Mrs. Spohr, played the guitar and sang us almost every lesson. She loved fine arts as well and I didn't mind riding the bus in order to be in her class. It wasn't all roses - there was major racial tension. There was one girl that had it out for me - may be it was my gringa appearance. She stuck a wad of gum in my hair and later a knife in my back at recess. I lived in fear of her for most of the year.

Busing was eventually deemed a total disaster. LAUSD has allowed those that want to come to the valley Permits With Transfer and those who chose to try another school integration through Magnet Schools. Since the 1970s the SFV is amazingly diverse and integration is no longer necessary. But the district is still paying to transport a lot of kids all over the city. I think given these rough budget times this out dated approach should be reconsidered.

311. Health

I think I am going insane sandwiched between Katie and my mom's health problems. I am too emotionally and physically drained from the day to articulate anything in words. 'night.

310. Office

Within a week I have been in four waiting rooms. Not much to take photographs of in a waiting room.

309. Multimedia

We took the girls to a basket ball game yesterday. I hadn't been to a pro sporting event in years. The girls have never been. So it was time. Once we arrived I realized, things have changed and I am getting old, really old. Forget the guys playing ball, that had little to do with the day. It was all about the electronics display - the overwhelming electronics display. There are so many flat screens, not to mention the enormous and beautiful score board that watching the game is simple a let down.

308. Whine

Hello.  It is me, Katie. I am going to write my mom's blog tonight.  Today my mom told me about depth of field.  She told me that it is like when you look at just your finger everything around it blurs behind it.  I  think she took the picture for that reason.

This is my Grandma  as you know as my mom's mom.  I like to call her Goga.  Today, My Great Aunt (Goga's sister) was in town (she lives in Paso Robles).  Goga invited us over for dinner and to see my Great Aunt.  We gladly excepted.  When we got there my sister and I ran into the play room and started playing with a box our dad gave us.

About 5 minutes later Goga came in and told us to stop denting the walls and to stop breaking things.  That whole time we made that ruckus we were in the box.  We said ok and went on playing.

An hour later we had hooked up all of the strollers in the play room with scarfs and bows.  We had put almost 10 baby dolls in each one and were rolling them in the hallway.  Again, Goga came and asked to stop breaking things and clean up the mess that we had made because it was almost time to go.  We cleaned up.

When we were getting our shoes on to go out the door, Goga started speaking about us breaking things again.  I had heard from my mom if anything like this happened we should just go along with her.  I knew I was innocent, my sister was innocent, my dad knew I was innocent, my mom knew we were both innocent.  I waited until she stopped talking and just followed her.  I told her that we wouldn't breaking anything anymore I told we would be quiet.  What I really wanted to do was tell her that we didn't do anything.  I just couldn't.  I wanted to wake up from this crazy dream that if you think about it is pulling our family apart.   I really miss the older days when nothing was crazy.  I wish just like my mom, that this all would go away.

307. Biology

I am letting a song from my youth write the blog tonight....


Welcome to your life
There's no turning back
Even while you sleep
We will find you
Acting on your best behaviour
Turn your back on mother nature
Everybody wants to rule the world


Tears for Fears

306. Hear

I was born with ugly ears. I used to love to lay on the couch with my head in my mom's lap. She would gently unfold the top of my ear over and over until I would fall asleep. When she was in medical school and had 36 hour shifts I found it difficult to sleep without her attention to my ears.

For years I thought she loved them with all this attention. I never knew they were ugly. Then one day as a preteen, when I was getting too big to fit on her lap she told me that I could have my ears fixed. I jumped up from my relaxed state, "Fixed?" Yes, fixed she repeated. I said, "Fixed? Like a dog?" At that moment I developed a self conscious about my funny looking ears that remains until this day. She tried to convince me for years to fix them, but even though they are ugly, they are mine.

When I was in graduate school I invented a story about the origin of my odd ears... When my parents fought loudly I would cover up my ears to try and drown out their yelling. One day they stuck.

305. Mismatch

Finals week and not enough time to think about my own photography. The week is almost up and then there might be more time to take photographs...hopefully. Just trying to hang in there.

304. Thaw

This week a television show has been filming at my daughters' school. It is a pain in the neck. There is no parking. You can't get into the school to drop off a late lunch. There are twice the amount of kids on campus - the real kids and the actors playing kids for the movie. There are trailers, and food trucks, and porta-potties, and generators, and equipment trucks. Five years ago there was filming every couple of months around the school. I remember I used to complain about the inconvenience. When the economy went bust the filming disappeared. Today I tried to focus on the positive - at least the film crews are popping up all over town. Film crews fattening up a much deflated LAUSD budget. 

303. No excuses

Today it has been my mantra for my students during this week of finals, "no excuses." So without excuse I post tonight's image.

302. Service Day Too

It was a weekend of my girls helping others. Today we went to the Friends & Helpers Holiday Wrapping party. I can't believe the amount of support and giving this organization garners. Hundreds of people show up to donate their time and money to wrap thousands of donated presents given to domestic violence victims. We were given a large box of unwrapped gifts and asked to wrap them. Inside was a wish list filled out by a mother with three boys between the ages of 4 and 8. She has listed all of their top three choice presents. Each one of them had at least 6 nice gifts and my girls and I got to wrapping. We talked about why this mother needed help with her presents. I think it is important for the girls to understand that others are not as fortunate. This is a good way for them to gain some perspective in their short and sheltered lives. And to make my girls feel like participating in the future, after wrapping presents and stuff stockings, the Friends and Helpers organization had lunch, sweets, face painting and games for the kids.  I am only sorry that we didn't have more time to help today - had to get to Abbey's soccer party.

301. Charity

Crappy photograph, but important subject.

Today was an important day for my Girl Scouts. The Feed Your Neighbor Project encourages troops to collect at local Vons Markets for the LA Food Bank. And my scouts got up early on a Saturday to stand in front of a market in the cold and light rain to help others. Others that they didn't know, but knew existed. My scouts from suburbia, growing up middle and upper middle class, not wanting for much and having more than there basic needs met. My scouts are respected by their parents and their parents respect them. My scouts trust that others need their help and are beautiful little people to help people they have never met. And at 8 to 10 years old I am so proud of them - and not just for collecting food.

My girls approached customers of Vons in Tarzana, and asked them to purchase a non-perishable food item - a can, a bag of rice, a jar of peanut butter and on the way out of the store drop it in our box of collections. We did great! Most people were humane and helpful. I was totally shocked, surprised...actually disgusted at the people that walked around my scouts and ignored them. Whose life is so busy, so important, that you don't have time to stop for a child? A child trying to change his or her world. A child trying to make a difference.

Again, I was so proud of my scouts... for not giving up when these rude people ignored them. For going on with their mission even when adults were less mature and charitable than children.

300. Realization

I have known for well over a year that my mom was having cognitive problems. When I tried to communicate it to other members of the family at first most of them seem to think I was exaggerating or making it up. Months ago I remember thinking, "Well, it is only a matter of time before they all see what I see." Some how when that day arrived, I thought I would feel better, vindicated. Well it has more than arrived - but I don't feel better. They all now see her problems, but only because she is so much worse.

299. Simple

Just a portrait today.




- excuse the typos...posted via Windo's iPhone

298. Things not as they appear

After twelve plus hours working today I came home and tucked in my two exhausted girls. They just couldn't settle down without hugs, kisses, and lullabies tonight. Even though I was dead tired it was nice to lay next to Abbey and hear her whisper about her day. An hour later I should be asleep, but I have been staring at this damn blank blog page waiting to be inspired... nothing is coming so I am going to give in and close my eyes. Healthy choice uh?