An echo returns as I roll the key in the lock,
“Mommy’s home!” reverberating off the whining of dogs,
Bellyaching for food, for relief, for love
My absence has bewildered them
My absence after eight hours gone
Away from the pain of what does not greet me
Away from what makes it my home
And the days are long
The mornings somber
As I sip coffee with closing eyes and an aching heart
Missing who is missing
Today, tomorrow and forever-more
Missing who is missing
My soul wants
And wants
And wants
And is never quiet in its need
This absence has confused me
And the echoes fail
The echoes fail
The footfalls are mere paws
And I spend the evening
Holding it all apart
In hands that yearn
For the world.
Monday, November 22, 2010
Sunday, November 21, 2010
A Weekend is a Weekend is a Weekend
Yesterday was quiet. I spent the morning and into the afternoon cleaning. Then I met the kids (and my ex) at basketball practice. It was the first day of a 4 week clinic and then basketball league begins in January (which, I'll be assistant coaching, thank you). Yesterday, was just a rundown of the fundamentals: how to hold the ball, where to point your feet, how to jump while shooting, how to shoot. Paige is like me - listening, listening, listening and then she practices and has it perfected. She made a couple shots after some time of trying way too hard. Tony? I watched as he tripped over the ball, knocked other kids over trying to retrieve the ball and did a little two step before shooting. He looks like one of the oldest kids out there, but I have to remind myself that he's barely six years old, and I am sure that the coaches thought he was terribly clumsy.
After the practice, I told Paige she did a good job and she said, "But I think you're a better."
"Well of course I'm better, that's why you're in clinic so that I can play evenly with you."
And she said, "No, I think you're a better coach." (We've been shooting hoops for over a year now, practicing in the driveway whenever it is nice). Tony, as he walked to the car was crying, complaining of a stomachache (I secretly think it was because he knew he wasn't coming back with me), but when I asked him if he liked practice, he shrugged and said, "It was okay. But when you teach me, it will be better."
Right now, I know their enthusiasm is coming off of me. I know that they are seeking to play and learn the sport because they know I find so much enjoyment in playing it and they want that for themselves. And it is so true. I want to see them outside, arguing while they play PIG, I want to hear them making up shooting games, I want to hear them laughing when one of them blows a shot way wide. And I want to be part of the game with them.
When I returned home, I had a few messages from friends, requesting my presence for the evening. I politely declined all invitations and settled with the DVR and the remote, a couple loads of laundry to fold, and caught up on my shows from the last two weeks. I was in bed and asleep by 10pm.
In a couple hours, I will pick the kids up from my ex's house, take them to Sunday School (while I attend church) and then out to lunch before dropping them back off at his house for the remainder of their time with him. The Sunday school is important to me so I don't mind the drive back and forth every other weekend, and honestly, the kids like it too. They get a little break with Mom on that every other weekend and they don't mind Sunday school. It is working out well.
Beyond that? More cleaning and a boatload of work for my "real" job.
What I've just realized: I am a 38 year old, single woman going on 80. All I need are some cats and a weekly hair appointment.
And one more realization: I kind of like it.
After the practice, I told Paige she did a good job and she said, "But I think you're a better."
"Well of course I'm better, that's why you're in clinic so that I can play evenly with you."
And she said, "No, I think you're a better coach." (We've been shooting hoops for over a year now, practicing in the driveway whenever it is nice). Tony, as he walked to the car was crying, complaining of a stomachache (I secretly think it was because he knew he wasn't coming back with me), but when I asked him if he liked practice, he shrugged and said, "It was okay. But when you teach me, it will be better."
Right now, I know their enthusiasm is coming off of me. I know that they are seeking to play and learn the sport because they know I find so much enjoyment in playing it and they want that for themselves. And it is so true. I want to see them outside, arguing while they play PIG, I want to hear them making up shooting games, I want to hear them laughing when one of them blows a shot way wide. And I want to be part of the game with them.
When I returned home, I had a few messages from friends, requesting my presence for the evening. I politely declined all invitations and settled with the DVR and the remote, a couple loads of laundry to fold, and caught up on my shows from the last two weeks. I was in bed and asleep by 10pm.
In a couple hours, I will pick the kids up from my ex's house, take them to Sunday School (while I attend church) and then out to lunch before dropping them back off at his house for the remainder of their time with him. The Sunday school is important to me so I don't mind the drive back and forth every other weekend, and honestly, the kids like it too. They get a little break with Mom on that every other weekend and they don't mind Sunday school. It is working out well.
Beyond that? More cleaning and a boatload of work for my "real" job.
What I've just realized: I am a 38 year old, single woman going on 80. All I need are some cats and a weekly hair appointment.
And one more realization: I kind of like it.
Friday, November 19, 2010
Smoke and Mirrors
The smoke is to cover it up, the mirrors are to enhance it. Smoke and mirrors.
The laughter? A mirror works.
The effed-upness? Smoke works.
Smoke and mirrors.
In the past three years, I've seen more smoke than a fire chief in NYC and I've seen more mirrors than a gym trainer in Hollywood.
Smoke and mirrors. We see what want to see and we fail to see what we don't want to see. And people know how to make it work for them.
In relationships? Uh, yep.
At work? Uh-huh (nodding a vehement head).
To ourselves? Oh, hell, hell, hee-haw, hell yes!
Smoke and mirrors, gosh, golly gee, gosh, just be real!
Be real.
Okay, I am facing the first Thanksgiving without my father. So are my brothers and in-laws, so is my sister, so is my mom.
Reality.
Hurts.
Reality hurts. Yet, I think about my aunts and uncles, facing their first Thanksgiving without a sibling. Remember? Last year? Jeff was gone? Well, it's easy for me to sympathize, though it's not... I didn't have 72 years with my brother (I only had 36 years with him)... but, but, damn! My poor Aunts. My poor Uncle.
And Gosh-Golly-Gee (I'm so trying not to cuss!), it *&^%$#W%^* S&CKS! Really, ^$#^&* S&CKS!
We all play the smoke and mirrors game. Some (mostly on a first few dates with me), even truly believe they are acting real in a real world under a real sky in a reality.... (Yep, that's MY reality). Others tend to work through life, pushing forward and believing in something better.
There is something better. There has got to be something better.
All you people in love? Back me up on this!
All you people soaring financially? Back me up on this!
I don't know. I don't get it. I cannot fathom the meaning yet. Yet, I know there is a meaning. I know there is something better. Something worthwhile. Something that doesn't require a pill, or alcohol, or cigarettes, or indiscretion, or lack of character...
There is something worthwhile! Something waiting!
Maybe I should have titled this blogpost "Faith" because it seems that is what I am writing about.
I'd like to go off... unedited for a few minutes...
....thinking.... thinking... processing... processing...
I feel like Jerry McGuire, when he finally gets it (though, of course, the commercialized meaning of the movie was about love)...
I see people, every day, miserable. None of them like their jobs. None of them want their jobs. None of them can fathom being without their jobs. Yet, yet, there is this comraderie because they all know how the other person feels! They know this.
And they show up because they believe. They believe in their co-workers and that things will get better. Sure, some need a kick in the 'confidence' ass, but most of them are just there to earn a paycheck and go home (that's me!) yet they let the pain get to them, they let the anxieties of their leaders get to them, but listen. Listen! Your leaders are just as F-ed up as you are! If not worse!
Life is a *&^( game! It is a puzzle. The way to win it? The way to win it?
LOVE.
Love, baby. Love. That's it. That's your clue. That's your answer. That's your win.
Love.
It is so difficult to see in all the illusions of smoke and mirrors, but it is love.
It took me a long while to get to this, and this is the unedited version of my blog, but hey, new friends-at-work-as-dorky-as-i-may-seem-and-knowing-that-you'll-love-me-still, listen.
Smoke and mirrors.
Beyond that.
Love.
The laughter? A mirror works.
The effed-upness? Smoke works.
Smoke and mirrors.
In the past three years, I've seen more smoke than a fire chief in NYC and I've seen more mirrors than a gym trainer in Hollywood.
Smoke and mirrors. We see what want to see and we fail to see what we don't want to see. And people know how to make it work for them.
In relationships? Uh, yep.
At work? Uh-huh (nodding a vehement head).
To ourselves? Oh, hell, hell, hee-haw, hell yes!
Smoke and mirrors, gosh, golly gee, gosh, just be real!
Be real.
Okay, I am facing the first Thanksgiving without my father. So are my brothers and in-laws, so is my sister, so is my mom.
Reality.
Hurts.
Reality hurts. Yet, I think about my aunts and uncles, facing their first Thanksgiving without a sibling. Remember? Last year? Jeff was gone? Well, it's easy for me to sympathize, though it's not... I didn't have 72 years with my brother (I only had 36 years with him)... but, but, damn! My poor Aunts. My poor Uncle.
And Gosh-Golly-Gee (I'm so trying not to cuss!), it *&^%$#W%^* S&CKS! Really, ^$#^&* S&CKS!
We all play the smoke and mirrors game. Some (mostly on a first few dates with me), even truly believe they are acting real in a real world under a real sky in a reality.... (Yep, that's MY reality). Others tend to work through life, pushing forward and believing in something better.
There is something better. There has got to be something better.
All you people in love? Back me up on this!
All you people soaring financially? Back me up on this!
I don't know. I don't get it. I cannot fathom the meaning yet. Yet, I know there is a meaning. I know there is something better. Something worthwhile. Something that doesn't require a pill, or alcohol, or cigarettes, or indiscretion, or lack of character...
There is something worthwhile! Something waiting!
Maybe I should have titled this blogpost "Faith" because it seems that is what I am writing about.
I'd like to go off... unedited for a few minutes...
....thinking.... thinking... processing... processing...
I feel like Jerry McGuire, when he finally gets it (though, of course, the commercialized meaning of the movie was about love)...
I see people, every day, miserable. None of them like their jobs. None of them want their jobs. None of them can fathom being without their jobs. Yet, yet, there is this comraderie because they all know how the other person feels! They know this.
And they show up because they believe. They believe in their co-workers and that things will get better. Sure, some need a kick in the 'confidence' ass, but most of them are just there to earn a paycheck and go home (that's me!) yet they let the pain get to them, they let the anxieties of their leaders get to them, but listen. Listen! Your leaders are just as F-ed up as you are! If not worse!
Life is a *&^( game! It is a puzzle. The way to win it? The way to win it?
LOVE.
Love, baby. Love. That's it. That's your clue. That's your answer. That's your win.
Love.
It is so difficult to see in all the illusions of smoke and mirrors, but it is love.
It took me a long while to get to this, and this is the unedited version of my blog, but hey, new friends-at-work-as-dorky-as-i-may-seem-and-knowing-that-you'll-love-me-still, listen.
Smoke and mirrors.
Beyond that.
Love.
Lonesome Day
It's Friday morning, the moon hangs bright in the sky, and I have finished my first three sips of coffee. It's Friday morning on an "every other Friday" weekend which means that I am facing the weekend without the kids. What's worse, the holiday is my ex's holiday, so I am facing the entire week without them.
It is Friday morning, the moon hangs bright in the sky, and lends it self to a presentiment of loneliness, one that has grown familiar enough; one that bears heavy on my shoulders; one that is not satisfied by the companionship of friends alone.
My sister and brother-in-law will be in town for the week, sharing the holiday with me. Together, we will laugh and cook and catch up. But lacking will be the joy we get from sharing my children; lacking will be the fourth hand in our game of Euchre; lacking will be the wholeness of family and marriage and, I know I'll get flack for saying this, but health. Health that comes from a solid marriage.
And every time I think about it, I get angry with my ex. Every time I face the holidays, knowing that I could use spousal support to get beyond the grief built by the vacancies, I get angry with him. I think about how he got off so easy. And I envision him saying, "Phew, glad I got out before her brother died. Phew, glad I got out before her dad died. Phew, glad that deep stuff hasn't swallowed me yet." And it's aggravating, despite knowing that even if he was here, I'd be swimming it alone.
I don't know. It's a lonely weekend already and I'm only an hour into it.
This will not go away - ever. It won't go away because it's already there, out there and despite the same moon being in the same world in which we live, there are many different views.
So I'll spend the weekend cleaning the house and doing work. I'll spend the weekend grocery shopping and feeling blue. And come next week, after my sister arrives, I'll pull out the deck of cards and see the vacancy across from me as we play Crazy Jacks instead of Euchre; and at Thanksgiving, I'll cry.
Come next Friday morning though, my heels will be high kicking and my heart will soar. The moon will hang high in the sky and I'll see it differently, yet again.
What is fitting is the song that is playing over and over in my mind, and once again, I must thank my dear best friend Bruce...
Once I thought I knew
Everything I needed to know about you
Your sweet whisper, Your tender touch
But I didn't really know that much
Joke's on me, It's gonna be okay
If I can just get through this lonesome day
Hell's brewin' dark sun's on the rise
This storm'll blow through by and by
House is on fire, Viper's in the grass
A little revenge and this too shall pass
This too shall pass, I'm gonna pray
Right now all I got's this lonesome day
It's allright. It's allright. It's allright
Better ask questions before you shoot
Deceit and betrayals bitter fruit
It's hard to swallow, come time to pay
That taste on your tongue don't easily slip away
Let kingdom come I'm gonna find my way
Through this lonesome day
It is Friday morning, the moon hangs bright in the sky, and lends it self to a presentiment of loneliness, one that has grown familiar enough; one that bears heavy on my shoulders; one that is not satisfied by the companionship of friends alone.
My sister and brother-in-law will be in town for the week, sharing the holiday with me. Together, we will laugh and cook and catch up. But lacking will be the joy we get from sharing my children; lacking will be the fourth hand in our game of Euchre; lacking will be the wholeness of family and marriage and, I know I'll get flack for saying this, but health. Health that comes from a solid marriage.
And every time I think about it, I get angry with my ex. Every time I face the holidays, knowing that I could use spousal support to get beyond the grief built by the vacancies, I get angry with him. I think about how he got off so easy. And I envision him saying, "Phew, glad I got out before her brother died. Phew, glad I got out before her dad died. Phew, glad that deep stuff hasn't swallowed me yet." And it's aggravating, despite knowing that even if he was here, I'd be swimming it alone.
I don't know. It's a lonely weekend already and I'm only an hour into it.
This will not go away - ever. It won't go away because it's already there, out there and despite the same moon being in the same world in which we live, there are many different views.
So I'll spend the weekend cleaning the house and doing work. I'll spend the weekend grocery shopping and feeling blue. And come next week, after my sister arrives, I'll pull out the deck of cards and see the vacancy across from me as we play Crazy Jacks instead of Euchre; and at Thanksgiving, I'll cry.
Come next Friday morning though, my heels will be high kicking and my heart will soar. The moon will hang high in the sky and I'll see it differently, yet again.
What is fitting is the song that is playing over and over in my mind, and once again, I must thank my dear best friend Bruce...
Once I thought I knew
Everything I needed to know about you
Your sweet whisper, Your tender touch
But I didn't really know that much
Joke's on me, It's gonna be okay
If I can just get through this lonesome day
Hell's brewin' dark sun's on the rise
This storm'll blow through by and by
House is on fire, Viper's in the grass
A little revenge and this too shall pass
This too shall pass, I'm gonna pray
Right now all I got's this lonesome day
It's allright. It's allright. It's allright
Better ask questions before you shoot
Deceit and betrayals bitter fruit
It's hard to swallow, come time to pay
That taste on your tongue don't easily slip away
Let kingdom come I'm gonna find my way
Through this lonesome day
Thursday, November 18, 2010
Dear Santa
Okay, so Paige made her Christmas list. It is numbered and written on lined legal paper. I looked through it last night, and I'm not sure, but I think she might have some romantic ideals of her own. I'll give you the edited list because there are some repeats, but here it is. #38 is my personal favorite though #15 and #41 cracked me up too.
1. DSi game and DSi
2. Webkin
3. The movie: How I Saved Your Life
4. Chapter Books
5. Stuffed Animal with love
6. More rocks for my rock collection
7. Vocabulary words from A to Z
8. Lots of letters from God (He is everyone)
9. Dreams
10. Love
11. Compassion
12. Another fish
13. Attention
14. Candy
15. Another puppy that doesn't bite
16. Horsey set
17. More littleist petshop
18. More art suplize
19. Sketching Set
20. PJs
21. Dinosaurs
22. Make-up
23. The Healing Begins song
24. Smart computer and iPod
25. Webkin that's a cheetah
26. A stuffed shark
27. A sponge bob game that doesn't take too long to load
28. Pen, Pencil, Crayon, Marker, Paint and Brushes
29. The Movie: Pirates and the Caribian
30. Teliscope
31. A toy for Enzo and Gracie
32. A pet horse for my littleist pet shop collection
33. A tree book
34. Wii games
35. Princess Peach toy
36. 99 fake leaves
37. A dog that looks like Enzo and Gracie
38. A popsicle that never ends
39. Carrots
40. A dog bone
41. A training session for Enzo
1. DSi game and DSi
2. Webkin
3. The movie: How I Saved Your Life
4. Chapter Books
5. Stuffed Animal with love
6. More rocks for my rock collection
7. Vocabulary words from A to Z
8. Lots of letters from God (He is everyone)
9. Dreams
10. Love
11. Compassion
12. Another fish
13. Attention
14. Candy
15. Another puppy that doesn't bite
16. Horsey set
17. More littleist petshop
18. More art suplize
19. Sketching Set
20. PJs
21. Dinosaurs
22. Make-up
23. The Healing Begins song
24. Smart computer and iPod
25. Webkin that's a cheetah
26. A stuffed shark
27. A sponge bob game that doesn't take too long to load
28. Pen, Pencil, Crayon, Marker, Paint and Brushes
29. The Movie: Pirates and the Caribian
30. Teliscope
31. A toy for Enzo and Gracie
32. A pet horse for my littleist pet shop collection
33. A tree book
34. Wii games
35. Princess Peach toy
36. 99 fake leaves
37. A dog that looks like Enzo and Gracie
38. A popsicle that never ends
39. Carrots
40. A dog bone
41. A training session for Enzo
Monday, November 15, 2010
Cash It In, If You Can...
The earth and sun and the planets are roughly 4.5 billion years old, give or take a couple hundred years. The average lifespan of a person today is: 78.4 years. So roughly, barring the freak accident, the unexpected stroke, murder or suicide, I have roughly 40 years left to live and learn and love, give or take a half-decade.
It's time to cash in the old dreams for something else, isn't it? I thought about redemption today. Why? Who the hell knows? (I have a boatload of useless questions streaming through my consciousness on any given day (you'd think I was a pot smoker or something, but alas, I am not - just a thinker)). Anyway, I thought that there are days when I wake up (especially in the past couple of desperate years) and I think, "today is the day! Today something is going to happen that makes it all mean something! Today, at the very least, something will happen that will explain the constant question of why. Why? Why?"
I do. I look forward to the day because I think that maybe, somehow, maybe, I'll get an answer to the big questions. The big, big questions. The ones that need answering. The ones that plague me.
And you know? I read books. A lot of books. I am reading Madame Bovary right now. A classic. A classic for a very good reason. Emma, the lead character, was so full of romantic ideals that she just didn't remain satisfied with her husband, she couldn't "fall into" a normal marriage, she was always searching for the illusion of what she had fantasized about, read about, wanted for her own life. You know what I mean: the fairy-tale of all those romantic novels. So, she sees, does not seek, but sees outside of her marriage and is given opportunities to play - and she chooses to play and, oh, is hit by the "ineffable seduction of her virtue." (my favorite line) In essence, she decides to bang a guy that isn't her husband! The second man she has committed adultery with!
Pretty juicy for a novel written in 1856, wouldn't you say?
She cashed it all in. She did it, in spite of keeping her virtue, in spite of her face (she gave up the nose), but she, in one moment, cashed it all in. Because she succumbed to her romantic ideals, she redeemed those ideals. She found her own redemption! Good, bad or indifferent, she did it.
On a very different level, I thought about cashing it all in. Cashing in the dreams I had for my life and gaining pennies on the dollar.
What, seriously, do I have to cash in? To take to Goodwill? To drop off at the dump? To lend?
I have my romantic ideals. I have the notion of what a good marriage is supposed to look like and what I got. I have my guileless energy about how life is supposed to go. I have this hurt. I have this hurt that is so, viscerally, unimaginably, intolerably opposite of what I ever expected to be in my life. And it is here. On my shoulders and I am taking it along with me, and well, it's time to cash it in.
I'd love to say that I am going to quit my job, quit my life, sell my house, my belongings and become an exotic dancer (ha! That's funny!) and live off the earth, but that won't happen. Yet, man, my neck hurts every morning. My shoulders ache. My mind spins and spins and spins and...
4.5 billion years and I've spent 30 minutes writing about how disappointing life is: for me, and for Madame Bovary.
She dies in the end, you know? She commits suicide. A completely unromantic death...
(That ain't the way I'll ever go out. And if that is ever deemed the cause of my death, then look into it, because I can tell you, it wasn't me!)
You can find your own redemption if you look.
Me?
I look to my family (though we're all in a big funnel of grief right now, though, I think, if we looked around, reached out a hand, we'd find a mate). And I look to my kids. They're amazing. AMAZING. I look to my friends. I look to strangers. I look to church.
On Sunday, the deacon, who baptized both Paige and Tony, picked on me because I found a typo in the Prayer of Reconciliation that they've been handing out to parishioners for the past ten years. When I told him, pointed out the error (because it drives me crazy to see typos!), he said, "You would complain about that!" I loved that. I loved his humor. I loved that he got me.
And that is part of my redemption too.
I can't cash it all in. I can't find enough to make it worthwhile, to make the effort worthwhile, but for some time, I can try.
Maybe throw in my self-pity, for say? A moment of grace.
How about a little jealousy? For say? A moment of quiet.
What if I throw in some fear? For say? A hundred seconds of peaceful sleep.
Hell, let's throw in another bucket of fear for another hundred seconds of peaceful sleep.
Shall I throw in my anger? Maybe I'll get a dozen smiles that are unexpected.
And regret? What can I get for that? A few seconds, hell, a dozen minutes of joy!
Regret. And anger. And fear. And jealousy. And self-pity.
You cash enough of it all in and you might end up with some peace. Some peace of mind. Some idea of peace. Some mornings without the sore neck or achy shoulders....
Yeah, one morning, that's all I want. In the 40 years I have left on this 4.5 billion year old planet, I want a morning, while still in my 30's, to wake up without pain in my head, my neck, my shoulders and my heart...
Yeah... I know...
I'll settle to wake without pain in the head, neck and shoulders...
my heart is too far-gone.
It's time to cash in the old dreams for something else, isn't it? I thought about redemption today. Why? Who the hell knows? (I have a boatload of useless questions streaming through my consciousness on any given day (you'd think I was a pot smoker or something, but alas, I am not - just a thinker)). Anyway, I thought that there are days when I wake up (especially in the past couple of desperate years) and I think, "today is the day! Today something is going to happen that makes it all mean something! Today, at the very least, something will happen that will explain the constant question of why. Why? Why?"
I do. I look forward to the day because I think that maybe, somehow, maybe, I'll get an answer to the big questions. The big, big questions. The ones that need answering. The ones that plague me.
And you know? I read books. A lot of books. I am reading Madame Bovary right now. A classic. A classic for a very good reason. Emma, the lead character, was so full of romantic ideals that she just didn't remain satisfied with her husband, she couldn't "fall into" a normal marriage, she was always searching for the illusion of what she had fantasized about, read about, wanted for her own life. You know what I mean: the fairy-tale of all those romantic novels. So, she sees, does not seek, but sees outside of her marriage and is given opportunities to play - and she chooses to play and, oh, is hit by the "ineffable seduction of her virtue." (my favorite line) In essence, she decides to bang a guy that isn't her husband! The second man she has committed adultery with!
Pretty juicy for a novel written in 1856, wouldn't you say?
She cashed it all in. She did it, in spite of keeping her virtue, in spite of her face (she gave up the nose), but she, in one moment, cashed it all in. Because she succumbed to her romantic ideals, she redeemed those ideals. She found her own redemption! Good, bad or indifferent, she did it.
On a very different level, I thought about cashing it all in. Cashing in the dreams I had for my life and gaining pennies on the dollar.
What, seriously, do I have to cash in? To take to Goodwill? To drop off at the dump? To lend?
I have my romantic ideals. I have the notion of what a good marriage is supposed to look like and what I got. I have my guileless energy about how life is supposed to go. I have this hurt. I have this hurt that is so, viscerally, unimaginably, intolerably opposite of what I ever expected to be in my life. And it is here. On my shoulders and I am taking it along with me, and well, it's time to cash it in.
I'd love to say that I am going to quit my job, quit my life, sell my house, my belongings and become an exotic dancer (ha! That's funny!) and live off the earth, but that won't happen. Yet, man, my neck hurts every morning. My shoulders ache. My mind spins and spins and spins and...
4.5 billion years and I've spent 30 minutes writing about how disappointing life is: for me, and for Madame Bovary.
She dies in the end, you know? She commits suicide. A completely unromantic death...
(That ain't the way I'll ever go out. And if that is ever deemed the cause of my death, then look into it, because I can tell you, it wasn't me!)
You can find your own redemption if you look.
Me?
I look to my family (though we're all in a big funnel of grief right now, though, I think, if we looked around, reached out a hand, we'd find a mate). And I look to my kids. They're amazing. AMAZING. I look to my friends. I look to strangers. I look to church.
On Sunday, the deacon, who baptized both Paige and Tony, picked on me because I found a typo in the Prayer of Reconciliation that they've been handing out to parishioners for the past ten years. When I told him, pointed out the error (because it drives me crazy to see typos!), he said, "You would complain about that!" I loved that. I loved his humor. I loved that he got me.
And that is part of my redemption too.
I can't cash it all in. I can't find enough to make it worthwhile, to make the effort worthwhile, but for some time, I can try.
Maybe throw in my self-pity, for say? A moment of grace.
How about a little jealousy? For say? A moment of quiet.
What if I throw in some fear? For say? A hundred seconds of peaceful sleep.
Hell, let's throw in another bucket of fear for another hundred seconds of peaceful sleep.
Shall I throw in my anger? Maybe I'll get a dozen smiles that are unexpected.
And regret? What can I get for that? A few seconds, hell, a dozen minutes of joy!
Regret. And anger. And fear. And jealousy. And self-pity.
You cash enough of it all in and you might end up with some peace. Some peace of mind. Some idea of peace. Some mornings without the sore neck or achy shoulders....
Yeah, one morning, that's all I want. In the 40 years I have left on this 4.5 billion year old planet, I want a morning, while still in my 30's, to wake up without pain in my head, my neck, my shoulders and my heart...
Yeah... I know...
I'll settle to wake without pain in the head, neck and shoulders...
my heart is too far-gone.
Sunday, November 14, 2010
Judge Not Lest Ye be Judged
I spent the evening intermittently thinking about a comment that was left on my last post: Judge not lest ye be judged. The anonymous person rightly called me out on my statement by saying, figuratively, I had my head up my ass when I wrote: "It's okay to be judgmental... ."
Let's get my opinion straight - on a general level, it is NOT okay to be judgmental. We should all be kind, compassionate, empathetic and sympathetic souls, walking rightly with God and using Jesus as our example. That is the edict in the bible, and yes it did ring a bell somewhere. And on a general level, I try to follow this edict. Yet, in times of grief and trying to grow and be a better person (which was the context of my previous post), it is okay to feel what you're feeling - if being judgmental, or stubborn, or angry is where you're at... it's okay. Just be real about yourself.
I recently read somewhere that there are two kinds of people: There is the person who is self-aware and there is the person who thinks he is self-aware.
What followed was an introspection on myself: am I in the former or the latter category? How do I know? I think I'm self-aware, but wouldn't that put me in the second category? It's a catch 22, you see?
So, to the extent that I am self-aware, I am going to give my opinion on the title of this post: Judge not lest ye be judged.
First off, my confession that I am secretly judgmental of those who have divorced, is really no secret. It makes me sick, still, to think that there are men (and women) out there who have children with a spouse and choose to walk away without even trying to fix things. (This is my own personal baggage, you see? I have good friends who are divorced and I don't judge them because I know them and their stories - yet, in my heart, I judge "those others" whose story I don't know, which by the way, leads me to the sin of assuming things about people, of which, I am sure to be judged). I have always been judgmental of this, and in my smugness as a married woman who never thought it would happen to her, I was even more judgmental than I am now. And, even worse is the man (or woman) who does it not once, but twice, three times or even four times. I judge them. Forgive me.
I also judge people who would rather buy a new laptop than pay their mortgages; who would rather suck from welfare than find a job; who would rather sleep with strangers than find companionship; who would rather spout off about atheism than give God a chance; who would rather cuss at the homeless person than throw 'em a couple bucks; who would rather talk about somebody behind their back than talk to that somebody honestly and openly.
I am judgmental of these kinds of actions.
Yet, I am tolerant too. I am tolerant because of the fact that I know that people are on a journey - that we are here, not to live it up, but to learn. I am tolerant of the louse who leaves his first three wives to find "the one" at number four because I have to be. We are all lost, and if it means that he finds himself on number four or onto number five, then great - he's making headway.
The same goes for me. It's okay that I am judgmental. I am learning. I am on a journey, and whatever I am feeling is okay because if I look back on my close-mindedness of yesteryear, I have made a few strides forward. So, on judgment day, when I'm facing God, I'll answer with the wisdom I have at that time. Perhaps, by then, I will no longer be judgmental. I hope so anyway.
Funny thing too, about the comment that was left, my first reaction was to be defensive. To answer the question: "ring a bell somewhere?" with an equally condescending question but then I realized that it doesn't matter; it gives me the opportunity to explain what I meant. I wanted to answer by noting that I am judgmental of divorce, and that divorce is not accepted on a biblical level either (same as judge not lest ye be judged) but that would have just left me in a quandary. If divorce is bad, and I'm judgmental of divorce, then I'm wrecked in two ways, and I can't even redeem myself by saying that I am judgmental of divorce!
Ah well, that's my opinion - not necessarily my advice.
Let's get my opinion straight - on a general level, it is NOT okay to be judgmental. We should all be kind, compassionate, empathetic and sympathetic souls, walking rightly with God and using Jesus as our example. That is the edict in the bible, and yes it did ring a bell somewhere. And on a general level, I try to follow this edict. Yet, in times of grief and trying to grow and be a better person (which was the context of my previous post), it is okay to feel what you're feeling - if being judgmental, or stubborn, or angry is where you're at... it's okay. Just be real about yourself.
I recently read somewhere that there are two kinds of people: There is the person who is self-aware and there is the person who thinks he is self-aware.
What followed was an introspection on myself: am I in the former or the latter category? How do I know? I think I'm self-aware, but wouldn't that put me in the second category? It's a catch 22, you see?
So, to the extent that I am self-aware, I am going to give my opinion on the title of this post: Judge not lest ye be judged.
First off, my confession that I am secretly judgmental of those who have divorced, is really no secret. It makes me sick, still, to think that there are men (and women) out there who have children with a spouse and choose to walk away without even trying to fix things. (This is my own personal baggage, you see? I have good friends who are divorced and I don't judge them because I know them and their stories - yet, in my heart, I judge "those others" whose story I don't know, which by the way, leads me to the sin of assuming things about people, of which, I am sure to be judged). I have always been judgmental of this, and in my smugness as a married woman who never thought it would happen to her, I was even more judgmental than I am now. And, even worse is the man (or woman) who does it not once, but twice, three times or even four times. I judge them. Forgive me.
I also judge people who would rather buy a new laptop than pay their mortgages; who would rather suck from welfare than find a job; who would rather sleep with strangers than find companionship; who would rather spout off about atheism than give God a chance; who would rather cuss at the homeless person than throw 'em a couple bucks; who would rather talk about somebody behind their back than talk to that somebody honestly and openly.
I am judgmental of these kinds of actions.
Yet, I am tolerant too. I am tolerant because of the fact that I know that people are on a journey - that we are here, not to live it up, but to learn. I am tolerant of the louse who leaves his first three wives to find "the one" at number four because I have to be. We are all lost, and if it means that he finds himself on number four or onto number five, then great - he's making headway.
The same goes for me. It's okay that I am judgmental. I am learning. I am on a journey, and whatever I am feeling is okay because if I look back on my close-mindedness of yesteryear, I have made a few strides forward. So, on judgment day, when I'm facing God, I'll answer with the wisdom I have at that time. Perhaps, by then, I will no longer be judgmental. I hope so anyway.
Funny thing too, about the comment that was left, my first reaction was to be defensive. To answer the question: "ring a bell somewhere?" with an equally condescending question but then I realized that it doesn't matter; it gives me the opportunity to explain what I meant. I wanted to answer by noting that I am judgmental of divorce, and that divorce is not accepted on a biblical level either (same as judge not lest ye be judged) but that would have just left me in a quandary. If divorce is bad, and I'm judgmental of divorce, then I'm wrecked in two ways, and I can't even redeem myself by saying that I am judgmental of divorce!
Ah well, that's my opinion - not necessarily my advice.
Friday, November 12, 2010
The Clutching
I spoke with a new potential friend today - you know, the one that kinda gets you on a wisdom level, the one that doesn't say much but listens, doesn't brag, but shares - that kind of friend. We went to lunch - a real simple lunch: salad, soup, breadsticks at the Olive Garden. I don't much care for the Olive Garden, but I do want to get to know the people I am working with, so I went.
We made small talk. Me, her and another girl, Angela, who is 23 years old and getting her MFA now (ironically at one of the colleges I am looking to apply) and we just shared our histories. They knew of each other's history, they didn't know of mine. Maybe it's baggage, maybe it's defensiveness but I always feel the need to explain why I am a single mother. (There are looks and attitudes and energies that come about when people find out you're a single mother of two - so much so that there are days I wish I could just wear a wedding ring and pretend I am in a state of wedded bliss. But that would be a disservice to all the struggling single moms, wouldn't it?) So, I told her, after she asked if I was dating anyone, that I was secretly very judgemental of people who were divorced, never been married (in my age category) and well, that's about it except for the random widower (whose wife I'll always have to compete with for one-upness) and that for me, a 38 year old who wants more kids, it didn't look good and that I'd probably have to pack in the dreams and wait until I'm 50 to get the dude that has it figured out - and by that time, I'll be so set in my ways that I might as well consider myself unavailable...
(This diatribe, by the way, has nothing to do with the title of my blog)...
What I liked about the conversation is that it was a give and take. It was her understanding my dilemma, then sharing her own goings-on that I understood and empathized, and the back and forth. I liked that. And I thought: "She knows something. She's lived through something. She has wisdom beyond her age." (If I had to guess, I'd say she's my age or younger). We talked the whole ride back to the office.
It came out.
Her source of wisdom.
It came out.
She lost her dad 12 years ago.
It was a shock.
It was a heartbreaker.
We shared the story. I told her of my recent loss.
There was silence.
And more silence.
Angela was in the backseat, kinda chillin'.
After a few seconds, I asked a question.
"Does it ever go away? That feeling of surprise? That quick hit of pain to the heart? Does it ever go away?"
She thought for a second and then answered.
"The pain, the sharp pain of thinking that what you're doing is fun and maybe it shouldn't be fun because, you know, somebody you loved is not there to share it? Well, that goes away. But the clutching, the shock, it never goes away. I have moments where I am surprised by the loss every day."
The clutching. What a great way to describe it.
I said as much to her, and she just smiled. She knew. At that point, Angela piped in and said, "What the heck are you two talking about? You lost me about 3 miles ago!"
We both laughed and that was it. The moment was gone.
But the feelings weren't. Not for me, not for her (I just know it) and I thought about the clutching that I feel every day - since Jeff died, since Dad died - and uh, it's uh, not easy. But it helps to share the emotions. It helps to understand the clutching.
The point of this blog is to get the message out that it's okay.
It's okay to hurt.
It's okay to share.
It's okay to be judgemental
and true
and real about things.
It's okay to feel the clutching.
And it's okay to cry...
We made small talk. Me, her and another girl, Angela, who is 23 years old and getting her MFA now (ironically at one of the colleges I am looking to apply) and we just shared our histories. They knew of each other's history, they didn't know of mine. Maybe it's baggage, maybe it's defensiveness but I always feel the need to explain why I am a single mother. (There are looks and attitudes and energies that come about when people find out you're a single mother of two - so much so that there are days I wish I could just wear a wedding ring and pretend I am in a state of wedded bliss. But that would be a disservice to all the struggling single moms, wouldn't it?) So, I told her, after she asked if I was dating anyone, that I was secretly very judgemental of people who were divorced, never been married (in my age category) and well, that's about it except for the random widower (whose wife I'll always have to compete with for one-upness) and that for me, a 38 year old who wants more kids, it didn't look good and that I'd probably have to pack in the dreams and wait until I'm 50 to get the dude that has it figured out - and by that time, I'll be so set in my ways that I might as well consider myself unavailable...
(This diatribe, by the way, has nothing to do with the title of my blog)...
What I liked about the conversation is that it was a give and take. It was her understanding my dilemma, then sharing her own goings-on that I understood and empathized, and the back and forth. I liked that. And I thought: "She knows something. She's lived through something. She has wisdom beyond her age." (If I had to guess, I'd say she's my age or younger). We talked the whole ride back to the office.
It came out.
Her source of wisdom.
It came out.
She lost her dad 12 years ago.
It was a shock.
It was a heartbreaker.
We shared the story. I told her of my recent loss.
There was silence.
And more silence.
Angela was in the backseat, kinda chillin'.
After a few seconds, I asked a question.
"Does it ever go away? That feeling of surprise? That quick hit of pain to the heart? Does it ever go away?"
She thought for a second and then answered.
"The pain, the sharp pain of thinking that what you're doing is fun and maybe it shouldn't be fun because, you know, somebody you loved is not there to share it? Well, that goes away. But the clutching, the shock, it never goes away. I have moments where I am surprised by the loss every day."
The clutching. What a great way to describe it.
I said as much to her, and she just smiled. She knew. At that point, Angela piped in and said, "What the heck are you two talking about? You lost me about 3 miles ago!"
We both laughed and that was it. The moment was gone.
But the feelings weren't. Not for me, not for her (I just know it) and I thought about the clutching that I feel every day - since Jeff died, since Dad died - and uh, it's uh, not easy. But it helps to share the emotions. It helps to understand the clutching.
The point of this blog is to get the message out that it's okay.
It's okay to hurt.
It's okay to share.
It's okay to be judgemental
and true
and real about things.
It's okay to feel the clutching.
And it's okay to cry...
Thursday, November 11, 2010
Water, Water Everywhere
Life is an adjustment, surely. It is ever-changing, certainly. The current sweeps sometimes; the current bends; the current carries you as if you were a guest on a luxurious inflatable tire; the current sometimes rolls you beneath the water and leaves you there, if you let it; and sometimes there is no current, sometimes life is placid.
At least, I think it's placid sometimes, isn't it? I don't know, it's been awhile.
Sometimes I wonder if not knowing of life's placidity has something to do with me. Is my best at getting through life just a ride on the inflatable tire?
Take love and relationships for an example. It should be easier, no? I mean, if it's love, it should have a hint of placidity, even if the current sweeps in once in a while. Am I wrong? If it's love, isn't there a steady basin, deep and strong, to catch you and your mate, even if the current overturns you; even if you feel like its hand is holding you under? Does love always move from adoration, to complacency, to anger, to regret, to indifference?
Or is this just my baggage?
You know, I jumped on the inflatable tire a few months ago, amidst the swirling - whirlpool - of grief and I sought solidarity with someone else. I was desperate for that solidarity, for that shoulder to cry on and to lean on, even though I knew that there probably a pretty good likelihood that I would get sucked under and into his whirlpool, or thrown out of the boat and ignored. Being ignored, I think, is worse than the ripping off of the band-aid or being slapped in the face with the hand of rejection because it's a constant looking over your shoulder for the person you were really beginning to like.
Anyway, this could be old news, this could be recent news. it doesn't matter because it all follows the same path: adoration, complacency, anger, regret and finally indifference.
Yet, even with the failure of another relationship in my line of sight, I am able to look beyond it - at that cloud-line that promises something better, or someone better, someone able, someone ready to give and take; someone ready to hold onto my hand and swim with me through the currents. I have to believe that I will someday swim to those placid waters. And even if it never happens, isn't it still better than living with the idea that it won't?
In any case, I didn't recently get dumped; nor was I the dumper. It just so happens that I began dating and really beginning to like someone who was incapable of returning the feelings - though, for awhile, he pretended very well, for his sake, I believe - and it went from talking all day nearly every day to nothing for days on end; then it morphed into a texting thing; and finally, after I looked back on what I have accomplished in the past three years, I stopped trying. I am astonished by the lack of integrity (perhaps on my part too) to just ignore a person and hope she goes away on her own. That's just weird for me - I mean, in high school, okay it's understable but in an adult relationship? I tried to figure it out, to be there, to console. Then I got angry. Regretful. And now, indifferent.
Same path - different country.
I was blessed with the knowledge that maybe, someday, a good relationship is possible. I was also kind of tapped with the belief that maybe it's just me. I mean, the first real relationship after a bad marriage and it goes into the pooper so quickly, and without an apparent cause other than "here one day, gone the next"? Am I that naive in the dating world?
Ah, I can hear my dad: "You sure know how to pick 'em."
Bah.
Time to hop on the raft and ride on down to the next bend...
At least, I think it's placid sometimes, isn't it? I don't know, it's been awhile.
Sometimes I wonder if not knowing of life's placidity has something to do with me. Is my best at getting through life just a ride on the inflatable tire?
Take love and relationships for an example. It should be easier, no? I mean, if it's love, it should have a hint of placidity, even if the current sweeps in once in a while. Am I wrong? If it's love, isn't there a steady basin, deep and strong, to catch you and your mate, even if the current overturns you; even if you feel like its hand is holding you under? Does love always move from adoration, to complacency, to anger, to regret, to indifference?
Or is this just my baggage?
You know, I jumped on the inflatable tire a few months ago, amidst the swirling - whirlpool - of grief and I sought solidarity with someone else. I was desperate for that solidarity, for that shoulder to cry on and to lean on, even though I knew that there probably a pretty good likelihood that I would get sucked under and into his whirlpool, or thrown out of the boat and ignored. Being ignored, I think, is worse than the ripping off of the band-aid or being slapped in the face with the hand of rejection because it's a constant looking over your shoulder for the person you were really beginning to like.
Anyway, this could be old news, this could be recent news. it doesn't matter because it all follows the same path: adoration, complacency, anger, regret and finally indifference.
Yet, even with the failure of another relationship in my line of sight, I am able to look beyond it - at that cloud-line that promises something better, or someone better, someone able, someone ready to give and take; someone ready to hold onto my hand and swim with me through the currents. I have to believe that I will someday swim to those placid waters. And even if it never happens, isn't it still better than living with the idea that it won't?
In any case, I didn't recently get dumped; nor was I the dumper. It just so happens that I began dating and really beginning to like someone who was incapable of returning the feelings - though, for awhile, he pretended very well, for his sake, I believe - and it went from talking all day nearly every day to nothing for days on end; then it morphed into a texting thing; and finally, after I looked back on what I have accomplished in the past three years, I stopped trying. I am astonished by the lack of integrity (perhaps on my part too) to just ignore a person and hope she goes away on her own. That's just weird for me - I mean, in high school, okay it's understable but in an adult relationship? I tried to figure it out, to be there, to console. Then I got angry. Regretful. And now, indifferent.
Same path - different country.
I was blessed with the knowledge that maybe, someday, a good relationship is possible. I was also kind of tapped with the belief that maybe it's just me. I mean, the first real relationship after a bad marriage and it goes into the pooper so quickly, and without an apparent cause other than "here one day, gone the next"? Am I that naive in the dating world?
Ah, I can hear my dad: "You sure know how to pick 'em."
Bah.
Time to hop on the raft and ride on down to the next bend...
Monday, November 8, 2010
We Are Women
Hence, the margaritas. Hence, the smiles. Hence, the rocked out, fashionable, made up versions of us.
We are women! We weren't answering to our children. And they weren't answering to their husbands. Their husbands just said, "Go. Have fun. I got this." I was in complete shock all weekend over it.
"You mean, your husbands said, 'okay, go away, no problem, I'll take the kids' without making you feel terrible and guilty?" They all nodded their heads like, "Uh, yeah, that's marriage."
"You mean to tell me that you're not going to suffer for this little get-away the minute you walk in the door, and fight about it for a month?"
"No Carrie. We are married, our spouses share in the responsibilities and want us to be happy..." Again, the puzzled looks.
"Okay, wait a minute. What did you promise in return for this?"
"Nothing."
And I watched them. I observed them. They talked to their husbands, laughing, intimate. There wasn't a hint of guilt coming from them. Of course, they missed their kids but they were also so confident about having them with their husbands. They weren't worried at all about the repercussions!
Honestly, if I were still married, I wouldn't have been on the trip. I would have said no because the repercussions would have been too great. If I had gone, I would have been miserable because I wouldn't have gotten the, "No honey, it's all fine. Have a great time!" Not before, not during and certainly not after, and it blows me away, sadly, that when I went away, the kids were with me or I didn't go away or I caught hell for it, even for book club once a month on Tuesdays!
"So, this is a healthy marriage, then?"
"Yes Carrie. And one day, you'll see that."
I think I have more baggage in my weekend suitcase then they do.
We laughed. We giggled. We shopped. We drank champagne. We cooked great meals. We laughed. We giggled. We danced until the wee hours of the morning in the middle of the living room. The ocean was maybe, two hundred feet away and so we appreciated God even more. We said Grace before dinner. We were thankful. And we laughed. And we giggled.
Weird thing about all of it is that I only really knew one girl (Amy) of the seven girls I shared the house with, and by the second hour, I had made six more close friends. Now I know that the next time I see them, we will laugh and we will giggle, and we will share. It was one of the best weekends I have ever had without the kids.
And I came home and didn't have an ounce of guilt and answered to no one.
That is so weird...
Thursday, November 4, 2010
Good Ol' Mark Twain
Posted in my "quote" section of this blog is Mark Twain's advice: "Do the right thing. It will gratify some people and astonish the rest."
I like that quote a lot because I feel like I am constantly hammering it into the kids' heads.
"Do the right thing."
"How do you know it's the right thing?"
"You just do. You feel it in your gut."
"What if my gut's wrong?"
"It's never wrong."
"What if it is?"
"You'll know if it's the right thing, I promise. Just do the right thing."
Yesterday was my first time experiencing the dramas of a small office. Actually, it's a huge office, with two different sides: my side is lovingly referred to as the "dark" side and the "money hungry" side; while the other side are the good guys. Here is a snippet of two conversations I had yesterday. First one, I knocked on the door of one guy I've known for eleven years, at three different jobs, and when he looked up I smiled. He said, "Carrie! So good to see you! Why the hell did you take this job?" The second was with a girl that looked like she was in physical pain as I sat by her in a meeting. I leaned over and whispered, "Is it that bad?" She said, "I'm searching for a way to shoot myself in the head without making a mess. It's that bad."
Okay then. Hmmm...
I'm about eight years away from the melodrama of office quirks, so I should be okay. The last three years have taught me how to let go of things, little things, fairly well, so though I've heard rumors that the bosses make people cry on a weekly basis, I am of the opinion that if I am in the position where someone is trying to make me cry for showing up, working hard all day and getting things accomplished (because that is all I know to do at any job) then I'm out. I'm gone. It's not worth it.
So, what am I going to do? I'm going to go to work, do way more than what is expected and always do the right thing - pleasing and astonishing others.
Paige had a bad day yesterday. She said that one of her classmates, Nate (he looks like a mini-Derek Jeter) told her that he hated her, then he said he was sorry, but then he didn't talk to her all day.
"He's a boy, Paige. They'll do that for the rest of your life."
She saw a work folder on the counter, sat down and started looking through it. "You have to read all this stuff?"
"Yes."
"In one day?"
I just smiled and said, "It's my job, and you know what Paige? I'll read that, I'll learn it and I'll help people even though I am not required to even read it. You know why?"
"Because you should always do more than what is expected."
"Exactly. And that includes being kind to people even when they aren't so nice to you. Like Nate. He doesn't mean it when he says he hates you, and secretly he probably adores you because you're beautiful, and instead of getting upset, just shrug it off and be who you are - kind, compassionate, and giving. He'll come around."
"That's because it's the right thing to do..." I begin to nod and she says, "And because he wouldn't expect me to be nice after he is so mean!"
She's a genius.
I find it serendipitous that this Mark Twain quote is part of my blog today - it fits perfectly into my world.
Do the right thing: please people and astonish people. Thanks Mark.
I like that quote a lot because I feel like I am constantly hammering it into the kids' heads.
"Do the right thing."
"How do you know it's the right thing?"
"You just do. You feel it in your gut."
"What if my gut's wrong?"
"It's never wrong."
"What if it is?"
"You'll know if it's the right thing, I promise. Just do the right thing."
Yesterday was my first time experiencing the dramas of a small office. Actually, it's a huge office, with two different sides: my side is lovingly referred to as the "dark" side and the "money hungry" side; while the other side are the good guys. Here is a snippet of two conversations I had yesterday. First one, I knocked on the door of one guy I've known for eleven years, at three different jobs, and when he looked up I smiled. He said, "Carrie! So good to see you! Why the hell did you take this job?" The second was with a girl that looked like she was in physical pain as I sat by her in a meeting. I leaned over and whispered, "Is it that bad?" She said, "I'm searching for a way to shoot myself in the head without making a mess. It's that bad."
Okay then. Hmmm...
I'm about eight years away from the melodrama of office quirks, so I should be okay. The last three years have taught me how to let go of things, little things, fairly well, so though I've heard rumors that the bosses make people cry on a weekly basis, I am of the opinion that if I am in the position where someone is trying to make me cry for showing up, working hard all day and getting things accomplished (because that is all I know to do at any job) then I'm out. I'm gone. It's not worth it.
So, what am I going to do? I'm going to go to work, do way more than what is expected and always do the right thing - pleasing and astonishing others.
Paige had a bad day yesterday. She said that one of her classmates, Nate (he looks like a mini-Derek Jeter) told her that he hated her, then he said he was sorry, but then he didn't talk to her all day.
"He's a boy, Paige. They'll do that for the rest of your life."
She saw a work folder on the counter, sat down and started looking through it. "You have to read all this stuff?"
"Yes."
"In one day?"
I just smiled and said, "It's my job, and you know what Paige? I'll read that, I'll learn it and I'll help people even though I am not required to even read it. You know why?"
"Because you should always do more than what is expected."
"Exactly. And that includes being kind to people even when they aren't so nice to you. Like Nate. He doesn't mean it when he says he hates you, and secretly he probably adores you because you're beautiful, and instead of getting upset, just shrug it off and be who you are - kind, compassionate, and giving. He'll come around."
"That's because it's the right thing to do..." I begin to nod and she says, "And because he wouldn't expect me to be nice after he is so mean!"
She's a genius.
I find it serendipitous that this Mark Twain quote is part of my blog today - it fits perfectly into my world.
Do the right thing: please people and astonish people. Thanks Mark.
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
The Success of Failure
Day three of the new job begins today. I have sat at my new desk for two days now, looking over materials that I'll need to get the job done, gaining the big picture, twiddling my thumbs, waiting... when it hits, it's going to hit, but yet again, I am impatient for it to hit now. Is that crazy? In six months I will be cursing the job, the new boss, the people I work with, the duties I have to perform and the time that is being sucked from my life by the duties of the job. That's how it goes when you work at a job that is a mere means to money. Yet work is what I must do and I'll be good at it. I'll also be really grateful of it because it is a means to my dreams...
Something has shifted in the past few months. I was always waiting, waiting, waiting to get a sign or have someone give me advice about what I should do with my life. It's strange but I bought the new car without thinking, I just knew it was the right thing to do; I took this new job without thinking, I just knew it was the right thing to do; and now, the decision to go back to school for my master's has been made and I know it is the right thing to do. I look back on all the wasted months I spent struggling with making a decision when the power was in my hands the whole time. Fear of success, fear of failure... they were always in the running for my attention. Now? Whatever. People succeed, people fail, they fall, they get back up, the fall again, they get back up...
It's just a different perspective, I suppose. A different, empowering, perspective. I no longer need a "sign" from someone or something, I just need to move my body and heart toward my goals - goals that have always been there but I failed to see them. Somebody pulled those blinders from my eyes in the past few months.
The failure, if it happens, will be mine to fix.
The success, if it happens, will be mine to share.
I like to fix. I like to share. So, let's get on with it already.
Have a good day. I know I'm going to try.
Something has shifted in the past few months. I was always waiting, waiting, waiting to get a sign or have someone give me advice about what I should do with my life. It's strange but I bought the new car without thinking, I just knew it was the right thing to do; I took this new job without thinking, I just knew it was the right thing to do; and now, the decision to go back to school for my master's has been made and I know it is the right thing to do. I look back on all the wasted months I spent struggling with making a decision when the power was in my hands the whole time. Fear of success, fear of failure... they were always in the running for my attention. Now? Whatever. People succeed, people fail, they fall, they get back up, the fall again, they get back up...
It's just a different perspective, I suppose. A different, empowering, perspective. I no longer need a "sign" from someone or something, I just need to move my body and heart toward my goals - goals that have always been there but I failed to see them. Somebody pulled those blinders from my eyes in the past few months.
The failure, if it happens, will be mine to fix.
The success, if it happens, will be mine to share.
I like to fix. I like to share. So, let's get on with it already.
Have a good day. I know I'm going to try.
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
Zippity Do Da
Let's see. It's election day. I can't wait to get out there and vote! The politicians make it so darn easy with all the honesty and forthright details about all the important and socially critical points. Boy, voting for them is such a treat!
I also can't wait to roll up a pair of socks and stick the meaty part in my mouth until I gag.
It's also All Souls Day, say a prayer for the faithfully departed souls. I did and I will throughout the day.
Most interesting about this day is that I have managed to wake up and string together letters to make words to make sentences after another night of tossing and turning, jaw-clenching and whining. Sleep is evading me these days - it's mad at me for some reason and leaves pockets of exhaustion in the corner of every room I inhabit, including my brand new office.
Yesterday was day one of my new job. It looks like it might be a keeper. The people I met seem cool, the work seems bearable and familiar, and the whole idea of having a life outside this house feels necessary. I loved working from home for all those years, don't get me wrong, yet, driving my new car the twenty minutes to work makes me happy, and saying, "Good morning Ralph, good morning George, good morning coffee has its perks (Ha. I made a nice little pun there, did you see that?). I actually crave the ritual, and know that when the work starts to hit (oh, and it will hit because there is a lot of work), I will fall into the rhythm of producing and achieving, and I like the way that feels.
If only I could get some damn sleep! I'd like to say it is because I am in such deep thought about my political choices (actually, no, I wouldn't like that at all), but it isn't. I'd like to say it's because I am pepped up with excitement over all the fun things I've been doing in my life, but alas, that's not it. Because I'm anxious over the new job? Because the dogs keep me up? Because I can hardly wait to rise and greet the new day? Nope. Nope. Nope.
It's grief. Plain and simple. I wake, I think, I get sad, I pray, I fall asleep; I wake, I think, I get sad, I pray, I fall asleep... same old, same old, and it blows.
Hey, did I mention it's election day, oh and All Souls Day, and yeah, the second day of my new job?
Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz... sleepy....zzzzzzzzzz.....
I also can't wait to roll up a pair of socks and stick the meaty part in my mouth until I gag.
It's also All Souls Day, say a prayer for the faithfully departed souls. I did and I will throughout the day.
Most interesting about this day is that I have managed to wake up and string together letters to make words to make sentences after another night of tossing and turning, jaw-clenching and whining. Sleep is evading me these days - it's mad at me for some reason and leaves pockets of exhaustion in the corner of every room I inhabit, including my brand new office.
Yesterday was day one of my new job. It looks like it might be a keeper. The people I met seem cool, the work seems bearable and familiar, and the whole idea of having a life outside this house feels necessary. I loved working from home for all those years, don't get me wrong, yet, driving my new car the twenty minutes to work makes me happy, and saying, "Good morning Ralph, good morning George, good morning coffee has its perks (Ha. I made a nice little pun there, did you see that?). I actually crave the ritual, and know that when the work starts to hit (oh, and it will hit because there is a lot of work), I will fall into the rhythm of producing and achieving, and I like the way that feels.
If only I could get some damn sleep! I'd like to say it is because I am in such deep thought about my political choices (actually, no, I wouldn't like that at all), but it isn't. I'd like to say it's because I am pepped up with excitement over all the fun things I've been doing in my life, but alas, that's not it. Because I'm anxious over the new job? Because the dogs keep me up? Because I can hardly wait to rise and greet the new day? Nope. Nope. Nope.
It's grief. Plain and simple. I wake, I think, I get sad, I pray, I fall asleep; I wake, I think, I get sad, I pray, I fall asleep... same old, same old, and it blows.
Hey, did I mention it's election day, oh and All Souls Day, and yeah, the second day of my new job?
Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz... sleepy....zzzzzzzzzz.....
Monday, November 1, 2010
Crazy Catholics!
Happy All Saints Day! Shall I make a cake, or should I wait until tomorrow when it is All Souls Day? Who says Catholics don't like to party?!
All Saints Day is a Catholic day dedicated to all the Saints, who at the time of their death, were so squeaky clean, they automatically entered heaven. We, as Catholics, pray for them on this day as a way of say, "Way to go! Good job! Lucky bastards!"
All Souls Day, celebrated on November 2nd of every year in the Catholic church, is dedicated to all the faithful departed who still have a little soil on their souls - maybe a few venial sins ("a partial loss of grace from God"; a "forgiveable" sin) that need to be cleansed in Purgatory before heading up to heaven. For example, my callling the Saints "lucky bastards" could conceivably be considered a venial sin. It was a little mis-step from Grace and I will ask for forgiveness as soon as I stop giggling over the fact that I called the Saints lucky bastards.
Of course, the faithful departed may also have dirtier, heartier sins on their souls, called mortal sins [ (1) Its subject must be a grave (or serious) matter; 2) It must be committed with full knowledge, both of the sin and of the gravity of the offense (no one is considered ignorant of the principles of the moral law, which are inborn as part of human knowledge, but these principles can be misunderstood in a particular context); 3) It must be committed with deliberate and complete consent, enough for it to have been a personal decision to commit the sin. (For example, breaking of one or more of the Ten Commandments)]. If they are not cleansed of these sins, according to the Catholic religion, they are condemned to hell for all of eternity. And so, we pray for them every day, but especially on All Souls Day.
I know, I know... those Catholics are crazy! I can envision some of my readers shaking their heads at the content of this blog, saying, "Why'd she have to go there with all her crazy Catholic rituals? This All Souls and All Saints Day stuff is a bunch of hoopla."
Maybe.
Maybe not.
I think it's kind of cool that the Catholic religion is so meaty, and so clear cut on its standards. There are some harsh circumstances to sinning, no? And it doesn't hurt to know what the standards of the most popular religion in the Western hemisphere has to say about stuff. If nothing else, regardless of whether you believe it, you learned something new today.
What I know as I go through this day and all day tomorrow is that I'll be grateful. I'll be grateful that Mother Theresa, St. Anthony, St. Michael, St. Francis and all the other Saints who achieved sainthood through the simple act of loving, gave me a bit of a higher standard to live by; and using their achievements, I will pray for the faithful departed that, if Purgatory exists, they're being cleansed so that after my stint in the purgatory slammer, I'll be able to see them in heaven after I die.
There's nothing wrong with praying. So, the hoopla, as it has been described, might be just a crazy Catholic thing, but what the heck, I'm still praying for something, my focus is on something other than the bullshit, pain and hurt of life on earth. So why not?
And that's all I got to say about that.
All Saints Day is a Catholic day dedicated to all the Saints, who at the time of their death, were so squeaky clean, they automatically entered heaven. We, as Catholics, pray for them on this day as a way of say, "Way to go! Good job! Lucky bastards!"
All Souls Day, celebrated on November 2nd of every year in the Catholic church, is dedicated to all the faithful departed who still have a little soil on their souls - maybe a few venial sins ("a partial loss of grace from God"; a "forgiveable" sin) that need to be cleansed in Purgatory before heading up to heaven. For example, my callling the Saints "lucky bastards" could conceivably be considered a venial sin. It was a little mis-step from Grace and I will ask for forgiveness as soon as I stop giggling over the fact that I called the Saints lucky bastards.
Of course, the faithful departed may also have dirtier, heartier sins on their souls, called mortal sins [ (1) Its subject must be a grave (or serious) matter; 2) It must be committed with full knowledge, both of the sin and of the gravity of the offense (no one is considered ignorant of the principles of the moral law, which are inborn as part of human knowledge, but these principles can be misunderstood in a particular context); 3) It must be committed with deliberate and complete consent, enough for it to have been a personal decision to commit the sin. (For example, breaking of one or more of the Ten Commandments)]. If they are not cleansed of these sins, according to the Catholic religion, they are condemned to hell for all of eternity. And so, we pray for them every day, but especially on All Souls Day.
I know, I know... those Catholics are crazy! I can envision some of my readers shaking their heads at the content of this blog, saying, "Why'd she have to go there with all her crazy Catholic rituals? This All Souls and All Saints Day stuff is a bunch of hoopla."
Maybe.
Maybe not.
I think it's kind of cool that the Catholic religion is so meaty, and so clear cut on its standards. There are some harsh circumstances to sinning, no? And it doesn't hurt to know what the standards of the most popular religion in the Western hemisphere has to say about stuff. If nothing else, regardless of whether you believe it, you learned something new today.
What I know as I go through this day and all day tomorrow is that I'll be grateful. I'll be grateful that Mother Theresa, St. Anthony, St. Michael, St. Francis and all the other Saints who achieved sainthood through the simple act of loving, gave me a bit of a higher standard to live by; and using their achievements, I will pray for the faithful departed that, if Purgatory exists, they're being cleansed so that after my stint in the purgatory slammer, I'll be able to see them in heaven after I die.
There's nothing wrong with praying. So, the hoopla, as it has been described, might be just a crazy Catholic thing, but what the heck, I'm still praying for something, my focus is on something other than the bullshit, pain and hurt of life on earth. So why not?
And that's all I got to say about that.
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