A Prophetic Discovery From Princess Rosebud’s Vault

I’ve tasked myself with organizing old photos and memorabilia collected and tossed in shoeboxes ever since the tugboat man and I met in 1991.

(While I’m typing away, the unmistakable fragrance of eau de skunk is wafting through the patio doors. It’s very distracting! Should I go out and look for the skunk or – er — oh, wait, I’ll be back in a minute. [tick tock tick tock] Thanks for waiting. I didn’t see a skunk but as long as I was out there, I grabbed a few loquats and snacked on ’em –hot from the sun; sticky and juicy. Don’t you wish you were here with me?)

OK — I’m focused again.

It was during this purge of duplicate pics and random grocery lists tucked away between birthday and Valentine’s Day cards spanning a couple of decades that I found a page torn from a yellow legal pad, folded into quarters. I crumpled it up and threw it in the trash.

tugboatmanletterThen I thought to myself, why did I do that before I looked at it? I dug it out of the trash, unfolded and put the pieces back together, read it and OH EM GEE.

I had almost destroyed an amazingly prophetic artifact. I must have written it when my tugboat man moved to Hawaii for about a year. Although we visited back and forth, I wasn’t sure what the future would hold…

Here’s the story:

Part Two (I’ll have to look for Part One)

Forever & ever land

Time went by and the seasons changed. The captain and his lady came to realize  that the distance between them had no effect on their love. it was special.

One day, the captain suddenly decided to come home. He had completed his journey and was ready to share his life.

Several times his lady had almost given up hope, but deep in her heart she had faith that their love would survive.

Without warning, he rang the doorbell.

She opened the door, surprised, but peaceful and content. This was the way it was meant to be. They stood for a long time looking at each other and not saying a word.

Finally, her captain sighed and his eyes filled with tears, “I have come home, Rosebud.”

“Will you marry me?”

“Yes, angel”, she replied. “I will love you forever and ever.”

And they lived happily ever after.

The End

Isn’t that just the cutest thing ever? I am uber-embarrased to say that the writing is very much junior high school level even though I was thirty-something, but the whole genesis of Princess Rosebud and her Tugboat Man was conceived at that precise moment in time and must have been occupying space in my subconscious until now. How cool is that?  It’s good to know that once in a while, dreams really do come true. The details of the reality are slightly different, but the end result remains the same.

Who knew I had a crystal ball?crystal ball


Being a mom is forever

The horrific tragedy in Colorado got me thinking about being a mother.

Before I even had my son, which was more than thirty years ago, a friend told me that after having children, “your life is not your own”. Ever again. And that is so true.

You are forever changed. Your job isn’t completed at the arbitrary age of eighteen or twenty-one, or even thirty-one.

There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t think about my baby boy, what he’s doing at that exact moment, if he’s OK, and I wonder if there’s anything I should be worrying about.

Right now he’s in Berlin, teaching a summer immersion course in German. (Have I mentioned that he has a Ph.D. from Yale? Yeah, I’m an obnoxiously proud mom.)

I wonder about the young man’s mother, did they think that as long as he was in a Ph.D. program that they could now be finished with parental duties, breathe a sigh of relief, feel their work was done?

Having a child is a never-ending process.

Maybe this is a call to action for more attachment parenting, more involvement–not less. I don’t know.

What I do know is that I was probably a helicopter mom, probably still am, and now I feel even more certain about the rightness of my own parenting theories. Validated. My reward is hoping that if my son ever did have a psychotic break like this poor boy so obviously is suffering from, that I would have been aware of it, I would have felt it—somehow.

That’s not too far off.

I remember a few years ago I awoke from a bad dream where my son had broken his glasses and was wandering around, scared because he couldn’t see where he was. (He’s got pretty bad vision, thanks to me as it’s a cross-genetic recessive gene). He was on vacation in the UK at the time, and I emailed him as soon as I woke up, “…are you OK, had a bad dream, etc.”

When he called, he told me that same day he had fallen and broken his glasses and they were taped up, and he wished he had listened to me and brought an extra pair of glasses in case something like this happened.

The rest of the scenario is that his girlfriend’s (now wife’s) sister had taken him pub crawling and he was not a very experienced drinker and had more than he should have (I’m still upset about that!!)

Regardless, I knew he was in trouble and if I had not spoken with him, I would not have let it go, I would have made calls, not given up, and there is a real possibility that I would have even gotten on a plane.

I’m not kidding. I think my motto as a mom is to be “ever vigilant”.

This was not a one–time telepathic experience. I have these “feelings” every so often, and I’ve learned to not ignore them.

I don’t think I’m all that special, I think I just pay attention to things that a lot of people dismiss.

Anyway, I’m not diminishing the ghastly violent crime and the pain he caused so many families, not to mention the whole gun ownership debate, but I think there is a very sad explanation, and the young man who did it needs help.

He was once his mommy’s little boy and something went horribly, terribly wrong.