Author: Susan

The Long Game

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It’s the day after Christmas. I was going through my old photos of Europe. I found this old unretouched one. It not only brought back a fond memory; it reminded me of why I took the photo in the first place. I wanted to preserve the moment to inform my future self.

This photo was taken on the lawn in back of the Eiffel Tower. You can see my teenage son napping on the lawn in a fetal position in the background.

It was the spring of 2012. I was living in Austin at the time with my son who was a Sophomore in high school. My daughter was studying in Paris enrolled in NYU’s prestigious semester abroad program. Every spring, the second week of March turned the city of Austin into a carnival. One of the country’s best festivals took place downtown: SXSW. Pre-pandemic, SXSW brought hundreds of thousands of festival goers to the Texas Capital. But, if you were an Austin resident, it was chaos and the traffic was more-than-usual insufferable.

I knew someone, okay a rich guy, who had a flat in Paris that he allowed his friends to use when he was not in town. I figured I had nothing to lose by asking if he would allow me to stay there, so I could have a nice Paris holiday with my kids, and avoid the SXSW madness. To my surprise, he did.

I remember exactly when I took this photo. My son was predictably acting like a moody teenager and expressing his indifference to our Parisian excursion. My daughter was happy to see us, and loved staying in the million dollar flat off of the Champs-Élysées. For about a week, we could pretend we lived a different life.

But the fact that we were all together in Paris, my son was well on his way to his own college journey, and my daughter was going to graduate with honors from NYU was a remarkable achievement.

I took this selfie to remind me… IT GETS BETTER.

I had come so far in my life, and I wanted to remind myself that even in times where it looks like there is no hope and no way out, you never know what the future holds. In nearly every circumstance when I’ve hit a low, the successive highs have been demonstrably better.

Life is a long game. Hold out for the upside. Even if you only see it sometimes in the rear-view mirror.

Saying Goodbye to my Life Partner

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The end is coming soon. Mouse, my BFF, is 14 years old. The vet told me she has a mass on her heart, and there is nothing they can do. I just have to try to keep her comfortable.

Mouse arrived on my doorstep in 2007. It was a turbulent time in our life. My husband and I had just divorced months before, and the whole family was struggling to adjust to our new life.

A tiny baby kitten, The Mouse* simply, “arrived.” There was no indication how she got there, or where her mother was, or any clues about who she was. My son, who was 11 at the time said, “Mouse is a gift from God.”

Of course, we took her in and fed her. We noticed she walked with a limp. She did not have use of one of her hind legs. The vet said she had nerve damage and that he could amputate her leg, but he recommended we wait and see what happens as she grows.

Mouse grew healthy and strong as a young cat. Yet, she walked with a limp, and therefore could be labeled, “disabled.” But her disability never got in her way. She would jump 6-ft fences, and run around the house oblivious that she had a physical handicap.

Somewhere along the way, I realized Mouse and I shared that in common. I, too, had a lifelong disability, but it didn’t prevent me from enjoying my life and pursuing the fun things I wanted to do.

Mouse and I have been on a long journey together. She has been at my side moving from NJ to Texas; seeing my kids graduate high school; moving from Texas to Florida; seeing the kids graduate college; moving from Florida to South Dakota. She’s comforted me through many difficult transitions.

She has really been the only sentient being that has been anchored in my life. Always present; always loyal. Never asking too much and giving her love freely.

As her small spirit travels back to where it miraculously came from, I will miss her dearly and continue to be grateful for her loving presence all these years.

Sweet , amazing, very best friend. Thank you for a life well-lived.

*My daughter Amie, who nursed her as a baby, named her formally, “The Mouse.”

Update: I found this photo when she first arrived. It’s dated July 13, 2006. That means she is 15, not 14. It also means she arrived weeks after the divorce. A gift, indeed.

Sweet baby.

The Pace of Progress

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My first job at 14 years old was working at a family-owned franchise root beer and burger stand. Stewart’s Root Beer was iconic at the Jersey shore. It was a 50’s style drive-in.

When you started at Stewart’s, you were stationed at the fryers. It was the lowest job on the totem pole. You had to endure the hot (un-airconditioned) kitchen for long shifts in front of the fryers. I remember my face, hair, and white uniform and apron was filled with grease when I left for home after those long shifts. Disgusting.

But that part-time job, even at minimum wage ($2/hr), paid for a full year’s tuition at the local Catholic High School. I saved all summer, and was able to pay for my tuition and a 10-speed bike.

Of course, in those days social mobility existed, and kids like me knew Stewart’s wasn’t a career. It was an entrée into the workforce. Almost all the kids I knew took part-time jobs. Many of them worked on the Seaside boardwalk.

I am conflicted about this pace of progress. Spending my career in technology adds more weight to my angst. Experts predict 80% of today’s restaurant workers will be replaced by robots.

According to recent data, the majority of fast-food workers are women. And the average age is not 14; it’s 28. There are three and a half million people employed in fast food restaurants.

Now, in my golden years, I make no excuse for taking full advantage of my in-home robot services (Siri, Alexa) to turn on my lights, play my podcasts, tell me the news, and create my grocery list.

Acknowledging that technology and globalization are the fundamental drivers for income inequality, I do find myself wondering (worrying about) what will happen to those at the bottom of the income scale who have no social mobility options.