I held the Therapy Funeral for my family when I was 22 (1977). In today's pop psychology, I could possibly translate that as, "I dumped the Toxic Fam." When The Arf makes a declaration, it stays declared until after thorough review. No shortage of stubbornness in my personal personals. My birth family has had almost no physical presence in my life since then. I got pregnant a few years later. I got married after the baby was born. My 35th wedding anniversary is weeks away.

The points of the current ponder:

* My birth parents were a physical presence in my life for 22 years. Not even all of that. I felt safer on the city streets than in their rural rental houses. They have only met my sons once or twice. My hyper-vigilance, etc., were the defining qualities of the meetings from my perspective. I have gone back at random times, but I usually go alone in the spirit of an arch angel patrolling the border of Hell.

* My husband's parents have been a physical presence in my life for 35 years. Some of you might remember previous babbles on that confusion. . . My sons have spent much more time with them than I have. They are still a couple of those nasty, imperfect people critters, but I have been grateful that my sons have had grandparents in their lives.

* My personal vote for the gnarliest dysfunction on my personal marriage train is what Hubs and I are currently calling, "Tit for Tat." Done well, "Tit for Tat" is a great cultural development tool. The handshake and team sports are my personal favorite examples of "Tit for Tat" done well. In my personal domestic arena, it becomes a lively game of kicking each other's hearts and dreams up and down the playing field. Ouch. The most benign observation can trigger Olympic rounds of domestic tit for tat. I hear the weather is great in Sichuan this time of year. . .

It would be tough to pick a winner in "The Most Absurd Topic" in our matrimonial Tit for Tat. The one at the top of my list this morning is the parental tit for tattery. I call the physical presence of my own parents, "The Sucking Black Hole." I remain hyper-vigilant at the notion of taking anything from my current life anywhere near the sucking black hole. I don't understand my in-laws and do not free to be myself around them, but . . . I remain grateful my sons have had grandparents in their lives. The tit for tat rounds between my beloved and I are far, far more painful than any of the discomforts I feel at the in-law catered events. When we start kicking the parental ball up and down the playing field, I feel kinda like a pool player up against an NFL running back in full uniform. . . Hubs and I have --I think, I hope, I pray-- made solid progress on resisting the tit for tat skirmishes, but. . . Progress over perfection? ? ? We have not made enough progress that I am confident in my rights to have my own feelings about his birth family.

Sigh. . . Do my beloved and I have a family or extensions of the corporate cube farms? Each to their own cubby. . . Make believe those cubby walls are impenetrable? Well. . . Some of the walls of my own family cube farm really are impenetrable. They are often called, "Prisons."

Thanks for letting me babble a byte. Still chewing. . .