Shutting Down

It's time for me to shut this blog down. I'm done here. Just as I've finished many things in my life this year. I've finished this blog. There is no more to write. Goodbye!

All Things are Relative... or All Relatives are Things

I keep thinking that there must be something to learn from painting my house for weeks on end. So far no great wisdom has arisen. I've only learned 2 lessons: The first is that my body hates climbing ladders for 3 days in a row. I feel my age. The second lesson is that "all things are relative." Tan paint looks yellow in the dining room, next to the yellowish living room. Tan in the bedroom looks tan. Paint that looks great in the store, looks terrible in my house. After having bright colors throughout the house, "calm" colors look boring. It takes a lot longer than predicted to paint a bathroom with cabinets, shutter style closet doors, windows, etc. So that's the great wisdom I've come up with these past few weeks. Maybe tomorrow, Saturday or Sunday I'll be inspired with something more profound.

Spring Break Trip

A few years ago, we decided to break tradition, and actually go somewhere over spring break. It was a most unusual trip. Unusual enough to not ever attempt another. We drive down to Mategorda in a 2 car caravan with my sister's family. About 20 miles away, toward the end of a long drive, my brother-in-law had a car accident. Of course we were in a small town where people don't move very quickly. The two mothers gathered the children in a gas station parking lot while the men handled the police, insurance, etc. The wait in the gas station was interesting. This wasn't your fancy station, complete with flavored coffee and a snack bar. No. We stood in a hot parking lot, with no relief. We shifted feet, leaned on the wall, sat on the curb, whined and complained, told stories and laughed. A man pulled up and tried to sell us meat out of the back of his truck. Another man pulled up in a Mustang. He looked at my sister and I, corralling 6 children, and tried to "pick us up!!!" That had to have been the most desperate man in the universe! We have no idea what he thought we would do with our children, to go off drinking beer, etc with him! My sister and I will laugh for the rest of our lives over that incident. Finally, some of us took the kids the rest of the way to Mategorda, while my sister and brother-in-law rented a vehicle and had theirs towed to a garage. That was just the first day. It also turned out to have the only decent weather of the trip. By dinner time, a storm moved in. The wind blew so strong, it could knock me down. The temperature dropped to what felt like just above freezing. The kids went to the beach, but instead of shelling or building sand castles, they dug 4' deep pits, the size of a walk-in closet. They carved couches, chairs and tables out of sand so they could hide down out of the wind. Not the best way to spend a vacation at the beach. I think I stayed inside for the rest of the week. One day it didn't rain, and it was bearable to be out in the wind. We went fishing and shelling.

That was the great exciting trip. It confirmed my desire to never travel on spring break again. My brother-in-law flew back down the following week to retrieve his car.

Is It Too Much to Ask?

Is it too much to ask to not hurt anymore? Is it too much to ask to be pain free for awhile? Is it too much to ask to have peace and some semblance of a normal hectic routine? Is it too much to ask to just be? Is it too much to ask to not be the topic of heated discussions? Is it too much to ask to have people not make major life decisions based on my being an idiot and a failure?

Do we have to go there? If I knew then what I know now, I would never have chosen a public profession. I would never have chosen to have 200 bosses to please. I would never have chosen a profession where people talk behind your back and in your face about how bad you are. I would have stayed away from churches all together.

Public Scrutiny

There is no fight left in me. I have no energy to cope with conflict or drama. I have no desire to continue living in the public arena. Can I just disappear? Can I just walk away? I know I can't. I know that I must have income of some kind. I also know that I need to look at other options. There is just no desire in me to continue having to deal with my personal life in front of 200 people. I have no desire to stand up to people about my ability or inability to do my job, when their anger at me is really about my divorce. Yes, I'm a failure. Was my failure that I married the wrong man? Was it that I grew and he didn't? Was it that I prevented him from growing up by doing too much? I don't know. I just know that I have failed and I can't go back and make it better. I'm a "bozo on the bus," as Elizabeth Lesser writes. I never claimed to be more than I am. I claimed to be good at my job, and I am. When I came to this place I was attacked for not being the former pastor. For 2 years they attacked me. I fought to be their pastor and to grow this church. They don't want to grow. They don't want to change. They want to go back to being the small club they were before I came. At least the "old guard" does. The newer people would be shocked to know what they were like before. Perhaps they will soon find out. Perhaps they'll fire me. Perhaps I'll quit. All I know is that I can't fight any more... and I can't live under public scrutiny any more.

What's Next

I heard through the grapevine that several people are leaving my church. These aren't crazy people. They're not ultra conservatives, so I thought. They're mainstays... and they've decided to go "church shopping." Ouch! I thought these were people with whom I was close enough that they would talk with me if they had a problem. They are people for whom I care deeply. Now they are gone or going, without so much as one conversation with me. Why? Because of me. They say it's how I lead worship. They say it's because my preaching is bad. The funny thing is, they've become dissatisfied since a year ago... the same time I announced my separation. The real reason? I'm getting a divorce. Yes, because I am human, and have failed at my marriage, I am not worthy of their respect. "The minister should be better than me." If that were true, most ministers would be washing cars for a living. None of us are better than anyone. We're just willing to put ourselves out there for others to criticize. How sad for all of us. A friend told me today that he is upset because their leaving is about leaving him and his wife. It's about leaving the people who love them. Earlier today I was shell shocked. Now I am incredibly sad and hurt. Part of my wants to strike them with anger. Part of me wants to crawl in a corner and cry. Part of me wants to just walk away and say, "To hell with church people!" Part of me wants to hang in loving these people through the thick of it. I have too many parts. I'm exhuasted. This is what hell is. I'm living in it.

There's a vision I've had of my future, in which I have lost everything. I am standing on a street, stripped of all I am and own. I am alone with no home, children, or job. The only things I have are literally the clothes on my back. Today feels like the next step toward fulfilling that vision. I will fight it. I will keep my son. I will not give up on my time with him.

Tonight I think I will go have a good cry and a restless sleep. Damnit!

Beautiful Moon

A ball of fire slid down the shade.

The moon glows.

It calls my heart...to an unfulfilled love.

Like a siren, he sings my name to love as I have not.

Memories of love and pain wrestle within.

I stare in awe, in loneliness.

My soul aches.

I want to climb the night... to lie within his magic.

I yearn to touch yet retreat in anticipated grief.

Nights like this lure, enchant, and rob my soul, my breath.

Beauty is meant to be shared.

Two Steps Forward...

My older boys came over today. They actually helped around the house. One trimmed the yard... well, half of it. The other pried carpet tack strips off the floor. What an enjoyable afternoon I had. My oldest was outside most of the time he was here, but I had the honor of driving him to work, spending 15 minutes in the car, talking about his learning to drive. How nice to have a good conversation, which ended with an, "I love you, mom." I actually enjoyed and afternoon of sanding woodwork (which I hate) in the same room with my middle son. We talked calmly about school, etc. Nothing earth-shattering. We just chatted. He let me give him a hug before he left. He said, "I love you." Unfortunately, when I stopped at the store later, I discovered that $10 was missing from my wallet. Thought I was losing my memory with all the stress. Then I found out that the middle one was seen putting my wallet back in my purse. How disappointing.

Honest Words

My middle son called today. He's bored and broke, and wants to do something this weekend. He just has no money. "I think I'm going to sell my camera to get some spending money." "Really? What for? What do you want money for?" The explanation came that having no money all summer meant not having the ability to go hang out with friends. This is the last weekend before school starts. He'd like to go to a movie. "Would you like me to take some money for a movie to you? I could do that."

It's odd how I'm not the enemy when he needs something. It's odd how I am the enemy when I want something. I am a mother though. I do love him. I took him the money. I am tired of seeing my son so sad and angry. Let him have a good night tonight. Let him have fun.

As I handed him the money I said, "Please spend it on a movie, not drugs or alcohol." "Why do you say that?' he asked. Our eyes met and locked. We both know the answer to that. I just looked deep into him and said," I love you." He met my gaze and looked into my heart, "I love you, too," I heard and saw in his eyes. I haven't seen that look in a very long time. It was a very long two seconds while we exposed our love. And then we broke our gaze. I don't want to over do my affection. He'd have to get nasty again to break the spell. Still.... he can't take the love I saw, back. He exposed the truth and I have seen it.

I tuck his love in my heart for safe-keeping.

Energy

Isn't it odd that manual labor drains my brain? Physical exhaustion exhausts my mind. I haven't written in awhile, I know. There's just so much activity, I'm too tired to think. Wish that weren't the case. I miss writing. Would much rather write than paint my house.

Doves Call

Doves call outside my window. "Come. Be melancholy with us. Settle your mind and your heart in the cool of our home." The sun shines through the branches of pecan, and maple, on the expanse of "southern" lawn. Peace reigns in this small oasis from the traffic slipping by on the the street beyond. The world moves on. People head to the grocery store, or perhaps the doctors' offices a few blocks from here. Their focus on their day fails to penetrate the calm of the green life beside them. Car engines overwhelm the doves' coos to the drivers. "Come, rest awhile. Let the day move on without you."

He Wants Her

He wants her, but she doesn't want him. She wants a different him, who doesn't want her. He wants his own her, but she wants no one. Or does she? She wants a convenient him, who doesn't need anything in return. And he wants a new her or maybe not. They all want to be happy, with someone or without. It's amazing that anyone wants the one who wants in return. It's amazing that any two get together.

Life is very messy!

Cleaning

I started cleaning my boys' bedrooms out today. It works really well to do that when no one is home to demand that we keep that old broken toy. You know the one... the "favorite" that''s been collecting dust for a year, untouched until you pick it up to put it in the trash sack. Then it's, "My favorite! You can't throw that away!" Threw away a whole garbage full of broken "favorites," today. It always feels good to clean out the closets and cabinets. At least that's how I feel when I'm done. Never feel that way before I start. Cleaning is absolutely, my most dreaded chore. Give me laundry. Give me a lawn to mow. Give me anything except the cleaning! Yuck!

Today's cleaning was even harder than I expected. I discovered how much I am still grieving my older boys', when I walked into their room to clean out all the junk left behind when they moved out. I couldn't figure out why I was feeling so sad, and then I realized, how much I really miss them. I felt like a parent whose children have died and they just close the door to the room and leave it as is. That's what I'd done. Today was a sad day. A day of facing regrets about my parenting, a day of regrets about what my boys have turned out to be. I day of wishing I hadn't stayed married for so many years, wishing I had protected them from their father's anger, wishing I had given more or given less... whatever it would have taken to get a different result.

One piece of trash at a time. One dirty sock at a time. I pick up one thing and leave the room with it. Only in entering and exiting a lot, do I gain the strength to keep cleaning. It all turns out okay. I'm not done. yet, but my will power is tired. At least I got the majority of it straightened.
All of this writing just to say, "I miss my boys!" They may be jerks. They may treat me badly. They may be a pain in the ass, but they're my pain in the ass. I cared for them from birth until April. Now they are gone. Now they stay away.

I miss them!

The Sewing Machine

When I was young, my mother was "of course," a stay at home mother and home maker. Being the mother of 4 girls, two of whom were twins, was a very busy and thankless job. One of the many things my mother did, which we never appreciated until now, was to sew our clothes. My twin and I had to have matching outfits, and my older sisters had to coordinate with the "twins," clothes. Especially for special occasions like "Mother's Day." How ironic that she had tons of work to do to celebrate her own celebration. My mother had a 1958 black Singer sewing machine. She could sew the world brand new clothes on that thing! We weren't allowed to bother her while she sewed. I remember though, the sound of that old sewing machine. The whir of the motor and the clack of the pressure foot meant Mom was sewing. Periodically she'd have us stand still while she fitted and pinned. Most of the time, though, you could just hear the hum of that machine reverberate through the house. I think my mother liked to sew. She always enjoyed creating things. When my mother sewed, the world was a peace. The house grew calm. We kids gathered around her with books to read or color in. I remember being sprawled out on the floor beside her, reading the "Childcraft," nursery rhyme book. That book was good for a whole day of reading, so as long as she sewed, I was content to lie there beside her.

To this day, the sound of a sewing machine brings peace to my soul. Perhaps they should put that sound in those sleep sound machines. I wrote about that sound on Facebook. A couple of people wrote that their hearts respond like mine. Most of the women, however, wrote that they feel frustration and failure when they hear that motor hum. For them, a sewing machine reminds them of their not quite measuring up to the maternal standard of our mothers. In our generation, every mother sewed. Every mother made matching clothes for the children on holidays. All the children hated the clothes! It was a game we played with each other, a dance of responsibilities and declarations of independence. "Look what I made for you!" "I want 'store-bought,' clothes!" These two declarations rang out in almost every middle class home on the cul-de-sac the week before a holiday.

And yet, the soft purr of the sewing machine floods me with sweet memories... when Mom happily took care of our world. There was nothing to fear. Peace reigned in our lives... at least for a few hours.

More Letting Go

I've been thinking and talking with a friend. She thinks I should give my husband the house. Just let it go...not have that burden any more. While I know that I can't just give it to him, I've been thinking. Wouldn't it be nice to not have all that upkeep? Wouldn't it be nice to be able to afford to travel and do some fun things instead of putting every penny into the house? If I put the house on the market, would I regret it long-term? Would I be throwing away an investment? I have to admit that the thought of living in a rental makes me cringe. But then, most of how I live now used to make me cringe. I've adapted. It's okay. What if I rented a small house or an apartment. Would I then regret having no investment in a house for the future? Is the market going to improve enough to justify hanging on to it for awhile? Would the value of not having the expense and work, improve our lives enough that it will be worth it? All my other beliefs about life have turned out to be mirages. Maybe this suburbia home-owning is also. Maybe it doesn't make my life better. Maybe it's just another burden. Maybe I would feel a whole lot better not having a house.

We all say that we Americans focus too much on owning things. We say that we're too consumer oriented. We need to quit acquiring things. They aren't worth having. But we think that other people should cut back their consumption. "They" are to blame. "Not me." The truth is, we really do think that the person who dies with the most toys, wins. Maybe I need to let go. Maybe that would be the best.

Just some meandering thoughts this morning.

I'm wondering

I'm wondering why it's okay for my attorney to not present my case. I'm wondering why the attorneys and the judge have to go into private offices to talk instead of speaking in front of their clients. I'm wondering why the clients never got to hear the conversation or contribute to the conversation. I'm wondering why my attorney showed up. I know why I was there. It's my life we're talking about. I thought I knew why my attorney was there: to represent me. I was oh so wrong! Can you sue an attorney for not representing you? Can you sue an attorney for plotting with the opposing counsel to screw you over? These are the things I'm wondering tonight!

Court

It's really not very comforting to have your own attorney tell you to give in before a hearing! Each hour that passes, lops another link off the chain of hours between me and Monday morning. I am breathing less and stressing more. I keep trying to compartmentalize. I have work to do tonight. Talk about losing things! I could lose my supper, which I've already eaten, over this court appearance. I wish SOMEONE had confidence in things going well. For some reason, my ex/sort-of ex and his attorney think that I'm a bottomless pit of money for them to steal. They know what I make. Just because I make enough to get by (barely with no emergencies), and he doesn't, doesn't mean I have a big chunk to give away! Are they crazy? Okay, I'm trying to breathe. It's not working. I feel like I'm about to be gang raped and my attorney is going to help hold me down! This isn't good. Did someone say "tranquilizer?"

Where Is It?

My son and I have been having a weekend of "Where did I put it?" We were riding in the car with his friend and he put his handcuffs on his arm and attached it to the headrest. I'm driving down the highway at 70mph and I hear,
"Mom, I can't find the keys!"
"Where did you put them?"
"I don't know. I just had them a few minutes ago!"
"We haven't stopped the car, so they must be somewhere in the car."
The two boys frantically search the back seat, the floor by the back seat, between the bottom and back of the seat, between the console and each front seat. I'm thinking,
"How can you lose something when you've been confined to a seatbelt in the back of a vehicle with the windows shut? Did one of them open the window?"
They can't find the key. I tell them we'll be home in a few minutes and we'll look again. In the meantime, they remove the headrest so the arm is free to move around. About 10 minutes later, my son says,
"Uh-oh!"
"What did you do?"
"I just cuffed my arm to my ankle." I'm thinking,
" Why wasn't I a better mother and already have the second key in my safe keeping so this wouldn't happen? "But this is teaching him to be a bit more responsible. But if I were a better mother..."
It's so fun, that mom guilt trip! I ended up not taking the trip and realizing he needs to grow up and be responsible some time. Anyway, when we stopped the car, I searched the back floor. There were the keys, under a pair of shoes. I'm reminded of the commercial which labels
"mother" as "finder of all lost objects."
That pretty much describes me.

We have been home for a couple of hours now. I started to repair a door. Found the screw driver, found the screws, looked on the workbench for the strike plate. You guessed it. It wasn't there! I could swear I've walked past that thing a hundred times, seeing it out of the corner of my eye, and planning to put that in today. Can I find it? No! I imagine,
"Where did you put it?"
"I don't know."
"Where were you when you last saw it?"
"I thought I was standing at the work bench, but it's not there."
"Well it has to be somewhere in the house in plain sight if you've seen it a hundred times."
......I need a "mother!"

Swimming, Sexuality and the Womb

Why is swimming nude such a sexual/sensual experience? The reality is that when we swim, we're surrounded by fluid, just as we are in the womb. So why is that sexually arousing? Does our pre-birth experience, include sexual arousal on some level? Why is sexuality considered such a taboo in most public arenas, if that is the state from which we are born? Is it because after we "grow up," we are afraid to admit our vulnerability? Our physical state? Our "animal instinct?" Is it just in the "religious" world that we don't admit to our sensuality/sexuality? Does the rest of the world get this, but we "Christians," pretend our sexuality doesn't exist? What is moral? What is amoral? Some friends and I questioned some of this tonight. Those in the group who live within the sexual norm for our society are the most unhappy and most unfulfilled. Those who live outside the norm, and are considered by some to be amoral, are the most fulfilled. What's up with that?

Last Week

For the past year, as I've lost so much and given up so much, the thing that has bothered me the most has been my struggle with my faith. It was who I was, and now it is not there. I have felt like Alice in Wonderland, falling, tumbling and spinning while grasping at anything and everything to stop the fall. I've tried to regain my balance, to find some kind of center, to hang on to some thing that would give me a sense of who I am. The loss of my faith has been the loss of my identity. Last week I hit bottom for the umteenth time. Last week I wanted to die. Last week I even planned my death. It scared the hell out of me. Last week, I was so scared, I went to stay with a friend rather than be alone. Last week, I cried for two and a half days. That was last week. As I cried and struggled through those days, I wrote to and called several friends, trying to find a reason for wanting to live. I found one reason and one reason only, my hope that one of my children will not be screwed up by my husband's and my actions. I knew that if I died, I'd screw all my children up for the rest of their lives. That is the only thing that kept me alive.



My friends to whom I wrote and with whom I talked, pretty much said the same things they've said over and over again. Somehow, last week I reached the point where I could accept what they said. It was like I finally grieved the last of the worst of my grief for myself, my faith, my identity. A dear friend wrote that I need to live for the sake of living fully, and suddenly I could imagine that. I didn't feel a need to have a great purpose of serving a god I can't believe in now. I don't know for sure, but it seems that I have grieved the worst of my grief for my faith. I don't need that ultimate purpose to get me through each moment. I can now look forward to the future without some specific event dangling like a carrot in front of me. I look forward to just living a normal life tomorrow and the next day, and the next day, and the next day.

It feels good to feel normal again. It's been a long time. It's been a lot of pain. I don't ever want to go through that kind of pain again. I've lost a large part of who I am, and just about everything I've valued. I may lose more. In fact I think I will lose more. Probably will lose my house. Maybe some other things I haven't thought of. But still, I am done grieving the worst of losing my faith, my god, and my identity. Due to the love of my friends, I have survived (barely, but I'm still here.). For my life as it is, I am grateful. For not destroying my youngest child, I am grateful. For my friends who have saved my life, I will always be indebted and grateful. Thank you all.

Strewn

(I love this poem. It is so true!)

It'd been a long winter, rags of snow hanging on; then at the end
of April, an icy nor'easter, powerful as a hurricane. But now I've landed
on the coast of Maine, visiting a friend who lives two blocks from the ocean,
and I can't believe my luck, out this mild morning, race-walking along the strand.
Every dog within fifty miles is off-leash, running for the sheer dopey joy of it.
No one's in the water, but walkers and shellers leave their tracks on the hardpack.
The flat sand shines as if varnished in a painting. Underfoot, strewn, are broken
bits and pieces, deep indigo mussels, whorls of whelk, chips of purple
and white wampum, hinges of quahog, fragments of flat gray sand dollars.
Nothing whole, everything broken, washed up here, stranded.
Light pours down, a rinse of lemon on a cold plate
of oysters. All of us, broken, some way or other. All of us
dazzling in the brilliant slanting light.

Barbara Crooker
Christian Center, June 30, 2009

Who is this?

Who is this person I have become? I'm having a hard time figuring her out.

Dating! Aaaaahhhhh!

I can't do it. I just can't do it! Too much emotion involved! Too much drama! I thought I was ready, but I'm really not. Why isn't it easier at this age? Why don't we get wiser? Why does it feel like high school again, like I'm never going to be asked to the prom, and then when I am, it's not by the one I wanted to ask? Why is it that the ones I'm attracted to, don't notice me, and the ones I am not attracted to, are wanting some long-term relationship? Why is it that?

I tried to keep things simple. I thought it would be fun to just have some dates to go to dinner, or go out dancing. It didn't really matter if they were perfect or not, just nice guys with whom I could share a decent conversation. That is not what the guys I've dated have been interested in. They want more than I can give to them. They want hope for a future with me. So now I feel terrible for rejecting them, and terrible because the men who I am interested in, don't give a rip! Any way you approach it, everyone feels terrible! Who invented this process? Why does anyone date? I'm amazed the human population has continued, considering that the odds of painful endings are much greater than the happy endings!

A friend of mine used to make her children eat one tablespoon of any food they didn't think they liked. She called it a "no thank you" portion. I think I've had my "no thank you" portion and I'm ready to quit, once again! Aaaaaahhhhhh!

Bathing Suits

I understand the concept of bathing suits. I enjoy wearing bathing suits. It's just the torture of buying them that gets most of us women. They have to fit perfectly in every way. They have to make our figures look like Barbie's even though Barbie's stats are impossible, unless you're Dolly Parton. They have to hold you in where you don't want to stick out, and make you stick out where you don't, but want to! They have to cover everything you don't want the public to see, and show the areas you want to public to see. They have to fit your diameter in every place perfectly unless you want to lose them when you dive.

There is no woman alive who likes to shop for bathing suits. You look through 300 suits, carry half of them to the dressing room where the not-so-nice clerk tells you that you can only try on 6 at a time. You explain that 6 are not nearly enough, but still she insists. So you take six, leave the rest by the door and pray that they are still there when you need them. Then you have to face the hard part, stripping down to your underpants and try them on. Meanwhile you're thinking about all the women who have tried them on before you, and trying to squelch your feelings of absolute disgust. You try on 6 and of course none of them fit, but you won't go out to the door with a bad looking suit on, so you get totally dressed again and trudge out to your pile that may or may not still be there. Only 144 more suits to go! Are we having fun yet? With each suit we try on, our self esteems take another hit because we didn't realize before that we sag here and bulge there. Ahhh! The rite of spring!

We hate this, and yet we must go through the whole process because of course the 150th suit is the one that fits just perfectly! We love looking beautiful in our new suits, but finding the perfect one is like torture as a POW. We'd rather have a gynecologic exam. We'd rather have all our teeth pulled. We'd rather have a total body wax, which is just about what most of us have to do to wear these tiny pieces of cloth that we actually claim to be wearable in public. We'd rather slit our wrists.

I bet you can't guess what I'm going to do in the next 24 hours. Yep! I have to buy one. Put it off all spring. Not only do I need to buy one, but it has to be one that I will wear on a date. You read that right. I haven't given up on dating. After recovering from the initial backlash panic, I'm going sailing this weekend. What was I thinking when I agreed? I was thinking about how fun it would be, not about the torture preparing for it. Now I'm off to buy a bathing suit. No pressure there! Am I crazy?

Am I Really That Ugly

When the only people who are interested in me are ugly and/or fat, I have to wonder about my own beauty. I know I'm not fat, so that only leaves the other option. Surely I am not that ugly! I think I'm going to give up on this dating thing. It's too hard to be this hard hearted, shutting men down every day, and being shut down by other men every day. I've only dated two men, and already I am ready to call it quits!

Borders and Boundaries

Floating in the pool,
heat radiated up from the ground and down from the sun,
all around me, the heat circled, smelling of summer.
Locusts sang in the intensity of the day... the sound of summer.
Miniature dragonflies darted around me, landing on my leg, before skitting off to the cat tail, standing tall above the pond.
The cicada, the dragonfly, and the birds, know nothing of human boundaries and borders. These lines drawn in our minds which separate people, where are they? Lines painted on the ground? Do God's other creatures know these are borders, created by humans to separate those who are different, those who "don't belong."
The ant unaware, drags it's food across the line that is no line.
The sun shines on those who live on both sides of the boundary.
The moon rises over all God's creatures.
Only humans decide who are good and who are not,
who belongs and who does not.

Writing

Yesterday, I was in a mood to write. After taking a break for awhile, I just wanted to sit and write all the things that have been going through my mind. Instead, I had a wonderful conversation with a good friend. My friend is a great writer. We talked about using pictures to convey feelings and using words to convey pictures. How each art form comes through a deep desire to express who we truly are. I get frustrated with words, 'cause sometimes I can't capture the picture in my brain, and I think, "I wish I were a photographer and could capture the picture in that art form." I'm a visual person and I want us to see what I say. My friend is having a hard time expressing what he is feeling, and so he has started taking pictures every day. He walks the small town where he lives and takes wonderful photographs. He is naturally a writer and now he finds he has to use a different medium to express his true self. And still, in this other medium, his soul flows to greet us. The passions of our souls come forth in one form or another. How do people who do not create art of any kind, tell us who they are? In their life stories. Their stories may not be written on paper or on the internet. These stories live through their creators, showing us their souls.

Friday Night Date II

Okay, so I have just kissed the best kisser ever! Wow! I don't know about the rest of him, but he sure can kiss! It was really fun being out on a Friday night date! It was really fun having someone be polite, attentive, intelligent, caring, and affectionate. And don't forget, extremely skilled in the kissing department. I told him about my blog about kissing, that kissing shows what a man is truly like. If he is anything like his kisses, hmmmm. Anyway, fun for now! Yea!

Friday Night Date

It's Friday night and I actually have a date! Wow! It's been a long time since that has happened. It's Friday night, and instead of watching the couples at dinner, I'll be one of the couples at dinner. This time I won't hate them/ I won't want to run up and warn them to never get married. This time I won't be jealous of the attention they give and receive. It's Friday night and I have a date! He's not Mr. Wonderful. He won't sweep me off my feet. Of that I am sure. And I certainly don't need to be swept off my feet right now. Still, it's nice to have a date on Friday night. Perhaps a good night kiss? ....... Can I remember how to do this? It's been a llllloooooooonnnnnnnnngggggggg time!

Spider Webs

You know how it is when you walk through the woods, and you walk through a spider web. Unexpectedly you're wrapped in sticky strings which latch on to your face, your hair, your arms and torso. Shivers run through my body when this happens. I try to get those strings off as quickly as possible, as I imagine the spider is in my hair, about to bite me. The worst part is not knowing where the spider is, what kind it is, and whether it will bite me. So I dance a jig, madly wiping my arms and face, trying to peel the strings from me. Trying to move as quickly as possible without looking like a complete idiot, I grasp at my face and pull. Still the web sticks. It won't come off. It demands particular attention to each thread in order to free it from my person.

This is how I'm feeling about my divorce/my ex-husband. I keep trying to peel him and my painful past off, throw them on the ground and walk away. Still he clings to me, refusing to let go without a fight. I am ready to move forward, to think forward, to be happy, but the web refuses to let me go. lSome day soon, I think it/he will.

The Little Girl

The little girl in me is frightened. I realize that's partly what's bothering me. One minute she's afraid of G, that he will hurt her. The next minute she's playing nursemaid to the same person. And then there is the fear that he will die. After loving him for so many years, it doesn't just stop with a desire to not live with him. Indeed there is a fine line between love and hate. This little girl feels both toward this man/boy who has been in her life for so long. I'm driving his truck now, while my sister drives my car. A notice came in the mail from the bank where the loan is from. Will I walk out of work and have it gone because he hasn't paid the loan which is in my name? Will I get a call from my boys that the electricity is turned off at their house because he hasn't paid that bill? How much do I need to take responsibility for? They are my children even if they won't have anything to do with me. How do I handle this? How do I hate G and love him at the same time? My sister, is caring for him today. Did I accomplish much at work? No. I was too worried about him. I was too conflicted about him and my boys. I feel like my life is being totally sucked out of me. Nothing gets better. Instead of thinking, "It can only get better." I think, "It is only going to get worse. It will never get better." The little girl in me wants to crawl into a corner and hide. The little girl in me wants someone to make it all better. The little girl in me knows she can't do that, and that no one can make it all better. It will never be better.

Chaos of My Life

I feel like I am living in hell. Or like I am in a Twilight Zone and can't get out. Would everyone please turn off your TV's and maybe that will break the spell? The hardest part of all of this is my conflicted feelings about everyone and every situation. My sister is here and I can't even talk about my situation with Greg, with her. My child needs a place to stay and he won't stay with me because he's so angry and hateful toward me. My ex is playing the pity card to the max. and I really don't want to be around him. At least I don't feel obligated to go care for him now that he is a bit stable and coherent. My sister will do that. Isn't it ironic that his family hates me and they are not rushing to his bedside, but my sister and I have been? Isn't it ironic that his family hasn't decided what to do about his situation, but my sister and husband hopped in the car and drove here immediately? In many ways I feel sorry for my ex just because he comes from such a crappy family. He's never received what he should from them. But then I remember that neither did I receive what I should have from my family or from him. Life is soooo sooooo messy! We are all indeed, "Bozos on the bus."

I feel good about the fact that I don't feel responsible for my ex. He needed someone to advocate for him in a very terrible hospital for a couple of days. I helped then, but I am not feeling like I need to care for him. At least I have learned something through all this experience. Now if lightning would strike and tell me what to do about my middle child, I'd appreciate it.

How Can This Be?

I must blog today. My brain and heart hurt. I don't know if I'm panicking or sad, or both. My ex/husband, whatever he is, fell off a ladder yesterday and broke his pelvis and tail bone. I am furious with him! I am thinking he's done this in his subconscious to force me to care for him. I'm thinking that his grandfather, who my ex idolized, fell and broke his back in his 40's and wasn't able to work or earn a decent living for the rest of his life. I'm thinking that I can't stand to be in the room with him for more than 5 minutes! I'm thinking that he has no one, NO ONE to be at the hospital with him, to advocate for him, to care for him. I feel trapped in this mess of pain.

How to Make The Decision

My time is up. I have to make a decision this morning about whether to fight against the new hearing or not. I have no idea how to make that decision. Of course I want to fight it, but I don't really understand the court process enough to know what that means. Aaaaahhhh! Where is the wisdom? And don't comment that if I listen, God will tell me. God hasn't spoken to me in years.

A Walking, Talking Mask

My son graduated from high school today. He actually made it through, without flunking out or being arrested. For this I am grateful. Am I proud of him? No, not really. I feel guilty because I feel like I should feel proud. With all the speeches about success and the honors given out, I watched my son who won the highest honor in 6th grade, sit in the back with just the accomplishment of surviving and passing. My son who had wonderful grades until Jr. High. My son who suffered through years of his brother needing too much attention from us. My son, who decided to quit working hard in school in Jr. high, slid through by a hair. He makes no effort to take responsibility for his life. He is just like his father. He makes long lists of things he would like to do to be successful and well rounded. That's where it stops. Forgotten words on a sheet of paper to be found crumpled under the bed in 6 months when a sleeping bag is dug out for a campout. He blames everyone else for his own lack of action. My son... my firstborn... the one I had high hopes for from birth. Now I wonder if he will even start college, whether he will ever earn more than minimum wage. I wonder if he will be caught with drugs or alcohol and end up in prison. These are not the thoughts a mother cherishes. Still I smile and yell when his name is called out and he walks across that stage. I smile and take pictures with him on the lawn after the ceremony. All the outward signs of pride and joy in a family. It's too bad it's not real. I love him so much and my heart aches. I can do nothing to change him. I can do nothing to influence him right now. I can only watch and wait. This is not the deep desire of a mother's heart.

When my son graduated today. His grandparents, his father's parents came with his father and brother. They sat near by. They did not speak. They did not look my way. To them I don't exist. I've known and loved these two for 20 years. Now I don't exist to them or to my middle son. What makes people be so filled with hate and anger? Why do they have to hate me just because I don't love their son? Why does my middle son hate me so much when I tried so hard to help him? And yet I stand and smile. I say, "Hello," to a blank glance that sweeps away to avoid eye contact. My heart aches.

Yesterday, I found out my husband is contesting my divorce. He is so pleased with himself. He is giving me hell. He loves to give me hell. And so today he is nice. He converses politely. He asks to have a cooler from the attic for the party tomorrow. He asks if I am coming to the party. I tell him that I won't step foot into that hostile environment and hang up. What is there left to say? Why would he think I would want to be with people who hate me and ignore me? Does he think that tension would make my son happy? I speak politely and flatly. I am too angry to even express my anger. I feel like he's a spider and he's caught me in his web. I can't escape, no matter what I do. And yet he speaks politely. I answer politely. We are "divorced," parents going through the first major child event since our separation. We pretend.

Today my twin sister, who has been my best friend throughout my life is here. She and her family met me and my youngest at the zoo this afternoon. We do not speak of that fact that we have not spoken since April. We don't speak of the grudges we hold against each other. We smile, we hug, we say, "I love you." We talk about the animals, about the zoo, about our children. We go out to dinner. In the middle of the table is the elephant that is ignored. I can't tell her anything of my life now. She won't understand my lack of faith. She will only want to shove some fundamentalist, trite, comment in my face. I can't talk of my divorce disaster and the pain I suffer. She will tell my ex, which would make him so happy to know I suffer. She will yell at me again for calling my ex an addict. The elephant is strong, but my family tradition of denial is stronger. We all say nothing of any significance. We are year/miles/attitudes away from each other. We will never be the same again. I have grown away from her thinking and she will never accept that. She will never accept my anger at my ex. or my faith turmoil. Our loss of each other tears at my heart, and tears run down my face. It is over... that bond between us. And yet we laugh, we talk. To outsiders we all seem fine and happy. And yet I wonder who else sees my clenched jaw and feels the tension in the air.

Yesterday I lost another dear friend. He did not die. He left my life. I love him and I miss him. He was my confidante for quite a while. He was peace and hope in my life for a while. He is someone with whom I could be completely honest, when I could not be honest with anyone else. He was my safe harbor in this storm because I could be myself without him judging my thoughts and my feelings, about life, about my children, about my divorce, about my faith. Now he is gone. And yet I tell no one of my loss. They do not understand. Every time I mention a man's name, whether colleague or friend, to anyone I see worried looks in their eyes, and hear, "Don't rush into anything." They suspect that I might just commit the heinous crime of dating. And so I cannot tell them that I lost one of my best friends and it's killing me. I can't tell them of our friendship or our loss of it. They would not understand, and I don't think I could explain it. What will they do when/if I do start actually dating? In the meantime, I smile. I say I am okay. I pretend that nothing has happened.

Another friend asked me today. What makes you happy and what makes you sad. I told him a long list of the things that make me happy. What makes me most sad is ending relationships. My heart continues to ache. I feel like I have been at war, and maybe I have. The relationship casualties are high. There is a hole in my heart for the loss of each of these relationships. I wonder if there will be any heart left by the time all is said and done.

I smile. I act...... as if. I am a mask, a facade, a mirage, a ghost of my former self.

Illusions

So the light ahead turned out to be a train after all! It wasn't the sun! I'm so tired of this fire, I can barely move. My lawn needs mowed. My house needs cleaned. All I can do is sit. Too much loss to bear. I keep trying to move on. Honest! It just is not to be. The jerk is now contesting the divorce settlement. When the papers are filed, I will legally be married to the jerk again. I can't stand it! I'm going back to bed. When it's over, come get me!

Not really, I have a divorce to fight for. Now I will need to make all the drug use and mess of my life public (well, more public than it is,which isn't saying much since almost 200 people know my every move.). Anyway, I have this weekend to decide whether to fight it or not. He wants child support and a higher percentage of the house sale profit. I honestly want to help the boys, but the court standard is to pay 20% of my income, per child. And there is no way to arrange for paying bills directly. He gets cash. Like that will go to the kids' care! AAaaaaahhhhhh! I might have to get a second job. When the hell I'd work a second job is beyond my comprehension!

The fire rages on. There is almost nothing left of this phoenix to rise with. There are no treasures left in the ashes.

Finding Strength

Slowly, but steadily now, my strength is returning. My confidence is returning also. It's been a very long journey through this darkness, but I am beginning to see the sun rise. This coming week I face the ex-in-laws and my sister at my son's graduation. I've been thinking about this a lot, preparing for the pain ahead. Yesterday as I sat and wrote, for the first time in forever, I felt strong to face them all. I know that I have done the right things for my family no matter what they think. I'm learning to recognize my feelings and not react to their opinions and attitudes. I'm not afraid of my ex's response to the divorce, either. I knew he'd be angry. He is. He'll get over it eventually, and we can work out our child arrangements then.

Believe it or not, going back to work has helped. The people who have told me that they're glad I'm back, have strengthened me. I wish I didn't care so much about what others think, but I do. It's been a real boost to realize how much I care about my church friends and how much they care about me. I've learned the value of friends over and over again along this process. I'm learning to be a better friend to others. Still have a way to go on that, but I'm learning. I think most people think of friends as extra, that family comes first. They think, and I have thought, that family is always there and friends come and go. A few people who have little or no family realize how important friends are. I am learning more about that every day, and I'm amazed at how powerful and wonderful the bonds of friendship are.

Along the way this week, I am being reminded that I'm a pretty decent person with a lot of skills. So maybe all those "affirmations," I wrote for The Artist's Way really are true. Go figure! It's great to realize that after feeling like an idiot for a year.

I'm still a work in process. I'm still sifting through the ashes of my previous life, but at least my strength is being renewed. Life does not seem overwhelming. When I can get my jaw from clamping down all the time, I'll know that I am almost out of the fire.

Meetings

"It's been lovely, but now I have to scream!"
Bad Girl Art

Meetings must be the reason I'm paid so much!

Returning to Work

Today was my first day back in the office after my sabbatical. It felt familiar and yet odd to pull in the driveway, park my car and head for the door. I fumbled to find the correct key and of course chose the wrong one on my first attempt.

The women came today for Women's Circle. I greeted several of them as they entered the building. It was good to see them... at least most of them. (One, I could live without seeing for the rest of my life.) For the most part, I enjoyed seeing old friends. They invited me to join them for lunch. We chatted as we shared our meal. It felt right to be back with them.

They shared the saga of the raccoons in the church attic. We still have damage from that family of critters. I guess there was a momma and 5 babies living above our heads. Every spring and summer, we have a raccoon problem. The Coons usually outsmart us humans.

After lunch I returned to my office and my desk. I felt a bit odd. "What do I do with myself today? What do I usually do during the week? Can't plan worship yet, we have a meeting about that tonight." I wonder what in the world has been happening in my absence. Perhaps I need to read some emails and minutes of meetings.

My new administrative assistant comes in. We talk for an hour as she informs me of the happenings while I was away. Several people are angry about things that happened. That's not surprising. Other than that, business has rolled along. Worship has happened. Programs have run. Everyone is getting ready to head south to the beach in a couple of weeks.

I find it hard to focus.

And then I have the call from my ex-husband. He explodes over the phone and what little concentration I had, disappears. I decide that I need to head for my favorite hangout and write, after I pick up the kids. Oh well. Tomorrow will be another day.

Tomorrow I need to explain what I did on my sabbatical. I don't dare tell them that I basically spent the weeks recovering from depression, divorce and grief. I can't really explain that although I was trying to be "spiritually" fed, I still don't know what I believe. I'm still what they would call an agnostic. The sabbatical strengthened me. I don't think it is what they would have in mind, though. Yes, I have considered my faith continually. The best I can do right now is accept the fact that I don't know... that I will not know anything definite for awhile, and somehow, that's enough for now. Somehow that's okay. Tomorrow I'll write a summary that will hopefully clarify my weeks to both them and me. Maybe I'll find words to describe the journey which will not end.

I Remember Why I am Afraid

I remember why I am afraid of him. There are always consequences to pay. There is always anger that verges on physical abuse. There's intimidation by a bigger body yelling in my face with the force of a punch. I remember why I am afraid. There's the rage that comes with no warning. It explodes over big or small things. It comes after nice conversations and no conversations. I have never known when to expect it. This is why they call it "abuse."

I convince myself that it is stupid to be so intimidated. I convince myself that I'm making a big deal out of nothing, and then the rage hits. The rage is hitting now. It's coming in phone calls that I won't answer. It came in threats over the phone when he found out about the divorce. It came with a phone call from his attorney to my attorney. He is appealing the decree. He actually wants me to put money in his hands to spend as he wishes........ for the sake of the children! Right! He'll use it for them alright. And I just bought a bridge in Brooklyn!

My hope is that this is his momentary rage and we won't have to go to court to discuss my family's drug use in public. Life is just grand! I'm glad I grow stronger every day. I need it.

Fear

Why is it that I panic when the ex is angry? Why can't I do as they tell me to do, and take three deep breaths, and be calm. Why can't I be brave and just not respond. He's not married to me any more. He can't legally do anything to me. I used to hold my own through horrific tantrums. Now, he starts to yell and I go phobic! The adrenalin pumps. The heart races. I panic. I hang up the phone or leave his presence, but still I let him scare the hell out of me!

I don't want to respond like this. I want to remain calm. I hope I master that ability soon.

He just found out we are divorced. He's very angry. Why am I afraid of that? Why am I afraid of him?

"It's better to have loved and lost than to live with that psycho for the rest of your life." "It's better to have loved and lost than to live with that psycho for the rest of your life." "It's better to have loved and lost than to live with that psycho for the rest of your life..........."

I will breathe....

Bad Girl Art

It is better to have loved and lost than to live with that psycho for the rest of your life.

From: Bad Girl Art

Christians Tick Me Off!

For the past 5 weeks I've become very aware of the snobbery of Christians. Christians think they have "the" one and only answer." If you don't believe the way they do, you are just plain wrong. I've known that that is part of Christian belief. Most religions promote the idea that theirs is the ultimate truth and others are wrong. I think, but I could be wrong, that Buddhism is the only religion which doesn't believe that. My experience lately has put me on the receiving end of this attitude of Christians. They assume that everyone around them is Christian. (That part comes from the "Bible belt" mentality.) They impose their terminology and their agenda on the world around them. I've experienced this in line at the coffee counter; As I drive down the road and read bumper stickers; As I talk with my friends; As I talk with strangers in stores. What I have heard through these experiences is that if I don't believe like they do, it's really a matter of my ignorance, and if I just knew what they know, I would believe the same. Of course these people don't know with whom they speak. They don't know that I can talk circles around their Christian jargon and tell them what those words actually mean, and still not believe. They don't know that they are the ignorant ones in the conversation. (Sorry, as I've said, I'm a bit ticked off!)

I've also had the uncomfortable experience of having my Christian friends try to coerce me to believe. I know they mean well. They like me and they want me to regain the faith I've lost. I can't blame them for that. At the same time, I've noticed that when I explain one of my experiences, they will "translate" my words into "Christian," words. They get a twinkle in the eye and lean forward like they have just solved this mystery of my lack of faith and they want to share those magic words which will give it back to me. When I talk about this experience of going down into the fire and rising as the phoenix from the ashes, I get, "Oh! It's your resurrection! You're going to be great in ministry once you figure this out, because you'll be able to talk to people about their real struggles." If I wanted to use Jesus imagery, I'd use Jesus imagery. I don't need it translated for me. It makes me feel like a child whose just been patted on the head. "You'll be okay once you grow up and get the real perspective." I've always told people that if their faith doesn't match their experience in life, then it doesn't mean anything. It is worthless. Here I am, finding my faith doesn't match life and so...... Don't sugar coat it. "Once life is less painful, then you'll believe again." If it doesn't mean anything "in the trenches," then it doesn't mean anything.

I don't know what I will believe eventually. Just don't assume or patronize. And please don't do that to other people around you! It insults and hurts them.

Children: Always a Surprise

I've been sweating all afternoon about telling my children that their father and I are divorced. I went to my favorite hangout to write. Couldn't write. Wandered around. Called some people I hadn't told. Paced and waited for the big moments with my kids. My hands shook as I drove to the first school pick up. The kids are after all, the most important people in my life, even when they don't claim me. I planned how to stay safe with my most violent son. I thought I would take my oldest out for coffee to tell him. I would treat my youngest with an ice cream outing. It didn't turn out anything like I expected. My middle one just walked away from the car with an, "I don't know why you thought I'd care!" (Of course I'm not including the swear words that were interspersed with his, "meaningful" words.) I tried all afternoon to get my oldest to answer his phone. He wouldn't answer. He finally called me back, and he was at the mall with no transportation to meet me. He obviously had no desire to go out of his way to meet me, so I told him on the phone. He was very "matter of fact." "Okay." he said, or something like that. It was so inconsequential that I didn't even notice his words. I was in shock! So then when my youngest came home from school, I decided not to make such a big deal about it. I just told him. He said, "I thought that happened a long time ago. Can I go ride my bike now?"

So there you have it. Some things that carry great significance to us adults don't mean a thing to our children. Maybe we shouldn't worry about being honest with them, even when we think they will be upset by our words.

Tomorrow Morning... May 21... Divorced

Tomorrow morning my attorney and I go stand before a judge and present my final divorce decree, petition, whatever it's called. Tomorrow morning I meet with my attorney and then we wait our turn to stand before a perfect stranger and in a few simple minutes, I will be declared divorced. You may be still sleeping. You may be working at your desk. You might be getting your kids off to school. I will be declared, "Divorced." All the world proceeds as normal. My life will never be the same again. Of course none of our lives will ever be the same as they are each moment of each day. We think they will, but they won't.



Never thought I'd feel relieved and excited to be divorced! A year ago I was hysterical with the thought. I was frightened to death! A lot has happened in this year. I keep hoping that indeed with all this process I am a better person than I was before. I thought I'd be sad when the divorce date came, and I suppose I will be a bit sad. Right now, I am eager "to get it over with." I'm eager to be detached from the man I no longer love or hate. I just don't care about him. It's hard to believe that after 23 years. A week from tomorrow would have been our 21st anniversary. Interesting timing.



Just think... a total stranger talks with me and my attorney for a few minutes and makes a decision about me and my family's lives. There is no lengthy investigation. I'm sure that our story is the same as thousands who go through the "system." To the judge and to my attorney, it's just another divorce. And yet to me and my family it is "DIVORCE." We will offically no longer be a family as it has been known to us. It's odd how perspectives can be so different about the same events. It's odd how legal actions can mean so much.



Tomorrow I publish this. I dare not, tonight.

Cat on a Hot Tin Roof

It's hard to sit still tonight. I'll explain more tomorrow. For now, I'm full of energy and exhausted at the same time. Can't focus to accomplish anything. Feel like I just want to go to sleep and know that as soon as I lie down, my mind will keep going. Sure wish I could control my brain a bit more! My son is asleep early, so he hasn't kept me distracted at all. Need to clean my house and yet I just want to lie down! Oh,... the responses that anticipation causes in our bodies are strange. Why am I sleepy and hyper at the same time? Why can't my mind focus on what I'm doing? I know. I'm not living in the present. My mind is in tomorrow, yesterday and today. It's wearing me out. Obviously I haven't been practicing my yoga very well. Hmmm. Always more to learn. Always more to improve on.

Trying not to take that train

I'm working hard this morning. Trying not to take the guilt train. It's been my mode of operation for so many years, it's hard to say, "No." I make a decision, and feel good about it. Then my ex or my kids throw criticism my way and I start to cave. It's a major challenge to respond differently from my past. It's a good thing I have friends who remind me to stay off that southbound train toward guilt. Everyone should have friends who help them stay healthy. Wish I could do it for my self. Some day I will. Right now, it just feels oh so wrong. It's especially hard with my kids. But then, I think that's why they have turned out like they have. I've always jumped on that train and given in to their desires. This time I am staying strong and it feels like it'll kill them and me in the process. Some day I might be able to trust my gut feeling, but not right now. If I give in, it just might kill them and me.

I know, "Breathe, damnit! Breathe!"

Swimming Upstream

Does it ever get better? Does it ever get easier? I keep asking that question, hoping to get a "Yes," for the answer. So far, the answer is always, "No." I don't understand why I'm always swimming upstream. I might have a good few days, but it always comes to "one step forward and two steps back." I'm soooo tired. I'm soooo sad. Is there no relief for my soul?

Done with Happy for the Day

Went to the grocery store, figuring that I'd be one of the few there. I thought those of us who have nothing to celebrate today would be there on our own. We could share a bit of camaraderie. I was terribly wrong! Families were all over the place, buying dinner items for their mothers, Mother's Day balloons, flowers. It was disgusting! I spent another shopping trip hiding behind sunglasses, trying to decide if I wanted to throw up or throw something at someone. People who have lousy Mother's Days should just bar their doors and not see anyone. I have learned my lesson! It's too depressing. When the clerk at the checkout asked me if I wanted a Mother's Day balloon, I almost answered, "If I had someone to buy one for, or someone to buy one for me, I'd already have it in my grubby little hand. Since I do not, then obviously I don't want one! Ask me again and I'll tell you what to do with those balloons." Instead I said, "No, thank you."

Aaahhhh! I've tried to convince myself that today would be okay...that I just returned from a wonderful vacation, and there's really nothing to be sad about. Can't fool me! Denial just doesn't seem to work for me as well as it used to. May no one else wish me a "Happy Mother's Day!"

Happy Mother's Day!

Happy Mother's Day To Me! Mother's Day is a day full of emotions for many people. Those of us who have older children recall the wonder of their births and the special times together through the years. I remember:

my sons playing songs on their armpits after dinner on the back porch.

S. being sick for his first 2 years.

when E. learned to walk.

sledding at the cemetery and wishing it were closer to home.

A. looking like a little old man when he was a toddler.

E's green birthday cakes every year.

S. being sick as an infant and toddler.

giving them each their first haircut when they turned one.

S. not having enough hair to cut.

playing charades after dinner on the back porch and every animal slithered on the ground.

S. seeing the mysterious lady who "wasn't there" when we walked through the church.

E. drawing all over the pulpit and carpet with a permanent purple marker.

A. drawing on the newel post and signing his name because, "All real artists sign their names."

the wonderful smell of baby heads.

cuddling for hours with each of them as newborns.

sleepless nights through numerous ear infections.

A. and E. sliding down the stairs in hampers.

walking the creek beds, looking for "treasures."

Somewhere inside each of them

is the boy who played, laughed, and cried

whose problems were mostly solved by band aids and hugs.

A Rainy Day at the Beach is Better Than....

Loving the beach! There is something totally mesmerizing about the waves rolling in. I try to think while I walk. Soon, my mind is numb and I'm looking at shells. There's just something about the repeated pattern of the water that hypnotizes me. It's wonderful to be forced to live in the present moment... To only think about how far the next wave will come in...to only think about the pretty shell calling my name! Having so much on my mind and so much grieving to do, I love how the waves wash my thoughts away. We walk at least 2 times a day, sometimes alone and sometimes with company. Even with company we are alone in our minds. Rolling, rolling. the waves pound the shore. The sound is almost as regular as static on a bad radio station. I would say that the symbolism of the waves is to wash us clean, but this is not clean water. Brown foam collects along the shore. We've had storms all week, so the waves are high and turbulent. The water is brown.

Awash in a Sea of Tears

Last night I broke. My heart "broke open." The tears flowed for hours. It felt good to bathe in grief... to release more pain of loss... My heart is heavy about my child.

I regret that I wasn't a better parent.
that I didn't do enough to help him figure himself out when he was younger.
that I didn't leave his father when he was younger.
that I didn't realize his father's anger was abuse.
that I didn't see his depression and treat it when he was younger.
I regret.

I'm angry that after all I've done to help him, he has turned from me.
that the child whom I love has now turned against me.
that the smile that lights a room is never seen because he is determined to self-destruct.
that the opportunity we had for getting him help was sabotaged by his father.
that after giving my life to him, he is treating me so horribly.
I'm angry.

I worry that he will harm himself while he seeks to find his way.
that he will harm someone else while he seeks his path.
that he will lose his way and forget who he truly is.
that he will never come out of his sea of depression and that he will drown in it.
that he will die as a result of his own behavior.
I worry.

The tears of anger, worry, and regret flow. These are not the end of the tears with his name on them, but they are awash in the many years of tears for him. I am grateful for their healing. I am grateful that they are releasing my pain.

The Beach

Been walking the beach at least 2 times a day since we arrived on the coast. It's amazingly beautiful. Of course I've been collecting sea shells. Can't resist them. I'm addicted to looking down as I walk, seeking the perfect shells. I keep trying to keep my eyes on the horizon, but I think it's almost too much to take in for very long. It's like looking into eternity. After awhile you have to look at something more concrete, something that you can touch, something that makes sense on a smaller scale.

As I collected shells today, I thought about these great patches of beach with thousands of shells. They are like elephant grave yards. They are the sea creature grave yards. Once the animals die, their shells wash up on the shore where we find them and take them to put on a shelf somewhere. They're also like abandoned houses that have been washed up from the sea to our realm. I keep playing with the metaphors, hoping to find some wisdom in the process. I keep thinking that it must be obvious, these gifts of shells and wisdom. The shells are obvious. The wisdom lies hidden beneath the waves and the sand. I wonder what we are to learn from it all.

Children Can Drive Me to Drink

Yesterday, I spent the day trying to figure out what to do about my two older boys. Have I done enough? Do I need to do more to intervene in their lives? How do I not feel guilty if I don't try something else? On and on it went, but I was determined to make a decision. Finally I wrote in my journal and realized that I don't just want them to go into drug treatment. I want them to gain self confidence, and feel loved and lovable. I thought long and hard on this and decided that helping them feel loved is something I can do. I can stay connected with them by sending text messages, cards, notes of encouragement. I can give them little gifts like candy bars, etc. I felt really pretty good about this decision, even though I expected to get no response from them. So I texted each of them with a different message. Two minutes later, I received this text: "Fuck you bitch! Don't ever text me again" Did I blog that I'm planning to spend some time grieving the loss of my children this week? That text sent me right to the heart of my sadness. It's a "damned if you do and damned if you don't situation." He's a child that only a mother would be crazy enough to love.

Breathing

At birth we take our first breath. At birth we automatically start a process that lasts a lifetime. Inhale... exhale...inhale....exhale. We don't even have to think about it: inhale... exhale...inhale...exhale. The only time we think about our breath usually, is when we are sick...When inhaling becomes a burden. How many nights does it take sleeping in a chair to be able to lie down and still breathe? My youngest panics when his nose clogs up. He yells, "I can't breathe!" I say, "Yes you can. Open your mouth." " But then my mouth dries out." "Yes, but you can breathe!" Not being able to breathe is scary... for all of us. I'm even a bit claustrophobic about swimming. I've been swimming allll my life! Thrown in the pool as a toddler and haven't stayed out since. But I'm smart enough to have figured out that humans can't breathe under water. A few dunking battles with bigger cousins taught me that! Been intimidated ever since. Let's face it. Breathing is important!

I've been with several people as they died. It's the breath that counts, the breath that tells us life or death. It's the breath that loved ones gather and watch. Inhale.....exhale...............inhale.........exhale...................................inhale............exhale. Each long pause before an inhale causes everyone in the room to halt their own breath. Is this it? Is this the moment when she dies? It's almost torture to watch and wait. Sometimes we pray that there won't be another inhale, that death will finally come. We do this not because we want the person to die, but because we can't stand the suspense any longer. We want our own suffering to be over. It's like a 6 hour suspense movie. At some point you can't take it any more. You just want it to resolve! You want it to be over! And some people continue for days with long pauses between breaths. By the time death comes, everyone is relieved that breathing has stopped.

Since a year ago, when I first jumped into the fire of change, I've been struggling to breathe. Honestly, I forget to breathe. Suddenly I realize that I've been holding my breath... taking short, quick ones only when necessary. And then come the long sighs. My ex used to ask me what was wrong when he heard me sighing. He knew I was stressed when I sighed. There is also the sighing that comes from reliving good memories and holding my breath. I haven't done that with him since we broke our bed the first year of marriage. There are times when I sit and relive a really great moment. That's when the good sighs come... when a smile creeps across my face and I realize that I've been a "million miles away," reliving something extraordinary. Those are my favorite sighs. Who doesn't like those? Of course I haven't had those in many months. Even the good memories come with the pain of loss.

Breathing, in and out, in and out. The doctor tells you to breathe normally or take a deep breath. Breathe. For the past year, people have reminded me, "Breathe, S, breathe!" "Take a breath!" "Breathe. You'll be okay." I guess it doesn't take long to be around me before seeing that I've forgotten this necessity of life. It comes in fits and starts. I pause. I hold my breath. I give myself headaches from clenching my teeth and holding my breath. In and out, in and out, it's supposed to go. Mine's more like in.............out, in, out,....iiiinnnnn...........oooooouuuutttt.

I'm taking breathing lessons now. Yes, I've had to start taking breathing lessons. It's called yoga. I think I'm the worst in the class. Two times a week I practice....in......... out.........in..........out. Deep, even breaths, using my diaphragm. It seems like I'm always exhaling when I'm supposed to be inhaling. I double time it, and then have to slow down. I don't breathe. I just hold my breath. It's embarrassing. The hardest thing about yoga for me, is not the odd positions and stretches. I'm a former gymnast and even though I'm not as limber as I used to be, I can do almost everything they've taught, except the breathing! I'm flunking breathing! Breathing is the thing that we do automatically, right? so why can't I do it?

A friend and I have an ongoing message to each other, "Breathe damnit! Breathe!" Yes, it's good to have a companion with the same issue. I don't feel quite so stupid. Perhaps by the time I return from my trip to the ocean, I'll remember to breathe and I can focus on helping him. Most likely I'll relearn to breathe, and forget when I walk in the door of my home. For all of us who are stressed, "Breathe damnit! Breathe!"

Back into the Fire

I realize I've been staying way too busy, trying to avoid the internal/emotional/spiritual work I need to be doing. Started reading a wonderful book, recommended by a wonderful friend, called, "Broken Open," by Elizabeth Lesser. If you have a crisis, big or small, read this book! It's amazing! It's about using our difficult times to learn and grow. Her understanding, which fits my life experience totally, is that sometimes we can't stand the pain and so we jump into the flames on our own. Sometimes we're forced into the fire by life circumstances. In any case, we need to learn to let some things, maybe even all things in our lives/our selves die. We need to let the fire burn away the things that are unhealthy or hindering our lives, that keep us from fully living. And like the phoenix, we will rise from the ashes. We will be more loving, softer, less judgemental, healthier people, with better lives. I'm loving the imagery of the jumping off into the fire. I have chosen that path after resisting it for too many years. And frankly, today I'm tired of the fire. I want that rising from the ashes to happen NOW! It's not going to happen though. I've realized while reading this week that I still have a lot to let go of and a lot to learn. It seems like I've been in the fire forever, and yet there is more that needs burned away... more that I need to release... more that I need to consider as to whether it needs released or not. I guess I don't let go easily, and don't realize how much I need to release. Tomorrow I leave on "vacation." I'm realizing that I am going to jump right back into the hottest flames with this trip. It's going to be a tissue box trip! I don't want to, but I've come to the end of my busy-ness at home. There will be nothing but sand, waves, and hopefully sun to entertain me for a week. There will be no TV. I am taking books, my journals, my yoga and myself into a week of meditation, pondering, wrestling, and hopefully releasing. I have a joy/dread attitude. What will I discover about life this week? What will I love and what will I hate? Will I have faith and what will it look like? Will I be able to let go of my boys who will not be controlled? Who will I love and who will I let go of. Even this week, I've realized that I don't say, "No," to people when that is what I need to do. I don't take care of myself and I commit to people who "poison my pond." At least I'm becoming more aware of doing it. Now it would be nice to realize that before I make commitments! Since keeping commitments is one of my pet peeves, it will work a lot better if I just don't make ones that I don't want to keep. I made two such bad commitments, just today! Aaaaahhh! Practice. Practice. Practice.

Ponderings After a Full Day

It's good to be too busy to think on a day that makes you sad. I drove to yoga and as I drove, the tears surfaced. I couldn't stop them. They just came. Tears for all the major losses over the past year. (How do people who've been committed for 50+ years, ever survive their partner's death?) Tears for A. and tears for E, and tears for T. and tears for S. Even tears for my ex, I guess. At least tears for the life I kept hoping we'd have some day. Tears for my faith which no longer exists as it did. Tears for my dreams of wonderful ministry which I realize is not going to ever happen in my denomination's churches.

It would be nice to be done grieving. Can I be done soon? I feel like a child put in "time out." "Can I come out now?" "Isn't my time up?" Some days I think I'm done, and then there are days like today, when it takes moving at 90 mph to keep from sinking into total despair for the day. A day which took complete focus of yoga to keep from crying more. A day when a massage took every ounce of courage and concentration to relax. A day when a lunch with great friends kept me laughing and eating more than I have ever eaten in one meal. All to keep distracted. To keep the mind busy. And then an immediate trip to meet another friend followed by skeet shooting, then dinner out with my youngest son. It's been a full day alright........And what happened when I was done and headed home? What happened in the 15 minuts I was home to change clothes and go out again? I cried. What else would I do? Happy Birthday to me! Wahoo! I love my friends and I love that so many people tried to keep me happy today. It took practically a whole army of them. Still, the losses haunt me.... At least I made it through this day and don't have to face another birthday until next year.

Tomorrow is my birthday

Wahoo! Tomorrow, I get to claim one more year. This past year seems like it was ten years long, so I can't really complain that it counts for just one. My body screams that it has aged 10 years though! I look like one of our former presidents. You know what I mean. They age at lightning speed while in office. (Except George W. He's too stupid to get stressed.) Gray hair has doubled. The wrinkles on the face are deep now. No hiding them! I think I have permanent frown lines rather than smile lines. If I'd quit clenching my jaw, it would help. No matter how I think I feel, I know I'm still stressed because my jaw is clamped tight. I took one of those true age tests. Did pretty well, even with the smoking, until I came to the stress questions. I think it said I should be dead. Just kidding, sort of. Only 8 years older than I actually am! I went from 10 years younger than I am to 8 years older, all in a couple of questions. Isn't that great news? I keep hoping the yoga will help. Maybe it will eventually. I do feel a bit better. Still.... it does not look good, and neither do I.

If It Weren't For Bad Luck...

I swear, if it's not one thing, it's another! My car was hit while it was parked Sat. night. Of course the driver did not leave any information on my windshield! Of course not! I'm sooooo pissed! My insurance is already dropping me because of my son's two accidents. I can't blame them, I wouldn't cover me either. Of course that son no longer lives with me or speaks to me, but they don't know that and probably don't care. Yea! Now I get to figure out how to get that "blood out of a turnip," to repair the car. The hood is folded and the lights is all smashed. It looks minor, but you know that any body work costs at least a thousand! Damn!

Raising my Ebenezer

Never knew what that word ebenezer meant even though I've sung it all my life. It's in the 2nd verse of "Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing." Of course I never even thought to look it up. A couple of years ago a friend of mine told me that ebenezers are the rock alters that the Israelites built to God. They were signs to remind them later of God's mighty act in that particular place.

Today I raised an ebenezer. Not to God. But I cleaned out my garden in the back. It was full of rocks that my ex, the kids and I have collected. Most of it was rock that my ex picked up from a rock collector who wanted to be rid of them. I love rocks. All sorts of rocks. I love the line from "A River Runs Through It." "Under the river are rocks from the basement of time, and under the rocks are voices, and some of the voices are theirs." Anyway, the rocks my ex collected were mostly little, pretty rocks. They of course had to be displayed all around the gardens. These little rocks did nothing for the landscape. They just looked odd, placed there haphazardly. Kind of like so many things in my marriage: haphazard, out of place, looking chaotic. So today I started pulling them out of my gardens. I called my ex and asked him if he wants them. He said he did, so I started building my ebenezer, a damn pile of rocks in the middle of the walkway. With each rock I threw on the pile, I thought about the years of living in that chaos. I remembered. Like the ancient ebenezers, I remembered. Not grace and founts of blessing, but pain. It felt good to pull these rocks out of my life and pile them up to be carted away. Each rock represented some sort of chaos and pain. Each rock was removed from my life, and hopefully will never return. As I piled those rocks the old song rang through my mind. (A great gift from my mother is that I recall old songs for just about every occasion.)

"Sorrowing I shall be in spirit, Till released from flesh and sin,
Yet from what I do inherit, Here Thy praises I’ll begin;
Here I raise my Ebenezer; Here by Thy great help I’ve come;
And I hope, by Thy good pleasure, Safely to arrive at home."

Now I don't really believe all that, but it did raise my spirits. I thought, wouldn't it be great to come to the end of this pain and be able to say, "Here by Thy great help I've come." Maybe I'm not a total cynic. Maybe I am. It just feels good to have some hope. It feels good to think that maybe there is a god.

One Quick Gripe

I've spent a whole day gathering the final information for my divorce decree to send to the attorney. A WHOLE DAY, driving from one town to another. I thought it would take about an hour. Now I can't get the gd ex to give me the simple vin no. on the vehicle he's driving. The one that he's supposed to get in the decree! It all needs to go in the mail today!! Today!!! It's now 1 hr and 8 min until the post office closes. Damn him! "I'm busy right now." "I'm in a meeting." "I have to go to bed now." "I have to take care of the kids now." Damnit! Now I have to go to where my son works, meet him, and get the vin number if he'll let me. My therapist and my yoga instructor are teaching me to breathe in stressful situations. Here's my first pop quiz. Can I breathe enough to stay calm, and talk rationally? This quiz is hard. I hate it!

Being Loved

It appears that several people I know have taken it upon themselves to make sure that I feel loved and am well entertained while I'm on sabbatical. I have been out to dinner twice, have been given lessons, have been invited on a vacation, have been invited to go out to a bar to celebrate, have been invited to go to a play, was invited to travel to homes out of state for visits, was given a trip to a museum, and was offered the use of a bicycle. There are probably some other things I'm forgetting. It would be a shame to forget any of them. Every few days my phone rings with another offer. Oh... and a friend wants to come help me reorganize my house now that my older children are gone. And another gave me money to spend "just on yourself! No bills or kids!" How much love can one person stand? Wow! If my goal for my sabbatical is to feel loved, I'm done now! It actually is to learn to love myself as much as my friends love me, so that I can maybe feel God's love, if God exists. I am well on my way. And there are a few more of my friends with whom I want to spend time. I need to call and invite them to join me. It's mostly wonderful to have so many people want to spend time with me. Wow! I have never been in such high demand. I guess I've never had so much unstructured time. These friends are my family. They are carrying me through.
Next week, when it's my birthday and my twin and I are estranged, I will try to remember that my friends are the ones who have been most supportive. My friends are the ones who have loved me through it all, without criticism. Next week, on my birthday, friends are taking me to have a massage and then to lunch. They will be my family. Jesus always talked about not worrying about blood lines. It's hard to really live that since some friends come and go throughout out lives. I hope I can be a good enough friend to them that my current ones are part of my life for the rest of my life. They are wonderful!