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.
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