Gus, 1992-2009

Gus died yesterday. It was so sudden and unexpected, we're all still wiping away the tears. And it's so ironic because last Friday, Pete, the dog, was diagnosed with possible bladder cancer. But Pete's fine, and in fact, has rebounded considerably after a new presciption. He's tearing around the house, acting like a puppy again.

On Friday night, I noticed that Gus had very suddenly dropped in weight, with rib cage and spine more apparent. Just two or three days earlier, nothing was noticeably different about him. He sleeps next to me every night, so I'm very aware of his body. He also seemed lethargic. I got him to the vet's on Monday afternoon. She ran a blood test and diagnosed kidney failure. She hydrated him with liquids, but said there was no cure. We might "keep him comfortable" with home-based "dialysis" if I was up to the task of inserting tubes a few times per week. Even while understanding that he wouldn't live much longer, I still wanted to opt for hydration to see if he could have a little more time and be comfortable. She asked me to come back Wednesday afternoon so she could teach me how to insert tubes. Monday night, Gus was not miserable, I don't think, but he was clearly unwell. He couldn't walk straight. He yowled. At two a.m., I woke to his meows, and never did get back to sleep until alarm time. I kept giving him water and nutritional paste by dropper. By Tuesday night, he seemed a lot better to me. But maybe he was just more weak. Liberto held him for several hours in the evening and rocked him and petted him. Later, I got up during the night and brought him into bed with me. He didn't protest or yowl, and seemed to sleep very well. Wednesday morning when I left for work, I put him in his box, knowing that later that afternoon, I would be bringing him back to the vets for more hydration. . . or, depending on how he was feeling, a tenative discussion about euthanasia.

At 3:00 Wednesday, I found a voicemail on my cellphone. As soon as I heard Paul's tearful voice and his sniffing, I knew. Paul had come back from his classes and discovered that Gus had died on his own. If it had to happen, I was relieved that Gus could have his final moments at home instead in an antiseptic vet's office, with a needle thrust into him. I still have awful memories of Sandy's death, of Liberto and I standing there sobbing our eyes out while the vet inserted the needle. But Sandy was suffering, and a prolonged and natural death would have been cruel. After Sandy was gone and we finally emerged from the clinic with puffy red eyes, I'll never forget the sight of Gus standing upright in the front seat of our car, paws on the steering wheel, his mouth moving in meows which we couldn't hear from behind the glass. We were moving into our new house that day, which is why Gus was waiting for us in the car. After saying goodbye to Sandy, we continued on to the Southside and began settling into our new home. Gus staked out his territory, driving off any would-be cat intruders who dared to set a paw on our property. I can just see him now, racing across the front yard, his tail puffed out to the size of a broom, defending his territory with loud wails. I was worried at first that he might be confused by the new house---he had lived with us for about a year at the Nicholson Circle house---so I tried a trick I had read about in Dear Abby, and put butter between his claws. Dear Abby had claimed that this helps cats keep the scent of the new house better, so they don't lose the scent and get lost.


Gus was a part of our lives for so long, and such a vibrant personality, that the house feels very empty right now. I feel empty. Although it isn't totally shocking that a 17-year-old cat might go, I still was hoping he'd last a few more years. He looked so great for his age and seemed so healthy until just a week ago.

Yesterday afternoon, Shawn was kind enough to dig a deep grave in the back yard right next to the new little lemon tree I planted. When Liberto got home from work, he and Paul and I buried him, amid a flood of tears. Shawn was very sweet and added his artistic touch by setting up a stone too.

It was very difficult getting up this morning and for the first time since living in this house, not feeding Gus. When I returned from work today, the feeling of loss resurfaced. Every room I go into, I expect to see him somewhere, greeting me with a "Mrrr?" He had many special spots in the house that belonged entirely to him, such as the back of Liberto's neck while sitting on top of the couch.

A relationship with a cat is so deeply physical. The feel of his fur on your skin, the sound of his purring, the smell of his catfood-breath, the warmth of his body, the mixing of the claws. It's painful learning to live without all that. Liberto and I had agreed a few years back that after these pets pass on, we won't get anymore. I know my grief is miniscule compared to the pain that others in the world are experiencing for much larger reasons, but knowing this still doesn't make it better.

"The Year's Move On, In Yesterday's Many"---Sir Gawain and the Green Knight

This afternoon, we met our long-time friends Gautam and Bela at Barnes and Noble for coffee and conversation. Although we don't see each other very often anymore, now that I'm away from Statesboro, our history goes far back to Baton Rouge. Gautam, now a Lit professor at Georgia Southern, was an instructor at LSU in the '80's at the same time I was a graduate student there. But because the grad students were so segregated from the "real" teachers, with offices on separate floors, I didn't know Gautam and Bela at the time. Their son is the same age as Paul, to the week, born in July, 1986, and even born at the same hospital in Baton Rouge. When Gautam arrived at Georgia Southern for his interview about a year after I'd been hired, I was the person who picked him up at the airport. Subsequently, we learned that we'd been LSU colleagues but had traveled in different circles (he was much higher on the food chain). When we became GSU colleagues, all that changed. We've visited back and forth for years, and when the boys were young, they used to play video games (I have a photo of the two of them hypnotized in front of Nintendo). Today, we reminisced a lot about Baton Rouge days and different places in Baton Rouge, which was a lifetime ago, and it made me aware of the years that have passed. Their son Abir has graduated from college, and is working in Chicago, no longer the little boy in front of the Nintendo. Also, we were all talking about retirement funds, which shows that we're not the young starry-eyeds we used to be.

Later this afternoon, Liberto and I went to see Slumdog Millionaire. The drama aside, the scenes of the slums and poverty were significant reminders of how much of the world suffers.

Last Monday, on MLK Day, Liberto and I decided to check out Circuit City again. As we pulled into the parking lot, I noticed the local news anchor standing with a camera man interviewing a tall African American man who was facing away from us. I said to Liberto, "That man looks just like Mr. Dingle!" And it was. Do readers recall Mr. Dingle from my previous high school, whose name became the term for being written up: "Dingle-ized" as everyone called it. That is, if he could catch them. My memory of him was a blur racing down the hall, chasing after skippers, walkie talkie in hand. When the t.v. anchor had finished interviewing him, we hailed him. He was happy to see me. He'd retired from the school system, so now he could talk freely. He said, "Once SHE came to Groves, she destroyed a lot of people." We both knew who he meant by SHE; no names were necessary. He said SHE treated the AP's like dogs too, not just the teachers, and that she had driven good teachers away." He said he'd heard that I'd left and was happy for me, that I was always so professional and deserved better. AMEN!


On Friday, I took Pete to the vet's for a follow-up appointment. I may have mentioned that he's been peeing a lot more than usual, and often on the carpet, as though he's confused about where to do it. Even on walks, he does it a lot more. A few weeks or a month ago, I took him in for an evaluation because I'd noticed the change. They did a urinalysis, determined he had an infection, and said he also had some "irregularities" in the urine, and it should be re-tested. He finished his round of antibiotics, but was still been having accidents on the rug. Friday's appointment brought bad news. The vet decided to do a blood test, urinalysis and x-ray. She concluded that she thinks he has bladder cancer. She showed me the x-ray of his bladder and pointed to some blurry black and white images. They could be just harmless stones, she says, but considering that he now has a lot of blood in his urine and is straining to pee, she thinks it shows cancer. When she brought up exploratory surgery, I said "No." What would be the point, except to make the poor dog suffer? If he has cancer, there's nothing they can do, and certainly it will manifest later. The blood test, which will come back Monday, will tell a lot in itself. I am not in any rush for him to depart, and I would not rashly have him euthanized, even if he were clearly diagnosed with cancer. Let him live as long as he feels well. The conversation was painful and rife with deja vu, as I remembered Sandy's final months, the smell of the vet's office, the sorrow, the tears. When I arrived home with Pete and told L. the prognosis, I burst into tears. Of course, L. has more serious worries about his father, whose illness supersedes concerns about a dog. However, today, Pete's been lively and happy. He started a new round of antibiotics. He used to be very good at culling any pills from the meat treats I'd hide them in, and spitting them out, while swallowing the treat. I discovered a new trick. I hold up 2 pieces of meat. The pill is in the first one. As I give that to him, I hold up the second piece of meat. He gets so excited at the prospect of a second piece, that he swallows the first eagerly without even thinking to do a pill-search, lunges for the second piece. Meanwhile the pill is halfway down his gullet. He's been frisky and appears healthy. It's the cat I'm worried about. All of a sudden, the cat seems lethargic and bony. I've been giving him thyroid medication, and he was doing well, but today, he seems sluggish.

This week, second son met a girl on eharmony who happened to live in Savannah. He left for a date on Wednesday and didn't return until the next afternoon, so we assumed it went well. Same thing Thursday and Friday. Today, before L. and I left to meet Gautaum and Bela, he arrived here with the girlfriend and a guy she knows, and the three of them were leaving to go fishing at Tybee. He'd just stopped by the house to pick up something before they left. He looked happier than I'd seen him in a long time. But when L. and I returned from the movie at about 6:30, Son had just gotten back from the outing, alone, and was... strongly under the influence of something and not at all happy. I fear self-medication because I've suspected that before. He appeared to be in the middle of a telephone argument, I assume with the girlfriend.

The rain is coming down. I love the sound of it. Now I won't have to play my storm tapes tonight when I go to sleep.

Chilly Saturday

This morning, I donned a cotton turtleneck, a sweater over that, and a heavy, lined jacket. We were going to Circuit City, and the temperature was about THIRTY DEGREES, much too cold for a Southern lady like myself, whose Northern blood thinned out years ago. We waited outside Circuit City with a crowd of other eager sharks who smelled the blood of liquidation, and the cold air penetrated through my jeans onto my legs.I was miserable, as we waited 15 minutes for the doors to open. Luckily, Liberto is like a human radiator. His natural body temperature is about 20 degrees higher than mine, so we held hands inside his jacket pocket and some of his body heat transferred into me. At home, he has trouble keeping the cat away. What cat doesn't like a nice source of heat? When L. sits down on the couch, Gus climbs onto the back and wraps himself around L's neck, then begins licking away at L's bald spot. It's the funniest sight. When the doors to Circuit City opened, we looked at big screen t.v.'s and all-on-one computers, but decided to wait until the price dropped more dramatically before the final liquidation. Today, they were only taking 10% off of everything. The local news last night reported that everything was discounted 70%, but that was an error.

L. had his first epidural yesterday. Shawn drove him because the doctor had said he shouldn't drive until they knew what the effect was. For instance, what if he was totally numb from the waist down? Of course, that's not supposed to happen, and it didn't. I remember that the entrance of an epidural needle was a teensy bit painful, but L. said he didn't feel anything. The procedure went well, and the doctor said he should feel a noticeable improvement within 2 days. He woke up this morning saying the pain was uncomfortable, but not acutely painful, as it has been for many months. He says he's been having some depression, possibly as the result of the various meds and/or from being in pain so much. I hope the epidural series will remove the need for medication and get rid of the pain.

L's father has been sick, and L. has been very worried. Papa, who is 93, has had minor health problems for the past few years, such as a hip replacement, and other things one would expect in a person of that seniority, but now he has a case of shingles and has been in a lot of pain. His sisters report that Papa has said that he wants to die, which is very upsetting to L. of course. Thus, he has been carrying that burden as well as the back pain. In addition, cold weather makes L. depressed.

S. has been here for a week now. I didn't see him much last week because I'm up at 5:30, gone all day, and often return at 4:30 or 5:00. He's still on more of a night owl schedule, but we intersected in the evenings. He went job hunting this week and landed a job at an art framing store at Oglethorpe Mall. It started today. The job market isn't quite as bad here as in Arizona; there were a lot of employment possibilities that were hiring that he qualified for, but he decided to jump at the first offer. He just now came back from the first day and said it really felt great to be working again. Productivity is a mood-brightener for anyone.

My work week was good. On Friday, I went to an all-day Professional Development workshop on classroom management. Certified teachers have to accumulate at least 10 PLU's every 5 years to keep their licenses. Last year, as you may recall, my former school system sent all teachers to workshops constantly. I sat through them patiently, although I secretly thought to myself, "Geez. . . I know all this!" (for example "What is the writing process?"---been there, done that!)But so far, Richmond Hill has not suggested that anyone go anywhere for professional development. They seem to leave us alone, but we're supposed to seek out our own P.D., which is why I signed up for the workshop. I'm very interested in the topic too. "Managing" the classroom, a fancy euphemism for keeping the kids under control, is the hardest part of the job, and I'm fascinated by the different theories on how to do it best. The workshop leader's philosophy was, thank God, that it's not only okay but preferable for teachers to smile and be happy as long as they are firm too. I was relieved to hear that. I can't help that I like the students, so I do smile and feel happy when I'm with them. You know the old saw: "Don't smile before Thanksgiving." Would I want to work under a leader who never smiled? NO! Why, then, would students want a teacher who never smiled and hated being there? For the day, we went over all sorts of classroom techniques that give positive rewards, and also discussed ways to provide consequences without a formal write-up. I enjoyed the day much more than some of the training sessions I attended last year, and returned with some new ideas and PLU's.

I'm reading a non-fiction book Breakfast at Sally's, written by a 65-year-old man from the Seattle area who had it all, then lost it all, and became homeless. He describes living in his van with his dog, getting meals from the Salvation Army, and making the $5 bills he begs off of people last for two or three days. He, and all the other homeless in Seattle, find parking lots around town where they can sleep in their cars without being kicked out. They've learned fast what churches offer free meals, which stores have free coffee, what areas are good for begging a bill or two off solvent people. I was just now telling S. about it. He, too, knows all about the plight of the homeless. One of the barriers for many people collecting unemployment benefits after losing jobs is 1)finding out where the unemployment office is. If you don't have a working phone, how do you call to find the location?
2)Getting to the unemployment office, provided you've found out where it is. If you don't have a car or don't have money for public transportation, it may be a long walk. 3)Once there, they say they will call you in a week or two. On what phone? Chances are, your cell phone or house line has been de-activated. So they say they'll contact you by mail. At what address, if you've been evicted? The system is set up to ensure that the people who need benefits the most will have the most trouble getting them. I wonder if I should write a letter to President Obama to tell him about the difficulty of receiving assistance? I'm sure he gets a million letters an hour, but maybe the aides summarize the issues and pass them on to him.

First week of school, Shawn's return

Great news on the school front. At the last minute, I was switched to a Third Block planning period, which is the best! That means I don't have to teach a class interrupted by a 25-minute lunch. Third block---from 11:20 to 1:30---is extra long, to accommodate the students' lunch, and extra class time is thrown in too. Thirty minutes with the students before lunch and an hour and fifteen minutes together after lunch adds up to more than 90 minutes. Understandably, students' attention wanes after 75 or 90 minutes. Keeping them engaged requires more energy. I know if I were a student today, I would probably have trouble sitting through a 90 minute class, let alone a longer one! When I saw the revised Master Schedule on Monday's teacher planning day, I was more than pleased. Now I have that long stretch from 11:15 until 1:30 off, to plan, to grade, to copy papers, to eat lunch. It's Heavenly.

This semester, I have the advantage of knowing all the naughty antics 9th graders are capable of, so I created a new syllabus with rules that reflected this knowledge. The first week is the Honeymoon period, so I'll have to be ever-vigilant for the spitballs and disappearances after leaving for the restroom. Having had a trial run with the four different Literature Units, I know the sequence and have more activities, projects and worksheets than I will ever have time for, so I don't think I'll have to spend hours creating activities, as I did last semester. Nevertheless, I did have Teacher Anxiety Dream Number 35 last night: I was in class, but I didn't know what we were doing that day. I didn't have any hand-outs or plans and was desperately trying to think of something. The students were running all over, and I had the awful feeling that the classroom door was about to open and an Observer was about to appear, unannounced, to do an evaluation.


Shawn arrived on Thursday night about 8 o'clock. The endless drive from Phoenix to Savannah was horrible and exhausting. He slept in his car the whole way across the country. On Thursday night, Liberto had just cooked steak, mashed potatoes and peas when he arrived, so he was able to eat a decent meal after basically only snacking on whatever he could afford for the last few months. I left for work early on Friday. When I returned home, he said he'd slept like a rock untill 11 a.m., and said he hadn't slept so well and in such a comfortable bed for months. He also ate well during the day on Friday. Our refrigerator is always full. I supplement the WalMart Big Grocery haul with stops at Food Lion every other day, so we always have plenty to eat. Friday night, I got Sushi for Shawn and Liberto, and Chinese for Paul and me. We watched The Incredible Hulk. After I went to bed, Shawn and Liberto finished setting up Liberto's new extension table which arrived Friday afternoon. Liberto tried it this morning, hoping for some spinal relief. He's going to have some epidural treatment next week.

New Developments

Second son called again last Friday, the day after New Year's. We didn't pick up the phone because we didn't recognize the number and didn't feel like taking junk calls. But it turned out he was calling from his friend's cellphone, and left a message. I called back. Things were not going well, he said. He'd been out of work for the past two months. Only recently, he was offered a job, he said, but the start date had been postponed and meanwhile, he didn't have money or a living situation. I had been sending periodically, and so had his father, but apparently the combined contributions were not enough to keep him going. He'd been sleeping on his friend's couch, off and on, but the bud's wife didn't appreciate having a third party in their apartment. He'd even slept in his car a few times. It breaks my heart.

Obviously, I've been kept in the dark about the details of his life for the past few months, partly because his phone been cut off periodicially. After being evicted from his apartment, he thought he had found a living situation renting a room from a guy who said he owned a house. When he told me about it, during a rare phone call, I was suspicious from the get-go. The story was that the guy had just bought a house but was having trouble meeting the mortgage, so he needed a renter to help. But with the market the way it is, what mortgage lender NOW would lend to someone who can't come up with the monthly amount? Neverthless, S. gave him the $300 the guy requested. Once he moved in, though, the two had differences about the details of their agreement, and they argued. No blows exchanged, of course, but the guy called the cops on S. and told them he couldn't be there, so they made him leave the house. He lost the $300 because the guy wouldn't return his calls and S. thought it would be a bad idea to go back to that house. (I assume the guy was some con artist who probably didn't own the house at all.) So I sent him $300 to make up for the lost money, and soon after that, his phone was back on and he called to say he had another situation, co-renting a place with a woman and four children. I asked, "Does she own the house?" He said, "No." I groaned inwardly, and pointed out that another renter does not have the authority to rent part of the house to a third party! But he said that he didn't have any other options. After a few weeks, though, they had a disagreement about the terms of their "contract" (invalid as it may have been) and he had to move out. Now, as of last Friday, no job, no place, and no money.

Liberto suggested that I invite him to come back East and live with us, so I proposed that to him and asked if he'd like to. He said, "Totally." I suggested we fly him back--so much quicker and easier---but he'd need a car once he got here, so he decided to drive back.

He was supposed to leave Arizona on Saturday (we wired money on Friday). All day, I was on the edge of my seat wondering if he'd left yet, where he was, and when he'd arrive. On Sunday afternoon, when Paul and I were sitting at the docks after a nice hike, my cell phone rang. S. was on the line, using his friend's phone, saying he hadn't left Phoenix yet. I was stunned. I asked if he had changed his mind, and he said he hadn't, but that it had taken all day yesterday for him to get the car oil changed, do multiple laundries, go through his things to decide what to jettison and what to pack in the car, go to a storage unit to retrieve some stored items. He then said he didn't think he'd have enough money to get more than halfway there, and to complicate problems, he doesn't have a functioning cell phone because it's been cut off. Apparently, the $200 we sent pn Friday was not enough to afford a disposable cell phone, so he doesn't even have a way of communicating--other than pay phones.

Before we got off his friend's phone, we agreed that he'd call Monday to let me know where he was between Phoenix and Savannah, and I'd wire more money there, wherever it was. However, Monday was my first day back at school, so I couldn't drop everything and run out to Western Union at any ole time, so I said to call between 3:00 and 5:00, let me know where he was, and I'd wire money there. I also suggested he could call the house collect and tell Paul, who could convey the message to me.

Paul called me about 1:00 and said S. had called to say he was in Tucson. He'd only gotten as far as Tucson since the day before? I assumed that he needed money based on our conversation the day before, so I hastened to Western Union and wired some to Tucson. When I got home, Paul said that S. hadn't mentioned needing money when he'd called. Had I wired it to Tucson for nothing and, not expecting it, he had missed getting it? I think so! At about 6:30, he called my cell phone and said he was now in El Paso and would probably need money tomorrow. I didn't even have to heart to ask if he'd stopped at Western Union in Tucson. I guess I just didn't want to find out for sure that I'd just tossed another couple of hundred into a black hole. Now we've got it arranged that he'll call or leave a message sometime tomorrow telling me where I can send the money.

It'll be several more days before he gets to Savannah. I'm a nervous wreck, what with school starting as well as worrying about his road trip. He told me he was going to pull into a Wal Mart parking lot and get a few hours sleep before continuing on. He says he doesn't have enough for a motel and besides, he says, one needs a credit card to check in at a hotel.

Today was a teacher planning day, and tomorrow is the first day with new students.
I hope I can keep it together, given the concerns on my mind right now!

Stopping By Woods on a Sunny Sunday

Just trying out the new Flipster. Beautiful day today. We had a great visit with Jean and John both yesterday and this morning before they left for Ft. Lauderdale. They treated us to an anniversary dinner last night, and we got to see the photos from their trip to Amsterdam, Berlin, St. Petersberg and Helsinki. More later.

December musings

I slept till 9 a.m. Christmas morning. We drank coffee, read the paper, and got a phone call from Derek, who said he and Erin had been awake since 6 something, so Nick could open his presents. Oh, yes, I know that drill. We didn't even think to open presents till about 11. Since we're not highly driven to buy, buy, buy! at Christmas, Liberto received the clothes I'd gotten him, I re-opened my Flip Video (which I had wrapped), and Paul said he was thrilled with the globe and didn't want anything else. According to him, "I have everything I want." Liberto's sisters sent a huge box of gifts for us. Gina was in the states visiting Grelia last month, and they went shopping on our behalf. They have always been generous to a fault. I know Grelia's husband was laid off this year, and her hours were also cut back. He's since landed another job, but surely they must be tight because of the ripple effect of a few weeks or months without the usual income. Yet Grelia has always sent presents, no matter how hard times have been. It's that Latina Thing.

After a nice meal, we went to see Curious Case of Benjamin Button, which was awesome. The theme, of course, is about time, love, and loss. Whether one goes forward in aging or backwards in aging, life inevitably brings love and loss. Benjamin Button is born an old man. His mother dies in childbirth and he is abandoned by his father, who drops him off on the doorstep of a nursing home, where one of the attendants takes him in and raises him. He fits in perfectly with the elderly residents because he looks like an old man and has all the ailments of advanced age even though he is still a child. At the home, the older people begin to die off, but of course there are always new elderly residents to take their places, reinforcing the point that everyone is taking the same journey towards God's waiting room. But Benjamin de-ages, and somewhere in the middle, his life intersects with a woman who is aging normally. His first attempt to be with her does not work out because the timing is off; she is too young, giddy and full of herself. Later, she is too self-absorbed with pity about an accident which has damaged her ballet legs. But suddenly, when the timing is right, there is a window of a few years when they mesh well; they are the same "age." Then the timing goes off-kilter again, when his increasing youthfulness and her increased maturity throw the relationship off. He leaves to sow his very first wild oats---after all, he's never been young before. And she, as a mature woman, has a child to raise and responsibilities to keep. Eventually, Benjamin becomes a child, a cantankerous, disobedient, troublesome one. His behavior is similar to that of an elderly person with Alzheimers whose true personality has been eclipsed by the disease. Then he's a baby, with no consciousness. To steal a quote from the original short story, "Then it was all dark, and his white crib and the dim faces that moved above him, and the warm sweet aroma of the milk, faded out altogether from his mind." Of course, the movie was not entirely faithful to the short story; for example, the timeline was pushed up to the 20th century from the 19th, but the concept was the same, and the movie conveyed the messages well.

Bradd Pitt said on Oprah the other day that he considered New Orleans to be one of the important characters of the movie. That was true. The sense of New Orleans was strong.

On to another subject, I started and am halfway through a hilarious novel called Getting Rid of Matthew. A thirty-something single woman has been having an affair with her boss, a married man, for four years and has nagged him continously to leave his wife. Imagine her surprise when he arrives at her flat one night with his suitcases and announces that he has left his wife and is moving in with her! Suddenly, he seems far less attractive at close range, in a small, crowded flat. She discovers that he snores, he dyes his hair, he has irritating mannerisms. And he's so old! But now she's stuck with him! Now her mission is to find a way to get make him move out because she realizes she doesn't love him. It's a laugh-out-loud page-turner, loaded with Britishly wry wit.

Today, the 26th, is my parents' wedding anniversary. If they had lived, they would have been married 61 years. Not too many people live long enough to have a 61st anniversary. I often wonder, if my mother had lived longer, would they have remained married for another 17 years? I suspect yes. Although times had changed for women during the decade my mother died (1972), I have trouble picturing her leaving my father and striking out on her own. Of course, in those days before no-fault divorce swept the country, if a couple divorced, the man had to pay alimony, so the financial part wouldn't have been a problem. But because she was a troubled soul, I somehow can't imagine her living alone and creating a new life. Diana and I have talked about this, and she has the opposite perspective. She imagines our mother breaking away from our father and really thriving on her own. Part of this is because Diana sees our mother's problems as stemming from my father. If he were removed from the picture, then she would have blossomed. At least that's Diana's vision. We'll never know.

Well, tomorrow is our 23rd anniversary. Today, Liberto said sentimentally, "Remember 24 years ago today?" I said, "Do you, by chance, mean 23 years ago?" He gulped and hemmed and hawed. "Ah yes, 23 years." I guess it only seems longer to him. What I do remember is how frightening our situation was in December of 1985. I was still in my doctoral program at LSU, earning a Teaching Assistant's salary of next to nothing, and was preparing to go onto the job market as an ABD, All But Dissertation. I couldn't wait around LSU finishing my dissertation because we were so destitute. We needed an income! Liberto was still working on his undergraduate degree at LSU and was delivering pizzas on the side to help make ends meet. It was not a pretty picture, quite frankly. He agrees. All these concerns were weighing heavily on our minds the night before we got hitched in Pasadena, California, in 1985.

One year later, I was employed full-time at Francis Marion in SC, (having delivered Paul two weeks before the fall semester started) while Liberto continued his courses at a nearby college, which he'd transferred his credits to. He also worked nights at Piece Goods, a fabric store. We were still in tough shape financially, but hope was on the horizon. At least I had a real job, and at least he was close to graduation. Five years later, I was a tenure track assistant professor at Georgia Southern, and my dissertation was completed although I still needed to do the defense in the spring of '91. Liberto had finished his degree, had gained some real-job engineering experience in SC (for slave wages but he learned a lot), and had just been hired by the City of Savannah as an engineering aide. He also became a full-fledged US citizen in 1990. We'd purchased our first house on Nicholson Circle. Ten years later, twenty years later, 23 years later...the outcome is better than I would have imagined in 1985.

Tomorrow, cousins Jean and John will be here to join us in a toast.