The Real World

I just ordered a book titled "Life after Rejection." Ironically, it was an ad on this blog and I thought, "Huh, I am feeling rejected. Wonder what it has to offer." It offers up a religious perspective on the feelings one encounters during a divorce, and it can't hurt, right? Admitting to the feeling of rejection isn't such a bad thing either, and I realized this week, during the long drive home from Buffalo that holding back, staying strong, blanketing the negative emotions that I am feeling because of this rejection isn't helping me. That's why people go to therapists, and I've siphoned all the strength I can possibly get from my family and friends, and I've siphoned all the strength I can get from my own heart too. I need a refueling of perspective, I think. Feeling angry and righteous helps, but it's a mere Band-Aid on a wound that is broken open wide. I think I've taken a step forward though. I'm not writing this blog from a depressed state of mind, not feeling sorry for myself, it's more of a recognition that I need help to get over this. A book, based on God and pinpointing the topic I am feeling, can't hurt. Plus, I like to read.

It's easy to say that a positive attitude, an attitude of gratitude is the way to heal. That is not to say that it doesn't help, but it's hard sometimes to see the light through the shadows of reality. And this is the real world and if I am going to give all of myself to myself, to the children, to the rest of the people I care about in my life, I have to get over this feeling of rejection, and yes, guilt. All the people who care about me have reiterated that this is his issue, not mine. But it doesn't make my feelings go away. Some days I can see it clearly, but other times I blend into myself and feel all mixed up about my role in the divorce. I haven't been fair to him in some instances - making bigger issues out of smaller things, but I realize it's a protective mechanism because facing my ego in light of this profound rejection is enough to crumble even the Hulk, who as we all know, thrives on his anger and becomes very powerful. Eh, that's not me. Plus, my eyes are brown.

I've had women contacting me, having discovered my blog. They tell me that I am so strong, and so helpful to them as they struggle through low self-esteem, fear, rejection, and love for the husbands that treated them so poorly. I read some of their messages and I just want to cry. I am familiar with their struggles, I went through it. This is the real world - it happens every single day to so many people and it's sad. I doubt that there is any straight path one can discover that will make life easier through the journey of divorce. Everyone is different. These women, God bless them, are at different stages. I realize just how blessed I am, especially right now. I've made it through the roughest parts - letting go and acceptance. Now I just have to work through the rejection part. I'll never understand his reasons for leaving, but I have to stop thinking it's a complete rejection of me. I may have had a role in it, but a complete rejection would make me less desirable than a rat in an alley, because all the attendant pieces - the lifestyle, the children, the house, our respective families - are also being left behind. How is it that a person can reject all of those things? I see it as a huge loss - and it is a reflection of his feelings for me - a complete rejection of everything good because of me. And that is very hard to swallow. Yet in that same vein, it helps me understand a little too.

I am seeing reality, that's all. And if I am going to move forward, be all that I can be - which is anything I want to be! - I have to accept the rejection somehow. Hopefully, this book will help me do that. "Ain't no church bells ringing, ain't no flags unfurled, just me and faith and the hope I'm bringing into the real world."

Loneliness

It opened in my chest like an umbrella, overcrowding all the intimacies I’ve arranged with family and friends in the past few months. That hint of a shared smile, a shared secret from long ago, when it was just us and the kids. Our future dreams still intact, the past as graceful and placid as it used to be, the emptiness of the present forgotten for a moment, a split second. How familiar that smile was, how powerful to have opened the umbrella, like a peacock’s tail - beautiful and stifling in my face – darkening the light inside. Protecting me as an umbrella should? No. Blocking me. Me. Heavy and open and dark. Now a recluse, if only for a few hours, but alone nonetheless. Alone and wanting, forgetting the injustices, blinding my eyes from the facts and factors of what happened, what is happening, what will continue to happen. Recognition of a shared love for our children the only string binding us now. The vows meant nothing. The promises in front of friends, family, God meant nothing! Yet loneliness haunts me like a demon, foraging my successes and wants and achievements of all these long months. The umbrella shall fall in time – it shall fall and close upon itself and open me up once again to the truth. But for now, the demon caresses it, and the isolation from missing what I supposed to be true leaves me desperate, lonesome and alone.

Decide

Fall in love. Fall in love so completely, so freely that your heart soars above the clouds and a lump lodges itself squarely in your esophagus with the thought of losing it all.

Heal a broken heart. Cry so hard that you fear dehydration and chapped lips forever.
Never forget it.

Use your knowledge of this love and this loss to dip your feet into the boots of another person and walk around in them for awhile.

Feel passionate about something – anything. Use that passion to make the vacation plans you can’t afford; to write the story that won’t sell; to simply have a dream to hold tightly in your hands. Taste the passion. Let it swirl around in your mouth awhile.

Study people for their insecurities, their strengths, their passions and help them get over them, use them or find them.

Make money your second, third, fourth priority but never your first.

Call your Mom – from the kitchen, from next door, from a different city, or through a prayer
Just call her, she’s there.

Paint a picture as a child would- with green cats and purple bushes and yellow skies.
Paste it on your refrigerator a little while

Forgive someone for a wrong.

Learn that your lover is not your problem-solver, not your identity, not you.

Don’t commit a crime – even if you won’t get caught. Choose right. Discard wrong.

Be honest. Be loyal. Be real. Be that positive person you emulate and envy.

Hug a child close to you and see their smile and wonder at their own footprints in the sand

Fall down hard in the next snowstorm. Let your arms and legs move freely. Make an angel.
Be an angel.

Notice the sky at dusk. Drive 90 mph for a few seconds with the windows down
and the music loud; or get yourself to some peaceful stretch of earth at five in the morning just to see a gorgeous sunrise.

Remember not to slump.
Keep eye contact.
Smile a lot.
Make someone belly laugh until tears form in the corners of their eyes because of something you said or did. Revel in that.

Humiliate yourself and shrug it off. Then do it again, and again.

Breathe.
Have faith.
Have hope that you’ll live passionately forever.
Decide to live passionately forever; decide to love with everything you have inside you, around you, beside you.

Decide.

Over the Hump

Well, I made it through my first holiday... all in one piece. I spent Thanksgiving in an inebriated bliss but that's just the way I planned it and my family took over with caring for the kids and keeping me abreast (ha, turkey!) of the goings on. All in all, it was okay, until, that is, the alcohol wore off. But, I am over the hump! Gotta love this time of year.

Actually, I didn't drink too much, just a couple happy ones with my brothers and brother-in-law. We spent time swapping stories and doing dishes, and of course, eating. I realized though that I am merely half a person right now, especially during the holidays. That's what you get for devoting everything to one person for over eight years. I am not ashamed to say it. I did it. I gave it my all and slowly, slowly I am pulling myself back together. There is no shame in loving and really, what's the alternative? If I hadn't given my whole self, well, I wouldn't be feeling so terrible right now, but I would have only felt half the joy too. The joy far outweighs the pain.

I heard that once. Maybe, after all this is over, I'll believe it.

Just looking to get through Christmas and into the new year. 2008 here I come, my eyes on the horizon, full steam ahead.

Across the Border

I spent seven hours driving back into Maryland from my hometown, thinking about everything that has gone on in the past several months, the past several years and where I am today, and the blessed people who made me who I am. I am so lucky to be able to say that the people in my life are real. They are real, and wholesome and full of character.

Facing divorce - with the journey beginning tomorrow afternoon at mediation, I am sad - so sad that the good intentions made during the vows were replaced with doubt and unhappiness. Yet, as with all my blogs thus far, I've tried to anticipate the future with a hopeful heart. I listened to Tracy Chapman, Matchbox Twenty, Jann Arden, Jackson Brown and a slew of other performers trying to find the song that could aptly describe how I am feeling today - the eve of stepping away from the dream I've had my entire life (to marry, love, and enrich my life with an unbreakable union) to an unknown future.

And I found the song, not in a love song, but in a folksy Springsteen song - and like everything he touches, it is perfect. My love and I - that's me and the person I will be when I step across the border. We all have two sides, the greatest thing we can achieve is to co-exist amicably with that other person and if we're lucky, as best friends...

Tonight my bag is packed

Tomorrow I'll walk these tracks

That will lead me across the border

Tomorrow my love and I

Will sleep 'neath auburn skies

Somewhere across the border

We'll leave behind my dear

The pain and sadness we found here

And we'll drink from the Bravo's muddy waters

Where the sky grows grey and white

We'll meet on the other side

There across the border

For you I'll build a house

High up on a grassy hill

Somewhere across the border

Where pain and memory

Pain and memory have been stilled

There across the border

And sweet blossoms fills the air

Pastures of gold and green

Roll down into cool clear waters

And in your arms 'neath the open skies

I'll kiss the sorrow from your eyes

There across the border

Tonight we'll sing the songs

I'll dream of you my corazon

And tomorrow my heart will be strong

And may the saints' blessing and grace

Carry me safely into your arms

There across the border

For what are we

Without hope in our hearts

That someday we'll drink from God's blessed waters

And eat the fruit from the vine

I know love and fortune will be mine

Somewhere across the border

Killing Time

Tuesdays: the night that I am free from the children to do whatever it is that I want to do. Since the separation I have spent many Tuesdays drinking beer or wine or martinis at home. Every once in awhile I'll meet a friend out and have a beer or two with one of them, maybe dinner. Not tonight. Tonight I want to dive straight into the pool, hoping against hope that I am jumping into the deep end, thereby avoiding cracking my skull wide open.

Where do I start? Do I start with the memories? Perhaps a rendition of every detail isn't necessary, but maybe I can juxtapose the memories made with the memories-to-be-made. Shallow waters. I'll stay away from the memories.

How about the regrets? Shall I dive into them, thereby drowning myself because of the unending depth of them? No, too deep, too many things to pull at my ankles, to keep me down. I doubt I'd ever be able to get out of that pool.

How about the pool of shame? Greasy waters. If I jump into that I'll emerge dripping and shiny, unable to remove it from my body, hair and from the inside emerging outside.

Shall I think about the children? Hell no. I can't do that without tripping on the concrete first, cracking my skull open, falling into the shallow end and sinking to the bottom of the deep end.

How about the future? Maybe it is time to surmise and surprise myself, and all of you. My future is not going to be spent poolside, that's for sure. I am going to be on the beach, basking with the kids rolling beach balls across my tan legs, burying my ankles in the sand after we've finished building our sandcastle. The heaviness will have been left with our winter clothes, packed away into a plastic garbage bag for the dump.

Isn't that the way it's supposed to be for me? To think about what is waiting for me in my future - the beach, the sun, the warmth?

I am standing on a two foot square of concrete, with four 26' rectangular pools surrounding me and I am simply unable to move without diving in. I just can't do it tonight, I want to, I just can't. I simply do not have the proper swim gear available. I'll stand here, letting my legs cramp up from being in this position, avoiding each of the pools, stretch once in awhile, maybe stand on one foot, do some jumping jacks... and wait. I'll stand here and wait for enough time to pass, for someone to miraculously hand over some floaties, rings, flippers and goggles so that I might find the courage to position my hands over my head, bend at the waist and swan dive into one of them. Maybe paradise will be available to me, maybe my fairytale ending will crown me the next Cinderella, or maybe I'll just pretend that the answers are somewhere hidden in the bottom of a beer bottle.

I think I'll just take a long bath and call it a night.

Always Smiling

Paige asked me this morning, "Mommy, how come you're always smiling when you look at me?"

Do I tell her that she and Tony are the reason I exist, and that my smile comes from knowing that I will always be their mother, that I'll be able to see them grow and learn and that I'll be able to help them sort through their troubles like no other person in the world because they are the love of my life and I will never stop loving them? Do I tell her that in her eyes I see potential for the greatest happiness in the world? That her innocence is still untarnished and that I see that she can hold onto her own happiness if I do my job correctly? Do I tell her that God made her just for me and that I am smiling because I see Him reflecting back to me when I look at her? Do I tell her that when I look at her, happiness swells into every part of my body and that she and her brother are the most amazing things in the entire world? That they are a puzzle to me, a solution to me, a question and an answer? That every single thing that hurts in this world - all the troubles, tears, pain and sorrow - stop when I look at them; that they keep me in the moment?

I opted for a simple answer that seems to encompass all of this. I said, "I can't help it, you are beautiful." And the smile that lit up her face with the sincere recognition of what she is was awesome. It made me more beautiful too - I couldn't help but mirror her radiance.

The Tinfoil Star

One year ago... one. I pulled out the video camera, my husband pulled out the Christmas tree and we decorated with the kids- their excitement reverberating on the small scree of the video player. He and I were happy, enjoying the animation of the children, getting them to fetch things we needed, getting them to pose for pictures together. We made a night of it, decorating, setting up the candles and lights and glittered decorations; and when the kids were in bed, we opened a bottle of red wine, toasting to our shared decorating, toasting to our next Christmas together, toasting to our future.

We were missing one piece - the star to go atop the Christmas tree. We had been meaning to get one for the past two years but always settled for the overbearing angel with cockeyed feathers and a freaky eye. But last year, last year, my husband decided to make something to go on the tree. He proceeded to draw a star on a piece of cardboard, perfecting every corner, measuring every angle and then finally cutting it out. Afterward, he sat and thought for a moment and then the AHA moment came - tinfoil. He covered it with tinfoil, taped the bottom somehow so that it would sit straight on the tree, and then put it up there. It was the ugliest and the prettiest topper I'd ever seen.

And this is just one memory that makes it nearly unbearable to get through the holidays. The tinfoil star is a symbol of what we all were to one another - a family. My family. Our family.

And that memory? It's being forced into a box of ornaments labeled, "his stuff."

Perspective

It's been a long week... a series of actions and reactions since last Sunday. The high winds from last Sunday that caused my electricity to go out also caused a tree limb the size of a yacht to fall in my backyard and take out two sections of the fence and a chunk from the roof of the half-constructed-monstrosity-of-a-"barn" in my backyard (he left halfway through its' construction). Of course, I have good friends and the fence is pretty much put back together, enough that Gracie won't try escaping to go poop on the neighbors yard.

Speaking of Gracie... she had a little anxiety attack after Sebastian left. I work from home, so she is at my side all day long... I trip over her as she races me down the stairs (why she races me, I have no idea - but damn if she doesn't always win), I trip over her as I walk back upstairs with my coffee, I trip over her running to the bathroom (my bladder is tiny)... well, you get the picture. Anyway, she is used to someone being with her all the time. When a person wasn't here, she always had Sebastian. On Wednesday, my project manager called a mandatory meeting. Of course, I had the flu (it's an every other week event in my household!) and was really not in the mood to go, but I did. I put Gracie in the mudroom (where she has been going when we aren't home for the past three years) and I left. I came back two hours later, and the doorframe is in chunks, Gracie's paws are mangled and her teeth are bleeding. (Apparently, she had no idea where the key was to get inside the house). Poor baby. I couldn't scold her, but I did ask her nicely to not do it anymore because they aren't so nice at the SPCA if she fails to get adopted. She's okay now, I just cleaned her bed, put it in the dryer with a Bounty sheet and let her stay in the house.

Speaking of dryers... the little rubber thingy that keeps the clothes from getting too hot came out with my sheets today. I don't need that, do I? I nearly tore a nail off trying to get it back in, then I just said, "F--k it!"

Speaking of nails... I made the major mistake of saying "yes" to the Chinese lady who does my pedicure ($15 and a great foot massage) when she asked if I wanted to get a manicure. I shrugged my shoulders, told her to put tips on (short) and paint them a light pink so they looked natural. Within a half hour of having them on, I regretted it. I burned two of them lighting a candle, and so had to file down the charred part, and then realized they all had to be filed, and so I filed away. They look ridiculous! Now, I have six months of torn nails to look forward to.

Speaking of looking forward to something... I have another glorious day with the kids tomorrow! It was a fantastic day today and the only thing we did was stay home - all day! It was fantastic. We colored, we read, we watched a movie, they took a bathy, we had dinner and they helped me clean my room up after my new bedroom furniture was delivered. When Paige asked me what my favorite part of the day was, I said, "All of it." And Tony said, "Me too, Mommy!" But when I asked Paige what her favorite part of the day was, she answered differently. She got up from her stool, walked over to me, planted a kiss on my lips and said, "Right now." (Yeah, I cried too).

The perfect ending to a not-so-perfect week.

Retrospect and a Gut Check

Hindsight is 20/20. It is also the wayward brother of regret. It is Cain, not necessarily slewing Abel, but more like Cain slewing the little brother he might have had if he hadn't screwed up so royally. It gives perspective, right? Hindsight is a often considered a positive thing because it enables one to gain experience so that there are no two same mistakes. I argue to the contrary. I argue that intuition is what enables you to avoid the harm of bad decisions. I would much rather follow my gut on things. I will get to the advantages of intuition in a minute. But right now I need to rip a new one into hindsight.

It is the worm that gets under your skin and burrows its way into your psyche, sliming its way into your memories and leaving a trail of ick. Yeah, there is probably a better word for it, but ick is what I use because it wrenches my hatred for hindsight from the depths of my dark thoughts, and in so doing, puts it into perspective. The only time one looks back in hindsight is when something negative has happened, and it's not as though one looks back in hindsight and says "oh, that was the right way to go". If that's the case, one needn't look back at all. If the decision was correct, there is no reason to pause and reflect. Ick. And it's not like hindsight allows the luxury of opting to look back - it comes automatically, an involuntary muscle in the workings of the mind. It just comes uninvited, in dreams, in the crisp morning when the eyes open to find it displayed on the ceiling like a scene from the discovery channel in HD and all.

Cold sweats haunt me these days, I wake in my shorts and tank top, soaking wet, my hair sticky. And it is hindsight turning up the heat. I can do nothing but strip off another layer of clothes and hope that one day the haunting will be over, that I won't be embracing hindsight because it is the only comfort against the regret that comes from such reflection.

Now, intuition, that telling feeling in the gut doling out answers. It provides the answer to complex questions, and gives insight into the how-to of backtracking and changing things that might be screwed up in one's life. Intuition is the phone call that must be answered. It is a gift from God, and fine tuning your skills to recognize it is vital because it is the voice of God. I firmly believe that. It comes from the part of your soul where He resides and it's pure, white and spot free - protected from the mud and muck and mire of everyday. It is free from the evils of hindsight, fear and blame. In short, intuition is the cake that feeds your sweet tooth.

Why I feel this way is simple. Three years ago, my gut was screaming at me, yelling at me, beating on my skull and arguing with me, telling me to make a sharp turn off the path that I was on. It went so far as to allow me glimpses into my future without the chaos of what was present in my life. And I turned away from it. I opted instead, to try suffocating it with excuses; to tie a noose made of knotted excuses around its neck; to hold its head beneath a pool of excuses; to shine the diamond on my hand with excuses; to dive deeply into the entrenchment of previous values, or what I thought were of value; to ignore it as you would an incessant fly at a picnic. And I did. And I did. And I shouldn't have. I shouldn't have because I wouldn't be sitting here, choking on hindsight as I listlessly rest on a bed of regret. I shouldn't have opted for that cold slice of pizza to feed my sweet tooth. I should have gone for the cake. I shoulda, coulda, woulda.

Oh, if only I had gotten up and baked a damn cake!

Game Night 2

It was our second attempt at Game Night and it went very, very well! My kids are geniuses! Well, okay, Candyland is a rather simple game and it took everything I had not to throw down a bottle of vodka topped off with a capful of bourbon in order to get through it. But I got through. I lost, dammit! How is it possible that a 35 year old woman can lose at Candyland? If you're unfamiliar with the game, it consists of a board with blocks of colors on it and a set of cards with either a one-colored square or two colored squares. Whichever color you pick, you move to that square. If you pick a card with two squares you get to move up the board even further.

I am not kidding you, every card I got was with one square and it was always the next color in line, so I was moving one space at a time! In the meantime, Tony is getting all the squares with candies on them, thereby moving at the pace of a Nascar racer in the final lap, and Paige obviously got all the double-squared cards as I was stuck with all the one-squared! If I hadn't shuffled them so succinctly, I would've thought they cheated. As it goes with a 3 and 4 year old, their attention span is shorter than a crewcut, so I was forced to plead with them to "Please pick the next card!" When Tony got on the last square, his next card a winner for sure because the last square was a rainbow and I assume that any color would work, Paige got upset.

"But I wanted to win!" She said. So what does Tony do? He picks up her little green guy and puts her in the winner circle.

"There you go, Paige." He says. I was so overcome with pride that I hugged Tony and said "great game." Apparently, Paige has a nasty side and even though she won because her brother is fantastic, she picked up the board and threw it in the air - all the pieces and cards go flying. I just shook my head in disappointment, and she immediately apologized and started cleaning up. It was then that I taught her the lesson of winning isn't everything, it's how you play the game. Blah, blah, blah. But I lost dammit! I stalked into the bathroom and threw one of the one-squared cards in the toilet and flushed. Damn you, Candyland!

After cleaning up the game, I taught them how to play hangman. Paige caught on quickly, guessing the three letter words before guessing the letters. Her first guess was "G-O-D" and although she was absolutely correct, I held out and made her sound out "H-A-T" - she had no idea what I was thinking and damn if I was going to let her beat me at my own game. They would switch off picking letters. The funny part of all this was when I was asking Tony for letters and he'd say, "Doo" or "Goo" or "Ermph" as though they were letters, and would laugh incessantly when Paige and I rolled our eyes. When it got to the point that the man was to take his last breath, I gave in an allowed her the word. It was tough on me. My last word in the final game was, you guessed it, "C-Z-E-C-H-O-S-L-O-V-A-K-I-A". I thought I had them then! Paige's eyes bulged with every slash on the paper that I wrote; she was defeated. I had finally won.

Do you believe the first to letters they picked were "C" and "Z"? It was all over for me - they got it because we've been practicing spelling it every day. I threw the paper and pen at Paige and said, "Draw me a sun or something, I'm done with this crap!" She laughed and drew me a sun.

What a Vocabulary!

There is still sickness in my house. My 22 year old cousin caught the flu from one of us last week and was hit hard with the body aches and the stomach pain. She ventured downstairs as the kids and I ate dinner last night, saying that although she felt terrible, she was starving. Paige took over. She stood up from the table and walked over to the pantry, not too close to Jessica because she didn't want to get sick again. The conversation went like this:

"Jessica, Mommy said you have to stay away from all milk products like yogurt and cheese, and even cookies because cookies are made with butter and butter is a milk product."

Jessica looked at her and smiled and asked, "Okay, then what do you think I should have?"

Paige answered, determined to heal Jessica's sickness. "You can have some warm pop (Coke) and maybe some crackers."

"That's a good idea!" Jessica said and reached in for the crackers.

"But don't have too many because then you'll get a belly ache and puke."

"Okay." Jessica replied and started for her room again.

"Oh, and Jessica?"

"Yes?"

"You just have to persevere."

Jessica was so stunned by Paige's use of the word and smiled, wanting to hug her. Paige took a few steps backwards and said, "I'll hug you when you're all better."

* * *

Now Tony has been getting into a little trouble for using potty talk - poop, pee and stupid seem to be his favorite words. I've tried to take away toys when he uses potty talk but it doesn't work because the boy has so many toys! We were sitting at the dinner table and he was throwing his three favorite words out in the form of a sentence.

"What was your favorite part of the day Tony?"

"Playing at school." Nice, I smiled. "Stupid, poopy head." Apparently, he wasn't finished with his sentence although there was a clear pause. I shook my head, exasperated but tried to ignore it. Then a brilliant idea popped into my head.

I said to both Tony and Paige, "Say Japan." They repeated it. "Say China." They repeated and I went through a few countries. Then I said, "I'm going to tell you a new word, but it's a potty word and you can't say it in front of anyone - you can only say it in your bedroom because it's a really bad potty word." I had their attention.

Tony asked, his eyes popping, his whole demeanor turned toward me, eager, and asked, "What is it?"

I said, "Czechoslovakia!" He repeated it perfectly while Paige had some trouble and we needed to work on it. Throughout the night, when their voices began to whine, or they started pushing at each other, I would yell, "Czechoslovakia!" They would giggle and stop their crazy behavior.

This morning, the first thing Tony said to me was, "Good morning Czechoslovakia." I smiled but said, "That's potty talk..."

He smiled deviously and said, "I know, Stupid."

Minute by Minute

I am broken open wide again. How it happened, I have no idea. I was doing well, sandwiching my love for the kids between work and a social life, not leaving room for the heartbreak to sidle its way in between. But it sidled, and it isn't going away this time. Time. That will do it... it heals all wounds. It has been five months of this hell and I feel as raw today as I did back in August.

The dichotomy of loving and then saying good-bye is ironic to me. You build something with love as the foundation and then, hastily I might add, begin to tear it down, bit by bit. But isn't love the strongest of everything? How does it not endure? Or is it there but suffocated by all the other debris? Shouldn't it win out? How do you fall out of love? When you fall in love, I think, you make a choice to do it and it is a mutual choice among the parties. But falling out of love... is it the same? I don't think so and I am trying, for the first time in my life, I am trying and wanting my love to fail and go away and take all this pain with it. I want to fall out of it, even if I break my legs, my back, my neck, my head - it cannot be as painful.

I have a meditation book beside my bed and for the past few months I have been just opening up a random page and getting inspiration from it. It has helped. I have been able to keep moving forward. But today, I'm ignoring it. I am mad at it. I am angry that I am back here again. I am sick of it. I am sick of trying so hard.

My friends say get mad, harden your heart against him. It's so easy to want that, so easy to try doing it but so difficult to actually do. After all, I know him better than anyone else in this world, and I lived through the good and bad of this marriage with him and I have an intimate relationship with everything that happened. Nobody knows anything about it but him and I.

And the thought that came to me yesterday as I hugged my daughter was "well, at least I have these two kids from him. I can continue to love him through them because he is part of them. Our blood merged so that I may always love him." I truly don't want to love him anymore. I don't. And I pray that the love I feel is destroyed somehow, a tragic fire in my heart that obliterates it and leaves nothing of it - not even one single memory that can spark it again. Time. Nothing but time.

No Sparks, No Fire

Not many creative or emotional thoughts this morning. I am just writing to figure it all out today, or maybe I should just stop trying to figure it all out and go with the absence of feeling. Or better yet, maybe I should tackle the mounds of work in my head, on my desk and waiting in my inbox. Or maybe not.

I went out with friends last night... these are friends I met long ago, friends I met before becoming married, that have stuck with me through the marriage (they are still in shock that the divorce is happening, "we seemed like such a great couple") and now they are sticking with me through the divorce. One is so hell-bent on setting me up with a 25 year old firefighter that I just have to laugh. A firefighter would be nice if I was on fire and a 25 year old would be nice if I was, say, 25! The conversation was light with regard to my stepping out onto the dating scene, and jokes about one night stands, use and abuse were thrown out there for my consideration. I considered it. Nah. Not ready to jump into that pit yet, I'll stick with my fantasies of Owen Wilson and his whispering of sweet nothings in my ear. The loneliness is just temporary, and sacrificing companionship as I heal myself internally is the healthier way. Besides, I have friends with a list of single men ready for me to say the word. (Unfortunately, I was told, many of them are shorter than me so I am required to leave my beautiful heels at home, and to not worry about doing my hair so nicely because many of them may feel inferior as they don their balding heads). Oh dear God, dating is not something I am even close to considering - it causes my stomach to turn a little.

I am going out with a couple friends tonight. We are going to a place where rock music plays on one side, country music on the other. I was told to wear my heels and to get ready for some line dancing, oh, "and it wouldn't hurt if you showed a little cleavage". Cleavage? What is that? Did she mean butt cleavage? Certainly she has seen my chest? I guess I could pull out the duct tape and go at it, yet what is the point?

I actually fear tonight. I fear the thought of being at a place with a crowd full of people (men) who are likely to see the absence of a ring on my left finger as an invitation to assert themselves upon me. I fear running into someone I know, or someone who knows him (intimately or otherwise). I fear having fun and liking it too.

It's going to take me a long time to learn, a long time to love again, a long time to get over the fear of firefighters and assertive men and twenty-five year old men, and divorced men, and single never-been-married men my age, men with children, men with hands and fingers and toes. A long time not to fear this.

For some reason, the duct tape sounds more appealing. Not so much for my chest, but I could use for other things - after all, one can do anything with duct tape. I might cut a thin strip, and wrap it around my left ring finger for the night. Who knows, there might be a nice fire fighter there waiting with medical scissors to cut it off. Ugh.

Fast Ball in the Gut

I am reluctant to write this next post because, for one, I'm not sure where I'll go with it, and two, it's a rather serious (and sorrowful) subject. With that said, I'll attempt it.

I talked in my last post about all the little things that can go wrong (falling trees, crazy dogs, busted dryers, charred fingernails...) and those little things add up, and can create stress. (By the way, I hate that word - stress - only because it is the emotion that every one shares that isn't even an emotion - it's just a factor, but not a good one, it's a bad one and when a stressful person talks to another stressful person, there is always a game of who has more stress and obviously, this is God's way of getting us to go crazy for a little while so that we can gain a perspective when something really stressful occurs, which, if you're following me, is why I hate the word "stress" as it is used in our everyday lives because it undermines the truly stressful situations...) No, this is not where I wanted to go with this post, in case you're wondering.

But maybe it is. In light of the "nervous tension" I've been feeling with this divorce, I have come to believe that God has a sense of humor when He throws us those minor curveballs that do add up. We can put them on our shoulders and carry them around with us, or we can shrug them off and say, "Whatever, a falling tree limb isn't that big of a deal." God's sense of humor comes in, when He sees we're not disturbed and throws another at us, say, an anxiety-ridden dog. Again, you can add it to the burden on your shoulder or shrug it off. Now, after 15 or so curveballs, and a giggling God, if one has not shrugged, then the load gets heavy, and the burden becomes, well, burdensome. And you start to feel drained, and tired, and sick of all the little things that are adding up. Then God gets serious on you. He gives you a fast ball and it lands in your gut.

I was thrown a fast ball this week, and it had nothing to do with my own little world. One of my most recent good friends lost her Mom to cancer this week. Every little thing in her world fell away because of this huge event. She's a good person, and though her load is unbearably heavy right now, she has good friends. Her best friend was there all day with her. I showed up without a thought, and she is going to be surrounded by people that no longer care about their "little curveballs" because she is more important than any of that. If I could take some of her pain away, I would. But since I cannot do that, I will do nothing extraordinary but tell her that she is loved and all of her friends are praying for her to receive the grace of God through memories of her mom and cherished moments with her family.

Keep looking at those four children of yours Lisa, and hear the sounds of joy in their little laughs, and know that your mom has a big part in sending those giggles to you, and she will continue to do so. You are loved.

Pros & Cons

You carry compassion like loose change,
but possess pride like flesh,

shadowing and shading the essence of you
and your choices,

a sword and shield held to your breast,
ready for the battle,

and it is a battle now.

Why aren't you sorry?

The phone rings behind me,
my heart jumps,
our home phone and you've stopped calling it,
texting instead, or hoping for voice mail.

But it rings, and they ask for you and I cry when I say
you no longer live here,
but you do,
your stuff lives here, compartmentalized in disarray,
only the good stuff taken;

I am housing the shell of you.

I could list your pros and cons and make myself feel better:
betrayal, a con;
denial, a con;
cheating, lying, sneaking, faking the marriage for six months while you had foreplay,
but never sex (a virtue you've welded to your integrity), a con;
pride, ego, insecurity, a con;

But your mom is a great cook,
and I think,
that's what I'll miss the most about you.

I've erased the shadows and shading,
uncovered the essence of you,
and your choices.

And mine?

Going blonde to compare,
bleaching to relate,
to become another woman you might want to illicitly love,
allowing you to stray, as you've done; as you did.
Blonde and dieting,
working to lose the baby weight;

Does it occur to you that I was nine months pregnant the first time you engaged in foreplay?
But keeping your version of integrity intact,
you stayed inside me, pretending it was her.

I bleached, I starved, I cried.
Alone, a con;
Caring, a con;
Loving wholly, a con;
Liking your mother's cooking, a con;
possessing compassion like flesh,
carrying pride like pennies...

A con.

Gluttony

I spent some time thinking about this one... how I would write it, and the only thing that came to mind was the day my two oldest brothers decided to have a spaghetti eating contest. I know that I may get some of the facts wrong, but this is the way I remember it.

The table was set. Each of them started out with a pound each of spaghetti. In front of them sat a bowl of meatballs and hard boiled eggs (common in Italian families as the "meat" during lent). They began eating, each taking two meatballs each and two eggs each. Minute by minute they consumed the meal, keeping up with each other, taking sips of water in between bites. One brother would pierce his fork into a meatball, and the other would do the same. For over twenty minutes, they paced themselves, forkful for forkful, meatball for meatball, egg for egg. When their bellies were full, the snap on their pants unbuckled, they both leaned back in their chairs. It was a tie. Then my brother Cliff puts his fork in another meatball, and eats it in one bite. My brother John watches, takes his fork and moves it toward the meatball... then he drops the fork, jumps up from the table and runs to the kitchen sink and pukes up the entire meal.

And that, my friends, is gluttony.

The opposing virtue is abstinence. Was it gluttony before that last meatball? Would it have been virtuous of my brother Cliff to just let it remain a tie? (We'll get to pride in another post).

It doesn't just apply to food though. You can be gluttonous over anything - money, alcohol, sexual encounters with women (and men). Whatever. Yet, there seems to be a shut-off valve with gluttony, at least per instance. The gag reflex of John went full-throttle, but that was his shut-off valve and I am willing to bet he'll think about it the next time he enters into a spaghetti-eating contest with Cliff, who clearly, if you know him, can put away some food!

So the next time your stomach is bulging or your hangover lasts for over a week, or your significant others are cat-fighting over the likes of you - you might want to open up your mind and meditate on your gag reflex because a kitchen sink full of your regrets is not an easy one to clean.

Shoulder Deep

Just about shoulder deep in the muck now. I am a full head higher than I was about two months ago – blinking my eyes against the clumps and chunks of debris situated around my head. I could barely move my head left to right because of the heaviness of the muck. I trudged along, gained footing with the help of friends. I tugged the life lines from every kind word, beckoned friends and family for help, and help and more help. I continued to look up at the skies, emotionally ravaged, but still feeling some warmth on the parts of me struggling to be free

Once my eyes and mouth and nose were cleansed of the heaviness, I noticed the skies were clearer too, the trees more beautiful than I’d ever known them to be, the stars twinkling to the rhythm of life, and me, and my kids, and my dogs in the bed, cuddled up beneath the blankets, giggling in the moment, every moment to touch, and breathe, and love each other. And I noticed what I hadn’t noticed then. I noticed that picking myself off the floor and crawling onto that bed put me on higher ground.

I now feel His hand upon my shoulder, soft and warm and guiding, guiding my vision toward Him, allowing me to follow the path He has made for me, feeling His hand turn my head back around when I try to catch a glimpse of another path, the other path I’d been on. The gentle nudging against my strong will to backtrack.

And the ground is harder now, my feet finding purchase more easily, moving like a cat now, lifting my feet, stepping, and breaking the habit of shuffling feet. Moving toward firmer ground. The mountain on the horizon getting smaller with every step.

What a day it will be when I am at the top, shaking the mud from my ankles.

Pride

There is the good pride and the bad pride. Good pride: holding your hand over your chest and singing God Bless America, and really feeling it; watching your daughter/son/friend perform something - graduation, wedding, school play, birth of a child; and of course, those proud moments for yourself - when you can look in the mirror and be happy with the person reflecting back.

Then there is the deadly sin of pride. The pride that gets in the way of relating to another human being - that false pride, giving people attributes that are uncharacteristic of that person simply because it is easier than facing the fact that you might have had something to do with something that got muddled up in the relationship. Of course, I have firsthand knowledge of it - I've been a victim of it many times... getting blamed for something another person did.

Humility is the opposing virtue. I am certainly on the opposite side of pride - more humble than most. It was my upbringing... I was taught humility at an early age. For instance, my family tortured me. I was the youngest, I'd have a proud moment, start bragging, and hear "big deal;" or worse, "Cry Carrie.... cry Carrie..." over and over again in an unending chant, led by my sister in Soprano and followed by the bellowing voices of my brothers. And what did I do? I didn't stand up, puff out my chest, tell them they were all insensitive pieces of crap!!! I cried. I was humbled out of my proud moments. Perhaps this accounts for my fluctuating self-esteem, but I'm getting a handle on it. I moved away, so when they start to chant, I just hang up the phone! Ha!

But seriously, we've all met those pompous, tunnel-visioned, chest-puffed-out-preachers, haven't we? I can't stand them! There is the pride you see when winning, say, a spaghetti-eating contest and making your brother puke, and then there is the pride that belittles another person because of their salary, color of their skin, gender, orientation or simply because they choose to do something as simple as stay home with their kids instead of bank a ton of money.

Be humble. Be humble. It is so much nicer... and when you're humble you have a sense of who you really are, a close relationship with the pieces that make you tick. It's not hard either. Just spend the day with my family...

Lust

Now that I have your attention, let's talk sins. I thought about doing this as one huge post, listing the seven deadly sins and their counterparts, but it just seems so much more, um, what's the word? Juicy to do it this way...

So, Sin number one. LUST

Come on, we've all felt it to an extent, especially after a few beers, a couple shots of tequila and a dry spell without, well, you know. It's bad, naughty, dirty boy, dirty girl, bad... but when you're in it... ooooohhh it's good. (Unless of course, you're married and you're lusting over some woman that you met over a year ago and haven't stopped thinking about and you destroy your marriage and the entire future of your kids, then, well, it's really not so good. Ooops, my hand just kept typing!) So, lust is a deadly sin. But why? Is it because, like George Castanza proved in Seinfeld it interferes with your ability to use your brain? He became chaste for a period of time and don't you know it, was smarter than Einstein simply because his head was clear. Could that be the reason? Maybe, but it seems far fetched. Is there anyone out there that's been chaste long enough to prove it? Not many, not many...

So maybe lust is a deadly sin because it exists only for pleasure and not procreation? But, then, I think, God made us, so he knew what he was doing when he created the big O. So, it can't be just because it's pleasurable. I mean really, how many people regard sex as a means to procreation every time? So, it can't be that.

Oh! (Not to be misinterpreted as the Oh in well, you know). Oh! I think I know why lust is bad. If one has lust for someone other than his (or her) spouse, and acts on it, and destroys a marriage and makes the future of his (or her) children much more difficult, then it can be regarded as a sin. (Again, my hands dammit!). I did do a little research on the topic (well, if you call typing lust into google and pulling a quote from the first site you come to research), and this is what I learned:

Lustful people, those guilty of committing the deadly sin of lust, will be punished in hell by being smothered in fire and brimstone. There doesn't appear to be much connection between this and the sin itself, unless one assumes that the lustful spent their time being "smothered" with physical pleasure and must now endure being smothered by physical torment.

Holy mother, that's a hell of a price to pay for a drunkin' round of the big O. But really, really, reeeaaallly... is anyone thinking about fire and brimstone after a few beers, a couple shots of tequila and a dry spell?

Let's talk about something better here... chastity. Okay, so many of you may not think it's better. I'm not sure if I do. I mean really if someone was holding a fist full of lust in one hand and chastity in the other for your choosing, which would you choose? But chastity is the virtue that will protect you from the deadly, naughty, dirty sin of lust. Even as I write it, I am attracted to the sin, but maybe that's because I've had a few beers, a couple shots of tequila and I am meandering through a dry spell.

Chastity in olden days could be summed up as: If you can get the milk for free, why buy the cow? It was always considered a woman's virtue not a man's because men, well, they're beastly and virile and they're conquerors and women, well, they like to bond. But today, chastity is both equally (yeah, right) regarded as a virtue for both men and women. Funny, the word slut never comes to mind when I think about men. Yet, I think it can be applied to both sexes equally if you regard it not as complete withdrawal (no pun intended!) of sex, but as a means to control sexual appetite. When the appetite is controlled then the deadly sin of lust will not come into play, and that's good because we want to protect the sanctity of families, and the emotional stability of those who become victims of lust. (We've all seen those victims, haven't we? They're the ones swaying drunkenly to the music on the dance floor at the wee hours before closing, mascara streaking down their faces and indignant, exasperated questions floating around them - "Why not me? How come nobody wants me?" And then you have the lust-monger who says, "Hey baby, you're looking gooo-ooo-ooo-ood!" Voila, a victim of lust.

I don't know. I am willing to bet that chastity is a means to God. If your head is full of lustful thoughts it's a bit difficult to squeeze God into those thoughts - the guilt alone in sharing that space makes it an impossibility. But, my view of it is that maybe it's a way to be clean and open and honest about who you are when you're chaste - and in so doing, allowing yourself to be open to what God has to give you, especially if you feel that you really need it. I'm not an expert and I've fallen victim to lust and I think that's okay, as long as I don't get suffocated by the fire and brimstone of hell. But, that won't happen. After all, I'm in a dry spell because of lust. I've learned my lesson - that damn slut!

G'night

I am thinking about the next man I will marry right now. What he looks like, what his values are, what he is doing right now... maybe he is ending a relationship, seeing the birth of his first child, having a beer with friends, settling down after putting our kids to bed, or sitting at home looking for a great blog to read... What will he look like? And does he know me already? Is it you? Is it you - the one that sits in my heart as though it is a lazyboy recliner, just out to the kitchen to grab a beer?

I used to watch Ally McBeal, a long eight, nine years ago and on it there was an episode where she said, "goodnight, my someone" or something like that. I say, ' good night, my someone' now. And goodnight to you, my dear babies, asleep at Daddy's house for the night.

I spent the night with mutual friends. Mutual friends of him and I as a couple and what fun they are! I spent the night worry-free, not engaging in conversation about the break-up, just making jokes and enjoying the company. I saw other friends there too - in the restaurant, running into people I haven't seen in awhile and feeling like I really belonged in Maryland. For the first time in a long time, I felt as though I belonged simply because I was with friends and saw friends too. Maybe God sent them as a gift to me. Maybe God wanted me to be engaged. Or maybe it was all a coincidence. But, I felt more solid somehow, more meaningful to just be me, and so sorry for him that I ache. I ache for him because my life is on the upswing, but his? I just don't know. I want to know, I think, but I don't know and may never know, and may always want to know!

Goodnight my someone.

Seven and Seven?

I know that there are seven sins - lust, gluttony, envy, pride, wrath, sloth and greed. I think. I only remember them because of the movie Seven, and I only remember that movie because Brad Pitt starred in it. I have a vision of him holding some woman's head (his wife?) in his hands while her body was somewhere else on the premises. Now this movie is not to be confused with another movie starring Demi Moore called the Seventh Sign, which, in my junior year of high school inspired me to do a term paper on the Apocalypse. [I got an A but I fear that it was only because my teacher thought I was a freak for picking such a strange (different) topic. I think one of my best friends wrote about the McGyver series and another one picked a historical figure - Martin Luther King. She also got an A, but I'm pretty sure it was because I wrote it. To this day, you ask her who MLK is and she'd think it was the chemistry abbreviation for milk)].

Okay, so that's covered. The seven sins are blah, blah and blah. I've experienced minor doses of each - not enough to warrant a severed head, but I know what they feel like to an extent. In fact it is because of gluttony that I am awake at 2 in the morning with a Pepcid dissolving in my stomach. But are there virtues of which I am supposed to be aware? I mean, more than I can throw out there. Anyone? Feel free to comment back and just let me know if I missed any.

Faith. That's a virtue, right? Or in any case, it should be. I've definitely ridden in a car with faith. I was nervous that I was being driven down the wrong path at one point, said a little prayer and then was careening around bends, over hills, jumping speed bumps and rambling through muddy fields with this one. But, now I am on a smooth country road, holding hands with faith as I see slices of pink in the sky at dawn, and billowy clouds at dusk.

Hope. Not too long ago I was desperate to know what this meant. I was mad at faith - I had always defined hope as a virtue (?) for the weak because if you needed hope, then something was wrong. Oh, how terribly, terribly confused I was. There is a spiritual quote out there, something like, "struggles lead to perseverance, perseverance to hope, hope to character." Struggles, who wants 'em? I sure hope I don't have to face any struggles, and if I do, I sure hope there is something out there that can get me through those struggles and I hope He's reading this blog. I sure hope so.

Patience. I cannot wait to learn about that one!

Love. Ha. Ha, ha. Ha, ha, ha. Ha.

Courage. I see it every day. Young kids in Iraq. Parents who are struggling with no money, no sleep and colicky babies; friends who have lost or are losing a parent; mothers who are divorced and moving on; heroes that go into hospitals every day and save lives; blood donors, platelet donors, social workers, the unemployed that get up to search every day; my brother who works 500 miles away from his wife and child to work. How many others are out there? Millions more. The lion from the Wizard of Oz has nothing on them. I'm part of this crew too - among the norm of every day life.

Okay, so I have five that I can think of off the top of my head. Five. Five! The sins have the lead? Impossible. I need more. I'll keep thinking, but if anyone has an idea, just anonymously comment back, I'm curious. Curious? Is that one? I know it killed a cat or two, but... nah.

Someday I shall be her...

Lately, I am strapped for cash. The conditions of my life make it so. The difficulty has not caused grief for the children, every penny I can get my hands on goes to them. Yet, and this is typical of any woman, there are needs that just have to be met.

I am completely out of eyeliner - been wearing black on my upper lids simply because it takes away from the pools of charcoal under my eyes. Blame it on my Italian genes, but I blame it on my lack of sleep and the haggard ramifications of living through a divorce.

Anyway, I went to CVS for a new eyeliner. Call it uppity, but I am used to the Estee Lauder counter when it comes to shopping for make-up.

I purchased some liquid liner ($1.99). My usual eyeliner is soft, easy to apply and looks fantastic (at the bargain price of $11.00). I came home, tore the liner from its cardboard package and proceeded to apply it. "Ah, a new look, darker, bolder. Looks good." Then I stepped back from the mirror and realized I would've have been better off if I had given my daughter a Sharpie and let her have a go at it. Pretty? No. But the word 'hussy' came to mind.

I'll keep it though - $1.99 is a $1.99 and if I look like a freak until it runs out, so be it. I'll just buy that rusty El Camino, dye all my hair blonde (except for the roots), let a cigarette hang out of my mouth as I drive around town in my tank top (braless) and cut-off shorts and yell cuss words out the window as I flip off the drivers of huge SUVs. (For anyone who knows me, that is my alter-ego - something I've always envisioned myself doing). Of course, I'll have to wait for the check to come in. Cheap eyeliner: a staple in any woman's closet - especially if there is a hussy waiting to be found.

Phone Home

My kids have this thing... they put a Q-tip in each ear and one in their mouth and then walk around with their hands outstretched (like Frankenstein). When I ask them what they're doing, they say they are aliens. Damn straight, when I look at them, they look like aliens.

I made homemade chicken soup tonight (leftover chicken from a roast I made last night) and you know, they ate it and then did the "chicken noodle dance" with my cousin. I have it on video, it is the cutest thing I have seen in quite a while.

Right now, they are sitting together, drawing a picture of a smiley face, but the next picture is of an airplane. They were gone from me the entire day, but they're happy. And I'm happy. The boy (as I refer to him sometimes) is now going on the potty full-time.... that's about $17.99 I'll be saving every two weeks. Gotta love it!

The most beautiful things in the world. But, you know, they grow up sometime. Dear God, I pray that they always, always, always stay this way - Q-tips and all.

Quiet Comfort

I wrote this many years ago, years that are coming back to me now, swift and flowing memories of a time from my past. The changes occurring today will one day be memories, and I pray that they will hold as tender a place in my heart as the one that this poem represents. It doesn't seem likely though. But that's okay, I have this.

Sailboats… in the shoal or merely beyond the bay…
caressing the waters below and before us.
You shall be my captain, and my savior.
Although I do not shout for you, although I know we shall never be,
I know that I’ll always think of you, think of being with you.

Every time that I see the sea, the ocean,
or the picturesque pink of a sunrise, I shall think of you.
And I shall always have the ability to tell a story like you;
perhaps not as provocative, nor discreet, but somehow…
I shall always remind and be reminded.

So, life shall move beyond today.
My life shall flow North, and yours South…
but we’ll always be in the same country, the same time, the same mind…
and our thoughts will drift to one another, once in a while
once, or twice, or three times… like a sailboat drifting on the waves;
your sailboat and my waves.

Free Falling

I finally understand the song “Free Falling” by Tom Petty. I always thought that it was a rather insensitive song, and maybe that’s because I heard an ex-boyfriend singing it at the top of his lungs once. But now I see that it’s a rather exhilarating song in that the pain of a break-up tends to suck the happy and hopeful thoughts from your heart and mind through a thin straw. I guess life is the drinker in this scenario. And pardon, my mixed analogies, but the straw is also a loosey-goosey noose around the neck and it’s possible to spend an entire day grabbing at your neck trying to loosen it somehow. But the mind works wonders… One day, one thought, one appreciation of what really happened loosens the noose, and you realize there is no going back, life has stopped sucking, and the straw has straightened itself out and is unable to wrap itself around anything anymore. And then you realize that you just need to let go of the end of the rope that so easily came off your neck with that tugging, and let go. Then, you’re free falling. Free falling into what? I have no idea, but at least I can breathe now!

I might fall into a garbage dump (I doubt it though) and be chased by a mangy, drooling boxer with loose teeth from eating hubcaps, but at least I’ll be able to look around and find something worthy. At least, I can breathe enough to notice the putrid scent of the dump because the pungent smells of what was have miraculously disappeared, and are only a memory now.

I might fall into a beautiful stream of crystal clear waters and be blessed with a little elf whose only purpose in life is to grant my every wish, and we’d laugh, and I’d order plates of pasta and prime rib, and tell him that I want him to ensure that my children remain emotionally, mentally and physically healthy in such a way that the ups and downs of their lives are mere bumps. I would order up a man that was: 1) loving toward children (particularly, mine) 2) funny; 3) sure of himself; 4) compassionate; 5) intelligent; and 6) hot. Then I would hug my elf and allow him to free fall because I can handle the rest of life’s surprises with what I hold in my pocket: faith, hope, love and the grace of God.

An Act of God

For the past ten years, I have been reviewing legal contracts in one capacity or another. In every contract, there is a section that releases all parties of liability when an Act of God occurs. One such act may be an earthquake or a tornado or a hail storm that destroys a building or some documents. It is the section of the contract that I generally just scan because the information is so boilerplate.

Today I was given the opportunity to really think about an Act of God - certainly not in the context of a legal document, but in a general sense. I stood in my daughter's bedroom today after picking up all the stuffed animals on her floor, putting the myriad of books back on her bookshelf and making her bed. I pulled up the shade and looked outside. She has the best view of our backyard (and because of this, she wants Santa to bring her a telescope).

I watched the trees in my backyard dancing like there was no tomorrow! It wasn't a waltz or the chicken dance, it was down right rock 'n roll. Guns 'n Roses meets Metallica in my backyard. They were bent over, their branches shaking, leaves going everywhere; and they are having a ball. Instead of floating leisurely to the ground, they are flying in circles, orchestrated like migrating birds. And it is beautiful.

As I stood there, I watched a tree fall over in the woods. One second it was standing and dancing and the next, it was done. All 75' of it downed by one gust of wind. (Unfortunately, I wasn't outside to hear it as it fell in the woods, so I don't know if it made sound).

And then, the deck furniture fell over, the open umbrella flew across my deck and the chairs tumbled behind it. The dogs barked in fear. I jumped in fear. It has been one helluva windy day today.

Winter has come. The trees that are still standing shiver in their nakedness, embarking on a cold winter. The fall season for me is officially over, even though the calendar argues to the contrary. Days like today make me appreciate the changing seasons, the changing ways of God, and they lead me to believe that the darkness of winter is just a reminder that things are always changing and on the first Indian Summer day of spring I will be dancing like a rock star.

And on that first Indian Summer day of my new life, I will be singing Alleluia.