The thought scheme-theme for the day has been focused on people. Friends. Potential Friends. Family. Lovers. Potential lovers. Strangers.
How well do we know any of them? Really. How well?
I am 38 years old, fairly sociable, pretty honest, a little fragile, can tell a good joke if I have the right setting, intelligent but not necessarily filled with common sense, picky, wishy-washy and if you catch me on a bad day, can be very inflexible and some might even say: witchy.
In a nutshell, average.
I've met a lot of people - from all walks of life. I can laugh with the toothless truck driver and drink martinis with the powerhouse politicians. I've met and come to know hundreds, even thousands, of people throughout my lifetime. Of all those people, there is only one person - ONE - who utterly despises me and sees me as someone entirely different from who I really am.
That would be my ex-spouse. The ironic thing is that I don't despise him - I despise some of his actions, some of his moodswings (now and then) and some of the places his moral compass points, but not him.
How does one go from loving a person so much that they'd walk down the aisle in front of family and friends and have children with that person to despising that same person? How does that happen? Was it some cosmic working by Satan that put us together?
I only explore this question because I know that many of my readers have gone through the whole divorce thing and hopefully, are struggling with this question.
Is it really because people change? (Because I truly believe that fundamentally, people do not change. You lend a girl your pencil in middle school without expecting it back, you'll lend money to a friend without anticipating payment; You break your back in physical labor for work, you'll break your back in physical labor for a friend; You give a gift but don't expect one back; You love without question and so you always love without question).
So how did I become someone's nemesis?
How does anyone become a nemesis?
More importantly, how does the person you are supposed to spend the rest of your life with become your nemesis?
Seriously.
You have those intimate conversations. You bear your soul when you're in love. You give your insecurities without worries that they'll ever be used against you. You swallow those doubts down, deep down, because you figure that he/she must feel the same way that you feel.
And what happens?
Those very same insecurities are used against you in the divorce. And you become the enemy. The nemesis.
I once heard that the one who knows you the most, loves you the deepest and is the one who hurts you the most is the one that is hurt the most by you. It's a paraphrase of something, but really... you want someone to reveal themselves to you and they do and you love them for it... and then... and then...
What?
You celebrate your 10th anniversary.
You celebrate your 15th anniversary.
You celebrate your 25th anniversary.
You celebrate your 50th anniversary.
And you're miserably unhappy?
Regardless of how the marriage goes, you're still left in pieces.
Memories.
Prayers to God.
Pleas to God.
Pieces.
Someday.
One day.
Someday.
One day.
They're all strangers... after all?
Friday, June 18, 2010
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
Remarkable
We stepped into the hair salon... actually, I stepped in, Tony bounced in like a kickball. His head, with all the hair on it, weighed more than his body and it was time for me to take him for a haircut because watching him fall head over heels every day was getting old. We put in our name and sat down to wait. A mother was there - she had two girls and two boys, all walking but certainly under the age of seven. I watched her interact with the children who weren't quite bouncing as high as Tony, but bouncing all the same. Besides, she had four balls to keep in check, I only had one.
"You've got your hands full," I said, admiringly because she was remarkable in her actions.
"Yeah, it's a little easier because they're all around the same age."
"Twins?"
"No. I adopted my sister's boy and girl and I have a boy and girl of my own. It's been tough because I just moved here from Ohio and this is my first outing with all four of them."
"You're doing a great job."
"Thanks. My son has autism so it has been a tough adjustment for him to share his sister with two other kids."
"Where in Ohio?"
"A small town outside of Columbus. But my family is from here. We moved two weeks ago and I got the kids 48 hours after settling into the new house."
"Wow."
She sighed, "Yeah. God only gives as much as a person can handle, I suppose."
"Did you at least have some time to digest the move before the actual move?" I asked.
"Six weeks. My husband moved immediately, for work, you know? Then I had to pack up our house, get it on the market, sell it and then move everything here."
"Wow." I said and she laughed.
"Do you mind me asking what happened to your sister?" I presumed she had died.
"She had a heroine overdose, if you can believe it. She is now in rehab but the kids were really suffering." She paused, took a deep breath and said, "I doubt you'll understand but I am one of six children and our brother died last year. It was too much for my sister to handle."
The tears welled in my eyes and I said, "Oh, I do understand. I lost my brother last year too." We both swallowed the lumps in our throats and she went on, "...and so, it was hard for my sister to handle. She had been clean for years..."
"I get you. God bless you. You are a remarkable person."
She smiled and sighed and said, "God only gives me as much as I can handle."
I smiled and said, "Well then, you know enough to expect more than you think you can handle. How is your husband with all this?"
As soon as I mentioned him, her face lit up. Lit up!
"He's amazing! He comes home from work and jumps right in. He helps me with dinner, does the dishes and gives the boys their baths."
"He sounds awesome." I said, smiling.
"Oh yeah. He is the best. I would be nothing without him."
This time, I swallowed the lump in my throat alone.
I wished her luck, sent another blessing her way and watched as she confidently ushered four, beautifully groomed children out the door.
Remarkable, indeed.
"You've got your hands full," I said, admiringly because she was remarkable in her actions.
"Yeah, it's a little easier because they're all around the same age."
"Twins?"
"No. I adopted my sister's boy and girl and I have a boy and girl of my own. It's been tough because I just moved here from Ohio and this is my first outing with all four of them."
"You're doing a great job."
"Thanks. My son has autism so it has been a tough adjustment for him to share his sister with two other kids."
"Where in Ohio?"
"A small town outside of Columbus. But my family is from here. We moved two weeks ago and I got the kids 48 hours after settling into the new house."
"Wow."
She sighed, "Yeah. God only gives as much as a person can handle, I suppose."
"Did you at least have some time to digest the move before the actual move?" I asked.
"Six weeks. My husband moved immediately, for work, you know? Then I had to pack up our house, get it on the market, sell it and then move everything here."
"Wow." I said and she laughed.
"Do you mind me asking what happened to your sister?" I presumed she had died.
"She had a heroine overdose, if you can believe it. She is now in rehab but the kids were really suffering." She paused, took a deep breath and said, "I doubt you'll understand but I am one of six children and our brother died last year. It was too much for my sister to handle."
The tears welled in my eyes and I said, "Oh, I do understand. I lost my brother last year too." We both swallowed the lumps in our throats and she went on, "...and so, it was hard for my sister to handle. She had been clean for years..."
"I get you. God bless you. You are a remarkable person."
She smiled and sighed and said, "God only gives me as much as I can handle."
I smiled and said, "Well then, you know enough to expect more than you think you can handle. How is your husband with all this?"
As soon as I mentioned him, her face lit up. Lit up!
"He's amazing! He comes home from work and jumps right in. He helps me with dinner, does the dishes and gives the boys their baths."
"He sounds awesome." I said, smiling.
"Oh yeah. He is the best. I would be nothing without him."
This time, I swallowed the lump in my throat alone.
I wished her luck, sent another blessing her way and watched as she confidently ushered four, beautifully groomed children out the door.
Remarkable, indeed.
Walk On
As soon as we got home from our quick trip to Buffalo, we hugged the dogs, Tony hugged the couch and said, "I missed you couch!" and they turned on the TV and vegged out. I unpacked the truck, put the Sahlen's hot dogs in the freezer and the BBQ chicken in the refrigerator. When I opened the fridge, I saw an ice cold Heineken Light beckoning. I cracked it open and sat on the back deck with my feet up. (There is nothing like a cold beer upon returning from a long trip). I raised it into the air, looked at the image of Jesus in the trees and said a thank you for another safe trip back.
Then I thought about the weekend and the purpose of the weekend. I felt small for a moment upon thinking about the magnitude of the Susan G. Komen walk. One sister dedicated her entire life to finding a cure for breast cancer because she made a promise to her dying sister. I, along with 8,000 other participants, wore myself out on Saturday in order to partially fulfill that promise. I love walking in the race. I love that both Tony and Paige got to be a part of it. I hope I never have to do it again. I hope that the next time we walk that walk it's because we are celebrating the cure for breast cancer. I hope that we can throw our Ford scarves in the air and say, "Yes, it is done! The cure has been found!"
Wouldn't that be nice?
I got to spend some time with my mom. It is tough to be in my parents' kitchen for a long period of time, especially when it is not my usual hang-out. They have a full wall of pictures - each grandchild in an individual frame and serendipitously, a picture of the entire family with their spouses (minus mine - we weren't married when the picture was taken) suited up in dresses and suits. My brother Jeff stands in the back, his hand on his hip, towering above all of us. We are all smiling. On the refrigerator, there are pictures of Jeff and a huge one above the refrigerator where he is wearing his chef's uniform with the background a smorgasboard of his work.
I glance. I avert. I glance again. I avert. Finally I stare straight on and the tears are inevitable. The shock is inevitable. I look at my mom, she catches me looking and her own eyes well with tears. And so I avert again because sometimes her pain, her sadness, is too tough to take.
At one point, a moment like this occurred. We didn't say anything because we both knew we were thinking the same thing. We sat across from each other at the table, caught eyes and both kind of smiled at each other. She moved to get up, and winced and touched her upper breast.
It had escaped my conscious that she had just gotten an operation not too long ago for the cancer in her breast. At the time, I was thumbing through a signed copy of Jill Kelly's Messages for Hope book and I must have given my Mom a sympathetic look. She said, "I don't know how people do it. I feel weak and tired since Jeff died and this," she gestured to her breast, "feels like a cruel joke. I don't have the strength." The sentence in the book that I had just read and was going back and reading over and over again was that sometimes things happen because we are required to see the face of God in it. I shared it with her and said, "You are not weak Mom. You get up every morning, put on your clothes, plan your day, buy things for the grandchildren, talk to your kids and laugh. Every day you laugh. You are strong." She was indulging in a little self-pity (and rightly so) and it just so happened that I was there to help her through it. (If it wasn't me, it would have been someone else). "If you were still in bed, cradling yourself in pain, then I might be worried, but you're not. You're sitting here with me." I could tell that at that point she was hanging on my every word and that they were giving her even more strength. (I know the moment so well because I have been there many times).
She was crying, and that sadness in her eyes is unreal, indescribable and like a vice on my heart, squeezing out my own tears. We silently cried together. We cried for what was, for the memories of laughter and wholeness, for the inevitable length of each moment stretching into days, stretching into weeks, stretching into months, and for the anticipation of when it will all be okay again. I think we both concluded that it would never be the same again. But we also got through another moment of darkness. We helped each other through it and found that upon stepping away from it, we were both a bit lighter again.
And that is life.
I am sure that Nancy Brinker (Susan G. Komen's sister), who created this unbelievable life force toward the cure for cancer, steps back from all her accomplishments and still aches for the sister that she lost. What is she to do in those moments? Give up?
No. She'll get up every morning, put on her clothes, find laughter in a day and anticipate visiting with her loved ones.
She'll walk on... walk on....
And that's all we can do. Walk on and try to find the face of God in every moment.
Then I thought about the weekend and the purpose of the weekend. I felt small for a moment upon thinking about the magnitude of the Susan G. Komen walk. One sister dedicated her entire life to finding a cure for breast cancer because she made a promise to her dying sister. I, along with 8,000 other participants, wore myself out on Saturday in order to partially fulfill that promise. I love walking in the race. I love that both Tony and Paige got to be a part of it. I hope I never have to do it again. I hope that the next time we walk that walk it's because we are celebrating the cure for breast cancer. I hope that we can throw our Ford scarves in the air and say, "Yes, it is done! The cure has been found!"
Wouldn't that be nice?
I got to spend some time with my mom. It is tough to be in my parents' kitchen for a long period of time, especially when it is not my usual hang-out. They have a full wall of pictures - each grandchild in an individual frame and serendipitously, a picture of the entire family with their spouses (minus mine - we weren't married when the picture was taken) suited up in dresses and suits. My brother Jeff stands in the back, his hand on his hip, towering above all of us. We are all smiling. On the refrigerator, there are pictures of Jeff and a huge one above the refrigerator where he is wearing his chef's uniform with the background a smorgasboard of his work.
I glance. I avert. I glance again. I avert. Finally I stare straight on and the tears are inevitable. The shock is inevitable. I look at my mom, she catches me looking and her own eyes well with tears. And so I avert again because sometimes her pain, her sadness, is too tough to take.
At one point, a moment like this occurred. We didn't say anything because we both knew we were thinking the same thing. We sat across from each other at the table, caught eyes and both kind of smiled at each other. She moved to get up, and winced and touched her upper breast.
It had escaped my conscious that she had just gotten an operation not too long ago for the cancer in her breast. At the time, I was thumbing through a signed copy of Jill Kelly's Messages for Hope book and I must have given my Mom a sympathetic look. She said, "I don't know how people do it. I feel weak and tired since Jeff died and this," she gestured to her breast, "feels like a cruel joke. I don't have the strength." The sentence in the book that I had just read and was going back and reading over and over again was that sometimes things happen because we are required to see the face of God in it. I shared it with her and said, "You are not weak Mom. You get up every morning, put on your clothes, plan your day, buy things for the grandchildren, talk to your kids and laugh. Every day you laugh. You are strong." She was indulging in a little self-pity (and rightly so) and it just so happened that I was there to help her through it. (If it wasn't me, it would have been someone else). "If you were still in bed, cradling yourself in pain, then I might be worried, but you're not. You're sitting here with me." I could tell that at that point she was hanging on my every word and that they were giving her even more strength. (I know the moment so well because I have been there many times).
She was crying, and that sadness in her eyes is unreal, indescribable and like a vice on my heart, squeezing out my own tears. We silently cried together. We cried for what was, for the memories of laughter and wholeness, for the inevitable length of each moment stretching into days, stretching into weeks, stretching into months, and for the anticipation of when it will all be okay again. I think we both concluded that it would never be the same again. But we also got through another moment of darkness. We helped each other through it and found that upon stepping away from it, we were both a bit lighter again.
And that is life.
I am sure that Nancy Brinker (Susan G. Komen's sister), who created this unbelievable life force toward the cure for cancer, steps back from all her accomplishments and still aches for the sister that she lost. What is she to do in those moments? Give up?
No. She'll get up every morning, put on her clothes, find laughter in a day and anticipate visiting with her loved ones.
She'll walk on... walk on....
And that's all we can do. Walk on and try to find the face of God in every moment.
Monday, June 7, 2010
Tanagra
I can breathe. Aaaaahhhhhhhhhhh.... There is still a hint of pain, but all in all, I can breathe without wincing. I can also write. It's not even 8am on this Monday morning and my writing - rough drafts, fragments of paragraphs, great books of quotes and scribbles on paper - are all before me. Today is the day that I will finish the rough draft of the manuscript and send it in for the workshop in July. You all with me on this?
Yesterday, I made it to church, trekked through the dreaded grocery store and then spent the rest of the day horizontal, and unfortunately I wasn't positioned in that way for fun, but rather because I was so tired and worn out that I couldn't do much but work the remote control on the tv. I suffered through endless weird movies, snippets of comedians and then fell into the chick flicks that in the past ten years I failed to watch. Bored.
To tears.
I felt sorry for myself. The tears came due to the sickness, the isolation and the feeling that I stepped into another rut, unnerving me and the transformation I embarked upon so long ago.
As happens to me, a poem came to mind. This one written by Rainer Maria Rilke entitle Tanagra. This poem talks of transformation through the hands of a woman kneading and forming clay from the earth - using that which is in front of her to make something. (At least that's my interpretation). As I stood outside on the back deck and looked at the horizon, realizing the reality of the tears for what they were (nothing more than sickness and exhaustion), I did a full circle and looked around. I looked at my house, my deck furniture, my garden, my dogs playing, the kids play yard and took as deep of a breath I could take without wincing, and silently recited the poem.
Tanagra
A bit of baked earth,
baked as by a mighty sun.
As if the gesture
that a girl's hand makes
had suddenly remained:
without reaching for anything,
leading from its feeling
toward no object,
only touching itself
like a hand raised to a chin.
We lift and we keep turning
the same few figures;
we can almost understand
why they don't perish, --
but we're meant only
more deeply and wonderingly
to cling to what once was
and smile: a bit more clearly
perhaps than a year before.
I'm a clinger, I suppose. Yet, my grasp is pretty weak because there is a constant revolution of the objects I grasp. The standard staples remain (friends, family, truth, God), yet the illusions are constantly turning and transforming. I cling to those illusions. Over time however, the reality of what they truly are allows me to smile more broadly. And breathing it all in really, really helps.
Yesterday, I made it to church, trekked through the dreaded grocery store and then spent the rest of the day horizontal, and unfortunately I wasn't positioned in that way for fun, but rather because I was so tired and worn out that I couldn't do much but work the remote control on the tv. I suffered through endless weird movies, snippets of comedians and then fell into the chick flicks that in the past ten years I failed to watch. Bored.
To tears.
I felt sorry for myself. The tears came due to the sickness, the isolation and the feeling that I stepped into another rut, unnerving me and the transformation I embarked upon so long ago.
As happens to me, a poem came to mind. This one written by Rainer Maria Rilke entitle Tanagra. This poem talks of transformation through the hands of a woman kneading and forming clay from the earth - using that which is in front of her to make something. (At least that's my interpretation). As I stood outside on the back deck and looked at the horizon, realizing the reality of the tears for what they were (nothing more than sickness and exhaustion), I did a full circle and looked around. I looked at my house, my deck furniture, my garden, my dogs playing, the kids play yard and took as deep of a breath I could take without wincing, and silently recited the poem.
Tanagra
A bit of baked earth,
baked as by a mighty sun.
As if the gesture
that a girl's hand makes
had suddenly remained:
without reaching for anything,
leading from its feeling
toward no object,
only touching itself
like a hand raised to a chin.
We lift and we keep turning
the same few figures;
we can almost understand
why they don't perish, --
but we're meant only
more deeply and wonderingly
to cling to what once was
and smile: a bit more clearly
perhaps than a year before.
I'm a clinger, I suppose. Yet, my grasp is pretty weak because there is a constant revolution of the objects I grasp. The standard staples remain (friends, family, truth, God), yet the illusions are constantly turning and transforming. I cling to those illusions. Over time however, the reality of what they truly are allows me to smile more broadly. And breathing it all in really, really helps.
Friday, March 12, 2010
He Finally Bought the Cow
They had been living in sin since Christmas, just after my mother sent them to live with us. I didn't approve but I kept my mouth shut. After all, the kids would have no idea that anything is wrong. For the past three years, that's all they've known of relationships. So, I was silent. The day finally came when I could rejoice. Paige and Tony were ready to host a wedding.
She dressed "Pretty" in a pink dress after some cajoling by me, not stating that white was an inappropriate color because of Pretty's loose morals, but that pink would look better with her complexion. (Unfortunately, red and black were not part of Pretty's wardrobe). She was all for it. Paige, wearing her newest set of PJs posed with the bride because she was the Maid of Honor.
Tony offered the nervous bride a cookie, which she refused as her back fat was already protruding from the fancy dress she wore.
So Tony, after stuffing his face with a chocolate chip cookie (those are not moles on his cheeks, but remnants of chocolate), took his place next to "Fluffy", the groom, as the best man.
Paige was very happy that Fluffy had finally decided to marry Pretty since Pretty, before coming to live with us, was not what one would call 'virtuous', nor was she a spring chicken anymore - if you get my drift. The drugs, the rehab, the drinking and the prostitution would finally be behind her, as Fluffy was more than capable to care for her and her bastard child (which I was only made aware of recently).
Here is a picture of the bride before the wedding. She really does have a beautiful smile... I can see why Fluffy's been banging her.
And here is a picture of the groom, looking somewhat complacent after having had four shots of bourbon in a span of three minutes. (He had a flask hidden in his vest of which the children were not aware). I really couldn't blame him, so I said nothing, after all Pretty was a handful, and he was taking on all of her medical bills, letting her sleep in his bed, and licking her sores from the numerous occasions we had to fight her off of Gracie.
Here is a picture of Gracie on the day of the wedding. The look of fear on her face was captured after Pretty sidled up beside her and asked for a "quickie" before tying the knot with Fluffy. Unfortunately, for Gracie, since Pretty is a bear and is so clearly attracted to dogs (see picture of bastard child below), Pretty didn't differentiate between the sexes. The fact that Gracie is female had no bearing on Pretty's level of attraction. Gracie, for all intents and purposes, was a victim, and so curled herself into the tightest position possible and tried to stay out of the way.
Here is a picture of the bride and groom after tying the knot. Pretty's very ugly mutt is looking down on his new Papa.
Pretty is very happy. Fluffy is loaded.
Several hours after the ceremony, I found Fluffy like this. Pretty was in a different room with another stuffed animal, and unfortunately, was in a position that was unfit for picture taking.
The End
Friday, August 14, 2009
Time to Go Back
I'll be pulling away from my parents' driveway later this morning. It has been a full week of activity, many, many laughs and some tears. It was a good week for me to come up. I get the feeling my parents sense my strength now, they seem to rely on it a little more, leaning instead of holding me up. That's what love can do.
I have two songs in my head, vying for attention. The first is What Love Can Do and the second is Blood Brothers. In fact, there are two lines of each song that play back to back in the little spinny thing inside my brain.
"Each one fighting for the other... we said until we died, we'd always be blood brothers," against, "Let me show you what love can do."
There is no doubt that my entire thought process centers around Jeff's death, the current state of circumstances regarding his children and my role in that. The answer is love. Finding it - ain't so easy all the time, my friends. But beneath the anger, the frustration, the fears and the hopes for his young children, it sits. And it is huge. Digging through the other stuff: that's the fight.
I don't know if I'm making sense, but in my tiny brain, I think the answer lies somewhere in seeing the big picture and moving beyond the emotional hurt and into what really matters here. Fighting the good fight for the greater cause.
This message makes sense to only a few of my readers, I am quite certain.
I am destined to make my sister a Springsteen fan. Perhaps after she reads the lyrics to the following song, she'll see my point because I believe it has a message we all need to hear.
There's a pillar in the temple
where I carved your name
There's a soul sitting sad and blue
Now the remedies you've taken
are all in vain
Let me show you what love can do
Let me show you what love can do
Darling I can't stop the rain
Or turn your black sky blue
Well let me show you what love can do
Let me show you what love can do
Well now our truth lay shattered,
we stood at world's end
There's a dead sun rose in view
As if any of this matters, a kiss my friend
Let me show you what love can do
Let me show you what love can do
Darling we can't stop this train
When it comes crashing through
But let me show you what love can do
Let me show you what love can do
On the bench you lie all is nails and rust
And the love you've given's turned ashes and dust
When the hope you've gathered's drifted to the wind
It's you and I now, friend (you and I now, friend)
You and I now, friend
Here our memory lay corrupted and our city lay dry
Let me make this vow to you
Here where it's blood for blood and an eye for an eye
Let me show you what love can do
Let me show you what love can do
Here we bear the mark of Cain
But let the light shine through
Let me show you what love can do
Let me show you what love can do
Let me show you what love can do
Let me show you what love can do
I have two songs in my head, vying for attention. The first is What Love Can Do and the second is Blood Brothers. In fact, there are two lines of each song that play back to back in the little spinny thing inside my brain.
"Each one fighting for the other... we said until we died, we'd always be blood brothers," against, "Let me show you what love can do."
There is no doubt that my entire thought process centers around Jeff's death, the current state of circumstances regarding his children and my role in that. The answer is love. Finding it - ain't so easy all the time, my friends. But beneath the anger, the frustration, the fears and the hopes for his young children, it sits. And it is huge. Digging through the other stuff: that's the fight.
I don't know if I'm making sense, but in my tiny brain, I think the answer lies somewhere in seeing the big picture and moving beyond the emotional hurt and into what really matters here. Fighting the good fight for the greater cause.
This message makes sense to only a few of my readers, I am quite certain.
I am destined to make my sister a Springsteen fan. Perhaps after she reads the lyrics to the following song, she'll see my point because I believe it has a message we all need to hear.
There's a pillar in the temple
where I carved your name
There's a soul sitting sad and blue
Now the remedies you've taken
are all in vain
Let me show you what love can do
Let me show you what love can do
Darling I can't stop the rain
Or turn your black sky blue
Well let me show you what love can do
Let me show you what love can do
Well now our truth lay shattered,
we stood at world's end
There's a dead sun rose in view
As if any of this matters, a kiss my friend
Let me show you what love can do
Let me show you what love can do
Darling we can't stop this train
When it comes crashing through
But let me show you what love can do
Let me show you what love can do
On the bench you lie all is nails and rust
And the love you've given's turned ashes and dust
When the hope you've gathered's drifted to the wind
It's you and I now, friend (you and I now, friend)
You and I now, friend
Here our memory lay corrupted and our city lay dry
Let me make this vow to you
Here where it's blood for blood and an eye for an eye
Let me show you what love can do
Let me show you what love can do
Here we bear the mark of Cain
But let the light shine through
Let me show you what love can do
Let me show you what love can do
Let me show you what love can do
Let me show you what love can do
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
Good to be Home
I have a few random thoughts running around my head this morning. Several of them have surfaced from the past few days of visiting and observing family, working from my parents’ kitchen table and watching my children thrive with the rest of my family members.
1. First and foremost, it is nice to wake up before the children and have the coffee already brewed, as opposed to the previous four days and starting the coffee myself. The coffee maker at Mom and Dad’s house is quite ancient and the wait for a freshly brewed cup of coffee is approximately 45 minutes. Note to self: spend the $20 and get them a new coffee maker. The only thing stopping me from doing that is hearing how “lousy” the coffee maker is – “why all the buttons?” “Bah, I don’t need a timer.” “Why would you spend your money on that, this one is perfectly fine.” “This coffee’s lousy.” I’ll hear how thoughtful I was in buying it in about six months when they start missing me, and bragging to others about how nice it was for me to buy one for them. On second thought, I might just let one of my siblings be the good guy and I’ll slip them the money and the idea for a new coffee pot.
2. Watching a four and a half year old imitating Daffy Duck is rather humorous. The other day I asked Tony if he wanted a drink and his answer (in Daffy Duck’s voice) was: “No more for me thanks, I’m driving.” He’s got it down. Love that boy!
3. My stance with the NRA has always been negative, but as I watched the news today I thought about people’s rights to have guns. It’s fine for the hunters, the normal people – they can have all the guns they want. But when you see the inner-city shootings that happen at 2am every night, the right to bear these arms is rather questionable. But then I think, if these people are going to shoot each other, let them go right ahead. But then I think that maybe I’m being a little judgmental by one, referring to them as “these people” and two… I suppose one is enough. In any case, I’m tired and driving home a political point, especially with regard to the whole NRA debacle, seems to be a waste of my time. And my time is important.
4. I watched parts of my wedding video yesterday, mainly to catch a glimpse of Jeff’s little speech at the start of the reception. As some of you may recall, he introduced a slide show of me by stating how all my siblings influenced me in one way or another.
Corinne: taught me how to smoke and break curfew and live life to the funnest.
John: taught me strength and the ability to work through problems
Cliff: taught me that reading and writing really is a good thing
Jim: taught me the greatest lesson of all – that maybe the family needs a lawyer
Jeff: taught me that a brother and sister really can be best friends.
He choked up in the video. I sobbed as I watched it eight years later.
My mom watched the credits roll: Met: April 19, 1998 / Engaged December 15, 1999 / Married September 23, 2000. Her one liner: “Where are they going to fit the divorce date?” Funny woman, she is.
5. My dad doesn’t smile much in the morning unless he’s already pooped and had a cup of coffee.
6. The safest I feel – ever – is when I am laughing with my sister, and my kids are chomping on popsicles beside us and I know I’ll see the rest of the family at some point in the three hour period.
7. When I woke up this morning the feeling that “something big was gone” had positioned itself in my chest, and that coming home is real hard when there is such a huge void in the family. I miss my brother, and his entire family, and it sucks sometimes.
8. John is rather funny and quick-witted, and when he and Dana play off each other, the laughter is fast and bubbly.
9. It has been 68 degrees, rainy and humid since I got here – and all I want is an hour of sunshine in Jim’s pool. Where the heck is he?
10. I cannot keep my promise to my neighbor that I won’t be sad when I get back to Maryland.
1. First and foremost, it is nice to wake up before the children and have the coffee already brewed, as opposed to the previous four days and starting the coffee myself. The coffee maker at Mom and Dad’s house is quite ancient and the wait for a freshly brewed cup of coffee is approximately 45 minutes. Note to self: spend the $20 and get them a new coffee maker. The only thing stopping me from doing that is hearing how “lousy” the coffee maker is – “why all the buttons?” “Bah, I don’t need a timer.” “Why would you spend your money on that, this one is perfectly fine.” “This coffee’s lousy.” I’ll hear how thoughtful I was in buying it in about six months when they start missing me, and bragging to others about how nice it was for me to buy one for them. On second thought, I might just let one of my siblings be the good guy and I’ll slip them the money and the idea for a new coffee pot.
2. Watching a four and a half year old imitating Daffy Duck is rather humorous. The other day I asked Tony if he wanted a drink and his answer (in Daffy Duck’s voice) was: “No more for me thanks, I’m driving.” He’s got it down. Love that boy!
3. My stance with the NRA has always been negative, but as I watched the news today I thought about people’s rights to have guns. It’s fine for the hunters, the normal people – they can have all the guns they want. But when you see the inner-city shootings that happen at 2am every night, the right to bear these arms is rather questionable. But then I think, if these people are going to shoot each other, let them go right ahead. But then I think that maybe I’m being a little judgmental by one, referring to them as “these people” and two… I suppose one is enough. In any case, I’m tired and driving home a political point, especially with regard to the whole NRA debacle, seems to be a waste of my time. And my time is important.
4. I watched parts of my wedding video yesterday, mainly to catch a glimpse of Jeff’s little speech at the start of the reception. As some of you may recall, he introduced a slide show of me by stating how all my siblings influenced me in one way or another.
Corinne: taught me how to smoke and break curfew and live life to the funnest.
John: taught me strength and the ability to work through problems
Cliff: taught me that reading and writing really is a good thing
Jim: taught me the greatest lesson of all – that maybe the family needs a lawyer
Jeff: taught me that a brother and sister really can be best friends.
He choked up in the video. I sobbed as I watched it eight years later.
My mom watched the credits roll: Met: April 19, 1998 / Engaged December 15, 1999 / Married September 23, 2000. Her one liner: “Where are they going to fit the divorce date?” Funny woman, she is.
5. My dad doesn’t smile much in the morning unless he’s already pooped and had a cup of coffee.
6. The safest I feel – ever – is when I am laughing with my sister, and my kids are chomping on popsicles beside us and I know I’ll see the rest of the family at some point in the three hour period.
7. When I woke up this morning the feeling that “something big was gone” had positioned itself in my chest, and that coming home is real hard when there is such a huge void in the family. I miss my brother, and his entire family, and it sucks sometimes.
8. John is rather funny and quick-witted, and when he and Dana play off each other, the laughter is fast and bubbly.
9. It has been 68 degrees, rainy and humid since I got here – and all I want is an hour of sunshine in Jim’s pool. Where the heck is he?
10. I cannot keep my promise to my neighbor that I won’t be sad when I get back to Maryland.
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