Sunday, December 23, 2012
Can You See Me?
I was at a super store, where nothing was particularly "super", shopping for large clear containers to pack up all my holiday stuff. You see I am getting ready to move...again. I am an accidental house flipper. It was never my intention to flip houses, but here I am renovating another house I will not be living in. It is the way of it for me. I knew as soon as I put in that damn closet organizer in, I was on my way out.
Anywho, I was at the store standing in a very long line waiting for the singular cashier to check out the hundred people who were in line before me. I had gotten there really early, knowing that this close to Christmas, there would be a wait in store. My cart wasn't loaded down with Christmas goodies like it usually is, since I have only one family member with me these days. It was loaded down with large bulky plastic containers to fill with all of my holiday crap, so it can be moved back up north. How ironic that I moved 1200 miles from my hometown, so we would be spared the long distance move for my husband's company during the impending merger, only to have to pack up and move the opposite direction. We moved to Houston as a preemptive strike in 2004. We knew the merger was coming, we never expected them to move to the north. They showed us.
As I stood there, shifting my weight from one leg to the other, bored and tired, I reached down to tie my shoe. When I looked up an elderly woman cut right in front of me. Her eyes down cast avoiding my face, she showed no signs of remorse for the clear breach of store etiquette. I was faced with a choice. Either I could try and stare her down, making her feel awkward the entire time for cutting in line, or I could engage her, showing her I was a human being and not a poorly organized store display. I opted to engage her, saying hello and asking her how she was spending her holidays. I knew when I left the house I needed to be patient. I knew people were frantic and panicked over the upcoming holiday, while I just needed mundane things, since I wasn't sure how much celebrating I was actually going to do. The older, wrinkle faced woman spoke to me about her son, her grandchildren, her widowed sister. She began to blame all things possible on the president when I shifted the conversation to Christmas. She went along with me chatting, looking me in the face, smiling from time to time. It was an easy conversation. She veered off slightly getting frustrated at how slow the line was, blaming the checker. Once again, I steered the conversation to a more empathetic place talking about how hard they work, how little they get paid, and how hectic the holidays are. Again, she went with me, nodding her head, speaking about how hard it is in the world today to just earn a living. She told me she was 80 years old. "My dad is 80 also," I said. We talked about having family so far away. I told her my kids moved and my husband was in Chicago.
I ended up talking to that woman for about 25 minutes. We just stood and chatted, as we slowly made our way to the front of the line. I looked in her basket, where she had only five items. She wasn't cooking for Christmas and had bought potatoes, socks for her great grandchild, and a few other things. I made sure to look in her eyes. I stayed locked on her face, making her see me. In my head I thought, "I see you, I see you as a person, a woman, a mother, a grandmother and a great grandmother. I see how little you can afford, watching every penny to make sure you stay on budget. I see how tired you are, how much you have worked in your life. I see you."
She checked her few items and grabbed her singular bag. She turned to me and said warmly, smiling, "Merry Christmas." "Merry Christmas, Ma'am", I said as I returned the smile.
I could have gotten angry when she cut in that atrocious line. But I thought how much better it could be if I just turned an awkward silence into a momentary friendship, and I was right. I did see her, full in the face, for all the time we had together and she saw me too. I went from being a faceless nobody to someone she could relate to. It wasn't magical, or incredible or amazing. It was simply two people standing in line who had decided to make the best of it. It was human. As I left the store I made a promise to myself to be kinder this season, more patient, and give more of myself to complete strangers, even if they cut in line. I might just get a little conversation and a good story out of it.
Thursday, December 20, 2012
My 2012 Balance Sheet
Wednesday, November 28, 2012
Friday, November 16, 2012
Happy Thanksgiving?
Everyone keeps asking me what I am doing for Thanksgiving. With a blank stare and downward turned face, I answer, “Eating at home,” as if someone had just called me fat. It hurts like an insult would. In the last week I made the enormous decision to put my beloved dog down. I didn’t anguish over the decision for hours, I saw her weight loss, her inability to keep anything down, her blindness and her struggle to walk and I instantly made one of the largest decisions of my life. I am however anguishing about how I am supposed to cook a Thanksgiving dinner for just two people. I have no idea how to live the life I have been handed. It makes me feel odd, as if people looking at me know instinctively there is something wrong with me. I haven’t felt that way in a really long time.
In 1998 I felt this awkward sense of not belonging to my own life. Danny had died the year before and so help me, I didn’t know how to live without him. I had to teach myself to do everything alone. I went out to eat alone, went to movies alone, went to the store alone, and picked out furniture alone. I did everything alone. I suppose in some ways I did this in order to prepare myself for spinsterhood. I had been reassured that I would end up alone because nobody would want to marry a single mom with four darling children. I thought that was crazy at first, but then I dated and realized the odds were not in my favor.
Recently I realized I have so much more to learn about the person I am becoming. I had practiced living by myself, and yet since marrying Michael, it is as if I have forgotten how to do anything alone. It is such a weird notion that I have to re-learn the hard lessons I was sure I had conquered. My truth in this is I like being married, not to just anybody, I proved with no uncertainty that I had to be married to a very specific kind of man, but married to Michael, well, it feels right. I like being his wife. I really like the way I am a better person when he is around. I am still me, but with Michael and his voice in my head I am calmer, wiser with our two heads, kinder with my overflowing time and abilities. With Michael I am more spherical, while alone I have pointy edges and a prickly exterior. I am more porcupine alone.
The holidays are my favorite time of year. I love the decorations that start for me at Halloween and end at the New Year. This year I went all out for Halloween. I did it to be occupied and hide my quills. But Thanksgiving is different. There are no real decorations for Thanksgiving. It is all about gathering families and having a big meal together. It’s all about cooking for hours to feed the masses and falling down dead tired in front the television to watch and subsequently sleep during the hours of football. But this year I have no family to cook for, no men to insist on keeping score of their favorite teams. There will just be my eldest child and me, and just between us, I think she would rather be somewhere else. I can’t blame her; I understand that I have been just short of Miss Havisham. It’s hard to be around someone who is sad all the time. Feeling somewhere between guilt and hope she will decide to eat Thanksgiving with me, bless her little heart. She has showed up every single time I have needed her. My goal for year’s end is to try and need her less.
Tomorrow I will go shopping for food for Thursday. Maybe a Cornish hen would do it. All I know for now, is I will not let this Thanksgiving go by without remembering how lucky I am to be missing everyone on Thanksgiving.
Saturday, November 3, 2012
At Season's End
Saturday, September 22, 2012
A Little Haunted
"Those who dream by night, in the dusty recesses of their minds wake in the day to find that all was vanity; but the dreamers of the day are dangerous men, for they may act their dream with open eyes, and make it possible."
- T.E. Lawrence (Lawrence of Arabia)
This is the quote from the final episode of the The Rosanne show. There are several quotes from that last show I really like.
My favorite quotes came from the monologue at the very end, a show I did not see in it's entirety until tonight. I never knew how the series ended because it ended in 1997, the year Danny died. It is one of my gap years, a year filled with nothing but work, crisis and kids. I have had a few of those gap years, where my memory has some rather remarkable gaps because I had neither the time nor the will to hang onto anything that wasn't absolutely necessary.
I did something rather unusual for me today, I took the entire day off. I did not work any of my multiple jobs, I didn't do housework, or laundry or mow the lawn. Instead I opted to sit on my sizable butt and watch the The Rosanne Show marathon. I stayed on my couch and let my brain completely shut off for awhile. You see I am a little haunted right now and my brain being what it is, is working overtime trying to make all the scattered pieces fit in some way. I have remnants of the recent ghosts in my life. September is the month Danny died so I always feel a little haunted, but now with so many others from our family gone, it seems as though the ghosts are everywhere. I have been finding pennies everyday now for weeks. I have even found fifteen dollars in fives in the grocery store parking lot. At first I thought Danny was trying to tell me something. If you have read my book, you know what I mean by that. If you haven't please understand, I cannot tell that story any better than I did in the book. As I picked up coin after coin, I wondered what the significance was. Before, when I would find them, the dates held some significance, but now they seem random, every year of my life represented in copper. My mind then shifted to the idea that maybe he was just trying to help me feel less alone. In that way, I guess he has been successful because every time I find one I think of him and smile and for a second forget how alone I really am.
As I watched the very last episode of the show and saw how she tied it all together, and I felt tied to TV Rosanne. When the series first started I was married to Danny and we were a blue collar family. We had no money to speak of and our little family was trying to get by. It was nostalgia that had me glued to the couch today watching a show that represented the eighties for the working middle class. Danny and I had laughed so hard at the ridiculously funny bits, sitting together watching, relaxing in the evening after a hard day's work.
I had lost track of most the television shows in the nineties. My time was stretched too thin to watch much of anything but a very few programs I had to schedule in. Rosanne was one the shows that didn't make the cut. Maybe I let it go because it reminded me too much of being with Danny. So, I never knew how thing went for TV Rosanne until today. The ending was fitting where I am right now, in my haunted state. The quote below is brilliant, and in all of Rosanne's shenanigans I think she has been under appreciated for what a brilliant writer she is in real life. I have such an appreciation for the grasp she had on being a middle class wife in a time in history when women were expected to do the impossible with no time and less money.
"As a modern wife, I walked a tight rope between tradition and progress, and usually, I failed, by one outsider's standards or another's. But I figured out that neither winning nor losing count for women like they do for men. We women are the one's who transform everything we touch. And nothing on earth is higher than that. My writing's really what got me through the last year after Dan died. I mean at first I felt so betrayed as if he had left me for another women. When you're a blue-collar woman and your husband dies it takes away your whole sense of security."
In 1997, when this originally aired it said exactly how I felt. I sort of wish now I had seen it, maybe then I would felt "seen". But in some ways this is better, with hindsight behind me and so much time gone now.
My youngest son will be having a birthday in a few days. He turned seven years old in 1997, two days before his father died. Buying Tom cars for his birthday was the last gift Danny ever gave. I believe he willed himself to live to see Tom turn seven. Tom usually doesn't want to celebrate his birthday because, I think, for him it is almost disrespectful to take any attention away from his father. I being his mother, disagree and want to focus on the fact that his father so loved him, ravaged by cancer managed to be there for his son on the day we loved to celebrate. Tom's birth was the easiest, the most relaxed. Dan and I got to breathe deep and enjoy the first few hours of our son's life. He came out on time. He wasn't much of crier, matter of fact he smiled when he was only hours old. It wasn't gas, he looked at us, worked so hard to focus his tiny wandering eyes and then his face would break slowly into a wide smile and stay that way until we smiled back.
Yes, nostalgic is what I have been for a little while now. The ghosts remind me so much of the past it is hard not wander back in time and remember what life was like when the kids were tiny and life revolved around "sandwich night".
My Michael always gives me room in September to feel anyway I want. This year, he is too far to do anything different, another ghost. We talked tonight in low tones about how I am feeling, how he is feeling and what we need to do to try and fix our current conundrum, realizing of course, the best laid plans and all...
I told him I am planning a Halloween party. He will not be able to be here for it. As I tell him of my plans we both sigh. One or the other of us inevitably says, "It is what it is" and we try and let it go. I told Michael since I am feeling haunted anyway, I might as well put it to good use and throw a party. He agreed it is a good idea to allow the ghosts to wander freely rather than to try and chase them.
I suppose some may think my day was completely wasted sitting and watching a show that is fifteen years old, but I defend my time spent today. I needed to fall back for awhile and gather strength from my past. Today was not so much about what I have lost as much as it was about what I have learned. I am not the same person I was in 1997, I am so much more now. Back then I didn't know how to take care of myself, but now I do. Back then I didn't have the capacity for love that I have now. Now I can forgive so much easier, too. I realized today exactly how far I have come. I remember dreaming of the day when I would love someone and they would have the utter audacity to openly love me back. I remember dreaming of becoming a writer, and well, here I am. I had dreams, lots and lots of dreams. It was those dreams that got me through the really dark days. It is my dreams that get me through the darkness now. They are the beacon that lights up the shadowy hallways, illuminating my way, past the ghosts. Today was a day of reflection, resolution and more dreaming.
Sunday, September 9, 2012
So Much Change
So much has happened in the last several weeks...again. Every time I am on my own, change comes sweeping in and altering my universe. An acquaintance said to me, "Change is inevitable, Kellie." Oh thank God your here to clear that up. Here I was thinking that everything I have ever known would be exactly the same year after year. Whew! I can finally put that existentialist question to bed. Look, I know I am being incredibly sarcastic, but really not as sarcastic as that useless comment. I know change happens, as does shit, and stuff. What has been happening to me, yes, I wrote to me, is more than the inevitable change. It's breath taking, not view type breath taking, more of the 'Oh dear God who did I piss off', kind of breath taking.
Back in 1998, the year we were recovering from Danny's passing from cancer, I became acute aware of things I know for fact I never thought twice about. I began to notice people's expressions more, my surroundings, things that were done and said and things that were ignored. I had begun noticing everything around me whether it was a bug, or a human. I noticed how the wind blew, in what direction, whether or not it made the leaves swirl or merely fall off the tree. I noticed how not everyone was kind, or compassionate. See, up until then I had never been at the brunt of a true tragedy, so I had no life experience with how people acted or reacted. 1998 was the year I learned who I could count on and who I should let go. I had growing pains that year. In some ways I truly suffered, but in others the experience was priceless.
I am living in a year right now that is as close to 1998 as I have had since my year of growing pains. I have pains again this year. I am being stretched to my very end, and some days I feel as though I may very well snap. Each day I get up and think, "Just let me get through it." I haven't thought that way since my 1998 'let's see how far we can push Kellie' year. This year I am once again being pushed, stretched, pulled in several directions at once to see if I will eventually snap. So far so good, and I remain intact. I am bruised, certainly battered and physically weaker due to a weird heart thing that began happening. I am under a doctors care about my heart. She has tested, talked counseled and directed me in the way I can take care of me, so the weird heart thing goes away.
There is a condition called "broken heart syndrome", a condition that happens usually after a death of loved one or some extreme stress. The heart goes into cardiomyopathy, and feels much like a heart attack. When I woke up in a cold sweat on a Sunday night, sat bolt upright clutching my chest, my first sight was 'The Kardashions', evidently they had sneaked up on the screen after I fell asleep. My first thought was, "Oh, no one should have to die like this!"
I waited until morning and went to see my doctor. We had a long conversation about my insomnia, a long standing problem that had recently gotten worse leaving me awake for 22 of the 24 hour period in a day. I usually clocked in at least 4 hours, but recently I had dropped down to 2 hours a night. I was exhausted, stressed out and becoming hopeless. You see I believe my heart is broken. I believe that psychology becomes pathology when left untreated. I cannot tell you if I had broken heart syndrome. I know my heart was not functioning, which left me with uncharacteristically large ankles, or kankles as some may know them. I know I would feel as though someone was bouncing around a basketball in my chest when I should have been fast asleep. I know that this summer has left me feeling battered, beaten and very very tired. And a little hopeless at times.
I did all my necessary health stuff and found out my thyroid has decided to give up. Poor thing has been fighting a long hard battle without the necessary hormones for support, so I guess it was inevitable, you know, like change. I decided for me, for Mike and my sanity that limbo is not my forte. I forced a conversation and we made a decision. That decision has freed me up to start feeling like a human again. That one very large, life altering decision has made it possible for me to start thinking about moving on through all the changes instead of just enduring them.
Michael came home and I was holding him so tight in my arms. I was breathing him, tasting his lips, inhaling his smell, touching his face. I was taking in all of him so I could carry him with me as we go through another set of very large changes. I heard my heart beat in tandem with his. The two seemed to instantly recognize the other and fall in sync.
I can't say I will never be brokenhearted again. I can't say I will handle the new changes with grace and poise, I mean let's be real, it's still me we are talking about. But I can say, that whatever change is on it's way, there will be two hearts to take it on.
Sunday, September 2, 2012
An Open Letter To My Sons
Sunday, August 19, 2012
I Can Hear the Wings But I Can't See the Hummingbird
I recently put out my hummingbird feeders. I have several that I used to diligently put out at my old house. Since we moved a couple of years ago, I have been rather lazy about putting out food for any other animals than the ones who currently reside inside the house. This year I felt the need to try and entice my hummers to visit.
My feeders would draw the hummingbirds, several at a time, doing their tactical maneuvers, wooshing past me and the lazy dogs sleeping in the sun. I would spend hours just watching them, amazed at their tiny frames doing what I was certain were physically impossible stunts. I love hummingbirds, their rather gruff chirping for such delicate creatures and their incessant need to guard the foodstuff, although as I wrote earlier, was plentiful. I do not own single piece of hummingbird paraphernalia. You will not see one hummingbird gooby in my house. I love the real ones, the ones who fly in to our area in the spring and disappear after September. I do not have a good or bad reason for not hanging my feeders here at this house until now. Maybe it is my lack of motivation to commit, or my need to keep things very simple while I am on my own. Maybe I wanted to wallow in my solitude, until now. Maybe my age had allowed me to forget I even had feeders until I recently went through some unattended boxes. Whatever reason I had, either consciously or subconsciously, it no longer matters, because the feeders out and the hummers are here. Now is what matters, right? We planted fruiting trees, blooming shrubs and vines that crawl the length of our fence. This foliage, while providing us shade and cooler air, also provide the environment for butterflies, geckos and now hummingbirds. All these delectable plants that are growing, blooming, sprouting off shoots are changing our yard into a haven for the tiny wildlife I so adore. Inside the arboretum that is our back yard, I have witnessed the largest butterflies I have ever seen. These mammoth winged beauties float around our yard. The day I buried my beloved cat, a long haired black and white lion king, I had put the last shovel of dirt on his grave when floating by me so close as to nearly touch me, a giant black and white butterfly landed on our blooming sweet almond verbena. My tears mixed with awe as I watched it fly around our yard and then disappear over the roof line. A sign, I thought, that Matches could see the love and return it without ever being present as he once was.
One day as I sat outside in the humid air, sipping iced coffee, taking in natures sights and sounds, when a group of butterflies, I believe there were about five of them, began flying in a circle inside our gazebo. I sat grinning ear to ear, watching as they gracefully followed the circle as if they were attempting nothing more than to entertain me. It was magical. The only person I wanted to share this with was the one person with whom I have the least amount of time. I could call him, describe the beauty, the magic, the wonder of the moment, but I knew it would not be the same for him as it was for me.
I have this toad, my friend, I now refer to as Mr. Toad, yes in reference to his wild ride, comes out of hiding every morning to sit with me while I have coffee. I turn on the outside light and the bugs all come and gather. Mr. Toad hops out to enjoy a hearty breakfast as I watch him gobble one insect after another. When my coffee time is finished and it is time to go back in to get ready for the day, he hops back from where he came. Much like my alarm clock, this early morning meeting has become inevitable.
I have this tie to the nature that has come to our garden. I am respectfully staying a safe distance in order to allow them their confidence, while they entertain me for hours with what I think may be their mundane tasks. I sat one morning thinking of what it would be like if some creature were far above me watching my mundane tasks. would that creature find me as entertaining, as awe inspiring? Would vacuuming be equally as impressive to someone of a much larger intellect? Probably not, but the thought amused me, and if nothing else, being amused is something I need, so I allowed it.
The caterpillars that ate my passion vine are now butterflies. The grubs that Bobo so likes to chew on, are now full grown beetles. The baby geckos that once took shelter in our small planters are now mating. They are evolving by leaps and bounds over the last few months, as have I. The hummers are here for another month and then they will migrate further south for the winter. I must take the time to watch them now, before they go and the feeders go back into storage. I wondered where I would be living in the next migratory season. I wondered if the feeders would ever make their way out of the large plastic container to be filled and hung, as lay in wait for the tiny birds to arrive.
This weekend while Michael was home, we had to have several large, looming conversations. It was draining, scary, vulnerable, indecisive. These talks were everything I have come to hate about talking. I am not as comfortable at throwing myself bare, as one might think. But much like taking the garbage out, it had to be done. It was a group of kitchen sink talks. We had to discuss everything including the kitchen sink. Today it is about Dan and his birthday, making cookies, cooking a favorite meal. We stop for a few moments, and he takes my hand. He looks at me full in the face, and I see every word, every feeling, every fear, anxiety, hope and dream. There will be more conversations, more talking, and I will be better prepared. I promised him and me that this period of time will not be wasted, will not be misused, but rather respected for the changes it will inevitably bring. I will not be able to transform into a butterfly, and one would think that would be a fair outcome of all this growth. I will however take a lesson from them and remember it is up to me whether or not I can fly.
Sunday, August 5, 2012
No Ifs, Ands, or Guts
I have been trying to let go and let God. The "why?" is still looming large, with no answer or logic. Logic is what I have come to depend on in my own decision making, sometimes to my own demise. I listen to my gut when logic is nowhere to be seen, but I fear that may be the wrong approach. I am beginning to understand that logic, my logic, should be reserved for the times when my gut has gone quiet. So much of what my eyes see and my ears take in is illogical, so why I am depending on something that is virtually nonexistent in my tactile world? It's the nurse in me, I suppose, who depends on symptoms, when I think this is the time to depend more on signs. Signs and symptoms are what all nurses depend on in order to make the best possible decision, usually in the most dire circumstances, but I am not seeing all the signs, because I am bogged down with symptoms. Here is what mean, I will see an angry student, hear them insult me, watch their face contort, feel the unpleasantness of their proximity, but I am missing the sign of their actual distress. They are not angry at me, hell, they do not even know me. They are fearful of how they are going to pay their bills. The signs all point to fear and anxiety. While they feel they have no time to take a breath and think things through, the truth is I have all the time in the world to do that in order to help them because I am outside the situation. I am learning this lesson everyday. It's one thing to listen, but to take in what someone is saying, really see them beyond their exterior facade, well, I am learning to do that with my contemporaries like I used to have to do with my old folks. That is the thing about the elderly and children when you work in medicine; they usually are unable to verbally express their concerns, so I used to be dependent on other senses, my gut, for instance, in figuring out the best way to help them. Since I have been retired I have gotten sloppy. I may even have gotten more judgmental, which I find to be unacceptable. Who am I to judge someone for their decisions, barring any great acts of violence, when I am clearly just as human, just as flawed, just as insecure as the next person?
So I made the decision to actively be reticent to judge, to shy away from knee jerk responses from myself, as well as others. It takes practice and lots of it. Anger is an easy out. Being a terminal victim is an easy out, an uncomfortable one, but it is the path least resistance, and in the end will stunt personal growth, possibly for a lifetime. It's time for me to not think things through, but to feel my way. I have thought things to death over the last year and have not come up with what I feel to be an acceptable path to follow. So if thinking is off the table then feeling, following my senses, getting out of the way of myself, is the next step to finding out where I am going. It's not my first time at this rodeo. My last one had me falling on my ass more often than not, but I will say, I tried so many things I had been scared of because I let the logical cat out of the bag.
Here is the scarier question I have been asking myself, "Have I taught my children to deduce their way, through logical and critical thinking, into a place of fear, instead of joyful leaping? Have I taught them to be so careful, that they no longer see the merit in spontaneity?" I have thought about that a lot since my youngest son moved out. Did I talk at him so long about the possible consequences that I ignored his need for adventure and willingness to accept the risk? And what of the saying, "with great risk comes great reward?" Oh my... You see with all the book learning I have done, with all the constant feeding of my brain, I may have forgotten to feed the rest of me, therefore starving my kids gut feelings as well.
So there it is, my next step in learning may very well be not in a book, or classroom, but rather by listening to others, without judgment, and listening to my own body as it attempts to speak up even when I try and drown it out with logic.
What Michael and I are experiencing is unpleasant, at best, but what if I am to take this time to focus on things I need in order to feed me? What if he is in this experience to find out where he wants to go in the near future (uh, with me in tow, of course)? What if the lesson is not about his job, or moving, or even if we have been grateful enough, a ridiculous thought for us at this point, but rather to take our individual selves to the next level, meeting once again together on a higher plane, one that does not have a company logo on it? I like it, this idea that I will not have to think so hard, so much about an insurmountable problem I cannot solve. So far today, by following my gut and not getting all anxiety ridden about real estate, job changes and kids, I have gotten more accomplished than I have in weeks. By letting go of my problems, by following instinct rather than thought process, I have gotten to the store, done laundry, walked the dogs, taken the recycling to the center, spent time outside reading a gardening magazine and written this blog. My gut says to go easy on me, my plate is full, so I shall. My gut full of fresh produce, is now wanting to spend time at the pool, soak up some sun, read a book later, clean out the fridge and pack my lunch for work tomorrow. My gut says things will be fine, eventually. My inner instinct tells me I have been through worse, and this time alone should not be wasted crying because it exists. So the next time someone comes at me all crazy, calling me thoughtless, my response will be, "I know, right? Isn't it marvelous?"
Friday, July 27, 2012
2 1/2 Dads
A couple of nights ago my son and I were out talking in the courtyard. It was really late, about 2 am, when he said something I thought was at first odd and then I thought it was about the nicest thing he had ever said. We were talking about how he has the best of both of his dad’s personality traits. I refer to him as our Sheldon, referring to the character on “The Big Bang Theory”. Sheldon is unrelenting in his need to be right, his need to keep certain things his and his alone, like his spot. That describes my eldest son perfectly. A geek in every way, he is acutely aware of if anyone touches any of his belongings, will fight to the death over his usual seat and is certain when he is right. Our Sheldon got so much of his anal retentive personality from his father. His father had certain things that if not done correctly drove him nuts. Fold his socks the wrong way and you ended up getting a 35 minute tutorial. Trust me when I say it was easier to do those wacky, seemingly nothing things his way. For me being married to him, it all seemed as if it were in the roommate agreement. If you watch the show you will understand. I see Dan in our son every day. Mike is in there too. My son has acquired all kinds of traits from Mike, some which drive me batty, others I just smile, knowing he is the perfect combination of the two men.
What my son said was, “I am so lucky, I had 2 ½ fathers.” I stared at him for minute completely confused. I kept doing what I was sure the most basic math and always came out with the answer of two. “Where do you get the ½?” I asked puzzled. “Well, I started out with Dad, and then got Mike and in the mean time I had you. You are the half.” My eyes rolled up inside my head searching for the meaning when he said, “Look, you are kind of a dude. Every one of my friends knows what a beast you are.” It was then I smiled, building to a laugh. I have been referred to as a beast, thug, and a dude. It is not the impression I had hoped would be my legacy, but I had to admit that I knew where it came from. I have stood nose to chest with my sons stating with great conviction, “Brought ya in, take your ass out.” I meant it, too.
I have been pressed at times from outsiders to show my worth as a mother, father and a fighter. I didn’t understand until after Dan had died how not having a father figure made kids vulnerable to outsiders, especially other adults. I had been shocked by how adults would bully my kids and me if I didn’t stand as tall as I could, as puffy as I could, defending all of us. I learned that lesson the hard way and never forgot. I had witnessed people who should have behaved better, push their way into our lives and trying to do emotional harm to my kids, for no other reason then there was no big, strong man to defend them. I always knew how important dads were, but this made it crystal clear to me that kids without dads had a much harder time in social circumstances. What ended up happening to me was I morphed into a hybrid of both father and mother. When needed I could stand up to the biggest coach, tallest teacher, scariest priest, most condescending principal and kick verbal ass if I had to, but I never had to get physical. Had I been pushed further to defend my kids, I probably would have gone the distance. Once during an altercation with a neighbor it nearly came to blows. Win, lose or draw, I was ready to be the man of the house. It was one of the few times my kids were absolutely speechless. I charged like a wild bull and the neighbor fled, sputtering profanities from a safe distance. It was after that my reputation of being the hybrid started to grow. My kids knew I was no push over and if you dared to try and do any kind of damage in any way shape or form to my kids, you had better be prepared for the dad in me. When those few moments happened, I surprised myself at my own strength. The really fascinating part was my voice dropped a solid octave when I was really pissed.
My boy was right, I guess, he had 2 ½ fathers. I, being the half, evidently made me full of tiger blood. I looked at my man/child. He is becoming so much more than I could have hoped. My mind rifles through memories as I gaze at his chiseled features, remembering him as a very small boy, so sweet, so innocent, when no one had died, or moved, or changed. He is a good man, a man with shared traits of all who came before him. Although, I only got credit for a half, I am in very good company with Mike and his dad. It is probably the best compliment he could have given me. It is certainly one I will always remember.
Sunday, July 15, 2012
Hell on Earth
So the idea was to write about our trip to New Orleans, and one day I will, but for now all hell broke loose and I am trying to get it back in its pen. My last couple of weeks, since the day after we got back from New Orleans, to be precise, life got hard. It got the kind of hard that breaks hearts and causes throbbing headaches. The very day Michael went back to his other home in Chicago, the air conditioner broke. It was a balmy 105 degrees. Having pets that are heat sensitive, I spent the day passing out ice packs and running fans in every corner of the room. Yes, I had to go out and buy fans, an expense that although was not an account drainer, was still unexpected and a pain. The next evening, more than 24 hours later it was fixed. Luckily, it was a simple thing that needed nothing further for now. The next travesty to come was the fender bender in my own driveway. One child hit another child's car and then proceeded to have a complete breakdown at midnight on July 4th. We had fireworks of a completely different kind. After making a loud and out of control scene, we all went to our respective corners. My cat, my lion king, suddenly had out of control diarrhea, leaving him and my bathroom a smelly, disgusting mess. At first, we all thought it was a stomach virus, a small and inconvenient thing. "Stinkopotamus better not come in my room," called my eldest daughter. She made many jokes with me making me laugh as we surveyed our very sick cat. We both knew he was in trouble. Had she not made me laugh, I would have probably cried for a week. Four days later I had to call the hospital to take him in to put him down. At twenty, he didn't owe anyone a damn thing. As I sat outside getting myself together enough to make the trip, my youngest son informed me that he was moving out, quite suddenly, and with what I thought was a ludicrous plan. Stunned, I sat staring at him trying to comprehend what he had just said. He had been making plans to move out and had failed to let me in on any of it. I had been blindsided. Thoroughly pissed, I got up from my seat and said, "I have to go kill my cat now," and left with Matches wrapped in a towel. In retrospect, after many conversations with his siblings, who I must say, had a very reasonable tone and demeanor, I decided to stop being angry and let go. I do not understand why things had to come down the way they did, like he was escaping from Alcatraz, but they did and now he is off in the world either going to make it, or not. At 21 years old, a man, he is on his own to figure out what he wants for himself. It is not the way I would have done it, or even understand why it went this way, but it did, and I found myself nursing another wound to my heart. He does not see why I am a little brokenhearted about how it all came down. He thinks I am controlling, while I think he is being thoughtless. He thinks I want to stifle him, while I think he doesn't plan enough. We are at an impasse for now. Michael talks to him, calmly, I might add, while I cannot. For now, I just can't. I don't think it is for lack of love, but rather lack of understanding of the others viewpoint. As his mother there will never be a day when I am completely objective. Where he sees adventure, I see danger. Where he sees possibility, I see homelessness and despair. I will grant you this makes me sound like a giant piss pot, and to that point I will concede. I have always looked very far down the road and pointed out hidden dangers to my children, terrified they might not recover from a devastating misstep. But as a human, I know how unhappy he has been, how lost he has felt, uncomfortable in his skin. This may be the very thing he needs to start doing for him in ways unexpected and happy. My toilet leaked and then proceeded to flood. At first it only flooded at night, and then it began to flood in earnest all day long. I would have to turn off the water every time I had to pee. I had tried to find where the leak was coming from, to no avail. Mike fixed it in about 20 minutes yesterday, when it had taken me all week to putter, being completely unable to diagnose the problem. With all this going on, Michael had been away. I was on my own to do what I had not done for 11 years, run my household alone. I was sitting outside with Michael talking quietly about how I had gotten my ass kicked at every turn for two weeks, now. Tears fell down my sagging face, past the large bags that hung under my weary eyes. 'I remember now what being on my own felt like and why I hated it so much. You would think I would be better at with all that practice." Michael hugged me, "It's a lot for anyone to handle, too much in fact." Yep, it was all too much to deal with at once. I have slept more the last two days than I have in weeks. At one point, I had not slept more than eight hours in three days.
I will write about my trip to New Orleans and all the newly formed perspective I garnered from that trip, I will. But for now, with embers still glowing from previous fires that had to be extinguished by me while I was alone, I am going to take full advantage of Michael being home and rest. I want to stock pile all the sleep and comfort I can just in case, Hell decides to escape, break loose, causing more chaos and wreaking havoc. I looked at my Michael darling, "Never leave me again." He said soft in my ear, "I never really do."
Sunday, July 8, 2012
The Long Life of the Lion King
Tuesday, July 3, 2012
Gaining Perspective Part 1
Monday, May 28, 2012
Remembrance
It's quiet this morning, the kind of quiet that allows for peaceful thinking and hushed conversation via the telephone with my youngest. She moved out yesterday to a place I have never seen. She wanted to go on her own terms, in her own way, driving her own car. She slipped out of the house with a few of her belongings and a mindset for new beginnings. Last night she called to let me know she got there and she was O.K. I felt the tug on my heart, but smiled as she got off the phone to unload her stuff. Later last night she sent a picture via text of her new home. Again, I smiled knowing she was happy in her new space and ready for the adventures ahead. I texted back, "Yay!" This morning she called to talk. She told me how everything looked, what she had to do to settle in and in her sleepy voice recalled her night's activities with her friends who had been living in Austin, and missing her. I know the feeling. When I got up this morning I felt odd not to see her or hear her in the kitchen doing her usual routine before she had to go to work. This morning there were no cheerful Betty noises, no coffee cup left on the kitchen table, no ipod playing loud music as she roamed the house. It was just really quiet. Mike is sleeping, sick and back from night shift. The others are sleeping as well from their respective night out. Christy and I had coffee last night talking to the wee hours about life stuff, job stuff and just stuff. We laughed and sipped until we each decided we had had enough. Dan kissed the top of my head as went off in his car driving off into the night. Tom had been out with friends. So this morning as they all sleep, it is quiet. The dogs are snoring, the cats are resting in their bathroom cabinet, Jim the rabbit is laying o his side totally relaxed and our sugar glider, Jeepers is sleeping in his sack. All is peaceful here at our home. I am the only awake enough to accomplish much of anything, but am choosing to enjoy the quiet of the day instead. At the risk of waking those fast asleep, I am choosing to putter around the house with minimal noise.
When Betty was little, she had gotten up really early one morning and had found me sitting on our front porch, sipping coffee, being quiet. She opened the large front door, peeking her head out she asked, "Mama, what are you doing all by yourself?" I beckoned her to the bench and sat her down next to me. "I am enjoying the peace and quiet," I said in a soft voice. Thinking she too had to keep her voice down, she whispered, "Aren't you lonely?" I remember smiling at my tiny child who had no understanding of the grownup need for quiet. "Yes, I am always lonely without you," and with that I hugged and kissed my waif, in her colorful pajamas.
Funny, how true that is fifteen years later. I am always lonely without her, even as I take in the quiet, peacefully drifting in and out of my own thoughts. This week will be another week of change. More moving, more quiet, more things that will feel very foreign to me. Even with Mike home, since he is on night shift, I barely see him. I just sighed. I seem to do that a lot lately, this deep sighing thing. It seems as though it is the physical manifestation of my mental state of acceptance. It is my way of reaching a point of surrender.
Just like my Betty, I have unseen adventures ahead. There is the long road ahead to destinations unknown. It is almost perfect that I am in this space at the exact time my youngest child is in it also. The universe in it's infinite wisdom has placed me where I may very well have the most understanding of what she is going through. It is the first time since this all began for us that I see any reason to it at all. I just sighed again. This time it was more of a "Oh, so that's what that is all about" sigh.
My three day weekend is coming to a close. There were no family picnics, no barbecues, no gatherings of any kind. We have no other family here so there is no where else for us to be, except together, like we are on our holidays. This morning as I watched the sun rise, the birds and butterflies awaken in the garden, I prayed for those who gave everything so I could enjoy this quiet. It is quite perfect, really, the solace of the morning, the sound of my deep sighs, the silent prayer for those who died in honor for the freedom my youngest child is taking full advantage of in order to become another great American.
It's a good day to remember how lucky we all are, and how many brave people from every corner of this nation, gave so much.
Friday, May 25, 2012
Don't let the Door Hit Ya
My child, my youngest is moving out tomorrow. I am happy for her, I am. I have watched her grow into a magnificent woman of character, strength and beauty. I am incredulous at the notion that it is our time to part. I knew one day when my baby was old enough she would take off and fly on her own. I also knew, her being my youngest child, my miracle baby, I would feel particularly torn about her departure.
It’s funny how much I want my kids to grow up and be strong independent people, but as they have, I find myself missing the days when they were little and we were together every day. I confess, that as I was raising my kids alone back then, there were days I thought I would pass out I was so tired of being together all the time, but also looking back, I see how much I grew up with them. I learned so much from my kids, the very best of each other was passed as if by osmosis. Shear proximity in our tiny house caused each of us to bare the other’s finger prints having been pressed hard on our flesh and our hearts.
I talk to my kids all the time, whether in short abbreviated spurts or long winded patio talks when we are relaxed, legs dangling over the side of the furniture as if we have forever. We are a close knit group of vagabonds, an Irish mafia, war buddies, each other’s keepers…we are family.
When one child moves on, the group sways in unison, the vacancy felt and silently acknowledged. It isn’t as though we want everyone to stay in one place stagnated, or even suffocated by our familiarity, but rather, even in understanding the necessity of the evacuation, we still feel the loss, even if for only a moment. So it goes with what will soon be more than half of our family. More than half of the original five and absolutely fifty percent of the current six will be departing. Some of these departures are normal, expected and even celebrated as our brood morphs from dependents to independent adults. Some of the departures feel wrong, awkward, forced and I see the worried looks on the faces of my family. I see the family sway, as if taking a blow to the stomach or in this case, their heart. We still have each other, and thanks to modern technology, we will have the ability to see each other over the web. It’s not as good a having them here, but it helps.
Little by little over the next year our family, my band of brothers and sisters will all be heading in different directions. I had once dreamed of a large family home with a front porch and an attic full of memories of our time together in a single home. I had thought we would settle in, while they were still so young, and stay in one spot; a spot the kids would come to for holidays, for dinners, for time with us. I am letting go of my dream, my nonexistent existence that I had longed for, but was unable to attain. We are headed for a much different life, a life that scares me sometimes in its unfamiliarity. I am becoming more accepting of the departure of my darlings, the loves of my life going to strike out on their own, and even my boyfriend, having to find his way back to me.
Tomorrow is another “goodbye for now”. I will peel my fingers off my child one by one, and help load the last of her most precious belongings into her car. I will pack her up knowing she may be back years later, or this may be the last time we live together as a unit. I am happy for her, I am. I have been preparing for this day for the last twenty years. I have taught her everything I know and I can see now how she needs to learn more on her own. Michael and I are so proud of our youngest. I see in my darling boyfriend’s eyes how much love he has for our daughter, how much he wants her happy.
Someone recently asked me how I was doing with all the changes going on in my household. I stood for what seemed like an eternity, staring blankly back at this person. The person looked back at me with what was an obviously “concerned for my mental health” look. Snapped out of my fog with the need to console the person, I responded, ‘Oh, I am fine. We are all just fine. Things are fine.” The truth is I am fine for the most part. This is what it is. Some things are extremely joyful and happy while others are complete heartbreak. It’s life, or at least it’s my life. I started looking into taking classes in order to not be alone; I was thinking of taking French or Spanish or dance. I will go to the movies, go to restaurants and eat at the bar; I will do what I used to do so many years ago on the few weekends when the kids were small, when they would go off to their dad’s house and I was alone. So much is coming to a close for us. I have decided to try and open some new doors.
Wednesday, May 9, 2012
It's A Birthday Thing
Sunday, May 6, 2012
Full Circle
I was sitting here thinking of what I could write that would make sound as if I have had some sort of insight as of late. What have learned lately? What new and interesting ideas have I had? Needless to say, I was having some trouble on that front. Nothing much for me has changed. My life, in it's current state, seemed very much the same...except there have been some interesting things I have noticed.
Mike had his beloved bike stolen. It was a top of line, hybrid he saved for years in order to get. We both felt really bad and figured we would have to write it off as a gift to charity, when suddenly we got a call from the police department that someone had turned it in and he would have to identify it at the police property room. There was a match and he will soon be able to pick it up. Now, we do not know what condition it is in, but someone had turned it in, so an honest person, had done the right thing.
Our youngest, the one who had a broken foot after a terrible accident, the one who was terrified of driving because she had lost friends to an accident, got her license. Not only does she now drive, but she has her very own car to do it in. I am the one who remains a little scared, but she is 20 years old and it is definitely time.
Mike and I had been downtown when we had seen that one of our favorite haunts was closed down. Saddened by the loss of another place we liked being taken, we figured, from the down economy, we gave up looking for another one like it. Mike was having to fill out paper work for his bike when he noticed it had moved across town and was not closed at all.
Little things keep popping up, small acts that impact our small lives keep showing up, giving us something to smile about.
For me, I discovered something wonderful. I met a young woman, who had been a battered wife. She was a single mother with a small child who had gone into the college for help. She was going back to school. When I first met her she looked down, tired, beaten. I gave her all the financial aid advice I had to give and I looked her square in the eye. I took all of her in, seeing myself, not that long ago, just trying to keep it together. Recently, I saw her again. She had color in her cheeks. She smiled easily and although she was still tired, she was doing what she had to do in order to build a better future for her and her child. She is a massage therapist, like I used to be. She is a single mother, like I used to be. We made plans for her to come to my house for massages, this time I will be getting one rather than giving one. I had come full circle. "You remember me?" she asked stunned. "Oh, yes, I still pray for you. I have prayed for you since we first met. I will never forget your eyes and your face. I have been willing my strength to you since I last saw you," I said. She looked at me so shocked. "I can't believe you remembered who I was." I put my hand on her back, "I knew what you were facing. I have been you. I wanted you to know one day you would be happy again, and you will."
There is a shift, albeit a slight one, there is definitely a shift going on in my life. Last week I got to do some things at work I just love doing. I got to talk to prospective students. It is my very favorite thing to do. No one, and I do mean no one, believes in higher education more than I do. I have been pushing that on my own kids and their friends since they could walk. I am legitimately excited about people going back to school. I had so much fun talking to the high school kids about college, even with a subject matter as dry as financial aid. It's my thing, right down to my shoes. I know they feel it, too. I know when I connect with them, when they see how much I believe what I am saying. I am not so much selling the school as I am telling them about my passion for education. I believe education isn't something, it's everything.
I got sick at the end of the week with a fever and hacking cough. I got a full on chest cold that had me curled into a ball on the couch for several days. I ached, couldn't breathe and my head felt like it weighed a thousand pounds. Today, I felt almost normal. I still break into the occasional body wracking cough, but I am up and around and even went to the grocery store. My newly formed attitude of curiosity about the shift, well, it is comforting to me. I fell inside much better than my outsides would show.
Michael's moving date is looming very close in the future. I began crying on my way to the store, in my car. I stopped myself before it all got out of hand. I tried to reassure myself with the newly noted shift. I began a prayer in my head, hoping God could take a moment and listen to my heart. "Please let him stay. Please allow this to work out and us be together. 'Let no man put asunder'". My world that has been so out of kilter, for a few moments, several times this week things were put right again. I got to witness goodness an several different levels of my meager existence. There enough of them I could take solace and have a patch of peace. My grandmother used to say, "You have forgotten who you are" when she would see me come close to giving up. Not to worry, Grandma, I am not going to give in just yet.
Thursday, April 26, 2012
Goodnight, Moon
I am having another restless night. Not so much sleepless, I just happened to sleep too much in the early part of it. I awoke in the wee hours and am fully rested, so here I am wide awake while the rest of my world is fast asleep. I am not completely distraught at having been awakened by my own thoughts. Some parts of this, this sleepless wrangling with my thoughts is good. I enjoy the quiet, the necessary nothingness, so I can gather myself into a place a conscious thoughtfulness, a place of centered mindfulness, versus the scattered, somewhat manic paced daylight, where I am running mentally all day long.
I am worried, a useless emotion that garners nothing more than an anxious physiological response versus a mentally stable one. It wears me out wondering where will live a year from now, wondering which direction to point our family in order to find a place to call home. My kids and I have been talking recently about rolling consequences. The discussions have been about how as an adult how karmic experiences as a grown up last so much longer than those of a child. Make a mistake as a child and the punishment is usually swift and temporary. Make a sizable mistake as an adult and the consequences can come in waves rolling over you for possibly years. I think we, as parents, try and teach our children to avoid the big life altering mistakes that lead directly to regret, but unfortunately, much of the time we realize that our children have to figure out at least part of it on their own. It's a parent's heartbreak watching children make mistakes we know will haunt them for awhile. It is in those times I back off the punishment side of parenting because I know the world will punish them enough. We, as a family have not faced some of the traumatic events that can rip apart a child and their dreams, but still we have seen our fair share of the ugly side of learning. While I talk to my children, who now are not really children at all, we talk about our futures. We have to acknowledge that at some time, in the not so distant future, we will split apart and live in different parts of the country. One is planning a move back north, one is planning a move further west in Texas, one is planning a move across town about 45 minutes away, and Michael, well, he is headed away from everyone. This is not what I had ever thought would happen, while I was raising my kids, being fractured into multiple parts, like this. When my kids were small, I had thought we might live near each other and spend holidays together. I had thought I would be rocking grandchildren on my front porch. Now, I don't even own that porch and live in another state. It's a bit funny, how much life changes as the years pass.
As a rational being I know for a fact that worrying will garner me nothing positive, but I am afraid, I am unable to make it all go away. For the most part, I live everyday much as I have always done, treating things as they come, doing triage to take care of my family of 6. Sometimes, I get stuck in the web of my own thoughts wondering how this will all turn out. I have no control. That is my primary thought these days. I have no control.
My son and I were talking about drinking. Wait, I have a point here. He and I were discussing how neither of us likes the out of control feeling of alcohol. There is this really unsettling gut feeling about getting drunk, about not having control over your own body, mind and emotions that keeps us sober. The other thing we talked about was how much trust you have to have with the people you are with when you are smashed. Neither of us has ever been comfortable putting our fate in someone's hands. We laughed while we both admitted to having trust issues. For us, it is better to handle our own affairs, than to discover we have put our faith in the wrong people. The tie in here is that it is the lack of control. My kids think I am a control freak, just ask them, and they will gladly tell you about all of my rules, advice, questions, blah, blah. Yeah, they are not wrong, but I will say in my defense that I have experienced the rolling consequences of trusting the wrong people. Ooh, there are the ugly trust issues again, but rather than to try and control everything, I try and control things I think are imperative to our well being. Remembering there are 6 of us, most of my day is putting out fires. The paper work alone for 6 adults is enough to deplete an entire forest. The worry for me is mostly how we will all do, when we are not together anymore. While I remain confident that we will survive living apart, in different cites, in different states, spread out like peanut butter, I wonder how happy we will be. Cognitively I know there is no "they all lived happily ever after" without the conscious mindset to make it so, but will we have the strength? Will we be able to maintain it? I have no control.
My alarm just went off. It's time for me to get up. I think that is apropos for this blog. I do think it is time for me to get up; up from being down too long, up from being dragged down by the worry.
I think it's time for me to get up, way up, and find a way to stay there, at least for as long as I have been down.
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