Dummy

It’s been a while since I last wrote.  It wasn’t because I didn’t have anything to write about, it was because I had swarms of things to write about and I couldn’t choose a topic.

I spent five days in my hometown, visiting the family and some friends from high school.  It is always nice when I can show off my children to the family --- let them see how much they have grown and grown up.  The kids now have unique personalities, with unique and surprising senses of humor.  I saw the look of shock a few times on my brothers’ faces as Paige or Tony threw out a one-liner.  It was great to share them with the family because they’re great kids, and real comfortable with my mom and my siblings.

Spending time with my girlfriends from high school was also a good time.   There were many years where I hid from interacting with them when I visited home.  I was embarrassed and ashamed, and completely insecure because of the divorce. I felt like a burden if I complained, and I felt like I failed in their eyes because I couldn’t keep the façade of perfection going.   Not that I was ever perfect, but I was good at acting like things were perfect.  All in all, it was a great experience because my awesomely beautiful friend said, “Finally!  Carrie is BACK!”  It made me feel great, and I hope they know how much I love them.

During this stay, I of course, visited memories and previous haunts.  It’s hard growing up.  Even at 46 years old, I sometimes feel like the insecure teenage girl, or the insecure college student, or the insecure law school grad, or the insecure wife or the insecure parent. . .  Do you see the theme?  It was during this visit that I finally ripped that band-aid off and dug deep to see why I was still insecure about everything. 

I never figured out the root of it.  What I did figure out is that the root of it doesn’t really matter.  The insecurity comes from whatever stories I’ve been subconsciously telling myself over the years.  The setting and the characters change in these stories, but the theme seems to be the same.  In my eyes, I’m never good enough for any of the people I love.  

I shouldn’t say never.  

There are times when I feel like a rock star, unstoppable and full of love --- which I often chime, “conquers all.”  Yet, for some reason, when I sit in my old bedroom, I am visited by the old ghosts that I’ve allowed to disrupt my “Carrie-ness.” 

I doubt I can change any of it overnight, but recognizing it seems to be a move in the right direction.

I write about this because I have friends and family members who feel the exact same way!  I read about it in the self-help books, and I hear about it when I listen to motivational speakers on a podcast.  The old “haunts” of the younger days.  Maybe not insecurity, but some form of fear haunts all of us --- fear of failure, fear of success, fear of imperfection, fear of past mistakes. . . on an on they go.

And it’s stupid.  You’re stupid for letting fear take over.  I’m stupid for letting fear take over.  We’re all stupid.

So, on this trip, despite the beauty I saw, I also saw the ugliness that clings to me sometimes; and upon seeing it, I kept telling myself to stop being stupid.

It didn’t work, and the stupidity clung to me until today --- nearly four days since my return to my normal life.  So, that’s why I didn’t write.  Couldn’t get over my own stupidity but knew that taking it into the weekend was a mistake too. 

So good-bye stupid girl, welcome back mildly insecure woman.

Dad

On some Sunday mornings, I wake up and swear I can smell the onions and garlic sautéing in the olive oil.  On those mornings, I spend a few extra minutes in bed and think about the first memory I have of cooking the sauce.  My dad cut up the onions for me and taught me how to chop the garlic and how much olive oil to pour into the pan.  He stood beside me as I grabbed a handful of the chopped onions and dropped them into the hot oil, scooped up the garlic and brushed it off my fingers into the onions, and then stirred the pot with a wooden spoon. 

“That’s it. Stir ‘em up until the onions become clear.”

That first time, I made the whole meal with him.  Cutting the onions into rings for the salad, saying “I like the onions round.”

Him laughing and saying “I’ve never seen a square one.”

I made the meatballs, and watched them cook.

When they were done, he handed me a bowl with two of them in it, covered in the sauce.

“You have to try them, so you know what you’re serving.”

I buttered the bread, and shook out the garlic salt on it, put it in the oven, watched it bake.  We set the table together, and then called everyone to eat.

It was a good day, and it’s a very vivid memory.

These are the kinds of memories I like to visit when I start missing him.  I don’t like to think about how he died, or that he left us all so suddenly.  I don’t like to think about any of that because I did that for many years, and it doesn’t relieve any of the pain, or answer any of the questions.  Thinking about why and how and when only emphasizes the pain.  And he never wanted that for any of his children when he was alive, so I don’t want to do it when he is dead.

When he was alive, he was warm and funny, biting and stern, dancing like a chicken or singing like Sinatra.  When he was alive, he called me all the time, and wrote me letters. He even sent me an email once.  I think it was his first and only email.

Every time I came home, he would tell me the same joke:  Two women are on a boat and they want to get their picture taken.  They ask a man to take the picture.  He picks up the camera and points it toward them, but it takes a while, and the one woman asks the other woman, “What’s he doing?”  And the woman answers, “He’s going to focus.” And the first woman asks, “Both of us?”

A couple weeks ago, I had a dream about him.  In the dream, we were laughing and hugging and smiling and talking.  In the moment before waking fully, I thought “What a great dream.  I have to call dad and tell him.”  And I was so excited to tell him, and I was smiling.  Then I remembered I couldn’t call him.  The realization of it sent a wave of sorrow.  I cried instantly. It happened to be a Sunday morning.  So I got up and started chopping the onions. . .

It’s been eight years since he died.  Eight years too many. . .

Living

I'm coming off another weekend feeling exhausted and exhilarated.  I was able to spend every minute of it with a smile on my face.  Yes, even when I was sleeping (I think!).

Paige and Tony were with their dad, which makes it a little more difficult for me to find that smile.  But a few Facetime videos, texts and picture-sharing always helps to ease the sadness that our distance brings.

I spent Friday evening with LOML, catching up on the last couple of weeks.  Our relationship is long-distance, but it's a long, long-distance relationship, and after six years together, we're still smiling and happy to see each other.  It's all I ever wanted in a relationship.

Saturday was a whirlwind of craziness, which is always the case when there is an event with all my Maryland cousins.  The laughter comes easy, the love is immense and generous.  The food got eaten, the drinks got poured, and the hours passed like minutes.

Though I am 46 years old, I summoned my 20 year old self for the night, and found myself in a diner at 2:30am sipping water and scarfing bacon, home fries and toast, all the while smiling and laughing.

Thank God for work on Monday!

I need the time to recuperate for The Great Fuzz Frenzy in Buffalo that starts on Wednesday.  I haven't had a vacation in quite awhile, and I save my time off for this week in August, where I will try to win the stuffed hot pepper contest, try to compete with the one-liners, try not to spit whatever I'm drinking onto the person sitting across from me, try to stop the sadness from erupting when I contemplate the absence of the wholeness of the family, and try to get together with all my girlfriends from high school.

But most of all, I will try to find the love, give the love, be the love and make the love a greater part of myself.

There is so much energy when life is exhausting and exhilarating!