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.
Sunday, October 31, 2010
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.
Understanding the Human Condition
I just read a tidbit on Career Builders, saying that the study of Literature can get you big bucks if you follow it up with an MBA or a law degree; and the reason studying Literature is such a huge deal is because it gives you a glimpse into some brilliant writing that helps you understand the human condition.
Isn't every great book just an attempt at rounding up something that can explain away the pain and sorrow and grief and adultery and fear and hurt and greed and immorality? Aren't many creative endeavors an attempt at making a happy ending for the nightmare that is life?
I actually thought about rewriting my life story in a work of fiction, with the happily ever after all intact. No one lies, no one cries, no one dies. Everything is perfect and brings me right back to when times were good and worthy of understanding the human condition. I'd go back in time and make it all better...
It reminds me of the country song Backwards by Rascal Flatts... you get your dog back, you get your house back, you get your second wife back, you get your first wife back...
What would I get back? I'd get the comfort of a marriage back before it shit the bed, I'd get my brother back, I'd get my dad back, I'd get my dogs back, I'd get my body back, I'd get my innocence back... So yeah, I'm going to write that story. I'm going to do what I do when I wake up from a nightmare, go back to it and try to become the hero instead of the victim. It's the only way to get through it because there is no understanding of the human condition, there is only the understanding that it sucks and you need to suck it up, tough it out and do the best you can while trying to be compassionate to those who are trudging through their own meaty piles of crap.
Until the bestseller hits the shelves, that's all I have to say about understanding the human condition.
Isn't every great book just an attempt at rounding up something that can explain away the pain and sorrow and grief and adultery and fear and hurt and greed and immorality? Aren't many creative endeavors an attempt at making a happy ending for the nightmare that is life?
I actually thought about rewriting my life story in a work of fiction, with the happily ever after all intact. No one lies, no one cries, no one dies. Everything is perfect and brings me right back to when times were good and worthy of understanding the human condition. I'd go back in time and make it all better...
It reminds me of the country song Backwards by Rascal Flatts... you get your dog back, you get your house back, you get your second wife back, you get your first wife back...
What would I get back? I'd get the comfort of a marriage back before it shit the bed, I'd get my brother back, I'd get my dad back, I'd get my dogs back, I'd get my body back, I'd get my innocence back... So yeah, I'm going to write that story. I'm going to do what I do when I wake up from a nightmare, go back to it and try to become the hero instead of the victim. It's the only way to get through it because there is no understanding of the human condition, there is only the understanding that it sucks and you need to suck it up, tough it out and do the best you can while trying to be compassionate to those who are trudging through their own meaty piles of crap.
Until the bestseller hits the shelves, that's all I have to say about understanding the human condition.
Monday, October 18, 2010
Fall Back on Love
I spent the morning worrying. I spent the morning sad, thinking about the profound impact that death has had on my life. I worried with my mother for over an hour and a half. I laughed with her too. She asked me if I thought Dad was with Jeff.
"Absolutely, Mom. Greater than their death is our love for them. How can they not be together? They are love."
"Yeah, I think so too."
After that, I'm not sure what we said to each other, neither of us could talk.
The morning was spent worrying about money; about having such a tough time finding employment; about bills to pay, mouths to feed, charity I'd like to give...
Worry.
And I heard, "Let tomorrow worry about itself." Jesus spoke that.
And then I closed my eyes and my head was filled with one thought: Fall back on the love. Fall back on the love. Fall back on the love.
And that is what I intend to do. Today is my brother Cliff's birthday. What better day to make a cake? So when the kids get back from dinner with their dad, they will be welcomed home to Cliff's cake, candles and all and I'll make them sing and we'll send the video to Cliff and we'll scarf down on cake. Then the three of us are going to grab our Wii remotes and Mario, Luigi and Toad are going to conquer World Number One. After that, we'll get ready for bed - a warm bath, lotion, warm pajamas, a fun show (maybe America's Funniest Home Videos), about six books cuddled in my bed and stories about everything and anything. We'll say our prayers and end the day satiated.
It's the only way the worry, the stress, the sorrow and the pain can be cushioned. The love always exists, conquered by nothing. The battle is won if you just remember that in times of strife you need to fall back on the love.
And there's a lot of love around you.
"Absolutely, Mom. Greater than their death is our love for them. How can they not be together? They are love."
"Yeah, I think so too."
After that, I'm not sure what we said to each other, neither of us could talk.
The morning was spent worrying about money; about having such a tough time finding employment; about bills to pay, mouths to feed, charity I'd like to give...
Worry.
And I heard, "Let tomorrow worry about itself." Jesus spoke that.
And then I closed my eyes and my head was filled with one thought: Fall back on the love. Fall back on the love. Fall back on the love.
And that is what I intend to do. Today is my brother Cliff's birthday. What better day to make a cake? So when the kids get back from dinner with their dad, they will be welcomed home to Cliff's cake, candles and all and I'll make them sing and we'll send the video to Cliff and we'll scarf down on cake. Then the three of us are going to grab our Wii remotes and Mario, Luigi and Toad are going to conquer World Number One. After that, we'll get ready for bed - a warm bath, lotion, warm pajamas, a fun show (maybe America's Funniest Home Videos), about six books cuddled in my bed and stories about everything and anything. We'll say our prayers and end the day satiated.
It's the only way the worry, the stress, the sorrow and the pain can be cushioned. The love always exists, conquered by nothing. The battle is won if you just remember that in times of strife you need to fall back on the love.
And there's a lot of love around you.
Time In a Bottle
It's hard to believe that another week has passed since I posted on this blog. Believe me, I have been writing, just not here because there are some things that just need to brew in the brain for awhile before being shared.
I feel like chicken tonight, chicken tonight, chicken tonight... How many people can recall their father dancing around the kitchen clucking and waving his arms like a chicken, singing this song?
I stood beside two very attentive children in church yesterday, holding hands and listening to them recite the Our Father without a hitch, shaking hands during Peace and smiling at all the old ladies who smiled at them. I heard, "Your kids are so well-behaved" and when the priest touched their hands during communion and said, "May God Bless and Keep You," I had to hold back the hiccup of tears.
"I like Kool-Aid all year long!"
"And I like saving money!" We did that routine from the time I was eight years old until well after I had children. Dad didn't miss a beat.
I painted pumpkins with the kids, crossed eyes, big eyebrows, red hearts for the lips and purple ears. After an hour of adding to each other's pumpkins, my heart melted when I heard Paige say, "This is so much fun Mommy. It has been a great weekend!" and Tony nodding like she had taken the words right out of his mouth.
"Two women are taking a cruise together, one woman has a lisp. As they are standing on the deck, they see a man standing by a tri-pod, he puts his head under a black blanket. The woman with the lisp asks her friend, "Whath thhat man doin?" And her friend says, "Oh, he's gonna focus," and the woman with the lisp asks, "Boffofus?" Every time I hear the word focus, I hear my dad saying, "Boffufus?".
Tony was in need of a haircut. The hair around his ears was nearly to his earlobe, and as I tousled his hair I whispered that we would be going for a haircut soon and he said, "If Papa was here he'd say, "Bah, you need a haircut like Papa's, let's go.'" We got his haircut. I cried.
"Dad, what song do you want to dance to at my wedding? Dean Martin or Frank Sinatra?"
"Neither. I want Jim Croce's If I Could Save Time in a Bottle."
"Really?"
"Really. I missed a lot of time with my baby girl."
"Okay Dad."
It's been a week of tears and memories, writing and reflection; time spent enjoying the kids, falling back on the love of my family and a deep appreciation for what God has given to me.
If I could save time in a bottle
The first thing that I'd like to do
Is to save every day
Till Eternity passes away
Just to spend them with you
If I could make days last forever
If words could make wishes come true
I'd save every day like a treasure and then,
Again, I would spend them with you
But there never seems to be enough time
To do the things you want to do
Once you find them
I've looked around enough to know
That you're the one I want to go
Through time with
If I had a box just for wishes
And dreams that had never come true
The box would be empty
Except for the memory
Of how they were answered by you
But there never seems to be enough time
To do the things you want to do
Once you find them
I've looked around enough to know
That you're the one I want to go
Through time with
I feel like chicken tonight, chicken tonight, chicken tonight... How many people can recall their father dancing around the kitchen clucking and waving his arms like a chicken, singing this song?
I stood beside two very attentive children in church yesterday, holding hands and listening to them recite the Our Father without a hitch, shaking hands during Peace and smiling at all the old ladies who smiled at them. I heard, "Your kids are so well-behaved" and when the priest touched their hands during communion and said, "May God Bless and Keep You," I had to hold back the hiccup of tears.
"I like Kool-Aid all year long!"
"And I like saving money!" We did that routine from the time I was eight years old until well after I had children. Dad didn't miss a beat.
I painted pumpkins with the kids, crossed eyes, big eyebrows, red hearts for the lips and purple ears. After an hour of adding to each other's pumpkins, my heart melted when I heard Paige say, "This is so much fun Mommy. It has been a great weekend!" and Tony nodding like she had taken the words right out of his mouth.
"Two women are taking a cruise together, one woman has a lisp. As they are standing on the deck, they see a man standing by a tri-pod, he puts his head under a black blanket. The woman with the lisp asks her friend, "Whath thhat man doin?" And her friend says, "Oh, he's gonna focus," and the woman with the lisp asks, "Boffofus?" Every time I hear the word focus, I hear my dad saying, "Boffufus?".
Tony was in need of a haircut. The hair around his ears was nearly to his earlobe, and as I tousled his hair I whispered that we would be going for a haircut soon and he said, "If Papa was here he'd say, "Bah, you need a haircut like Papa's, let's go.'" We got his haircut. I cried.
"Dad, what song do you want to dance to at my wedding? Dean Martin or Frank Sinatra?"
"Neither. I want Jim Croce's If I Could Save Time in a Bottle."
"Really?"
"Really. I missed a lot of time with my baby girl."
"Okay Dad."
It's been a week of tears and memories, writing and reflection; time spent enjoying the kids, falling back on the love of my family and a deep appreciation for what God has given to me.
If I could save time in a bottle
The first thing that I'd like to do
Is to save every day
Till Eternity passes away
Just to spend them with you
If I could make days last forever
If words could make wishes come true
I'd save every day like a treasure and then,
Again, I would spend them with you
But there never seems to be enough time
To do the things you want to do
Once you find them
I've looked around enough to know
That you're the one I want to go
Through time with
If I had a box just for wishes
And dreams that had never come true
The box would be empty
Except for the memory
Of how they were answered by you
But there never seems to be enough time
To do the things you want to do
Once you find them
I've looked around enough to know
That you're the one I want to go
Through time with
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
Joy is a Gift
So I just laughed my butt off reading a couple of posts on my brother Cliff's blog: http://fazzolari23.blogspot.com/ He writes about getting 99 cents in change because he owed the cashier a penny - how he made her count out a handful of pennies and told her to put them by her register so some other unlucky bastard doesn't have a pocketful of change. A couple of days later he follows with a story of how one wrong turn resulted in an hour and a half session with Canadian customs. Funny stuff.
The entire time I read them, I thought about my brother Jeff, who up in heaven, must have been cracking up; and then I cried too because I miss that boy like crazy and thought that he probably had something or everything to do with Cliff's aggravation. He did it when he was alive, why stop now?
Cliff wrote about Jeff and Jeff's joy in a book titled Oh Brother! http://fazzolari23.blogspot.com/2010/09/
Cliff will be doing signings anywhere and everywhere he can. Do me a favor and share this post on your facebook page or your own blog; stock the book in your virtual store; cut and paste into an email and send the news to everyone you know. It is a book that will bring joy and change lives. My family is that awesome - and my brothers' are that amazing.
I miss you Jeff.
The entire time I read them, I thought about my brother Jeff, who up in heaven, must have been cracking up; and then I cried too because I miss that boy like crazy and thought that he probably had something or everything to do with Cliff's aggravation. He did it when he was alive, why stop now?
Cliff wrote about Jeff and Jeff's joy in a book titled Oh Brother! http://fazzolari23.blogspot.com/2010/09/
Cliff will be doing signings anywhere and everywhere he can. Do me a favor and share this post on your facebook page or your own blog; stock the book in your virtual store; cut and paste into an email and send the news to everyone you know. It is a book that will bring joy and change lives. My family is that awesome - and my brothers' are that amazing.
I miss you Jeff.
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
Geeks and Music and Aggravation
My i-pod pooped the bed for the past few days and so I've been forced to either listen to the radio or fall back on the old ways and pop in a CD. I spent three days listening to the radio and in a fit of impatience, I lost all control and rifled through my CD pile. Tracy Chapman, Natalie Merchant and Sara Bareilles made the quick trip from my CD cabinet to the player in my car (which, by the way, records the CDs and features them permanently in the "Jukebox" of the stereo system; the car is smarter than George W.). The good news is that I listened to Natalie Merchant before I listened to Tracy Chapman. She (Natalie) got some face time but damn, Tracy Chapman's "At This Point In My Life" ruled the inside of my car for the good two hours that I spent in it intermittenly throughout the day. And the funny thing is that I've written about this song before because it is simply phenomenal. Check it out: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9oIsfrC3msc or this one that features motivational quotes along with the music: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r4mi5AJEX9M&feature=related
The point of this blog wasn't supposed to be about Tracy Chapman, it's about how sucky my computer, i-tunes and my i-pod are. I nearly threw all of them out on the side walk and had a stomping party this weekend. How, may I ask, can my version of Windows 7 not be genuine when I bought the computer at Best Buy with it already installed, took the computer to the Geek Squad for a new motherboard and had it returned with an ingenuine version of Windows 7? I asked that to Geek #1 and got a "Hmmm. I don't know," and so I asked Geek #2 and he gave me a line of B.S. that was so long, I could've ridden it to Buffalo and back.
"Just bring it in, we'll fix it."
"You come here, you broke it."
"Sorry Ma'am, we don't do that."
"Don't call me Ma'am, and I'm not paying through the nose to have you fix something you broke."
"Well, it's our policy to charge a diagnostic fee."
"You can stick the diagnostic fee in your ear, I already diagnosed the problem."
"What's that?"
"You're a bunch of idiots."
"Oh, well just bring it in, we can waive the fee, Ma'am."
"I thought you might say that. And please stop calling me Ma'am."
"Oh, okay."
Now I have to lug the PC to a pimply faced kid behind the counter and make the same argument again. Bastards.
Oh, and Windows 7 is not compatible with i-tunes which is why my i-pod crapped the bed, and I nearly lost all my songs.
Yes, I can hear Chris now: "Should've got a MAC, you wouldn't have this problem." Yeah, yeah. Bite it.
The only thing I can say about all this hardware, software, computer crap is: At this point in my life, I've come to realize that on this earth, only birds and angels get the wings to fly. I'm not a bird or an angel, so I have to face the Geeks and try to bite my tongue. Thank God, I have Tracy in the Jukebox.
Oh, check out this song too: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CoNtYC_XDC8 Amazing.
The point of this blog wasn't supposed to be about Tracy Chapman, it's about how sucky my computer, i-tunes and my i-pod are. I nearly threw all of them out on the side walk and had a stomping party this weekend. How, may I ask, can my version of Windows 7 not be genuine when I bought the computer at Best Buy with it already installed, took the computer to the Geek Squad for a new motherboard and had it returned with an ingenuine version of Windows 7? I asked that to Geek #1 and got a "Hmmm. I don't know," and so I asked Geek #2 and he gave me a line of B.S. that was so long, I could've ridden it to Buffalo and back.
"Just bring it in, we'll fix it."
"You come here, you broke it."
"Sorry Ma'am, we don't do that."
"Don't call me Ma'am, and I'm not paying through the nose to have you fix something you broke."
"Well, it's our policy to charge a diagnostic fee."
"You can stick the diagnostic fee in your ear, I already diagnosed the problem."
"What's that?"
"You're a bunch of idiots."
"Oh, well just bring it in, we can waive the fee, Ma'am."
"I thought you might say that. And please stop calling me Ma'am."
"Oh, okay."
Now I have to lug the PC to a pimply faced kid behind the counter and make the same argument again. Bastards.
Oh, and Windows 7 is not compatible with i-tunes which is why my i-pod crapped the bed, and I nearly lost all my songs.
Yes, I can hear Chris now: "Should've got a MAC, you wouldn't have this problem." Yeah, yeah. Bite it.
The only thing I can say about all this hardware, software, computer crap is: At this point in my life, I've come to realize that on this earth, only birds and angels get the wings to fly. I'm not a bird or an angel, so I have to face the Geeks and try to bite my tongue. Thank God, I have Tracy in the Jukebox.
Oh, check out this song too: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CoNtYC_XDC8 Amazing.
Monday, October 11, 2010
Happy Endings?
Poor Paige lives in the illusion that everything has a happy ending; that the trials of life can be resolved like they are on the movies; that the fear and anger and hurt and pain just disappears after an hour and a half of missteps and deep soul-searching. I told her it was all a bunch of bullshit, though I didn't use the profanity.
My brother Jim was down this weekend. Aside from cooking enough food on Sunday to feed the entire United States armed forces, he gave me a copy of the Springsteen concert in Buffalo from last November. The only song that I haven't heard on a regular basis is Wrecking Ball which the boss wrote for Giants stadium's demise. It is a pure work of genius - the writing is so intelligent and the message is universal and if I had the words available, I would have read them to Paige as a way of explaining away her illusions about happy endings.
Marriages, new relationships, family relationships, jobs - there is very little that stays the same. Nothing gold can stay. Robert Frost wrote it and it is quite clear that Robert Frost did not live in the la-la land of illusion. The sooner Paige understands this, the sooner she'll succeed in becoming jaded and resentful and angry. Isn't that where we all end up anyway?
Do I sound pessimistic? Ah, I'm entitled once in awhile.
Anyway, Wrecking Ball kind of eases the pain of swallowing the bitter pill of life. It doesn't make the pain go away, it just makes you strong enough to withstand the blows that bring the pain, and maybe, just maybe leaves a little hope for that happy ending.
I was raised out of steel here in the swamps of Jersey, some misty years ago
Through the mud and the beer, and the blood and the cheers, I've seen champions come and go
So if you got the guts mister, yeah if you've got the balls
If you think it's your time, then step to the line, and bring on your wrecking ball
Bring on your wrecking ball
Bring on your wrecking ball
Come on and take your best shot, let me see what you've got
Bring on your wrecking ball
Bring on your wrecking ball
Bring on your wrecking ball
Come on and take your best shot, let me see what you've got
Bring on your wrecking ball
Now my home was here in the Meadowlands, where mosquitoes grow big as airplanes
Here where the blood is spilled, the arena's filled, and Giants play the game
So raise up your glasses and let me hear your voices call
Because tonight all the dead are here, so bring on your wrecking ball
Bring on your wrecking ball
Bring on your wrecking ball
Take your best shot, let me see what you've got
Bring on your wrecking ball
Yeah we know that come tomorrow, none of this will be here
So hold tight on your anger
Hold tight on your anger
Hold tight to your anger, and don't fall to your fear
Now when all this steel and these stories, they drift away to rust
And all our youth and beauty, it's been given to the dust
And your game has been decided, and you're burning the clock down
And all our little victories and glories, have turned into parking lots
When your best hopes and desires, are scattered through the wind
And hard times come, hard times go
Hard times come, hard times go
And hard times come, hard times go
Hard times come, hard times go
Hard times come, hard times go
Yeah just to come again
Bring on your wrecking ball
Bring on your wrecking ball
Come on and take your best shot, let me see what you've got
Bring on your wrecking ball
Bring on your wrecking ball (bring on your wrecking ball)
Bring on your wrecking ball (bring on your wrecking ball)
Take your best shot, let me see what you've got, bring on your wrecking ball
My brother Jim was down this weekend. Aside from cooking enough food on Sunday to feed the entire United States armed forces, he gave me a copy of the Springsteen concert in Buffalo from last November. The only song that I haven't heard on a regular basis is Wrecking Ball which the boss wrote for Giants stadium's demise. It is a pure work of genius - the writing is so intelligent and the message is universal and if I had the words available, I would have read them to Paige as a way of explaining away her illusions about happy endings.
Marriages, new relationships, family relationships, jobs - there is very little that stays the same. Nothing gold can stay. Robert Frost wrote it and it is quite clear that Robert Frost did not live in the la-la land of illusion. The sooner Paige understands this, the sooner she'll succeed in becoming jaded and resentful and angry. Isn't that where we all end up anyway?
Do I sound pessimistic? Ah, I'm entitled once in awhile.
Anyway, Wrecking Ball kind of eases the pain of swallowing the bitter pill of life. It doesn't make the pain go away, it just makes you strong enough to withstand the blows that bring the pain, and maybe, just maybe leaves a little hope for that happy ending.
I was raised out of steel here in the swamps of Jersey, some misty years ago
Through the mud and the beer, and the blood and the cheers, I've seen champions come and go
So if you got the guts mister, yeah if you've got the balls
If you think it's your time, then step to the line, and bring on your wrecking ball
Bring on your wrecking ball
Bring on your wrecking ball
Come on and take your best shot, let me see what you've got
Bring on your wrecking ball
Bring on your wrecking ball
Bring on your wrecking ball
Come on and take your best shot, let me see what you've got
Bring on your wrecking ball
Now my home was here in the Meadowlands, where mosquitoes grow big as airplanes
Here where the blood is spilled, the arena's filled, and Giants play the game
So raise up your glasses and let me hear your voices call
Because tonight all the dead are here, so bring on your wrecking ball
Bring on your wrecking ball
Bring on your wrecking ball
Take your best shot, let me see what you've got
Bring on your wrecking ball
Yeah we know that come tomorrow, none of this will be here
So hold tight on your anger
Hold tight on your anger
Hold tight to your anger, and don't fall to your fear
Now when all this steel and these stories, they drift away to rust
And all our youth and beauty, it's been given to the dust
And your game has been decided, and you're burning the clock down
And all our little victories and glories, have turned into parking lots
When your best hopes and desires, are scattered through the wind
And hard times come, hard times go
Hard times come, hard times go
And hard times come, hard times go
Hard times come, hard times go
Hard times come, hard times go
Yeah just to come again
Bring on your wrecking ball
Bring on your wrecking ball
Come on and take your best shot, let me see what you've got
Bring on your wrecking ball
Bring on your wrecking ball (bring on your wrecking ball)
Bring on your wrecking ball (bring on your wrecking ball)
Take your best shot, let me see what you've got, bring on your wrecking ball
Saturday, October 9, 2010
Brave and Excellent
I started a new book by Paulo Coehlo called The Fifth Mountain. As with all of his books, there is a vein that runs through it that pumps the concept of faith, love and hope through the storyline, and gives me moments of "Huh. What a great thought." He's a real simple writer: short sentences, straightforward story, and very little boom by comparison with other novel writers. He helps me meditate and puts me in a completely different mindset, and I find myself dog-earing the pages so I can go back and think about what he is saying.
What is the point of this little plug for Coehlo, you ask? I suppose I just wanted to share what makes me tick on any given day, and because of this line in the book: "...oftentimes a man's fate has nothing to do with what he believes or fears."
The line spoke to me for a reason of which I am going to try to explain. I'm 38 years old and spent 36 of those years with the idea that if I do good, good will come; if I am kind, I am invincible from all the pain and suffering of this life; that if I seek love - romantic or otherwise - with an optimistic heart, it will come to me tenfold; that if I believe I am protected, I will be protected.
I don't think I believe that stuff anymore. I cannot control my fate - what happens on any given day around me and inside my world - I can only control how I react to it. This leads me to another of my favorite concepts in the book. The main character is speaking to a young boy. The young boy says, "I'm afraid." Instead of telling the young boy not to be afraid because it's ridiculous and a waste of time, the elder answers with "That proves that you find joy in living. It's normal to feel fear at certain moments."
I never thought of fear like that! It kind of takes this powerful, negative emotion - FEAR - and spins it around, doesn't it? Jeez, how awesome to think that every time you are afraid you can feel blessed that 1) it's normal and 2) it's only because you find joy in living. Joy. So much more powerful than fear, isn't it?
It kind of goes hand in hand with what a friend of mine wrote to me in a sympathy card after my Dad died. He said "Never forget that you are brave and excellent." I don't know if I've heard more comforting words in all this time, through all these struggles I have faced. Brave. I have been advised to "stay strong", "keep your chin up", "keep the faith", etc. but I have never been told that I am brave. I feel as though him calling me brave and excellent defines me as a warrior of sorts: I am standing, shielded, and ready to face whatever fate throws at me, regardless of my beliefs and fears because I find joy in living. It's all interconnected. And that is why I have one more piece to share from The Fifth Mountain. Again, the elder is speaking to the young boy.
"All life's battles teach us something, even those we lose. When you grow up, you'll discover that you have defended lies, deceived yourself, or suffered for foolishness. If you're a good warrior, you will not blame yourself for this, but neither will you allow your mistakes to repeat themselves."
I guess being brave allows you to understand this last paragraph because it is so filled with wisdom, and it recognizes humility and honesty with yourself as two very important factors in succeeding through all of life's trials. It shuns the false bravado and understands that facing the pain, the struggles and the disappointments is what is necessary in order to overcome them and find that joy in living. You need to be brave.
And excellent.
Kinda like Paulo Coehlo.
What is the point of this little plug for Coehlo, you ask? I suppose I just wanted to share what makes me tick on any given day, and because of this line in the book: "...oftentimes a man's fate has nothing to do with what he believes or fears."
The line spoke to me for a reason of which I am going to try to explain. I'm 38 years old and spent 36 of those years with the idea that if I do good, good will come; if I am kind, I am invincible from all the pain and suffering of this life; that if I seek love - romantic or otherwise - with an optimistic heart, it will come to me tenfold; that if I believe I am protected, I will be protected.
I don't think I believe that stuff anymore. I cannot control my fate - what happens on any given day around me and inside my world - I can only control how I react to it. This leads me to another of my favorite concepts in the book. The main character is speaking to a young boy. The young boy says, "I'm afraid." Instead of telling the young boy not to be afraid because it's ridiculous and a waste of time, the elder answers with "That proves that you find joy in living. It's normal to feel fear at certain moments."
I never thought of fear like that! It kind of takes this powerful, negative emotion - FEAR - and spins it around, doesn't it? Jeez, how awesome to think that every time you are afraid you can feel blessed that 1) it's normal and 2) it's only because you find joy in living. Joy. So much more powerful than fear, isn't it?
It kind of goes hand in hand with what a friend of mine wrote to me in a sympathy card after my Dad died. He said "Never forget that you are brave and excellent." I don't know if I've heard more comforting words in all this time, through all these struggles I have faced. Brave. I have been advised to "stay strong", "keep your chin up", "keep the faith", etc. but I have never been told that I am brave. I feel as though him calling me brave and excellent defines me as a warrior of sorts: I am standing, shielded, and ready to face whatever fate throws at me, regardless of my beliefs and fears because I find joy in living. It's all interconnected. And that is why I have one more piece to share from The Fifth Mountain. Again, the elder is speaking to the young boy.
"All life's battles teach us something, even those we lose. When you grow up, you'll discover that you have defended lies, deceived yourself, or suffered for foolishness. If you're a good warrior, you will not blame yourself for this, but neither will you allow your mistakes to repeat themselves."
I guess being brave allows you to understand this last paragraph because it is so filled with wisdom, and it recognizes humility and honesty with yourself as two very important factors in succeeding through all of life's trials. It shuns the false bravado and understands that facing the pain, the struggles and the disappointments is what is necessary in order to overcome them and find that joy in living. You need to be brave.
And excellent.
Kinda like Paulo Coehlo.
Thursday, October 7, 2010
Meaningless
It has been one of those weeks where the gospel at Mass on Sunday threads its way into my weekdays. The basics of the gospel were easy enough: All the seemingly big stuff that happens on earth is essentially meaningless in heaven and so, Jesus might say to us today, "Don't sweat it, kid. Just keep the faith. Peace out."
I talked to a friend who is still going through the rigamaroles of her own divorce and she needed advice on a property issue - a neighbor's tree fell into her back yard, making a mess and busting up her fence. She wanted to know if there was anything she could do besides pay her homeowner's deductible and get it fixed.
"You're outta luck," I told her.
"Ah, I figured. No biggie, it's just a blip."
It's just a blip.
On the radio the other day the broadcaster was talking about the daily dramas of life: dishwasher's busted, dog crapped on the carpet, insurance rates when up, a tire blew making you late for work - whatever the drama might be - and he said, "99.9% of everything that happens on any given day is meaningless."
I went through the week listening to the voice in my head that worried about the money I was spending on new sneakers and jeans for the kids because they've grown like wildflowers (out of nowhere and tall) in the past couple weeks, and I kept reminding myself that it was meaningless worry. I also listened to friends complain about work, home, their cars and their futures. Meaningless in the grand scheme of things.
And so yes, I have to agree with the broadcaster.
To a point.
Yesterday, I watched Tony pick up a blanket from the sofa and cover a sleeping friend of mine (who by the way, goes by the name of Jason, and is increasingly present in my life), and how it was just natural for Tony to be that thoughtful. That's not meaningless. And at one point yesterday, I laughed out of nowhere - a strong belly laugh that left me breathless, giggly and surprised. Not meaningless at all.
Paige asked me the other day why I like to teach. I haven't taught in over two years but for some reason, she brought it up out of the blue. And all she said was, "I bet you're good at teaching." I said, "Thanks Paige, I think I'm pretty good at it." And she said, "You're good at everything." Of course I cried a little. It's nice to hear that once in awhile. Meaningless? Highly doubtful. She got me thinking and I truly believe that she spoke a message I was meant to hear from someone else.
Maybe I'm putting too much into thinking about life. Maybe the don't sweat it, kid stuff is all a bunch of hyperbole that is supposed to get us from one moment to the next without cracking.
Obviously, I don't believe a word of that. There are very few things I am sure of on any given day. I am sure of how it feels to love fully, I am sure of how my heart skips when I laugh hard, I am sure that God exists and I am sure that angels sometimes step into the shoes of strangers or friends and give love. I am sure that life itself is not meaningless at all.
Though, I suppose it all depends on how you define life itself. If it's about your water bill or the weeds in your front garden, or the dust in your wallet, or even the next step into your future then it is time to get a new dictionary because that ain't life - that's meaningless drivel.
Give love. Show love. Be love. Life.
Peace out.
I talked to a friend who is still going through the rigamaroles of her own divorce and she needed advice on a property issue - a neighbor's tree fell into her back yard, making a mess and busting up her fence. She wanted to know if there was anything she could do besides pay her homeowner's deductible and get it fixed.
"You're outta luck," I told her.
"Ah, I figured. No biggie, it's just a blip."
It's just a blip.
On the radio the other day the broadcaster was talking about the daily dramas of life: dishwasher's busted, dog crapped on the carpet, insurance rates when up, a tire blew making you late for work - whatever the drama might be - and he said, "99.9% of everything that happens on any given day is meaningless."
I went through the week listening to the voice in my head that worried about the money I was spending on new sneakers and jeans for the kids because they've grown like wildflowers (out of nowhere and tall) in the past couple weeks, and I kept reminding myself that it was meaningless worry. I also listened to friends complain about work, home, their cars and their futures. Meaningless in the grand scheme of things.
And so yes, I have to agree with the broadcaster.
To a point.
Yesterday, I watched Tony pick up a blanket from the sofa and cover a sleeping friend of mine (who by the way, goes by the name of Jason, and is increasingly present in my life), and how it was just natural for Tony to be that thoughtful. That's not meaningless. And at one point yesterday, I laughed out of nowhere - a strong belly laugh that left me breathless, giggly and surprised. Not meaningless at all.
Paige asked me the other day why I like to teach. I haven't taught in over two years but for some reason, she brought it up out of the blue. And all she said was, "I bet you're good at teaching." I said, "Thanks Paige, I think I'm pretty good at it." And she said, "You're good at everything." Of course I cried a little. It's nice to hear that once in awhile. Meaningless? Highly doubtful. She got me thinking and I truly believe that she spoke a message I was meant to hear from someone else.
Maybe I'm putting too much into thinking about life. Maybe the don't sweat it, kid stuff is all a bunch of hyperbole that is supposed to get us from one moment to the next without cracking.
Obviously, I don't believe a word of that. There are very few things I am sure of on any given day. I am sure of how it feels to love fully, I am sure of how my heart skips when I laugh hard, I am sure that God exists and I am sure that angels sometimes step into the shoes of strangers or friends and give love. I am sure that life itself is not meaningless at all.
Though, I suppose it all depends on how you define life itself. If it's about your water bill or the weeds in your front garden, or the dust in your wallet, or even the next step into your future then it is time to get a new dictionary because that ain't life - that's meaningless drivel.
Give love. Show love. Be love. Life.
Peace out.
Monday, October 4, 2010
Stick It, Skivvy
So much for the cool, crisp days of fall where the sky is a hundred shades of pink and the breeze blows across your skin like a soft sweater, and the sun shines bright across blue skies.
This weather blows. Period. Cold, dark, rainy and incessant. I often describe it as the devil's carnival (but then I think that giving the devil, hereinafter referred to as Skivvy, any kind of acknowledgement in any scenario is just plain stupid) because it puts people in dark moods, swearing at other drivers on the road, snapping at loved ones, and shortening patience all around. I think about the guys that have to drive down the road picking up garbage cans and recycle bins, dump them, replace them at the side of the road, hop on the back and do it again and again, every ten feet or so for a full day. I think about how aggravating it is for me to even consider the fact that I have to, at some point, collect those cans, tip them over to get rid of all the water and drag them back up the road and driveway and put them in my garage until next time. I curse this weather, and Skivvy loves that.
Skivvy can stick it. I'm going to find something positive in all of this, despite the wet feet, the cold-bone chill, the slippery roads, the cranky people, the tired eyes, the stuffed sinuses, the frizzy hair. There has to be something.
Last week, the rain was pouring. I was on my way to lunch with a bunch of old co-workers. After taking a shower and getting dressed, making up my face, I let my hair go. I keep it wet in this weather and just let it dry naturally. What's the point of blow-drying it? So I left the house with wet ringlets and was on my way. At the first turn, after leaving my house, I saw an old man - mid-eighties - pushing his car from an intersection. He was huffing and puffing, holding up traffic and struggling to get a piece of crap car across a busy road.
"Bah!" I said as I looked around at all the warm people in their warm trucks. I put my hazards on, parked on the side of the road and ran to help the man. I caught eyes with a young guy in a pick-up who was sitting two cars behind the guy, watching and waiting for the old man to push the car alone. I looked at him, raised my hands at him as if to say, "What the ??" and began pushing with the old man. As soon as my hands touched the back of the car, it moved. It was easy. The rain was pouring, the roads were puddles but the physical labor was easy. After we got it on the side of the road, I turned and saw the guy from the pick-up running toward us to help. "Too late now, dude..." I wanted to say it, scream that an eighty year old man compels a thirty year old man to get off his lazy ass and help, but I didn't say anything. The old man hugged me and told me I was an angel. And for a second, I felt like one.
Despite my awesome boots getting soaked, the hem of my pants dripping, my suit coat drenched and a whole lot of frizz on top of my head, I felt good inside. An older woman, late seventies, pulled up beside me and said, "I would have helped but I have a bad hip..." She must have seen the judgment in my eyes when I looked at the young guy. I said, "No, you are all dressed up and you shouldn't have anything to do with that kind of stuff..." She smiled and wished me a good day. After that, it was a good day.
Skivvy can't stop that kind of stuff. He can't stop it. Ha! The only thing Skivvy can do is love the rain and dreariness of Mother Nature (he certainly doesn't have the power to produce it) and hope that people give in to their emotions and moods of these dreary days, and then, like a lazy animal, find enjoyment in those sufferings. I am sure he was giggling as the old man stepped out of his car to push it across the road. Yet I like to think that he was so damn mad when he saw me get out of my truck to help. That, in itself, is worth getting soaked day after day after day... stick it Skivvy, you can't win.
So, on days like today when the weather is driving you mad, think about the old man pushing his car in the rain. Things could be worse. When you seen an ambulance with flashing lights racing by, say a prayer. If the street light is out and an officer is directing traffic, find patience and endure. If your boots get soaked and your skin is stone cold, so what, it's just water. The sun will shine again, and Skivvy will hate that.
Lord knows what a good hard rain can do for a soul...
This weather blows. Period. Cold, dark, rainy and incessant. I often describe it as the devil's carnival (but then I think that giving the devil, hereinafter referred to as Skivvy, any kind of acknowledgement in any scenario is just plain stupid) because it puts people in dark moods, swearing at other drivers on the road, snapping at loved ones, and shortening patience all around. I think about the guys that have to drive down the road picking up garbage cans and recycle bins, dump them, replace them at the side of the road, hop on the back and do it again and again, every ten feet or so for a full day. I think about how aggravating it is for me to even consider the fact that I have to, at some point, collect those cans, tip them over to get rid of all the water and drag them back up the road and driveway and put them in my garage until next time. I curse this weather, and Skivvy loves that.
Skivvy can stick it. I'm going to find something positive in all of this, despite the wet feet, the cold-bone chill, the slippery roads, the cranky people, the tired eyes, the stuffed sinuses, the frizzy hair. There has to be something.
Last week, the rain was pouring. I was on my way to lunch with a bunch of old co-workers. After taking a shower and getting dressed, making up my face, I let my hair go. I keep it wet in this weather and just let it dry naturally. What's the point of blow-drying it? So I left the house with wet ringlets and was on my way. At the first turn, after leaving my house, I saw an old man - mid-eighties - pushing his car from an intersection. He was huffing and puffing, holding up traffic and struggling to get a piece of crap car across a busy road.
"Bah!" I said as I looked around at all the warm people in their warm trucks. I put my hazards on, parked on the side of the road and ran to help the man. I caught eyes with a young guy in a pick-up who was sitting two cars behind the guy, watching and waiting for the old man to push the car alone. I looked at him, raised my hands at him as if to say, "What the ??" and began pushing with the old man. As soon as my hands touched the back of the car, it moved. It was easy. The rain was pouring, the roads were puddles but the physical labor was easy. After we got it on the side of the road, I turned and saw the guy from the pick-up running toward us to help. "Too late now, dude..." I wanted to say it, scream that an eighty year old man compels a thirty year old man to get off his lazy ass and help, but I didn't say anything. The old man hugged me and told me I was an angel. And for a second, I felt like one.
Despite my awesome boots getting soaked, the hem of my pants dripping, my suit coat drenched and a whole lot of frizz on top of my head, I felt good inside. An older woman, late seventies, pulled up beside me and said, "I would have helped but I have a bad hip..." She must have seen the judgment in my eyes when I looked at the young guy. I said, "No, you are all dressed up and you shouldn't have anything to do with that kind of stuff..." She smiled and wished me a good day. After that, it was a good day.
Skivvy can't stop that kind of stuff. He can't stop it. Ha! The only thing Skivvy can do is love the rain and dreariness of Mother Nature (he certainly doesn't have the power to produce it) and hope that people give in to their emotions and moods of these dreary days, and then, like a lazy animal, find enjoyment in those sufferings. I am sure he was giggling as the old man stepped out of his car to push it across the road. Yet I like to think that he was so damn mad when he saw me get out of my truck to help. That, in itself, is worth getting soaked day after day after day... stick it Skivvy, you can't win.
So, on days like today when the weather is driving you mad, think about the old man pushing his car in the rain. Things could be worse. When you seen an ambulance with flashing lights racing by, say a prayer. If the street light is out and an officer is directing traffic, find patience and endure. If your boots get soaked and your skin is stone cold, so what, it's just water. The sun will shine again, and Skivvy will hate that.
Lord knows what a good hard rain can do for a soul...
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