Finding the Bottom and Working Your Way Up

I was thinking about how I have had to work my way through being unemployed, and what's that meant for my personal, emotional state. I have 2 someones close to me, very close, mind you, who have been going through something very similar. I have watched these young adults get creamed by the economy and some attempts to help others, who have taken advantage of them. The inevitable phone calls are gut wrenching and I listen as they tell me the latest saga of getting wiped out by an other's inability to understand the importance of money. Money is power, but it is also energy. Those who do not have money realize very quickly how drained they are just to stay afloat. People who are not living in fear, are quick to tell those who are that money isn't everything. It's true enough, but when you on the bottom, it's hard to feel anything but terrified about living day to day. Money buys food and shelter. It buys insurance for your car, lights for your home and communication for the outside world. Money isn't everything, but it's not nothing. It's to be respected for the power that it yields. To me that is the lesson. My young people are finding out the hard way, that not everybody gets that they are supposed to show respect and gratitude for what they have and what they are given. As others take and take and take, without any forethought to what might happen to the person they are taking from, I watch my young ones fall further and further down the rabbit hole, all because they wanted to help someone they thought was in dire need.

I know why folks get cynical about helping anybody, because we have all been taken at one point in our lives or another. We have these really good intentions that somehow get twisted and distorted and bent so badly they are no longer recognizable. Becoming cynical and jaded is not inevitable, however I do think it's important to step back and look at where everything went horribly wrong. Finding out what is helpful and what is is going to be the equivalent of tying an anchor around one's neck needs time to be figured out. I don't think "The road to hell is paved with good intentions". That makes charitable people sound naive and slightly stupid. I think the road to hell is paved with good intentions with no plan, follow through and ability to see clearly who it is you are trying to help. I am more of a "God helps those who help themselves", kinda girl. Don't get me wrong I am all about the charities and generosity, but in the event of a plane crash or personal crash, one has to put their own oxygen mask on first.

My fear for my young ones is not that they will not recover, that is why this old relic is still around, to help them back onto their feet, but rather that they will from this point on view the world and the people in it through dark glasses that won't allow the light to come in. I feel compelled to prop them up long enough for them to see not everyone will "screw them over". Not everyone will take advantage without conscience and leave them for dead. For one of my young ones that is exactly what has recently taken place. My job is to try and get them turned around, so they realize it is not selfish to care for one's self. It is not selfish or childish to be mindful everyday to do what is necessary to re-fuel one's mind, body and soul. The lesson for folks who are natural givers is a tough one. I don't know of a single person in my life who hasn't gone through it. I can honestly say I know some really lovely people who never recovered from being "taken" and now live very guarded lives. It's heartbreaking because all they wanted to do was help someone out of a bad situation and they got drug under the sea of crap the other person was living in.

I have no advice as to how you know who is going to receive the help and one day show the respect and gratitude they should. Here's what I do know: I know that not everybody knows what to do with help they get and if you can't afford to give it free and clear, then don't. I know that I cannot be changed by others bad behavior and will continue to do what I can for those who are in dire straights. And I know that the folks who are takers will have their day when all they have been given will fall firmly on their heads and they will receive exactly what they dished out. In the mean time, I will prop up my young ones and keep my hand extended to them as they fight their way out of the dark waters of heartbreak. So I may be unemployed, but I have a job as a flotation device and I am more than happy to do it.

Changing Faces

I am in the process of changing my facebook page to my maiden name. It is the name I use as my author name and the one I use for this blog. I am changing more than my page, I am changing internally, too. I feel the shift as if I were having growing pains, the kind I felt when I was a child. The twangs are similar, but I am not going to get physically taller, unfortunately. I will however grow spiritually, emotionally and intellectually. In the end, just as when I was a child I will benefit from the pain I feel now, but it is hard to see the end result when I am in the midst of the process.

I have been asked, "Why change pages?" I don't have a pat answer for that except to say things weren't working as I would have hoped and it was time to do something different. Why use my maiden name? Because the truth is, I miss my name. I have given it up a couple of times now, and I really miss being mind, body, soul and name who I was when I started this journey forty six years ago. I had the audacity to say I wanted to be the person I was born to be. I took my husband's name because it was important to him. My love for him is bigger than my own need to feel authentic. This change gives me the chance to have my cake and celebrate it too. I love being Michael's wife. I look at it as if it were a privilege, because ultimately it is. He is the kindest man I have ever known. It was unthinkable for me to turn down his request to be his wife in every aspect including his name. I feel honored that he is wanting to share his his name, home and life with me. How could I refuse?

But what about me? I am no different than anybody else when it comes to marriage and family. I have lost myself multiple times while I took care of those I love, living day to day, doing what is necessary for them and attempting to keep my family intact. This feeling is not male or female. Every person I know regardless of gender has battled their way through a mine field of what is right to sacrifice and what is too far. What I am certain of is I needed to feel myself in my own skin with my own name, the one I was born with, the one I grew up with, the one that makes me feel the most like me.

It's ironic to me to feel this way now, when not that long ago when I was in my twenties I was willing to be anybody else, but me. I hated who I was and thought being anybody else was so much better. I thought everybody had answers that I failed to find in every aspect of life. I felt like a failure. It was not the first time I felt like that, and I found out, that it would be a recurring theme for me through years later. It wasn't until I was in my late thirties that I discovered that I missed being the dorky, goofy, ridiculously verbal me. I liked the fact that I blurted out things that were always honest and mostly inappropriate. I liked the fact that I loved to my bones and much to my younger self's dismay remained open and vulnerable to a world that often times squashed me like a bug. I found that I could revel in my optimism without fear of recrimination from my cognitive self. I discovered that I could be exactly who I was born to be, without the utter embarrassment that I had known as a child. I am not even a little perfect. I am just me and that is good enough. Finally, that is good enough for me.

It has taken all the years I have been a beating heart for me to be comfortable in my own skin. I still work diligently on being a better person, kinder, more forgiving, more loving, more accepting of others even when I disagree with what they think or I don't understand. I don't always need to understand. What I need to do is listen, openly, with my heart in full gear before my ears ever start to do their work. I try and remember that today is all I have for now and that my job is to say, "I love you" while I still can, because there will come a day when I will no longer be around to do it. Being on the right side of my own history is my number one priority.

Changing my facebook page to my maiden name is not earth shattering, it will not cure cancer and it won't change the world even in the slightest. What is does do is give a little back to me. It will be daily reminder that I am who I was supposed to be and now is the time for me to embrace it, cherish it and use all my experiences as a positive force in the world around me. It's my way of saying I am still here.

It's a Dog's Life.

I have a doggy dynamic in my household. They let us live here and pay all the bills, all the while being petted, bathed and pampered. We get to walk them, feed them and occasionally get to use the living room, their primary domain. We are definitely at their beck and call. Mike, back when he was single didn't have pets. He felt unsure about having dogs and cats and whatever else was living in the cages at the time. After all these years, he's a complete sucker for the animals and spoils them as much as I do.

I have officially rescued the Shepard /whippet mix, and the cha-wienie in the first picture, the two bratty cats and adopted the sugar glider that resides in our house. The wiener in the second picture was bought from a breeder for my 40th birthday. My daughter has a wild rabbit named Tuvia, that she got in a pet store when he was way too young to be there, but his mother was no where to be found. She had had rabbits all her life and felt compelled to rescue him. He is better trained than most dogs and definitely smarter.

I am not a dog owner, I am owned by my dogs. There is not one aspect of my life they don't willingly or willfully intrude in. I love animals, so I am OK with the fact that they will interrupt my sleep, get fed first and have trained me to give them doggy treats at their every whim. I have been trained well by my animals. They took the time to be repetitive, rewarding me with tail wags and open signs of affection. I think this is the true meaning of Pavlov's dogs, they are the ones who do the teaching, while I am ringing the bell as fast as I can.

I am watching my older dog, Asti, begin to show real signs of age. She( the large mix breed) has been with me now for almost 14 years. She is part of me now. We know each other's mood and idiosyncrasies. We forgive each other our faults and allow the other room to grow and grow older. We are both moodier and handle chaos with lessening grace. We require increased quiet, better food and a sterner schedule. She gets me.

I was recently referred to as a bitch. I was dutifully insulted and was about to take the head off of the person who accused me of such behavior. That is not an acceptable word for any woman, and I have been very quick to point out to anybody who dares utter it, just what I think. The person said they meant it in a good way and then they smiled. "Hmmm" was all I could say. I decided not to waste my breath educating a rock, so I left it there. Afterward, I sat down trying to think of how being referred to as a bitch could ever be a good thing. I felt my blood pressure begin to rise, when it occurred to me that Asti, my darling and most loved dog is a bitch. I have never called her that, but it is the correct label for a female dog. I thought about her character, her sense of loyalty, her guardianship over me and my family. She has never once let me down.

If the word bitch means anything like my dear dog then I will let it pass. I realize that lately I have been a little moodier. I know I have been less patient and somewhat surly. I get the fact that my inability to listen to B.S. right now makes me seem less tolerant. Truly, if there was any real bitch in the house, it would probably be me, since Asti doesn't have a cross thought or intention in her.

I think I have a better system for categorizing my moods. When I am in a loving mood, I am all Asti. When I am needy and pathetic and hard headed, then I am Schnitzel and when I am completely befuddled and child like, then I am BoBo. Those are the only names that really OK with me. Anything else just feels mean.

Humilty or Humiliation?

I just reread my last blog. It made me cry. Not because I am still feeling sorry for myself, but rather that I felt so bad about being me. It hasn't been easy these last few months and yet I can't help but feel there is something bigger at play here. I feel as though I may be in a defining moment. That is what hard times for me are-defining moments, where I have to choose to be better or be gone. Being gone has never been something I have actively wanted for any real length of time. I have wanted to run away a few times, like a hobo with a sack at the end of a stick getting no farther than my driveway, but I have never really wanted to be permanently gone from my life no matter how weird things got.

They have make-up now where you can buy hope in a jar. The idea is cute. We have asked for it for years and now we can have it, or so they say. Real hope comes from times like what I am going through right now, where I am having to redefine my life professionally and it is affecting my personal life dramatically. Starting over isn't easy. I have started over a few times now and I can honestly say, it is not easy, but it is so worth it when I get to the other side. My hope is to be patient and not do anything incredibly stupid while I am in flux. I feel my bones and muscles stretching one more time as I wait for the clouds to part. I am definitely having growing pains. One thing I have learned is that I am not 100% sure I was as grateful for my crappy jobs as I should have been. I got cocky and didn't take the time to be grateful that I had a job, even if it was a crappy one. Of course, hindsight is 20-20. Now I can see how very clearly that I should have been more grateful at the time. That isn't to say I should have stayed longer than I did. Had I altered that course, I would have never wrote the book and the outlines for the next three books to come. Writing would have remained a distant dream and the notebooks would still be covered in dust. Also, I wouldn't have the opportunity to be writing a blog, something I had originally never aspired to. Who knew I would like it so much? It is the Butterfly effect. One domino falls and the rest go in time. Grateful for the crappy jobs means at the time, being immersed in the moment at hand.

Here's what I am grateful for today: I am grateful I have two hands that still work. I am grateful that although my eye sight is fading I can still see the faces of the people I love and watch the dogs and bratty cats play. I can dream another, bigger dream if I so choose, and I so do! It ain't over until the fat girl sings and I am not yodeling yet. Today I am all about Sunday, full immersed, bathing in the hours as if they were sunlight. I am going to watch the clock and will the minutes to feel like hours. I am going to sit my butt down and make a list of all the things I want to do today that will make me happy. Today I will remember that being humble is something I need like air, but humiliation is a waste of time, when I could be doing something I love, say, like writing.

How Grateful Can One Person Be?

I watched a movie tonight about a writer. Actually, it was a blogger who got published and then made into a movie. I watched "Julie and Julia" and then I promptly burst into tears. I felt ridiculous of coarse, for wanting so badly what others have. Jealousy is not my usual modus operandi, however tonight I felt weak and pathetic and it poured out of my face like a rushing river.
Today was not a good day. I didn't feel like I could turn the day around with my usual good humor, or ability to see the sunny side of things or even grasp at my normal straws of trying desperately to be patient until the bigger picture took shape. No, today, I snapped, crackled and popped off at anyone who got in my way and began looking at things through a warped glass that was not only half empty, it was shattered and on the floor. Today, I could not for the life of me see the light at the end of the tunnel.
I have been moving my small stacks of my book around from room to room, as we continue on our renovation in order to sell our beloved house. We are selling because I am unemployed and unable to get a job. It is a subject that brings me to tears every time I think about it and I am unable to stop the pity party that inevitably ensues. I look at the books I have been unable to sell and berate myself for trying something so extraordinary when clearly I am not. I question what in the hell I thought I was doing setting out to try and write a book that anybody in their right mind would want to read. I have been having these conversations in my head for some time now. They kicked into high gear when it became clear I could not find work and was for whatever reason unemployable. My job status has been a constant kick to my ego- filled crotch. My employment is what saved me and my kids so many times. My ability to work kept me sane when Danny died. Work paid our bills and gave me purpose to get up in the morning, when just the night before I prayed to die in my sleep so I wouldn't have to face all the endless crap I was going through. It made me feel as if even if I was a bad daughter, wife, ex-wife and mother, at least I was good at my job. But now I have no work. I don't even have the dream of the book anymore. It is done and rather stagnant. So today, my darlings, was utter crap.
It happens, these days that kick our asses and leave us for dead. I don't have them often, but make no mistake, they come and when they do, they come with a vengeance. I have a right to cry like anybody else, that I would naturally empathize for and sympathize with. I have the right to feel vacant and hopeless and bereft of any good will toward anything at all. I have the right to question why things have turned out the way they have and shake my fist in the air as if I was going to fight to the death all of my invisible demons, especially the ones in my head that tell me how worthless I am.
Am I grateful today? I mean, that is my thing isn't it? Gratitude no matter how much crap is sitting on your head? Right now I have volumes, giant heaping, steaming piles of dung covering every inch of my psyche. In spite of how angry, hurt, devastated, crushed, and just plain SCARED I am, I still have a very small bit of gratitude left. I didn't want to have it. I wanted to be pissed off and stay that way until something big happened that showed me a way out of my mess. But that is not what happened. What happened is, I thought about how much I wish the book would sell and how lucky I was to have it done and in my hand, so that selling it was even an option. I thought about the letter I just got yesterday from the woman who wrote me and said she loved the book and though she borrowed the copy she just finished reading, she was in the process of buying her own copy. The evil side of me said, "It's only one copy" only to be drowned out by the hopeful side of me that continues to pray that the book will grow in it's own time like a fine wine, one book, one reader at a time.
How grateful can one person actually be? Sometime s not very, but if given the chance to cry and take a moment to fall apart there is undoubtedly a shred of gratitude there somewhere amongst the balled up pieces of tear stained tissues.

After Midnight

Today is the last day of 2009. Being New Year's Eve, it is my personal tradition to look back and ponder about the last year of my life and see how far I have come. This year it is my great pleasure to do so. I am miles ahead of where I started on January 1, 2009.

This past year, so much has happened for my family, my friends and myself. Of course, publishing my book has been the greatest professional thing I have done in a very long while. It is also one of the most personal fulfilling things I have ever done. Not so much because I spewed out horrible family secrets that may have allowed me to unburden myself, as much as I hoped to inspire people to hang on during difficult times. It was, and is, my way of giving hope and extending my hand out to those who feel alone. My book is an extension of me. My writing is personal and connected directly to my heart, which is the exact reason I am a non-fiction writer. Don't get me wrong, I love fiction and have spent many evenings curled up with a favorite writer, allowing myself the opportunity of escape. It is as much a guilty pleasure for me as chocolate. And this girl loves her chocolate! I write, the way I talk and think. I believe my purpose is to not preach, but gently remind folks that we are in this together. I believe in the humanity of man. I believe that good will always conquer evil, in the end. I believe that if you live long enough you will see real evil and debauchery, but you will witness far more miracles than treachery, experience far more love than hate, as long as you remind yourself to keep your hand open and unclench your fist.

This year has been a year of change for us. It has been incredible in some ways and extremely heart breaking in others. The ground forever shifting beneath our feet, we have had times of great difficulties keeping our footing and standing tall, readying ourselves for the next step.

I have lost two really amazing men in my life, who had tremendous influence on who I would become and the path I would take as an adult. As my tears fell, I couldn't help but feel deep and lasting gratitude for having them in my life at all. It is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all. This year's "aha" moment for me was realizing what that small, contrite saying actually meant. Their words and imprint will live on as long as the people they touched draw breath and then on in the generations to come. For me, they will live on forever.

Last summer I was hurt terribly by some people who are supposed to be in my inner circle. I was crushed at first, but in time I have realized to appreciate those who do tuly love me even more. For me that was the lesson-to appreciate all the love and support that has come my way for no other reason than out of sheer generosity. Instead of feeling my heart ball up and protect itself, I found myself opening up, one petal at a time, blooming fully in the presence of those who have extended their open hands to me when I needed them the most.

I watched my beloved dachshund become a paralyzed. I sobbed at the idea of having him "put down" due to his injury. One friend led us to a place where we were able to save our precious pup's life and he is fully recovered against all odds. Seeing him bound through the yard, run with the other dogs and walk the trails near our home is a daily miracle that takes my breath away.

My book gave me back my hometown friends I have missed so very much. There is something really incredible about growing up with folks in a small town. Although the population might be small, the love and support from them has been larger than life. My re-connection with my life long friends has been nothing short of amazing. Again, awestruck, I sit and wonder at all the love that we share on a "social networking" site, and how we all try and protect, defend and take care of each other.

I have watched some of my children fail hard and learn to come back form it, working that much harder and appreciating things that much more. Big life lessons don't come cheap or easy, but once learned, begin to show the pure brilliance of the gem hidden away inside. I have watched all of my kids, mine and those I take on as my own, become beautiful men and women; those deserving of respect, being honorable and leading their generation and our future to a better place.

I have experienced a deeper love for my darling Michael. We have fought more this year than any other in our history due to growing pains on both sides, but never with malicious intent or undue pain. We have learned what it is to have a fair fight and still love, not as much, but more. To respect not as before, but with a renewed vigor. We have a right to be angry at times. We have a right to be scared of the future, a right to question unfairness and the lack of justice. It is at the end of the day we look to each other and know that together there is nothing we can't accomplish. There is no hurdle too high, no difficulty too great that we can't over come by just being together and doing our best for ourselves and each other. In the spirit of love, all things are possible.

Tonight when we put the year 2009 to rest, I feel luckyand blessed to have been around to see it to it's end. I look forward to the new year with such hope. Maybe I am a naive dreamer, but I have glimpsed the life of cynicism and I have no want for it. I never want to feel so jaded that my heart closes it's door, bolted tight away from the possibility of feeling every minute in the years to come. Whatever the future has in store for my family and me, the one thing I am absolutely sure of, is my need to feel fully present, engaged and feel every inch of it.

This has been quite a year. I have been awestruck by how fortunate I am to have friends, family and knowledge that when I tally the year end results, it just gets better and better and better.

Happy New Year! May the year 2010 bring you more joy than heart can hold, more prosperity than your hands can share and more love than you ever felt possible!

I Was Blind Sided By My Wonderful Life

"It's a Wonderful Life" is my all time favorite movie. I watch it every Christmas because I seem to need reminding every year of how very fortunate I am. And every year, I feel the warm gratitude of knowing I am loved and I am so blessed to love others deeply. I feel as if George Bailey and I are very similar in many, many ways.
The house bought for the children and I after my divorce from their father was an old 1923 bungalow that needed overhauling from top to bottom. The paint was peeling, the cabinets were original, the furnace creaked and moaned and the garage leaked. The kitchen looked as if it hadn't been touched in 35 years and the wooden floors were worn and dull. It had two porches and they were both in dire need of repair. What it did have was a decent roof for over our heads, a fireplace to warm us and my feeling of hope and home. I called it the Bailey house for obvious reasons. It even had a finial on the banister that would come off in your hands as you climbed the steps of the porch of the kitchen. I loved that house because I was able to buy it for my kids and me, so we had a soft place to fall. For all it was not, what it contained was everything I loved to my core and held precious to my heart, so for that it was the best house in the world.
Last night we went out to see a movie for the first time on Christmas day. Going to the movies was never something I thought I would ever do, but this Christmas half of my children were stranded out of town because of work, and every tradition we normally held seemed doomed by circumstance. I saw Christmas start to slide downhill for my family because the sadness of what we didn't have seemed so much bigger than the joy of what we did. I felt that if I didn't do something fairly quickly, all would be lost for this holiday, and I hated to see Christmas be reduced to another day in our lives as if nothing special had happened.
Christmas Eve we had all tried to do our usual routine, except this time we opened all the gifts. Watching "It's a Wonderful Life " together went off without a hitch. The fire roared in the fireplace, the Christmas tree and all the other lights I scattered around the house were lit and twinkling. After the movie we opened the few gifts we had and something felt terribly wrong. Things didn't fit, were the wrong color or were just plain wrong. Tom gave Mike and I a tent for future camping trips together and that fit like a glove, but the other stuff, well, you could feel that something was off.
Christmas morning there were no gifts to open and everybody woke, had their coffee and laid around for the bulk of the day. It was if no one knew what to do. Being broken in half had us feeling lost. I had defrosted a ham for Christmas dinner, and my youngest told me she was having difficulty eating pork these days. I didn't want to fight and I wanted her to know she was allowed to have her own opinions, so I had to come up with an alternative for her to eat. The plan for our traditional meal went out the window and I ended up making ham and green beans with spaghetti for Betty. We filled our plates with the odd combination and sat around the table. Mike nicknamed the meal "spamghetti" and made us laugh. I had decided to let go of the restrictive traditions that didn't seem to work for us and try and be more flexible. We laughed and took pictures and made jokes and laughed some more.
Since we were ditching most of the traditions anyway , we decided to get out of the house and go see a movie. We went to see "Blind Side". The theatre was packed to the gills to see the latest release. Our little theatre showing the movie had some, but not a lot of people in it. We sat together and watched, laughed sometimes, got choked up sometimes and felt like there really is hope for the world yet. It made me think about the kids I have "adopted" in the last few years. It made me think of one boy in particular. He recently graduated from college with his teaching degree. I love him as if he were my very own son. He has parents. He loves his parents very much. They do all they can for him. I merely fill in the gaps when I can. This young man had to claw his way through college. He worked all the time, missing holidays, and breaks. He had a bed with no comforter on it, in freezing weather. I bought the bedding. It was just me filling in the gaps. Oh, and just to clarify, when I say me, I mean me and Michael. I am so very proud of our "adopted" son. I love him deeply and squeeze him every chance I get. I scold him via telephone or email if I hear he is not doing what I feel is in his best interest. I offer my love and advice and counsel to this young man, whom we have grown to treat as family. He still works multiple jobs, as does the rest of my family. We are all doing the best we can with what we have.
Somewhere between the two movies I have seen this holiday season, lies my family. They are made up of every race, creed, gender and personality type. They look just like me and nothing like me (this includes my birth children, as well). If the quote " I think therefore I am" is true then surely "I love therefore I am blessed" should follow. This Christmas fell way short of any expectations I had at the beginning of this year for what it would look like. We were supposed to be able to go back home to Ohio this year because Mike had vacation. We were supposed to be able to take all our birth kids with us. We were supposed to be all together, happy, surrounded by friends and family and snow. None of what I had planned came to fruition, however the unexpected gratified feeling of knowing how loved you are, and how much you love others...well, it's no vacation, but it has been the best present I have had in years.