Jumping up and down

Just got news that Ana Lucia's DNA results showed a match with her birth mom. This means that in the next week or so we should receive an e-mail from the U.S. embassy telling us when to be in Guatemala!

Meanwhile, I have been getting ready for our two friend visits this weekend, Stu's cuz Ted and the 17-year-old daughter of my friend Eva in Switzerland. My preparations have been rather limited to yard work, though, as I just spent a good two hours watering and weeding the vinca and did some proofreading work while moving the hoses around other parts of the yard. It's going to be a hot weekend.

I feel like jumping up and down!

Seems appropriate somehow

Click here.

New birth certificate, first passport

Yes! That's the news from here. Whoooeeeee!

Keeping busy

We are still getting ready for Ana Lucia. She is quite an inspiration. For example, my rocking chair, which has been on the "honey-do" list for 10 years, has been repaired by my honey and I have been washing everything and even the porch posts! (Yes, my arms feel it.)

I have nearly completed the move of my office into the dining room, and have thrown away many, many papers. Whoooeee, that feels good! But it sure is laborious. I've also sold some books on Amaz0n.com.

I have decided not to go to Guatemala right away, as I had been planning to do. For one thing, having paid the final adoption fees, extra fees for the extra time in foster care, and taxes last month, I feel a bit tapped out. But more significantly, I have heard from several new moms—including two who had my foster mom in Guatemala—and they report that the transition of the baby from foster family to American family has been very smooth. In fact, it hasn't been as traumatic as I'd thought it might be / as our preadoption classes led us to believe. And that was a large part of the reason why I was going to go down.

Reinforcing my decision is some not-great information I just learned, which is that Mixco, where Ana Lucia's birth certificate is filed, is notorious for being slow with releasing new (i.e., with S and me as the parents—odd, isn't it?) birth certificates—taking up to two months rather than two weeks. Since it has been more than two weeks and we've not heard that Ana Lucia's birth certificate has been done. ...

So I'm in an odd place right now. A combination of happy anticipation and dread of another delay. I know I'll be fine, but I feel that I just can't take much more of this waiting.

Out!!! (They say the darkest hour comes right before the dawn)

Just a quick note to let you know that we heard this weekend that we are out of PGN. As of Friday, June 13. The whole adventure has had a Friday-the-thirteenth feel to it, but I am sooooo relieved to have the PGN decree! If all goes as expected, we will bring A.L. home in August.

I am cleaning the windows in her room and wiping down the walls, getting ready for the touch-up painting Stu is going to start tonight. Now it's feeling real again.

Blue

This waiting and waiting is getting to me.
And to Stu.
I think it's fair to say we are blue.

* * *

Chuckling with the man reading at the library; seeing him later with a shopping cart of his belongings on the street.

* * *

Euro Cup

* * *

Grief. And more grief. And disbelief. I'm not sure what is real any more.

From the Joint Council, about adoptions coming out of Guatemala

Dear Members,

On Friday, June 6th, Joint Council issued a statement that
approximately 230 cases had been released from PGN. It is our
understanding that while all of these cases have been approved, only
a small number (approximately 50) have been released to attorneys for
finalization. Additionally, many of these cases contain previos.

It is also our understanding that as of today, Thursday, June 12th,
the remaining 180 cases have not been released to the attorneys due
to data processing issues.

Joint Council anticipates the release of all of the approximately 180
cases over the coming days. To our knowledge, they will continue to
leave PGN in small quantities until all 230 have been issued to the
attorneys.

Given these delays, both in the review as well as in the ultimate
release of cases, Joint Council remains concerned about the adoption
process in Guatemala. Along with our Guatemalan representative, we
advocate for a prompt approval and release of all cases that have
been found to be without significant issues of concern.

Sincerely,

Anna Rough

A walk in the woods

We are back from a long weekend in Acadia National Park with M and Tony. We went hiking in the rain on Saturday, and on Friday, Stu and I went sea kayaking while M and T went biking. The B&B Stu chose was wonderful in all ways, and we had many a good meal. It was a perfect change of pace, though I am definitely paying for it now (with work).

On Wednesday, we also saw the Shakespeare take-off play Cardenio, which was more enjoyable than many of the reviews I read would have indicated. My favorite scene was when Edmund danced (reminiscent of the "angry dance" on Flight of the Conchords, not in style but in enthusiasm), but there were some funny ones.

OK, it's late and Spippy is calling me to bed. She has figured out how to step on the surge suppressor to turn off the computer, so I need to close-out before ....

Ahhh ...

So much better to have my computer. Only problem is that we can't get our photos to load, so I may be going back to the shop. But everything else works!

The Saga

Today is Day 6 without my desktop computer. It's a bit disorienting to not have all my files, my bookmarks, my address book, my music—basically, to not have my desktop!

Plus, all week, I've been dealing with the computer shop—phone calls every day as they discovered thing after thing weird about my computer and finally told me that it might be time to consider a new one as my hard drive was corrupted and replacing it would cost as much as a refurbished computer. So then considered buying a refurbished computer (I've had good experiences in the past, such as with this trusty laptop), and I did some research (conveniently the June 2008 MacWorld's feature story was on how to choose your next computer), and I was pretty sure that I would buy the refurbished one in the shop, so Stu and I went in today to look, but it didn't appeal to me, and then I did some research on refurbished ones from the online Apple Store, which would have the Apple Care Protection plan, and then I checked out the specials where Stu works. ... All the sudden, my little project to repair the CD drive and upgrade to OS 10.5 (the famous "Leopard") has become quite a saga.

(I wrote the preceding paragraph for Kyle, by the way.)

So, now I've been doing more research online, and it turns out that the university has a "close-out special" with a discounted protection plan and free printer, and between that and paying for the time spent discovering that my other computer was a goner ... well, I've just spent a lot of money!

Yikes.

On the positive, yesterday, I was talking to one of our neighbors and she is going to give/lend us a baby crib, and those things can be expensive. So that's good though it doesn't quite cover the cost of a computer.

* * *

Last night, Finch came over for tacos and we watched Helvetica—the documentary about the font that I'm sure you've heard of. It was fun! Driving around today, Stu and I looked for signage in Helvetica. (By the way, the font here is Arial, the faux-Helvetica.)

Hey there

In the past, it has proved unwise for me to post when I've been or am drinking wine. But it's a bit of a celebratory night around here. For one thing, yesterday I finished a big job that I have been working on since November. Wow. What a relief that is. I had stopped submitting invoices for it at a certain point, because it was for a client who was paying out of pocket and let's just say I estimated 30 hours when in fact it was about 400 hours of work. I charged for 20 and was rescued by another editor/friend of mine (J.) who put in about 70 hours. It's kind of odd for it to be over—half the year I had it on my mind—and of course there's no fanfare or anything since only I am aware of finishing (well, J. understood, but when I told Spippy and Stu both sort of nodded and went back to their own worlds of snoozing and soccer). Still, I feel a weight lifted, for sure.

We also this evening got some good news on the Ana Lucia front, in that we are further along in the process than I had thought (and than I had been told by the Guatemalan government official I spoke with on the phone last week) plus we just passed over another high hurdle. I won't go into details as it really does get complicated, but this is good news—the kind of news that the head of the agency likes to tell you in person (well, on the phone). So that was nice. I still don't know when (this summer, I hope) we'll get to bring Panquequecita home, but hey, being three steps closer to that is great!

To celebrate, Stu and I had pizza (and wine, as you may recall from my earlier mention) and watched an episode of Northern Exposure and I am now going to curl up with the book I've just started reading, Alfred Maudslay and the Maya. Pretty wild partying over here, I know.

Things that make me happy

The promised photos

Rainy Sunday

It's a rainy Sunday and Stu and I are going through papers and stuff that has accumulated to get ready for Ana Lucia. We still have heard nothing—May 1 was a holiday in Guatemala so government offices were closed Thursday as well as Friday last week—but we need to get her room ready. It means that my office is moving to the dining room, but of course we want the dining room to remain usable, especially for M and Tony's visit later this month. But my immediate goal is to clear it out enough so that I can hire an electrician to install a heater in here. It's a big job and I'm a bit concerned to dismantle my office, but it is exciting (to the degree that I am able to let myself get excited about such) to be transforming the room.

***

Otherwise, work is work. I have been wrapping up the seven sketches I have written for one of my clients. I'm afraid these pieces do not represent my best writing, though it's hard to tell this soon after completing them. While writing them, I was aware of feeling depleted, and I think that being sick affected my interviewing. On the tapes I hear myself say, "That's really interesting" with absolutely no enthusiasm or life energy. It's pathetic!

***

We got a new washing machine on Friday, as our old one bit the dust. The guys who delivered it were like robots. I wonder what they tell these workers? "Don't talk to the strange women who clearly work from home"? The biggest opening in our basement is a window—perhaps where coal was delivered once? (Or maybe it was the original door, as the driveway and garage were built on the other side of the house later.) So the two guys are outside of the window with the new washer and I'm standing in the basement. I said, "Just toss it down—I'll catch it," and they didn't even crack a smile! Maybe everybody says this kind of thing? Between my fears of Munchausen syndrome and now being totally ignored ... maybe I have been spending too much time alone? I am really beginning to wonder.

***

I just wanted to verify the spelling of Munchausen, and I came across the condition for pets. Oh. My. God. Here's the excerpt from Wikipedia:

Munchausen Syndrome by Proxy: Pet

The medical literature includes a number of descriptions of a subset of Munchausen Syndrome by Proxy (MSbP) caretakers, whose cases are labeled Munchausen Syndrome by Proxy: Pet (MSbP:P). This is a factitious disorder with pet proxies, malingering with animal proxies, or even instances of "battered pet syndrome" (in reference to battered woman syndrome). In these cases, pet owners correspond to caretakers in traditional MSbP presentations involving human proxies.^[11] No extensive survey has yet been made of the extant literature, and there has been no speculation as to closely MSbP:P tracks with human MSbP.

***

We had a good condo meeting Wednesday and my tulips are all on the verge of blooming in the front yard. Other than the fact that I might be losing my mind, things are good.

Spippy update

The vet's diagnosis: constipation.

It was an extremely expensive diagnosis, of course, accompanied by an enema and an IV of fluid to help with dehydration. My sister always prescribes "Meowlox" for these conditions, but we will try all-meat baby food mixed with water in addition to her Science Diet Tartar Control cat chow.

I am getting embarrassed to go to the vet. Cat cough (that no one hears but me). Cat acne. Cat constipation. I worry that my vet might think I have Baron Munchausen by Proxy Syndrome, though when I mentioned that to her at my last visit before this one, she dismissed that immediately, saying it would be very hard for me to give Spippy acne. This visit, I didn't mention it, but I had the suspicion that she was remembering my comment and reconsidering.

It is true that I am hypervigilant, and that lately I have been spending a lot of time with Furface. But as I was reflecting on Spippy, me, and Dr. W. (the vet), it occurred to me that it's no wonder—given the parallels between Spippy and my dad's health—that I would be a bit of a worrier. To explain, since comparing one's cat with one's father is unusual and even rather strange, here are the parallels: My dad was also diagnosed with cancer. During the last year of his life, scans showed no disease, though the fact that he was feeling a lot of pain made it seem likely that something was up and that, as he put it, in a letter he wrote Jan. 22, 2007, that I just came across, he "was not out of the woods yet." Like a cat, my dad stoically endured his pain and tried to appear as though all was well. Then, last December, he was having trouble digesting and was (incorrectly) diagnosed with constipation. Eventually, that diagnosis was changed to a blockage in his intestine. That's when he had the surgery Dec. 14....

So, that's the update on Spippy ... and me, Countess von Munchausen

* * *

Mary turns in her dissertation today. Congratulations, Mary!

Flossing for a new future

I am so much looking forward to when this "phase" of my life is behind me! I know that's not living in the moment, but the moment is not easy.

Our papers are still in PGN—going on five months of nothing. And PGN was closed today because President Colom is replacing the attorney general, who was appointed by Guatemala's previous president and doesn't want to leave. Great!

Spippy is suddenly not doing well. She's clearly in pain and won't let me pick her up. In fact, she hissed at me this morning when I tried to casually swing her over my shoulder as I do all the time. She walks gingerly and sleeps all day and all night (granted, her sleep is difficult to accurately monitor given her sleeping habits). We are off to the vet tomorrow.

I seem to be missing my dad more and more. The Santa Fe hospice people have reached out to me twice, by mail, and I think I may call them. I have other support too, but this ache sure sneaks up on me.

* * *

But it's not all gloom and doom here in Dot. Every night before bed, for example, Stu and list the three top things that we are grateful for that day, and it's always hard to pick just three, so I do have some perspective.

* * *

Today I had a dentist appointment—X-rays and a teeth cleaning, nothing major. But I got really scared about it (me, who survived the cruelest orthodontist on the planet—seriously, he was evil). I even considered rescheduling on the excuse that my cat was sick. My fears: My dental hygiene has been pathetic. I was not exactly flossing when I was in the hospital in December, for example, and I never got back into the habit after that. And stress affects gums, and yes, thanks to the three sets of braces and jaw surgery, I do have some gum recession, thank you. And my hygienist (whom I am so fond of) is out on maternity leave (congratulations, S!), and I wasn't sure about the new one. But I went. I told the new hygienist about my concerns, and believe it or not, it all went fine. No pain, plaque that could be chipped off, gums OK, and no cavities! My dentist said, "Let's hope things get better now," as I promised to floss.

Let's hope they do!

First vinca upate of 2008

I actually think the vinca/myrtle is going to take off this year! I'm so excited. I'll post some photos soon, but I checked it out this afternoon and lo and behold, I see little sprouts and even some purple buds! I'm also eagerly awaiting the blossoming of the tulips and crocuses in our front (north-facing) yard. It seems like magic that something I planted last fall could be coming up now.

One of those days

It is one of those days when I'm missing my dad a lot. The other night I dreamt I heard his voice and I was so excited until I remembered it was not possible (in the dream). I wish I had not been logical or aware of this fact in my unconscious state, because I would have liked to have heard more. But then, would I have remembered?

My mom told me about going to Verizon to cancel his cell phone and listening to her last messages to him and those from other people.... Very hard. She is still dealing with paperwork, insurance, social security, probate, you name it—and my dad had done everything he could to make it not much work for her. We live in a complex world.

I don't really get how he can be gone.

* * *

Our visit with Ana Lucia was wonderful as always. She is a cutie. One of the highlights was going to the Maya site of Mixco Viejo and Shuny translating from a book on our Mayan signs as we sat under a big tree and ate a picnic lunch. I'm a Kan 13 Gemini ox for those of you who are interested.

Speaking of animals, Spippy, reports having had a terrific vacation with Mark, Nancy, and Eva. As she is always rested, I can't say she seems more rested, but her acne is definitely clearing up. She still has the phlegmy cough, but overall she's well. I have to say I'm confused about the news I got last fall from the veterinary pathologist as well as the oncologist. This cat does not appear to be on her death bed—she's pretty much always on our bed, on my pillow, in fact, leaving me the tiniest corner for my cheek.

A cat like Spippy (thanks, Pam!)

Don't feel like sleeping

I'm a bit revved up from getting ready for our trip to Guatemala tomorrow. The alarms are set for three-and-a-half hours from now, which seems like a useless amount of time to sleep, but perhaps it is exactly one sleep cycle and I should go for it.

These trips are big deals, and getting ready is something of a pain in the butt. Once we're there, it's great, but egads. I don't know how to explain it. I know I'm tired of airline travel these days. And then there's the fact that more than one-quarter of what we're taking is gifts, and a good half is baby stuff—diapers, bottles, clothes, wipes, medicine, etc. It's a lot of unfamiliar stuff to have to pull together, and there's a sense of anxiety from getting gifts for people you barely know. And pulling together the money is another task.

Whine, whine, whine.

Spippy is spending the week at Mark and Nancy's. I took her over this (Thursday) afternoon. She seemed so perfectly content over there—like that's where she'd prefer to be, actually! I was surprised and glad. She also now seems to like car rides, particularly looking out the side windows. She stands on the seat with her paws on the windowsill. Where did this cat come from?

OK, now it's time for bed. Tomorrow we'll have Ana Lucia!

A blow

Note from our coordinator:

We just heard from Guatemala that you rec'd a previo on your case today for a Guatemalan document and are working on getting it now. As soon as they have it and re-enter PGN, I will let you know. Sorry that this wasn't the news we were hoping for, let me know if you have any questions though.

This isn't the news I was hoping for. I think it means another month's delay. I hope I'm wrong. Totally bummed.

Pressha

AAGGHH.

I have a little too much on my plate these days, and even worse, my husband is annoyed at my erratic schedule.

It has been really hard missing all these weeks and odd days of work, having one job that ballooned into an opus, and not being able to get to the taxes on the dining room table. If I had known what this winter would hold, I would not have taken several jobs. But I didn't know, and I didn't know how much time would be spent organizing our trips to Guatemala and acquring the gifts we take down each visit.

It's just been a bit too much, and probably I shouldn't have gone to New York last weekend, but I also felt that I would really benefit from hanging out with friends and replenishing myself in the way that a weekend out of town can.

(As an aside, we had a wonderful time: our first road trip with a delightful three-year-old and her mom (a good friend), gourmet tagliatelle bolognese at B and D's, a feast of the eyes at the Earl Cunningham show, the upbeat fun of Passing Strange, Sechuan for dinner and Billy's cupcakes for desert, sleeping in, breakfast with D (B and Stu went to a pub to watch Tottenham play), and the drive home with Jennifer and Tanya.)

So that's my morning whine, as a light snow falls outside.

Anyway, I should get to work—for my clients and for Stu's sanity!

"Storied Walls" exhibition opened at the Peabody Museum last night!

Text for the above

It was fun to at last really see the murals, after having spent time editing the text over the winter. Stu and I also went to Bill Saturno's talk that night, in which he explained the story of the San Bartolo mural. Cool! Here's more.

PGN on the tip of my tongue

I hope I have made you curious about PGN, because this post is pretty much all about it.

PGN is the initialism for Procuraduria General de la Nacion, the Guatemalan attorney general's office. PGN is the place where the Guatemalan government gets involved in intercountry adoptions, which are almost always handled by private lawyers up to that point. Two reviewers examine the case—the adoptive parents' home study and dossier and the Guatemalan equivalent paperwork on the child who is to be adopted—and investigate any inconsistencies with the adoption. Once you get through PGN, the rest of the process is bureaucratic procedures that don't have an evaluative component: getting a revised birth certificate with the new parents' last name, getting immigration paperwork done through the U.S. embassy, doing the final DNA match between birthmother and child (and the mother has her fourth chance to change her mind).

I have heard PGN called "paperwork going nowhere," and sometimes that seems to be true. Our dossier and Guatemalan family court documents have been in PGN since Dec. 6, 2007. We got "kicked out" of the process once because (we were told) our U.S. preapproval document was not included in the dossier. However, it actually was and it's not clear why the reviewer missed it, so we got back into PGN after losing a few weeks "out."

So why am I writing about this, when the agencies ask people not to post to the Internet / keep blogs about adoption just in case their words have an effect on the process?

Well, for one thing, this blog is not linked to any search engines, so even though it is public, it isn't as public as some. And, secondly, as I'm not naming agencies or lawyers, what I'm writing is common knowledge about the usual process and things that can happen and thus is not remarkable to our case. But mostly, it's that I just can't not talk about it right now because it's all I am thinking about!

If we hadn't gotten knocked out of PGN last month, and if our papers had followed the "average" time in PGN, which I read is three months (though it can range from two weeks to more than a year), this is the week that we would be receiving our approval, and of course I wrote it in my calendar. Now, I have to note that because of Guatemala's recent change in presidents, all the PGN paperwork had to be updated and refiled this past January-February, so I should add a week or so delay for that on top of our previ0 (the term for being kicked out of PGN). And that's why I have revised the timeline that I tell people when they ask to anticipating bringing Ana Lucia home in June rather than April-May, which is what I was saying last fall.

BUT a lot of families in our agency have been getting approved lately, so we (those of us on our agency Yahoo group listserv) sense that PGN is moving more quickly—perhaps the reviewers are trying to clean their desks of all of us who were "grandfathered" under the notarial (private lawyer) system, which is being revised this year as Guatemala joins the Hague C0nvention.

Anyway, it's just enough of the add-a-week-subtract-a-week kind of thing that keeps my head spinning considering different possible scenarios. And I so much want to have Ana Luc1a here with us! We look at her pictures, we imagine what she is doing (Is she sleeping? Is she eating? Is she having a diaper changed?), and we talk about what kind of parents we want to be (Stu doesn't want to raise a picky eater like he is).

It's driving me crazy.

And I've returned to working on taxes, and it's kind of a review of the year: I see how much money we spent on the home study, on our first agency payment, on all the requests for birth certificates and other forms, and all the fees for having them great sealed and made official by Guatemalan consulates around the United States and even in Italy. And I see our parking fees, the fingerprinting fees, the FedEx charges (I got a FedEx account), adoption conference fees, international adoption health clinic donations, and all kinds of stuff ... so it's really on my mind!

So here I am, actively, hopefully waiting for the phone to ring with good news ... but I may be waiting another month! AAGGHH. Maybe PGN also stands for person going nutty.

Why does it take so long? (Looking for a source to credit as this is not my creation)

And now, a little culture

So, as you may have guessed, I have not been reading or doing much culturally other than researching attachment disorders or which bottle prevents the most gas or the best cell phone for me (ever since I dropped mine in 5 inches of water when our basement flooded Feb. 13).

However, thanks to friends and random encounters, my life has not been devoid of all interest lately. First of all, I must thank Jennifer D., whose sister's play (she's one of the directors) Passing Strange is in NYC. I finally got around to reading the New York Times article and watching the video. I'm excited because we are going!

Then, thanks to Tanya B., for introducing me to the thoughts of a North Carolina-based blue-collar spiritual teacher named Adyashanti, interviewed by Sy Sanfransky in The Sun in December. It's a very cool article and I found Adya's ideas tied in nicely with my dad's beliefs about death.

On various plane journeys over the past months, I had an extremely enjoyable and heart-warming conversation with the fine artist Braldt Bralds, who is based in Santa Fe, and Stu and I met Kati J0hnsen, who has created a fair-wage knitting cooperative in Peru and the label Mollygoggles.

And then, Jenny K's former roomie, N1na Katchad0urian, one of my favorite artists and helper of spiders, is giving a talk at the MFA on April 8!

So that's it. For the record. Now I need to get to work.

* * *

UPDATE
I just learned that two articles I wrote are now available online! (See pages 6 and 20.)

Back from Memorial Service #2

It's March 3, and I am back from Florida, where we again celebrated my dad with family and friends, though mostly friends this time as family attended Memorial Service #1.

I am really struck by how amazing the service was, and I keep thinking to myself, "Wow. It was another L0retta Armer production." My mom has a knack for putting together celebrations and events—primarily those of the yoga/spiritual/shaman type, though she also officiated our wedding. (I guess that qualifies as spiritual.)

A highlight for me was having one of his Nigerian graduate students there, a man who is now a professor himself, who came to the service with his wife and three kids (all three in college; his wife works for the school system where they live—I believe they are now U.S. citizens), and shared how much my dad had helped him. He told of my dad teaching him how to drive, and then taking him to the DMV and and going over the drivers' manual with him so that he passed the test. And then my dad gave him one of our family cars (a little bright orange yet rusty Datsun B210).

I have just spent a few minutes sitting here, musing about all the other things I could say....

But I should get to work. I have a job I need to finish up in the next half hour—just didn't feel like starting it right away this morning.

It feels like now life can return to "normal." No more trips to Santa Fe in the works to visit my dad, no more memorial services, no more contacing newspapers about obituaries and printing 400 programs on my home printers. So it's back to a normal routine and flow, but my dad is not here. And that makes it plain weird.

Procrastination

I am supposed to be working on taxes ... BUT I wanted to share this with you as it is truly a great invention. You know how you always get too many catalogs in the winter and feel guilty about the many trees consumed unnecessarily. Well, here's a way to stop the problem. (Thanks to Jennifer D. for the tip.)

Snowbound, with strep throat (possibly), and a husband who has pulled a muscle in his back

I think the title above says it all.

All except for the fact that I'm feeling a little beleaguered. Or at least I was yesterday. Today, after yesterday's morning nap, afternoon nap, and dinnertime nap followed by a good 12 hours of sleep last night, I'm feeling much better. Certainly more optimistic. (Coincidentally, I had a doctor's appointment scheduled for yesterday for another round of some shots we have been getting for Guatemala, so that's when I got the possible strep diagnosis.)

And yes, Stu pulled a muscle in his back yesterday doing some heavy lifting at the museum. For those of you who follow his soccer-watching habits, it has not stopped him one bit, and he is currently flat out on the floor in the living room—watching Fulham versus I don't know who.

But probably you are not interested in how we are physically, but want to hear about last weekend's memorial and how I am doing emotionally. (Or so I egocentrically imagine!)

The memorial was one part of an incredibly full and rich and social weekend.

I started a chronological description of events and people but quickly realized that it gets too unwieldy. So I will change tactics, and simply tell you that it involved nearly 25 out-of-town relatives coming to Santa Fe—from both sides of the family; two breakfasts that Stu and I made for 10 and nearly 20 people, respectively; several big meals out at restaurants; a lot of meeting new family members and friends of Dad's whom I didn't know; the public memorial at The Celebration (fabulous); and a private memorial for close family the next day in which we spread my dad's ashes under the Our Lady of Guadelupe in my parents' yard.

Some odd highlights: When Traci and I read our letters to Dad at the memorial service, we spontaneously became a comedy team. We were standing next to each other and she was to read hers first. The humorous tone (even though we were choked up during the readings, too) started when she said something like, "In the XX years I have known you, and Cathy has known you ... " and then there was an expectant pause when she realized she would have to say my age, "... and Cathy, [who has known you] even longer," and the attendees at the service laughed. It went from there.

At the dinner that night, a really cool woman (a baker in Oregon who is dating one of my uncles) and I were talking, and she asked me something about how I ended up where I was, and I drew a complete blank. "I can't even remember my story!" I said, but then managed to dredge up the barest key facts of my life resume starting with high school journalism. It was amazing how irrelevant it all seemed, and how hard it was to access.

Also memorable that night was Stu asserting that he was wearing cowboy underpants in honor of my dad. Well, I won't say any more or I'll no doubt get in trouble, but I'll risk saying that we have a wonderful, memorable photo of the expression on Aunt Judy's face.

The memorial at The Celebration included so many great moments—from my mom's drumming circle starting things off to the choir singing to Christine and Ken reading Dad's memorial poem, several friends speaking, one of my cousins relating how Dad explained Watergate to him ("everything a 6-year-old needed to know"), songs dedicated to him, playing the songs he'd chosen for his memorial (Dusty Springfield's "Windmills of My Mind," Celine Dion's song from the Titanic, and a third, which I'm forgetting), my mom dancing, Todd saying that there's a neurophysician in Chicago who is going to be pleasantly surprised (because Todd had been told his tear ducts might be blocked from his Grave's-disease-related eye surgeries last year, but clearly the tears are flowing well!), to a final reading of Kahlil Gilbran's.

All weekend, so much love was present, love of all kinds. I wish that my dad could have been there to bask in it.

My letter to my dad (that I read at the memorial)

So … Traci wrote a letter to Dad in January, when he was still alive, and Mom thought it would be something that she could read at this memorial service. And then she asked me to write a letter, too, so that I would also have something to read. Being a writer, I knew I had to write something really fabulous to convey exactly what a special dad Dad was and to describe the past few extremely full years with him. Concisely and eloquently, with beautiful metaphors and poignancy. So, here it goes:

Dear Dad,
How are you?
I am fine.
It’s sunny and chilly here in Santa Fe. What’s the weather like where you are?
…
Actually, I’m not really fine. I’m in denial that you are gone and simultaneously I miss you a lot. Some days when I’ve been working at home all day, just me and Spippy, I so deeply yearn to give you a call to chat about famous writers and thinkers who worked in bed or to talk about how you’re doing or to hear about the latest developments in mom’s garden.
Writing a letter to you now, nearly four weeks after you left us, is hard. Like those phone call topics, it’s not like I have anything really specific to say. I just miss you and want to hear your voice and know you’re OK.
During the last few weeks that I was with you—from the day before your final surgery December 14 through New Year’s Eve, it seemed like there was less and less that we needed to say. I don’t mean that we stopped talking—we talked a lot about mundane things like medications and what to eat and the different personalities we encountered at the hospital.
We could have had deep conversations, I suppose, and there were plenty of things I wanted to ask you about, but it seemed that we had gotten to a place beyond those conversations. I don’t mean “beyond” like we were just so cool or advanced; it was more like that stuff just didn’t matter anymore—our history together or your life in the 23 years before I met you were all irrelevant, and the only thing that meant anything was just hanging out. It was like how Isis (the cat) would just take her naps in your room or snooze outside your door: just by being with—or in the vicinity of—each other we could express our gratitude for each other—both past and present, and maybe future, too.
…
We all miss you, especially mom, of course, and Isis, too, has been suffering. But for your sake (as opposed to ours) I really wish you were here now, so that you could enjoy this wonderful family gathering that mom has organized.
It’s nice to see how many people whose lives you touched—and whose lives touched yours. And how much love there is. I think that you would really be glad to see all the love because I think that’s what you realized that life is all about—not all this accomplishing and doing, which is where we tend to spend most of our energy. All of that stuff is a way to create opportunities so that we can share our love or find more and different ways to express our love. It’s one of those clichéd life truths that I’ve known for years but I think I finally got it this winter with you: that the whole point of living is not about having, doing, or even being, but rather simply about living with others—nurturing children and students, supporting friends and family, accompanying our life’s partners through life. The only thing really important in the end is relationships.
It’s all about loving.
...
I love you so much.
Cathy

Dad's Memorial Poem

Dear Family and Friends,

Thanks for coming to my memorial service
and for all the things you’ve said.
I hope we keep in touch through Love
even though they say I’m dead.

In fact, I want you to know I’m fine
and I’m happy to be on my way.
To what or where, of course, is a mystery,
I cannot really say.

Now, as you know, I taught yoga on the side,
on the back and stomach, too.
And one thing I learned from it
is that BEING is never through.

Even though I’m gone in one sense
and can never be the same,
BEING is just transformation
going by another name.

In life we constantly re-birth and die
down to the tiniest cell.
This letting go of breath and body
is part of life’s carousel.

Cycles within cycles,
what a blessing to have seen
the human round, from birth to death,
and so much in between.

And what a joy to have shared it
with loved ones and friends like you,
both past and present, far and near,
and even a forgotten few.

Not only have friends and loved ones
made my life rich and whole.
Add to that the simple pleasures,
such as an evening stroll.

Or scuba diving in the ocean,
or gazing at the stars,
or listening to the music of
mockingbird repertoires.

Planting trees, riding horses,
Seeing my daughters grow,
going on a weekend hike,
or watching a good picture show.

Playing with my grandchildren,
eating a homemade treat,
laughing at a joke with friends,
getting a massage to head or feet.

Enjoying travel in a foreign land
or a cozy fireplace in our home.
Reading a lighthearted novel
or writing this homespun poem.

Most special of all has been
my lifelong love and soulmate.
What a debt of gratitude I owe
for such a blessed fate.

Yes, it’s everyday beginnings and endings
that have made my life rich and full.
That you and I get to move on
is just as wonderful.

So thank you for sharing some time with me
as I cycled my way through.
May your life be full of loving-kindness
is my parting wish to you.

— Mike Armer, 2006

John Michael Armer

John Michael Armer, much-loved husband, father, grandfather, brother, and uncle, of Santa Fe, N.M., died peacefully at home on Jan. 21, 2008, at the age of 70.

Mike, as he was known throughout his life, was born in Phoenix, Ariz., on June 27, 1937, and attended West Phoenix High School and later Whittier College in California and the University of Wisconsin, Madison, where he earned a Ph.D. in sociology. Active in high school and college government and committed to the Civil Rights Movement, Mike was honored in 1955 with a Youth Leadership Award given by President Dwight D. Eisenhower. He also attended Fisk University, in Nashville, Tenn., on an exchange program during his junior year at Whittier, and in 1959, was among a select group of students to travel to West Africa with Crossroads Africa, the precursor program to the Peace Corps.

He was a professor of sociology and African studies at the University of Oregon, Northwestern University, Indiana University, and Florida State University, where he also served as chair of the sociology department from 1980 to 1985. He held teaching and research positions in a variety of places including Kano, Nigeria; Dakar, Senegal; Florence, Italy; Taiwan; London; and Paris. He loved to teach undergraduate and graduate sociology courses, and worked closely with his graduate students in their research—developing friendships that lasted long after degrees were granted. The annual “Best Teacher” award in the Department of Sociology at Florida State is named in his honor.

In 1960, he married Loretta Jane Gotch, also of Phoenix, whom he had known at Whittier. Together, they traveled the world—in conjunction with Mike’s work as well as for pleasure. Their trips included visits to Mexico, the Himalayas, Egypt,Turkey, Ireland, Portugal, North Africa, Israel, Greece, and much of the United States, including Hawaii.

A descendent of two pioneer ranching families in the Tonto Basin and Roosevelt Dam, Ariz., Mike rode horses before bikes, spent summers with the cowboys on the ranch, and developed a lifelong resourcefulness and “can-do” attitude that served him well in his travels and home improvement and yard projects. He was a good musician, able to play the piano by ear as well as read music, and was known in elementary school for serenading his “girlfriends” with ukulele ballads. In Santa Fe, he was a member of The Celebration community choir.

An artist and poet, he designed his family’s holiday cards and created humorous poems, songs, and toasts for special events. He was also athletic, and he played basketball in high school, polo in Nigeria, squash in Indiana, and many games of softball, badminton, basketball, and football with family members. His wife Loretta introduced him to yoga, and he eventually gained certification from Kripalu Center for Yoga and Health in Massachusetts as a yoga instructor. He also learned scuba diving in his late 50s, and dived off the Florida coast.

As a longtime stomach cancer survivor, he continued to teach—though in this case teaching his doctors, family, and friends about the miracle of life and healing, human courage, and perseverance. In 2001, he traveled to Brazil to work with the healer John of God. He showed incredible fortitude and amazed those who knew him by his capacity to endure discomfort and outright pain with strength and humor.

In Santa Fe, he thrived in seeing the beauty of the mountains, helping Loretta create an inviting home and garden, and entertaining their many visitors and making new friends including those at The Celebration community and his men’s group. Reading fiction and watching movies, dining at the piano bar at Vanessie and with friends at Ferragamo’s, and receiving massages as a cancer patient at the Scherer Institute of Natural Healing were favorite pastimes. He very much loved his granddaughters, most recently teaching Scout how to drive a stick shift and sharing jokes with Anelya Zoe. Friends and family remember him as soft-spoken, warm, supportive, unassuming, and helpful. His genuine smile and light sense of humor lifted many spirits.

He is survived by his lifelong companion of 47 years, Loretta; two daughters and sons-in-law, Cathy Armer and Stuart Heebner of Boston, Mass., and Traci and Todd Kurtzer of Evanston, Ill.; three granddaughters, Scout Kurtzer, Anelya Zoe Kurtzer, and soon-to-be adopted Ana Lucia Heebner; a sister, Judy Armer of San Juan Capistrano, Calif.; and many nieces, nephews, grandnieces, and grandnephews.

A memorial service will be held in Santa Fe on Feb. 16 at The Celebration in the National Education Association (NEA) Building, 2007 Botulph Road, from 2 to 4 p.m. A scholarship fund has been established in Mike’s honor at The Celebration. Donations can be made to the Mike Armer Celebration Retreat Fund, c/o Norman Scull, The Celebration, P.O. Box 22994, Santa Fe, N.M. 87502. For more information on Mike, including his poetry and academic vita, visit http://mikearmer.com.

The poem he wrote for his memorial ends with the following verse:

Thank you for sharing some time with me
as I cycled my way through;
May your life be full of loving kindness,
is my parting wish to you.

We are back from Guatemala, where we had a lovely time with Ana Lucia.

But my dad died on Monday, our last day there. He was with my mom and aunt at home. He was peaceful.

Stu and I fly to New Mexico tomorrow.

Letter never written, never sent

Dear Dr. Purdy and Dr. Weatherill,

My father is your patient Mike Armer. He has asked me to ask both of you to write a letter in your roles as his doctors to request/urge that our adoption agency do anything within its power to expedite the intercountry adoption process that my husband and I are undertaking.

As I believe he has shared with you, his wish is to meet the little girl we have been matched with. He hasn’t been able to fly to Guatemala because he is on oxygen, and clearly now things are extremely urgent.

Given the time, I am hoping you might be able to write a letter on your professional letterhead and fax it to the adoption agency.

The letter could read:

Dear World Partners Adoption and Government Officials Representing Guatemala and the United States in the Adoption of Ana Lucia Fernandez by Stuart Heebner and Catherine Armer,

I am writing on behalf of one of my patients, J. Michael Armer, whose daughter and son-in-law, Catherine Armer and Stuart Heebner, are adopting a baby girl from Guatemala.

Mike Armer is a wonderful man, a retired professor, and also a longtime survivor of stomach cancer. In the past month, however, we discovered that the disease has spread, and I have advised him that his illness is terminal.

It has been Mike’s wish for some time to meet his new granddaughter-to-be. Fortunately, I understand that Cathy and Stu’s adoption paperwork is in the final phases of review by the Guatemalan government. I realize that careful examination of adoptive parents is critical and not to be rushed. However, I am taking the time to write today to ask that this case be expedited in whatever manner you see fit so that my patient might be able to meet his new granddaughter—and so that she too can get to know this gentle and good man, who cares so much and is so delighted that she is entering his family.

Sincerely,

A moment of sun shining on the ice on the trees

It's one of those white-sky winter days, but a minute ago a smudge of sun got through the puffs of clouds and suddenly the tree outside my window sparkled—ice dripping from each tiny branch, almost like tinsel.

I got a message from my mom (I was on the phone with a client) saying that my dad is coming home today, and she and my aunt are getting hospice set up. This means he will not be doing a feeding IV, which means it will be extremely difficult for his body to get nourishment. It all seems so cruel.

I am sick with worry that I won't get to him in time. I can forget about the situation sometimes, but then I get a phone call or message—a simple one like that—and my insides freeze up. It's a feeling of terror. I have to remind myself to breathe.

I have regressed to childhood magical thinking, too. I know this is crazy, but I can see that very deeply, I have the belief that if I'm with him, he'll get better or at least I can make him feel better. I know it's crazy, but the past few times when I've been there, he has gotten better/gained weight or whatever. When I have this thought, I tell myself it's nonsense, but it keeps coming up.

Last night I spoke with my dad in the hospital. There was a lot of commotion, so it wasn't a long conversation. It's the first time I've spoken with him since the morning before he went to ER—when he didn't mention at all that he was in pain, dang his hide!—and I said, "What are you doing in the hospital without me? Those were some good times we had!" I was just joking, trying to make light of the situation ("tragedy" is the word that comes to mind, just to give you an idea where my mind is), but he responded very sincerely, "Yes, I was just thinking about when you were here. We did have some fun."