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.