It's getting to be a bad habit, this staying up late to post a blog thing that I've been doing lately... And even though I'm a true night owl, it's not so easy on the early morning end when my alarm is sounding the bells and whistles to wake me up... A process I like to call, see how many times we can snooze it, or just completely shut it off before we get to work really late... So far my record is holding at about twenty minutes, though I'm sure there will come a day when that will be replaced...
Anyhoo... Much joy today. I found Orbling... (It should be mentioned here that technically, he wasn't lost.)And though he's been wandering around clouds aimlessly for far too long, I'm happy to say he's been pulled back to earth where all must certainly be going well... And if you don't understand anything of what I've just said, you need only know this... In a world where friends come and go, it's always much better when the lost are found and the found decide to stay... That said by the girl who much prefers beginnings to endings when given a choice...
But seriously, I really must get some sleep... It's been a crazy night with letting KC have a sleepover - and on a school night no less, playing Scrabble with a pair of word maker-uppers, though I think I may have just done that myself, and finishing the night off with one of my all time favorite movies, Fly Away Home... Sigh. If you haven't seen it, watch it... You'll cry. I know I always do...
Alright, alright, alright... I need sleep before the drool shorts out my keyboard... Goodnight all. And goodnight moon...
You said what?
In the however many years I've been at my job, there are certain things I've learned not to ask, and better yet certain things I've learned not to say... Because in my line of work, there are things that can be taken out of context without hardly even trying...
Take my conversation today with my buddy Paul. He calls up, places his order with me in his usual attempt to stump Stacey fashion which has never once worked in the seven years I've known him, moves on to some deranged topic about God knows what, and then comes out with this... "So is it better to be nailed or screwed?"
And seriously what was I supposed to do, not laugh?
And so I did. I laughed for a good minute before Paul finally made enough noise on the other end of the line to remind me he was still there.
"I guess I don't need to ask if you took that the wrong way," he said, knowing perfectly well I had.
"Who me? Never... Not in a million years." I answered. "Although if you really want to know..."
Take my conversation today with my buddy Paul. He calls up, places his order with me in his usual attempt to stump Stacey fashion which has never once worked in the seven years I've known him, moves on to some deranged topic about God knows what, and then comes out with this... "So is it better to be nailed or screwed?"
And seriously what was I supposed to do, not laugh?
And so I did. I laughed for a good minute before Paul finally made enough noise on the other end of the line to remind me he was still there.
"I guess I don't need to ask if you took that the wrong way," he said, knowing perfectly well I had.
"Who me? Never... Not in a million years." I answered. "Although if you really want to know..."
What is a blog without a mission statement?
I miss your comments. Miss old friends who used to wander by and leave their names with comments of their own to share. I miss the reaching out, the grabbing on, the pulling in. Miss hearing different opinions from every corner of the world. Miss those I got to know well, and those who were simply passing through on their way to somewhere else. I miss them all. Each and every one and wonder, where are they now? How are they now?
I feel as if I own them an apology for running away. One moment I was here and the very next I was gone, missing in a wordless void and an empty page. I gave my gentle readers nothing to come back to. No promise that I'd ever make it back myself ,and slowly - one by one, I lost them all.
But here I am, not quite the way it used to be, and yet trying to reclaim my place here on this page. Hoping that this time I am wiser than I was, that I can share with you what I've learned, that I can speak of the things I've lost, that everything I believe inside my heart still belongs - as I do - on this page without censure, without shame, without fear...
That is my mission statement... This is my mission. This is my life...
Welcome.
I feel as if I own them an apology for running away. One moment I was here and the very next I was gone, missing in a wordless void and an empty page. I gave my gentle readers nothing to come back to. No promise that I'd ever make it back myself ,and slowly - one by one, I lost them all.
But here I am, not quite the way it used to be, and yet trying to reclaim my place here on this page. Hoping that this time I am wiser than I was, that I can share with you what I've learned, that I can speak of the things I've lost, that everything I believe inside my heart still belongs - as I do - on this page without censure, without shame, without fear...
That is my mission statement... This is my mission. This is my life...
Welcome.
Selected Silence
She spent the day alone, waking late in the morning, taking her time to get out of bed. She'd gone to bed late, fell asleep with a book in her hand and a light on overhead, both cats curled up close beside her with nothing more than a light chenille throw to keep her warm. She spent the night in dreams, dreams of planes and places, people she wanted desperately to see, people she wished she'd never see again, feeling even in dreams that her lot in life was to fight for every little thing she wanted.
She puttered around the house, picking things up here and there, the trail of KC's progress through a succession of rooms like crumbs to follow. Her daughter - like she had been herself, was like a summer storm, quickly wreaking havoc on the order of a room, while her own room threatened to spill out into the rest of the house in its quest to take over more space. She smiled at the thought as she put a load of laundry in the machine, humming to herself as she tidied up the kitchen with grand thoughts of what she should do with the day.
But the answer was that she really wanted to do nothing at all. She'd been so busy lately, running here and there, letting KC have a gaggle of girls over the weekend past, that all she really wanted was one lazy day. One day to do exactly what she wanted, even if what she wanted most was nothing at all. For a while she opted for her chair in the reading room, finishing the book she'd started the night before in-between putting in another load of wash, hanging the clothes from the previous one, putting art supplies away that had been left on the desk the night before, and taking a long hot shower that quickly went from hot to cold when the neighbor's downstairs decided to take a shower at the very same time...
The remainder of the day she spent somewhat lonely, wanting to pick up the phone and call someone, but then not really in the mood for conversation at all. She simply didn't have the energy to deal with anyone other than herself today despite how selfish that might sound. She simply wanted a different sort of quiet. The sort of quiet you can only get when you tune the outside world out.
She puttered around the house, picking things up here and there, the trail of KC's progress through a succession of rooms like crumbs to follow. Her daughter - like she had been herself, was like a summer storm, quickly wreaking havoc on the order of a room, while her own room threatened to spill out into the rest of the house in its quest to take over more space. She smiled at the thought as she put a load of laundry in the machine, humming to herself as she tidied up the kitchen with grand thoughts of what she should do with the day.
But the answer was that she really wanted to do nothing at all. She'd been so busy lately, running here and there, letting KC have a gaggle of girls over the weekend past, that all she really wanted was one lazy day. One day to do exactly what she wanted, even if what she wanted most was nothing at all. For a while she opted for her chair in the reading room, finishing the book she'd started the night before in-between putting in another load of wash, hanging the clothes from the previous one, putting art supplies away that had been left on the desk the night before, and taking a long hot shower that quickly went from hot to cold when the neighbor's downstairs decided to take a shower at the very same time...
The remainder of the day she spent somewhat lonely, wanting to pick up the phone and call someone, but then not really in the mood for conversation at all. She simply didn't have the energy to deal with anyone other than herself today despite how selfish that might sound. She simply wanted a different sort of quiet. The sort of quiet you can only get when you tune the outside world out.
Gone to the Dogs
When you live in an apartment, there are certain unspoken rules by which you live. Codes of common courtesy you extend automatically without having to be told up front that some things are just plain unacceptable. It's for this very reason that I choose not to run my washer or my dryer anytime after eight at night or before nine in the morning. And why I'm always telling KC to turn the TV down or to not clomp her way across the floor as if she is in a small herd of elephants on the way to the watering hole. I keep my space neat and clean, I park my car only in the spot I've been assigned, and my animals certainly don't cause any disruption whatsoever.
Unfortunately not everyone is as neighborly as I think they should be. Take for instance the guy who continually parks and allows his company to park in my assigned spot, and has even on more than one occasion blocked my car in with his own because it never occurred to him that I might have a need to go somewhere. This is also the same man who argues so loudly with his girlfriend - usually in the hallway outside their apartment - that I feel they might ask me to take sides at any moment to settle their debate as it's obvious I can hear each and every word. This fine gentleman is also the proud owner of dog # 1, creatively named D-O-G ( my, how clever) or as I've recently dubbed him Dog Shits A Lot, because boy blunder in the studio apartment doesn't quite have a handle of the whole poop and scoop method of taking care of his dog's waste. I've recently come to the conclusion that there is nothing worse then the smell of hot shit sitting in the sun.
But you can't fault the dog, or can you? Dog # 2 - the beagle breed downstairs in the apartment directly below mine suffers cruelly from separation anxiety and if his owners were ever home, they might be able to figure out that what their dog needs most is drugs... More than once I've considered taping a note on their door with just that suggestion:
Dear People With the Dog Who NEVER Stops Barking When You're Not Home...
Stay home, move or get your pet on drugs! Your dog has been howling for the past four hours. He doesn't stop. He's lonely. And he's getting on my nerves. He's cute, but seriously, the cuteness factor dropped down to nil just about the time I realized that he wasn't going to stop barking until you get home. If you're morally opposed to drugging your dog, consider a trade in... Give muttsy to someone who actually knows how
to care for a dog (somewhere that has open fields and fresh air) and get a hamster, a fish or a pet rock. If
I were you, I'd start with the rock and twelve step my way to a fish before moving on to the hamster...
Don't make me call the landlord!
The Neighbor Who Wishes You All Wouldn't Keep Putting Her In the Position to Be the BITCH And Is About to Go to Bed With a Pillow Over Her Head to Drown Out the Sounds of Your Dog
Unfortunately not everyone is as neighborly as I think they should be. Take for instance the guy who continually parks and allows his company to park in my assigned spot, and has even on more than one occasion blocked my car in with his own because it never occurred to him that I might have a need to go somewhere. This is also the same man who argues so loudly with his girlfriend - usually in the hallway outside their apartment - that I feel they might ask me to take sides at any moment to settle their debate as it's obvious I can hear each and every word. This fine gentleman is also the proud owner of dog # 1, creatively named D-O-G ( my, how clever) or as I've recently dubbed him Dog Shits A Lot, because boy blunder in the studio apartment doesn't quite have a handle of the whole poop and scoop method of taking care of his dog's waste. I've recently come to the conclusion that there is nothing worse then the smell of hot shit sitting in the sun.
But you can't fault the dog, or can you? Dog # 2 - the beagle breed downstairs in the apartment directly below mine suffers cruelly from separation anxiety and if his owners were ever home, they might be able to figure out that what their dog needs most is drugs... More than once I've considered taping a note on their door with just that suggestion:
Dear People With the Dog Who NEVER Stops Barking When You're Not Home...
Stay home, move or get your pet on drugs! Your dog has been howling for the past four hours. He doesn't stop. He's lonely. And he's getting on my nerves. He's cute, but seriously, the cuteness factor dropped down to nil just about the time I realized that he wasn't going to stop barking until you get home. If you're morally opposed to drugging your dog, consider a trade in... Give muttsy to someone who actually knows how
to care for a dog (somewhere that has open fields and fresh air) and get a hamster, a fish or a pet rock. If
I were you, I'd start with the rock and twelve step my way to a fish before moving on to the hamster...
Don't make me call the landlord!
The Neighbor Who Wishes You All Wouldn't Keep Putting Her In the Position to Be the BITCH And Is About to Go to Bed With a Pillow Over Her Head to Drown Out the Sounds of Your Dog
Recent Snapshots
Early morning walk in the woods... It seems I wasn't the only one who wanted a good spot to watch the sunrise...
This picture didn't quite turn out like I wanted it to... What I really wanted was to take this picture a little bit farther down the creek where the really big boulders were... Unfortunately I wasn't blessed with enough time this day as I hadn't intended to go to camp at all... I just sort of wound up there... (Good news is I didn't fall in the creek, although I did manage to almost fall down a mountain.)
My frog looks a little bit beside himself, nonetheless I can't fault him for it...
This picture didn't quite turn out like I wanted it to... What I really wanted was to take this picture a little bit farther down the creek where the really big boulders were... Unfortunately I wasn't blessed with enough time this day as I hadn't intended to go to camp at all... I just sort of wound up there... (Good news is I didn't fall in the creek, although I did manage to almost fall down a mountain.)
My frog looks a little bit beside himself, nonetheless I can't fault him for it...Life Lines
Sometimes my mind gets clogged up with so many different things that I'm not quite sure where to start or whether or not I'm required to start at all. It's quite like being at a press conference where I'm at the podium waiting to answer and in the audience waiting to be called on to ask my question. Tonight I'm just sort of lost. Wondering about lots of little things, some that matter, some that don't, some that are simply afterthoughts of the day gone by. The biggest question of the moment is in two parts, the first being when will I allow myself the luxury of sleep and the second what is it that needs telling at this point in time.
To say that I think in pictures is to say that what I really do is think in words. Not a moment goes by that I don't somehow play a story line in my head, trying to figure out the ending before I've quite got a handle on the beginning. I'm always rushing things, forgetting to savor the moments when I should and then forgetting the small details when I meant to remember. Sometimes I write down things I want to think about later. A little reminder to myself that I had a thought that needs to be thought about some more. And then I think that the possibility is quite good that I allow myself to do too much thinking.
I think right now one of my main thoughts has been the relation of self to others. The perception of how we relate to the world and how that world relates to us. And how random life can be with its twists and turns. How fast someone can swoop into our lives and how in the space of a single heartbeat they can be gone again as if they never really were. And how these random occurrences change us, like intersections of outside forces which when viewed like a map show us the topography of how we exist and came to be. Every brief meeting, every intense love affair, even the people we've only passed on the street, all of them count. Count in ways we may never be able to prove, but count just the same like energy that passes from one object to another. How could we ever think that any interaction with anyone at all would cease to matter?
Maybe I don't know what I'm talking about. Maybe I'm talking about things I don't quite understand, but I think after so many years I understand something about human nature. We all just want to belong, to find our niche, that one place where it's exactly right for us to be. We seek out similar souls, people to share this journey with us, to make us laugh, to make us smile, to hold our hands when we need strength, to brush away out tears when our eyes are wet from crying. Like Barb sings we're all just people who need people.
And I need lots of people. People to remind me that the lesson we learn here on earth isn't something you can read in the find what you love to do and the money will come later section of the bookstore but in the power we have to make a positive difference to someone who simply needs to know that they have a place. They belong. They matter.
To say that I think in pictures is to say that what I really do is think in words. Not a moment goes by that I don't somehow play a story line in my head, trying to figure out the ending before I've quite got a handle on the beginning. I'm always rushing things, forgetting to savor the moments when I should and then forgetting the small details when I meant to remember. Sometimes I write down things I want to think about later. A little reminder to myself that I had a thought that needs to be thought about some more. And then I think that the possibility is quite good that I allow myself to do too much thinking.
I think right now one of my main thoughts has been the relation of self to others. The perception of how we relate to the world and how that world relates to us. And how random life can be with its twists and turns. How fast someone can swoop into our lives and how in the space of a single heartbeat they can be gone again as if they never really were. And how these random occurrences change us, like intersections of outside forces which when viewed like a map show us the topography of how we exist and came to be. Every brief meeting, every intense love affair, even the people we've only passed on the street, all of them count. Count in ways we may never be able to prove, but count just the same like energy that passes from one object to another. How could we ever think that any interaction with anyone at all would cease to matter?
Maybe I don't know what I'm talking about. Maybe I'm talking about things I don't quite understand, but I think after so many years I understand something about human nature. We all just want to belong, to find our niche, that one place where it's exactly right for us to be. We seek out similar souls, people to share this journey with us, to make us laugh, to make us smile, to hold our hands when we need strength, to brush away out tears when our eyes are wet from crying. Like Barb sings we're all just people who need people.
And I need lots of people. People to remind me that the lesson we learn here on earth isn't something you can read in the find what you love to do and the money will come later section of the bookstore but in the power we have to make a positive difference to someone who simply needs to know that they have a place. They belong. They matter.
House & Soul
I walk around my house at night comfortable with the darkness, knowing it's path so well I have no need to turn on any lights. I know each room like a still picture inside my head, know precisely where everything is in every room from the desk pressed against the wall here, a lamp on a table there, to the cats curled up asleep on the chair they wouldn't dare to be caught on during the daylight hours. This is the comfort of home. This knowing of a space that over time becomes an extension of yourself, as much a part of you as your heart and your hands. This is the thought I've been grappling with, trying to find the right words to explain this feeling I've had over being part of and witnessing the separation of house and soul.
I wonder on that last night my Grandmother spent sleeping in my Uncle's old room in her tiny little house tucked back safely from the road, if she really understood that it was to be her last night sleeping there. I wonder if she (like me) would have stayed awake just to listen once more to all those familiar sounds, those nighttime sounds she's heard for well over the past 30 something years like her own personal lullaby... I think she knew but didn't want to know, probably crying herself to sleep in the darkness that night preparing herself for the morning ahead when she would wake and attempt to not show fear.
I admire her courage to let it go. To trust in her grown children to have her best interest at heart. To walk out that morning for the last time and face the day with strength and pride when what I'm sure she really wanted to do was stage a protest, sit in her favorite rocker and never leave. She may have even handled it far better than my Mother or myself who could barely contain our tears and even our tempers when the strain of everything began to be too much. She only cried once that I'm aware of as I was driving her to her new home at the assisted living community, my Uncle and my Mother following in a separate car. She took my hand and held it tight, looking at me with tears in her eyes as if she was a lost child and I was her only connection to the world. "I'll go," she said. "Because it's what they want me to do." And then she made me promise not to tell anyone that she'd been crying. A promise I only agreed to once she promised not to tell anyone that I had too.
I don't expect my Grams will stop missing her home anytime soon. I don't expect that her new "home" will ever quite compare. But what I hope is that she will come to like it enough that all her memories of home will bring comfort and joy.
I wonder on that last night my Grandmother spent sleeping in my Uncle's old room in her tiny little house tucked back safely from the road, if she really understood that it was to be her last night sleeping there. I wonder if she (like me) would have stayed awake just to listen once more to all those familiar sounds, those nighttime sounds she's heard for well over the past 30 something years like her own personal lullaby... I think she knew but didn't want to know, probably crying herself to sleep in the darkness that night preparing herself for the morning ahead when she would wake and attempt to not show fear.
I admire her courage to let it go. To trust in her grown children to have her best interest at heart. To walk out that morning for the last time and face the day with strength and pride when what I'm sure she really wanted to do was stage a protest, sit in her favorite rocker and never leave. She may have even handled it far better than my Mother or myself who could barely contain our tears and even our tempers when the strain of everything began to be too much. She only cried once that I'm aware of as I was driving her to her new home at the assisted living community, my Uncle and my Mother following in a separate car. She took my hand and held it tight, looking at me with tears in her eyes as if she was a lost child and I was her only connection to the world. "I'll go," she said. "Because it's what they want me to do." And then she made me promise not to tell anyone that she'd been crying. A promise I only agreed to once she promised not to tell anyone that I had too.
I don't expect my Grams will stop missing her home anytime soon. I don't expect that her new "home" will ever quite compare. But what I hope is that she will come to like it enough that all her memories of home will bring comfort and joy.
Reading & Realization
"She's just a normal girl," she says.
"What does normal mean?"
Sonia shrugs. "You know. She's not that quirky. She likes mainstream movies. Romance. Action-adventure. She's not into inner turmoil. She's one of the most practical people I've ever met. It's like, life is a job. She's a realist."
For some reason I feel slightly affronted. I say, "I'm a realist."
Sonia laughs. "You're not a realist," she says. "You're a dreamer who doesn't believe in the dream."
- the Myth of You & Me
a novel by Leah Stewart
I used to think I was a realist. Now I know I'm like the character in this book, I'm the dreamer who stopped believing in the dream. Perhaps it's time to remember how to begin again...
"What does normal mean?"
Sonia shrugs. "You know. She's not that quirky. She likes mainstream movies. Romance. Action-adventure. She's not into inner turmoil. She's one of the most practical people I've ever met. It's like, life is a job. She's a realist."
For some reason I feel slightly affronted. I say, "I'm a realist."
Sonia laughs. "You're not a realist," she says. "You're a dreamer who doesn't believe in the dream."
- the Myth of You & Me
a novel by Leah Stewart
I used to think I was a realist. Now I know I'm like the character in this book, I'm the dreamer who stopped believing in the dream. Perhaps it's time to remember how to begin again...
Flight Risk
These past few months have gone past like a blur. Highs and lows. Lows and highs. Trying to find some semblance of a middle ground between two worlds trying to co-exist at the same time. I just keep getting this feeling that where I am right now is merely a holding point - a juxtaposition of sorts - pointing out the obvious of where I do and don't belong. Wondering as I am prone to do what the difference is between running away and running to and whether it really matters much at all if the end result produces what I really need, someplace new to begin.
The last time I felt this way - this restless urge to leave without looking behind - KC was four months old and I was reeling from the responsibility of it all, and the reality of having to do it all on my own. The truth was that what I wanted most at that time was to run South as fast as my feet could carry me to the comfort and the relative safety of my Mother. Because it seems that no matter how old I get, being around my Mom is like a respite for the weary and I am quick to shrug the grown up from my shoulders and give my inner child a few spare moments on the outside.
But somehow this time something feels different. Perhaps this time, it's not so much a reaction to negative forces around me but more so an honest reaction from my heart that feels more at home someplace else than I've ever truly felt here. Or maybe it's because I've spent so much time there these past few months, almost every other weekend for the last two, that I've created this home away from home. But I know - with a certainty that I've never had before that this feeling is as real as real can get.
But a grown woman has anchors. A child that doesn't want to move. A job that wouldn't relocate. A best friend who would be too far away for comfort. And the fear of turning my world upside down when I've only just settled into it after an exhausting year of domestic torture I only barely made it through. And yet... I can't rid myself of the familiarity of a different set of streets, the view of mountains rising tall against a summer sky, the smell of pine that lingers like molasses on the air, and the feeling each and every time I go back that what I've really done is come back home.
The last time I felt this way - this restless urge to leave without looking behind - KC was four months old and I was reeling from the responsibility of it all, and the reality of having to do it all on my own. The truth was that what I wanted most at that time was to run South as fast as my feet could carry me to the comfort and the relative safety of my Mother. Because it seems that no matter how old I get, being around my Mom is like a respite for the weary and I am quick to shrug the grown up from my shoulders and give my inner child a few spare moments on the outside.
But somehow this time something feels different. Perhaps this time, it's not so much a reaction to negative forces around me but more so an honest reaction from my heart that feels more at home someplace else than I've ever truly felt here. Or maybe it's because I've spent so much time there these past few months, almost every other weekend for the last two, that I've created this home away from home. But I know - with a certainty that I've never had before that this feeling is as real as real can get.
But a grown woman has anchors. A child that doesn't want to move. A job that wouldn't relocate. A best friend who would be too far away for comfort. And the fear of turning my world upside down when I've only just settled into it after an exhausting year of domestic torture I only barely made it through. And yet... I can't rid myself of the familiarity of a different set of streets, the view of mountains rising tall against a summer sky, the smell of pine that lingers like molasses on the air, and the feeling each and every time I go back that what I've really done is come back home.
A Welcome Change of Pace
Good things...
KC and I went for a walk last night along one of the trails of our local park and despite a minimal amount of whining (on her part, not mine) we had ourselves a bonafide Mommy and daughter bonding moment.
The sun is SHINING! And it's WARM!
I painted my entire house - from top to bottom - in two weeks time and FINALLY it feels like HOME!
My new chair for my reading room was delivered Wednesday and it is SO COMFY!
I went on a camp retreat with my church last weekend and despite the manual labor part had fun...
Guitars and campfires go awful nice together...
I found a roll of film, had it developed and got some great shots despite the roll being over two years old.
I have great friends!
My new washer/dryer are finally getting hooked up! No more laundromat!
Tori released a new CD... I've already listened to it more times than I can count.
I feel like SMILING!
I'm laughing more and being miserable less! (Always a good thing!)
I love my Mom! (Statistics show she loves me back!)
My daughter thinks I'm a dork and occassionaly (okay, more often than not) I am!
Love is nothing to regret even if you don't end up together in the end.
I'm getting over my fear of walking down the street.
I have a backbone!
Puppies are cute... Cats are cuter!
My daughter is growing up and she's beautiful.
I have a new found respect for antiques.
My youngest sister is graduating from college.
Life without internet service available (24/7) is not so bad at all.
I work with idiots! And there are days I feel like I'm a cast member of some sitcom.
I never feel like Newman. Norm, maybe...
Blueberry coffee always perks me up.
Sometimes you need to slow down and realize you have everything you really need.
Do something nice today. Maybe you'll brighten the day of someone who could really use a double dose of happiness.
Be kind! Considerate! At peace! In love! Humorous! Helpful! Hopeful!
And if you can't do anything else... Just smile. I know I am...
KC and I went for a walk last night along one of the trails of our local park and despite a minimal amount of whining (on her part, not mine) we had ourselves a bonafide Mommy and daughter bonding moment.
The sun is SHINING! And it's WARM!
I painted my entire house - from top to bottom - in two weeks time and FINALLY it feels like HOME!
My new chair for my reading room was delivered Wednesday and it is SO COMFY!
I went on a camp retreat with my church last weekend and despite the manual labor part had fun...
Guitars and campfires go awful nice together...
I found a roll of film, had it developed and got some great shots despite the roll being over two years old.
I have great friends!
My new washer/dryer are finally getting hooked up! No more laundromat!
Tori released a new CD... I've already listened to it more times than I can count.
I feel like SMILING!
I'm laughing more and being miserable less! (Always a good thing!)
I love my Mom! (Statistics show she loves me back!)
My daughter thinks I'm a dork and occassionaly (okay, more often than not) I am!
Love is nothing to regret even if you don't end up together in the end.
I'm getting over my fear of walking down the street.
I have a backbone!
Puppies are cute... Cats are cuter!
My daughter is growing up and she's beautiful.
I have a new found respect for antiques.
My youngest sister is graduating from college.
Life without internet service available (24/7) is not so bad at all.
I work with idiots! And there are days I feel like I'm a cast member of some sitcom.
I never feel like Newman. Norm, maybe...
Blueberry coffee always perks me up.
Sometimes you need to slow down and realize you have everything you really need.
Do something nice today. Maybe you'll brighten the day of someone who could really use a double dose of happiness.
Be kind! Considerate! At peace! In love! Humorous! Helpful! Hopeful!
And if you can't do anything else... Just smile. I know I am...
Poetic License
The Embrace
She taught him the gods. Was it teaching? He went on
hating them, but in the long evenings of obsessive talk,
as he listened, they became real. Not that they changed.
They never came to seem innately human.
In the firelight, he watched her face.
But she would not be touched; she had rejected
the original need. Then in the darkness he would lead her
back –
above the trees, the city rose in a kind of splendor
as all that is wild comes to the surface.
Louise Gluck
The Triumph Of Achilles (1985)
Perhaps this is a sort of cheating; to read one poem for the thought and then transfer it over into your own words and interpretation. But isn't that what creativity is all about? Taking an idea and making it your own? Either way it was a good exercise to get some writing done when I haven't been doing very much of it at all…
Disconnect
She knows her limits;
sees them clearly.
Understands immediately
the things she can and cannot have.
She who can touch and reach
and see beyond the concrete wall to what exists;
to what is real.
She remembers looking into his eyes –
blue ice fringed with lashes like shutters,
an effort to keep his heart disconnected from his mind.
Allowing him to
- touch -
without being touched,
leaving only her to burn with the emptiness of his goodbye.
She knows her limits;
sees them more clearly now.
Understands how to separate herself from herself,
to act on instinct alone.
Pulling herself apart at will,
disconnecting emotions from needs to satisfy the wants of her hunger.
Creating her own distance like she keeps her own
counsel...
She knows him unlike anyone else who has known him,
knows him from the inside out.
Things he wouldn't normally say,
thoughts he wouldn't dream to speak.
He has told her these things, perhaps she thinks for absolution.
To resolve some regret he believes she can wipe clean from his soul,
using her up like a one time confession,
dirtying her with the stains of his sins until he needs her no more...
She who would have once believed that he was someone worth saving
believes only in his power to break her.
To be one more name -
on a long list of names - of those who have made promises they could not keep…
She leaves before he knows she's gone.
In a note that says no more that what she needs to say…
No response required,
Burning him this time with the simple etching of her name.
(Happier things from here on out... I promise. We could all use some good thoughts...)
One of the Good Ones
Now you and I both know that I don't normally post things that have been forwarded to death via email but I'm going to do it despite myself because it does sort of/kind of make a lot of good sense. And dang it all, I'm a good apple!
Women
are like apples on
trees. The best ones
are at the top of the tree.
Most men don't want to reach
for the good ones because they are
afraid of falling and getting hurt. Instead,
they sometimes take the apples from the
ground that aren't as good, but easy. The
apples at the top think something is wrong
with them, when in reality, they're amazing
They just have to wait for the right man
to come along, the one who is brave
enough to climb all the way
to the
top
of the
tree.
And stay there.
Okay, so I added the stay there part. Because love 'em and leave 'em men are far more disappointing than men who never reached at all… And because this is my damn blog and I can do whatever I want to. And because I said so, and we all know how that works.
Back Pocket Logic
How do you avoid the unavoidable?
Sooner or later it happens to the best of us. We come across a person or a group of people who for one reason or another instill in us a grand desire to get as far and as fast away from them as possible. Most of the time we luck out, coming in just low enough under the radar that we're virtually spotless and untraceable. But there are times when you can't avoid being spotted, like a deer standing alone in a barren field of winter unable to find a tree to hide behind; times when you can't help but be out in the open when like that deer, you and your fawn are just trying to live your lives...
My solution – or rather my so-called plan of action is to be extreme. To do not what is expected of me but to do the least likely thing someone would think I'd do. And while I'm not saying I'd start screaming fire in the middle of a crowded room, I wouldn't be at all averse to causing one hell of a scene if I felt it were in my best interest to do so.
Considering how much thought I've put into thinking about how I'd handle a sticky situation should be more than enough to prove my point that not even public humiliation – for both myself and someone else – would be the least bit of a deterrent should I deem it necessary to do whatever it takes to be left alone. After all a woman who knows where the obvious chinks in her armor lie, also knows best how to notch her bow with assets she has readily on hand.
So the question remains… How do you avoid the unavoidable?
You don't...
Sooner or later it happens to the best of us. We come across a person or a group of people who for one reason or another instill in us a grand desire to get as far and as fast away from them as possible. Most of the time we luck out, coming in just low enough under the radar that we're virtually spotless and untraceable. But there are times when you can't avoid being spotted, like a deer standing alone in a barren field of winter unable to find a tree to hide behind; times when you can't help but be out in the open when like that deer, you and your fawn are just trying to live your lives...
My solution – or rather my so-called plan of action is to be extreme. To do not what is expected of me but to do the least likely thing someone would think I'd do. And while I'm not saying I'd start screaming fire in the middle of a crowded room, I wouldn't be at all averse to causing one hell of a scene if I felt it were in my best interest to do so.
Considering how much thought I've put into thinking about how I'd handle a sticky situation should be more than enough to prove my point that not even public humiliation – for both myself and someone else – would be the least bit of a deterrent should I deem it necessary to do whatever it takes to be left alone. After all a woman who knows where the obvious chinks in her armor lie, also knows best how to notch her bow with assets she has readily on hand.
So the question remains… How do you avoid the unavoidable?
You don't...
Captured Rainbows
Ambitious is just another word for stupidity in my book. Stupidity being defined as getting this sudden urge to paint my dining room early yesterday afternoon only to find myself running back to the paint store a few hours later to buy yet another gallon of paint in order to tackle the kitchen walls as well. And sore is how I feel this morning from my shoulders all the way down to my paint speckled toes while my ass is seriously contemplating lodging a formal complaint against God knows who, convinced that it should be much smaller than it currently is due to yesterday's unplanned buns of steel workout. However my right shoulder probably has first dibs on the lawsuit due to the dislocation – or at least believing it's been dislocated. And as far as I'm concerned that's more than enough to run with, or at present time stumble along with as I whine.
On the positive end of the spectrum, my kitchen/dining room is looking absolutely fantabulous and when I get home, I'm going to pull up a chair and simply stare at the wall for a good six hours to admire my handiwork. It's that damn pretty and it matches my pottery to boot which makes it that much better than any other paint I could have splashed upon my walls. But my painting days are far from over. Tonight will see me once more with paint brush in hand right along with roll after roll of blue painters tape as I work on the finishing details in KC's room which was also painted this weekend. Because I can, and because I feel like upping the notch on the difficulty level, I will be adding vertical stripes to the knee wall on one side of her room to finish off the "I watch way too much HGTV look" that I've going for. Perhaps I just have way too much time on my hands…
In other news, my Mom will be in town this weekend which is always a good thing as I am a Mama's girl at heart and don't get to spend nearly enough time with her considering she lives in North Carolina. Added bonus to this visit is she will be arriving bearing gifts, one of which will include an antique writing desk for my fireplace/reading/writing room that I've been slowly making over since January. Who knows, maybe the next great American novel will be written on that very desk… Doubtful. But possible…
Silly Goose
The oddest thoughts always occur to me when driving. Like this morning for instance, I was listening to classical music – because sometimes it's absolutely necessary to have a hip hop free ride to work – when I noticed flock after flock of Canadian geese on their return trip home. And I was staring at the sky while driving – which proves my theory that I suffer from attention deficit disorder only when to do so might prove hazardous to my health – when I began to wonder about the lead goose in the V-formation. Questions like what does one have to do to become the lead goose? How does one keep lead goose status? Can one ever retire from being the lead goose? And how much stress must it be for the lead goose to be responsible for keeping everyone in line and on the right course? And if a lead goose is to us as a pilot would be, does that mean that other geese farther down the line act like flight attendants seeing to the needs of others during this whole business of migration?
If there are any experts in the Canadian goose field, I welcome your comments. Or any comment for that matter.
Where did you all go?
Regurgitation
I am surrounded by the things I cannot see, vulnerable to these things I do not know, shamed by this new position of weakness; a supplicant at your feet ready to do your bidding should you call and deem me worthy of response.
And I wait.
Wait until I grow weary from the waiting, wait until I feel the knife cutting softly at my throat, this slow death you have subjected me to. You have done me no kindness letting your ghost linger with me this long just to tease me with what I cannot have…
I never imagined you to be so cruel, so without a heart that you would continue to hold mine hostage. A girl like me should be able to go on without a heart, should be able to live with intangible things; should not waste her time to think, to speak, to write out the ridiculous and leave it here, a backwards message forwarding itself through time.
Do you not hear me asking something from you? Do you not know these questions, this anger, these tears; my frustration is all directed pointedly at you? Did you believe these words to be random, these sentences just vertical lines on a page? Did you fail to recognize how carefully they have all been chosen?
They are here at my whim, but they appeal to your mercy that your silence so far has not sufficed, you who speak to me in riddles and expect me to fully understand your rhymes. You who speak to me in silence, in conversations that play themselves like a record repeating itself note for note, that do not match the man you have decided to become. That man isn't worthy of my regard or my regret though I miss the man who I regret I've lost.
I have gone on too long about this. I had thought myself finished on this subject; on things I couldn't change. But I find it hard to put this down, to walk away and leave all of this as unfinished as it is. You have changed me from woman to beggar with palms held up open in the air. You have taken the key to my defense and left me unlocked, susceptible to any random passerby and I cannot manage the gate to get it shut.
How can I excuse myself for needing to know these things from you, for being so needy that I cannot live without these answers so long as there is a chance that I might know? How can I excuse myself to not need anything more from you that you have already proven you are unwilling and unable to give?
How is it that I can ask?
How is it that you are able to ignore?
Because I Can
I'm at the library this morning and as early as it is, I've already gotten so much done, I feel as if I should just go home, throw myself down on the couch and spend the rest of the day watching movies relaxing...
The guy sitting next to me, or rather one chair down from me, smells like a walking ash tray. It's hard to breathe - not only because I'm still hanging on tight to this cold I've had for the past two weeks - but I swear he's managed to clog up my lungs a little bit more just by being there. And yes, I realize it's rude but seriously, maybe it's time to cut down on a few dozen packs a day...
Anyhoo I really don't have much to say this morning. I've decided - well, with a little common sense talk from both Bren and my Mom - that's it's time to unplug from the whole GB situation. Simply put, if it's not right now, it's never going to be. And as both were quick to point out, I need to remember how the situation played out with SB when honestly, I should have left well enough alone the first time I knew he wasn't the one for me. Needless to say, I don't always learn my lessons the first or even the third go round. But I'm trying...
So this is me saying okay. Let's see what's around the corner. Because good things come to those who wait, and maybe I've just got to wait a little bit longer.
The guy sitting next to me, or rather one chair down from me, smells like a walking ash tray. It's hard to breathe - not only because I'm still hanging on tight to this cold I've had for the past two weeks - but I swear he's managed to clog up my lungs a little bit more just by being there. And yes, I realize it's rude but seriously, maybe it's time to cut down on a few dozen packs a day...
Anyhoo I really don't have much to say this morning. I've decided - well, with a little common sense talk from both Bren and my Mom - that's it's time to unplug from the whole GB situation. Simply put, if it's not right now, it's never going to be. And as both were quick to point out, I need to remember how the situation played out with SB when honestly, I should have left well enough alone the first time I knew he wasn't the one for me. Needless to say, I don't always learn my lessons the first or even the third go round. But I'm trying...
So this is me saying okay. Let's see what's around the corner. Because good things come to those who wait, and maybe I've just got to wait a little bit longer.
When Is Enough, Enough?
There are some things you need to figure out for yourself. Like how you feel about someone, or how you feel you're treating them and whether or not fairness even comes into play. But you and I both know that not everyone does that. Not everyone takes responsibility for themselves and their actions because they simply don't care or don't know what to do with that information when they have it. And so they become immobile; unable to do anything.
If I were made of much stronger stuff than which I am, I'd be able to tell him not to call me anymore, I'd cut off this last line of connection that we have. I'd be able to tell him plain and straight that it hurts too much to simply have these two minutes conversations that have nothing to do with us other than where we work. He could ask for someone else but he doesn't. And in truth, I don't want him to when the crumbs of these conversations fill my heart just as fast as they break it.
But I'm tired of trying to figure out what it is he's thinking or what kind of man he is. Because the way I see it, he's either the kind who sets out to get what he wants just to get it to leave it behind, or he's – for lack of any word that might be a better fit – scared of what he feels. That is, if he feels anything for me at all.
And I wish I could say that he did feel something. He said to me once that I had a little piece of his heart – I had it! - and that eventually I might have it all. That's not verbatim to what he said, but it's close and I remember most – if not all - of our conversations this way. Little snippets…
"Are you going to talk me to sleep again? If so how about some cookies and warm milk? That's not too much to ask for is it? See, I'm keeping my wishes reasonable as asked.(for now)"
"I'm not the scared little bitch you think I am but I am scared. But I'm not what you think I am right now."
Him: "Is this how you thought this conversation was going to end?"
Me: "No… I thought I was going to have to say good-bye."
"You hate me… Understood. You said we could still talk. Give me a call sometime."
"You don't like me anymore do you?"
And I have answers even when I don't answer him. His last question – just a few hours ago – "You don't like me anymore do you?" I evaded an actual answer. I didn't say no, I didn't say yes… It was just one big pause before I said I didn't have an opinion. But you know me well enough to know that I always have an opinion, I was born with opinions… I should have just told the truth. Like doesn't even cover how I feel. Love on the other hand, that just might be skimming the surface. And now, I'm back to wanting to cry, for missing him so much than now even my dreams betray me in my sleep…
But I'm stubborn. Stubborn enough to believe that it's not my job to chase him. It's not my responsibility to make him own up to what he feels. It's not my job to ask him why or why not or ask him to consider the possibilities. I've written that letter. I've had conversations with him after that letter. He can't doubt my heart in the slightest. He can't say he doesn't understand how I feel about him or where I would like us to be ten years from now. He knows all of this. He knows I want a life with him in it. The only thing he doesn't know is how long I'll wait for him to figure all this out… And that may be the only answer that I don't truly know… Though I know I won't be able to wait on him forever...
Traveling By Dark
Somebody should always know where you are even when you're not quite sure. This is a theory I subscribe to, especially when I find myself doing the unexpected; like taking a trip I hadn't intended to take on a night not fit for driving any distance beyond the miles it takes to just get home.
I was in Amsterdam, pulled up at a drive through window paying the clerk for my blueberry coffee with one hand and holding my cell phone in the other, Brenda's voice buzzing in my ear.
- I'm checking in, I say, the sound of my voice tired and gravelly from a not gotten over yet cold. Just stopping for coffee and gas. I'll call you back after I'm back on the road, I tell her hanging up.
At the gas station, I keep to the outside edge beneath the lights, not as close to the store as I would normally be, choosing instead to avoid a small group of people loitering outside their doors. My eyes dart between the numbers adding up on the pump, and the loiterers with their music cranked up and their pants near down to their knees as new sounds drifting in from across the street draw my eyes outward into the night outlining the silhouettes of three people stumbling in the darkness towards my side of the road.
The tank isn't full yet but I consider leaving, estimating the amount of time it will take for these new hazards to reach where I am, to how long it will take for my receipt to print and to get inside my car where I can be safely locked inside. Alone in a place I've only been in long enough to just pass through, I err on the side of safety, and make myself ready to go.
It takes two hours of solid travel time to get from here to there. Amsterdam is my one hour mark. I pick up the phone to call Brenda back, setting it on speaker so I can drive hands free in accordance with the laws of New York State. (FYI…Mom.)
- I can't talk long I say even before I say hello. It's foggy out and I can barely see and some asshole behind me is riding my tail like I'm his Seeing Eye dog and my nerves are completely shot just trying to figure out where the road is and where it isn't and I've got to call you back because I'm got to concentrate on my driving, I manage to say all in one breath, I'll call you again when I reach the Northway.
These are my rules. They are quite simple. Someone must always know where I am at all times. Even if it's only to say, I last talked to her here when she was there. When I think about it, it's kind of funny this neurosis of mine. And even as I wonder what it means to be so fearful of getting lost or simply just disappearing from a place where once you were, the answer itself waves to me from the backseat of my car.
I know why and for me that's more than enough.
Calls & Conversations (Heard & Unheard)
Proving to herself that she's ceased to care backfires the moment she hears his voice coming crystal clear across the phone. She keeps it professional, keeps the conversation to the job, keeps the bad thoughts she's thinking about their history to herself, stops herself from becoming that girl all over again.
You know that girl; that girl who just didn't want to get it; the one who wanted to believe in love conquering all, against any and every odd. Glass half full and not empty girl, the one who played the cards in a deck stacked against her because she believed she had a chance. The stupid girl who thought she knew him much better than she did, and thought that he – HE! - Of all people! - wouldn't play her like that. She believed the best of him. She never considered he might treat her like some fly by night fuck and run, and in the morning there'd be no question of respect or having lost it. He wouldn't do that. He wouldn't do that to her.
She was that girl; that girl who cared about him in every possible way. The one who thought he hung the moon. That same girl who heard his voice and felt like she'd finally found out who the right person was all along, and judged him not by a past he couldn't alter but by the man she knew him to be. She saw him, saw past what others said was good reason to walk away, saw beyond the smoke and mirrors of his own defense and fell in love with him imperfections and all. She believed him to be a man worthy of coming home to.
And she was the girl who would have met him halfway in everything he did or would want to do. She would have hung the stars in his sky. That's how she felt, though she doesn't know now how she feels, she should hate him – he's even said so himself - because he way that boy. That boy who made that girl feel like an absolute slut, like she had something to be ashamed of, because they shared one night together. One blissfully glorious night when everything that could be was, and the heavens reached down to touch the earth and the world consisted of just two people. Him and her.
Now that girl can't think about that night without wishing that it did and didn't happen. Recalling it now as an act of shame. Shame because she had believed and shame for allowing herself to be disillusioned. She wonders how he feels. She wonders if he feels the same…
She didn't want to be that girl. Didn't want to be the fool. Didn't want to be counted among the ones who didn't matter. Because she wanted to matter – just to one person – and she wanted most to matter to him.
Detours
My eyes hurt today. Well, not just today. Most every day. They tear on their own, whether I'm happy or sad, so that when you see me, you'd think that I was crying, but mostly I'm just wiping the excess moisture from my eyes. Sometimes this comes in handy like at church last Saturday night, it's easy to explain tears away with an excuse. My eyes water constantly. I think I'm allergic to something. It must be the lighting. Except those tears, they were the real kind. My pastor however is convinced I'm where I need to be. She told me that a few weeks back, not expecting a response, but knowing she was right all the same.
The easiest thing for me to do would be to pick up my phone and make an appointment with an eye doctor. I could learn to live without twenty/twenty vision. I could acclimate to a pair of glasses. I could even get it substantiated from an honest to goodness professional that something as simple as an allergy pill could clear all this up. But I won't pick up the phone, I won't make that call and I won't go… At least not until it gets worse than it already is. This is how I deal with problems, ignoring them until they go away, or until they can no longer be ignored.
The writer in me prefers to think of these unwelcome tears – the ones I don't intentionally shed – as a purging of sorts, my body's automatic response to sadness and the removal of it from my life. An ocean load of tears I've stored in silence that I'm no longer able to contain. And maybe in my world of avoidance, there is a shred of truth to my belief.
Last night with the snow blowing like a mad hatter across the highway, creating a white out from the wind alone, I came to a forced detour, a fire truck parked sideways in the middle of the median and its crew with flashlights in hand directing me down a road that wouldn't get me home. I didn't take this detour in stride. I felt put out, thinking to myself how much longer it was going to take just to get where I wanted to be and wondering whether or not the next road would lead me back round to a stop or if it would still be open for travel.
I followed a lone line of cars, neither too closely nor too far behind, until we reached a fork in the road. The cars in front of me all opted to turn left, the quickest way back to the main road but I drove straight on, keeping to the back roads as I'd been taught, knowing from where I was it was my quickest way home. How funny it was to have that thought, that memory from my childhood mind, the lesson I learned from my stepfather still so deeply ingrained that there wasn't a thought to following the pack, and absolutely no fear of going it alone.
I was smiling at the thought of being in control, back in the driver's seat, taking my time over the ruts, the bends in the road and when the snow blew and blustered I let out my breath and made my way slowly through the temporary blindness. Confidence, whether falsified or on demand for the moment, had me believing that my little adventure out of the ordinary wasn't the least bit significant. Accidents happen. Roads get closed. Detours are just the long way home. But I know that even the smallest of things can set some of the biggest of things in motion, and how those moments can alter a life forever. And in the blink of an eye, it can all change, because I had seen what he had not… I had seen him.
The whole thing may have lasted for ten seconds, though to me it might have been a full length feature movie. In one space of seeing him, I took in everything from the truck he was driving to the shocking whiteness of his hair, to the smile on his face that suggested he was listening to something humorous on his radio. I willed him to look, to pay attention, to see that the car he was passing was me but he took no notice and he passed by with nary a glance.
I wanted to stop in the middle of the road, get out of my car and run after him like a child not ready to say goodbye. I wanted to scream, "Dad! Come back! Don't you know it's me? I'm right here! Don't leave me! Don't go away!" But he didn't stop, and I didn't turn around and life - it went on as if it had never happened at all, as if I never needed a hand to hold onto.
The hardest lesson I've ever had to learn during the course of my life is admitting that I can't always be in control. I can make choices but I can't always predict the outcomes, I can love someone and yet have absolutely no contact with them, and I can push away when I mean to hold close. And I can be wrong. I can hurt people with a quiver of words, I can twist them in a way that attempts to mimic the manipulation I despise, but I can also use them to heal, to bring hope, to show affection, to offer love and give comfort. But no matter how they are given, I can never take them back when they are no longer mine to own.
The man who is and isn't my father knows this to be my greatest flaw. The child who loves too much can hate to the same intensity. The child who feels abandoned and betrayed becomes the woman who knows it as fact rather than fiction, growing to expect it from each and every person she encounters, wounding herself repeatedly with the same mistakes over and over again to punish herself for what she considers her crimes. It doesn't occur to her that she might be innocent. She's spent so much of her life feeling guilty…
In my thirties, it seems a little ridiculous to broadcast that I've got Daddy issues. Then again, a girl with a count of three to the one you're supposed to have should be entitled to a certain amount of leniency in this arena. Divorce and remarriage was simply the norm growing up. It still is. People fall in and out of love as easily as falling asleep, though I don't say that to be cruel or unkind. Each divorce that ripped its way through my household was a catastrophic event for at least one if not all of us. And anytime you divorce someone that you love – that you both love – for reasons that have simply spread out beyond the limits of what can and can't be controlled, it hurts like hell. And it hurt like that never really goes away.
When I was a kid, things seemed so black and white. There was no in-between, no gray area where we could lay the blame, when the blame to me was disguised as more than a dozen beer cans consumed in the course of just one night, every night and the confrontations that would always follow by a vast array of players. I think that's why – as an adult or as adult as I'm ever going to be - I hate confrontation so much. Hate it to the point of avoidance. Hate it enough to tolerate bad behavior and allow it to be a weakness in what was supposed to be my arsenal of defense. I simply stall out when faced with a fight which is the oddest thing for a girl with one hell of a temper and the countenance of a lion turned mouse.
My solution for all this was to walk away. But don't believe me when I tell you that by doing so I left the pain behind. I've dragged that around for more years than I care to count and added loads more to it along the way. And I've hurt the man I consider as much as a Father to me as my flesh and blood Dad. They both were –well, are – flawed men. Men who have made as many mistakes as every other man on the face of this planet, men who couldn't possibly have lived up to the pedestal I put them on and toppled off as you would expect they would when it got too high. But when it came to separating themselves out from the rubble, no hand of mine reached down to help them out.
I won't say my (step)Dad never tried. He did and on more than one occasion I turned away and sent him packing without ever leaving my room. But I watched his retreat from the window on Christmas Day and every day there after as I shoved him to the peripheral of my life, as I let the years slide by with no letters, no calls and no contact at all. If you doubt that I have in me the ability to be cruel doubt that in me no more. I'm not proud of my behavior but neither can I change what already has been done.
I went to college, dropped out of college, had a fianc̩, had a baby and then only a ring to prove I'd once been engaged, and then a life that seemed to propel forward on its own accord. The first time he broke down the wall was after KC was born. I opened my door and there he was and it was all I could do to keep from crying and knowing how I am with the waterworks, you can imagine that I flooded the room with my tears. But one visit does not solve every little thing; it does not take into account years of problems left unresolved. We tried Рas anyone can really try wearing kid gloves and walking on egg shells to resurrect the relationship we had lost but it was a difficult task. It required an amount of commitment both in time and temperament that neither one of us was fully prepared to make, he with the family he now had and me and the baby that was mine.
For years we've gone on this way, half hearted attempts to do the right thing, to say the right thing. But I think most of the problem with this is that I've never simply sat him down and told him the truth about how I've felt for all of these years and I've never given him the opportunity to do the same.
Do I know that man loves me? I've no doubt of it at all. I'm the daughter of his heart and he is the father of mine. And I owe him another chance to help me make things right. And though he doesn't know it, at least not yet, I made a promise at the beginning of this year – one to him and every other person I consider to be important in my life – a promise that I would make each and every moment matter, that I would say whatever needed to be said, no matter how hard it might be for me to say it, and that I would leave no one in any doubt – least of all myself - of how I truly feel. And if the only success that comes from my promise is closure, let it be said that I opened the door to the future and not that I closed it on my past.
One Moment For the Pity Party
How old is too old to run away from home? I asked myself this today just as I was getting ready to leave work. Sometimes I think it would be easier to just pick up and move; start over in a new place just KC and I away from anyone and everyone who knows anything about us. I'm just so tired. Tired of trying so damn hard, tired of wanting too darn much and tired of watching people walk in and out of my life according to their whims and then pretending that I'm perfectly okay to watch them go when all I want to do is drag them back and convince them to stay because I'm a good person... I really am... And someone, somewhere has got to see that... If I could just be more convincing...
Sure I know that running away would solve absolutely nothing, just like crying is only good for giving me a headache. But I'm full to the brim with tears tonight and no one around to help make them go away. So what is going to change in the next few moments other than sending off this post, collecting my books and going home?
What needs to change? What change has already occurred? When will I get myself together?
Sure I know that running away would solve absolutely nothing, just like crying is only good for giving me a headache. But I'm full to the brim with tears tonight and no one around to help make them go away. So what is going to change in the next few moments other than sending off this post, collecting my books and going home?
What needs to change? What change has already occurred? When will I get myself together?
Homesick
Home isn't the arched doorway leading into my living room or the gray blue walls that warm the kitchen despite the cold stone tiles. Home isn't the fireplace that seems more cold than warm, or an upstairs view on a downtown world. Home is a place that is missed like the sound of silence on a cold winter's night when everything is so still you can hear the sound of the snow itself falling flake by flake.
And how I wish I could go back to where I was, tucked away in my quiet world where nothing manmade broke the stillness of the night. Home with the grass filled field across the way and a backyard so big it went on for miles in a sea of green. To the place where I could sit alone under the cover of darkness and turn my face to the stars above, feeling safe and far removed from the glare of streetlights and the harsh sounds of a city always on its way to somewhere.
But I can't take back the mistake I made, and the home I left for little more than false hope, empty words and broken promises. I can't right the wrong that rocked my world and stole my daughter away from the innocence of climbing trees, the sunshine days of our summers. I can only learn my lesson and learn it well.
Only leave home when you have everything to gain and nothing at all to lose.
A Matter of Choice
I’m not waiting for life to just happen anymore. I want to be part of it. Every small decision, every giant leap of faith, every moment that the sun shines and the moon ebbs the tide away back to sea.
I choose to see life for what it is, a vast array of options and opportunities. To choose one thing or let go of another. To say yes with everything in my heart, or to say no when what’s been offered is not enough.
No one should ever wait for perfection, if the right time and place occur; it’s a joyful accident of fate. One that should have us raising our voices in praise of God above for the miracle that has been bestowed. And if we are lucky enough to realize what we have, we learn to hold onto it and give it value. For nothing is as random as we would like to believe it is and a gift offered and turned away is a gift that may never be given again.
A man who is in earnest for my affections will never leave me in doubt of his. He will no more play cat and mouse with my heart than I would his. A man who did not want to lose me would never take the risk to put me on hold and have me walk away, or tide himself over with pieces of me until he’s absolutely certain that I am the one he wants.
The man who gets me must be decisive. He must know his heart and mind at once to know one very simple thing, the heart that says yes will always trump the mind that says no. And the man who doesn’t love me enough, should be man enough to let me go…
(For GB... My heart says yes...)
Left With Questions
I don’t like the way of the world right now.
A world where you are and I am - but we are no more.
I miss everything. Known and unknown.
Words that now belong to only you.
And words I used to say in response to yours.
Who talks you now to sleep?
Who ushers in your darkness?
Who saves me from mine?
Spent
A thousand thoughts and not one of them solid enough to volunteer itself for interpretation.
Today the blank page wins...
Today the blank page wins...
Year in Review
This very night last year, Brenda and I came to an agreement that 2006 was going to be our year. We were going to make things happen. 2006 was going to be all about Stacey and Brenda finally getting the lives we thought we were entitled to. No more would either one of us have to feel like we were on the outside looking in.
We sat on opposite couches having this conversation while the men in our lives fell asleep watching football on the floor. And when the clock struck midnight, instead of either one of them being awake to kiss us and the New Year into being, all we had were the words between us and a conversation that was more a silent promise of the changes we wanted and in my case needed to make.
I'm not proud of myself when I think about the decision I made in the summer of 2005 to move in with Ed. When I made that decision, I knew I was making a mistake. I knew without a shadow of a doubt that I was going to get myself in over my head, but I jumped in with both feet anyway. I did it because I wanted. I rationalized it by believing that everything about life, my life to be exact, centered around my ability to take a chance.
Summer of 2005 gave way to the fall and then fall to winter. I spent most of it crying, calling Brenda on the phone each night just to get me through. I didn't want to tell my parents just how bad things were, didn't want to admit to it at all, but if my silence was any indication, I know they all knew.
Not even the worst moment of my life could compare to the months that I spent in that house feeling hopeless and alone. And it still haunts me to be confronted by my own weakness, my inability to stand up for myself in a situation I knew wasn't right. Instead I didn't feel as if there were any way out of living with the monster beneath my bed, the monster in the next room, the monster who inhabited the home we shared treating both myself and my daughter as unwelcome visitors, stepping stones to his own gain.
The blessing came in September, as I knew it would of its own accord when the final die was cast and the choice to change my life was taken out of my hands. Regardless of my unfounded fear to venture back out into the world once more on my own, I was moving back into the realm of independence at an alarming speed.
If I have anything to be thankful for, I will always consider the conversation that ended our charade to be the true blessing in disguise.
Through my tears I prayed to God that night. Prayed like I had never prayed before. Spilling out every fear as I knelt on the floor beside my bed, begging desperately for his help and guidance. Please, I remember praying, please help me, please tell me what I'm supposed to do. Please tell me where I'm supposed to go.
I fell asleep feeling hopeless and woke up the next morning to hope.
By the end of the next day, a Tuesday to be exact, my once lost faith in God became restored. I had a new home. A place to belong to. A place to belong to me. A place for KC and I both to feel secure and safe.
And I had friends.
Wonderful friends that came through when I asked for help. Friends like Brenda who helped me begin the process of secretly packing and moving just a little bit at a time.
Friends who loaned me money to put down a deposit on my new place. Friends who simply listened and let me air out my fears while encouraging me to be strong. To all of them, I owe my biggest and heartfelt thanks.
Though they could have, they didn't bother to tell me that I'd made a mistake. They didn't tell me that I should have known better. They didn't say how could I have let things happen the way they did or how they had. They simply held out their hands and asked me how they could help.
I could tell you that the last few weeks of sharing that house passed by quickly and easily, but by now I know you would know that not to be anything but the truth.
The truth was those weeks didn't get any easier knowing as I did that I finally had my out. Sadness, hopelessness and fear continued to haunt my steps, following me down the hall, following me to work every morning, and clinging to me when I tried to sleep each night. But in my head I was counting down. Only this many more days before this will be over forever...
I remember the last night I spent in that house, breathlessly waiting for him to leave, waiting for midnight to roll 'round like the magic hour Cinderella knew it to be. I waited like a prisoner hours before her parole, my stomach a bundle of knots, my daughter sleeping by my side behind a door we kept locked.
And I know he knew it too. Trying to hide it as I did, little things I could move without alerting him to the actual day of my departure, my things began to disappear left and right, leaving it only a simple matter of fact of when rather than where my time would come to its end.
He was loathe however to let us go without some fight. I was talking on my cellphone to Glenn, a man I'd met through work, trying to give my voice a sense of lightness and ease when the drilling started. Instantly I knew that whatever that sound was, it was one that didn't bode well for me. I told Glenn I would have to call him back, and then I waited, glad KC was already asleep and could not hear the whining of the drum.
After he'd gone to bed, I crawled out of mine, creeping slowly and silently down the hall, not that I thought he might hear me over the deafening volume of his TV which he slept with on each and every night.
The double door entry in the living room was locked as usual, nothing unusual there. But the next door, the one that led outside, proved the validity of my concerns. On that door was a newly installed dead bolt. One that I realized upon further inspection required the use of a key on either side of the door to gain entry in or access to the outside. I felt my heart drop into my chest, closed the door I was still allowed to close and took myself quickly back to bed where I once again waited for the sound of his alarm, and confirmation from his car lights fading in the distance that he was truly gone before bracing myself for more.
More was the padlock affixed to the door of our garage. The door that I would need to be able to open just to get the bulk of my things outside and into the U-Haul I had made arrangements to rent. Ed however was mistaken by thinking locks of any sort would keep me from leaving. Bolt cutters and the ability to unscrew screws had both doors swinging open mere hours after he had gone. Had I not been so freaked out by his behavior, I might have laughed but it was still too soon to find anything about his behavior anything other than over the top psychotic and scary.
I left that very morning while KC was at school with both my father, stepmother and older sister Amy by my side to lend a hand and help me out and then when it was deemed necessary two officers of the local law enforcement team as well. It was the first time in my entire life I've ever had to call 911 and be thankful for their swift response.
I didn't get out cleanly. I wanted no drama at all. I wanted the clean and swift break I didn't get. And I wanted all my things. But there were things that did get left behind. Small things, and big things. Things made impossible for me to get as I'd no room left in my truck and no intention of returning for them once I'd gone. Things that I now consider payment of any debt anyone thinks I should owe. Though truth be told, neither my washer nor dryer was worth having to see him or any of his family ever again. The whole lot of them certifiable and incapable of knowing what normal is.
But he can never pay me back for his behavior. He will never own the words that hurt me and made me doubt myself. He will never be able to apologize enough for the lies he told, and the promises he made early on and did not keep. And for this, I feel sorry.
Sorry that I stayed as long as I did. Sorry that I didn't believe in myself enough to know that neither KC or I deserved to live like that for one minute let alone just a few days shy of a year. Sorry that I have to live with this story for the rest of my life and call it part of my own, part of my past.
But what I've learned is now what I must share. If simply retelling all of this here can help to reach and pull someone else out from the darkness that has become their life, I will consider it a good start, but by no means an end...
2006 was not the year that all my wishes came true. I did not live happily ever after. I did not ride off into the sunset. Instead I rode off into a new dawn, a new day, into a life returned to me.
Most importantly I came home to God. And there is a story of how I came to be at the church that I now attend, but that story is only one half of the whole. It only tells of how I found of a church to go to, it has never told the true reason for why I'm there. Until now...
We sat on opposite couches having this conversation while the men in our lives fell asleep watching football on the floor. And when the clock struck midnight, instead of either one of them being awake to kiss us and the New Year into being, all we had were the words between us and a conversation that was more a silent promise of the changes we wanted and in my case needed to make.
I'm not proud of myself when I think about the decision I made in the summer of 2005 to move in with Ed. When I made that decision, I knew I was making a mistake. I knew without a shadow of a doubt that I was going to get myself in over my head, but I jumped in with both feet anyway. I did it because I wanted. I rationalized it by believing that everything about life, my life to be exact, centered around my ability to take a chance.
Summer of 2005 gave way to the fall and then fall to winter. I spent most of it crying, calling Brenda on the phone each night just to get me through. I didn't want to tell my parents just how bad things were, didn't want to admit to it at all, but if my silence was any indication, I know they all knew.
Not even the worst moment of my life could compare to the months that I spent in that house feeling hopeless and alone. And it still haunts me to be confronted by my own weakness, my inability to stand up for myself in a situation I knew wasn't right. Instead I didn't feel as if there were any way out of living with the monster beneath my bed, the monster in the next room, the monster who inhabited the home we shared treating both myself and my daughter as unwelcome visitors, stepping stones to his own gain.
The blessing came in September, as I knew it would of its own accord when the final die was cast and the choice to change my life was taken out of my hands. Regardless of my unfounded fear to venture back out into the world once more on my own, I was moving back into the realm of independence at an alarming speed.
If I have anything to be thankful for, I will always consider the conversation that ended our charade to be the true blessing in disguise.
Through my tears I prayed to God that night. Prayed like I had never prayed before. Spilling out every fear as I knelt on the floor beside my bed, begging desperately for his help and guidance. Please, I remember praying, please help me, please tell me what I'm supposed to do. Please tell me where I'm supposed to go.
I fell asleep feeling hopeless and woke up the next morning to hope.
By the end of the next day, a Tuesday to be exact, my once lost faith in God became restored. I had a new home. A place to belong to. A place to belong to me. A place for KC and I both to feel secure and safe.
And I had friends.
Wonderful friends that came through when I asked for help. Friends like Brenda who helped me begin the process of secretly packing and moving just a little bit at a time.
Friends who loaned me money to put down a deposit on my new place. Friends who simply listened and let me air out my fears while encouraging me to be strong. To all of them, I owe my biggest and heartfelt thanks.
Though they could have, they didn't bother to tell me that I'd made a mistake. They didn't tell me that I should have known better. They didn't say how could I have let things happen the way they did or how they had. They simply held out their hands and asked me how they could help.
I could tell you that the last few weeks of sharing that house passed by quickly and easily, but by now I know you would know that not to be anything but the truth.
The truth was those weeks didn't get any easier knowing as I did that I finally had my out. Sadness, hopelessness and fear continued to haunt my steps, following me down the hall, following me to work every morning, and clinging to me when I tried to sleep each night. But in my head I was counting down. Only this many more days before this will be over forever...
I remember the last night I spent in that house, breathlessly waiting for him to leave, waiting for midnight to roll 'round like the magic hour Cinderella knew it to be. I waited like a prisoner hours before her parole, my stomach a bundle of knots, my daughter sleeping by my side behind a door we kept locked.
And I know he knew it too. Trying to hide it as I did, little things I could move without alerting him to the actual day of my departure, my things began to disappear left and right, leaving it only a simple matter of fact of when rather than where my time would come to its end.
He was loathe however to let us go without some fight. I was talking on my cellphone to Glenn, a man I'd met through work, trying to give my voice a sense of lightness and ease when the drilling started. Instantly I knew that whatever that sound was, it was one that didn't bode well for me. I told Glenn I would have to call him back, and then I waited, glad KC was already asleep and could not hear the whining of the drum.
After he'd gone to bed, I crawled out of mine, creeping slowly and silently down the hall, not that I thought he might hear me over the deafening volume of his TV which he slept with on each and every night.
The double door entry in the living room was locked as usual, nothing unusual there. But the next door, the one that led outside, proved the validity of my concerns. On that door was a newly installed dead bolt. One that I realized upon further inspection required the use of a key on either side of the door to gain entry in or access to the outside. I felt my heart drop into my chest, closed the door I was still allowed to close and took myself quickly back to bed where I once again waited for the sound of his alarm, and confirmation from his car lights fading in the distance that he was truly gone before bracing myself for more.
More was the padlock affixed to the door of our garage. The door that I would need to be able to open just to get the bulk of my things outside and into the U-Haul I had made arrangements to rent. Ed however was mistaken by thinking locks of any sort would keep me from leaving. Bolt cutters and the ability to unscrew screws had both doors swinging open mere hours after he had gone. Had I not been so freaked out by his behavior, I might have laughed but it was still too soon to find anything about his behavior anything other than over the top psychotic and scary.
I left that very morning while KC was at school with both my father, stepmother and older sister Amy by my side to lend a hand and help me out and then when it was deemed necessary two officers of the local law enforcement team as well. It was the first time in my entire life I've ever had to call 911 and be thankful for their swift response.
I didn't get out cleanly. I wanted no drama at all. I wanted the clean and swift break I didn't get. And I wanted all my things. But there were things that did get left behind. Small things, and big things. Things made impossible for me to get as I'd no room left in my truck and no intention of returning for them once I'd gone. Things that I now consider payment of any debt anyone thinks I should owe. Though truth be told, neither my washer nor dryer was worth having to see him or any of his family ever again. The whole lot of them certifiable and incapable of knowing what normal is.
But he can never pay me back for his behavior. He will never own the words that hurt me and made me doubt myself. He will never be able to apologize enough for the lies he told, and the promises he made early on and did not keep. And for this, I feel sorry.
Sorry that I stayed as long as I did. Sorry that I didn't believe in myself enough to know that neither KC or I deserved to live like that for one minute let alone just a few days shy of a year. Sorry that I have to live with this story for the rest of my life and call it part of my own, part of my past.
But what I've learned is now what I must share. If simply retelling all of this here can help to reach and pull someone else out from the darkness that has become their life, I will consider it a good start, but by no means an end...
2006 was not the year that all my wishes came true. I did not live happily ever after. I did not ride off into the sunset. Instead I rode off into a new dawn, a new day, into a life returned to me.
Most importantly I came home to God. And there is a story of how I came to be at the church that I now attend, but that story is only one half of the whole. It only tells of how I found of a church to go to, it has never told the true reason for why I'm there. Until now...
Stepping Stones
I don't really mind not having computer access at home. It's kind of nice not being so connected to the giant world or everything. It is however a bit of an inconvenience when I get in the mood to write something and then have to drag myself to the nearest library or take my laptop out to dinner just to get free wireless access. But here I am again. Day two at the library, sitting in front of a computer surrounded by a bunch of different people just typing away, and wondering every so often how many eyes slip my way to sneak a glance at my screen. So much for being incognito...
Bren and I supplied the church supper last night in what our final class termed a "love feast" and I continue to be amazed at just how many wonderful people we have met in such a short amount of time. God's network is truly amazing. How else could all of this have happened the way it did?
Bren and I had spoken on and on for the last couple of years of finding a church, a place we could both feel comfortable in, a place we could raise our children up in, but we never made the attempt to actually find one. Like Cinderella waiting for her one true love to come and rescue her, we were waiting for the engraved invitation from God to invite us into his love. Miracles I've since learned don't always have to be on the grand scheme to get the job done.
And this is how it happened that Brenda's sister Jen (who resides in Nebraska) decided it was time to light a fire under our church avoiding ways, and took it upon herself to go online and scout the local churches in our area. When her search landed on Trinity, it was God's hand and not the Google search engine that used her as his messenger to send the link that led us home. Of course, it did mean some work on our part. You can read your email, you can click on the link, but it all won't amount to much if you don't put forth the effort on your own to get yourself to the place you need to be.
For a couple of beginners, I'd have to say we're not doing so bad...
Bren and I supplied the church supper last night in what our final class termed a "love feast" and I continue to be amazed at just how many wonderful people we have met in such a short amount of time. God's network is truly amazing. How else could all of this have happened the way it did?
Bren and I had spoken on and on for the last couple of years of finding a church, a place we could both feel comfortable in, a place we could raise our children up in, but we never made the attempt to actually find one. Like Cinderella waiting for her one true love to come and rescue her, we were waiting for the engraved invitation from God to invite us into his love. Miracles I've since learned don't always have to be on the grand scheme to get the job done.
And this is how it happened that Brenda's sister Jen (who resides in Nebraska) decided it was time to light a fire under our church avoiding ways, and took it upon herself to go online and scout the local churches in our area. When her search landed on Trinity, it was God's hand and not the Google search engine that used her as his messenger to send the link that led us home. Of course, it did mean some work on our part. You can read your email, you can click on the link, but it all won't amount to much if you don't put forth the effort on your own to get yourself to the place you need to be.
For a couple of beginners, I'd have to say we're not doing so bad...
Everything But the Kitchen Sink
I promised myself that this was going to be a week of rest and relaxation. A week to spend some quality time with my daughter, a week to do little things around the house I've left undone, and a week to simply take a break from thinking too much about things that don't really matter much at all. And for the most part, I've done quite a good job at keeping my priorities straight, although as I am bound to do, I did slip a few times, checking my work email from home to keep tabs on the happenings at work. For the time being however, I have promptly put those thoughts back on the backburner where they belong.
So just what have I been doing with myself and all this free time?
Yesterday KC and I went to the movies (Eragon gets a 4 out of 4 stars rating) and ended up sitting with one of her girlfriends from school and her father. It was an odd sort of thing being that we didn't know each other from a bag of beans and our daughters had us looking like a happy extended family on an outing, but we managed to get through it. Or as I really should say, I managed to get through it without completely turning red and making a complete ass of myself. Though truth be told, he probably wondered if I was able to speak since the entirety of our conversation consisted of me saying thank you when he held the door open for me at the end of the movie. It was at this point that my initial shyness was finally overruled by politeness. Needless to say, Dad was cute, Mom was speechless, and the girls struck out with the fix up.
KC and I also took some time this week to do a little bit of shopping. Gift card spending to be exact, and I thank each and every one of you who remembered that the best gift cards are the ones that can buy me books... Altogether, I got three new reads, two books of poetry (Pable Neruda and Louise Gluck) and one by Bishop T D Jakes on being a Christian woman of faith. I also bought two new CD's, both by Mary Chapin Carpenter and two movies, The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants (most excellent movie for woman of all ages) and Something's Gotta Give (a movie I identify with for more than one reason and something I will probably write a whole lot more on later.)
Anyone who has tried to find a book of poetry at my local Barnes & Noble's knows that trying to find something there is like trying to find the mythical needle in the haystack... It seems to be that it's only within that section that the books are never in alphabetical order or any sort of order for that matter, so I have learned to look first in the most ridiculous spot in order to strike gold. The man next to me evidently wasn't in on that little secret as he stood in front of the bookcase desperately trying to make sense of something without any reason. Finally after what seemed like hours, he turned to me (being that I must have looked like I knew what I was doing since I found my items rather quickly) and said, "Is there any kind of order to this section?"
Now I don't normally have conversations with strangers (at least never ones that I start myself) but he seemed so genuinely confused that I couldn't help but find myself wanting to help him out finding his book. (Wallace Stevens to be exact.) And though it was a short conversation with my brainstorm that he should check with the helpdesk to make sure they had that book in stock before he spent too much time searching for it, it did light a little bit of a light bulb in my thoughts. (Especially after our paths crossed again in the parking lot as he smiled at me and waved goodbye.) Perhaps the message that has been trying its darndest to get across to me is that each end has its own beginning. In other words, I can either choose to nurse my broken heart and waste the next few months being sad, or I can choose to be thankful for the small amount of time I did get to spend knowing someone as I did.
This is the part where unless you're my Mother, Brenda (or an extension of Brenda such as a friend/co-worker who are frequently updated on the ever continuing (though not at all very exciting) saga of my personal life) or my friend Susan, you're not going to have a clue what or who it is I'm talking about... (Thankfully who I am not referring to is my former roommate, a man I am more than happy to say is completely out of my life and out of the picture forever more.)
But my point here is that sometimes the things you really want to work out, just don't and there's nothing you can do about it even though you really felt that your heart had finally found the right person, in the right place at the right time. Perhaps I gave my heart too soon, but I don't think so. I think for the first time in my life, I opened myself up to someone so completely that despite our outcome which at the moment is the kind of silence that beats like a drum in my ear, I'm thankful for having met him and for having him in my life for the time that he was there. He got to know me in a way I don't think I've let myself be known and I think he too was surprised at how much he gave back to me in very much the same way.
So it comes down to this, I guess we were both a little scared, and if I had to hazard a guess at what went wrong, I'd like to think that it's this fear which has stopped us in our tracks. This somehow makes me feel better than thinking that he just didn't want to choose me... Regardless, I could never think bad of him...(Not now, and not in a million years.) We were both adults, we took a chance together, we reached for the stars and both of us felt the fall that brought us back to earth. And it was one word.
Wonderful.
So just what have I been doing with myself and all this free time?
Yesterday KC and I went to the movies (Eragon gets a 4 out of 4 stars rating) and ended up sitting with one of her girlfriends from school and her father. It was an odd sort of thing being that we didn't know each other from a bag of beans and our daughters had us looking like a happy extended family on an outing, but we managed to get through it. Or as I really should say, I managed to get through it without completely turning red and making a complete ass of myself. Though truth be told, he probably wondered if I was able to speak since the entirety of our conversation consisted of me saying thank you when he held the door open for me at the end of the movie. It was at this point that my initial shyness was finally overruled by politeness. Needless to say, Dad was cute, Mom was speechless, and the girls struck out with the fix up.
KC and I also took some time this week to do a little bit of shopping. Gift card spending to be exact, and I thank each and every one of you who remembered that the best gift cards are the ones that can buy me books... Altogether, I got three new reads, two books of poetry (Pable Neruda and Louise Gluck) and one by Bishop T D Jakes on being a Christian woman of faith. I also bought two new CD's, both by Mary Chapin Carpenter and two movies, The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants (most excellent movie for woman of all ages) and Something's Gotta Give (a movie I identify with for more than one reason and something I will probably write a whole lot more on later.)
Anyone who has tried to find a book of poetry at my local Barnes & Noble's knows that trying to find something there is like trying to find the mythical needle in the haystack... It seems to be that it's only within that section that the books are never in alphabetical order or any sort of order for that matter, so I have learned to look first in the most ridiculous spot in order to strike gold. The man next to me evidently wasn't in on that little secret as he stood in front of the bookcase desperately trying to make sense of something without any reason. Finally after what seemed like hours, he turned to me (being that I must have looked like I knew what I was doing since I found my items rather quickly) and said, "Is there any kind of order to this section?"
Now I don't normally have conversations with strangers (at least never ones that I start myself) but he seemed so genuinely confused that I couldn't help but find myself wanting to help him out finding his book. (Wallace Stevens to be exact.) And though it was a short conversation with my brainstorm that he should check with the helpdesk to make sure they had that book in stock before he spent too much time searching for it, it did light a little bit of a light bulb in my thoughts. (Especially after our paths crossed again in the parking lot as he smiled at me and waved goodbye.) Perhaps the message that has been trying its darndest to get across to me is that each end has its own beginning. In other words, I can either choose to nurse my broken heart and waste the next few months being sad, or I can choose to be thankful for the small amount of time I did get to spend knowing someone as I did.
This is the part where unless you're my Mother, Brenda (or an extension of Brenda such as a friend/co-worker who are frequently updated on the ever continuing (though not at all very exciting) saga of my personal life) or my friend Susan, you're not going to have a clue what or who it is I'm talking about... (Thankfully who I am not referring to is my former roommate, a man I am more than happy to say is completely out of my life and out of the picture forever more.)
But my point here is that sometimes the things you really want to work out, just don't and there's nothing you can do about it even though you really felt that your heart had finally found the right person, in the right place at the right time. Perhaps I gave my heart too soon, but I don't think so. I think for the first time in my life, I opened myself up to someone so completely that despite our outcome which at the moment is the kind of silence that beats like a drum in my ear, I'm thankful for having met him and for having him in my life for the time that he was there. He got to know me in a way I don't think I've let myself be known and I think he too was surprised at how much he gave back to me in very much the same way.
So it comes down to this, I guess we were both a little scared, and if I had to hazard a guess at what went wrong, I'd like to think that it's this fear which has stopped us in our tracks. This somehow makes me feel better than thinking that he just didn't want to choose me... Regardless, I could never think bad of him...(Not now, and not in a million years.) We were both adults, we took a chance together, we reached for the stars and both of us felt the fall that brought us back to earth. And it was one word.
Wonderful.
Becoming Found
A year ago today, I wouldn't have been able to tell you when the last time I'd been to church was. But in the past two days, I've been twice. Once last night and once more this morning to watch KC along with the other Sunday school children perform a short skit on the true meaning of the twelve days of Christmas. And I think to myself how easy it has been to reestablish my relationship with God and to introduce my daughter into the Christian faith.
Everywhere I go now, I see traces of his word. In the books I read, the people I meet, in the way my life is slowly changing. And I think of how unhappy I've been for so long, and all the anger I've carried with me for so many years. So much anger and so much rage boiling inside for so long that I'd begun to believe that I was a bad person, not worthy of being loved, not worthy of being treated with compassion or respect, not worthy of being forgiven for sins that weren't even mine.
I needed healing but I refused it. I needed faith but I turned away from it. I needed forgiveness but I did not ask for it. I needed wholeness but I clung to being broken as if that were my true salvation. And I blamed God, blamed him for everything that broke my heart and crushed my spirit. Blamed him for my darkness and my depression, blamed him for the lack of light and happiness in my life until God was not something I believed existed anymore. God was for people who were not me.
But I sit here now telling you that I was wrong and that what I believe now is what I know to be true. We are all given choices to walk with God or to walk without him, to ask him for his company or to deny him a place in our lives. God gives us that right to choose, but even with that choice we are never truly without him. God never gives up or walks away, he simply waits. Waits and watches over us, always ready to guide us back to the path when we are lost. And when we are found, it's like we were never lost at all...
Everywhere I go now, I see traces of his word. In the books I read, the people I meet, in the way my life is slowly changing. And I think of how unhappy I've been for so long, and all the anger I've carried with me for so many years. So much anger and so much rage boiling inside for so long that I'd begun to believe that I was a bad person, not worthy of being loved, not worthy of being treated with compassion or respect, not worthy of being forgiven for sins that weren't even mine.
I needed healing but I refused it. I needed faith but I turned away from it. I needed forgiveness but I did not ask for it. I needed wholeness but I clung to being broken as if that were my true salvation. And I blamed God, blamed him for everything that broke my heart and crushed my spirit. Blamed him for my darkness and my depression, blamed him for the lack of light and happiness in my life until God was not something I believed existed anymore. God was for people who were not me.
But I sit here now telling you that I was wrong and that what I believe now is what I know to be true. We are all given choices to walk with God or to walk without him, to ask him for his company or to deny him a place in our lives. God gives us that right to choose, but even with that choice we are never truly without him. God never gives up or walks away, he simply waits. Waits and watches over us, always ready to guide us back to the path when we are lost. And when we are found, it's like we were never lost at all...
When and If I'll Be...
One would always think that one should know better, or in my case, that I should know better. But I am quite adept at stumbling and half falling down before I figure things out and set myself and my world back to rights. I've done a lot of that lately. Misstep after misstep, thinking as one foot is falling in front of the other that this time I'm doing the right thing; I'm making the right choice.
And just when I think maybe... Maybe this is it. Maybe this is what I've been waiting for with my fingers crossed and my heart all tied up in knots, reality strikes back with a kicking blow, a not so gentle reminder that nothing - at least not for me - is ever easy, and the white picket fence remains as always, out of reach...
And yet I keep doing this to myself. Putting my heart out there time and time again, betting the odds even when they're not in my favor, waiting for my gamble to come through, to pay off. And each maybe is like a breathless pause, the sound of a first hello, warm and excited eagerly awaiting an answering hello, a return of the spirit like gifts at Christmas time, wrapped in brightly colored paper and filled with hope.
Love is like that... Simple and easy with no expectations other than exactly what you've always been. Just you... And that is more than enough. All it takes is one hello.
And just when I think maybe... Maybe this is it. Maybe this is what I've been waiting for with my fingers crossed and my heart all tied up in knots, reality strikes back with a kicking blow, a not so gentle reminder that nothing - at least not for me - is ever easy, and the white picket fence remains as always, out of reach...
And yet I keep doing this to myself. Putting my heart out there time and time again, betting the odds even when they're not in my favor, waiting for my gamble to come through, to pay off. And each maybe is like a breathless pause, the sound of a first hello, warm and excited eagerly awaiting an answering hello, a return of the spirit like gifts at Christmas time, wrapped in brightly colored paper and filled with hope.
Love is like that... Simple and easy with no expectations other than exactly what you've always been. Just you... And that is more than enough. All it takes is one hello.
No More Settling...
Things here are different. Different in a mostly good way. Life changes. Sometimes in a quick burst of energy, sometimes slow, like an ember beneath the ashes, waiting for the right moment to burst back into flame.
And for the most part, I've come out of all of this unscathed. A little worse for wear (to be expected) but no irreparable damage, no permanent harm, but above all else, a healthy dose of reality and the irrefutable difference between right and wrong and the knowing of it.
My life isn't perfect right now. There are still plenty of things that need to be fixed, but at the same time, it's not completely wrong and I've got a lot of hope for my future. (Much more than I ever had for most of this year.) Perhaps it's just me hoping that it's so, but I've a feeling that fate has finally taken notice of me. And maybe I've finally taken notice of fate.
No matter where the road goes. No matter the distance traveled. I'm moving forward. One footstep, one moment at a time...
And for the most part, I've come out of all of this unscathed. A little worse for wear (to be expected) but no irreparable damage, no permanent harm, but above all else, a healthy dose of reality and the irrefutable difference between right and wrong and the knowing of it.
My life isn't perfect right now. There are still plenty of things that need to be fixed, but at the same time, it's not completely wrong and I've got a lot of hope for my future. (Much more than I ever had for most of this year.) Perhaps it's just me hoping that it's so, but I've a feeling that fate has finally taken notice of me. And maybe I've finally taken notice of fate.
No matter where the road goes. No matter the distance traveled. I'm moving forward. One footstep, one moment at a time...
October's Passing
The Evening Star
Tonight, for the first time in many years,
there appeared to me again
a vision of the earth's splendor:
in the evening sky
the first star seemed
to increase in brilliance
as the earth darkened
until at last it could grow no darker.
And the light, which was the light of death,
seemed to restore to earth
its power to console. There were
no other stars. Only the one
whose name I knew
as in my other life I did her
injury: Venus,
star of the early evening,
to you I dedicate
my vision, since on this blank surface
you have cast enough light
to make my thought
visible again.
~ Louise Gluck
For tonight, this is enough...
Awake At Such an Hour
I am awake because I cannot sleep which seems to speak volumes for itself, except there's no one else awake to hear a word of it. I woke up from a dream with a vague sense of uneasiness; an ugly thought that wouldn't leave my brain, so I've decided to write it out and get rid of it the only way I know how, by putting it on paper and away from me.
But the dream is hazy and what I barely remember doesn't make enough sense to plot it out like a diary entry. Instead I'm wasting time before returning to the couch that for tonight has become my bed even as I find I'm missing my own with something more than just a lost of familiarity and a soft side of a pillow that has gone unchecked. I guess I should be thankful I rated a blanket before I so unceremoniously fell asleep without so much as a by your leave. But as we all know, these things happen, and I could no more have kept myself from falling asleep than I could have told the moon to come down from the heavens.
Listen to me ramble on... And yet, it's always at this time of night, neither early on in the evening or too close to the breaking of dawns light when I am at my wordiest. And so yes, my mouth moves at a mile a minute and I could go on for one half of forever... These things are sometimes good to know, as other things here - snippets, as I like to call them - are good to know as well. But as always, that remains to be seen...
But the dream is hazy and what I barely remember doesn't make enough sense to plot it out like a diary entry. Instead I'm wasting time before returning to the couch that for tonight has become my bed even as I find I'm missing my own with something more than just a lost of familiarity and a soft side of a pillow that has gone unchecked. I guess I should be thankful I rated a blanket before I so unceremoniously fell asleep without so much as a by your leave. But as we all know, these things happen, and I could no more have kept myself from falling asleep than I could have told the moon to come down from the heavens.
Listen to me ramble on... And yet, it's always at this time of night, neither early on in the evening or too close to the breaking of dawns light when I am at my wordiest. And so yes, my mouth moves at a mile a minute and I could go on for one half of forever... These things are sometimes good to know, as other things here - snippets, as I like to call them - are good to know as well. But as always, that remains to be seen...
On the Mend...
Disturb us, Lord, when we are too well pleased with ourselves. When our dreams have come true because we dreamed too little. When we arrived safely because we sailed too close to shore. Disturb us, Lord, when with the abundance of things we possess we have lost our thirst for the waters of life; we have ceased to dream of eternity and in our efforts to build a new earth, we have allowed our vision of the new Heaven to dim. Disturb us, Lord, to dare more boldly, to venture on wider seas where storms will show your mastery; where losing sight of land we shall find stars. We ask you to push back the horizons of our hopes; and to push us in the future in strength, courage, hope and love.
-- Sir Francis Drake, 1577
When I asked for help, and prayed for your guidance, you opened your arms wide and welcomed me back into your love. Thank you for bringing me home...
From the Ashes
I cannot waste any more time crying. What's done is done. It's time to leave this bitter nest and move on to one that is all my own. Sure he didn't leave me much choice tonight when he walked in the door, and shoved the news down my throat.
One month he said, slamming doors and retreating down the hallway to lock himself inside his room. One month to move out, move on...
His name is on the mythical lease, not mine. And I'm no longer welcome here. What kind of man can kick a woman and her child out without batting an eye? Who can even call him a man?
When KC came out of her room, her eyes red with tears, I knew she must have heard the whole thing. She's as scared as I am. But she's ten and allowed to be scared. Me on the other hand, I'm almost thirty-two and my time to be scared has long since passed.
Am I broken? Hell no. I'm the strongest I've ever been.
One month he said, slamming doors and retreating down the hallway to lock himself inside his room. One month to move out, move on...
His name is on the mythical lease, not mine. And I'm no longer welcome here. What kind of man can kick a woman and her child out without batting an eye? Who can even call him a man?
When KC came out of her room, her eyes red with tears, I knew she must have heard the whole thing. She's as scared as I am. But she's ten and allowed to be scared. Me on the other hand, I'm almost thirty-two and my time to be scared has long since passed.
Am I broken? Hell no. I'm the strongest I've ever been.
My Life As a Natural Disaster
All I wanted was love and a chance at happily ever after. I should have known I was asking for far too much. From the very beginning, the exact moment when the question hung in the air waiting to be answered, I knew the biggest mistake I would ever make in my life was about to be put into motion.
I wish I could go back in time and answer that question again. How I would love to shout a resounding no into the air. No. I don't want to live with you without any solid form of commitment. No. You did me wrong the first time around, I have no desire to sign up for a repeat performance. No. I don't need you or anyone else for that matter to supply me with happiness. I have all I need right here.
How I wish I didn't give in to my weakness and my wants. How I wish I wasn't stuck here in this house living under a god damn microscope where my decisions are constantly overruled by outside influences who have absolutely no bearing on my life, and yet still manage to grip me in their iron fists. I've had enough...
Inside I am on fire, a liquid volcano to my core, fierce with anger ready to spill out and over.
I wish I could go back in time and answer that question again. How I would love to shout a resounding no into the air. No. I don't want to live with you without any solid form of commitment. No. You did me wrong the first time around, I have no desire to sign up for a repeat performance. No. I don't need you or anyone else for that matter to supply me with happiness. I have all I need right here.
How I wish I didn't give in to my weakness and my wants. How I wish I wasn't stuck here in this house living under a god damn microscope where my decisions are constantly overruled by outside influences who have absolutely no bearing on my life, and yet still manage to grip me in their iron fists. I've had enough...
Inside I am on fire, a liquid volcano to my core, fierce with anger ready to spill out and over.
Just a Stranger Passing Through
I'm not here all that often anymore. Somewhere along the way it stopped being a safe place for me to leave my thoughts and words. I disconnected. Disconnected heart from emotion, separating myself from disappointment and rejection, and what I could only see as my failure.
You give up more than just a little bit of yourself when you have to manipulate your own heart to stop feeling. Pulling in so completely shuts down more than just the negative emotions, it freezes the good ones as well. But you do what you have to do. You can't cry forever...
And so that is exactly what I've been doing. Learning as I go, moving forward one small step at a time, inch by inch, by inch. I've put on my brave face, shook my head in frustration more than a few hundred times, cried when I couldn't think of anything better to do, and reminded myself as my Mother is wont to do, that this too shall pass. Temporary setbacks are just that. Temporary.
People can lie to you. People can make promises they never intended to keep. And people can do more harm than good when their hearts and heads aren't in the right place. But they can't break you unless you let them. And they can't bring you down, unless you choose to stay there.
You give up more than just a little bit of yourself when you have to manipulate your own heart to stop feeling. Pulling in so completely shuts down more than just the negative emotions, it freezes the good ones as well. But you do what you have to do. You can't cry forever...
And so that is exactly what I've been doing. Learning as I go, moving forward one small step at a time, inch by inch, by inch. I've put on my brave face, shook my head in frustration more than a few hundred times, cried when I couldn't think of anything better to do, and reminded myself as my Mother is wont to do, that this too shall pass. Temporary setbacks are just that. Temporary.
People can lie to you. People can make promises they never intended to keep. And people can do more harm than good when their hearts and heads aren't in the right place. But they can't break you unless you let them. And they can't bring you down, unless you choose to stay there.
