I finished the book in eight hours, with the kids screaming around me, with the impending drive to MD on my mind and well, I couldn't put it down. It was so much better than the first read through, and so much more heartbreaking too! And funny! Damn, it was funny Cliff. He was a character, an amazing, loving streaking clown of love!
You told the story of Jeff and you told the story of Dad, and you told the story of us, and you made the Fuzzy's known...
You did well. And I thank you. I thank you with tears in my eyes, I thank you with a laugh on my lips, I thank you with a proud, proud smile on my face.
Thanks Cliff. I love you.
Monday, December 27, 2010
Reflections on 2010
When I reflect on 2010, I am both filled with awe and filled with sorrow. I made it to August – 8 months – and had a decent year. I began the year on a low note, missing my brother and worried about what 2010 would bring. By the time I got passed the one year anniversary of his death (March 4), I had made up my mind to begin enjoying life. And from March through July, things were, dare I say, good? The best decision I made for myself in 2010 (perhaps in my entire life) was to go to the Wildacres Writing Workshop in the mountains of North Carolina for a week. It was there that I met some incredible people, learned some incredible writing techniques and fell in love. I fell in love with the possibilities that life provided and how easy it was to harvest from life if you make the decision to do so. I was harvesting during that week, harvesting and reaping and sowing and reaping again. Life was actually pretty awesome during that week and the three or so weeks after.
I can honestly say that I began to really appreciate the people I had in my life – the staples that made every day possible- my neighbors, my old friends, my new friends and my family. Oh, how they held me up when I was wobbly! They have no idea. I need to raise a toast to them, and maybe during this week and weekend without the kids, I will. I will name them all by name and say a prayer and wish them well. The list is long, so very long, and I am so very blessed.
My dad dying dropped me to my knees. It wasn’t expected (then again, is death ever expected?). The days that followed were unreal. I made them unreal, to tell the truth. I fell into a relationship that I now see was a real means to distraction and a real comfort to my vulnerability, and now that the window has been cleared of the fog, I see that it wasn’t real or true or even that good for me in the long run. But in the weeks following dad’s death, it was perfect. I’ve come to realize that this is how life works. I doubt that I would be writing right now had I not entered into a whirlwind relationship that ended just as abruptly as it started. It got me through the pain because it’s much easier to pretend you’re high in love when the alternative is falling into the darkness of complete despair. The loneliness following his death would’ve put me in a prison again. My “fake” love freed me and I am grateful for that too.
In contemplating this truth, I found that it opened up many more truths about me too – those that brought me comfort short-term (martinis and nights out and a lot of sleep and watching tv and listening to music and playing video games and failing to live beyond getting through a day and a new drama).
2010: before and after. The line is clear. I was just coming out of the short-term distractions and getting into those beautiful lifelong changes when another tragedy kicked me in the teeth.
And it’s okay. It’s okay.
I feel like I’ve had enough pain for awhile, yet I am not so naïve to think that since I’ve had three truly terrible years, I am protected from it. Yet, I am determined to break through to the truth this year – armored with the shield of my love – for God, for myself, for my children, for my family and for all those I see, hear, touch and feel. And I refuse to break through by sitting in my house and contemplating and thinking and self-helping. I am going to break through by living; by finding a Wildacres trip in every day; by living, damn it!
Life itself: terrible and wondrous, horrific and beautiful, terrifying and buoyant, lonely and joyful, real and unreal; and the only opportunity available to truly live and love.
I can honestly say that I began to really appreciate the people I had in my life – the staples that made every day possible- my neighbors, my old friends, my new friends and my family. Oh, how they held me up when I was wobbly! They have no idea. I need to raise a toast to them, and maybe during this week and weekend without the kids, I will. I will name them all by name and say a prayer and wish them well. The list is long, so very long, and I am so very blessed.
My dad dying dropped me to my knees. It wasn’t expected (then again, is death ever expected?). The days that followed were unreal. I made them unreal, to tell the truth. I fell into a relationship that I now see was a real means to distraction and a real comfort to my vulnerability, and now that the window has been cleared of the fog, I see that it wasn’t real or true or even that good for me in the long run. But in the weeks following dad’s death, it was perfect. I’ve come to realize that this is how life works. I doubt that I would be writing right now had I not entered into a whirlwind relationship that ended just as abruptly as it started. It got me through the pain because it’s much easier to pretend you’re high in love when the alternative is falling into the darkness of complete despair. The loneliness following his death would’ve put me in a prison again. My “fake” love freed me and I am grateful for that too.
In contemplating this truth, I found that it opened up many more truths about me too – those that brought me comfort short-term (martinis and nights out and a lot of sleep and watching tv and listening to music and playing video games and failing to live beyond getting through a day and a new drama).
2010: before and after. The line is clear. I was just coming out of the short-term distractions and getting into those beautiful lifelong changes when another tragedy kicked me in the teeth.
And it’s okay. It’s okay.
I feel like I’ve had enough pain for awhile, yet I am not so naïve to think that since I’ve had three truly terrible years, I am protected from it. Yet, I am determined to break through to the truth this year – armored with the shield of my love – for God, for myself, for my children, for my family and for all those I see, hear, touch and feel. And I refuse to break through by sitting in my house and contemplating and thinking and self-helping. I am going to break through by living; by finding a Wildacres trip in every day; by living, damn it!
Life itself: terrible and wondrous, horrific and beautiful, terrifying and buoyant, lonely and joyful, real and unreal; and the only opportunity available to truly live and love.
Sunday, December 19, 2010
Buffalo Hunting
This time of year, for the past three years, has been very difficult. The Christmas season is supposed to be joyous; and sadly, it hasn't been for the past three years because it seems that I am always missing a pivotal person in my life while trying to maintain a level of enthusiasm for the children. It's a tough position to be in because on the one hand, I am so excited for the kids, on the other, I am so confused about life. And death. And all the hell that happens in between.
I went through my depression over the past few weeks - trying so hard to get through each day without letting the weight of it all knock me sideways.
This is supposed to be my weekend without the kids, and fortuitously, I was able to have them this weekend rather than endure a weekend without them again. I think that has made a big difference in my attitude. Their excitement about shufflin' off to Buffalo is unbelievable. They are so very in tune with my family and with the joy that being in the presence of my family brings that I can't help but be excited about the upcoming gathering.
When I think about the people who will be so very apparently absent, I choke up. Yet, when I think about the people who will be present (I use that word intentionally), I am filled with anticipation and enthusiasm. I think that maybe this will be a new way to approach the holidays - not with sadness and dread, but with gratefulness and joy. I still have so many incredible people in my life - my relatives! - that I would pick hanging out with over anybody else. I have these incredible nieces that light up a room; I have these incredible nephews that create laughter in every instance; and the dogs - oh, how they can make us all commiserate and laugh; and of course, the wholeness, the strength, the longevity of a loving set of siblings, and a mother who can throw out one-liners like it's her job (and it has been her job!) and I look forward to it all. To all of it!
I may be without a mate, but I am not alone. I may be lonely on occasion, but I am not without support. I may be aching, but I am not isolated in my pain.
Life is happening now.
I don't want it to happen without Jeff or Dad, but it is happening.
Laughter still exists.
Love still exists.
Beyond the pain, they are there.
And joy still exists. I plan on heaping it upon my plate this holiday... heaping and heaping and heaping it upon my plate until my plate runneth over, until my cup is full, until I am spewing a drink across the table in laughter, all over a sibling. I plan on that.
I will not be disappointed.
Love.
I went through my depression over the past few weeks - trying so hard to get through each day without letting the weight of it all knock me sideways.
This is supposed to be my weekend without the kids, and fortuitously, I was able to have them this weekend rather than endure a weekend without them again. I think that has made a big difference in my attitude. Their excitement about shufflin' off to Buffalo is unbelievable. They are so very in tune with my family and with the joy that being in the presence of my family brings that I can't help but be excited about the upcoming gathering.
When I think about the people who will be so very apparently absent, I choke up. Yet, when I think about the people who will be present (I use that word intentionally), I am filled with anticipation and enthusiasm. I think that maybe this will be a new way to approach the holidays - not with sadness and dread, but with gratefulness and joy. I still have so many incredible people in my life - my relatives! - that I would pick hanging out with over anybody else. I have these incredible nieces that light up a room; I have these incredible nephews that create laughter in every instance; and the dogs - oh, how they can make us all commiserate and laugh; and of course, the wholeness, the strength, the longevity of a loving set of siblings, and a mother who can throw out one-liners like it's her job (and it has been her job!) and I look forward to it all. To all of it!
I may be without a mate, but I am not alone. I may be lonely on occasion, but I am not without support. I may be aching, but I am not isolated in my pain.
Life is happening now.
I don't want it to happen without Jeff or Dad, but it is happening.
Laughter still exists.
Love still exists.
Beyond the pain, they are there.
And joy still exists. I plan on heaping it upon my plate this holiday... heaping and heaping and heaping it upon my plate until my plate runneth over, until my cup is full, until I am spewing a drink across the table in laughter, all over a sibling. I plan on that.
I will not be disappointed.
Love.
Saturday, December 18, 2010
Press Release: Thanks Yvonne
FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE
Oh Brother! The Life and Times of Jeff Fazzolari marks author Cliff Fazzolari’s tenth book. Notable
works include: Counting on a Miracle (honorable mention at the 2008 Best Beach Book Festival
NYC) and House of Miracles and Nobody’s Home (2009 fiction pick for the New England Book
Festival). Published in USA Today, The Buffalo News and The Atlantic Constitution.
"Counting on a Miracle should be required reading for every human being." — Dr. Marc Levitt,
Chief Surgeon, Women & Children’s Hospital of Buffalo.
Whether it’s fiction or non-fiction, Cliff’s writing is handcrafted by what touches his life and engages his
emotions. Life’s roller coaster ride, the authentic ups and downs, leave readers with a real deal author akin to Steinbeck. Fazzolari writes with passion, not prejudice. His skillful storytelling imparts important life-lessons— lessons all of us could use reminding. — Lynn Lombard, Buffalo News contributor and freelance writer
Oh Brother! The Life and Times of Jeff Fazzolari is an authentic heirloom recipe
that shares the ingredients of what it takes to make life meaningful, challenging and
tasteful. This close-knit Italian family circles the kitchen table with confidence, slapstick
humor and mutual joy. Food plays a pivotal role in their lives and pride is felt when the
youngest son becomes a noted executive chef at The Gow School. But on January 27,
2009 life went terribly wrong for Jeff and his family.
Prior to that date, the Fazzolari family, known as the “Fuzzys”, was fortunate. They had a
secret that kept them above the fray: Love. Love between brothers and sisters, children
and parents, even their freaking dogs … a love that comes whole, not in individual pieces.
Together they made “Fuzzys’ Jumbut”, a recipe that throws together life, love and laughter.
But when Jeff dies, the family loses a core ingredient: the person that binds the family
together. The love isn’t enough and the pain is too much. Life isn’t the nice little package
they were living. Jeff’s death interferes with their love.
Oh Brother! The Life and Times of Jeff Fazzolari will introduce you to a son, a
brother, a husband and a dedicated father that was both prankster and poignant human
being. This thoughtful, compelling and heartfelt narrative serves to heal their own family as
well as others. This is a book that celebrates and embraces life at 120 miles per hour.
When the fuel tank runs out they add the ingredient that Jeff added to all his signature
recipes: Love.
Cliff’s blog, Thoughts of a Common Man, expresses the complexity of being human without
pretense. On or off the page Cliff’s a gifted cobbler of words and wisdom. Like his late father he
values his family and friends. His first post was about a rock handed to him by his son on his 40th
birthday. Simple? Yes and no. This was a rock that symbolized perfect, wonderful and unconditional
love. — Yvonne Conza, freelance writer & Cliff’s friend for over 40 years.
In Cliff’s words: As a Dad, that rock symbolized that I was doing as my Dad did. I had made the
human connection, with my son, that most Dads want, but a lot don't achieve. Jake had been sick.
Almost died, commanded all of my love and attention, and here he was, unashamed, standing
before me, telling me that he loved me. My kid loved me in a perfect kind of way!
And despite the fact that it was just a rock from my driveway...it hammered home all that I was
trying to accomplish in life.
That rock finds its way to my hand now and again when I'm hurting. I want it in the box with me
when I take the final ride. It's love. That's what it symbolizes. The perfect love that is difficult to get,
but the pursuit of which makes the world spin.
Oh Brother! The Life and Times of Jeff Fazzolari marks author Cliff Fazzolari’s tenth book. Notable
works include: Counting on a Miracle (honorable mention at the 2008 Best Beach Book Festival
NYC) and House of Miracles and Nobody’s Home (2009 fiction pick for the New England Book
Festival). Published in USA Today, The Buffalo News and The Atlantic Constitution.
"Counting on a Miracle should be required reading for every human being." — Dr. Marc Levitt,
Chief Surgeon, Women & Children’s Hospital of Buffalo.
Whether it’s fiction or non-fiction, Cliff’s writing is handcrafted by what touches his life and engages his
emotions. Life’s roller coaster ride, the authentic ups and downs, leave readers with a real deal author akin to Steinbeck. Fazzolari writes with passion, not prejudice. His skillful storytelling imparts important life-lessons— lessons all of us could use reminding. — Lynn Lombard, Buffalo News contributor and freelance writer
Oh Brother! The Life and Times of Jeff Fazzolari is an authentic heirloom recipe
that shares the ingredients of what it takes to make life meaningful, challenging and
tasteful. This close-knit Italian family circles the kitchen table with confidence, slapstick
humor and mutual joy. Food plays a pivotal role in their lives and pride is felt when the
youngest son becomes a noted executive chef at The Gow School. But on January 27,
2009 life went terribly wrong for Jeff and his family.
Prior to that date, the Fazzolari family, known as the “Fuzzys”, was fortunate. They had a
secret that kept them above the fray: Love. Love between brothers and sisters, children
and parents, even their freaking dogs … a love that comes whole, not in individual pieces.
Together they made “Fuzzys’ Jumbut”, a recipe that throws together life, love and laughter.
But when Jeff dies, the family loses a core ingredient: the person that binds the family
together. The love isn’t enough and the pain is too much. Life isn’t the nice little package
they were living. Jeff’s death interferes with their love.
Oh Brother! The Life and Times of Jeff Fazzolari will introduce you to a son, a
brother, a husband and a dedicated father that was both prankster and poignant human
being. This thoughtful, compelling and heartfelt narrative serves to heal their own family as
well as others. This is a book that celebrates and embraces life at 120 miles per hour.
When the fuel tank runs out they add the ingredient that Jeff added to all his signature
recipes: Love.
Cliff’s blog, Thoughts of a Common Man, expresses the complexity of being human without
pretense. On or off the page Cliff’s a gifted cobbler of words and wisdom. Like his late father he
values his family and friends. His first post was about a rock handed to him by his son on his 40th
birthday. Simple? Yes and no. This was a rock that symbolized perfect, wonderful and unconditional
love. — Yvonne Conza, freelance writer & Cliff’s friend for over 40 years.
In Cliff’s words: As a Dad, that rock symbolized that I was doing as my Dad did. I had made the
human connection, with my son, that most Dads want, but a lot don't achieve. Jake had been sick.
Almost died, commanded all of my love and attention, and here he was, unashamed, standing
before me, telling me that he loved me. My kid loved me in a perfect kind of way!
And despite the fact that it was just a rock from my driveway...it hammered home all that I was
trying to accomplish in life.
That rock finds its way to my hand now and again when I'm hurting. I want it in the box with me
when I take the final ride. It's love. That's what it symbolizes. The perfect love that is difficult to get,
but the pursuit of which makes the world spin.
Thursday, December 16, 2010
Enzo-ooooooooooo-ooooooo-ooooo!
What I enjoy most about wrapping presents isn't the joy of knowing that the person who will receive the gift will be oh so happy; it is not about getting it finally done; it is not about the anticipation of the joyous occasion. It is the cardboard tube that is left over from all the wrapping. It is the great fun I find in holding it over my shoulder, taking a stance like Jeter about to nail one, and waiting for Enzo to come galloping around the corner. Thwack! On the butt and he scatters, he soars, he leaps, he slides across the floor and around the corner and stops moving. For a few seconds, he just stops moving and then takes three tentative steps toward me. I pull the tube back over my shoulder, he runs backwards (have you ever seen a dog run backwards - it's hysterical) and I chase him with it.
This is how I spent the first ten minutes of the morning - before coffee or anything else. Cathartic.
And guess who is behaving? Could it be the dog that has eaten three of Paige's books in the past two days?Could it be the one that destroyed his dog bed and everything else in his crate? Could it be the one who puked up a baby bird that landed inches from Paige's pajamaed feet? Or is it the one that weighs 80 pounds with the mentality of a three year old child wild with disrespect and chocolate? Or maybe the one that lifted his leg on the Poinsetta plant during dinner the other night?
This is going to be a good day. This is going to be a good weekend. I have loads and loads and loads of presents to wrap. Plenty of cardboard tubes. One dog.
Me and one dog.
Who will win?
This is how I spent the first ten minutes of the morning - before coffee or anything else. Cathartic.
And guess who is behaving? Could it be the dog that has eaten three of Paige's books in the past two days?Could it be the one that destroyed his dog bed and everything else in his crate? Could it be the one who puked up a baby bird that landed inches from Paige's pajamaed feet? Or is it the one that weighs 80 pounds with the mentality of a three year old child wild with disrespect and chocolate? Or maybe the one that lifted his leg on the Poinsetta plant during dinner the other night?
This is going to be a good day. This is going to be a good weekend. I have loads and loads and loads of presents to wrap. Plenty of cardboard tubes. One dog.
Me and one dog.
Who will win?
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
Dear George Clooney
Books are magical. The other day, Paige, Tony and I spent a few minutes talking books. We ate our chicken noodle soup and talked about our favorite books of all time. Of course, I didn't mention A Prayer for Owen Meany or Madame Bovary or Stoner or East of Eden. We talked kids books. The animation in their voices was exceptional; even Tony with his excitement of the Great Fuzz Frenzy and The Giving Tree and The Kissing Hand. Paige is on to the series books: Junie B., Captain Underpants and even Narnia. I love that they read. I love that we all share the same obsession. I love that we can spend 20 minutes during dinner, talking about books.
The season has been up and down, up and down. The kids are, of course, excited to get presents from Santa but the energy, the anticipation, the real excitement comes with the thought of going to Buffalo for the holiday. "When we get to Buffalo..." "Can I bring this to Buffalo...?" "James is going to love...." "I can't wait to see Andrea and Nicole..." "Too bad Papa won't be there. I miss him..." All day, every day, for the past two weeks. All day, every day...
And I cry sometimes when I think about it.
I also laugh a lot when I think about it.
I'm tired too.
Paige stopped me in my tracks two days ago. Out of nowhere she said, "Mommy, I'd like to switch places with you for awhile."
I snorted. "Why?" (It was one of my down, cynical moments).
"So I can know what you're feeling."
"I'm okay Paige. I'm happy a lot."
"And sad?"
"Yes, and sad."
"And in love?"
"Yes, and in love."
"With me and Tony!"
"Yes, with you and Tony."
"And lonely?"
"Sometimes."
"And scared?"
"Yes, sometimes."
"And worried?"
"Nah, not too much. Things always get better."
"But mostly happy?"
"Yes, mostly happy. Do you still want to switch places with me?"
"No. It doesn't sound like fun, but I'd let you switch places with me for awhile because my life is pretty fun."
"Thanks Paige."
When she skipped away, I stood at the kitchen counter, dumbfounded. She's seven. And compassionate. And loving. And kind. And my baby.
We went to the bookstore last Saturday. I needed to get presents for teachers, mailmen, etc. (Didn't find anything there). I told Paige and Tony, they could each pick out one book. Tony came back with three to look over while drinking his hot chocolate. Paige came back with nine, and was very upset that I told her she could only have one. She picked the "Dork Diaries" - a cute story about a cute girl. In her pile of books was one titled: "Dear George Clooney, Will You Please Marry my Mother?" I laughed hard when I saw it.
"Why'd you pick that?"
"Because I wanted to see if it would help me help you find a husband."
"That's silly. I am buying it."
"For me?"
"No, for me. You can read it when I'm done."
Hopefully, it will turn out to be another favorite; and if not, I'll at least be in Paige's shoes for a little bit while I read it.
It is amazing to me how astute kids can be; how downright psychic they can be; how compassionate and kind and magical they are. I love books because they are very similar - astute and psychic, compassionate and kind, and magical. I know that's why my kids love them too. They may not be magical enough to actualize a marriage to George Clooney, but they have managed to actualize a great friendship with my kids. And that is something to read about.
The season has been up and down, up and down. The kids are, of course, excited to get presents from Santa but the energy, the anticipation, the real excitement comes with the thought of going to Buffalo for the holiday. "When we get to Buffalo..." "Can I bring this to Buffalo...?" "James is going to love...." "I can't wait to see Andrea and Nicole..." "Too bad Papa won't be there. I miss him..." All day, every day, for the past two weeks. All day, every day...
And I cry sometimes when I think about it.
I also laugh a lot when I think about it.
I'm tired too.
Paige stopped me in my tracks two days ago. Out of nowhere she said, "Mommy, I'd like to switch places with you for awhile."
I snorted. "Why?" (It was one of my down, cynical moments).
"So I can know what you're feeling."
"I'm okay Paige. I'm happy a lot."
"And sad?"
"Yes, and sad."
"And in love?"
"Yes, and in love."
"With me and Tony!"
"Yes, with you and Tony."
"And lonely?"
"Sometimes."
"And scared?"
"Yes, sometimes."
"And worried?"
"Nah, not too much. Things always get better."
"But mostly happy?"
"Yes, mostly happy. Do you still want to switch places with me?"
"No. It doesn't sound like fun, but I'd let you switch places with me for awhile because my life is pretty fun."
"Thanks Paige."
When she skipped away, I stood at the kitchen counter, dumbfounded. She's seven. And compassionate. And loving. And kind. And my baby.
We went to the bookstore last Saturday. I needed to get presents for teachers, mailmen, etc. (Didn't find anything there). I told Paige and Tony, they could each pick out one book. Tony came back with three to look over while drinking his hot chocolate. Paige came back with nine, and was very upset that I told her she could only have one. She picked the "Dork Diaries" - a cute story about a cute girl. In her pile of books was one titled: "Dear George Clooney, Will You Please Marry my Mother?" I laughed hard when I saw it.
"Why'd you pick that?"
"Because I wanted to see if it would help me help you find a husband."
"That's silly. I am buying it."
"For me?"
"No, for me. You can read it when I'm done."
Hopefully, it will turn out to be another favorite; and if not, I'll at least be in Paige's shoes for a little bit while I read it.
It is amazing to me how astute kids can be; how downright psychic they can be; how compassionate and kind and magical they are. I love books because they are very similar - astute and psychic, compassionate and kind, and magical. I know that's why my kids love them too. They may not be magical enough to actualize a marriage to George Clooney, but they have managed to actualize a great friendship with my kids. And that is something to read about.
Monday, December 13, 2010
Moving and Stalled
I've had a rough time of it for the past few weeks. I suppose it's evident in my lack of posting here; and I know I can feel it in the tension of my neck and head. The kids haven't suffered from it.Work hasn't suffered from it either. I guess those are the two most important vehicles I am driving these days, and it helps that I've had enough caffeine to stay on the road when I'm driving them.
My social life? Pretty dismal.
My creativity? Equally dismal.
My sleep habits? Horrid.
My attitude? Cynical and glass-half-empty.
I went to church yesterday. Said a heartfelt prayer. For myself. I never pray for myself. I'd have to say that 90% of my prayers, since I was able to pray, have always been for others - world peace, fighting soldiers, friends having a rough time, grieving family members, the weary, the sick and the deceased. I think the last time I prayed for myself was after I learned of a betrayal to me and my family and my only plea was, "Help me God." Not much of a prayer, but I remember that it was answered - after a long battle with my emotions, the source of the betrayal was subsequently absent and my insides were set straight. They remained straight for some time too: another betrayal, through the divorce, two jobs, unemployment, new job, death #1, grieving, death #2... you get the picture.
Yet, the miles, the strides, the climbs and the endless self-evaluations seemed to add up to one big, fat, zero. Nothing. I am back where I was many years ago. Praying to God for myself.
I sat at basketball practice on Saturday, enjoying the tripping, the dribbling of the ball on the big toe and subsequent scramble to get it, the missed shots, the swish and the glee of the swish. I was enjoying myself. Then I looked up and I saw my ex strolling in, hand-in-hand with his girl, and it made me puke a little in my mouth. I've since gotten over the pain, the anger, and the fondness of my ex; and have even come to respect his new girlfriend to a degree (though I fear for her in ways she cannot comprehend), but the bitter taste of resentment still bubbles every so often. I don't miss him, I miss a mate; and I cannot understand how he can find love at every turn but I still sit lonely inside a full room.
What the hell is wrong with me?
That baggage came with me to church too, snuggled next to fear and sorrow. So, we're at resentment, fear and sorrow. Not the greatest recipe for a trajectory into joy, is it?
So I prayed for myself.
Mass was about longing for God. I got it. I understood it, even chuckled a couple times during the priest's Gospel. It gave me just enough energy to get through the day: making a chocolate cake, some shake-n-bake drumsticks, homemade chicken noodle soup. I watched the kids as they ate and ate and ate, appreciating all of it. Once their eyes were closed for the night, darkness descended and I spent the night tossing and turning, finally getting out of bed because staying in it was making it darker by the minute. I could have prayed. I probably should have prayed. But I forgot. Maybe I'll remember later.
Kids are up. Time to turn the key and start up vehicle #1.
My social life? Pretty dismal.
My creativity? Equally dismal.
My sleep habits? Horrid.
My attitude? Cynical and glass-half-empty.
I went to church yesterday. Said a heartfelt prayer. For myself. I never pray for myself. I'd have to say that 90% of my prayers, since I was able to pray, have always been for others - world peace, fighting soldiers, friends having a rough time, grieving family members, the weary, the sick and the deceased. I think the last time I prayed for myself was after I learned of a betrayal to me and my family and my only plea was, "Help me God." Not much of a prayer, but I remember that it was answered - after a long battle with my emotions, the source of the betrayal was subsequently absent and my insides were set straight. They remained straight for some time too: another betrayal, through the divorce, two jobs, unemployment, new job, death #1, grieving, death #2... you get the picture.
Yet, the miles, the strides, the climbs and the endless self-evaluations seemed to add up to one big, fat, zero. Nothing. I am back where I was many years ago. Praying to God for myself.
I sat at basketball practice on Saturday, enjoying the tripping, the dribbling of the ball on the big toe and subsequent scramble to get it, the missed shots, the swish and the glee of the swish. I was enjoying myself. Then I looked up and I saw my ex strolling in, hand-in-hand with his girl, and it made me puke a little in my mouth. I've since gotten over the pain, the anger, and the fondness of my ex; and have even come to respect his new girlfriend to a degree (though I fear for her in ways she cannot comprehend), but the bitter taste of resentment still bubbles every so often. I don't miss him, I miss a mate; and I cannot understand how he can find love at every turn but I still sit lonely inside a full room.
What the hell is wrong with me?
That baggage came with me to church too, snuggled next to fear and sorrow. So, we're at resentment, fear and sorrow. Not the greatest recipe for a trajectory into joy, is it?
So I prayed for myself.
Mass was about longing for God. I got it. I understood it, even chuckled a couple times during the priest's Gospel. It gave me just enough energy to get through the day: making a chocolate cake, some shake-n-bake drumsticks, homemade chicken noodle soup. I watched the kids as they ate and ate and ate, appreciating all of it. Once their eyes were closed for the night, darkness descended and I spent the night tossing and turning, finally getting out of bed because staying in it was making it darker by the minute. I could have prayed. I probably should have prayed. But I forgot. Maybe I'll remember later.
Kids are up. Time to turn the key and start up vehicle #1.
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
Love, Dummy
Had a good cry with a perfect stranger the other day. I suppose we're on our way to becoming friends now but the cry was between two women who didn't know diddly about the other woman. Or maybe we did? How else does that explain the cry? I won't go into the reasons for the cry, but we talked for a good thirty minutes about our backgrounds and she, with strength and poise, mentioned something that she's been facing for quite some time, and I immediately put myself in her shoes and as she shrugged and said, "But there's not much I can do but accept it," tears welled up and I took a step forward to hug her. We embraced, me for a minute to pull in my grace, her because, well, because I pretty much made her hug me. When I stepped back, I saw the tears run down her face. We both kind of nodded, locked eyes, our souls met and shook hands, and we smiled.
I drove home yesterday and looked up. John Mellencamp's "This Time (I Really Think I'm in Love)" was blasting on the radio (because, for some reason, I love singing along to that song) and I noticed the rays of sunlight streaming through the clouds, outlined in pink, soft and whispy, like cotton candy. It was pretty. Scratch that. It was breathtaking.
Just after the song ended, Springsteen's Across the Border began, and falling into the melodic hypnosis of the words and music caused my heart to sway and wait for the next melody, sway and wait for the next line, sway and wait, sway and wait... beautiful.
After getting home, practicing writing with Tony and reading with Paige, I put on Bugs Bunny and friends, and began making dinner. As I cut and cooked, I heard their laughter, Bugs' one-liners and despite wanting to get dinner on the table at a reasonable hour, I was pulled in between them on the couch; shortly after, I was laughing along with them, repeating the funny lines and waiting for the next cartoon to start. We ended up turning the TV toward the kitchen so we could watch and cook at the same time. Classic
Once dinner was on the table, we turned the tv off and talked, talked, talked about everything under the sun: classmates, family, school, reading, favorite parts of the day (Bugs won for all three of us).
Paige said, "You know, I had a terrible day today but now it's better."
(She did too, crabby and dismissive, rude and disrespectful that morning before getting on the bus; and then when she got home, it started all over again with a dirty look at me as she descended the bus stairs).
I leaned into her, gave her a kiss on the forehead and said, "You know what the secret is to making a bad day better?"
She pulled back and said, "No. What?"
I whispered, "Love, Dummy."
I had taken the reins again after the every other weekend anger towards me, and now, we're solid. (Only took me two days this time; I'm getting better).
I am pretty out of sorts these days; been feeling sorry for myself; quite lonely; quite cynical; and very much confused about the slap of life's right hand. Yet, after a quick prayer for help, the heaviness lifted and I was able to see.
There is beauty.
There is tenderness.
There is laughter.
There is the human condition that marks our souls.
There is the heavenly condition that gives out hope and grace at a bargain price.
The holidays this year are going to be tough, indeed. Yet, every day is tough. It's a struggle to live with the sting of the slap with poise and strength.
A stranger taught me that, but maybe I should've just locked eyes with myself or a member of my family...
they've got the cherry red cheek to prove that the slap still smarts. Yet they, like me, know how uplifting the thought of watching Bugs Bunny with the kids or even having pork chops for dinner can be. And if that gets us through another long day, well, that's what does it.
Tonight, Bugs Bunny for entertainment, pork chops for dinner and love for the seconds in between...
I drove home yesterday and looked up. John Mellencamp's "This Time (I Really Think I'm in Love)" was blasting on the radio (because, for some reason, I love singing along to that song) and I noticed the rays of sunlight streaming through the clouds, outlined in pink, soft and whispy, like cotton candy. It was pretty. Scratch that. It was breathtaking.
Just after the song ended, Springsteen's Across the Border began, and falling into the melodic hypnosis of the words and music caused my heart to sway and wait for the next melody, sway and wait for the next line, sway and wait, sway and wait... beautiful.
After getting home, practicing writing with Tony and reading with Paige, I put on Bugs Bunny and friends, and began making dinner. As I cut and cooked, I heard their laughter, Bugs' one-liners and despite wanting to get dinner on the table at a reasonable hour, I was pulled in between them on the couch; shortly after, I was laughing along with them, repeating the funny lines and waiting for the next cartoon to start. We ended up turning the TV toward the kitchen so we could watch and cook at the same time. Classic
Once dinner was on the table, we turned the tv off and talked, talked, talked about everything under the sun: classmates, family, school, reading, favorite parts of the day (Bugs won for all three of us).
Paige said, "You know, I had a terrible day today but now it's better."
(She did too, crabby and dismissive, rude and disrespectful that morning before getting on the bus; and then when she got home, it started all over again with a dirty look at me as she descended the bus stairs).
I leaned into her, gave her a kiss on the forehead and said, "You know what the secret is to making a bad day better?"
She pulled back and said, "No. What?"
I whispered, "Love, Dummy."
I had taken the reins again after the every other weekend anger towards me, and now, we're solid. (Only took me two days this time; I'm getting better).
I am pretty out of sorts these days; been feeling sorry for myself; quite lonely; quite cynical; and very much confused about the slap of life's right hand. Yet, after a quick prayer for help, the heaviness lifted and I was able to see.
There is beauty.
There is tenderness.
There is laughter.
There is the human condition that marks our souls.
There is the heavenly condition that gives out hope and grace at a bargain price.
The holidays this year are going to be tough, indeed. Yet, every day is tough. It's a struggle to live with the sting of the slap with poise and strength.
A stranger taught me that, but maybe I should've just locked eyes with myself or a member of my family...
they've got the cherry red cheek to prove that the slap still smarts. Yet they, like me, know how uplifting the thought of watching Bugs Bunny with the kids or even having pork chops for dinner can be. And if that gets us through another long day, well, that's what does it.
Tonight, Bugs Bunny for entertainment, pork chops for dinner and love for the seconds in between...
Friday, December 3, 2010
Super!
A common question that people ask themselves after hard times is whether or not they would change things. "If you could go back 20 years, would you change anything about your life?"
The usual response is "No." And a number of reasons are given.
Me? My answer?
"Hell yes!" And following is a list of what I would change:
1. I'd still marry my ex and "allow" God his mercy of giving me Paige and Tony, but I would've left the minute Tony was born. See ya. I'm out. Have a good life.
2. I would have lowered my expectations of people in general. The epiphany I had today is that I expect more from people than they are capable of giving. Truth is, there are a lot of people that suck. Yeah, yeah, they're all going through something which fogs their ability to give love, but what the hell? It's not that difficult to do the right thing, and it's not that difficult to distinguish between right and wrong. So people who consistently disregard the right thing are idiots (or DBs - dirtbags, if you're my dad, douchebags, if you're me), and I should expect that they're idiots. I'll take the blame on this one, but from here on in, my expectations are way low - so low that the limberest limbo dancer cannot get under how low my expectations really are.
3. Screw law school. I would've gone to that university in New York City where I was accepted and I would already have 12 years of an MFA and professorship under my belt.
4. I would have let go of the baggage that comes from being naive and surprised by the DBs of this world. (See number 2 above).
5. I would have moved back to Buffalo right after my ex left. Enough said. I dug my own hole on that one.
6. I never would have picked up a cigarette and thus wouldn't have the need for Nicorette gum - which, by the way, has cost me so much money, it's ridiculous.
7. Enzo? Hmmm... yeah, I still would have gotten Enzo. (Be on the lookout for my rewrite to Clement C. Moore's (although the claim has also been made that it was written by Henry Livingston, Jr.) 'Twas the Night Before Christmas, retitled "Twas the Night Before Christmas (and Enzo)", which I am rewriting for the kids...).
8. I'd still drink Patron and Grey Goose and Chardonnay and Carlo Rossi's Red Table Wine ($12 a gallon!), but I'd drink it with my brother Jeff and my dad, somehow, I'd drink it with them... because I would CHANGE EVERY SINGLE ASPECT OF EVERY SINGLE DETAIL OF THEIR DEATHS and I would be an unsung, unknown hero.
9. Yeah.
10. Yep. Life would be different.
Number eight made me realize something. It's still better to let love give what it gives.
Let love give what it gives.
- Yes, I married the wrong guy, but I have two incredible children because of it.
- Yes, I have high expectations of everyone I meet, but sometimes those expectations are met, and the reason I have them is because I am surrounded by people (my family, my friends) who consistently exceed my expectations. If I didn't have them, how would I even know other people suck?
- Yes, I went to law school but I have a pretty decent job and I can read like a freakin' champ! I could always write creatively, but to be able to write professionally and in such a way that I nearly always get what I want? That's because of law school. And I met some of the most incredible people I know at the University of Dayton School of Law!
- Okay, I'd still let go of the baggage from DBs. (Douchebags, as I refer to them, Dirtbags as my dad always referred to them...)
- Okay, I still would've moved back to Buffalo - snow and all. Enough said. It hurts to think I didn't...
- Okay, cigarettes and nicotine are out! Out!
- Okay, Enzo is in. Damn it! That dog is a menace, but he's my menace...
- And okay, I'd still love to turn back the clock on the untimely deaths of two very important people in my life. I'd like to talk with them more, know them more, appreciate them more; and hurt less by their absence. I'd like to say to those whom I love (you all know who you are - if not, send me an email, I'll remind you), "Thank you." Jeff and Dad need to be here. In my life. In our lives. In the lives of many. Because all in all, through thick and thin, they never failed to meet my expectations, even when they did, they didn't; and it's a crying shame... it's a crying shame that they didn't make it further.
All in all, I think this post is about life. It's about living. It's about standing up, putting the load back on your shoulders and moving forward despite the difficulties, despite the retrospect, despite the mistakes and the bad, bad choices. And I think it answers the ultimate question with a resounding: "Well, hell yes, I'd um, change things..." ...Maybe not so resounding, but we all know that we've made mistakes/bad choices/been DBs at some points in our life/fogged the line between right and wrong; and so, because we cannot change the past, we must renew our obligation to the future.
My only advice: When somebody asks you to do something, do more than what is expected. Yeah, my dad gave me that advice... He was super cool! Not a DB at all! (And I thank him for "pushing" me toward my Lincoln, because it is soooooooooo nice....)
The usual response is "No." And a number of reasons are given.
Me? My answer?
"Hell yes!" And following is a list of what I would change:
1. I'd still marry my ex and "allow" God his mercy of giving me Paige and Tony, but I would've left the minute Tony was born. See ya. I'm out. Have a good life.
2. I would have lowered my expectations of people in general. The epiphany I had today is that I expect more from people than they are capable of giving. Truth is, there are a lot of people that suck. Yeah, yeah, they're all going through something which fogs their ability to give love, but what the hell? It's not that difficult to do the right thing, and it's not that difficult to distinguish between right and wrong. So people who consistently disregard the right thing are idiots (or DBs - dirtbags, if you're my dad, douchebags, if you're me), and I should expect that they're idiots. I'll take the blame on this one, but from here on in, my expectations are way low - so low that the limberest limbo dancer cannot get under how low my expectations really are.
3. Screw law school. I would've gone to that university in New York City where I was accepted and I would already have 12 years of an MFA and professorship under my belt.
4. I would have let go of the baggage that comes from being naive and surprised by the DBs of this world. (See number 2 above).
5. I would have moved back to Buffalo right after my ex left. Enough said. I dug my own hole on that one.
6. I never would have picked up a cigarette and thus wouldn't have the need for Nicorette gum - which, by the way, has cost me so much money, it's ridiculous.
7. Enzo? Hmmm... yeah, I still would have gotten Enzo. (Be on the lookout for my rewrite to Clement C. Moore's (although the claim has also been made that it was written by Henry Livingston, Jr.) 'Twas the Night Before Christmas, retitled "Twas the Night Before Christmas (and Enzo)", which I am rewriting for the kids...).
8. I'd still drink Patron and Grey Goose and Chardonnay and Carlo Rossi's Red Table Wine ($12 a gallon!), but I'd drink it with my brother Jeff and my dad, somehow, I'd drink it with them... because I would CHANGE EVERY SINGLE ASPECT OF EVERY SINGLE DETAIL OF THEIR DEATHS and I would be an unsung, unknown hero.
9. Yeah.
10. Yep. Life would be different.
Number eight made me realize something. It's still better to let love give what it gives.
Let love give what it gives.
- Yes, I married the wrong guy, but I have two incredible children because of it.
- Yes, I have high expectations of everyone I meet, but sometimes those expectations are met, and the reason I have them is because I am surrounded by people (my family, my friends) who consistently exceed my expectations. If I didn't have them, how would I even know other people suck?
- Yes, I went to law school but I have a pretty decent job and I can read like a freakin' champ! I could always write creatively, but to be able to write professionally and in such a way that I nearly always get what I want? That's because of law school. And I met some of the most incredible people I know at the University of Dayton School of Law!
- Okay, I'd still let go of the baggage from DBs. (Douchebags, as I refer to them, Dirtbags as my dad always referred to them...)
- Okay, I still would've moved back to Buffalo - snow and all. Enough said. It hurts to think I didn't...
- Okay, cigarettes and nicotine are out! Out!
- Okay, Enzo is in. Damn it! That dog is a menace, but he's my menace...
- And okay, I'd still love to turn back the clock on the untimely deaths of two very important people in my life. I'd like to talk with them more, know them more, appreciate them more; and hurt less by their absence. I'd like to say to those whom I love (you all know who you are - if not, send me an email, I'll remind you), "Thank you." Jeff and Dad need to be here. In my life. In our lives. In the lives of many. Because all in all, through thick and thin, they never failed to meet my expectations, even when they did, they didn't; and it's a crying shame... it's a crying shame that they didn't make it further.
All in all, I think this post is about life. It's about living. It's about standing up, putting the load back on your shoulders and moving forward despite the difficulties, despite the retrospect, despite the mistakes and the bad, bad choices. And I think it answers the ultimate question with a resounding: "Well, hell yes, I'd um, change things..." ...Maybe not so resounding, but we all know that we've made mistakes/bad choices/been DBs at some points in our life/fogged the line between right and wrong; and so, because we cannot change the past, we must renew our obligation to the future.
My only advice: When somebody asks you to do something, do more than what is expected. Yeah, my dad gave me that advice... He was super cool! Not a DB at all! (And I thank him for "pushing" me toward my Lincoln, because it is soooooooooo nice....)
Thursday, December 2, 2010
What's Up?
Well, the rhythm has certainly picked up at work, and the drum sticks are flying to and fro, knocking me upside the head most of the time. I heard the cymbals crash when I got home from work last night, and got the kids settled with a snack and homework at the kitchen table while I stood with the refrigerator/freezer opened and wondered what the hell I was going to make for dinner. (My kids aren't fish stick and mac-n-cheese kind of kids, so I need to put some effort into whatever I make). What to make? What to make? Beyond the turkey and stuffing and brussel sprouts there was a beacon shining... leftover sauce with meatballs and pork (which we had for dinner on Sunday). Perfect.
"Want pasta tonight?"
"Yeah! Yay!"
Lovely. That's easy. The night before we had baked Tilapia (which the kids tear up!), and the night before that, who the hell knows?
Life is busy. At work, I'm busy with work. At home, I'm busy with home. Yes, playing checkers and Candyland and Go Fish and Twister is part of the home assignment and believe me, I could be folding laundry, windexing windows or emptying the dishwasher but none of that seems so important when I have the kids around. Playing games and bonding; that's the ticket.
I go to bed when the kids go to bed. I wake up a couple hours earlier than them - that's my free time, taken over by work now, not writing, not contemplating, not dreaming. Work, so I can pay the bills, make a decent dinner and bond before bed.
I keep forgetting to pray. I keep forgetting to be thankful. I keep forgetting that something's gotta give here - another drama? Maybe a joy of some sort? Something beyond this.
I keep forgetting because I don't necessarily believe in these things right now. I sit with my anger and distaste toward my life (beyond the kids) and frown.
It'll pass. Just another damn stage.
But hey, at least I wrote today. So maybe I'll remember to look up too and at the very least, give a nod to the heavens.
"Want pasta tonight?"
"Yeah! Yay!"
Lovely. That's easy. The night before we had baked Tilapia (which the kids tear up!), and the night before that, who the hell knows?
Life is busy. At work, I'm busy with work. At home, I'm busy with home. Yes, playing checkers and Candyland and Go Fish and Twister is part of the home assignment and believe me, I could be folding laundry, windexing windows or emptying the dishwasher but none of that seems so important when I have the kids around. Playing games and bonding; that's the ticket.
I go to bed when the kids go to bed. I wake up a couple hours earlier than them - that's my free time, taken over by work now, not writing, not contemplating, not dreaming. Work, so I can pay the bills, make a decent dinner and bond before bed.
I keep forgetting to pray. I keep forgetting to be thankful. I keep forgetting that something's gotta give here - another drama? Maybe a joy of some sort? Something beyond this.
I keep forgetting because I don't necessarily believe in these things right now. I sit with my anger and distaste toward my life (beyond the kids) and frown.
It'll pass. Just another damn stage.
But hey, at least I wrote today. So maybe I'll remember to look up too and at the very least, give a nod to the heavens.
Monday, November 22, 2010
Loneliness
An echo returns as I roll the key in the lock,
“Mommy’s home!” reverberating off the whining of dogs,
Bellyaching for food, for relief, for love
My absence has bewildered them
My absence after eight hours gone
Away from the pain of what does not greet me
Away from what makes it my home
And the days are long
The mornings somber
As I sip coffee with closing eyes and an aching heart
Missing who is missing
Today, tomorrow and forever-more
Missing who is missing
My soul wants
And wants
And wants
And is never quiet in its need
This absence has confused me
And the echoes fail
The echoes fail
The footfalls are mere paws
And I spend the evening
Holding it all apart
In hands that yearn
For the world.
“Mommy’s home!” reverberating off the whining of dogs,
Bellyaching for food, for relief, for love
My absence has bewildered them
My absence after eight hours gone
Away from the pain of what does not greet me
Away from what makes it my home
And the days are long
The mornings somber
As I sip coffee with closing eyes and an aching heart
Missing who is missing
Today, tomorrow and forever-more
Missing who is missing
My soul wants
And wants
And wants
And is never quiet in its need
This absence has confused me
And the echoes fail
The echoes fail
The footfalls are mere paws
And I spend the evening
Holding it all apart
In hands that yearn
For the world.
Sunday, November 21, 2010
A Weekend is a Weekend is a Weekend
Yesterday was quiet. I spent the morning and into the afternoon cleaning. Then I met the kids (and my ex) at basketball practice. It was the first day of a 4 week clinic and then basketball league begins in January (which, I'll be assistant coaching, thank you). Yesterday, was just a rundown of the fundamentals: how to hold the ball, where to point your feet, how to jump while shooting, how to shoot. Paige is like me - listening, listening, listening and then she practices and has it perfected. She made a couple shots after some time of trying way too hard. Tony? I watched as he tripped over the ball, knocked other kids over trying to retrieve the ball and did a little two step before shooting. He looks like one of the oldest kids out there, but I have to remind myself that he's barely six years old, and I am sure that the coaches thought he was terribly clumsy.
After the practice, I told Paige she did a good job and she said, "But I think you're a better."
"Well of course I'm better, that's why you're in clinic so that I can play evenly with you."
And she said, "No, I think you're a better coach." (We've been shooting hoops for over a year now, practicing in the driveway whenever it is nice). Tony, as he walked to the car was crying, complaining of a stomachache (I secretly think it was because he knew he wasn't coming back with me), but when I asked him if he liked practice, he shrugged and said, "It was okay. But when you teach me, it will be better."
Right now, I know their enthusiasm is coming off of me. I know that they are seeking to play and learn the sport because they know I find so much enjoyment in playing it and they want that for themselves. And it is so true. I want to see them outside, arguing while they play PIG, I want to hear them making up shooting games, I want to hear them laughing when one of them blows a shot way wide. And I want to be part of the game with them.
When I returned home, I had a few messages from friends, requesting my presence for the evening. I politely declined all invitations and settled with the DVR and the remote, a couple loads of laundry to fold, and caught up on my shows from the last two weeks. I was in bed and asleep by 10pm.
In a couple hours, I will pick the kids up from my ex's house, take them to Sunday School (while I attend church) and then out to lunch before dropping them back off at his house for the remainder of their time with him. The Sunday school is important to me so I don't mind the drive back and forth every other weekend, and honestly, the kids like it too. They get a little break with Mom on that every other weekend and they don't mind Sunday school. It is working out well.
Beyond that? More cleaning and a boatload of work for my "real" job.
What I've just realized: I am a 38 year old, single woman going on 80. All I need are some cats and a weekly hair appointment.
And one more realization: I kind of like it.
After the practice, I told Paige she did a good job and she said, "But I think you're a better."
"Well of course I'm better, that's why you're in clinic so that I can play evenly with you."
And she said, "No, I think you're a better coach." (We've been shooting hoops for over a year now, practicing in the driveway whenever it is nice). Tony, as he walked to the car was crying, complaining of a stomachache (I secretly think it was because he knew he wasn't coming back with me), but when I asked him if he liked practice, he shrugged and said, "It was okay. But when you teach me, it will be better."
Right now, I know their enthusiasm is coming off of me. I know that they are seeking to play and learn the sport because they know I find so much enjoyment in playing it and they want that for themselves. And it is so true. I want to see them outside, arguing while they play PIG, I want to hear them making up shooting games, I want to hear them laughing when one of them blows a shot way wide. And I want to be part of the game with them.
When I returned home, I had a few messages from friends, requesting my presence for the evening. I politely declined all invitations and settled with the DVR and the remote, a couple loads of laundry to fold, and caught up on my shows from the last two weeks. I was in bed and asleep by 10pm.
In a couple hours, I will pick the kids up from my ex's house, take them to Sunday School (while I attend church) and then out to lunch before dropping them back off at his house for the remainder of their time with him. The Sunday school is important to me so I don't mind the drive back and forth every other weekend, and honestly, the kids like it too. They get a little break with Mom on that every other weekend and they don't mind Sunday school. It is working out well.
Beyond that? More cleaning and a boatload of work for my "real" job.
What I've just realized: I am a 38 year old, single woman going on 80. All I need are some cats and a weekly hair appointment.
And one more realization: I kind of like it.
Friday, November 19, 2010
Smoke and Mirrors
The smoke is to cover it up, the mirrors are to enhance it. Smoke and mirrors.
The laughter? A mirror works.
The effed-upness? Smoke works.
Smoke and mirrors.
In the past three years, I've seen more smoke than a fire chief in NYC and I've seen more mirrors than a gym trainer in Hollywood.
Smoke and mirrors. We see what want to see and we fail to see what we don't want to see. And people know how to make it work for them.
In relationships? Uh, yep.
At work? Uh-huh (nodding a vehement head).
To ourselves? Oh, hell, hell, hee-haw, hell yes!
Smoke and mirrors, gosh, golly gee, gosh, just be real!
Be real.
Okay, I am facing the first Thanksgiving without my father. So are my brothers and in-laws, so is my sister, so is my mom.
Reality.
Hurts.
Reality hurts. Yet, I think about my aunts and uncles, facing their first Thanksgiving without a sibling. Remember? Last year? Jeff was gone? Well, it's easy for me to sympathize, though it's not... I didn't have 72 years with my brother (I only had 36 years with him)... but, but, damn! My poor Aunts. My poor Uncle.
And Gosh-Golly-Gee (I'm so trying not to cuss!), it *&^%$#W%^* S&CKS! Really, ^$#^&* S&CKS!
We all play the smoke and mirrors game. Some (mostly on a first few dates with me), even truly believe they are acting real in a real world under a real sky in a reality.... (Yep, that's MY reality). Others tend to work through life, pushing forward and believing in something better.
There is something better. There has got to be something better.
All you people in love? Back me up on this!
All you people soaring financially? Back me up on this!
I don't know. I don't get it. I cannot fathom the meaning yet. Yet, I know there is a meaning. I know there is something better. Something worthwhile. Something that doesn't require a pill, or alcohol, or cigarettes, or indiscretion, or lack of character...
There is something worthwhile! Something waiting!
Maybe I should have titled this blogpost "Faith" because it seems that is what I am writing about.
I'd like to go off... unedited for a few minutes...
....thinking.... thinking... processing... processing...
I feel like Jerry McGuire, when he finally gets it (though, of course, the commercialized meaning of the movie was about love)...
I see people, every day, miserable. None of them like their jobs. None of them want their jobs. None of them can fathom being without their jobs. Yet, yet, there is this comraderie because they all know how the other person feels! They know this.
And they show up because they believe. They believe in their co-workers and that things will get better. Sure, some need a kick in the 'confidence' ass, but most of them are just there to earn a paycheck and go home (that's me!) yet they let the pain get to them, they let the anxieties of their leaders get to them, but listen. Listen! Your leaders are just as F-ed up as you are! If not worse!
Life is a *&^( game! It is a puzzle. The way to win it? The way to win it?
LOVE.
Love, baby. Love. That's it. That's your clue. That's your answer. That's your win.
Love.
It is so difficult to see in all the illusions of smoke and mirrors, but it is love.
It took me a long while to get to this, and this is the unedited version of my blog, but hey, new friends-at-work-as-dorky-as-i-may-seem-and-knowing-that-you'll-love-me-still, listen.
Smoke and mirrors.
Beyond that.
Love.
The laughter? A mirror works.
The effed-upness? Smoke works.
Smoke and mirrors.
In the past three years, I've seen more smoke than a fire chief in NYC and I've seen more mirrors than a gym trainer in Hollywood.
Smoke and mirrors. We see what want to see and we fail to see what we don't want to see. And people know how to make it work for them.
In relationships? Uh, yep.
At work? Uh-huh (nodding a vehement head).
To ourselves? Oh, hell, hell, hee-haw, hell yes!
Smoke and mirrors, gosh, golly gee, gosh, just be real!
Be real.
Okay, I am facing the first Thanksgiving without my father. So are my brothers and in-laws, so is my sister, so is my mom.
Reality.
Hurts.
Reality hurts. Yet, I think about my aunts and uncles, facing their first Thanksgiving without a sibling. Remember? Last year? Jeff was gone? Well, it's easy for me to sympathize, though it's not... I didn't have 72 years with my brother (I only had 36 years with him)... but, but, damn! My poor Aunts. My poor Uncle.
And Gosh-Golly-Gee (I'm so trying not to cuss!), it *&^%$#W%^* S&CKS! Really, ^$#^&* S&CKS!
We all play the smoke and mirrors game. Some (mostly on a first few dates with me), even truly believe they are acting real in a real world under a real sky in a reality.... (Yep, that's MY reality). Others tend to work through life, pushing forward and believing in something better.
There is something better. There has got to be something better.
All you people in love? Back me up on this!
All you people soaring financially? Back me up on this!
I don't know. I don't get it. I cannot fathom the meaning yet. Yet, I know there is a meaning. I know there is something better. Something worthwhile. Something that doesn't require a pill, or alcohol, or cigarettes, or indiscretion, or lack of character...
There is something worthwhile! Something waiting!
Maybe I should have titled this blogpost "Faith" because it seems that is what I am writing about.
I'd like to go off... unedited for a few minutes...
....thinking.... thinking... processing... processing...
I feel like Jerry McGuire, when he finally gets it (though, of course, the commercialized meaning of the movie was about love)...
I see people, every day, miserable. None of them like their jobs. None of them want their jobs. None of them can fathom being without their jobs. Yet, yet, there is this comraderie because they all know how the other person feels! They know this.
And they show up because they believe. They believe in their co-workers and that things will get better. Sure, some need a kick in the 'confidence' ass, but most of them are just there to earn a paycheck and go home (that's me!) yet they let the pain get to them, they let the anxieties of their leaders get to them, but listen. Listen! Your leaders are just as F-ed up as you are! If not worse!
Life is a *&^( game! It is a puzzle. The way to win it? The way to win it?
LOVE.
Love, baby. Love. That's it. That's your clue. That's your answer. That's your win.
Love.
It is so difficult to see in all the illusions of smoke and mirrors, but it is love.
It took me a long while to get to this, and this is the unedited version of my blog, but hey, new friends-at-work-as-dorky-as-i-may-seem-and-knowing-that-you'll-love-me-still, listen.
Smoke and mirrors.
Beyond that.
Love.
Lonesome Day
It's Friday morning, the moon hangs bright in the sky, and I have finished my first three sips of coffee. It's Friday morning on an "every other Friday" weekend which means that I am facing the weekend without the kids. What's worse, the holiday is my ex's holiday, so I am facing the entire week without them.
It is Friday morning, the moon hangs bright in the sky, and lends it self to a presentiment of loneliness, one that has grown familiar enough; one that bears heavy on my shoulders; one that is not satisfied by the companionship of friends alone.
My sister and brother-in-law will be in town for the week, sharing the holiday with me. Together, we will laugh and cook and catch up. But lacking will be the joy we get from sharing my children; lacking will be the fourth hand in our game of Euchre; lacking will be the wholeness of family and marriage and, I know I'll get flack for saying this, but health. Health that comes from a solid marriage.
And every time I think about it, I get angry with my ex. Every time I face the holidays, knowing that I could use spousal support to get beyond the grief built by the vacancies, I get angry with him. I think about how he got off so easy. And I envision him saying, "Phew, glad I got out before her brother died. Phew, glad I got out before her dad died. Phew, glad that deep stuff hasn't swallowed me yet." And it's aggravating, despite knowing that even if he was here, I'd be swimming it alone.
I don't know. It's a lonely weekend already and I'm only an hour into it.
This will not go away - ever. It won't go away because it's already there, out there and despite the same moon being in the same world in which we live, there are many different views.
So I'll spend the weekend cleaning the house and doing work. I'll spend the weekend grocery shopping and feeling blue. And come next week, after my sister arrives, I'll pull out the deck of cards and see the vacancy across from me as we play Crazy Jacks instead of Euchre; and at Thanksgiving, I'll cry.
Come next Friday morning though, my heels will be high kicking and my heart will soar. The moon will hang high in the sky and I'll see it differently, yet again.
What is fitting is the song that is playing over and over in my mind, and once again, I must thank my dear best friend Bruce...
Once I thought I knew
Everything I needed to know about you
Your sweet whisper, Your tender touch
But I didn't really know that much
Joke's on me, It's gonna be okay
If I can just get through this lonesome day
Hell's brewin' dark sun's on the rise
This storm'll blow through by and by
House is on fire, Viper's in the grass
A little revenge and this too shall pass
This too shall pass, I'm gonna pray
Right now all I got's this lonesome day
It's allright. It's allright. It's allright
Better ask questions before you shoot
Deceit and betrayals bitter fruit
It's hard to swallow, come time to pay
That taste on your tongue don't easily slip away
Let kingdom come I'm gonna find my way
Through this lonesome day
It is Friday morning, the moon hangs bright in the sky, and lends it self to a presentiment of loneliness, one that has grown familiar enough; one that bears heavy on my shoulders; one that is not satisfied by the companionship of friends alone.
My sister and brother-in-law will be in town for the week, sharing the holiday with me. Together, we will laugh and cook and catch up. But lacking will be the joy we get from sharing my children; lacking will be the fourth hand in our game of Euchre; lacking will be the wholeness of family and marriage and, I know I'll get flack for saying this, but health. Health that comes from a solid marriage.
And every time I think about it, I get angry with my ex. Every time I face the holidays, knowing that I could use spousal support to get beyond the grief built by the vacancies, I get angry with him. I think about how he got off so easy. And I envision him saying, "Phew, glad I got out before her brother died. Phew, glad I got out before her dad died. Phew, glad that deep stuff hasn't swallowed me yet." And it's aggravating, despite knowing that even if he was here, I'd be swimming it alone.
I don't know. It's a lonely weekend already and I'm only an hour into it.
This will not go away - ever. It won't go away because it's already there, out there and despite the same moon being in the same world in which we live, there are many different views.
So I'll spend the weekend cleaning the house and doing work. I'll spend the weekend grocery shopping and feeling blue. And come next week, after my sister arrives, I'll pull out the deck of cards and see the vacancy across from me as we play Crazy Jacks instead of Euchre; and at Thanksgiving, I'll cry.
Come next Friday morning though, my heels will be high kicking and my heart will soar. The moon will hang high in the sky and I'll see it differently, yet again.
What is fitting is the song that is playing over and over in my mind, and once again, I must thank my dear best friend Bruce...
Once I thought I knew
Everything I needed to know about you
Your sweet whisper, Your tender touch
But I didn't really know that much
Joke's on me, It's gonna be okay
If I can just get through this lonesome day
Hell's brewin' dark sun's on the rise
This storm'll blow through by and by
House is on fire, Viper's in the grass
A little revenge and this too shall pass
This too shall pass, I'm gonna pray
Right now all I got's this lonesome day
It's allright. It's allright. It's allright
Better ask questions before you shoot
Deceit and betrayals bitter fruit
It's hard to swallow, come time to pay
That taste on your tongue don't easily slip away
Let kingdom come I'm gonna find my way
Through this lonesome day
Thursday, November 18, 2010
Dear Santa
Okay, so Paige made her Christmas list. It is numbered and written on lined legal paper. I looked through it last night, and I'm not sure, but I think she might have some romantic ideals of her own. I'll give you the edited list because there are some repeats, but here it is. #38 is my personal favorite though #15 and #41 cracked me up too.
1. DSi game and DSi
2. Webkin
3. The movie: How I Saved Your Life
4. Chapter Books
5. Stuffed Animal with love
6. More rocks for my rock collection
7. Vocabulary words from A to Z
8. Lots of letters from God (He is everyone)
9. Dreams
10. Love
11. Compassion
12. Another fish
13. Attention
14. Candy
15. Another puppy that doesn't bite
16. Horsey set
17. More littleist petshop
18. More art suplize
19. Sketching Set
20. PJs
21. Dinosaurs
22. Make-up
23. The Healing Begins song
24. Smart computer and iPod
25. Webkin that's a cheetah
26. A stuffed shark
27. A sponge bob game that doesn't take too long to load
28. Pen, Pencil, Crayon, Marker, Paint and Brushes
29. The Movie: Pirates and the Caribian
30. Teliscope
31. A toy for Enzo and Gracie
32. A pet horse for my littleist pet shop collection
33. A tree book
34. Wii games
35. Princess Peach toy
36. 99 fake leaves
37. A dog that looks like Enzo and Gracie
38. A popsicle that never ends
39. Carrots
40. A dog bone
41. A training session for Enzo
1. DSi game and DSi
2. Webkin
3. The movie: How I Saved Your Life
4. Chapter Books
5. Stuffed Animal with love
6. More rocks for my rock collection
7. Vocabulary words from A to Z
8. Lots of letters from God (He is everyone)
9. Dreams
10. Love
11. Compassion
12. Another fish
13. Attention
14. Candy
15. Another puppy that doesn't bite
16. Horsey set
17. More littleist petshop
18. More art suplize
19. Sketching Set
20. PJs
21. Dinosaurs
22. Make-up
23. The Healing Begins song
24. Smart computer and iPod
25. Webkin that's a cheetah
26. A stuffed shark
27. A sponge bob game that doesn't take too long to load
28. Pen, Pencil, Crayon, Marker, Paint and Brushes
29. The Movie: Pirates and the Caribian
30. Teliscope
31. A toy for Enzo and Gracie
32. A pet horse for my littleist pet shop collection
33. A tree book
34. Wii games
35. Princess Peach toy
36. 99 fake leaves
37. A dog that looks like Enzo and Gracie
38. A popsicle that never ends
39. Carrots
40. A dog bone
41. A training session for Enzo
Monday, November 15, 2010
Cash It In, If You Can...
The earth and sun and the planets are roughly 4.5 billion years old, give or take a couple hundred years. The average lifespan of a person today is: 78.4 years. So roughly, barring the freak accident, the unexpected stroke, murder or suicide, I have roughly 40 years left to live and learn and love, give or take a half-decade.
It's time to cash in the old dreams for something else, isn't it? I thought about redemption today. Why? Who the hell knows? (I have a boatload of useless questions streaming through my consciousness on any given day (you'd think I was a pot smoker or something, but alas, I am not - just a thinker)). Anyway, I thought that there are days when I wake up (especially in the past couple of desperate years) and I think, "today is the day! Today something is going to happen that makes it all mean something! Today, at the very least, something will happen that will explain the constant question of why. Why? Why?"
I do. I look forward to the day because I think that maybe, somehow, maybe, I'll get an answer to the big questions. The big, big questions. The ones that need answering. The ones that plague me.
And you know? I read books. A lot of books. I am reading Madame Bovary right now. A classic. A classic for a very good reason. Emma, the lead character, was so full of romantic ideals that she just didn't remain satisfied with her husband, she couldn't "fall into" a normal marriage, she was always searching for the illusion of what she had fantasized about, read about, wanted for her own life. You know what I mean: the fairy-tale of all those romantic novels. So, she sees, does not seek, but sees outside of her marriage and is given opportunities to play - and she chooses to play and, oh, is hit by the "ineffable seduction of her virtue." (my favorite line) In essence, she decides to bang a guy that isn't her husband! The second man she has committed adultery with!
Pretty juicy for a novel written in 1856, wouldn't you say?
She cashed it all in. She did it, in spite of keeping her virtue, in spite of her face (she gave up the nose), but she, in one moment, cashed it all in. Because she succumbed to her romantic ideals, she redeemed those ideals. She found her own redemption! Good, bad or indifferent, she did it.
On a very different level, I thought about cashing it all in. Cashing in the dreams I had for my life and gaining pennies on the dollar.
What, seriously, do I have to cash in? To take to Goodwill? To drop off at the dump? To lend?
I have my romantic ideals. I have the notion of what a good marriage is supposed to look like and what I got. I have my guileless energy about how life is supposed to go. I have this hurt. I have this hurt that is so, viscerally, unimaginably, intolerably opposite of what I ever expected to be in my life. And it is here. On my shoulders and I am taking it along with me, and well, it's time to cash it in.
I'd love to say that I am going to quit my job, quit my life, sell my house, my belongings and become an exotic dancer (ha! That's funny!) and live off the earth, but that won't happen. Yet, man, my neck hurts every morning. My shoulders ache. My mind spins and spins and spins and...
4.5 billion years and I've spent 30 minutes writing about how disappointing life is: for me, and for Madame Bovary.
She dies in the end, you know? She commits suicide. A completely unromantic death...
(That ain't the way I'll ever go out. And if that is ever deemed the cause of my death, then look into it, because I can tell you, it wasn't me!)
You can find your own redemption if you look.
Me?
I look to my family (though we're all in a big funnel of grief right now, though, I think, if we looked around, reached out a hand, we'd find a mate). And I look to my kids. They're amazing. AMAZING. I look to my friends. I look to strangers. I look to church.
On Sunday, the deacon, who baptized both Paige and Tony, picked on me because I found a typo in the Prayer of Reconciliation that they've been handing out to parishioners for the past ten years. When I told him, pointed out the error (because it drives me crazy to see typos!), he said, "You would complain about that!" I loved that. I loved his humor. I loved that he got me.
And that is part of my redemption too.
I can't cash it all in. I can't find enough to make it worthwhile, to make the effort worthwhile, but for some time, I can try.
Maybe throw in my self-pity, for say? A moment of grace.
How about a little jealousy? For say? A moment of quiet.
What if I throw in some fear? For say? A hundred seconds of peaceful sleep.
Hell, let's throw in another bucket of fear for another hundred seconds of peaceful sleep.
Shall I throw in my anger? Maybe I'll get a dozen smiles that are unexpected.
And regret? What can I get for that? A few seconds, hell, a dozen minutes of joy!
Regret. And anger. And fear. And jealousy. And self-pity.
You cash enough of it all in and you might end up with some peace. Some peace of mind. Some idea of peace. Some mornings without the sore neck or achy shoulders....
Yeah, one morning, that's all I want. In the 40 years I have left on this 4.5 billion year old planet, I want a morning, while still in my 30's, to wake up without pain in my head, my neck, my shoulders and my heart...
Yeah... I know...
I'll settle to wake without pain in the head, neck and shoulders...
my heart is too far-gone.
It's time to cash in the old dreams for something else, isn't it? I thought about redemption today. Why? Who the hell knows? (I have a boatload of useless questions streaming through my consciousness on any given day (you'd think I was a pot smoker or something, but alas, I am not - just a thinker)). Anyway, I thought that there are days when I wake up (especially in the past couple of desperate years) and I think, "today is the day! Today something is going to happen that makes it all mean something! Today, at the very least, something will happen that will explain the constant question of why. Why? Why?"
I do. I look forward to the day because I think that maybe, somehow, maybe, I'll get an answer to the big questions. The big, big questions. The ones that need answering. The ones that plague me.
And you know? I read books. A lot of books. I am reading Madame Bovary right now. A classic. A classic for a very good reason. Emma, the lead character, was so full of romantic ideals that she just didn't remain satisfied with her husband, she couldn't "fall into" a normal marriage, she was always searching for the illusion of what she had fantasized about, read about, wanted for her own life. You know what I mean: the fairy-tale of all those romantic novels. So, she sees, does not seek, but sees outside of her marriage and is given opportunities to play - and she chooses to play and, oh, is hit by the "ineffable seduction of her virtue." (my favorite line) In essence, she decides to bang a guy that isn't her husband! The second man she has committed adultery with!
Pretty juicy for a novel written in 1856, wouldn't you say?
She cashed it all in. She did it, in spite of keeping her virtue, in spite of her face (she gave up the nose), but she, in one moment, cashed it all in. Because she succumbed to her romantic ideals, she redeemed those ideals. She found her own redemption! Good, bad or indifferent, she did it.
On a very different level, I thought about cashing it all in. Cashing in the dreams I had for my life and gaining pennies on the dollar.
What, seriously, do I have to cash in? To take to Goodwill? To drop off at the dump? To lend?
I have my romantic ideals. I have the notion of what a good marriage is supposed to look like and what I got. I have my guileless energy about how life is supposed to go. I have this hurt. I have this hurt that is so, viscerally, unimaginably, intolerably opposite of what I ever expected to be in my life. And it is here. On my shoulders and I am taking it along with me, and well, it's time to cash it in.
I'd love to say that I am going to quit my job, quit my life, sell my house, my belongings and become an exotic dancer (ha! That's funny!) and live off the earth, but that won't happen. Yet, man, my neck hurts every morning. My shoulders ache. My mind spins and spins and spins and...
4.5 billion years and I've spent 30 minutes writing about how disappointing life is: for me, and for Madame Bovary.
She dies in the end, you know? She commits suicide. A completely unromantic death...
(That ain't the way I'll ever go out. And if that is ever deemed the cause of my death, then look into it, because I can tell you, it wasn't me!)
You can find your own redemption if you look.
Me?
I look to my family (though we're all in a big funnel of grief right now, though, I think, if we looked around, reached out a hand, we'd find a mate). And I look to my kids. They're amazing. AMAZING. I look to my friends. I look to strangers. I look to church.
On Sunday, the deacon, who baptized both Paige and Tony, picked on me because I found a typo in the Prayer of Reconciliation that they've been handing out to parishioners for the past ten years. When I told him, pointed out the error (because it drives me crazy to see typos!), he said, "You would complain about that!" I loved that. I loved his humor. I loved that he got me.
And that is part of my redemption too.
I can't cash it all in. I can't find enough to make it worthwhile, to make the effort worthwhile, but for some time, I can try.
Maybe throw in my self-pity, for say? A moment of grace.
How about a little jealousy? For say? A moment of quiet.
What if I throw in some fear? For say? A hundred seconds of peaceful sleep.
Hell, let's throw in another bucket of fear for another hundred seconds of peaceful sleep.
Shall I throw in my anger? Maybe I'll get a dozen smiles that are unexpected.
And regret? What can I get for that? A few seconds, hell, a dozen minutes of joy!
Regret. And anger. And fear. And jealousy. And self-pity.
You cash enough of it all in and you might end up with some peace. Some peace of mind. Some idea of peace. Some mornings without the sore neck or achy shoulders....
Yeah, one morning, that's all I want. In the 40 years I have left on this 4.5 billion year old planet, I want a morning, while still in my 30's, to wake up without pain in my head, my neck, my shoulders and my heart...
Yeah... I know...
I'll settle to wake without pain in the head, neck and shoulders...
my heart is too far-gone.
Sunday, November 14, 2010
Judge Not Lest Ye be Judged
I spent the evening intermittently thinking about a comment that was left on my last post: Judge not lest ye be judged. The anonymous person rightly called me out on my statement by saying, figuratively, I had my head up my ass when I wrote: "It's okay to be judgmental... ."
Let's get my opinion straight - on a general level, it is NOT okay to be judgmental. We should all be kind, compassionate, empathetic and sympathetic souls, walking rightly with God and using Jesus as our example. That is the edict in the bible, and yes it did ring a bell somewhere. And on a general level, I try to follow this edict. Yet, in times of grief and trying to grow and be a better person (which was the context of my previous post), it is okay to feel what you're feeling - if being judgmental, or stubborn, or angry is where you're at... it's okay. Just be real about yourself.
I recently read somewhere that there are two kinds of people: There is the person who is self-aware and there is the person who thinks he is self-aware.
What followed was an introspection on myself: am I in the former or the latter category? How do I know? I think I'm self-aware, but wouldn't that put me in the second category? It's a catch 22, you see?
So, to the extent that I am self-aware, I am going to give my opinion on the title of this post: Judge not lest ye be judged.
First off, my confession that I am secretly judgmental of those who have divorced, is really no secret. It makes me sick, still, to think that there are men (and women) out there who have children with a spouse and choose to walk away without even trying to fix things. (This is my own personal baggage, you see? I have good friends who are divorced and I don't judge them because I know them and their stories - yet, in my heart, I judge "those others" whose story I don't know, which by the way, leads me to the sin of assuming things about people, of which, I am sure to be judged). I have always been judgmental of this, and in my smugness as a married woman who never thought it would happen to her, I was even more judgmental than I am now. And, even worse is the man (or woman) who does it not once, but twice, three times or even four times. I judge them. Forgive me.
I also judge people who would rather buy a new laptop than pay their mortgages; who would rather suck from welfare than find a job; who would rather sleep with strangers than find companionship; who would rather spout off about atheism than give God a chance; who would rather cuss at the homeless person than throw 'em a couple bucks; who would rather talk about somebody behind their back than talk to that somebody honestly and openly.
I am judgmental of these kinds of actions.
Yet, I am tolerant too. I am tolerant because of the fact that I know that people are on a journey - that we are here, not to live it up, but to learn. I am tolerant of the louse who leaves his first three wives to find "the one" at number four because I have to be. We are all lost, and if it means that he finds himself on number four or onto number five, then great - he's making headway.
The same goes for me. It's okay that I am judgmental. I am learning. I am on a journey, and whatever I am feeling is okay because if I look back on my close-mindedness of yesteryear, I have made a few strides forward. So, on judgment day, when I'm facing God, I'll answer with the wisdom I have at that time. Perhaps, by then, I will no longer be judgmental. I hope so anyway.
Funny thing too, about the comment that was left, my first reaction was to be defensive. To answer the question: "ring a bell somewhere?" with an equally condescending question but then I realized that it doesn't matter; it gives me the opportunity to explain what I meant. I wanted to answer by noting that I am judgmental of divorce, and that divorce is not accepted on a biblical level either (same as judge not lest ye be judged) but that would have just left me in a quandary. If divorce is bad, and I'm judgmental of divorce, then I'm wrecked in two ways, and I can't even redeem myself by saying that I am judgmental of divorce!
Ah well, that's my opinion - not necessarily my advice.
Let's get my opinion straight - on a general level, it is NOT okay to be judgmental. We should all be kind, compassionate, empathetic and sympathetic souls, walking rightly with God and using Jesus as our example. That is the edict in the bible, and yes it did ring a bell somewhere. And on a general level, I try to follow this edict. Yet, in times of grief and trying to grow and be a better person (which was the context of my previous post), it is okay to feel what you're feeling - if being judgmental, or stubborn, or angry is where you're at... it's okay. Just be real about yourself.
I recently read somewhere that there are two kinds of people: There is the person who is self-aware and there is the person who thinks he is self-aware.
What followed was an introspection on myself: am I in the former or the latter category? How do I know? I think I'm self-aware, but wouldn't that put me in the second category? It's a catch 22, you see?
So, to the extent that I am self-aware, I am going to give my opinion on the title of this post: Judge not lest ye be judged.
First off, my confession that I am secretly judgmental of those who have divorced, is really no secret. It makes me sick, still, to think that there are men (and women) out there who have children with a spouse and choose to walk away without even trying to fix things. (This is my own personal baggage, you see? I have good friends who are divorced and I don't judge them because I know them and their stories - yet, in my heart, I judge "those others" whose story I don't know, which by the way, leads me to the sin of assuming things about people, of which, I am sure to be judged). I have always been judgmental of this, and in my smugness as a married woman who never thought it would happen to her, I was even more judgmental than I am now. And, even worse is the man (or woman) who does it not once, but twice, three times or even four times. I judge them. Forgive me.
I also judge people who would rather buy a new laptop than pay their mortgages; who would rather suck from welfare than find a job; who would rather sleep with strangers than find companionship; who would rather spout off about atheism than give God a chance; who would rather cuss at the homeless person than throw 'em a couple bucks; who would rather talk about somebody behind their back than talk to that somebody honestly and openly.
I am judgmental of these kinds of actions.
Yet, I am tolerant too. I am tolerant because of the fact that I know that people are on a journey - that we are here, not to live it up, but to learn. I am tolerant of the louse who leaves his first three wives to find "the one" at number four because I have to be. We are all lost, and if it means that he finds himself on number four or onto number five, then great - he's making headway.
The same goes for me. It's okay that I am judgmental. I am learning. I am on a journey, and whatever I am feeling is okay because if I look back on my close-mindedness of yesteryear, I have made a few strides forward. So, on judgment day, when I'm facing God, I'll answer with the wisdom I have at that time. Perhaps, by then, I will no longer be judgmental. I hope so anyway.
Funny thing too, about the comment that was left, my first reaction was to be defensive. To answer the question: "ring a bell somewhere?" with an equally condescending question but then I realized that it doesn't matter; it gives me the opportunity to explain what I meant. I wanted to answer by noting that I am judgmental of divorce, and that divorce is not accepted on a biblical level either (same as judge not lest ye be judged) but that would have just left me in a quandary. If divorce is bad, and I'm judgmental of divorce, then I'm wrecked in two ways, and I can't even redeem myself by saying that I am judgmental of divorce!
Ah well, that's my opinion - not necessarily my advice.
Friday, November 12, 2010
The Clutching
I spoke with a new potential friend today - you know, the one that kinda gets you on a wisdom level, the one that doesn't say much but listens, doesn't brag, but shares - that kind of friend. We went to lunch - a real simple lunch: salad, soup, breadsticks at the Olive Garden. I don't much care for the Olive Garden, but I do want to get to know the people I am working with, so I went.
We made small talk. Me, her and another girl, Angela, who is 23 years old and getting her MFA now (ironically at one of the colleges I am looking to apply) and we just shared our histories. They knew of each other's history, they didn't know of mine. Maybe it's baggage, maybe it's defensiveness but I always feel the need to explain why I am a single mother. (There are looks and attitudes and energies that come about when people find out you're a single mother of two - so much so that there are days I wish I could just wear a wedding ring and pretend I am in a state of wedded bliss. But that would be a disservice to all the struggling single moms, wouldn't it?) So, I told her, after she asked if I was dating anyone, that I was secretly very judgemental of people who were divorced, never been married (in my age category) and well, that's about it except for the random widower (whose wife I'll always have to compete with for one-upness) and that for me, a 38 year old who wants more kids, it didn't look good and that I'd probably have to pack in the dreams and wait until I'm 50 to get the dude that has it figured out - and by that time, I'll be so set in my ways that I might as well consider myself unavailable...
(This diatribe, by the way, has nothing to do with the title of my blog)...
What I liked about the conversation is that it was a give and take. It was her understanding my dilemma, then sharing her own goings-on that I understood and empathized, and the back and forth. I liked that. And I thought: "She knows something. She's lived through something. She has wisdom beyond her age." (If I had to guess, I'd say she's my age or younger). We talked the whole ride back to the office.
It came out.
Her source of wisdom.
It came out.
She lost her dad 12 years ago.
It was a shock.
It was a heartbreaker.
We shared the story. I told her of my recent loss.
There was silence.
And more silence.
Angela was in the backseat, kinda chillin'.
After a few seconds, I asked a question.
"Does it ever go away? That feeling of surprise? That quick hit of pain to the heart? Does it ever go away?"
She thought for a second and then answered.
"The pain, the sharp pain of thinking that what you're doing is fun and maybe it shouldn't be fun because, you know, somebody you loved is not there to share it? Well, that goes away. But the clutching, the shock, it never goes away. I have moments where I am surprised by the loss every day."
The clutching. What a great way to describe it.
I said as much to her, and she just smiled. She knew. At that point, Angela piped in and said, "What the heck are you two talking about? You lost me about 3 miles ago!"
We both laughed and that was it. The moment was gone.
But the feelings weren't. Not for me, not for her (I just know it) and I thought about the clutching that I feel every day - since Jeff died, since Dad died - and uh, it's uh, not easy. But it helps to share the emotions. It helps to understand the clutching.
The point of this blog is to get the message out that it's okay.
It's okay to hurt.
It's okay to share.
It's okay to be judgemental
and true
and real about things.
It's okay to feel the clutching.
And it's okay to cry...
We made small talk. Me, her and another girl, Angela, who is 23 years old and getting her MFA now (ironically at one of the colleges I am looking to apply) and we just shared our histories. They knew of each other's history, they didn't know of mine. Maybe it's baggage, maybe it's defensiveness but I always feel the need to explain why I am a single mother. (There are looks and attitudes and energies that come about when people find out you're a single mother of two - so much so that there are days I wish I could just wear a wedding ring and pretend I am in a state of wedded bliss. But that would be a disservice to all the struggling single moms, wouldn't it?) So, I told her, after she asked if I was dating anyone, that I was secretly very judgemental of people who were divorced, never been married (in my age category) and well, that's about it except for the random widower (whose wife I'll always have to compete with for one-upness) and that for me, a 38 year old who wants more kids, it didn't look good and that I'd probably have to pack in the dreams and wait until I'm 50 to get the dude that has it figured out - and by that time, I'll be so set in my ways that I might as well consider myself unavailable...
(This diatribe, by the way, has nothing to do with the title of my blog)...
What I liked about the conversation is that it was a give and take. It was her understanding my dilemma, then sharing her own goings-on that I understood and empathized, and the back and forth. I liked that. And I thought: "She knows something. She's lived through something. She has wisdom beyond her age." (If I had to guess, I'd say she's my age or younger). We talked the whole ride back to the office.
It came out.
Her source of wisdom.
It came out.
She lost her dad 12 years ago.
It was a shock.
It was a heartbreaker.
We shared the story. I told her of my recent loss.
There was silence.
And more silence.
Angela was in the backseat, kinda chillin'.
After a few seconds, I asked a question.
"Does it ever go away? That feeling of surprise? That quick hit of pain to the heart? Does it ever go away?"
She thought for a second and then answered.
"The pain, the sharp pain of thinking that what you're doing is fun and maybe it shouldn't be fun because, you know, somebody you loved is not there to share it? Well, that goes away. But the clutching, the shock, it never goes away. I have moments where I am surprised by the loss every day."
The clutching. What a great way to describe it.
I said as much to her, and she just smiled. She knew. At that point, Angela piped in and said, "What the heck are you two talking about? You lost me about 3 miles ago!"
We both laughed and that was it. The moment was gone.
But the feelings weren't. Not for me, not for her (I just know it) and I thought about the clutching that I feel every day - since Jeff died, since Dad died - and uh, it's uh, not easy. But it helps to share the emotions. It helps to understand the clutching.
The point of this blog is to get the message out that it's okay.
It's okay to hurt.
It's okay to share.
It's okay to be judgemental
and true
and real about things.
It's okay to feel the clutching.
And it's okay to cry...
Thursday, November 11, 2010
Water, Water Everywhere
Life is an adjustment, surely. It is ever-changing, certainly. The current sweeps sometimes; the current bends; the current carries you as if you were a guest on a luxurious inflatable tire; the current sometimes rolls you beneath the water and leaves you there, if you let it; and sometimes there is no current, sometimes life is placid.
At least, I think it's placid sometimes, isn't it? I don't know, it's been awhile.
Sometimes I wonder if not knowing of life's placidity has something to do with me. Is my best at getting through life just a ride on the inflatable tire?
Take love and relationships for an example. It should be easier, no? I mean, if it's love, it should have a hint of placidity, even if the current sweeps in once in a while. Am I wrong? If it's love, isn't there a steady basin, deep and strong, to catch you and your mate, even if the current overturns you; even if you feel like its hand is holding you under? Does love always move from adoration, to complacency, to anger, to regret, to indifference?
Or is this just my baggage?
You know, I jumped on the inflatable tire a few months ago, amidst the swirling - whirlpool - of grief and I sought solidarity with someone else. I was desperate for that solidarity, for that shoulder to cry on and to lean on, even though I knew that there probably a pretty good likelihood that I would get sucked under and into his whirlpool, or thrown out of the boat and ignored. Being ignored, I think, is worse than the ripping off of the band-aid or being slapped in the face with the hand of rejection because it's a constant looking over your shoulder for the person you were really beginning to like.
Anyway, this could be old news, this could be recent news. it doesn't matter because it all follows the same path: adoration, complacency, anger, regret and finally indifference.
Yet, even with the failure of another relationship in my line of sight, I am able to look beyond it - at that cloud-line that promises something better, or someone better, someone able, someone ready to give and take; someone ready to hold onto my hand and swim with me through the currents. I have to believe that I will someday swim to those placid waters. And even if it never happens, isn't it still better than living with the idea that it won't?
In any case, I didn't recently get dumped; nor was I the dumper. It just so happens that I began dating and really beginning to like someone who was incapable of returning the feelings - though, for awhile, he pretended very well, for his sake, I believe - and it went from talking all day nearly every day to nothing for days on end; then it morphed into a texting thing; and finally, after I looked back on what I have accomplished in the past three years, I stopped trying. I am astonished by the lack of integrity (perhaps on my part too) to just ignore a person and hope she goes away on her own. That's just weird for me - I mean, in high school, okay it's understable but in an adult relationship? I tried to figure it out, to be there, to console. Then I got angry. Regretful. And now, indifferent.
Same path - different country.
I was blessed with the knowledge that maybe, someday, a good relationship is possible. I was also kind of tapped with the belief that maybe it's just me. I mean, the first real relationship after a bad marriage and it goes into the pooper so quickly, and without an apparent cause other than "here one day, gone the next"? Am I that naive in the dating world?
Ah, I can hear my dad: "You sure know how to pick 'em."
Bah.
Time to hop on the raft and ride on down to the next bend...
At least, I think it's placid sometimes, isn't it? I don't know, it's been awhile.
Sometimes I wonder if not knowing of life's placidity has something to do with me. Is my best at getting through life just a ride on the inflatable tire?
Take love and relationships for an example. It should be easier, no? I mean, if it's love, it should have a hint of placidity, even if the current sweeps in once in a while. Am I wrong? If it's love, isn't there a steady basin, deep and strong, to catch you and your mate, even if the current overturns you; even if you feel like its hand is holding you under? Does love always move from adoration, to complacency, to anger, to regret, to indifference?
Or is this just my baggage?
You know, I jumped on the inflatable tire a few months ago, amidst the swirling - whirlpool - of grief and I sought solidarity with someone else. I was desperate for that solidarity, for that shoulder to cry on and to lean on, even though I knew that there probably a pretty good likelihood that I would get sucked under and into his whirlpool, or thrown out of the boat and ignored. Being ignored, I think, is worse than the ripping off of the band-aid or being slapped in the face with the hand of rejection because it's a constant looking over your shoulder for the person you were really beginning to like.
Anyway, this could be old news, this could be recent news. it doesn't matter because it all follows the same path: adoration, complacency, anger, regret and finally indifference.
Yet, even with the failure of another relationship in my line of sight, I am able to look beyond it - at that cloud-line that promises something better, or someone better, someone able, someone ready to give and take; someone ready to hold onto my hand and swim with me through the currents. I have to believe that I will someday swim to those placid waters. And even if it never happens, isn't it still better than living with the idea that it won't?
In any case, I didn't recently get dumped; nor was I the dumper. It just so happens that I began dating and really beginning to like someone who was incapable of returning the feelings - though, for awhile, he pretended very well, for his sake, I believe - and it went from talking all day nearly every day to nothing for days on end; then it morphed into a texting thing; and finally, after I looked back on what I have accomplished in the past three years, I stopped trying. I am astonished by the lack of integrity (perhaps on my part too) to just ignore a person and hope she goes away on her own. That's just weird for me - I mean, in high school, okay it's understable but in an adult relationship? I tried to figure it out, to be there, to console. Then I got angry. Regretful. And now, indifferent.
Same path - different country.
I was blessed with the knowledge that maybe, someday, a good relationship is possible. I was also kind of tapped with the belief that maybe it's just me. I mean, the first real relationship after a bad marriage and it goes into the pooper so quickly, and without an apparent cause other than "here one day, gone the next"? Am I that naive in the dating world?
Ah, I can hear my dad: "You sure know how to pick 'em."
Bah.
Time to hop on the raft and ride on down to the next bend...
Monday, November 8, 2010
We Are Women
Hence, the margaritas. Hence, the smiles. Hence, the rocked out, fashionable, made up versions of us.
We are women! We weren't answering to our children. And they weren't answering to their husbands. Their husbands just said, "Go. Have fun. I got this." I was in complete shock all weekend over it.
"You mean, your husbands said, 'okay, go away, no problem, I'll take the kids' without making you feel terrible and guilty?" They all nodded their heads like, "Uh, yeah, that's marriage."
"You mean to tell me that you're not going to suffer for this little get-away the minute you walk in the door, and fight about it for a month?"
"No Carrie. We are married, our spouses share in the responsibilities and want us to be happy..." Again, the puzzled looks.
"Okay, wait a minute. What did you promise in return for this?"
"Nothing."
And I watched them. I observed them. They talked to their husbands, laughing, intimate. There wasn't a hint of guilt coming from them. Of course, they missed their kids but they were also so confident about having them with their husbands. They weren't worried at all about the repercussions!
Honestly, if I were still married, I wouldn't have been on the trip. I would have said no because the repercussions would have been too great. If I had gone, I would have been miserable because I wouldn't have gotten the, "No honey, it's all fine. Have a great time!" Not before, not during and certainly not after, and it blows me away, sadly, that when I went away, the kids were with me or I didn't go away or I caught hell for it, even for book club once a month on Tuesdays!
"So, this is a healthy marriage, then?"
"Yes Carrie. And one day, you'll see that."
I think I have more baggage in my weekend suitcase then they do.
We laughed. We giggled. We shopped. We drank champagne. We cooked great meals. We laughed. We giggled. We danced until the wee hours of the morning in the middle of the living room. The ocean was maybe, two hundred feet away and so we appreciated God even more. We said Grace before dinner. We were thankful. And we laughed. And we giggled.
Weird thing about all of it is that I only really knew one girl (Amy) of the seven girls I shared the house with, and by the second hour, I had made six more close friends. Now I know that the next time I see them, we will laugh and we will giggle, and we will share. It was one of the best weekends I have ever had without the kids.
And I came home and didn't have an ounce of guilt and answered to no one.
That is so weird...
Thursday, November 4, 2010
Good Ol' Mark Twain
Posted in my "quote" section of this blog is Mark Twain's advice: "Do the right thing. It will gratify some people and astonish the rest."
I like that quote a lot because I feel like I am constantly hammering it into the kids' heads.
"Do the right thing."
"How do you know it's the right thing?"
"You just do. You feel it in your gut."
"What if my gut's wrong?"
"It's never wrong."
"What if it is?"
"You'll know if it's the right thing, I promise. Just do the right thing."
Yesterday was my first time experiencing the dramas of a small office. Actually, it's a huge office, with two different sides: my side is lovingly referred to as the "dark" side and the "money hungry" side; while the other side are the good guys. Here is a snippet of two conversations I had yesterday. First one, I knocked on the door of one guy I've known for eleven years, at three different jobs, and when he looked up I smiled. He said, "Carrie! So good to see you! Why the hell did you take this job?" The second was with a girl that looked like she was in physical pain as I sat by her in a meeting. I leaned over and whispered, "Is it that bad?" She said, "I'm searching for a way to shoot myself in the head without making a mess. It's that bad."
Okay then. Hmmm...
I'm about eight years away from the melodrama of office quirks, so I should be okay. The last three years have taught me how to let go of things, little things, fairly well, so though I've heard rumors that the bosses make people cry on a weekly basis, I am of the opinion that if I am in the position where someone is trying to make me cry for showing up, working hard all day and getting things accomplished (because that is all I know to do at any job) then I'm out. I'm gone. It's not worth it.
So, what am I going to do? I'm going to go to work, do way more than what is expected and always do the right thing - pleasing and astonishing others.
Paige had a bad day yesterday. She said that one of her classmates, Nate (he looks like a mini-Derek Jeter) told her that he hated her, then he said he was sorry, but then he didn't talk to her all day.
"He's a boy, Paige. They'll do that for the rest of your life."
She saw a work folder on the counter, sat down and started looking through it. "You have to read all this stuff?"
"Yes."
"In one day?"
I just smiled and said, "It's my job, and you know what Paige? I'll read that, I'll learn it and I'll help people even though I am not required to even read it. You know why?"
"Because you should always do more than what is expected."
"Exactly. And that includes being kind to people even when they aren't so nice to you. Like Nate. He doesn't mean it when he says he hates you, and secretly he probably adores you because you're beautiful, and instead of getting upset, just shrug it off and be who you are - kind, compassionate, and giving. He'll come around."
"That's because it's the right thing to do..." I begin to nod and she says, "And because he wouldn't expect me to be nice after he is so mean!"
She's a genius.
I find it serendipitous that this Mark Twain quote is part of my blog today - it fits perfectly into my world.
Do the right thing: please people and astonish people. Thanks Mark.
I like that quote a lot because I feel like I am constantly hammering it into the kids' heads.
"Do the right thing."
"How do you know it's the right thing?"
"You just do. You feel it in your gut."
"What if my gut's wrong?"
"It's never wrong."
"What if it is?"
"You'll know if it's the right thing, I promise. Just do the right thing."
Yesterday was my first time experiencing the dramas of a small office. Actually, it's a huge office, with two different sides: my side is lovingly referred to as the "dark" side and the "money hungry" side; while the other side are the good guys. Here is a snippet of two conversations I had yesterday. First one, I knocked on the door of one guy I've known for eleven years, at three different jobs, and when he looked up I smiled. He said, "Carrie! So good to see you! Why the hell did you take this job?" The second was with a girl that looked like she was in physical pain as I sat by her in a meeting. I leaned over and whispered, "Is it that bad?" She said, "I'm searching for a way to shoot myself in the head without making a mess. It's that bad."
Okay then. Hmmm...
I'm about eight years away from the melodrama of office quirks, so I should be okay. The last three years have taught me how to let go of things, little things, fairly well, so though I've heard rumors that the bosses make people cry on a weekly basis, I am of the opinion that if I am in the position where someone is trying to make me cry for showing up, working hard all day and getting things accomplished (because that is all I know to do at any job) then I'm out. I'm gone. It's not worth it.
So, what am I going to do? I'm going to go to work, do way more than what is expected and always do the right thing - pleasing and astonishing others.
Paige had a bad day yesterday. She said that one of her classmates, Nate (he looks like a mini-Derek Jeter) told her that he hated her, then he said he was sorry, but then he didn't talk to her all day.
"He's a boy, Paige. They'll do that for the rest of your life."
She saw a work folder on the counter, sat down and started looking through it. "You have to read all this stuff?"
"Yes."
"In one day?"
I just smiled and said, "It's my job, and you know what Paige? I'll read that, I'll learn it and I'll help people even though I am not required to even read it. You know why?"
"Because you should always do more than what is expected."
"Exactly. And that includes being kind to people even when they aren't so nice to you. Like Nate. He doesn't mean it when he says he hates you, and secretly he probably adores you because you're beautiful, and instead of getting upset, just shrug it off and be who you are - kind, compassionate, and giving. He'll come around."
"That's because it's the right thing to do..." I begin to nod and she says, "And because he wouldn't expect me to be nice after he is so mean!"
She's a genius.
I find it serendipitous that this Mark Twain quote is part of my blog today - it fits perfectly into my world.
Do the right thing: please people and astonish people. Thanks Mark.
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
The Success of Failure
Day three of the new job begins today. I have sat at my new desk for two days now, looking over materials that I'll need to get the job done, gaining the big picture, twiddling my thumbs, waiting... when it hits, it's going to hit, but yet again, I am impatient for it to hit now. Is that crazy? In six months I will be cursing the job, the new boss, the people I work with, the duties I have to perform and the time that is being sucked from my life by the duties of the job. That's how it goes when you work at a job that is a mere means to money. Yet work is what I must do and I'll be good at it. I'll also be really grateful of it because it is a means to my dreams...
Something has shifted in the past few months. I was always waiting, waiting, waiting to get a sign or have someone give me advice about what I should do with my life. It's strange but I bought the new car without thinking, I just knew it was the right thing to do; I took this new job without thinking, I just knew it was the right thing to do; and now, the decision to go back to school for my master's has been made and I know it is the right thing to do. I look back on all the wasted months I spent struggling with making a decision when the power was in my hands the whole time. Fear of success, fear of failure... they were always in the running for my attention. Now? Whatever. People succeed, people fail, they fall, they get back up, the fall again, they get back up...
It's just a different perspective, I suppose. A different, empowering, perspective. I no longer need a "sign" from someone or something, I just need to move my body and heart toward my goals - goals that have always been there but I failed to see them. Somebody pulled those blinders from my eyes in the past few months.
The failure, if it happens, will be mine to fix.
The success, if it happens, will be mine to share.
I like to fix. I like to share. So, let's get on with it already.
Have a good day. I know I'm going to try.
Something has shifted in the past few months. I was always waiting, waiting, waiting to get a sign or have someone give me advice about what I should do with my life. It's strange but I bought the new car without thinking, I just knew it was the right thing to do; I took this new job without thinking, I just knew it was the right thing to do; and now, the decision to go back to school for my master's has been made and I know it is the right thing to do. I look back on all the wasted months I spent struggling with making a decision when the power was in my hands the whole time. Fear of success, fear of failure... they were always in the running for my attention. Now? Whatever. People succeed, people fail, they fall, they get back up, the fall again, they get back up...
It's just a different perspective, I suppose. A different, empowering, perspective. I no longer need a "sign" from someone or something, I just need to move my body and heart toward my goals - goals that have always been there but I failed to see them. Somebody pulled those blinders from my eyes in the past few months.
The failure, if it happens, will be mine to fix.
The success, if it happens, will be mine to share.
I like to fix. I like to share. So, let's get on with it already.
Have a good day. I know I'm going to try.
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
Zippity Do Da
Let's see. It's election day. I can't wait to get out there and vote! The politicians make it so darn easy with all the honesty and forthright details about all the important and socially critical points. Boy, voting for them is such a treat!
I also can't wait to roll up a pair of socks and stick the meaty part in my mouth until I gag.
It's also All Souls Day, say a prayer for the faithfully departed souls. I did and I will throughout the day.
Most interesting about this day is that I have managed to wake up and string together letters to make words to make sentences after another night of tossing and turning, jaw-clenching and whining. Sleep is evading me these days - it's mad at me for some reason and leaves pockets of exhaustion in the corner of every room I inhabit, including my brand new office.
Yesterday was day one of my new job. It looks like it might be a keeper. The people I met seem cool, the work seems bearable and familiar, and the whole idea of having a life outside this house feels necessary. I loved working from home for all those years, don't get me wrong, yet, driving my new car the twenty minutes to work makes me happy, and saying, "Good morning Ralph, good morning George, good morning coffee has its perks (Ha. I made a nice little pun there, did you see that?). I actually crave the ritual, and know that when the work starts to hit (oh, and it will hit because there is a lot of work), I will fall into the rhythm of producing and achieving, and I like the way that feels.
If only I could get some damn sleep! I'd like to say it is because I am in such deep thought about my political choices (actually, no, I wouldn't like that at all), but it isn't. I'd like to say it's because I am pepped up with excitement over all the fun things I've been doing in my life, but alas, that's not it. Because I'm anxious over the new job? Because the dogs keep me up? Because I can hardly wait to rise and greet the new day? Nope. Nope. Nope.
It's grief. Plain and simple. I wake, I think, I get sad, I pray, I fall asleep; I wake, I think, I get sad, I pray, I fall asleep... same old, same old, and it blows.
Hey, did I mention it's election day, oh and All Souls Day, and yeah, the second day of my new job?
Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz... sleepy....zzzzzzzzzz.....
I also can't wait to roll up a pair of socks and stick the meaty part in my mouth until I gag.
It's also All Souls Day, say a prayer for the faithfully departed souls. I did and I will throughout the day.
Most interesting about this day is that I have managed to wake up and string together letters to make words to make sentences after another night of tossing and turning, jaw-clenching and whining. Sleep is evading me these days - it's mad at me for some reason and leaves pockets of exhaustion in the corner of every room I inhabit, including my brand new office.
Yesterday was day one of my new job. It looks like it might be a keeper. The people I met seem cool, the work seems bearable and familiar, and the whole idea of having a life outside this house feels necessary. I loved working from home for all those years, don't get me wrong, yet, driving my new car the twenty minutes to work makes me happy, and saying, "Good morning Ralph, good morning George, good morning coffee has its perks (Ha. I made a nice little pun there, did you see that?). I actually crave the ritual, and know that when the work starts to hit (oh, and it will hit because there is a lot of work), I will fall into the rhythm of producing and achieving, and I like the way that feels.
If only I could get some damn sleep! I'd like to say it is because I am in such deep thought about my political choices (actually, no, I wouldn't like that at all), but it isn't. I'd like to say it's because I am pepped up with excitement over all the fun things I've been doing in my life, but alas, that's not it. Because I'm anxious over the new job? Because the dogs keep me up? Because I can hardly wait to rise and greet the new day? Nope. Nope. Nope.
It's grief. Plain and simple. I wake, I think, I get sad, I pray, I fall asleep; I wake, I think, I get sad, I pray, I fall asleep... same old, same old, and it blows.
Hey, did I mention it's election day, oh and All Souls Day, and yeah, the second day of my new job?
Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz... sleepy....zzzzzzzzzz.....
Monday, November 1, 2010
Crazy Catholics!
Happy All Saints Day! Shall I make a cake, or should I wait until tomorrow when it is All Souls Day? Who says Catholics don't like to party?!
All Saints Day is a Catholic day dedicated to all the Saints, who at the time of their death, were so squeaky clean, they automatically entered heaven. We, as Catholics, pray for them on this day as a way of say, "Way to go! Good job! Lucky bastards!"
All Souls Day, celebrated on November 2nd of every year in the Catholic church, is dedicated to all the faithful departed who still have a little soil on their souls - maybe a few venial sins ("a partial loss of grace from God"; a "forgiveable" sin) that need to be cleansed in Purgatory before heading up to heaven. For example, my callling the Saints "lucky bastards" could conceivably be considered a venial sin. It was a little mis-step from Grace and I will ask for forgiveness as soon as I stop giggling over the fact that I called the Saints lucky bastards.
Of course, the faithful departed may also have dirtier, heartier sins on their souls, called mortal sins [ (1) Its subject must be a grave (or serious) matter; 2) It must be committed with full knowledge, both of the sin and of the gravity of the offense (no one is considered ignorant of the principles of the moral law, which are inborn as part of human knowledge, but these principles can be misunderstood in a particular context); 3) It must be committed with deliberate and complete consent, enough for it to have been a personal decision to commit the sin. (For example, breaking of one or more of the Ten Commandments)]. If they are not cleansed of these sins, according to the Catholic religion, they are condemned to hell for all of eternity. And so, we pray for them every day, but especially on All Souls Day.
I know, I know... those Catholics are crazy! I can envision some of my readers shaking their heads at the content of this blog, saying, "Why'd she have to go there with all her crazy Catholic rituals? This All Souls and All Saints Day stuff is a bunch of hoopla."
Maybe.
Maybe not.
I think it's kind of cool that the Catholic religion is so meaty, and so clear cut on its standards. There are some harsh circumstances to sinning, no? And it doesn't hurt to know what the standards of the most popular religion in the Western hemisphere has to say about stuff. If nothing else, regardless of whether you believe it, you learned something new today.
What I know as I go through this day and all day tomorrow is that I'll be grateful. I'll be grateful that Mother Theresa, St. Anthony, St. Michael, St. Francis and all the other Saints who achieved sainthood through the simple act of loving, gave me a bit of a higher standard to live by; and using their achievements, I will pray for the faithful departed that, if Purgatory exists, they're being cleansed so that after my stint in the purgatory slammer, I'll be able to see them in heaven after I die.
There's nothing wrong with praying. So, the hoopla, as it has been described, might be just a crazy Catholic thing, but what the heck, I'm still praying for something, my focus is on something other than the bullshit, pain and hurt of life on earth. So why not?
And that's all I got to say about that.
All Saints Day is a Catholic day dedicated to all the Saints, who at the time of their death, were so squeaky clean, they automatically entered heaven. We, as Catholics, pray for them on this day as a way of say, "Way to go! Good job! Lucky bastards!"
All Souls Day, celebrated on November 2nd of every year in the Catholic church, is dedicated to all the faithful departed who still have a little soil on their souls - maybe a few venial sins ("a partial loss of grace from God"; a "forgiveable" sin) that need to be cleansed in Purgatory before heading up to heaven. For example, my callling the Saints "lucky bastards" could conceivably be considered a venial sin. It was a little mis-step from Grace and I will ask for forgiveness as soon as I stop giggling over the fact that I called the Saints lucky bastards.
Of course, the faithful departed may also have dirtier, heartier sins on their souls, called mortal sins [ (1) Its subject must be a grave (or serious) matter; 2) It must be committed with full knowledge, both of the sin and of the gravity of the offense (no one is considered ignorant of the principles of the moral law, which are inborn as part of human knowledge, but these principles can be misunderstood in a particular context); 3) It must be committed with deliberate and complete consent, enough for it to have been a personal decision to commit the sin. (For example, breaking of one or more of the Ten Commandments)]. If they are not cleansed of these sins, according to the Catholic religion, they are condemned to hell for all of eternity. And so, we pray for them every day, but especially on All Souls Day.
I know, I know... those Catholics are crazy! I can envision some of my readers shaking their heads at the content of this blog, saying, "Why'd she have to go there with all her crazy Catholic rituals? This All Souls and All Saints Day stuff is a bunch of hoopla."
Maybe.
Maybe not.
I think it's kind of cool that the Catholic religion is so meaty, and so clear cut on its standards. There are some harsh circumstances to sinning, no? And it doesn't hurt to know what the standards of the most popular religion in the Western hemisphere has to say about stuff. If nothing else, regardless of whether you believe it, you learned something new today.
What I know as I go through this day and all day tomorrow is that I'll be grateful. I'll be grateful that Mother Theresa, St. Anthony, St. Michael, St. Francis and all the other Saints who achieved sainthood through the simple act of loving, gave me a bit of a higher standard to live by; and using their achievements, I will pray for the faithful departed that, if Purgatory exists, they're being cleansed so that after my stint in the purgatory slammer, I'll be able to see them in heaven after I die.
There's nothing wrong with praying. So, the hoopla, as it has been described, might be just a crazy Catholic thing, but what the heck, I'm still praying for something, my focus is on something other than the bullshit, pain and hurt of life on earth. So why not?
And that's all I got to say about that.
Sunday, October 31, 2010
A Mass of Remembrance
My church, St. Joseph's, held a mass of remembrance today for all the loved ones of the church family who passed away in the past year. John Fazzolari, Fuzzy, Papa, Dad was called out. I sat in the pew, head bowed and waited for them to call his name. They had a list of twenty or so people and were saying them alphabetically and then lighting a candle for each name called.
"John Fazzolari"
My head was bowed but the choking sob that came from my throat, the tears that fell from my eyes and the watery nose, weren't masked in any way. A couple people turned to look at me but I just sat and cried, watching as a candle was lit for him. My dad.
After the names were read and the candles were lit, the lector said, "May they rest in peace, free from sorrow and heartache, free from physical pain and emotional anxiety."
At the end of the Mass, before the closing song, the priest walked over to the table where the candles were lit and said, "Their life on earth has ended but they live on in our love because love never ends."
I don't know what I'm trying to say with this blogpost. I'm not trying to send a message, or give hope or exclaim my faith. I'm not trying to rehash his death. Hell, if I could forget about it and move on, hunkydory, then believe me, I would.
I guess I just needed to share it with someone. I sat at church, some familiar faces, but mostly with strangers and I wept openly, painfully, and had no one to share that grief with besides Paige and Tony who have such faith in God and such incredible resiliency that it's just not the same. We're supposed to share our grief - and our joys - with people.
Life is incredibly hard sometimes. Loving is easy, but life is hard. My newest pray is for all those who are living here on earth, sharing the joys and triumphs, the grief and failures: May they live in peace, full of love - the transcendant love that will accompany them in death and live on, live on...
... I'm tired now.
"John Fazzolari"
My head was bowed but the choking sob that came from my throat, the tears that fell from my eyes and the watery nose, weren't masked in any way. A couple people turned to look at me but I just sat and cried, watching as a candle was lit for him. My dad.
After the names were read and the candles were lit, the lector said, "May they rest in peace, free from sorrow and heartache, free from physical pain and emotional anxiety."
At the end of the Mass, before the closing song, the priest walked over to the table where the candles were lit and said, "Their life on earth has ended but they live on in our love because love never ends."
I don't know what I'm trying to say with this blogpost. I'm not trying to send a message, or give hope or exclaim my faith. I'm not trying to rehash his death. Hell, if I could forget about it and move on, hunkydory, then believe me, I would.
I guess I just needed to share it with someone. I sat at church, some familiar faces, but mostly with strangers and I wept openly, painfully, and had no one to share that grief with besides Paige and Tony who have such faith in God and such incredible resiliency that it's just not the same. We're supposed to share our grief - and our joys - with people.
Life is incredibly hard sometimes. Loving is easy, but life is hard. My newest pray is for all those who are living here on earth, sharing the joys and triumphs, the grief and failures: May they live in peace, full of love - the transcendant love that will accompany them in death and live on, live on...
... I'm tired now.
Friday, October 29, 2010
Am I Nuts?
So I am looking at three graduate schools to get my MFA in creative writing. Goucher (in Baltimore, which boasts about its creative Non-fiction courses, not fiction), Goddard (in Vermont) and Warren Wilson (in North Carolina). All three are in the top five for low-residency graduate programs which means that I can do my course work on-line, but I am required to go there once a semester for 8-10 day stays (January and July); kind of like a mini-camp for writers.
The cost is outrageous.
The time consumption is crazy.
I've already spent a bundle on my education.
There is no guarantee I'll get in.
There is no guarantee I'll have success after I graduate.
I can't get off of work that many days.
I'll never be able to juggle work, home, kids and homework.
I'm 38 with responsibilities, not 24 with an idealistic imagination.
I'm not even a good writer; I probably won't even get in.
I think that's about it for the negatives, other than my brother's sarcastic comment when I posted the idea on facebook: "You got no chance...pack it in...go on the welfare. Give up. What's the sense. Hell no. Why do today what you can put off until tomorrow?" This cracked me up because it is so dead-on the ridiculous that it made sense to do the opposite.
I went to the writer's retreat back in July and I flew high for a good month, before life, once again, cracked me upside the head with a two-by-four. I was writing every day, excited, making time to write, sometimes I had eight hour stretches where all I did was drink coffee and type on the keyboard.
I remembered a time, way back when I was pregnant with Paige, when I was an insomniac and I would get up at 3 in the morning, grab my notebook and write until 7; my notebook filled with a story - a young adult story that had characters and scenes that made me jump with joy.
Then I had Paige, a full-time job, then Tony, a full-time job, then life.
I began another novel with a crazy character who swore, drank and went through self-made, catastrophic dramas inside her head. The writing was terrible, but I wrote every day, after hours, after the kids were in bed, before the family got up. And I wrote the final chapter and jumped for joy. The first draft was done! I sent it to a publisher and was told to rewrite it.
Then my ex left and life sucked for a long, long time. The first draft was put away again.
During the trying months, I reworked it. It got better. And better. And better.
Then Jeff died, and for a year I didn't even think about it. I could barely keep my head in the game of life, much less in a work of insubstantial, inconsequential fiction.
The writer's workshop advertisement came up on my blog. I hit the link on the last possible day to register. I noted the dates - an entire week away. There was no way I could do it. I closed the link and checked my email. There was an email from my ex, noting the summer vacation schedule and I checked the dates. Huh. Same dates as that writer's workshop... So, on the last day with hardly a hope of there being an availability, I signed up for the workshop, the last day of registration. There were others also trying to get in. I got in. I went. Loved it!
Then Dad died. And uh, uh... (still blown away...)
My point is that I've been circling the drain on the whole writing career, ready to pack it in, give up, go on the welfare for years - before Paige and Tony, before Law School, before College...
No.
Not this time.
So, I will be saving money for a few months, and I plan on the July residency, the 25+ hour a week workload, the January residency, the July residency again, the January residency and the final residency, and a Master's degree. Two years, the tub is filled and I am swimming, not circling.
An MFA will give me the opportunity to teach what I love; to do what I love; to be who I've always wanted to be; and it will be the fulfillment of my life's calling - of that, I have no doubts.
And it is so damned exciting. The joy I get when writing is the joy I feel about attending classes. My gut does not lie, my gut says, go, go, go.
And go, I must.
The cost is outrageous.
The time consumption is crazy.
I've already spent a bundle on my education.
There is no guarantee I'll get in.
There is no guarantee I'll have success after I graduate.
I can't get off of work that many days.
I'll never be able to juggle work, home, kids and homework.
I'm 38 with responsibilities, not 24 with an idealistic imagination.
I'm not even a good writer; I probably won't even get in.
I think that's about it for the negatives, other than my brother's sarcastic comment when I posted the idea on facebook: "You got no chance...pack it in...go on the welfare. Give up. What's the sense. Hell no. Why do today what you can put off until tomorrow?" This cracked me up because it is so dead-on the ridiculous that it made sense to do the opposite.
I went to the writer's retreat back in July and I flew high for a good month, before life, once again, cracked me upside the head with a two-by-four. I was writing every day, excited, making time to write, sometimes I had eight hour stretches where all I did was drink coffee and type on the keyboard.
I remembered a time, way back when I was pregnant with Paige, when I was an insomniac and I would get up at 3 in the morning, grab my notebook and write until 7; my notebook filled with a story - a young adult story that had characters and scenes that made me jump with joy.
Then I had Paige, a full-time job, then Tony, a full-time job, then life.
I began another novel with a crazy character who swore, drank and went through self-made, catastrophic dramas inside her head. The writing was terrible, but I wrote every day, after hours, after the kids were in bed, before the family got up. And I wrote the final chapter and jumped for joy. The first draft was done! I sent it to a publisher and was told to rewrite it.
Then my ex left and life sucked for a long, long time. The first draft was put away again.
During the trying months, I reworked it. It got better. And better. And better.
Then Jeff died, and for a year I didn't even think about it. I could barely keep my head in the game of life, much less in a work of insubstantial, inconsequential fiction.
The writer's workshop advertisement came up on my blog. I hit the link on the last possible day to register. I noted the dates - an entire week away. There was no way I could do it. I closed the link and checked my email. There was an email from my ex, noting the summer vacation schedule and I checked the dates. Huh. Same dates as that writer's workshop... So, on the last day with hardly a hope of there being an availability, I signed up for the workshop, the last day of registration. There were others also trying to get in. I got in. I went. Loved it!
Then Dad died. And uh, uh... (still blown away...)
My point is that I've been circling the drain on the whole writing career, ready to pack it in, give up, go on the welfare for years - before Paige and Tony, before Law School, before College...
No.
Not this time.
So, I will be saving money for a few months, and I plan on the July residency, the 25+ hour a week workload, the January residency, the July residency again, the January residency and the final residency, and a Master's degree. Two years, the tub is filled and I am swimming, not circling.
An MFA will give me the opportunity to teach what I love; to do what I love; to be who I've always wanted to be; and it will be the fulfillment of my life's calling - of that, I have no doubts.
And it is so damned exciting. The joy I get when writing is the joy I feel about attending classes. My gut does not lie, my gut says, go, go, go.
And go, I must.
Thursday, October 28, 2010
It's so Easy
It is early morning. The kids are asleep. The dogs are asleep, though the little bastard will rally if I say anything and start whining loudly to wake the kids. So shhhhhhh....
I just walked outside and looked up. The sky is still dark with a promise of blue, blue skies. High up in the sky, flying by the crested moon, an airplane soars. I imagine that the passengers are all asleep, though I wouldn't be. How cool to look out your window at thirty thousand feet and have the glow of the moon on your face?
Sometimes breathing is all it takes to get you to a place where bills don't matter; where the personal drama of someone else makes little sense; where the time that has passed and the memories that have haunted you are fixed - permanent and whole, immovable, and unable to move you beyond one moment where the stars twinkle, the skies promise and the moon glows. And in those moments, that particular moment for me, my life didn't seem to matter much. It became part of the bigger whole, significant and insignificant at the same time.
I step back sometimes from the movement of any given day and I am overwhelmed by the sense that living is so easy. It is so easy, yet people die from stress, people die from fighting, people end up hospitalized because their only escape from this easy life are drugs or alcohol or self-destruction; they fight, they lie, they cheat, they steal just to find something to make them feel better somehow. Yet, the best feeling in the world is love. The best time of the day is when you give love. The best moment and memory of every lifetime is the ultimate joy from loving. Isn't it?
Love one another. Love your neighbor as you love yourself. Give love. Love is a verb, not a noun.
The glow from the moon reminded me of that today. I was told recently that I have a huge heart. It used to be real small, but packed with anger, resentment, bitterness, an escape route so wound up that I was suffocating. Like the Grinch, it doubled in size with kindness, it tripled in size from love - giving it, not receiving it -, it quadrupled in size from the simple act of forgiving.
I fall back on the stress sometimes and feel its strangulation, but for the most part, I can shake it off because what I have learned with all the pain and heartache is that the moments I remember the most about the loved ones I've lost (including my ex) are the ones that were filled with love; the moments I am affected by the most are the ones that threatened that love; the moments I want in the memory banks of those who love me, are the moments where my heart was big, not small.
If you change your mind, you can change your life. I believe that. But I also believe that you if you simply love - LOVE - and project that love all around you through acts of kindness and compassion and forgiveness, your life changes for the better.
Maybe the glow of the moon had some magical powers. Maybe I'm still dreaming. Maybe I'm just grateful that I can still look up and still remember and still behold the powers that are beyond me, and kind of control how I use the power of my power. My God.
Love. It's easy.
I just walked outside and looked up. The sky is still dark with a promise of blue, blue skies. High up in the sky, flying by the crested moon, an airplane soars. I imagine that the passengers are all asleep, though I wouldn't be. How cool to look out your window at thirty thousand feet and have the glow of the moon on your face?
Sometimes breathing is all it takes to get you to a place where bills don't matter; where the personal drama of someone else makes little sense; where the time that has passed and the memories that have haunted you are fixed - permanent and whole, immovable, and unable to move you beyond one moment where the stars twinkle, the skies promise and the moon glows. And in those moments, that particular moment for me, my life didn't seem to matter much. It became part of the bigger whole, significant and insignificant at the same time.
I step back sometimes from the movement of any given day and I am overwhelmed by the sense that living is so easy. It is so easy, yet people die from stress, people die from fighting, people end up hospitalized because their only escape from this easy life are drugs or alcohol or self-destruction; they fight, they lie, they cheat, they steal just to find something to make them feel better somehow. Yet, the best feeling in the world is love. The best time of the day is when you give love. The best moment and memory of every lifetime is the ultimate joy from loving. Isn't it?
Love one another. Love your neighbor as you love yourself. Give love. Love is a verb, not a noun.
The glow from the moon reminded me of that today. I was told recently that I have a huge heart. It used to be real small, but packed with anger, resentment, bitterness, an escape route so wound up that I was suffocating. Like the Grinch, it doubled in size with kindness, it tripled in size from love - giving it, not receiving it -, it quadrupled in size from the simple act of forgiving.
I fall back on the stress sometimes and feel its strangulation, but for the most part, I can shake it off because what I have learned with all the pain and heartache is that the moments I remember the most about the loved ones I've lost (including my ex) are the ones that were filled with love; the moments I am affected by the most are the ones that threatened that love; the moments I want in the memory banks of those who love me, are the moments where my heart was big, not small.
If you change your mind, you can change your life. I believe that. But I also believe that you if you simply love - LOVE - and project that love all around you through acts of kindness and compassion and forgiveness, your life changes for the better.
Maybe the glow of the moon had some magical powers. Maybe I'm still dreaming. Maybe I'm just grateful that I can still look up and still remember and still behold the powers that are beyond me, and kind of control how I use the power of my power. My God.
Love. It's easy.
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
Working 9 to 3:30?
I start my new job on November 1st and looking forward to it, though I have gotten so used to working from home (8+ years) that the transition to the office, I fear, is going to be difficult. Yet, in light of the need to be in the office, my new employer has approved my request that I continue to get my children on and off the bus, so my actual hours at the office are less. The rest of the time I will be busting my butt to get the work done from home during the hours of sleep, which is a-okay with me as long as I get my dinner time and cuddle time with the kids.
What will I be doing, you ask? Same kind of stuff I've been doing, except delegating more as a manager. What was that, you ask? (Sadly, I don't even think my family members have a clue what I do for work). I will be in charge of the four teams necessary to get the telecommunications towers (where they hang the antennas so we can have texting, VM, email, internet access) up and running. This includes finding the right location (site acquisition), zoning (need to get it approved by the county/state first), leasing (need to borrow a plot of land to get the sucker built), construction (which, duh, I'm not quite an expert on though I can read drawings) and all the developmental stuff necessary for completion. My job uses my skills as a manager, delegator, legal reviewer and all around juggler. I have known some of the people I will be working with on a daily basis for over 12 years. I look forward to that part of it because there are some good peeps in the industry.
So, that is my income-getter. My other, more important job, is the kids. I've talked to them about the schedule change; that I'll be getting up way before them to get work done before breakfast, teeth-brushing and getting-on-the-bus time, and that they should just sleep in and let Mommy get her work done; that I'll be working after they've gone to bed too; and that sometimes I'd be on the phone so they cannot scream and fight in the background (this should be so much fun!).
Am I looking forward to the job? Yes. It is going to be nice to use my brain on one solid project, kind of mold it to be my baby. It is also going to be nice to deposit that nice little paycheck into my account. It will also be nice to have a distraction from my personal life - this grieving over loved ones is hampering my days...
Anything you're not looking forward to? Nah. Kinda wish I wasn't selling out for the paycheck and that I had pushed for the teaching job; worried about my writing; nervous about how this is going to affect my family life - not willing to get strung out with a job and need for a paycheck if it is going to affect how I interact with Paige and Tony. A little fear there because unfortunately, as I am a Fuzzy, I get caught up in doing everything perfectly - so work will be #1 and kids will be #1 and Carrie will probably fall back to #23.
The good news is that I'll have money to buy stuff for myself - even though it is doubtful, as a single mom, that I'll have time to enjoy it.
Ah well, that's the price you pay to have it all.
Three more days of freedom left. I better make it good.
What will I be doing, you ask? Same kind of stuff I've been doing, except delegating more as a manager. What was that, you ask? (Sadly, I don't even think my family members have a clue what I do for work). I will be in charge of the four teams necessary to get the telecommunications towers (where they hang the antennas so we can have texting, VM, email, internet access) up and running. This includes finding the right location (site acquisition), zoning (need to get it approved by the county/state first), leasing (need to borrow a plot of land to get the sucker built), construction (which, duh, I'm not quite an expert on though I can read drawings) and all the developmental stuff necessary for completion. My job uses my skills as a manager, delegator, legal reviewer and all around juggler. I have known some of the people I will be working with on a daily basis for over 12 years. I look forward to that part of it because there are some good peeps in the industry.
So, that is my income-getter. My other, more important job, is the kids. I've talked to them about the schedule change; that I'll be getting up way before them to get work done before breakfast, teeth-brushing and getting-on-the-bus time, and that they should just sleep in and let Mommy get her work done; that I'll be working after they've gone to bed too; and that sometimes I'd be on the phone so they cannot scream and fight in the background (this should be so much fun!).
Am I looking forward to the job? Yes. It is going to be nice to use my brain on one solid project, kind of mold it to be my baby. It is also going to be nice to deposit that nice little paycheck into my account. It will also be nice to have a distraction from my personal life - this grieving over loved ones is hampering my days...
Anything you're not looking forward to? Nah. Kinda wish I wasn't selling out for the paycheck and that I had pushed for the teaching job; worried about my writing; nervous about how this is going to affect my family life - not willing to get strung out with a job and need for a paycheck if it is going to affect how I interact with Paige and Tony. A little fear there because unfortunately, as I am a Fuzzy, I get caught up in doing everything perfectly - so work will be #1 and kids will be #1 and Carrie will probably fall back to #23.
The good news is that I'll have money to buy stuff for myself - even though it is doubtful, as a single mom, that I'll have time to enjoy it.
Ah well, that's the price you pay to have it all.
Three more days of freedom left. I better make it good.
Monday, October 25, 2010
An Angel Here on Earth
I am not kidding when I say that I have an angel here on earth. For the past three years, this girl, my closest friend in Maryland, has had my back. She has called me every single time I was losing it; she has brought me Grey Goose, new clothes, new stories and laughter whenever I needed it; she is one of God's angels; and tonight, just when I needed it, she sent me this:
WAIT
by Russell Kelfer
Desperately, helplessly, longingly, I cried;
Quietly, patiently, lovingly, God replied.
I pled and I wept for a clue to my fate . . .
And the Master so gently said, "Wait."
"Wait? you say wait?" my indignant reply.
"Lord, I need answers, I need to know why!
Is your hand shortened? Or have you not heard?
By faith I have asked, and I'm claiming your Word.
"My future and all to which I relate
Hangs in the balance, and you tell me to wait?
I'm needing a 'yes', a go-ahead sign,
Or even a 'no' to which I can resign.
"You promised, dear Lord, that if we believe,
We need but to ask, and we shall receive.
And Lord I've been asking, and this is my cry:
I'm weary of asking! I need a reply."
Then quietly, softly, I learned of my fate,
As my Master replied again, "Wait."
So I slumped in my chair, defeated and taut,
And grumbled to God, "So, I'm waiting for what?"
He seemed then to kneel, and His eyes met with mine . . .
and He tenderly said, "I could give you a sign.
I could shake the heavens and darken the sun.
I could raise the dead and cause mountains to run.
"I could give all you seek and pleased you would be.
You'd have what you want, but you wouldn't know Me.
You'd not know the depth of my love for each saint.
You'd not know the power that I give to the faint.
"You'd not learn to see through clouds of despair;
You'd not learn to trust just by knowing I'm there.
You'd not know the joy of resting in Me
When darkness and silence are all you can see.
"You'd never experience the fullness of love
When the peace of My spirit descends like a dove.
You would know that I give, and I save, for a start,
But you'd not know the depth of the beat of My heart.
"The glow of my comfort late into the night,
The faith that I give when you walk without sight.
The depth that's beyond getting just what you ask
From an infinite God who makes what you have last.
"You'd never know, should your pain quickly flee,
What it means that My grace is sufficient for thee.
Yes, your dearest dreams overnight would come true,
But, oh, the loss, if you missed what I'm doing in you.
"So, be silent, my child, and in time you will see
That the greatest of gifts is to truly know me.
And though oft My answers seem terribly late,
My most precious answer of all is still . . . Wait."
I am blessed. Thanks Amy.
WAIT
by Russell Kelfer
Desperately, helplessly, longingly, I cried;
Quietly, patiently, lovingly, God replied.
I pled and I wept for a clue to my fate . . .
And the Master so gently said, "Wait."
"Wait? you say wait?" my indignant reply.
"Lord, I need answers, I need to know why!
Is your hand shortened? Or have you not heard?
By faith I have asked, and I'm claiming your Word.
"My future and all to which I relate
Hangs in the balance, and you tell me to wait?
I'm needing a 'yes', a go-ahead sign,
Or even a 'no' to which I can resign.
"You promised, dear Lord, that if we believe,
We need but to ask, and we shall receive.
And Lord I've been asking, and this is my cry:
I'm weary of asking! I need a reply."
Then quietly, softly, I learned of my fate,
As my Master replied again, "Wait."
So I slumped in my chair, defeated and taut,
And grumbled to God, "So, I'm waiting for what?"
He seemed then to kneel, and His eyes met with mine . . .
and He tenderly said, "I could give you a sign.
I could shake the heavens and darken the sun.
I could raise the dead and cause mountains to run.
"I could give all you seek and pleased you would be.
You'd have what you want, but you wouldn't know Me.
You'd not know the depth of my love for each saint.
You'd not know the power that I give to the faint.
"You'd not learn to see through clouds of despair;
You'd not learn to trust just by knowing I'm there.
You'd not know the joy of resting in Me
When darkness and silence are all you can see.
"You'd never experience the fullness of love
When the peace of My spirit descends like a dove.
You would know that I give, and I save, for a start,
But you'd not know the depth of the beat of My heart.
"The glow of my comfort late into the night,
The faith that I give when you walk without sight.
The depth that's beyond getting just what you ask
From an infinite God who makes what you have last.
"You'd never know, should your pain quickly flee,
What it means that My grace is sufficient for thee.
Yes, your dearest dreams overnight would come true,
But, oh, the loss, if you missed what I'm doing in you.
"So, be silent, my child, and in time you will see
That the greatest of gifts is to truly know me.
And though oft My answers seem terribly late,
My most precious answer of all is still . . . Wait."
I am blessed. Thanks Amy.
Thankful
So, the little bastard Enzo is eating rotten tomatoes out of the garden that I spent three hours cleaning up today - throwing the dead plants and fruits over the fence so the deer can munch, munch, munch until some hunter comes and blows one of them away, and leaves the aftermath of the nightmare for their family. But I digress...
So Enzo is eating rotten tomatoes like they're dog treats, Gracie had a tick the size of my thumb right between her eyes and I can't, for the life of me, get the little pinchers out despite having squeezed the guts out of the little sucker for a half hour. She sleeps like a dog all day too - aggravates me to no end.
Tonight, I told Paige that she was twelve. When she argued with me, I asked her if she remembered being born.
"No."
"So, you could be any age right? You can't remember back that far. You're twelve."
"No Mommy, I'm seven because I'm in second grade!" She argued.
I replied, "You're twelve. You're in second grade because you're stupid."
Then I laughed so hard I spit water all over the counter and she laughed so hard she spit chocolate chip cookies all over me. My little girl is brilliant, by the way.
Finally, Tony. Last week, I had to keep him home from school for a day because he had a fever. A couple days later, I touched his forehead and asked how he was. His first reply was, "I'm good." Then he realized that it was just before school and he quickly changed his mind and said, "I mean. Not so good. My head aches, my stomache aches..."
"Yeah, really?"
"Yeah."
"Well, you don't have a fever."
"And my foot hurts, my knee is soooooooore and I have a blemish on my elbow."
"A blemish on your elbow huh? That is serious!"
His little face was so concerned, "It is?"
"No, get your backpack you're going to school."
"Ohhhhh, okay."
Rotten tomatoes, thumb-sized ticks, a twelve year old second-grader and blemished elbows. Day-to-day stuff that makes it my family. I am so blessed.
So Enzo is eating rotten tomatoes like they're dog treats, Gracie had a tick the size of my thumb right between her eyes and I can't, for the life of me, get the little pinchers out despite having squeezed the guts out of the little sucker for a half hour. She sleeps like a dog all day too - aggravates me to no end.
Tonight, I told Paige that she was twelve. When she argued with me, I asked her if she remembered being born.
"No."
"So, you could be any age right? You can't remember back that far. You're twelve."
"No Mommy, I'm seven because I'm in second grade!" She argued.
I replied, "You're twelve. You're in second grade because you're stupid."
Then I laughed so hard I spit water all over the counter and she laughed so hard she spit chocolate chip cookies all over me. My little girl is brilliant, by the way.
Finally, Tony. Last week, I had to keep him home from school for a day because he had a fever. A couple days later, I touched his forehead and asked how he was. His first reply was, "I'm good." Then he realized that it was just before school and he quickly changed his mind and said, "I mean. Not so good. My head aches, my stomache aches..."
"Yeah, really?"
"Yeah."
"Well, you don't have a fever."
"And my foot hurts, my knee is soooooooore and I have a blemish on my elbow."
"A blemish on your elbow huh? That is serious!"
His little face was so concerned, "It is?"
"No, get your backpack you're going to school."
"Ohhhhh, okay."
Rotten tomatoes, thumb-sized ticks, a twelve year old second-grader and blemished elbows. Day-to-day stuff that makes it my family. I am so blessed.
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