The Ghost of Relationships Past

You know how in Dicken's The Christmas Carol the Ghost of Christmas Past comes down and scares Scrooge straight with what can only be called Pre-1900's Talk Therapy? You remember. Scrooge realizes - with the help of some slightly iffy tactics that would not meet with approval in today's psychiatric community - that if he doesn't shape up, he's going to be the miserable old codger that he is through eternity. Cut to lonely grave, hellfire, damnation, all that sort of thing that Dickens doesn't spell out, but hey, it's the 1800's, right?

But Dickens is an old softie because Scrooge gets a second chance to buy a big ham and some fixings, serve it up and maybe get a good doctor to look at Tiny Tim, who I've read, most likely had rickets. God Bless Us, Everyone. That Tiny Tim is an optimistic little guy, because I've always suspected that Scrooge went back to his old miserable codgerness once the bills came in on his AMEX. Fear, while a great motivator, may not be the most reliable source of generosity.

Now it goes without saying that I do not believe I'm going to burn through eternity. I didn't get that sort of programming from the rabbi at Oneg Shalom when I was a kid because essentially Jews don't believe in hell, or as I like to say, we believe hell is two weeks with your parents in South Florida. (Seriously, that is close enough people. If a Ghost of Hanukah Past threatened me with two weeks at my father's assisted living facility in Boynton Beach, I'd shape up faster than Scrooge.) In fact, we don't really have a rollicking view of heaven either. When my mother was dying (this is a true story), my sister and I asked the rabbi at the hospital if there's heaven in Judiasm. All the poor guy could come up with was that we "all become energy." I'm sure if my sister had already had my nephew the rabbi would have said added something about how my mother would live on through him. (And I do wonder what my mother would have said about how often he skips bedtime. She ran a tight ship, my mother. So there could be truth to the idea she lives on through him.) Still, all of those lovely sentiments don't suggest that she might be peeking down from the clouds smiling beautifically now does it? So I'm not going to debate the theology of heaven and hell, I'm just going to say - I don't buy it. Maybe, like a taste for Vegemite, you have to be raised with it.

But I digress.

The point is that I kind of believe that most people make their heaven and hell right here on earth. I've noticed most women do this via relationships that tend to be hellish more often than heavenly. I've worshipped at that particular church you know. I've cried, I've ranted, I've been supportive. I've helped boyfriends get jobs or get out of jobs, I've rented cabins and made reservations, I've flown across the country to meet them, I've even arranged nebulous meetings at the airports themselves - once missing a flight and spending Christmas eve in Dallas where I was forced to listen to endless renditions of What Child Is This by a group of sadistically tone-deaf carolers.

Yes, it was hell. But upon moving to Seattle, I was - like old Scrooge - scared straight by the Ghost of Relationships Past. It came to me, albeit slightly belatedly, that I was doing all this to myself. I was going to have to change or spend the rest of my days a miserable old codger - and that Dear Readers is possibly a worse fate than eternal damnation, because there is only so much reality television you can watch, and ANTM and Project Runway won't be on forever you know.

I bring all this up because I woke up this morning with a funny feeling and I couldn't place it. It wasn't anxiety or sadness or sleepiness or regret. Oh, I thought when we were sitting at Grateful Bread, sharing a sesame bagel and some tomato soup, I'm happy.

You know, maybe that was what Scrooge felt. Although let's face it, it's hard to be sure because no one had yet invented the Ipod.