Didn’t they warn me over and over and over again? Waste not, want not. A stitch in time. Not to mention: be careful what you wish for.
Ah yes. They were right. Be careful. Given the universe’s irrepressible sense of fun, you’ll get “it” and curse through your teeth. The timing will be off. The constraints on your life, on your time, on your personal space: enough to set up a wail to the heavens. But you wished for a break in the logjam, didn’t you? Ha-ha, personable one, smile to the camera now. Looks like you and your buddies won this round. Und now: never mind the parlor, says the spider, let’s move along and find you a snug little cocoon to sleep in.
Brief factual translation of the above: a combination of phone calls, emails and registered letters has tipped the scales of justice into the proper alignment. Almost two months after the court decision, Child Protection Services (with help from the friendly reminders mentioned in the previous sentence), “accede to the minors’ wishes”. After suitable interviews and home visits, the four minors will be sheltered in private homes, their benefactors paid for the privilege of doing the work of sheltering, feeding, clothing, insuring proper schooling etc. Said benefactors will have signing authority for all medical and educational needs.
Right here, I break out into a lusty rendition of Viva mi patria Bolivia as a suitable hymn to my foolishness. Why?** Because I’m one of the lucky four. The thought of sharing my living quarters for an indefinite period with a seventeen year-old given to bouts of panic and… well, of seventeen year-oldedness combined with cultural cluelessness? Leaves me with the choice of cursing or of singing. As usual, given a choice, I do both.
However. Apart from the possible benefits accruing to the four minors, two considerations stand out this morning: 1) I cherish my sanity, and my privacy too. 2)Coping with discomfort has a marvelous way of speeding up the process called On to the Next Thing. I don’t intend to become anyone‘s surrogate parent for any length of time. Ergo, somebody’s wish for the fast track to independence has more than my full support. Good luck to him, and to me.
* As a further bit of wisdom for the ages, I suggest: While skittering across the landslide, don’t forget to enjoy the view.
**Yes but: why Viva mi patria Bolivia? Am I Bolivian? No. The song landed in my life at some point. It tends to crop up in my head when the universe’s peculiar sense of humor so decides.