And now I've had some time to think about it, here are my selectees for the Awesome Dude Blogger award:
1. Debio, because she writes about her life in Dubai so well.
2. Darth Sardonicus, because he IS an awesome dude.
3. Enidd, a new addition to my blogroll, because she is a hoot, even when she's coping with awful things like getting mugged.
4. Snuffleupagus, because she persists in the face of so much adversity in trying to give her pupils a fair chance and good education;
5. VI, because she is my yang, meaning her life is completely different to mine, but it sounds like so much fun.
So go forth and spread the joy, guys.
Wednesday, 19 September 2007
Moving on
OK, enough of the Jill saga. It really drained me to write it, and I suspect it might have drained some or all of you to read it. Still, I'm glad I got it out. Time to move on.
So, to catch up: The always lovely DJ has bestowed an honour on me -- The Awesome Dude Blogger award -- because, she says, what I write always makes her stop and think. Thank you DJ. I shall give some thought to my next recipients, though I have some ideas.
Pixie put a questionnaire on her blog, which I'd like to do and pass on to those of you who are interested in answering the questions.
1. What is your all time favourite book, from childhood, as an adult?
2. All time favourite movie as above?
3. Favourite type of chocolate, and how much of it do you eat a week?
4. Favourite drink, non alcoholic and alcoholic?
5. Where is your all time best holiday destination?
6. Where is your dream holiday destination?
7. Which is the best Beatles track of all time?
8. What are you most proud of having achieved (having children doesn't count)
9. What would you want for your last supper ever?(assuming it's food you like now and not liquidized mush when you are 90!)
10.How old were you when you had your first snog, name of snoggee if you dare?
11.Do you have an unfulfilled ambition?
12.If so what is it?
13.What yer gonna do about achieving it?
14.Describe the outfit that best describes you as you are.
15.If you were on Desert Island Discs which one piece of music would you want to keep?
16. And what would the luxury item be, as in no use at all, on a desert island?
17. Outside of your partner, Brad Pitt, George Clooney, Beyonce Knowles, J-lo who do you fantasise about?
18.Describe the contents of your purse/wallet, ie receipts/ bus tickets/ plastic you never use/ and if your lucky enough money.(English use of the word purse here)
19.Outside of the family what item would you save from the inferno?
20.How much would you like me to stop now.?
And here are my answers:
1. All-time favourite book from childhood has to be "Little Women" followed closely by "Little Men." I'm a huge Louisa May Alcott fan. I have a few favourite books from adulthood, depending on what stage I'm in: "Catcher in the Rye," "To Kill a Mockingbird," "Nicholas Nickleby," "Alias Grace," "The Corrections," "The Shipping News" to name a few. I have gone through phases of reading lots by one particular author, though not for a while.
2. All-time favourite movie is a hard one. There are some I watch every year: "White Christmas" and "It's a Wonderful Life." There are some I welcome like an old friend into my life from time to time: "Sound of Music," say. There are some I watch that i find quite powerful but don't necessarily need to see again or that frequently: "Million Dollar Baby," "The Deerhunter," "Apocalypse Now," "The Godfather" series. So I can't say I have one particular favourite.
3. I try to be good and save chocolate for special occasions. I find dark chocolate to be particularly comforting these days, the bitter and the sweet combining for a satisfying tastebud experience.
4. My favourite alcoholic drink is a nice dry martini as made by my dad. No one else makes them quite so good. Non-alcoholic? Well, I drink a lot of water, coffee (natch), and iced tea when I'm in the states.
5. My all-time best holiday destination? I had a super time taking a cruise to the Bahamas when I was a senior in high school. I loved Tremblant in Canada the first year I skied there. I honeymooned in India, and despite getting food poisoning really bad (lost 10 pounds in two days), found it to be a wondrous country. Right now I have to go to the States every year to see my family, but I look forward to a time when I can explore the rest of the world.
6. My dream holiday destination involves the beach and mountains, but I don't have a specific place in mind.
7. The best Beatles track of all time is "Here, There, and Everywhere." So says me.
8. I am most proud of achieving 15 years of marriage to the same man.
9. My last supper would be a salad full of vegetables grown by me, chateaubriand cooked to perfection, and Key Lime pie as made by me for dessert. With champagne (Cristal please, now that I've tasted it) to wash it down with.
10. I was a mere 5 when I had my first kiss and it was by Andy Garcia (not THAT one), with whom I was desperately in love.
11, 12, 13. I have many unfulfilled ambitions, one being to write a book. I have done nothing to achieve it, other than think about what I'm going to write. I might copy other bloggers and create a blog with chapters to help me.
14. If outfit means clothing, it would have to be a slinky black dress with a plunging neckline to show off my (non-existent unless I wear a push-up bra) cleavage. The dress would go to the knee and be tightly fitted on top but more flowing from the waist, the better to dance in.
15. I think if I were on a desert island and had only one piece of music to listen to, I might grow to hate it with a passion. One of the joys of music is that there is so much of it and so many genres.
16. Luxury item? Well, at heart I'm a practical person so it would have to be something useful. I know. An unlimited supply of desalination tablets for water.
17. I fantasise about Woody Allen. JUST KIDDING!!! I fantasise about lots of people: sometimes it's the postman, sometimes it's my golf pro, sometimes it's a friend's husband (sshh, don't tell), sometimes it's the dishy dad at my kids' old primary school (though he's gone quite hairy now), sometimes it's even my husband.
18. My wallet is a mess of library cards, kids' photos, top-up cards for mobile phones that aren't used anymore, one credit card, one ATM card, Costco membership card, some loyalty cards, insurance card, dental appointment cards. Etc.
19. If there were a fire, I save my kids first, the cats second. Or maybe the other way around, depending on the day and my mood. The rest of it can burn, baby, burn.
20. I'm finished, now it's your turn.
So, to catch up: The always lovely DJ has bestowed an honour on me -- The Awesome Dude Blogger award -- because, she says, what I write always makes her stop and think. Thank you DJ. I shall give some thought to my next recipients, though I have some ideas.
Pixie put a questionnaire on her blog, which I'd like to do and pass on to those of you who are interested in answering the questions.
1. What is your all time favourite book, from childhood, as an adult?
2. All time favourite movie as above?
3. Favourite type of chocolate, and how much of it do you eat a week?
4. Favourite drink, non alcoholic and alcoholic?
5. Where is your all time best holiday destination?
6. Where is your dream holiday destination?
7. Which is the best Beatles track of all time?
8. What are you most proud of having achieved (having children doesn't count)
9. What would you want for your last supper ever?(assuming it's food you like now and not liquidized mush when you are 90!)
10.How old were you when you had your first snog, name of snoggee if you dare?
11.Do you have an unfulfilled ambition?
12.If so what is it?
13.What yer gonna do about achieving it?
14.Describe the outfit that best describes you as you are.
15.If you were on Desert Island Discs which one piece of music would you want to keep?
16. And what would the luxury item be, as in no use at all, on a desert island?
17. Outside of your partner, Brad Pitt, George Clooney, Beyonce Knowles, J-lo who do you fantasise about?
18.Describe the contents of your purse/wallet, ie receipts/ bus tickets/ plastic you never use/ and if your lucky enough money.(English use of the word purse here)
19.Outside of the family what item would you save from the inferno?
20.How much would you like me to stop now.?
And here are my answers:
1. All-time favourite book from childhood has to be "Little Women" followed closely by "Little Men." I'm a huge Louisa May Alcott fan. I have a few favourite books from adulthood, depending on what stage I'm in: "Catcher in the Rye," "To Kill a Mockingbird," "Nicholas Nickleby," "Alias Grace," "The Corrections," "The Shipping News" to name a few. I have gone through phases of reading lots by one particular author, though not for a while.
2. All-time favourite movie is a hard one. There are some I watch every year: "White Christmas" and "It's a Wonderful Life." There are some I welcome like an old friend into my life from time to time: "Sound of Music," say. There are some I watch that i find quite powerful but don't necessarily need to see again or that frequently: "Million Dollar Baby," "The Deerhunter," "Apocalypse Now," "The Godfather" series. So I can't say I have one particular favourite.
3. I try to be good and save chocolate for special occasions. I find dark chocolate to be particularly comforting these days, the bitter and the sweet combining for a satisfying tastebud experience.
4. My favourite alcoholic drink is a nice dry martini as made by my dad. No one else makes them quite so good. Non-alcoholic? Well, I drink a lot of water, coffee (natch), and iced tea when I'm in the states.
5. My all-time best holiday destination? I had a super time taking a cruise to the Bahamas when I was a senior in high school. I loved Tremblant in Canada the first year I skied there. I honeymooned in India, and despite getting food poisoning really bad (lost 10 pounds in two days), found it to be a wondrous country. Right now I have to go to the States every year to see my family, but I look forward to a time when I can explore the rest of the world.
6. My dream holiday destination involves the beach and mountains, but I don't have a specific place in mind.
7. The best Beatles track of all time is "Here, There, and Everywhere." So says me.
8. I am most proud of achieving 15 years of marriage to the same man.
9. My last supper would be a salad full of vegetables grown by me, chateaubriand cooked to perfection, and Key Lime pie as made by me for dessert. With champagne (Cristal please, now that I've tasted it) to wash it down with.
10. I was a mere 5 when I had my first kiss and it was by Andy Garcia (not THAT one), with whom I was desperately in love.
11, 12, 13. I have many unfulfilled ambitions, one being to write a book. I have done nothing to achieve it, other than think about what I'm going to write. I might copy other bloggers and create a blog with chapters to help me.
14. If outfit means clothing, it would have to be a slinky black dress with a plunging neckline to show off my (non-existent unless I wear a push-up bra) cleavage. The dress would go to the knee and be tightly fitted on top but more flowing from the waist, the better to dance in.
15. I think if I were on a desert island and had only one piece of music to listen to, I might grow to hate it with a passion. One of the joys of music is that there is so much of it and so many genres.
16. Luxury item? Well, at heart I'm a practical person so it would have to be something useful. I know. An unlimited supply of desalination tablets for water.
17. I fantasise about Woody Allen. JUST KIDDING!!! I fantasise about lots of people: sometimes it's the postman, sometimes it's my golf pro, sometimes it's a friend's husband (sshh, don't tell), sometimes it's the dishy dad at my kids' old primary school (though he's gone quite hairy now), sometimes it's even my husband.
18. My wallet is a mess of library cards, kids' photos, top-up cards for mobile phones that aren't used anymore, one credit card, one ATM card, Costco membership card, some loyalty cards, insurance card, dental appointment cards. Etc.
19. If there were a fire, I save my kids first, the cats second. Or maybe the other way around, depending on the day and my mood. The rest of it can burn, baby, burn.
20. I'm finished, now it's your turn.
Tuesday, 18 September 2007
Crazy Jill Part Three
In the weeks following The Outburst, the other two mums volunteered bits and pieces about Jill's increasingly bizarre behaviour. She had called one woman in the middle of the night a few months previous and said she'd taken an overdose of pills. The mum lay awake in bed all night wondering what to do. Did Jill indeed take an overdose or was this another of her attention-seeking gambits? If she had taken an overdose, wouldn't her husband be able to do something? The woman did nothing. The next morning Jill seemingly had forgotten about it.
We had learned to gauge Jill's mood by her appearance. Dishevelled hair and heavy walk meant hysterical tears in the playground would soon follow. Combed hair and walking on the balls of her feet meant she'd be whirling around like a dervish.
I thought that would be the end of Jill in our little group, but the two mums had gotten together and decided that the best way forward was to pretend that nothing had happened. So they feigned cheeriness at the sight of her and would engage her in conversation. I stayed on the periphery because I couldn't feign that I was happy to see her and talk to her. Jill, sensing this probably, would make many efforts to trap me into conversation. I learned to keep moving and speak to her over my shoulder. I was uncomfortable with Jill for some deeply personal reasons. She unearthed feelings I'd not had since I was 15 and my mother had had a nervous breakdown.
Within a few months, they talked about inviting her out with us again. I put my foot down and said I could not go out with them if she was going to be present. I don't know if they had starting meeting her for coffee again because I certainly wasn't invited. The Outburst was in January. By June Jill was still desperately trying to be back in the group's good books. One morning I stood in the school's lobby, waiting for the little boy I did reading with. He was always either late or absent. That was on my mind when Jill saw me standing still and asked me if I'd seen Sandra. I had no idea who Sandra was and mumbled something like "I don't know." It wasn't what I said that set Jill off. Apparently, it was the look on my face. My children often ask "What's wrong?" based on the look on my face. Nothing is wrong. I just have a look on my face. But Jill didn't know that.
I did the reading and went about my business. The next day I went to the gym. When I got home, there was a letter with no stamp waiting for me. It was from Jill. It was a bit confusing, saying things like "we both like the school so why can't we get along?" I didn't know what to do about this letter so I did nothing. I went to a meeting at the school about vertical streaming that afternoon. Jill sat in my row and kept leaning over and looking at me. I ignored her. Afterwards, at pick-up time, I mentioned the letter to the other mums. One, who my husband called the Swiss Ambassador because she is Swiss and not prone to discretion, said, "Oh, she phoned me last night and asked me if I thought she should send it. I told her not to."
I turned and practically shouted at her: "You knew she was going to send this letter and you didn't warn me?"
"It's got nothing to do with me," she replied. That would be an attitude I would encounter over and over from that group.
I got home, made my son dinner, got ready to go to my dress rehearsal for an amateur dramatic production of "Jesus Christ Superstar" I was appearing in. I had to be out the door by 5:30. At 5, the phone rang. I answered it. It was Jill. She asked if I'd read her letter and what I thought of it.
"I'm not interested in friendship with you, Jill," I replied.
"This isn't about friendship. It's about the way you treat me, like I'm something on the bottom of your shoe," she spat. She ranted on. "I'm not going feel uncomfortable in my daughter's school. It's not appropriate."
"YOUR daughter's school?" I shot back, my voice getting louder.
"And your daughter's school, too. It's not appropriate." She ranted some more. I said I had to go and put the phone down. I left the house, dropped my son off, went to my rehearsal. I phoned my husband and told him a bit of what happened. When I got home, I told him some more, then went to bed. And sobbed silently.
The next day another letter appeared. This was getting ridiculous. At the time there were roadworks directly in front of my house. You really had to want to go to my house to get in. She obviously did. The tone of the letter was more measured than the phone call, but confusing and disturbing nonetheless. There was no apology about the phone call, though she did say she'd been a bit "dramatic" on the phone. I didn't know it at the time, but apparently Jill was phoning the others as well. I phoned one of the mums she'd harassed in January. "I'll tell you what I told Jill," she said. "This is between you two and I'm not getting involved." Another mum said basically the same thing. I was deeply hurt and disappointed. Where was the support? Where were the coffees and lunches, like they'd had during their crisis with Jill? Only one showed anything like support, leaving a card and flowers on my doorstep one day. But they continued to speak to Jill and in front of her acted like nothing had happened. Jill, for her part, had stepped up her campaign against me. She phoned the school secretary, no longer being able to talk to the head, and others, saying that I was bullying her.
Jill called me again after the second letter. She didn't sound as combative, but I wasn't taking any chances. I told her not to call me again and hung up the phone. I decided not to answer the phone anymore and instructed my children not to do so. Because she did keep calling. A few days later my husband came home while the phone was ringing and started chastising the children for not answering it. I explained that I'd told them not to answer it. He decided that enough was enough and that he was going to write her a letter. I'd thought of writing one myself, but he insisted that he should be the one to write it. In it he asked her to leave me and our children alone and to stay away from us and to not send me any more letters or phone our house. If she couldn't abide by this request, he (we) would seek legal recourse.
He said he wanted to nip this in the bud and stop her behaviour once and for all. I knew the letter would do that, but I also knew that if there were any repercussions, I would feel them. All week I'd stayed away from the school and had my children meet me by the railway bridge. My husband went in to the school and showed the head the letter. She agreed that this was our only option in dealing with this woman. She took me aside that day and expressed her support and sympathy, as did the school secretary and PTA chair. But not the others in the group. Jill did stop calling and writing letters. She phoned the others and read them my husband's letter. She said she would do nothing for three years (when my son would leave the school) and then she'd go to her lawyer.
I tried to understand why these women were so unsupportive. Was it because they'd already been through a crisis with Jill and didn't wish to have another on my behalf? Did they believe I had bullied Jill? Was it because they had children in Jill's daughter's class and felt they had to remain on good terms because of this? I don't know. It was never discussed. Jill and I avoided each other if at all possible. She dropped out of the PTA, as did I a year or so later. She would stop and chat the others at pick-up time. I would wait to one side till she moved on before I joined the others. There was no more talk of including her in the group. I found I could cope in the open air with Jill nearby, but locked in meetings with her I would struggle to breath and feel sick to my stomach. Mini panic attacks, I realised later. Eventually, Jill stopped trying to talk to these women. She seemed to find others eager to rescue her from her tragedies, but none seemed to get as involved as the two mums in our group had. My friendship with these women limped on for nearly three more years, but I'd been on the sidelines for so long that I couldn't get back into the center of things. Finally, in April this year, after one snub too many, I decided to call it a day with these women. Our daughters had moved on to secondary school and other friends. There really was no need to continue what for me was an empty friendship with no heart at the center.
And Jill? She's still around. I see her from time to time riding her bike. My malice toward her has softened. I even feel sorry for her. A bit. I do believe she is a victim -- of a health-care system that doses its patients with pills rather than taking the time to find out what truly is wrong, of an overindulgent husband, of friends so interested in looking like "good" people that they excuse her bad behaviour far too much and far too long. But mostly she is a victim of herself and her mental illness. I spent some time on the internet trying to diagnose her. Bipolar with some personality disorders thrown in. But that's just my amateur opinion.
I finally sorted out what it was about Jill that disturbed me so. She made me feel vulnerable, as I did as a child when my mother would have temper tantrums and rants. I have spent my entire adult life trying not to feel vulnerable. I don't like it, and I will walk the second someone makes me feel that way. And I will do my best to never have another Jill in my life.
We had learned to gauge Jill's mood by her appearance. Dishevelled hair and heavy walk meant hysterical tears in the playground would soon follow. Combed hair and walking on the balls of her feet meant she'd be whirling around like a dervish.
I thought that would be the end of Jill in our little group, but the two mums had gotten together and decided that the best way forward was to pretend that nothing had happened. So they feigned cheeriness at the sight of her and would engage her in conversation. I stayed on the periphery because I couldn't feign that I was happy to see her and talk to her. Jill, sensing this probably, would make many efforts to trap me into conversation. I learned to keep moving and speak to her over my shoulder. I was uncomfortable with Jill for some deeply personal reasons. She unearthed feelings I'd not had since I was 15 and my mother had had a nervous breakdown.
Within a few months, they talked about inviting her out with us again. I put my foot down and said I could not go out with them if she was going to be present. I don't know if they had starting meeting her for coffee again because I certainly wasn't invited. The Outburst was in January. By June Jill was still desperately trying to be back in the group's good books. One morning I stood in the school's lobby, waiting for the little boy I did reading with. He was always either late or absent. That was on my mind when Jill saw me standing still and asked me if I'd seen Sandra. I had no idea who Sandra was and mumbled something like "I don't know." It wasn't what I said that set Jill off. Apparently, it was the look on my face. My children often ask "What's wrong?" based on the look on my face. Nothing is wrong. I just have a look on my face. But Jill didn't know that.
I did the reading and went about my business. The next day I went to the gym. When I got home, there was a letter with no stamp waiting for me. It was from Jill. It was a bit confusing, saying things like "we both like the school so why can't we get along?" I didn't know what to do about this letter so I did nothing. I went to a meeting at the school about vertical streaming that afternoon. Jill sat in my row and kept leaning over and looking at me. I ignored her. Afterwards, at pick-up time, I mentioned the letter to the other mums. One, who my husband called the Swiss Ambassador because she is Swiss and not prone to discretion, said, "Oh, she phoned me last night and asked me if I thought she should send it. I told her not to."
I turned and practically shouted at her: "You knew she was going to send this letter and you didn't warn me?"
"It's got nothing to do with me," she replied. That would be an attitude I would encounter over and over from that group.
I got home, made my son dinner, got ready to go to my dress rehearsal for an amateur dramatic production of "Jesus Christ Superstar" I was appearing in. I had to be out the door by 5:30. At 5, the phone rang. I answered it. It was Jill. She asked if I'd read her letter and what I thought of it.
"I'm not interested in friendship with you, Jill," I replied.
"This isn't about friendship. It's about the way you treat me, like I'm something on the bottom of your shoe," she spat. She ranted on. "I'm not going feel uncomfortable in my daughter's school. It's not appropriate."
"YOUR daughter's school?" I shot back, my voice getting louder.
"And your daughter's school, too. It's not appropriate." She ranted some more. I said I had to go and put the phone down. I left the house, dropped my son off, went to my rehearsal. I phoned my husband and told him a bit of what happened. When I got home, I told him some more, then went to bed. And sobbed silently.
The next day another letter appeared. This was getting ridiculous. At the time there were roadworks directly in front of my house. You really had to want to go to my house to get in. She obviously did. The tone of the letter was more measured than the phone call, but confusing and disturbing nonetheless. There was no apology about the phone call, though she did say she'd been a bit "dramatic" on the phone. I didn't know it at the time, but apparently Jill was phoning the others as well. I phoned one of the mums she'd harassed in January. "I'll tell you what I told Jill," she said. "This is between you two and I'm not getting involved." Another mum said basically the same thing. I was deeply hurt and disappointed. Where was the support? Where were the coffees and lunches, like they'd had during their crisis with Jill? Only one showed anything like support, leaving a card and flowers on my doorstep one day. But they continued to speak to Jill and in front of her acted like nothing had happened. Jill, for her part, had stepped up her campaign against me. She phoned the school secretary, no longer being able to talk to the head, and others, saying that I was bullying her.
Jill called me again after the second letter. She didn't sound as combative, but I wasn't taking any chances. I told her not to call me again and hung up the phone. I decided not to answer the phone anymore and instructed my children not to do so. Because she did keep calling. A few days later my husband came home while the phone was ringing and started chastising the children for not answering it. I explained that I'd told them not to answer it. He decided that enough was enough and that he was going to write her a letter. I'd thought of writing one myself, but he insisted that he should be the one to write it. In it he asked her to leave me and our children alone and to stay away from us and to not send me any more letters or phone our house. If she couldn't abide by this request, he (we) would seek legal recourse.
He said he wanted to nip this in the bud and stop her behaviour once and for all. I knew the letter would do that, but I also knew that if there were any repercussions, I would feel them. All week I'd stayed away from the school and had my children meet me by the railway bridge. My husband went in to the school and showed the head the letter. She agreed that this was our only option in dealing with this woman. She took me aside that day and expressed her support and sympathy, as did the school secretary and PTA chair. But not the others in the group. Jill did stop calling and writing letters. She phoned the others and read them my husband's letter. She said she would do nothing for three years (when my son would leave the school) and then she'd go to her lawyer.
I tried to understand why these women were so unsupportive. Was it because they'd already been through a crisis with Jill and didn't wish to have another on my behalf? Did they believe I had bullied Jill? Was it because they had children in Jill's daughter's class and felt they had to remain on good terms because of this? I don't know. It was never discussed. Jill and I avoided each other if at all possible. She dropped out of the PTA, as did I a year or so later. She would stop and chat the others at pick-up time. I would wait to one side till she moved on before I joined the others. There was no more talk of including her in the group. I found I could cope in the open air with Jill nearby, but locked in meetings with her I would struggle to breath and feel sick to my stomach. Mini panic attacks, I realised later. Eventually, Jill stopped trying to talk to these women. She seemed to find others eager to rescue her from her tragedies, but none seemed to get as involved as the two mums in our group had. My friendship with these women limped on for nearly three more years, but I'd been on the sidelines for so long that I couldn't get back into the center of things. Finally, in April this year, after one snub too many, I decided to call it a day with these women. Our daughters had moved on to secondary school and other friends. There really was no need to continue what for me was an empty friendship with no heart at the center.
And Jill? She's still around. I see her from time to time riding her bike. My malice toward her has softened. I even feel sorry for her. A bit. I do believe she is a victim -- of a health-care system that doses its patients with pills rather than taking the time to find out what truly is wrong, of an overindulgent husband, of friends so interested in looking like "good" people that they excuse her bad behaviour far too much and far too long. But mostly she is a victim of herself and her mental illness. I spent some time on the internet trying to diagnose her. Bipolar with some personality disorders thrown in. But that's just my amateur opinion.
I finally sorted out what it was about Jill that disturbed me so. She made me feel vulnerable, as I did as a child when my mother would have temper tantrums and rants. I have spent my entire adult life trying not to feel vulnerable. I don't like it, and I will walk the second someone makes me feel that way. And I will do my best to never have another Jill in my life.
Monday, 17 September 2007
Crazy Jill Part 2
As Jill became more comfortable within our group, her behaviour became more outrageous.
We went to see the Vagina Monologues. In a theatre full of raucously laughing women, Jill's laughter stood out as even more raucous. People turned around to find the source of this laughter. Some members of the group began to give each other knowing looks. When we dropped Jill off, she kept us outside her home for 20 minutes, regaling us with tales of her and her husband's sex life. The laughter, mostly hers, rocked the car.
The PTA went out for a Christmas meal and disco, and of course Jill was invited. She had the vegetarian option because that's what some of the others were having. After the meal, we all got up for a dance or two or three. Jill gyrated and bumped and grinded. During Jumping Jack Flash, she actually went up on stage, climbed on top of the DJ's loudspeaker and jumped down behind us. A few of us stopped dancing and just looked at her dumbfounded. She danced so hard and so long, she developed a damp patch on her trousers. Afterwards, while waiting for the taxi, she treated us and the neighborhood to a serenade (she took singing lessons, remember).
She went up to the husband of one of the women in our group one day at pick-up time and in a manic way told him she was taking singing lessons and would he like to hear her sing and began singing before he had time to register what she was saying. He stood tranfixed, mortified at the public display.
My husband, who was treasurer of the PTA, dubbed her Twitterer for her long, pointless monologues during the meetings. He didn't go to many meetings because he has a day job, and the PTA chair and head teacher preferred to have the meetings during the school day. Our relationship with the PTA was a bit fractious. It had been run by four women for years. They moaned that no one would ever help out, but they didn't exactly make it easy to join. When my daughter was in her first year of school, I found out when they met and told the others. The five of us infiltrated, and the four others begrudgingly welcomed us. Then I was asked to head up an effort to raise funds to improve the school's playground because I appeared to have the most time on my hands. I approached this task with gusto, trying to get non-PTA parents involved as well. The Fearsome Four, and the elderly gentleman who was then the PTA treasurer, weren't happy. "Why aren't we doing the fund-raising?" they complained to the head. And the head told me that the PTA should do the fund-raising. I conceded, with much grace, I thought. I still was included in meetings because of all the work I had done.
Jill started to attend these meetings. I don't know how she found out, but I suspect the head teacher or school secretary told her. As usual, her input was time-consuming but minimal.
I don't know when exactly I began to suspect she was mentally ill. I found her behaviour annoying. But something more than that put me off her. For her part, she didn't exactly seek me out. If none of the others were there at pick-up time to talk to, she'd sidle over to me. Then, as the others arrived, she, and they, would ignore me. I suppose I found this hurtful. I wanted to be friends with the others, though, so I thought I had to try to be friends with Jill. I would invite her if I had a party and I was inviting the others.
Eventually, the others would exchange looks when her name came up in conversation. They dropped hints about her mental state, how she was on anti-depressants, how she would call them at night and keep them on the phone for hours. How they managed this and fed their families and worked (one of them is a music teacher with pupils who come in the evening), I don't know. One of the PTA's Fearsome Four, also a governor, became quite vocal about Jill's monopolisation of the head teacher's time, for Jill was still visiting the head on a daily basis. This woman and the school secretary began to run interference for the head. Jill retaliated by rushing to the toilet, which is located opposite the head teacher's office, every morning. The head, realising at last that she was in over her head with this woman, suggested she seek professional counselling. Jill was no stranger to counselling. She'd had a lot of it over the years to help her cope with her grief. She even had committed herself to the local mental health ward for a week. She went home when they told her nothing was wrong with her. So we were told.
Jill went to her GP (Jill had had a lot of GPs over the years, we learned. Either they would not allow her to come back or she would switch in disgust over how they treated her). He referred her to a psychotherapist. Jill went weekly, and would show up at pick-up time an absolute wreck after each session. This psychotherapist, Jill told some of the others, had suggested to her that the head teacher had behaved inappropriately (remember this word, it comes up later) toward Jill by "counselling" her and she should make a formal complaint to the governors. We don't know if this is actually what the therapist said because Jill was quite skilled at twisting people's words. The two women she told this to panicked. If Jill made a formal complaint, the governors would have to suspend the head while they investigated. The two women didn't feel the head deserved this, and they didn't want their children going to a school where the head was suspended.
They told Jill in no uncertain terms that they did not support her in this, that they felt obliged to tell the head what she had told them, that the head had given her time to Jill out of the goodness of her heart. Jill responded in a frightening way. She shouted on the phone. The women would hang up. She would call back and hurl more abuse at them. This went on all day. Where was her husband during this crisis? Did he take the daughter out and leave Jill to her verbal abuse? I don't know because I was a having a party at my house that night to which all three of these women were invited, and I was completely oblivious to what was going on. Jill found time to phone me in between phoning them, and told me she wouldn't be coming that evening because she had a fever.
The other two showed up late, shaking and on the verge of tears. I gave them each a large glass of wine and we all discussed the day's events and what had happened and what to do. It was agreed one of them would phone one of the governors, whom she knew quite well, and explain the situation. This governor could then inform the head of what was going on.
The next day Jill phoned the two women again, more contrite and in control this time. She wrote them letters, which she hand-delivered. One of them refused to see her. The other, in her jolly hockey-sticks way, told Jill she doesn't do "atmospheres." She also told her she'd already phoned the governor. Jill panicked. She phoned the governor. She wrote her letters. She wrote the head letters. She tried to see her, but the school secretary said she was unavailable. Eventually, the head herself told Jill that she would only speak to her on school matters pertaining to her child(remember the girl?).
I stood back, mouth agape during most of this. But part of me felt "I told you so." I tried to show my support for these two traumatized women. We met for coffee. We met for lunch. And I realised why Jill disturbed me so. I told the women I'd never taken to Jill. I should have kept my mouth shut, for in a few months the upset would be all but forgotten by them. But not by me.
To be continued.
We went to see the Vagina Monologues. In a theatre full of raucously laughing women, Jill's laughter stood out as even more raucous. People turned around to find the source of this laughter. Some members of the group began to give each other knowing looks. When we dropped Jill off, she kept us outside her home for 20 minutes, regaling us with tales of her and her husband's sex life. The laughter, mostly hers, rocked the car.
The PTA went out for a Christmas meal and disco, and of course Jill was invited. She had the vegetarian option because that's what some of the others were having. After the meal, we all got up for a dance or two or three. Jill gyrated and bumped and grinded. During Jumping Jack Flash, she actually went up on stage, climbed on top of the DJ's loudspeaker and jumped down behind us. A few of us stopped dancing and just looked at her dumbfounded. She danced so hard and so long, she developed a damp patch on her trousers. Afterwards, while waiting for the taxi, she treated us and the neighborhood to a serenade (she took singing lessons, remember).
She went up to the husband of one of the women in our group one day at pick-up time and in a manic way told him she was taking singing lessons and would he like to hear her sing and began singing before he had time to register what she was saying. He stood tranfixed, mortified at the public display.
My husband, who was treasurer of the PTA, dubbed her Twitterer for her long, pointless monologues during the meetings. He didn't go to many meetings because he has a day job, and the PTA chair and head teacher preferred to have the meetings during the school day. Our relationship with the PTA was a bit fractious. It had been run by four women for years. They moaned that no one would ever help out, but they didn't exactly make it easy to join. When my daughter was in her first year of school, I found out when they met and told the others. The five of us infiltrated, and the four others begrudgingly welcomed us. Then I was asked to head up an effort to raise funds to improve the school's playground because I appeared to have the most time on my hands. I approached this task with gusto, trying to get non-PTA parents involved as well. The Fearsome Four, and the elderly gentleman who was then the PTA treasurer, weren't happy. "Why aren't we doing the fund-raising?" they complained to the head. And the head told me that the PTA should do the fund-raising. I conceded, with much grace, I thought. I still was included in meetings because of all the work I had done.
Jill started to attend these meetings. I don't know how she found out, but I suspect the head teacher or school secretary told her. As usual, her input was time-consuming but minimal.
I don't know when exactly I began to suspect she was mentally ill. I found her behaviour annoying. But something more than that put me off her. For her part, she didn't exactly seek me out. If none of the others were there at pick-up time to talk to, she'd sidle over to me. Then, as the others arrived, she, and they, would ignore me. I suppose I found this hurtful. I wanted to be friends with the others, though, so I thought I had to try to be friends with Jill. I would invite her if I had a party and I was inviting the others.
Eventually, the others would exchange looks when her name came up in conversation. They dropped hints about her mental state, how she was on anti-depressants, how she would call them at night and keep them on the phone for hours. How they managed this and fed their families and worked (one of them is a music teacher with pupils who come in the evening), I don't know. One of the PTA's Fearsome Four, also a governor, became quite vocal about Jill's monopolisation of the head teacher's time, for Jill was still visiting the head on a daily basis. This woman and the school secretary began to run interference for the head. Jill retaliated by rushing to the toilet, which is located opposite the head teacher's office, every morning. The head, realising at last that she was in over her head with this woman, suggested she seek professional counselling. Jill was no stranger to counselling. She'd had a lot of it over the years to help her cope with her grief. She even had committed herself to the local mental health ward for a week. She went home when they told her nothing was wrong with her. So we were told.
Jill went to her GP (Jill had had a lot of GPs over the years, we learned. Either they would not allow her to come back or she would switch in disgust over how they treated her). He referred her to a psychotherapist. Jill went weekly, and would show up at pick-up time an absolute wreck after each session. This psychotherapist, Jill told some of the others, had suggested to her that the head teacher had behaved inappropriately (remember this word, it comes up later) toward Jill by "counselling" her and she should make a formal complaint to the governors. We don't know if this is actually what the therapist said because Jill was quite skilled at twisting people's words. The two women she told this to panicked. If Jill made a formal complaint, the governors would have to suspend the head while they investigated. The two women didn't feel the head deserved this, and they didn't want their children going to a school where the head was suspended.
They told Jill in no uncertain terms that they did not support her in this, that they felt obliged to tell the head what she had told them, that the head had given her time to Jill out of the goodness of her heart. Jill responded in a frightening way. She shouted on the phone. The women would hang up. She would call back and hurl more abuse at them. This went on all day. Where was her husband during this crisis? Did he take the daughter out and leave Jill to her verbal abuse? I don't know because I was a having a party at my house that night to which all three of these women were invited, and I was completely oblivious to what was going on. Jill found time to phone me in between phoning them, and told me she wouldn't be coming that evening because she had a fever.
The other two showed up late, shaking and on the verge of tears. I gave them each a large glass of wine and we all discussed the day's events and what had happened and what to do. It was agreed one of them would phone one of the governors, whom she knew quite well, and explain the situation. This governor could then inform the head of what was going on.
The next day Jill phoned the two women again, more contrite and in control this time. She wrote them letters, which she hand-delivered. One of them refused to see her. The other, in her jolly hockey-sticks way, told Jill she doesn't do "atmospheres." She also told her she'd already phoned the governor. Jill panicked. She phoned the governor. She wrote her letters. She wrote the head letters. She tried to see her, but the school secretary said she was unavailable. Eventually, the head herself told Jill that she would only speak to her on school matters pertaining to her child(remember the girl?).
I stood back, mouth agape during most of this. But part of me felt "I told you so." I tried to show my support for these two traumatized women. We met for coffee. We met for lunch. And I realised why Jill disturbed me so. I told the women I'd never taken to Jill. I should have kept my mouth shut, for in a few months the upset would be all but forgotten by them. But not by me.
To be continued.
Sunday, 16 September 2007
Crazy Jill
I can't remember the very first time I saw her. But I do recall our first conversation. It was in September, her daughter having started in Reception just a few weeks earlier. I knew her by sight because her daughter was in the same class as my school mum friends' younger children. With her small stature, she seemed like a lost, little waif. As I passed her in the hallway one morning on the way to deposit my own children, I asked her how she was.
"Not so good. I've got to go to the GP today. I found a lump in my breast. My mother died of breast cancer, and I'm really scared," she said.
"Oh, I'm so sorry. I hope it goes well for you," I replied, rather weakly.
I saw one of the school mum friends, and I repeated what Jill had just told me. She went up to Jill immediately and offered to go with her to the appointment. "I should have done that," I thought. But I was relieved that someone would be with her.
Soon, Jill started to appear at the PTA meetings, encouraged by the head teacher and the other school mums. At her first meeting, she appeared clutching a photo album to her chest. This she passed round the room. The photos were of her son, who had been born severely brain damaged but managed to live, with a lot of medical intervention, for three years. I was surprised by the change in her appearance in what I thought was just a couple of years.
I was later informed that those photos were 15 years old.
The other school mums in my crowd took her to their collective bosom fairly quickly. They had her round for coffee frequently. Weekly soon became daily. I was rarely included in this but then I didn't have a child in the same year as Jill, and they did. Jill became a familiar sight at the school as well, loitering in the lobby next to the head teacher's office.
Jill's had a lot of tragedy in her life, it was repeated to me in low tones. First, the boy, who had to be resuscitated after birth several times and never could go home in his short life. Then her mother died. Then, finally, the birth of a daughter but she too had a congenital birth defect -- a withered hand and arm that were operated on numerous times in her early life.
Poor thing, we would murmur. "She's like a wounded bird you just want to scoop up in your hands and nurse back to health," one of the mums said. And so they all tried to heal her. She'd never had friends like this, she told them. She'd never had anyone to tell all this to before, all the feelings of loss and bereavement, she said.
She told the head teacher this as well during what were becoming daily visits to her office. The visits at first were supposed to be about how her daughter was settling in and all her fears for her. The head reassured her, and Jill found the visits incredibly reassuring. Soon, Jill was telling her about the boy, the mother, the girl's operations as well.
In December I'd arranged a lunch for our group of five. I bumped into Jill on my way to the restaurant. "Oh, are you going too?" she asked. No one had bothered to tell me they'd invited Jill. I was a bit annoyed, but managed to forget it. Jill, with her loud laugh and shrill voice, could be good fun, they said. And she was, in a loud, shrill way.
Soon, Jill had insinuated herself into the group completely. Each night out had to be planned with Jill in mind. "Jill can't make that night. She has a singing lesson." "Jill is feeling a bit down tonight. It's the anniversary of her son's death." "Jill isn't too good. Today would have been her son's birthday."
When Jill did come out with us, she would insist on having the wine bottle at her side. On one night out, she loudly asked me to pass the bottle and to stop hogging it. I was actually tee-total that night and had had none. The others would laugh. "Isn't she fun?" they would say. And between the lines, "Isn't she brave to laugh after all she's been through?"
I began to feel relieved when she couldn't make it, though I wasn't sure why. Perhaps it was the too-loud laughter, the too-shrill conversation. She was trying too hard, and it made me uncomfortable. I said none of this to the others. They didn't seem to think there was anything strange about her.
I would moan inwardly when she appeared at the PTA meetings. Somehow she always managed to get the conversation off the particular item of discussion and onto herself. She did this at school meetings as well. When school fairs were being set up, she would make an appearance but not do much. Just chat to the other mums, who also wouldn't do much after she appeared. At times she appeared to be bouncing off the walls, pirouetting on the balls of her feet.
And the other mums in our group would laugh. "Isn't Jill fun?" they would smile.
To be continued.....
"Not so good. I've got to go to the GP today. I found a lump in my breast. My mother died of breast cancer, and I'm really scared," she said.
"Oh, I'm so sorry. I hope it goes well for you," I replied, rather weakly.
I saw one of the school mum friends, and I repeated what Jill had just told me. She went up to Jill immediately and offered to go with her to the appointment. "I should have done that," I thought. But I was relieved that someone would be with her.
Soon, Jill started to appear at the PTA meetings, encouraged by the head teacher and the other school mums. At her first meeting, she appeared clutching a photo album to her chest. This she passed round the room. The photos were of her son, who had been born severely brain damaged but managed to live, with a lot of medical intervention, for three years. I was surprised by the change in her appearance in what I thought was just a couple of years.
I was later informed that those photos were 15 years old.
The other school mums in my crowd took her to their collective bosom fairly quickly. They had her round for coffee frequently. Weekly soon became daily. I was rarely included in this but then I didn't have a child in the same year as Jill, and they did. Jill became a familiar sight at the school as well, loitering in the lobby next to the head teacher's office.
Jill's had a lot of tragedy in her life, it was repeated to me in low tones. First, the boy, who had to be resuscitated after birth several times and never could go home in his short life. Then her mother died. Then, finally, the birth of a daughter but she too had a congenital birth defect -- a withered hand and arm that were operated on numerous times in her early life.
Poor thing, we would murmur. "She's like a wounded bird you just want to scoop up in your hands and nurse back to health," one of the mums said. And so they all tried to heal her. She'd never had friends like this, she told them. She'd never had anyone to tell all this to before, all the feelings of loss and bereavement, she said.
She told the head teacher this as well during what were becoming daily visits to her office. The visits at first were supposed to be about how her daughter was settling in and all her fears for her. The head reassured her, and Jill found the visits incredibly reassuring. Soon, Jill was telling her about the boy, the mother, the girl's operations as well.
In December I'd arranged a lunch for our group of five. I bumped into Jill on my way to the restaurant. "Oh, are you going too?" she asked. No one had bothered to tell me they'd invited Jill. I was a bit annoyed, but managed to forget it. Jill, with her loud laugh and shrill voice, could be good fun, they said. And she was, in a loud, shrill way.
Soon, Jill had insinuated herself into the group completely. Each night out had to be planned with Jill in mind. "Jill can't make that night. She has a singing lesson." "Jill is feeling a bit down tonight. It's the anniversary of her son's death." "Jill isn't too good. Today would have been her son's birthday."
When Jill did come out with us, she would insist on having the wine bottle at her side. On one night out, she loudly asked me to pass the bottle and to stop hogging it. I was actually tee-total that night and had had none. The others would laugh. "Isn't she fun?" they would say. And between the lines, "Isn't she brave to laugh after all she's been through?"
I began to feel relieved when she couldn't make it, though I wasn't sure why. Perhaps it was the too-loud laughter, the too-shrill conversation. She was trying too hard, and it made me uncomfortable. I said none of this to the others. They didn't seem to think there was anything strange about her.
I would moan inwardly when she appeared at the PTA meetings. Somehow she always managed to get the conversation off the particular item of discussion and onto herself. She did this at school meetings as well. When school fairs were being set up, she would make an appearance but not do much. Just chat to the other mums, who also wouldn't do much after she appeared. At times she appeared to be bouncing off the walls, pirouetting on the balls of her feet.
And the other mums in our group would laugh. "Isn't Jill fun?" they would smile.
To be continued.....
Thursday, 13 September 2007
Heeeeeeerre's Johnny!
OK, so I'm thinking about what to write today or if I'm going to write today. I was going to write about the scary moment last night when I thought Crazy Jill was back in my life making harassing and disturbing phone calls. But that's a very dark subject, one I'm not sure I want to write about yet.
So I was visiting some of my blogpals' sites, catching up, trying to find inspiration. And I got it -- from the Rotten Correspondent, who by the way is hilarious. She wrote about her top three scary books. I have read only one of them -- the Exorcist -- and decided I'm not a scary book person. I am, however, a scary movie person.
Sometimes when we are out somewhere and my kids start to get bored, I entertain them by telling them synopses (yay, I know how to spell the plural of synopsis) of scary movies I've seen. I did this in February while driving to the airport in Montreal from Tremblant after skiing with friends. I evidently scared the bejesus out of my friend's psychopath son. I now know how to keep the little shit in line.
Anyway, without further ado, here are a few of my choices for Scary Film Week:
1. The Shining. An absolute classic. My husband has never see it all the way through but I keep telling him he must, then he won't be so scared.
2. The Omen. I've never seen this one all the way through.
3. Rosemary's Baby. And didn't Mia Farrow look so innocent and young?
4. Cape Fear. The one with Robert DeNiro. My husband practically sh**t himself while watching this.
5. Open Water and Jaws: When I saw Jaws as a teen-ager, I never felt the same way again about swimming in the ocean. Open Water just confirmed it.
6. The Exorcist. Turned me off to pea soup forever. And peeing on the carpet.
7. Whatever Happened to Baby Jane? If Bette Davis doesn't creep you out in this film, nothing will. Actually, my friend I went skiing with, the mother of the psychopath, is beginning to look like Bette Davis in this film.
8. The Silence of the Lambs. I went to see this on my own when I was between husbands. I tried to get two male friends to go, but I think they were afraid of me.
9. Mothman Prophecies. This came on late one night on TV. I knew nothing about it. Good thing.
10. Seven. I was pregnant when I went to see this. Not a good state to be in.
I didn't include Scream or Nightmare on Elm Street or some other classics because I can't watch them. What are your favourite scary films?
Wednesday, 12 September 2007
And the winner is
When I was a little girl, I loved watching all those beauty contests: Miss America, Miss Universe, Miss World. I loved seeing these glamourous women (they were all glamourous in the 60s) dressed up in their evening gowns. Hearing the strains of "There she is, Miss America" made me dream of one day being a winner. Not necessarily of a beauty contest. Just a winner. Now I'm beginning to sound like a loser, and that is not what I am. But I've never been a winner either. Or not very often.
So when I read other people's blogs about all these awards bestowed upon them by their fellow bloggers, I think "Oh yes, that's very nice. Yes, that blogger definitely deserves that."
But a wee bit of me thinks, "Well, that's another award I haven't won."
I know, LOSER for even thinking about it. But at least I'm honest.
But today I visited annie's blog, and much to my surprise, I found I'm a winner. Annie, bless her heart, has bestowed the Nice Matters Award upon me. Thanks so much, annie. I don't know why it looks so wonky on my page. If anyone out there knows and can tell me how to fix it, please do.
To pass it along, I nominate, in no particular order (the envelope please) (drum roll) Lady Macleod, Chantay, DJ, Crystal Jigsaw, Pixie, Kelly, and Kaycie.(Wild applause). You're all fantastic, and I'm so glad I've been able to meet you through this blog. Just reading what you have to say brightens my day.
If you don't know how to get the award on your blog, DON'T ASK ME. I was lucky to get it on mine at all.
So when I read other people's blogs about all these awards bestowed upon them by their fellow bloggers, I think "Oh yes, that's very nice. Yes, that blogger definitely deserves that."
But a wee bit of me thinks, "Well, that's another award I haven't won."
I know, LOSER for even thinking about it. But at least I'm honest.
But today I visited annie's blog, and much to my surprise, I found I'm a winner. Annie, bless her heart, has bestowed the Nice Matters Award upon me. Thanks so much, annie. I don't know why it looks so wonky on my page. If anyone out there knows and can tell me how to fix it, please do.
To pass it along, I nominate, in no particular order (the envelope please) (drum roll) Lady Macleod, Chantay, DJ, Crystal Jigsaw, Pixie, Kelly, and Kaycie.(Wild applause). You're all fantastic, and I'm so glad I've been able to meet you through this blog. Just reading what you have to say brightens my day.
If you don't know how to get the award on your blog, DON'T ASK ME. I was lucky to get it on mine at all.
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