I'm in a pissy mood tonight. Maybe because I've yet to eat dinner. Or because I miss my kid who's been at her Dad's since last Friday. Or it could be because I've worked late for the past three nights and I'm extremely ready for the four day weekend coming up. Or maybe it's because I'm just tired of all the bullshit, day in and day out. And all the things I'd love to change if I could. If there was a way, if there was enough money, if there was enough time. If, if, if, if, if...
And there's nothing I can do about it even though my brain keeps throwing out things like when, how, and where, as if it's expecting some easy answer to just float by and say, "Oh yeah. I know you've been waiting for me. Here's your solution."
It ain't that easy baby. Trust me on this. When you get yourself in a pickle, there is no such thing as quick and easy. It just doesn't happen that way, because the road out of hell is always a lot longer than the road in.
And with that jolly good thought, I'm off to eat dinner. Woo Hoo!
Long Distance Letter
Hard to believe, but I was in Greece yesterday - it was beautiful. I swam in the Aegean Sea, ate a mid-morning snack in a tiny village of fresh tomatoes & cucumbers with feta cheese. Local wine and ouzo also served, but since I was driving a 4 wheel drive vehicle up a mountain, I only had a sip of each. The view from the top of the mountain was tremendous - 27 hairpin turns on the way up on a road only about one vehicle wide - even met a full size bus coming from the other direction on one of the turns, but we all managed to maneuver around each other without incident. I was up to see the sunrise over Greece yesterday and I cried both coming into Greece and leaving...I really could live there.
We have a sea day today and I am taking it very easy - this has been a very intensive trip - lots of walking and climbing and humid, Mediterranean summer heat. Tomorrow we will dock in a Citiavecchio (sp?) and take a shuttle into Rome; we will then do Rome on our own for the day - the Vatican, St.Peter's square, the Trevi Fountain, and whatever else comes up.
I can't tell you how much I have enjoyed seeing Europe - it goes without saying. I would like to return to both Italy and Greece - but I should tell you that Croatia was very beautiful. I saw a picture of Dubrovnick when it was bombed by Serbia in 1991 - to see it today, you would never know that it was a country at war 15 years ago. Just so you know, the Italians take things a lot slower; I saw buildings that had been damaged by bombs in WWII that were still not repaired.
I miss you both - it seems like ages since I've heard your voices. I love you both and treasure you both. See you soon.
All my love,
YM
PS - As much as I wanted to stay in Greece, I couldn't - I have to see you both again.
Awwww ... Isn't my Mom just the absolute best???
Perhaps Somebody is Home
I tried. I really did. But nothing came to mind when I thought to write. And this dry spell that started all those months ago just keeps taking its toll, leaving me with more of nothing much to say. And I wish I could say more and not the less I'm growing more and more familiar with. A growing silence that can't be recalled.
A Lodge Worth Leaving Home For
I think I might have mentioned something about Bren and I taking our kids on a mini-holiday a few weeks ago, and since I just got my film developed over the weekend, I thought I would share at least two of them. Above is the lodge we stayed at while in Queensbury, NY which is part of the Six Flags/Great Escape theme park. And below is a rather dark and dingy shot (that would have been far better if I had remembered to kick the flash on)of the upstairs tree house unit of the indoor water park.
To say that the kids had a great time would be putting it mildly, although if you ask the adults, they might be more prone to remember two of the little ones heaving over the toilet bowl getting sick in the middle of the night.
Awake at 2:45 AM
Writing this early in the morning, or this late at night, whichever one you consider it to be, is never a good sign when it comes to me. Few things pull me from my bed from a deep sleep. A loud noise in the middle of the night. A dream too real to continue on with. And now it seems it's the things I don't hear which seem loudest of all.
It would be in my best interest not to care, though try as I might there are moments when I don't do as well doing that as I should, momentarily allowing myself to plug back in and feel where I'd rather not feel at all. Detachment is the far better option that allows me the security to feel nothing. No hurt. No rejection. No expectations. No disappointment. But it takes a true master of control to remain so disaffected by everything around her, and I'm afraid that though I am quite good at it, it's not a skill at which I exceed at being my very best.
I miss what I would describe as passion in my life. Miss it like one would miss breathing if all of a sudden our lungs stopped working on their own leaving us to rely on forced air being pushed into our chests to make it rise and fall. Without passion, the promise of something more falters. And what we're left with is the feeling that we're living a half life, a life incomplete of itself. A life that lacks an element of joy.
And what I want is something more to come home to. To open up the door with a smile on my face with the same eagerness of a child waiting to hear the final bell on the last day of school, heralding the beginning of summer. I want the rush of euphoria, the tingle of happiness down my spine as I make my way home each night from a long day at work. I want the promise of companionship that offers the safety and security of love, and a friendship that would not falter even in the worst of storms.
They say good things come to those who wait, but it seems to me that I've been waiting all my life for nothing much to happen. If I were a gambler I'd be sitting before you with empty pockets, for my choices each time that they are made are never on the crowd favorite, or what some may call the sure thing. I can pick them, but seldom has it been where they've panned out.
I guess what it comes down to is that in order to cut ones losses, one must truly cut their losses. And one must be able to wake up the morning, present themselves with a new day, and give all their effort to making it a day worthy of the passing of time. Allowing youself to stagnate, to give in, or resign yourself to things being the way they are with no hope for change is not the answer. Sometimes it is the slightest change and effort on our part that makes all the difference, though these moves often require our bravest face to do so. LeAnn Rimes says it best with one line in a song, "Fear of leaving is no reason to stay."
It would be in my best interest not to care, though try as I might there are moments when I don't do as well doing that as I should, momentarily allowing myself to plug back in and feel where I'd rather not feel at all. Detachment is the far better option that allows me the security to feel nothing. No hurt. No rejection. No expectations. No disappointment. But it takes a true master of control to remain so disaffected by everything around her, and I'm afraid that though I am quite good at it, it's not a skill at which I exceed at being my very best.
I miss what I would describe as passion in my life. Miss it like one would miss breathing if all of a sudden our lungs stopped working on their own leaving us to rely on forced air being pushed into our chests to make it rise and fall. Without passion, the promise of something more falters. And what we're left with is the feeling that we're living a half life, a life incomplete of itself. A life that lacks an element of joy.
And what I want is something more to come home to. To open up the door with a smile on my face with the same eagerness of a child waiting to hear the final bell on the last day of school, heralding the beginning of summer. I want the rush of euphoria, the tingle of happiness down my spine as I make my way home each night from a long day at work. I want the promise of companionship that offers the safety and security of love, and a friendship that would not falter even in the worst of storms.
They say good things come to those who wait, but it seems to me that I've been waiting all my life for nothing much to happen. If I were a gambler I'd be sitting before you with empty pockets, for my choices each time that they are made are never on the crowd favorite, or what some may call the sure thing. I can pick them, but seldom has it been where they've panned out.
I guess what it comes down to is that in order to cut ones losses, one must truly cut their losses. And one must be able to wake up the morning, present themselves with a new day, and give all their effort to making it a day worthy of the passing of time. Allowing youself to stagnate, to give in, or resign yourself to things being the way they are with no hope for change is not the answer. Sometimes it is the slightest change and effort on our part that makes all the difference, though these moves often require our bravest face to do so. LeAnn Rimes says it best with one line in a song, "Fear of leaving is no reason to stay."
A Swan In Final Flight
There is nothing now of you that I can keep.
No memory, no train of thought, no lost letter
to call you back.
And my heart that thought it couldn't bleed,
beats one last time, a slow and steady staccato,
in memory to all those moments that we had shared.
You and I - we were temporary things.
And between us the future could only be measured by the minute.
But how I treasured each minute that we shared,
storing them away for the inevitable winter to come,
when your words alone would be enough to keep me warm.
One last swan song is enough to bear witness to the truth.
That love and life seldom walk one path in the same direction.
You must live as you see fit, even if that living leaves me far behind.
Once upon a time he wrote...
You excite me Stacey; you make me feel good about myself and about life. I don't know many people that can do that! Call me silly, but I still have some of the messages you left on my answering machine, regarding its rudeness. I never deleted them. I wish you could see the smile I get each time I listen to them. :) I think you and I have many of the same thoughts. I don't know where it will lead, but I am gonna enjoy the ride.
So many years in-between now and then. And I suppose I knew a long time ago that he'd gotten married. Still finding out for sure, I had that single moment when I let myself be saddened by the news, though in truth, I only wish him the best of everything...
Mazal Tov Michael.
Three Strikes and Mom's Out...
KC's softball game was interesting tonight. Interesting being defined as how long I managed to hold my temper and my mouth in check before finally giving way to my grievances in what could probably be described as a loud and obnoxious tone, if one were really so inclined to describe it at all that is.
And it is becoming painfully obvious that I'm turning into one of those parents who will eventually be ejected from their child's sporting event by some off the wall official with an overdeveloped propensity for whistle blowing. But in this, I blame my daughter's coach for being the absolute tool that he is. And a clueless one at that.
Now don't get me wrong as I'm sure he's a real swell guy off the field, but on it, he's a complete ass... God forbid he ever get quizzed on the names of the girls on his team, or actually have to tell them to play a spot that wasn't the same spot they played the inning before. Or teach them about the game of softball in more detail than just hit the ball, run around the bases and when the other team is up to bat, try to get them out. In other words, everything they already know.
Then again holding practices might count for something if he bothered to have any which technically he hasn't done and I refuse to call his half hour before the game warm up sessions worthy of such a word. But tonight absolutely beat the cake, hands down, as the worst almost non-practice prior to the big show.
Tonight two little boys, obviously related or closely associated with the coach, took the field with the girls and then proceeded to catch the ball, throw the ball, and basically make it so every little girl on the field either starting drawing diagrams in the dirt with their cleat clad feet or pretty much sat down in the grass as if they were bored spectators rather than up and at 'em participants in the sport.
And poor KC was livid.
I could see it in her face, the stubborn tilt of her chin, complete with the look of absolute disgust in her eyes and the movement of her mouth which was gearing up to tell them exactly what she thought of them. (This is a good point to mention that my daughter is the not so watered down smaller version of me, and really it is quite a scary sight to behold at times.) So being the wise and wonderful parent that I am - and not so politically correct at times - I yelled out as if to my daughter, "Hey KC. Why don't you just sit down exactly where you are until the boys finish with their softball practice!"
(Hey. I never said I was the poster child of parenting and good role modeling...)
Really though, I thought it was quite a charming way of saying. "Why are you letting the boys out on the field when it's the girls who are supposed to be practicing?" Needless to say, other than my daughter giving me the thumbs up sign from the pitchers mound, it went pretty much unnoticed and the game started about three minutes later. But don't ask me who won, because no one keeps score...
And it is becoming painfully obvious that I'm turning into one of those parents who will eventually be ejected from their child's sporting event by some off the wall official with an overdeveloped propensity for whistle blowing. But in this, I blame my daughter's coach for being the absolute tool that he is. And a clueless one at that.
Now don't get me wrong as I'm sure he's a real swell guy off the field, but on it, he's a complete ass... God forbid he ever get quizzed on the names of the girls on his team, or actually have to tell them to play a spot that wasn't the same spot they played the inning before. Or teach them about the game of softball in more detail than just hit the ball, run around the bases and when the other team is up to bat, try to get them out. In other words, everything they already know.
Then again holding practices might count for something if he bothered to have any which technically he hasn't done and I refuse to call his half hour before the game warm up sessions worthy of such a word. But tonight absolutely beat the cake, hands down, as the worst almost non-practice prior to the big show.
Tonight two little boys, obviously related or closely associated with the coach, took the field with the girls and then proceeded to catch the ball, throw the ball, and basically make it so every little girl on the field either starting drawing diagrams in the dirt with their cleat clad feet or pretty much sat down in the grass as if they were bored spectators rather than up and at 'em participants in the sport.
And poor KC was livid.
I could see it in her face, the stubborn tilt of her chin, complete with the look of absolute disgust in her eyes and the movement of her mouth which was gearing up to tell them exactly what she thought of them. (This is a good point to mention that my daughter is the not so watered down smaller version of me, and really it is quite a scary sight to behold at times.) So being the wise and wonderful parent that I am - and not so politically correct at times - I yelled out as if to my daughter, "Hey KC. Why don't you just sit down exactly where you are until the boys finish with their softball practice!"
(Hey. I never said I was the poster child of parenting and good role modeling...)
Really though, I thought it was quite a charming way of saying. "Why are you letting the boys out on the field when it's the girls who are supposed to be practicing?" Needless to say, other than my daughter giving me the thumbs up sign from the pitchers mound, it went pretty much unnoticed and the game started about three minutes later. But don't ask me who won, because no one keeps score...
