Happy New Year, 2024.

 Most believe that we start off with a clean slate, each year on January 1st. I wonder what all this year will bring.

I do know that we all will attend Corinne and Bryan’s wedding at the end April. I got tickets for the Ren Faire for me, Mom, and Sharon. We’ll attend the Faire sometime in April. 

If good fortune holds, Liz and Alex may become parents in 2024. Fingers crossed. I had long ago let go of the possibility of being a grandparent. However, it is what they truly want, and I am happy to look forward to it. Life will change. You never know what unforeseen things will change your life. I am hopeful that the previously unforeseen things will all be good in 2024. 

Mom is still with us, at 92, and we gathered to celebrate at a birthday dinner in December. I’m grateful to still have her, as I know that not all are so lucky. I hope she will meet her second great child. I hope to live 2 or 3 decades more, so that my grandchild will know me. I still can’t believe that I’ll be one year shy of 70, in March. 

To unforeseen things that are good. Cheers!

Moving On.

 Ed’s house is sold, and the court date to finally end probate is/was today. A document shredding event is finally being put on again by my Thrivent chapter, along with a food drive for the local charitable food pantry, on Saturday. I am boxing and bagging up my own long accumulated  shredding, as well as the last of what I had left from Ed’s. The estate sale/clean up people took care of a lot, but I had stuff to hang on to for a bit, and some to go through. I am, at last, to be released from having custody of it. 

I have pulled everything from the garage and my den, and am checking to make sure there’s nothing of consequence. Lots of old docs of no use, but that shouldn’t be thrown into a recycling bin. One box was of letters and Christmas cards from friends and family, going back to 1970. Mostly nothing major, but still a time capsule of what used to be.  I found out a couple of things I either hadn’t known or had forgotten. He was a conscientious objector, which I’m pretty sure I didn’t know. A number of letters from old high school friends, off at college. Cards from some people I knew back in the beginning of our life together, their friendships with me long past, casualties of our divorce.   A number of letters from his “Gram” (his mother’s mother), then already long a widow, and now long gone.  She sent him money, when his family went through a hard financial time. I remember her as a force of nature, but didn’t really know how much she had helped. 

I had forgotten that he and Mike Flint cleaned office buildings at night while he went to Santa Ana college. Then he went to work for the IRS, and was slowly going to school at night to complete his degree, but never did. He did all right for himself, retiring early, and with an excellent pension. 

I found the docs from when we were looking at buying a historic home for renovation and moving to Anaheim’s Heritage Square, which I had forgotten about. I’m glad we didn’t get it. It would probably still be unimproved, as his house was. 

Anyway, I’m ready to not be custodian of his memories. Day after tomorrow, the bulk of them go. 

Bon voyage. 

My heritage.

 Every time I watch, as I am tonight, Finding Your Roots on PBS, I am reminded of the nearly 1/4 of my DNA that I am not fully informed on. 

Sometime back, when I got my DNA tested , I discovered that 21-24% of it is Ashkenazi Jewish. I thought at first that it might be in my German background in my mother’s side, but we tested her, and it is not. My brother tests the same as I do, so it is in my father’s side. DNA family in my fathers mothers side shows none, so it would have to be his father, my paternal grandfather.  He separated from my grandmother in my father’s infant or toddlerhood, and, according to my father, told his mother that he did not want to see him. My father wrote him off, and never met him as far as we know. His mother married his stepfather when he was 6, and my father went by his last name until he joined the Navy at 16, when his birth certificate reflected his birth father’s name. 

I have a fairly extensive family tree on his birth father’s last name. However, none of them reflect linked dna to that last name. His parents married when she was already pregnant, him having been born 7 months after they went to the Santa Ana Courthouse and lied about her age. She was 16 and he was 20, but the license says that she was 18. Their mothers were friends, my GG Elizabeth and Olive Worley Haynes.  They obviously married to make my father legitimate, and they separated very soon after his birth.  Until the DNA results, it didn’t occur to me that my father’s biological father might not be the man in his birth certificate. 

It took a long time to find dna relatives on that side who were closely enough related to provide any kind of clue  I found second cousins to me who were half siblings to each other (a pair of full sisters, and their half brother).   Their shared father was estranged from them, too.  They did not grow up with his name, either. Eventually one of the sisters was able to give me her father’s mother’s maiden name.  This led me to a Jewish family of Russian origin (Brill) from NY, who had one son move out to So Cal and raise sons.  One of them may well be my father’s biological father.  

More convoluted than that is the fact that my father’s own paternal grandfather may not be as advertised, based on DNA breadcrumbs that relate me to a Poole family.  My GG and her daughter, my grandmother, parted from their children’s named fathers very early, and no one seems to have had contact with them again. All this came to my knowledge long after anyone who might have any of them died.  My father is 20 years gone, and was the only child of an only child.  My mother knows what he told her, and what he believed to be true.  The only thing that bugs me about disavowing my Haynes paternal line is that the only pics we have of his named father shows a strong resemblance. Curiouser and curiouser.  

I can only guess at what my father’s opinion might have been of these discoveries. He might have discounted them, it might have reconciled him to his “father’s” abandonment.  

The search continues. I may yet find Haynes distant cousins, who knows.  We are certainly legally Hayneses, whether or not we are biologically related to the ones named in our original tree.  

In every true sense, we are Hayneses, because of the family my parents built.  They married 6 months into college, he was 21 and she was 17.  He had been out of his parent’s house since he was 16, getting his mother to sign off on his joining the Navy.  His mother had been in a tuberculosis sanitarium for nearly two years, and he had enough of his stepfather. Mom had been a child dancer and actor, quit to help her mother recover from a breakdown, graduating early from high school, entering college at 16.  Neither had a typical childhood, and they made a family between them, raising the three of us in the San Fernando Valley in the 50s-70s.  They raised three decent self sufficient kids, and were happy with how we turned out.  

I remain fascinated by my dna questions and mysteries, but know that my core family is who I’ve always known they were.  

Almost time to say goodbye.

 Ed’s house is clean, renovated, ready for sale. It is an enormous relief to walk though it, especially if you’ve been there from the start. It’s been 11 months since he died, 11 months since I went over to have the locks changed. This last weekend was the second of two Open Houses. It’s actually very nice. It’s sad that he never got to enjoy the house in this state. 

I hope it will sell before we hit a year. Who knew how long it would be? I’m glad I didn’t. At least we are on this side of it.  I hope that when it sells, he will Rest In Peace, and the new owners will bring it life, a new soul. 

The mail has been forwarded to Liz, and hopefully with no more to the house. Soon enough my duties will be done. I’ll likely go by and tell the house/him goodbye. Jen came out for Mom’s birthday dinner and had a good look around the house. It helped her with closure, a bit of relief. 

Goodbye Ed. Rest well. 

Life goes on.

 I last wrote of my ex husband’ s death and his nightmare of a hoarder house. Progress is being made.My youngest is being appointed executor, and they have hired an experienced team to clean out, hold estate sales, rehab and sell the home. I go by periodically for mail and to have a look see and keep the girls informed. The first of multiple estate sales at the house this past weekend. So much stuff. A lot of it of decent value. China, Playmobile sets, you name it. And people were buying it. I hope their kids won’t have to get rid of it, one day. The girls will come see the house once it’s empty, painted and ready for sale. For the closure, for the peace. 

The cleanup team found a packet of b and w pics, which were from a Christmas when my ex was 3. Per the girls’ wishes, I just sent them off to my former mother-in-law.  Poor woman has lived to see the death of two of her three sons. My eldest had me send scans of the pics to her before I put it in the mail. She commented that it made her sad that such a cute little kid, whom she felt she closely resembled, could have grown up to be such a s*t  I understand  that feeling  I am sometimes struck by how sad it is that the man who died in that house was so far removed from the man I married. 

I’m glad to go to the house, to save the girls from leaving their work and lives to watch over things. It is, however, exhausting. I think the house is a drain on my energy, from the sheer enormity of the mess it’s been. And , as I said, for the pathetic life led there, at the end. I do it for the girls, and so,  as a mom, I worry less.  I hope he rests in peace. I hope we all find it. 

I had no idea.

 I came here to note my ex-husband’s passing, which was a week ago Sunday, barely ten days ago. Actually he likely died the day before, but 10 days ago is when he was found. Found during a welfare check called in by my eldest daughter, after his neighbors found me, looking for her. After his only living brother had reached out to her because my ex had not shown up where expected. 

He was found in a horrifying packed house that would make most hoarders shudder. He had lived there for  over 25 years, alone since our daughters went away to college and never looked back. They had long since lived with only me, since they were old enough to take a stand. 

Over the 15 years we were married he was a pack rat, and had packed our garage with his purchases. When he finally moved out, I set a deadline before I would empty it. He slowly filled the house he eventually bought, which became merely dysfunctional in my daughters’ middle school years. In the last decade and half it became derelict warehouse, full of some things of value, as well a mind-numbing nightmare of of piles of paper, non-functional appliances, nearly 2000 square feet that obscured windows, a barely discernible path from one room to another. He apparently ate and slept in a couple dozen of those square feet. A nightmare for my girls to try to address, from thousands of miles away, with my help. 

What I didn’t realize, since I don’t post here all that often, is that my last post was about him. About my realization regarding his anger at not being able to control me. Well, I guess he showed us. He went down the rabbit hole and didn’t come out until he died. I hadn’t spoken to him since 2015, but met his neighbors when I went to secure the house for the girls. They were fond of him, as he had evolved into the sociable eccentric outside of his house. They tried to help him, but no one was allowed in his house, and he wouldn’t let anyone help him. 

He had clearly descended into madness. He had a great pension, and did not lack for money. He just wouldn’t/couldn’t clean it up. He kept collecting and crammed it in to his house, a garage that collapsed, two non operational cars on the property. 

In the end, he exerted control by not letting go of anything, until there was no room to move, nothing functioning, and he died among his “stuff.”  

My poor daughters are left quite literally with his mess to clean up.  It will take months to get it remedied and the house sold. 

His neighbors were relieved when I showed up to help secure the property, begin the process on their behalf. They were glad to find out that sane people were going to address the blight on the block. My ex had to die for them to get some relief. 

It is both angering and pathetic. If he hadn’t left so much damage in his wake, if he was a stranger to me, it might have saddened me. 

As it is, it is a bit haunting. The man I married over 40 years ago died well before my ex husband did. 

When I wrote my prior post, in Sept of 2021, I had no idea I would be writing of his death within months. 

I am glad I had that clarity, then. It helps me better understand what is almost incomprehensible. 

Realizing a couple of things.

 I came here to say what I had realized about my former husband, whom I usually spend zero time in any given week thinking about, having divorced him over a quarter of a century ago.  

I was distracted by that last two posts I made, which were 3 and 2 years ago. One was about my doctor, who is now leaving the practice.  The other was about my retirement, which had just begun. The good news is that I’m quite used to it now, having been assured by my financial lady that I will not run out of money. I miss bringing in new money, but am glad I was so diligent about saving for my retirement, which came sooner than expected. 

So, what I came here to note. I am reading Alan Cumming’s book Not My Father’s Son.  It is, in large part, about his father’s abusive ways. Somewhere along the way I realized that my ex was angry and emotionally abusive with and to those whom he thought could do nothing about it. He was a weak person, with no well of empathy or caring to draw upon. His father (actually his stepfather since he was three, although he did not know until he was 18, and never met his biological father) felt no kinship with him, and displayed primarily contempt for his wife, my former mother-in-law.  He led her to believe she had no choice but to stay with him. She believed him, but exacted her passive-aggressive bride price in her constant victimhood. She was not nurturing, and her son continued his stepfather’s contempt. 

He became toxic once there were any challenges or demands.  He resented me as his family resented each other.  Once I realized what I was modeling for my daughters, I divorced him. He was emotionally abusive to them until they were able to distance themselves.  I didn’t recognize it as weakness until now. He struck out at whomever he thought had no choice  Once we all exercised our choices, he had no power left.  Fortunately, my daughters (although he did some damage) are strong, and whole.  We won.