Excess Baggage

I will return to Paradise on Sunday. Tomorrow is a family BBQ so today I need to wrap up the errands, visits and phone-calls. For all you West Indians out there, you know what this means:

1. Try to get all the things on the list for everyone back home: I can’t find the 3x panties for my cousin’s helper. I got the special soap for the secretary whose daughter has eczema.

2. Get out the scale to weigh the suitcases. I will check-in 3, have 1 carry-on and my “pocketbook”; I have 1 last coupon for a free bag. Now I will weight them all to make sure they stay at 50 lbs. I can’t afford the money for the excess weight-not even for 1 bag. I really can’t manage balancing the suitcases on the bathroom scale. Someone has to come help me put the bag on the scale while I check the weight.  Then, according to the reading, I add or take stuff out. Of course, then the bag has to be re-weighed. It’s lunacy but it’s what we do.

3. Begin to calculate if our national airline will arrive on time. West Indians must have alternative transportation arrangements for late arrivals. If the flight is too late, I will have to take a taxi to my cousin’s home where my car is parked. Then, if it too late, family will not let me drive back to “country” and I will be forced to stay overnight. Then, someone will mention the fact that we have not gone somewhere in a long time- like the beach, the orchid farm, aunt or uncle so-and-so’s house, the new club in Town, etc- and so, what should have been a simple return to yard with 5 pieces of luggage, turns into another week of vacation–West Indian stylee. Luckily, work is me, my laptop and the cell.

Why Must I Pay To See My Grandson?

I filed a petition for visitation in order to see my grandson, age 5, who I have not seen since the end of December of last year. The constant battle of words and vulgarity with his mother is wearing me down; the searing pain of abrupt separation is so cruel I can no longer bear to see his face on the computer screen as the pictures on file scroll by.

I prepared the petition, had it notarized at the Motor Vehicles Office, made 6 copies, added my evidence and then stapled the packets. I walked out of the County Complex defeated and depressed. I can’t afford to give her Child Support payments and she wants money, now, by any means. I have given her all I had; there is no more.

I need to talk to him; I need to tell him that we are not bad people as I know his mother has told him as much. I need him to know that I will do whatever I can to see him, to love him, to watch him grow, and to preserve that special part of him that makes him a part of our family. 

Court is on Wednesday; I will be there. For him, for me.

Brain Games

Happy Mother’s Day to all Disfunktional Grandmas. I am visiting my children and grandchildren in New York. I spent my day recalling how my husband loved our children, our home and our times together. 

I got a “DS”- Lots of fun playing “Brain Games”. Apparently, I now have the brain of an 83 year old. Sorry shape for a 52 year old with an advanced degree in education. 

With help from my daughter-in-law I have created this blog, hoping to write about the life and times of a “young” widow who can’t let go but, more importantly about the people in my life who just don’t understand.