The Promise

Sometimes I find a comfortable place to sit, I prop up my feet, I fold my hands across myself and I close my eyes.  I let my thoughts filter through, take a few big breaths and listen to what is going on inside myself, despite the running dishwasher, the noisy icemaker, the barking dogs and the music from my ever-running i-pod.  And sometimes all those sounds go away and I find one clear, precise moment of peace.  Other times, I feel like I am carrying the failures of everyone who has ever lived and lost.

Either moment leaves me with myself and the promise I made many months ago during one of those peaceful moments.  The promise to be humble and aware and hardworking and feeling and to always know who I am and where I come from.  It has gotten to the point where I welcome the confusion because it reminds me that I am alive, and it isn't a sin to be glad you're alive (props to Springsteen for that line).

You know, I think about the broken spirit of my parents after Jeff died; how they had to wake up on a daily basis with hearts that were no longer whole - fractured and broken; and I truly believe that my dad died with that broken heart cupped gently in his hands; that there was a portion of him that just didn't want to face the pain.  How could he not have felt that way?  I've felt that way, I know my siblings and my mother have felt this way.  They may shake their heads and say no but I know that the ache, the physical ache caused from the void of having lost a loved one is more piercing than any other ache in the world - and it's hard sometimes to not know whether it is going to show up at any given moment and take you out at the knees.  It's scary.  Real, real scary.

The secrets of our souls - the fights that we fight alone - can make all the dreams we believe in seem inconsequential and confusing.  Yet, comfortingly, they also gives us the muscles to carry our broken hearts gently in our hands and walk forward toward those dreams.  Being humble, being aware, being hard-working, feeling, knowing who you are and where you come from.  It's a hell of a promise to make to yourself. 

My dad lived his life according to that promise.  It's the most precious gift he ever gave me.  And so I am going to take my fractured heart, walk into the pain from the void and be glad that I'm alive.

I promise.

Sick

Both kids are home today.  Paige had a fever all day yesterday, Tony got his this afternoon.  I could see it in his eyes as I got him on the bus but figured he was just worn out from the weekend.  Nope.  Just took his temperature:  101.1.

Kitty's at the doctor again too.  She's shaking like a washing machine during the spin cycle so I picked up my mechanic and he drove her to the shop for me.  (Dear Lord, please let it be related to our most recent accident so it is still covered by my insurance).

Enzo has had his own mishaps on the floor - and it's not liquid, and it's not yellow.  He almost made it to the door, he really tried, moaning, and if he could have reached his front paws around to his backside, I know he would have been trying to hold it in until I could get the damn door open.  We almost made it.  Then, well, you know.   I threw up the entire time I cleaned up too, which isn't so great because I feel like what Enzo left on the floor:  crap.  Stomachache, headache, backache...

I made the chicken soup; the kids just gobbled it down, claiming that though it wasn't as good as my mom's, it was still delicious. 

Despite their illnesses, I can hear them giggle as I write, real, whole giggles - in the belly laughs.  They are redoing their profiles on Wii right now, and Tony just exclaimed, "I am a smokin' hot boy and Paigey, you're a smokin' hot girl!"  In a pretty, pretty dress, right? 

I don't know about all that, but they certainly have fevers, full bellies and great laughs.

I'm starting to feel a little better now, for some reason.  The chicken soup worked for the kids, the laughter works for me... hope Kitty finds a cure soon.... and the little bastard?  Ah, who cares, he just better get his ass outside on the next go 'round.

September 23

I cannot get through the day without wishing my best friend Bruce a happy birthday now, can I?  Happy Birthday Bruce, hope you raise a glass or two and celebrate you today.

Ten years ago, on this day, I was coiffed and beautiful, getting ready to meet my groom on the altar. Despite the mutilation of that marriage - the ripping, shredding, burning, searing, road-kill-on-the-side-of-the-road-after-having-been-run-over-by-Optimus-Prime decimation of that marriage - I have to admit that it was still one of the happiest days of my life.  I looked incredible, my groom looked incredible, my family was whole and intact, my lips wore Passionate Plum from Estee Lauder (I still have that lipstick) and I had the greatest faith in everything - in my love for my groom, in my life, in my future - and there was nothing that was going to go wrong in my life because along with that hope was the comfort of being naive and innocent and blessed by an incredible family.

When that innocence is shattered, it leaves an ache in the heart; it leaves a "holy shit, I never thought life could be this bad for me" mentality; it makes you stand back and scratch your head and ask:  What did I do to deserve this bop on the head - this Fred Flintstone pulsating point on the top of the head?

It's life.  Pure and simple, it is life.  You can't get to the higher ground without going through the low valleys - and if you are on the higher ground without having the aches and pains of the struggles to get there, then it's an illusion.

I look at my nephews and nieces and my own children who had to face, at such early ages, the death of their father or uncle, and the death of their grandfather, and even the loss of their uncle (my ex) through the divorce.  Life forced that upon them.  Yet they are so blessed because the blanket of innocence and happiness makes them more resilient than any adult who hasn't had to go through it.  And I have to hope that these losses made them stronger so that when they are adults and their hearts are ransacked by the ever-changing winds of life, they can fall back on the faith and hope and perseverance they've got stashed away.

Ten years ago.  Such big, big changes in my life.  Love, marriage, birth, birth, divorce, diseases, death, death.  And I reflect upon that day with regret because in my clarity, I see that it was a mistake.  And God knew that I had made a mistake and so He gave me, in His great mercy, He gave me Paige and Tony, and He gave me one of the greatest memories of my life:  when my brothers and my brother-in-law lifted me in that chair at the reception and sang Thunder Road to me... "so Carrie, climb in, it's a town for losers and you're pulling out of here to win..."

I feel it.  Life's Redemption.  I feel it, deep, deep in my soul, and I am on higher ground now.  Ten years, many of them crawling through the dark valleys, but I am on higher ground, and I'm still so very proud to know that I can still celebrate this day for my best friend Bruce.

I think I'll go put on some Passionate Plum and sing Thunder Road.

Look up

The sun has not yet risen; there is a soft, faint blanket of darkness hovering over the quiet house, and the only puncturing sound is the rhythm of my fingers punching this keyboard.  It doesn't fit with the quiet cricket, the hum of the house, the sighs of both dogs as they lay on the couch beside my desk. 

I've been awake for awhile now, breathing in the morning.  I walked outside with the dogs and looked up.  I immediately thought of my brother Jeff telling my brother Cliff that people should look up more.  I took in all the beauty of the sky and allowed it to fill my lungs.  I said a prayer for my family.  I nodded to my dad and smiled, grateful that I know he's up there, sharing it with me.

The coffee is steaming beside me, that first sip warm against my lips and tongue and there is quiet.  The quiet warmth of safety and tranquility as the kids sleep soundly, comfortably upstairs.

This morning, as it does every day, the dawn will come and a new day will begin.  This morning, I am fully aware that it is happening as I write.  This morning I am not taking it for granted like I do 90% of the time.  This morning it feels like a gift; a wonderful gift.  Despite the peace that it brings, I am also fully aware that it just may be the best part of my day, the only part of my day that I truly appreciate because the swirls and drops, speed and twists of the universe bring surprises, day after day, surprises.  Some are big, some are small, some are faint and some are obvious. 

And that is life.

People should look up more.

Days Like This

It's a strange feeling inside Carrie these days.  That guy, the one I said wouldn't have a shot at a third first date?  Well, he got a third first day, and a few more after that, and damn if he doesn't have a place in my head - front of the line placement.  And it's funny because I went on that first date with absolutely no desire to go - I dreaded it, and I figured I'd have a beer, a little small talk and then go home to my book.  I had a beer and a full-on laugh and a full-on conversation and another beer and a fat ass burrito and another full-on laugh and another full-on conversation, and then I went home to my book.  I didn't read it very well though because I can honestly say that it was the first date I'd had in a very long time that I thoroughly enjoyed.  You know what I mean... there is always something about a first date that is uncomfortable, a bit off kilter, or even downright weird.  I think I was lacking in concentration skills for reading simply because my mind was searching for something to be off kilter. 

He didn't wear khakis and a button down shirt like all the other men I had been set up with.  (I suppose that was seen to be my "type" and was the reason all my friends sent me on blind dates with these men; flashing their cars and expensive clothes, talking about their careers as though that is their life; you know the drill).  In fact, he has earrings and a couple tattoos; he was unshaven on our first date, and pulled into the driveway in his Ford pick-up; he had cuts on his meaty hands from physical work.  I didn't much care whether he was as gorgeous as George Clooney or as ugly as a catfish because God knows, looks reveal nothing about anything.

And I recognize that dreading the date, not really wanting to be there, allowed me to be more relaxed and so probably helped things along.  The fact was revealed that he wasn't too keen on having the date either, which relaxed both of us because we really didn't care one way or another about it.   A garden salad, maybe a slice of bread, a few spoonfuls of soup - always a good first date dinner option, right?  I ate a burrito the size of my HEAD on my first date with this man, Do you think I was trying to make a first impression?

I'm not sure what has happened here, why I am meeting and interested in someone at this precise moment of my life; yet I am not surprised by it either.   We all know it's been a long time coming. And I suppose I am revealing quite a bit with this blog post just by mentioning where I am with this situation, yet it feels almost dishonest not to say something. 

I'll be reserved in describing the details though.  For example, I won't reveal how I get that butterfly feeling in my stomach when I'm around him; or how I fall into a fit of laughter when I think about some of our conversations.  I won't tell you how hearing the ringtone I set for him on my phone makes me stop whatever I am doing and pick up.  Yes, I'll be more reserved because I understand how much my readers care about me and how they want me to be cautious so that my heart doesn't get destroyed again.

I certainly don't want the ground meat feeling in my heart again either.  Yet, you know, my heart is kind of tired of being alone in all the sadness I've incurred over the past three years.  It needs a companion, and so, despite the walls I built from the debris of my marriage, I am climbing over them to get to somewhere else.  I suppose you could call it redemption or sanctification or whatever, but I think it's just strength, and the need to overcome and damn it, be happy.   We all know that tomorrow may never come and is almost certain to be the opposite of what we expect and so it seems to be a disservice not to enjoy what is in this very moment, especially if it's enjoyable.  In this very moment, my heart is not lonely, and I want to hold on to that for as long as I can.  Bruce knows what I'm talking about when he says:  You can't shut off the risk and the pain without losing the love that remains.  Of course there is a chance that I'll get hurt, crushed, but how does that happen unless I give in to all the good?

People told me there would be days like this - that the pain and heartbreak wouldn't be king shit in my life forever.  It seems to have stepped aside for now.  And that feels so, so good.

Sweet Candy

Kitty's in the shop again.  She had the hiccups on the way back from Buffalo last Monday and smashed into another SUV going about 20 miles an hour in stop and go traffic.  Poor baby lost her license plate and had to get the grill replaced and a new bumper (her 2nd bumper in a year).   Aside from the cosmetic junk, she needs a new set of shocks and some other work done on her private parts.  So, back to the Auto shop she went for her work.  In the meantime, I rented a Sebring and scooted around town in that for a couple days until my sweet tooth kicked in.  I have been fantasizing about a Lincoln MKS since late 2007, going so far as pricing them out, looking at options and posting a picture of it on my "future" corkboard.

I took the picture down on Friday because parked in my garage is the newest addition to the family.  Her name is Candy (thanks Cliff for the suggestion) and she sure is pretty, she's a beauty, she's all around SEXY and I fit in that front seat like a child's hand fits in a mitten.

I miss Kitty, don't get me wrong.  Kitty is and always will be the best, most reliable vehicle in the family.  She brought both my children home from the hospital and took us on so many trips up north that she pretty much knows the grooves of the road like a mother knows her daughter's face.  And I will never get rid of her.  When she gets back from the beauty shop/doctor, she will have the king spot in the driveway, where she's always been.

Buying Candy took tremendous effort.  As I said, I've been looking for three years, and I've talked myself out of it because it seems like such an extravagance, but you know, in the past two months, I've heard my father's voice (loud and clear in the car dealership) and know that he would be happy for me for finally doing something good for myself and realizing that spending the money once in a while is good for the soul.  And I bought a Lincoln.  I can see his smile as clear as day as I drive it.

Sweet like candy to my soul... 

Kitty'll be back in town soon, and I'll love her as much as I love Candy, don't you worry.

Happy driving...

Fall and Falling, Music and Dancing

The air is crisp, there is a clean breeze that rolls through these days, a handful of leaves dance around the back yard, the faded Levi's and long sleeve t-shirts come out of hiding and are worn well with a pair of worn out flip-flops; curly hair stays curly - windblown - but not a mass of humidity-induced frizz; the commercials are for season premiers and the soft chenille blanket on the sofa smells and feels inviting on exposed skin.

With the changing weather comes a changing of routine.  Early mornings, sipping coffee in the chilly air, babies that linger under the covers in the morning - worn-out from football and soccer and karate and socializing at school - and sleepily descend the stairs in the morning, clutching their stuffed animals and curling themselves up on the sofa beneath blankets, waiting for their mommy to cuddle up, cuddle up.

Today begins an entirely new but familiar routine, and I relish it.  Once again, the early morning coffee, the quick blog, returning emails and then a shower and getting dressed and made-up and coiffed for a day of work before the kids wake.  They will be greeted by the professional mommy who still runs around the house, begging them to brush their teeth, packing lunches, patting dogs on the head, pouring milk and cereal in heels, wiping faces, drying tears and finally, mercifully, getting them on the bus and on their way to school while she switches gears and opens up the professional, legal, thinking and charismatic part of her brain in order to kick ass at work, earning a well-deserved and certain-to-be-used paycheck.

Boy, I missed this.

I shared the story of Jeff's death and Dad's death with a friend yesterday who had never met either of them.  It was difficult to expose such a tender wound, yet I found myself wanting to share the personalities of each of them, to let my listener know who they were.  I tried to explain the Fuzzy charisma and how severely dehydrated of it I had become during my short marriage - how being charismatic and charming and personable had somehow disappeared and it wasn't until after my heart was destroyed and I had been rejected as a wife, lover and mother, that I could get myself back to who I had been.  For the fifteenth time in as many days, I was deeply grateful to my ex for leaving.  I was grateful that I had been left flailing on my own because in those deep waters, I discovered a treasure chest filled with the lost chronicles of Carrie Lynn.

Using this discovery yesterday, I opened up the doors that lead me to my past, exposed, and into the varying personalities of the family that molded me; and sharing the beauty and sadness of my family with a stranger to that family led to a tender healing of sorts; as my eyes welled up, so did his.  Exposure, raw and tender and frightening, yet so completely genuine that my heart became healthier - like a yoga or aerobic exercise had bulked its muscles. 

And so, changing seasons, changing routines and fresh beginnings are alive, blown gently through the trees, leaving fresh, fresh air.  I can't say that the grieving has subsided; I can't say that the shock is any less shocking; I can't even say for sure that I won't cry today; but I can say this:  I am also alive, soaring and descending, rising and falling, dancing in circles, searching for a soft landing - like a golden leave dancing to the rhythm of these changes.  The rhythm is melodic and pretty, making the dance easier somehow.

Update

Me and the kiddies spent Labor Day weekend in Buffalo, visiting with my brothers and sister, their cousins and grandma.  It was a decent time.  Things are certainly different, hollow in some ways, but there's still a lot of love going around up there.

The job I had lined up, fell through, now it looks like it's a go again, sometime next week.  In the meantime, my days have been spent with the kids.  We've had some great meals - the ones they help me cook are the best because they're thrilled to eat it all up.  I've gotten my butt kicked way too many times in Uno, War and Cadoo; and since I taught Tony his Uncle Jeff's trick, the puzzles we put together are never completed until Tony pulls the last piece out of his pocket, giggling as he does it.  I've learned the iCarly lingo and the Spongebob skits, the famous lines in Marmaduke, and what to do when the kids rile up the little bastard, Enzo.

Things are good.  Despite the sadness in my heart over the losses and due to the sympathy I feel toward my other family members, my own little family is doing very well.  Perhaps it is because we have a routine down now that puts us all to bed early, gets me up very early, and ignites the day with love and laughter.  Even the dogs seem happier.  I love summer, but damn, I love this too.

Nothing much else to write today.   Tomorrow might supply a greater creativity to me.  Until then I'll just hang with the kids.

The Climb

Who'd a thought that Hannah Montana (aka Miley Cyrus) sang my theme song? I have to admit that I learned this song through a good friend of mine, Mike Butler, who sings at Kaufmann's nearly every weekend (google his name, man he's talented); got to to know the words, and finally asked him who sang the original.  He looked at me sheepishly, cringed a little and said, "Miley Cyrus". 

It's a phenomenal song.

The past few weeks have been crazy.  I got back from a miserable time in Buffalo, the kids began school, the job I had lined up fell through and I went on a third date with someone that turned into a fourth date, then a fifth date and crap, gulp, yikes, a sixth is planned.  Life is just continually in motion and I'm on the ride and it wants me to enjoy the ride, I know that; and I'm trying.

As I was pulling out of my parent's driveway a couple weeks ago, this song was on the radio.  It was the first time I heard Miley Cyrus' version of it (it's not as good as Butler's) and it made me cry because damn it, there's always gonna be an uphill battle, always.

And you know what?  I'm having fun dating; I'm having fun making daily snacks for the kids when they get off the bus; and I'm having fun fantasizing about the job I will have soon... that's what it's about; enjoying the climb.

I'll hand it over to the lyrics now:

The Climb


I can almost see it
That dream I am dreaming
But there's a voice inside my head saying
"You'll never reach it"


Every step I'm taking
Every move I make feels
Lost with no direction
My faith is shaking


But I gotta keep trying
Gotta keep my head held high
There's always gonna be another mountain
I'm always gonna wanna make it move


Always gonna be a uphill battle
Sometimes I'm gonna have to lose
Ain't about how fast I get there
Ain't about what's waiting on the other side


It's the climb
The struggles I'm facing
The chances I'm taking
Sometimes might knock me down
But no, I'm not breaking


I may not know it
But these are the moments that
I'm gonna remember most, yeah
Just gotta keep going


And I, I got to be strong
Just keep pushing on
'Cause there's always gonna be another mountain
I'm always gonna wanna make it move


Always gonna be a uphill battle
Sometimes I'm gonna have to lose
Ain't about how fast I get there
Ain't about what's waiting on the other side


There's always gonna be another mountain
I'm always gonna wanna make it move
Always gonna be an uphill battle
Somebody's gonna have to lose


Ain't about how fast I get there
Ain't about what's waiting on the other side
It's the climb, yeah.

Keep on moving, keep climbing
Keep the faith, baby
It's all about, it's all about the climb
Keep the faith, keep your faith, whoa

Songwriters: Alexander, J; Mabe, J;