But believe me, I understand how hard it is to feel good about your choices when you’re worried about money. As you know, I grew up in a family that had very little. It felt like we were in a constant state of stress. Grandma Rose always used to tell Ken and me, “The point of having money is not having to worry about money.”
Which brings me to the other thing I wanted to say—and I can feel Grandma Rose smiling down on me as I type this!—I want to wire you some of the money she left me in her will so you can have a little reprieve from the stress and finish your book over the next couple of months worry-free.
I’ll be sending you enough so you can also freeze your eggs if that’s something you decide you want to do (I know you mentioned having children briefly on our call as something you feel “behind” on). I hope you don’t think this is me putting pressure on you—I’m not like Deborah, who’s been telling Rachel she wants grandchildren since Rachel got her first period! Not literally, but you get my point. I have a hunch that this factored into Rachel’s decision to get engaged to Kevin after dating him only a short time. I think I mentioned on the phone that they’ve entered couples therapy. Please don’t mention to Rachel or Deborah that I told you that, if you talk to them.
And of course if spending the money that way doesn’t feel right to you, that’s fine too. I just want you to feel that you have options in your life, and if this would relieve some of the pressure you feel to “figure things out” and would open you up to new experiences and new people, without feeling any sort of “time line,” I consider that a very wise investment!
Either way, I’m very grateful we now have the technology that allows women to make these kinds of choices in their lives. It reminds me of Kristina (my friend from Healthworks who is transgender). Maybe the next time you visit home, if you do go ahead with any sort of fertility procedure, you and Kristina could grab a cup of coffee at Peet’s and talk about your experiences. I was telling her about you and she said you sound very funny.
(Apparently she is having trouble making friends in the transgender community with a sense of humor.)
Sending a big hug and a kiss,
Mom
Your Great-Great-Great-Great-Grandmother from Prussia Has a Question about Your Priorities
Shayna maidel,
Not to worry. The rest of this letter will be in English, expertly translated from the Yiddish by yours truly. If you wish to educate yourself, shayna maidel means “pretty one.” You probably didn’t know that because your idea of Judaism is fasting for half a day on Yom Kippur and making an exception for coffee. And in truth, the only reason you fast at all is because you always have a little extra flesh that time of year from drinking too much beer on “Labor Day.”
Let me tell you something, printsesin. In the old country, every day was Labor Day.
I should introduce myself. I am your great-great-great-great-grandmother Manya Strauss (1804–1854). Impressive, I know. To live half a century was no small feat in those days! Especially in East Prussia, with our endless winters. Now East Prussia is nothing. Pfffft. A place that no longer exists. You will never know that feeling. Your country is immortal. You will never disappear because today’s world records every life, even the women’s. Who remembers the life of any woman from my day? Our destiny was merely to reproduce.
But is it yours? Two hours ago, I watched from on high as you and your zaftig friend with the too-short dress visited a doctor who is an expert on matters of womanhood (how easy he has it! In my day, he would also have been responsible for calming scarlet fever and performing amputations!). Both of you hoped he could tell you the odds that you can still conceive at age thirty-five and beyond. You left the office with pamphlets about “freezing your eggs,” which you now read together in a café as you share a meal you refer to as “brunch” (this we certainly did not have in the old country! Nor did I ever have the luxury of tasting champagne mixed with orange juice!). Your friend with the ample bosom confesses she is desperate to bear children—probably so she can put those milk pails to good use!
You are not so sure. Week after week I have watched you confess this to the analyst you pay handsomely to diagnose your pathologies. Despite the fact that you are practically the age of a grandmother in my day, you feel you have much left to accomplish. You have yet to write something truly memorable. You have yet to travel to three of the world’s continents. Though occasionally you yearn for companionship, you enjoy living alone. You wring your hands on Dr. Fleming’s couch, wondering if you are broken for diverging from the path women have followed since time immemorial. Pfffft! Those women simply had no choice. The question of children was one I was never asked. My haunches were made to breed. Not that they were shabby, my haunches. Nor was the rest of my body. How many “Pilates” classes did I take to make that happen? Zilch! Life was my Pilates. You waste your money on nonsense. I’ll tell you how to tone your midsection: sleep on a cold wooden floor in East Prussia for ten years because your brothers get the only beds. It’s strong triceps you want? Churn butter and whip cream with your bare hands until your wrists swell to the size of rolling pins. For a muscular backside, squat on and off a pail and try to keep your balance while your crazy goat kicks for your head!
Would I have borne children if I had had the choice now at your fingertips? My truest answer is no. My sons were very annoying, as was the duty to service my husband in bed. Nothing personal—he was a wise man who made beautiful shoes. But I could not care less about men, their egos, or touching their tiny schvantzes. The only person whose body I cared to see was off limits except in my dreams: my best friend from the village. Her name was Shira, and her father grew sugar beets.
That is the other thing. There wasn’t even a word for “lesbian” in my day.
What would I have done with your freedoms? Perhaps gone on the road, peddling my wares. What wares? My sense of humor, for which I was known in my village (and for which you are known in your family—you get it from me!). Your son is dying of rubella? Fetch Manya; she’ll make him chuckle as he gets ready to meet his maker. Whooping cough your wife’s plight? Ask Manya to do her impression of Otto von Bismarck. Your wife will be losing her breath for more reasons than one.
This I also envy about your time. Such wealth can be achieved by a funny woman! If I were alive today, I would surely enjoy the fortune of Lena Dunham.
But although you have not achieved her level of success and almost certainly never will, you have a certain spark, as I did. And so, shayna maidel, I beg of you: live your truth as I could not. If it fulfills you to nurture a child, then that is your destiny. If you prefer to live a life of adventure and fulfill your baser needs with casual encounters, that destiny is equally worthwhile. You have only yourself to answer to. Who else would judge an authentic life? Except possibly your friend with the ample bosom, who seems to have judgments about everyone, including many suitors she has never met but views pictures of on her miniature telephone.
Just know that whatever you choose, the world will continue to turn. And whatever you choose, in the end you will end up here with me, laughing together as we spy on all the world’s hypocrisies.
Love,
Your Great-great-great-great-grandma Manya
PS—Did your friend with the ample bosom just request that the waiter not bring her any bread with her meal? This, I cannot comprehend. Who turns down an offer of bread?
Your Sister in Arizona Recommends Fried Food
Hey bae mom just told me what happened with yr egg freezing and said you had to spend the night in the hospital with some kind of uterus infection????? ugh that SUUUUUCKS. at least yr goin home today so u get to sleep in yr own bed and be comfy. i wanna come see u but i friggin cant bc i have my final EMT exam in 2 days (can you believe Im gonna be saving peoples lives now? something is seriously wrong with this world lol).
i wanna come after tho. i can pay for my own tix this time cuz i have a little left over from grandmas will even after using most of it for s
chool since im a responsible adult now (ha yeah right). anyway I wanna do something for u cause ur my girl and u have had my back over the years in more ways than one … so check yr email. u should find a gift certificate to california pizza kitchen. remember you took me to the one near mom’s house after we went to the clinic for my abortion (ummmmm i REALLY hope no one is reading over your shoulder right now!!!) and we got like 3 orders of that spinach and artichoke dip? i know you cant put spinach artichoke dip on your uterus haha but i speak from personal experience that shit is straight up crack and you will forget you even have a uterus ☺ love you chica.
One of the Eggs You Just Froze Has a Question
Dear—
Wait, okay, how do I address this letter? Who are you now exactly, in relation to me? ’Cause I was a part of you for thirty-five years, right? We were one. So does that mean I’m addressing this letter to myself? No, because I live in a freezer now and you don’t. So I guess you are a “you” now, and I am a “me.” But like, what’s my age? Am I still thirty-five, like you? Do I continue to be thirty-five until you defrost me? And if we’re going with that theory for a second, and I have temporarily stopped aging for the duration of the time that I am in this freezer and therefore I am currently in a state of suspended existence, does that mean I have temporarily ceased to exist?!
As you can tell, I’m freaking the fuck out in here.
Not that that’s your problem! Do your thing. No, I just figured I’d touch base to see whether you had a sense of a timeframe for all this. Like if you had to predict how long you’ll be keeping me on ice—so to speak—what would you say? Just a guesstimate is fine. ’Cause I remember that one time you and your two best friends went up to that cabin for Becca’s thirtieth birthday, and after rewatching all four seasons of Friday Night Lights and lamenting that you’d never meet husbands like Coach Taylor, you made a promise that if you got to thirty-eight and were still single, you’d all move to Portland and live in a big Craftsman like hippies and raise sperm-donor babies together and find random lovers to fulfill your sexual needs at night. Are we still on schedule for that? So, T minus three years, you think? Or are you rethinking that whole plan, since Becca got married (I think she settled, by the way) and Taryn’s bathroom is always disgusting?
’Cause I know there have also been some conversations with Dr. Fleming lately where you’ve admitted you’re not sure parenthood is right for you at all and you’re worried you’re just doing this because of societal expectations and both your parents’ constant mentions of grandchildren, and she said you have to live your truth. I don’t know what that means to you, but I’m guessing it means I may never get out of here—or at least that that’s a possibility. Again, no judgment if that’s what you choose. Totally get it, totally support it. I’d just personally love to know what to expect. I’m not a fan of surprises in general. They make me very nervous. I have a lot of nervous energy to begin with, and then you add a surprise to the mix? No bueno.
Not that it’s terrible in here or anything! It’s more just a personal preference. I’ve never really been great with small spaces, and the climate is far from ideal. As you know, I’m used to more of a tropical environment: warm and wet. Oh, God, that sounded disgusting. I’m not trying to be disgusting. I’m just stating the facts about your ovaries, not body shaming you. I would never do that—I have so much respect for women. Obviously; I was inside one for thirty-five years. Not in a sexual way! Well, actually, sort of. God, everything I say sounds disgusting now. And confusing. I’ll wrap this up.
So, yeah, just respond at your leisure. Hopefully that won’t be too long, but again, it’s not about me. You go, girl! I’ll be fine in here.
Just circle back to me sooner rather than later if you can.
And happy Valentine’s Day.
Sincerely,
?????
Your Mother’s Goddaughter, Who Chemically Straightened Her Hair for Years, Now Appreciates Your Freak Flag
Jules—
We made our flight! Whew. Now enjoying my second glass of white wine and the free Wi-Fi …
I just wanted to thank you again for this weekend. I really needed to get away from New York for a couple of days. Aurelia had the best time—she will not stop talking about Legoland. And I’ll never forget her throwing up on the street outside the Scientology Celebrity Centre and that guy screaming at her from inside.
I really think that was the guy from NCIS.
Also … I decided to move forward with the divorce. I really appreciate you letting me talk through it and not judging me for being a sobbing mess and drinking all your beer (Trader Joe’s Ale = not terrible! Who knew?). You’re totally right, all that matters is what makes me happy, and seriously, who gives a shit what anyone else thinks? (Including my mom, but don’t tell her or your mom I said that…)
And hang in there with all your stuff. I didn’t realize you were having such a hard year. That’s a lot to deal with: the breakup, getting fired, freezing your eggs. It sounds like one of those times in life where the universe just takes a huge shit all over you. But I really think things are about to turn around for you. I mean, you just finished a book—that’s huge.
Okay, I should probably go be a good mom now (just looked over and realized the man sitting on the other side of Aurelia is watching a movie with a sex scene and my daughter is staring at it, mesmerized … whoops). I’ll let you know how things go with Kevin. And keep me posted on what publishers say about your book.
If I don’t see you before then: will you be back in Boston for Passover? If so, let’s ditch our moms and go shopping on Newbury Street or something.
Love,
Rach
PS—Re: the gift card I left for you, I’m not assuming you still shop at Bath and Body Works or anything—just thought it was a fun throwback ☺
Your Emotionally Withholding Dad Just Heard about Your Recent Success!
Julie,
I talked to your sister today and she passed along the news that you have sold your first manuscript as a professional writer after many years of struggling.
You need to invest at least a portion of what you net into a money-market account. If you don’t put your earnings somewhere where they can accrue interest, you are essentially throwing money down the toilet, and then you’ll be back to square one.
Why didn’t you tell me the good news right away?
Dad
Your Mom Thinks Jane Fonda Is Very Inspiring
Dear Julie,
I can’t tell you how excited I am for you that your hard work has paid off! What an honor to know your work will be published for the whole world to read (do you know yet if there will be any foreign language translations? If so, I’ll buy them all, and take a “crash course” in the various languages so I can follow along). Not that there was any doubt in your mind (at least, I hope there wasn’t!) about this, but I could not be prouder to be your mother.
Loni wanted me to tell you congratulations too. She also asked me if I planned to “tweet” the good news about your book. I told her I didn’t think so, but I wasn’t sure what she meant by that.
I have some good news too. Believe it or not, it has to do with technology. Have you heard of something called a “pod cast”? At first I was afraid to try it because I thought it involved something with time travel. Then I found out it’s just a tape on the Internet. Inside each pod is a story or interview. One interview in particular really inspired me. It’s with a famous woman I always knew of but never knew much about. Now, after listening to this woman speak so eloquently in the pod, I feel like I’ve known her forever …
I’m talking about Jane Fonda.
As I’m sure you know, Jane Fonda was a real icon in my generation, both for her beauty and for her acting. What you might not know is that lately she has expanded her repertoire to become an activist for feminism and other causes. One thing Jane Fonda talks about inside the pod is how it’s much harder for women to find companionship after a cer
tain age than men. Jane Fonda herself has spent most of her life after fifty being unmarried. Meanwhile, she points out that men don’t have the same struggle to find new partners after divorce, no matter how old they are. Obviously, I agree. Just look at your dad! He found a new partner almost immediately, even though he’s incredibly difficult to live with. Of course, it’s possible his wife doesn’t realize that because of the language barrier.
Loni and I agree with Jane Fonda that this is an injustice. We talked about it a lot last week as we drove home from the Williamstown Theatre Festival. (By the way, Matthew Perry was fantastic—it was as if he originated the role of Hamlet!) We stopped in the town of Lee for a bite to eat at a café we had read about in the Zagat Guide that blends English country cooking with Thai spices—I think they call that type of combination “diffusion.” There we were, sitting on a balcony overlooking beautiful rolling hills dappled with the summer sun. A small duck pond lay in the distance, with a chorus of mallards quacking. As we ate wonderful coconut-curry scones fresh from the oven, Loni turned to me and asked, don’t you wish we could grow old here? In that moment, I couldn’t help but remember Jane Fonda’s words. There are so many chapters in a woman’s life that remain unwritten. And so I turned to Loni and said, why can’t we? By the time we returned to Brookline, we had decided to sell our condos and buy a house together.
Nuclear Family Page 14
