Strength

That John F. Kennedy dude was pretty smart. He once said:  "Do not pray for easy lives.  Pray to be stronger."   For the past three years I have done both and I must admit that I still wish for the bus to run over Mr. Trouble, back up, and run over him again.  (If it ever happens, I might feel bad for about, oh I don't know, maybe a day). Yet, Mr. Trouble doesn't go away, so Ms. Tenacious simply pulls her head out of the hole in the ground and wipes off her face.  Louis Pasture would be proud because he said "My strength lies solely in my tenacity."   While you go through it, especially when you lift the weights side-by-side with family and friends, it sure doesn't feel like muscles are building; it feels like the strength is buried beneath the rubble of all that fell around you.  You know what the Japanese would say right? They'd say listen to this proverb:  "Fall down seven times, stand up eight."  My personal favorite thought when it comes to standing up and finding strength and living was spoken by an unknown author: "Do not be afraid of tomorrow; for God is already there." It's impossible not to find the strength and tenacity to stand up for the eighth time if you are aware of this truth.

Sometimes recognizing that others have gone through their own battles, are going through their own crushing trials helps with the fear; it boxes up its reach and disintegrates the muck of it.  And sadly, you have to look at the sad situations of other people to recognize that.  It's compassion, right?  Most of the people I have in my life swallow compassion and let it flow through their veins without even thinking about it.  Others haven't a clue, using another person's personal sufferings as an excuse to find fault.  It would be like someone telling me that because my dad and brother died, I am emotional and should consider giving the kids up because it has affected their lives.  Lacking compassion, right?  Stupid?  For sure.  The death of an uncle and a grandfather should affect the kids, it needs to affect the kids, otherwise they might grow up to be as ridiculously stupid and obtuse as the moron who would think these thoughts.  Am I right?  Doesn't the bus need to run over people who would think like this?  It doesn't need to kill him; just maybe give him a trial that requires a break through the veil of stupidity.  I might pray for that, despite JFKs command to pray for strength instead.

I can visualize two hearts with wings above me, patting me on the back and singing along with me to the newest favorite song of mine by David Gray, titled Indeed I Will.

Write it on the walls of your precious souls,
Indeed I will, 
Indeed I will.
Praise it to the skies, everyday I rise.
Indeed I will.
Indeed I will. 
Every bone, every nerve, every fibre of my body screaming yes, indeed, I will.
Indeed I will.

Do yourself a favor and listen to John F. Kennedy, Louis Pasture, the Japanese and the David Gray YouTube of Indeed I Will.  Whatever you do, don't listen to Mr. Trouble or Mr. Stupid.  And do me a favor while you listen to the song, close your eyes and visualize two hearts with wings flying above you, singing along.  It packs a potent punch of strength.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6mJwGmhpnKs

Life, Sweet Life

Been singing this song the entire day; it is packed with intelligence and sadly, a universal truth:

Nemisis by David Gray

'Neath an avalanche - soft as moss
I'm a creeping and intangible sense of loss
I'm the memory you can't get out your head
If I leave you now
You'll wish you were somewhere else instead


I'm the manta ray - I'm the louse
I am a photograph they found in your burned out house
I'm the sound of money washing down the drain
I am the pack of lies baby that keeps you sane


Gates of Heaven are open wide
God help me baby I'm trapped inside
Feel like I'm buried alive

I'm the bottom line - of the joke
I am ecstasy - spilling like bright egg yolk
I'm the thoughts you're too ashamed to ever share
And I am the smell of it - you're trying to wash out of you hair


Gates of Heaven are open wide
God help me baby I'm lost inside
Feel like I'm buried alive

Possibilities limitless
Just give me something that's more than this
One shot and I'll never miss
yes


I'm the babe that sleeps through the blitz
I am a sudden and quite unexpected twist
I am your one true love who sleeps with someone else
I am your nemesis



Baby I'm life sweet life itself

What's Your Favorite?

Kids like consistency.  They like to know when they need to do something, the consequences of not doing it and the sense of accomplishment when it is done.

I have been working real hard since getting the kids back on Friday from their two day excursion with their dad, to get them into the mode of ritual and routine.  It worked so well on Saturday as we walked through Target with their new lunch boxes that I ended up dropping all the items into a nearby crib and walking down the aisle alone while Paige and Tony wailed (crying) and wailed on each other (arguing).  When I got forty feet away, they noticed my backside.  "Mommmmmmmmmmmmy...."  I turned around, shook my head at them in disappointment and kept walking.  Next thing you know, I hear stuff dropping behind me.  Paige is trying desperately to get all the items into her arms, while Tony gets all the stuff she is dropping.  They're still arguing but they're working together because man, Mommy is pissed off.  I hear them running beside me, "We're sorry Mommy."  And you know, they followed me, their arms full of stuff - lunch pals, water bottle, batteries...  We placed them on the conveyor in silence, I made small talk with the cashier, our bags were packed and we got out to the car.  When the kids buckled themselves in I said, "If either of you ever, ever, ever throw a fit like that at a store or a restaurant, at someone's house or even at home, I will get a sitter and go alone next time, and you will end up with nothing.  Got it?" 

"Got it, Mommy.  Sorry." 
"Sorry."

After that, I've been even more focused on them, trying to get them into the mode of respect and discipline.  I explained the whole "when someone gives you a job to do, always do more than what is expected" to Paige while we were cleaning up all of her art supplies together.  She said, "I'm going to put these away too."  She gets it.

The bedtime ritual is their favorite, and I have stepped it up a notch this year.  Not only do they get their bath, their cuddle time during the show, their book, we've also added another layer.  After the lights are out (they fall asleep in my bed and I take them to their rooms shortly after - [I know, it's work and spoiling]), we talk a bit.  Last night I said, "Let's see how much we know about each other."  I told them what they're favorite breakfast was and then I said,

"What's Mommy's favorite breakfast?"

They thought about it for several seconds.  Tony gave up because he hardly sees me eat breakfast and then Paige exclaimed,  "Cold pork chops!" 

"Yeah, yeah, that's it!"  Tony followed.

"Who's my favorite singer?"

They rolled their eyes, "Bruce."

"Okay, what's my favorite song when I think about...."

"American Land"  Tony answered, bored.

"...you guys."

"Oh."  Tony said.

They thought about it.  They actually started humming the song, but couldn't remember the name of the song.
They both sat up in the bed and looked at each other, willing each other to pull it off the tips of their tongues.  I started singing: 

Rain pourin' down, I swing my hammer

My hands are rough from...

"Working on a dream!" They both exclaimed.

Tony said, "My favorite is American Land."

"Good choice."

"Mine is um, um, um the one with the road."  Paige said.

"Screen door slams, Mary's dress waves, like a vision she dances across the porch as the radio plays..."  I sang.  "Thunder Road?"

"Yes!  I love that song!"  I was so proud of her, I almost cried.  Everybody loves that song.  Everybody should listen to that song at least 500 dozen times in their lifetime.

"This was fun, but I'm sleepy Mommy.  Can we play again tomorrow?"

"Absolutely." 

And they fell into a sound sleep - we all fell into a sound sleep, at a reasonable hour.

This morning I opened my eyes while they still lay in their beds dreaming and I sang: 

The sun rise comes, I climb the ladder
The new day breaks and I'm working on a dream

I'm working on a dream

Though it can feel so far away

I'm working on a dream
Our love will make it real someday

And Another Day...

The kids were with their dad for his birthday.  Well, technically, they were with his babysitter for the two days, but my point is that I didn't have them.  I spent the entire day preparing for the weekend and for next week - the first day of school, the first day of school, the first day of school!  Paige is really very excited, very excited. 

If you ask Tony if he can't wait to go to school he answers, deadpan, "Nope, wanna stay home with Mommy."

And Mommy wants to stay home with him.

I had a great conversation last night with a man who has a fifteen and a twelve year old.  He said that he spent so many months and years worrying about their future that now that it is their future, he knows he missed their past, and regrets it (though, between you and me, he knows his kids pretty well - better than a lot of parents know their kids).  I feel similarly about the last three years.  I spent so much time focusing on waking up every morning and getting through the day without losing my marbles, that I missed some time with the kids.  Thank God.  Thank God.  Thank God I had this blog because I look through it and realize how much I actually wrote about them and I am thankful (to God) that I did!

So, with these thoughts strolling down the avenues in my head, I wondered what I could do to make this Friday different for the kids.  I was pushing a cart through the grocery store at the time and just happened upon some hot fudge for ice cream sundaes. 

Side note:  I am NOT a sweet eater.  I'd rather have a porkchop covered in Romaine lettuce salad than three scoops of vanilla slathered in chocolate...

I picked up the hot fudge, some whip cream, some rainbow sprinkles and two cartons of ice cream.  On my way out the store, my closest girlfriend in Maryland, Amy, called me (she has two newborn twins and two toddlers younger than Paige and Tony) and asked me what I was doing.  I told her that I was bringing dessert to her house (discreetly inviting myself and my kids for dinner at her house, which, to my disbelief and yes, envy, I watched her husband make the entire dinner while she nursed the twins and took care of the toddlers.  Really, that happens?).  And I did. 

I watched as my kids and her kids scooped their own ice cream over the brownies I had made last night, poured their own chocolate syrup, sprayed their own whip cream and sprinkled their own decorations, and loved every second of it.  I made a sundae for Amy, which she devoured gratefully, and I thought that this is how I have to live. 

I could have stayed home with the kids.  I could have made the sundaes for them without their friends and they would have been fine.  Hell, I could have gotten a sitter and spent the evening in my bed, reading like I want to do.  But no, I won't. 

I will not lose myself again. 

I will not hide under that rock. 

I will cry.

Certainly, I will cry a lot.

But damn it, I will not fall back into the hole again.

I miss my dad.  I mourn for him.  I wish all of this was just a bad dream.  Yet, and another good friend of mine said this to me, my dad would hate it if I stopped living.  I stopped living after Jeff died - lost a year and a half.   I cannot.  I cannot.  I cannot do that again.

And so, like the first day of school for my Paige and my Tony, I'll get up and begin a new journey. 

And you can bet your ass I won't have a babysitter watching my kids grow up.

Got Through Another Day

I took a little breather from the confusion yesterday; still unbelievably tired, but had to go to a job interview and wow the interviewers.  As I walked into the interview, I heard my brother's eulogy, in particular, be a Fuzzy. We went through the usual rigamarole, going through my resume, asking about my experience, who I knew in the industry, why they should hire me.  It wasn't bad at all.  I answered honestly and thought that was the best way to approach it.  Some of the questions caught me off guard, like "What was your most difficult experience with a project and how did you overcome it?"  My initial thought was:  "It's just a job, how difficult can any of it be?  I mean, I don't save people's lives or anything, I just help to get cell towers leased and built."  Then I answered the question:  "Have had to dealt with some seriously clueless people in the D.C. government offices on several occasions and I overcame it by trying to negotiate my way through the clueless and find the person who had a clue and speak with them kindly and intelligently."  It's easy.

After the work questions, another guy, working as a recruiter asked me personal questions to get to know my personality.  Here were some of them, and my answers:

"What did you do before coming to this interview?"

"I chased my four month old doberman through the house in high heels so that I could get him into the mudroom to stay while I was gone."

"Would you choose more money or more vacation?"

"Vacation."

"What are you most proud of, other than work accomplishments?"

"My kids - they're smart, funny and kind.  All me."

"What is the greatest personality attribute any one person can have on a job?"

"Humility.  It's how you learn and pride only gets in the way."

"What is your motto when it comes to work?"

And here we go, Fuzzy all the way:  "If someone gives you a job to do, always do more than what is expected."

"Why should we give you this job?"

"Because I'm good at what I do; because you called me based on a recommendation from someone else; and because if you ask anyone in the small telecommunications community, all good things will be said."

There is a difference between truth and humility.  I don't think I came off as pompous, just confident.

After the interview, I cleaned the house, played with the dogs, called my mother, ordered Chinese with a friend and watched a movie.

And I realized that life, although spinning wildly and out of whack, is still spinning with me on it.  And I also realized that life is not fair, that there is no rhyme or reason of which I have the capacity to be aware, and that if I think I've had my share of bad breaks and expect to finally meet something good because of it, I am sadly mistaken.  Again, no illusions allowed here.  Today, I can handle this truth.

Am I Entitled to the Anger?

I could tell you that I'm poised, straight clothing, combed hair, laughing eyes and you might believe me; I could work through this blogpost like I've worked through all of them - considering the audience and my own self-respect, gauging the possible reaction to my emotions, filtering things through the sensory perception of what any one person can handle - yet the temptation to blow my top is too strong today.

Hope schmope.  Damn it, I've had my fill.  We've all had our fill of all of it.  And if my siblings and my mom aren't feeling it yet, then they're not paying attention because this blows, this sucks, it's jacked up beyond all belief and the saying "God doesn't give you more than you can handle" is completely lacking intelligence and was probably coined by someone who broke their leg on the day of their wedding, which, by the way, is SMALL, TINY, MINISCULE.

Yesterday was the three year anniversary of my separation - the day he walked out and into the arms of someone else, leaving me dumbstruck and dumb, raising two children while on rubber legs.  Three freaking years have passed and oh, I got through it - wonderfully got through it, though it took time and self-reflection and introspection and anger and tears and pain and sorrow and finally acceptance.  I got through it.  I learned a lot about myself in the process.

Jeff died.

Did God forget that?

Did He forget that our hearts were torn, ripped into something that resembles nothing imaginable - a chunk of it gone, spinning into the unknown?  Does He realize that we still have images of Jeff in the hospital, fighting for his life - that we relive his passing on a daily basis, that we miss him on a daily basis, that the void of losing him is so black and big and scary that we pray, we hope, we pray, we hope, we want and we love? Does He realize how painful that is?

I am reminded of the story in the bible of the death of Lazarus - when Jesus wept, though He knew that Lazarus would rise again, he wept for the pain of Mary and Martha, he wept because of their sorrow. 

I find comfort in that.

But hey, guess what God?  Our dad is dead now too.  Another chunk is gone, spinning in the unknown.

Why?
Why?
Why?

Truth is, I haven't the energy to care or find a reason for it.  Is it for my own personal growth?  I feel grown enough, thank you.  I've read the freaking self-help manuals on divorce, grief, loss, rejection, pain, sorrow and loss ad nauseum.

How about I get sick with happiness and hope and being so in love with someone that I make people sick?  How about that for a change?  How about the happy ending for the woman that was cheated on, lied to, suffered through a divorce and a death of a sibling, watched her parents mourn - heartbroken -, watched her brothers and sisters, sister-in-laws and brother-in-law mourn - heartbroken -, who dealt with her own pain and empathized with the pain of all those people and still got through gets a freaking happy ending?  How about that?  Where is that?

Why is it that the lying, stinking, cheating bastards in this world, who haven't a clue about what love is, what family is, what truth and reality is, thrive? 

Does this mean I have a greater reward in heaven?

Is this anger justified?

Am I going to suffer through pergatory for even having these thoughts?  Or will I get a pass through pergatory because of it?

I'm tired.

Real, real tired.

Fatigue

Despite the little bastard Enzo and Gracie barking incessantly at 4 in the morning at some unknown noise, sleep came.  It has been raining, nonstop, since early this morning - cats and dogs, frogs and lizards, buckets and pails; a cleansing rain, where everything is flooded, where the light is dim and the heaviness of the air leaves the duties of the day up for grabs.

I spent a portion of yesterday on the phone with three prospective employers, kind of bargaining for greater gains like vacation time, 401K match and money and leading them in a work-from-home-and-still-kick-ass conversation.  I was set on beginning with one company but heard from two others in the meantime. How does this happen?  Why am I obligated to now make some kind of choice?  Truth is, it's just a job.  Just give me one, let me go to work, earn my pay and be done with it - a means to an end, you know?  Now I have to make a choice of some sort and I feel incapable of doing that.  What I would like to do is pack the kids up and find a remote place on the beach - oceanfront - open up a used book store that offers entertainment and book clubs for adults and children and live a simple life. 

Life ain't simple.  No siree.  There's all this baggage, heavy, laden with guilt and fear, leaving simplicity to stand on the roadside and cry as the cart rolls by.  Choices.

What does it matter? 

I chose law school.  That left me in debt and on a path that wasn't meant for me.

I chose to live in Maryland.  That left me homesick for my family and home.

I chose marriage.  That failed.

I chose love.  My heart's broken.

I chose amicability.  I'm still going to court.

I chose to write this blog.  Some asshole claimed harassment and obligated me to defend it before a judge.

It is easy to say, "shoot for the moon, you might land on a star" - but really, life is twisted and the star is bound to fall, hard to the ground, leaving a gaping hole.

On this rainy day, I'd like to slip under the covers, sleep until it stops - the incessant hammering inside my head, the invisible cloudline above the trees, the dashed dreams and hopes, the powerful fears, the mourning, the confusion - and wake knowledgeable and light and sure.

But that ain't life.

I'm not without hope.  I'm not without faith.  I'm certainly not without love. 

I am tired.  Real, real tired.

Heart Full of Holes

Spent the day in a complete fog; moving from one thing to the next, to the next, to the next without processing a thing.  I must have picked a hundred peppers and a hundred tomatoes, a couple squashes and cucockers from the neglected, overgrown, under-watered garden.  I picked without the usual glee.  I made a fantastic dinner of round-eye in gravy in the crockpot, a few vegetable sides and some rice that the kids gobbled up like they hadn't eaten in months.  Missing was the usual excitement of seeing them eat joyfully, even when I saw Paige chomp on a sweet banana pepper for each mouthful as I was doing with a hot banana pepper, even when I watched her eyes roll in pure enjoyment when she forked a tomato slice covered with sea salt and said, "Mmmmm..." (The tomato was actually quite delicious).

I'm tired.  Exhausted.  Physically hurting around the neck and head. Processing.  Processing.  Processing.

From the first sip of coffee to now, I have only longed for bed where sleep will not come.

This is old hat, I suppose, familiar and aggravating and aggravatingly familiar.  Perhaps by tomorrow some of the fog will have lifted but I'm not banking on it.  Nope, not at all.

How Deep Is Your Love?

In the quiet moments of the long car ride back to Maryland (when the kids were either sleeping or deep into their movie), I had time to reflect on the past week.  Of course I thought about my mother, the love she holds so dear for her husband of 50 years; I thought about the sadness reflecting off my siblings' eyes and how I wished to never see that sorrow in their brown eyes ever again.  I thought about my relationship with my father - how we loved hard, batted heads on occasion, and always came back to the love - it never went away.  And then I thought about my in-laws, mainly, Chuck, Dana and Kathy, and my heart ballooned with love and pride for them.  Love and pride.

My sister Corinne, and my brothers John and Cliff hit pay dirt when they married their spouses.  It is difficult for me to describe without some disbelief and envy because I had never seen that kind of love or respect in my own short marriage, and I suppose that is why I'm divorced and why they are so successfully married and will continue to stay successfully married.  I observed them - how they watched their spouses, how they grieved their father-in-law, how they stepped up and helped all of us with everything.  I watched their exhausted bodies and eyes work.  The respect for the family is natural - they put themselves second, not first this past week (and truly, most of the time).  Their love is deep.

My sister called me sometime during the tumultuous week, crying.  She wasn't crying over the loss of dad, although that is probably what drove the emotion, but she was grieving for me - for my lack of support by not having (or ever having) a spouse like Chuck, Dana or Kathy.  She was upset because she thought that because of my experiences, I was closing myself off to that kind of love.  She said that she prays that one day I will allow another person to love me the way I deserve to be loved, the way I've always deserved to be loved, and through tears, she pleaded with me to know that it is out there, that there are people out there like this: people like my dad, my mom, my sister, my brothers, my in-laws, who have a depth to their love that goes beyond romance, entertainment or even contentment, that soars through the turmoil, the arguments and the bad times and always, always wades through the deep waters of what is real and true.

I was tired after the eight hour drive.  We got home, we took our shower and baths, put on our PJs and watched a movie.  After that, we cuddled in my bed (my wonderfully inviting bed) and fell fast asleep.  This morning, at 7:45, the kids were up and loud and bouncy and incredibly beautiful.  Paige rubbed my back and whispered in my ear after I grunted and turned back over, "Mommy, you go to sleep again.  I'll feed and let out the dogs and wake you up at 8:15."  Oh yes, that's beautiful, a good love. I smiled, kissed her, told her I loved her and listened as she ushered the crazy dogs downstairs and explained the situation to Tony.  He ran back to the bedside and kissed me on the cheek and they tiptoed downstairs.  At 8:15, I heard Tony coming up the stairs, cursing Enzo who was bouncing beside him.  When I opened my eye, he had a mug of coffee for me.  He placed it on the nightstand and rubbed my forehead and said, "Enzo made me spill some, I'm sorry, but here's your coffee Mommy."

My dad brought me coffee every day I was home on the weekends from college or law school, exactly the same way.

Tony did it without thought, without motive, but simply because he knows how to love.  Paige did what she did this morning without thought, without motive, but simply because she knows how to love.  And that makes me proud and happy, and I know without a doubt that, like Chuck, Dana and Kathy, they know how to be a Fuzzy.  They got the Fuzzy gene for love.   Thank God for that.

Ah, Fuzzy

It'll be a week and a lifetime that I've been home. I've been without internet access, other than checking my emails and some mobile facebook updates. In fact, I am sitting at my sister's house typing this post into my blackberry. Things are not great. I feel like someone took a pillowcase full of soap and beat me with it - physical aching, emotional drainage and mental incapacitation. The rest of my family feels it too, I know they do. Last night, despite utter exhaustion, I stayed up with my mother last night and we talked. She told me about the days when she was dating my father, when they began their family and sadly, his death. A lifetime ago - just a week - and you know, I'm gonna feel her pain, my siblings' pain and my own pain for awhile. I want and need to be the hermit crab again, for a little while. I'll also allow anybody to pull me out and give me a hug. Hugs are good. They're real good. Just don't ask me how I'm doin... Don't ask, just know. Days will elapse. Time will pass. And life will continue to suck for awhile. Say a prayer for my mom, eh? She just lost a real man, a family man and a good husband. Ah, Fuzzy...

Big Bad Man

I was up, wide awake, at 3:30 this morning, having been forcefully jolted by a nightmare.   I don't recall much of it, just that there was a man shooting at me, chasing me with a knife, trying to run me down in a car and all I could do was run, run, run.  My heart was hammering in my chest, but I ran like an Olympian and I couldn't, for the life of me, figure out why he wanted to kill me, why I was even being chased.

I woke up, let the dogs out, got back in bed and read for an hour before sleep overcame me again.

I think it might have affected my mood today because I'm annoyed and anticipatory of something bad.  Yet, I also realize that it's probably normal given my new outlook on life for the past month or so.  I'm waiting for the torrent of rain to fall around me, even though I'm well-equipped with my huge Yankees umbrella and waterproof shoes. 

The kids'll be back tomorrow; a couple days early.  I spoke with Paige yesterday and she was all laughter and fun, missing me, loving me but knowing that she'd see me soon enough.  I made her put Tony on the phone and I talked to him, hearing him grunt, asking a couple times if he was listening - "Yes!" But nothing else.  I told him that I missed him and loved him, but he didn't respond.  Next thing you know, I hear him say, "Bye" and the phone went dead.  Naturally, I called back.  My ex answered and we chatted for a few seconds and then I heard Tony crying... "I miss Mommy... I miss Mommy..."  Oh, it broke my heart - broke it right in half and I had to stop my own tears, my own mantra. "I miss Tony and Paige... I miss Tony and Paige..."  When I got him back on the phone, I asked him to stop crying, I told him that I had been chasing Enzo around the house with his Bumblebee Transformer that's says, "This little bug, sure packs a wallop!"  He laughed and I promised him that we would chase Enzo around some more, as soon as he got home - me, with Optimus Prime ("I am Optimus Prime," he says in a disturbingly sexy voice) and him, with Bumblebee.  And although we talked pleasantly, even excitedly, there was that tinge of sadness surrounding our conversation.

It's hard to let that go, sometimes.  It's hard to fight the anger and indignation that my kids are suffering because of a decision their parents made.  That's a tough, bitter pill to get down the gullet.  Yet, let it go, I did.  What is the point in wallowing in it?  None.  So I didn't.

I wonder if the bad man in my dream, chasing me down, shooting at me to fall down, was a remnant of my conversation with Tony and the heavy guilt I felt hearing him cry.  It probably was. 

It was just a dream.  Just a dream.  I will not fall to that again - never, not in a thousand years, not now, not ever, not even if it is Bumblebee himself packing the wallop.  No siree.

So tomorrow... we will chase Enzo tomorrow... and in so doing, we will chase that bad man away too.

Good Friends

Man, I was just blown away by a You Tube version of Springsteen's Incident on 57th Street.  The introduction alone is worth the listen.  Here's the link: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7Jy6H8DqTg8   What blew me away even further was that the link came from a new friend of mine, whom I met while I was at the Writer's Workshop - already a good friend, sharing something that she knew I'd like.  There aren't enough people like this in the world.  Aly, if you're reading this:  thanks, I am so glad we met.

Tonight is blue-cheese-stuffed-olive-grey-goose-martini-night.  Why not?  It's a Wednesday during the work week - what better night to have it?  I marinated a couple flank steaks and made a tomato-cucumber salad as big as the bathtub, stuffed the olives myself, and I am just waiting for my friends to arrive.

Man, I just replayed the song.  So good...

I missed the kids today.  I was cleaning their playroom and their bedrooms and I longed to hear their voices.   I did not cry though, just missed them.  They are good friends too.

I spoke with my mom this afternoon.  She's heading out to bingo.  Another good friend.

They're all around me.  Lucky, lucky to have them.

John - thanks for welcoming me to the other side.

Yet, another good friend.

Time to listen to it again... 

Perhaps, after a couple martinis, I'll attempt to write something.  It works for Cliff (another good friend) - why not me?  Later.

Four Days into a Week Without the Kids

Things are different these days.  The switch that I had been turning on and off for the past three years has finally stopped flickering and is lit.

I am four days into a vacation away from the kids and I am not wallowing, I am not crying, I am not mad, I am not, dare I say it, lonely. The strange thing is that I've been holed up in my house for these four days, for the majority of the time, doing what I enjoy doing:  writing. dancing around the house to all the amazing songs on my i-pod while I clean.  reading great words.  sipping on wine. even going to take a bubble bath tonight.

It was a long time coming and in all these months of writing this blog and promising that things were good, things were better, that life had changed, that I had forgiven, that I had forgotten, that I had found whatever it was that I was looking for, well, it's not flickering on and off any more, nor is the flame is increasing, decreasing or being snubbed out, it's just giving off a steady light.

I realized also, that the content of this blog is evolving which is why I haven't written too much in the last several weeks.  It was a forum for my grief - over the divorce first, and then into the death of my brother (which still shocks the hell out of me because it feels like it happened yesterday or not at all sometimes), but now?  I yearn for better things.  I yearn to be free of writing through any turmoil because it gets old.  I hope I can nail the sentiment, but it's like being sick of just existing in all of it.  I want to be free of the pain of my circumstances (whatever they are: missing the kids, missing my brother, being angry with the ex).  Actually, more precisely, I want to be free of the control that pain has had over me - ordering me to wallow or muse or worry or fear or contemplate in my own thoughts.  It's like I have finally, mercifully, hit the wall and I've decided to plow right on through it and see what's on the other side without even thinking about it.

I wonder, however, if the blog will be any good.  As most writers know, the best kind of writing comes when the highs are high and the lows are low - it's like the little creative monkey starts swinging from limb to limb during those times.   I spent some time looking through this blog.  There are some really good posts - where I can hardly believe I wrote them.  Then there are those that I wrote because I felt forced to write them for some reason - like I wanted to just keep writing and would even post crap if I had to - which, if you notice are crap.

I don't know.  Since working on the book and on some creative short stories, my writing need has been fulfilled.  The blog, the baby that was born when I was at the lowest point in my life, has somehow taken a backseat.  So, no guarantees that there will be anything more than a once-a-week thing, unless, of course, the kids are so amazing that I have to brag.  I'm not putting this baby to bed, but I'm not forcing myself to keep it awake either (which will totally make my ex happy, I suppose).

One day, I hope to look back on the early writings and compare them with the later writings and see that though I hit the lowest of any low, I also reached unimaginable heights.  I'm on the plateau right now... but one day, oh, one day, let it be!

I am four days into a week long vacation without the kids and I'm on a plateau?  That's so telling of how I've evolved, ain't it?

So, sorry if I disappoint, but my heart is way into something else right now, not the blog.  Who knows, maybe I've reached the horizon line I had been looking for...