I just looked back and read a couple of entries I made at the beginning of January 2012, and although I had some sadness and worry, I sounded pretty optimistic about being able to move forward in life, to continue to work on finding the missing pieces and putting them in place. I think I managed to stay that way for a few months, but then slipped again. Ok, so perhaps that was progress, right? A slip isn't an end. So, time to get back up, and continue on this journey. Before I do that though, I need to look back. I need to see where I began the slip, and where exactly I am now . . . .
January
Signed up for catechism classes at St. Mark Catholic Church. I went forward with converting from being Episcopalian to Catholic. I began the classes at the beginning of the month, and my cousin's wonderful wife, Elizabeth, was my sponsor. This was one of the most "right" things I did this year. I felt positive, excited, and completely open to what was coming my way.
February
An old friend of mine had been out of work for several months, and was really in a bind for a place to live. I was happy to be able to offer the guest room to this person for a couple of months while he worked on relocating and finding a job. I couldn't imagine NOT doing it for a friend who needed help. Within 3 days of moving in, he had a job, and was on his way to being able to change his situation around. I was thrilled for him.
March
March included a wonderful trip to New Orleans and Mississippi. Spring break fell just at the right time to make it to NOLA for the Metairie Rd. St. Patrick's Parade. It had been 30 years since I'd been to a parade!! I loved it! There is nothing like a NOLA parade! Since I was traveling by myself, I took time to work on some photography, and to do and see what I wanted. After New Orleans, I drove up to Vicksburg, Mississippi. On the drive up there, I realized that what I was taking pictures of were places and things that were falling apart. It was a subconscious focus. I think it reflected my continuing to find beauty in imperfection. My life was certainly imperfect. Certain areas had a weak foundation, a roof falling in, broken windows, etc. But, what life doesn't include these things? We are all imperfect, and live imperfect lives, but they are beautiful in their own unique ways. On this trip, I was also able to spend a little time with an old friend from high school, which was wonderful! Thanks Sam! I returned from this trip feeling revived, relaxed and ready for what was coming next.
April
What was coming next, was Ethan finally coming home from the POST Rehab Program he'd been in at the juvenile detention center for just about a year. It had been a very long year, but I had high hopes for him, and again, he was in a better place than ever before. His homecoming coincided with my confirmation into the Catholic Church, and it all felt like a new start for us. I was optimistic.
May
May brought the culmination of a horrible work environment, and I decided that it was bad enough for me to have the guts to write to the principal. I was tired of the bullying, verbal abuse, lying, etc. that I, and many others were dealing with. I'd had it, and figured that if I wasn't wanted there, I would go elsewhere. At the same time, I was working hard to keep myself, my family, and a group of very at-risk kids together for graduation. By the end of May, it all fell apart. Ethan had relapsed. As I later discovered, he had really been relapsing since his furloughs in February, on alcohol. They didn't test for that when he returned to the detention center. His "friends" were sneaking it to him. I was blind. He admitted that he had been on a 4 day meth binge. Although he came forward with the admission, and seemed ready to face it, at the last minute, he decided to run away.
June
June began with Ethan gone. I was terrified that while he was gone, he would overdose. I was frantic to find him, but he managed to find people to hide him out, at least for a while. I was a wreck trying to wrap up the school year and make it though graduation. On top of Ethan missing, Gertie decided to run off. That was all Asa could take. Seeing him hurt was all I could take, and I finally crawled into my bed and stayed there for a couple of days. Then, I got a call that Ethan had been picked up. Amazing relief!! Just knowing he was alive and safe was all I needed. Still no Gertie, but Ethan was alive.
This allowed me the freedom to head to New Orleans a week later, for my 30th high school reunion! Oh how I needed that!!! Also, a day or two after I left home, Gertie returned!! Ok. Ethan was locked up, but safe, and Gertie was home. Time to relax and have fun, and I did. I love my Riverdale family! Just a great weekend, and lots of smiles. Perfect!
July
Remember the friend I had welcomed into my home when he needed a place to stay for a couple of months? Well, by July, he had quit the job he had, and was doing nothing but sitting around all day drinking. Nope, not going to have that. He had become increasingly controlling, and the situation became more and more uncomfortable. I'd offered a room, and certainly didn't offer myself up to be controlled in my own house. It all came to a head just after July 4th, and I said it was time for him to go. I was sad with how it had turned out, but hadn't expected him to be there that long, and certainly hadn't expected him to not help out financially when he was working, but he didn't. It was just a sad ending, and I don't know where or what became of him since then. And, when I discovered a few things shortly after, I really wished I had turned him out earlier. Ethan confessed to me that this friend had been having him help him get drugs. Wait, what? He asked my drug addict son to find him coke and meth??? I'm still furious. Not only that, but he was aware of Ethan doing drugs again, and didn't tell me. And, he brought this crap into MY home, which he was living in for free, with MY children???!!! Good riddance!
The bright spots of July were Asa turning 13 (another teenager!!), and my annual West University Elem reunion in Houston. Those were happy events. :)
August
Ok, bad person out of the house, Ethan still locked up but safe, Asa is good, we're back on track. I then received a small grant to go do some research on Jews in the South, and had another opportunity to go back to Mississippi. Most of the research was in Natchez, and I met some wonderful people in the process. Also, got to hang out in Vicksburg and Jackson a bit. It was good to do something productive and fun. Good trip before heading back to work again.
Work started up again, and it wasn't as bad as the previous year. The main problem had moved on. Better atmosphere, and high hopes again.
There was just one little problem. Remember the friend I had asked to leave in July? Well, he hadn't returned, so that was fine, but something else had disappeared with him. My July rent money, $1,400! What??? Another hurdle to jump. A big one for me!
September
Nothing unusual, that I remember at least.
October
Ethan came home after 4 months in the relapse program. This time, he was in a very different frame of mind . . . a great place!! He'd matured, he'd passed his GED test (99% on the writing!), and he was ready to move forward for real this time. October was a great month with him. Asa and I were happy to have him home, and there was peace in our lives. We were together again, and it felt good. It felt like we just might be able to do it this time.
November
Started out with the news that I needed a hysterectomy, and soon! Great! Oh, and because it's considered day surgery, even though they kept me over night, I was informed that it all had to be paid for up front!!!! Whatever, not much I can do about it, figure out a way, and get the surgery done. It was scheduled for the week of Thanksgiving, and Mom came up to help me out for the week. There were many complications involved in the actual surgery, but it was done. The following week, Ethan hit what we learned to recognize as his manic phase. He was good for about 5-6 weeks, then hit a manic phase where he craves reckless behavior. This lasts for about 10 days. Unfortunately, during those 10 days, he did enough damage to get himself locked up again in early December.
December
By now you're probably wondering if there was any good news in 2012. Well, not much, but what was good, was really good. My confirmation, March in NOLA and Mississippi, 30th high school reunion, research in Mississippi, my West Univ. Elem reunion, the good couple of months total that I had with Ethan, and the many, many wonderful days with Asa were all good points. It wasn't all bad, but there was a lot of bad. By December, I was beyond exhausted with all of it. I was pathetic. Depressed. Hopeless. Done. Then, my friends kicked my butt back into gear, at least as much as possible, and I made it through Christmas. I owed it to Asa, even if I didn't feel it. Now, it's New Year's Eve, and I can't wait for this year to be done. I've had enough of it. There are some heavy things weighing on me as I close out this year, but I'm digging as deeply as I can to find some of that hope and faith I used to feel so strongly. One thing I absolutely KNOW about this year . . . .there's no way I would have made it though without the amazing love and support of my family and friends. In the end, I'm blessed. The trials teach me, and I hope I learn the right lessons from them. I'm trying, and I know I can never fail as long as I've got the foundation I've been fortunate to have in my life.
2013 MUST be better! I'm going to look forward to it :)
Monday, December 31, 2012
Saturday, December 1, 2012
Ode to Spare Parts
spare/spe(ə)r/
| Adjective: |
| |
| Noun: |
| |
So, I'm thinking about the spare parts we have in the body. Why did we come with spare parts? To define the term here, I mean parts that aren't really necessary, or that a person can easily live without. They are parts which perform certain functions, but without them, the body still works. For instance:
1. The tonsils: their primary purpose is to be the first line of defense against foreign pathogens. The reality is though, that most people have them removed early on because they get inflamed, cause ear infections, etc. So, out they go. Not needed, in fact, often better off without them. Spare part. No need to keep it in the junk drawer.
2. The gallbladder: aids mainly in fat digestion and concentrates bile produced by the liver. The problem with the gallbladder is that it sometimes likes to grow things, gallstones. When gallstones are present, and the gallbladder decides to do it's extra little function job, the stones produce the most horrible, excruciating pains!!! When stones are present, the gallbladder has to go. Not needed. It was a helpful little part, but we really don't need it in the junk drawer once it grows things. One thing to consider though, is that if you have a cholecystectomy, you can no longer be accused of having too much gall.
3. The ovaries: Ok, so yes, they do serve a primary function. However, once a woman reaches the end of her childbearing years, or the desire to bear children, we can do without one or both of them if needed. So, if it also decides to grow things, it's got to go too. Still have a spare. Besides, the tubes have already been tied, so really not any need.
4. Breast reduction: Sure, I've got some to spare. Please, take it.
5. The uterus: well, it did a wonderful job of growing a couple of big babies, but it has served it's purpose. Let's face it. I'm almost 50, my tubes are tied, I only have one ovary, and the chances of immaculate conception are pretty slim. Besides, even if it did happen, I really don't need any more drama in my life. So, following the pattern of previous spare parts, it decided to grow big too. Time to go!!
There are other parts we can live without, like the appendix, one kidney maybe, the spleen, the eyes, even the testes (sorry guys), etc. But I think I've been cleaning out my junk drawer pretty well. Like I said earlier, you never really need those spare parts until you throw them out, so I'm thinking I'll hang on to my other ones for a while. Just in case. However, the bottom line here is that at least all I've had to deal with are SPARE parts. I see that as a blessing.
4. Breast reduction: Sure, I've got some to spare. Please, take it.
5. The uterus: well, it did a wonderful job of growing a couple of big babies, but it has served it's purpose. Let's face it. I'm almost 50, my tubes are tied, I only have one ovary, and the chances of immaculate conception are pretty slim. Besides, even if it did happen, I really don't need any more drama in my life. So, following the pattern of previous spare parts, it decided to grow big too. Time to go!!
There are other parts we can live without, like the appendix, one kidney maybe, the spleen, the eyes, even the testes (sorry guys), etc. But I think I've been cleaning out my junk drawer pretty well. Like I said earlier, you never really need those spare parts until you throw them out, so I'm thinking I'll hang on to my other ones for a while. Just in case. However, the bottom line here is that at least all I've had to deal with are SPARE parts. I see that as a blessing.
Monday, October 15, 2012
And on the seventh day . . . .
As we sat in the waiting area tonight, waiting for family counseling, I commented to Ethan that it was our one week anniversary. He's been home a week today.
The difference between the Ethan who came home from a year in the rehab program at the detention center, and the Ethan who came home from the relapse program, is astonishing!! He made more progress in those additional four months than he has in four years. This is a blessing. It's been a quiet, peaceful, enjoyable week.
So, on the seventh day, . . . . I rest.
I rest in my faith, and my hope, and my belief that Ethan will continue to move forward. Will it always be smooth? Certainly not. Will there be setbacks? Definitely. Can we weather them? I believe we can, and I have faith that we will. I hope for the best for his future, but I have faith that he will attempt to walk the road. I feel better about my son's future today, than I have in years. Being able to say that means a great deal. Each day is a struggle, but I'll take each of his days one day at a time.
Throughout the ordeals of the past four years, Asa has grown from a 9 year old frightened child, into a 13 year old much notably more confident young man. His patience and understanding has been a golden touch to everything. He is good. He is strong. He is happy. And, he has learned!!
Throughout the ordeals of the past four years, and several before that, I have learned an amazing amount about myself. For many years, it seemed like life was just going to be one big crisis after another. A never ending cycle. For the last week, that cycle has ceased. I'm grateful. I see the light at the end of the tunnel for each of us, . . . . yes, even for myself. It's getting brighter. Keep coming!!
So, on the seventh day, I rest.
I rest in my faith, in my many blessings, in the peace of my home, in the smiles of my boys, in the lounging of my cat, in the knowledge that we are all survivors, in the blanket of love that has held me together, and in seeing a brighter day.
Rest.
The difference between the Ethan who came home from a year in the rehab program at the detention center, and the Ethan who came home from the relapse program, is astonishing!! He made more progress in those additional four months than he has in four years. This is a blessing. It's been a quiet, peaceful, enjoyable week.
So, on the seventh day, . . . . I rest.
I rest in my faith, and my hope, and my belief that Ethan will continue to move forward. Will it always be smooth? Certainly not. Will there be setbacks? Definitely. Can we weather them? I believe we can, and I have faith that we will. I hope for the best for his future, but I have faith that he will attempt to walk the road. I feel better about my son's future today, than I have in years. Being able to say that means a great deal. Each day is a struggle, but I'll take each of his days one day at a time.
Throughout the ordeals of the past four years, Asa has grown from a 9 year old frightened child, into a 13 year old much notably more confident young man. His patience and understanding has been a golden touch to everything. He is good. He is strong. He is happy. And, he has learned!!
Throughout the ordeals of the past four years, and several before that, I have learned an amazing amount about myself. For many years, it seemed like life was just going to be one big crisis after another. A never ending cycle. For the last week, that cycle has ceased. I'm grateful. I see the light at the end of the tunnel for each of us, . . . . yes, even for myself. It's getting brighter. Keep coming!!
So, on the seventh day, I rest.
I rest in my faith, in my many blessings, in the peace of my home, in the smiles of my boys, in the lounging of my cat, in the knowledge that we are all survivors, in the blanket of love that has held me together, and in seeing a brighter day.
Rest.
Tuesday, October 2, 2012
Payday fantasies . . . .
Every month, between the 20th and 25th, I engage in a remarkably fabulous fantasy life!! It's stimulating, exhilarating, fulfilling, and satisfying. It's wonderful!
Let me explain . . . .
My fantasy is that when that monthly paycheck comes, I will be able to pay every single bill in full, I will be able to buy all those things I've run out of and need, and I will be able to fully stock the fridge and the freezer. For the last 25 years of my career in education, I have been paid on a monthly basis. You'd THINK at some point I'd reach a method of stretching that one check out over the course of the month, but it's just never worked out that way. One problem with monthly pay is that at times, it's a FIVE WEEK pay period instead of just four weeks. And then, to add insult to injury it's nearly SIX weeks between the December and January pay!! So . . . I fantasize.
Today is October 2nd. I got paid a week ago. That monthly euphoria hit, and I went crazy! Crazy I tell you!! I paid the electric bill, the cable bundle thing, the cell phones, rent, the water bill, the car insurance, filled the car up, and filled the fridge too. It was heavenly! The excitement lasted an entire week!!! I even took Asa out to eat one night. Frivolous, I know. And now . . . .
we wait. For three weeks, we will wait to experience the thrill again.
It's so strange how accustomed we've all grown to it over the years. I know I'm no different from thousands of others out there, and if they're lucky, they're better at stretching than I am. I'm actually not whining here. Really!! I'm fortunate to have a job. I'm even more fortunate to have a job doing what I love, even more so, to know exactly what it is that I love doing. I mention this tonight because sometimes the pattern just strikes me, and I think, "Leigh, when the hell are you ever going to figure this out?" My response is always, "Face it, you never will."
I think I'm right. I'll never figure it out. I didn't become a teacher for the money, total cliche, nobody does. I accept my inability to stretch farther, so that I can keep doing this. When I get frustrated, I think about the amazing kids I've had the blessing to know, and what all they've each taught me. When I get frustrated, I think about the kid in class the other day who, about 20 minutes after we finished reading "The Pardoner's Tale," piped up and said, "Wait, I get it! It was Death, and Death was able to kill the guys because they were greedy! Brilliant!" Of course, the rest of us had reached that realization 20 minutes earlier, but his face and smile were priceless when he reached it.
When I'm frustrated, I think about watching my history kids in the dual-credit class as they take their first college test for me. They begin with big, wide eyes, nervous. After writing for a pretty solid 80 minutes, they bravely bring me the blue book, which contains the great outpouring of knowledge. The ones who have followed my instruction for studying, etc., are proud of the job they've done, and it shows in the nervous smile. I love that!!
When I'm frustrated, I look around my house, and realize that I have everything I need, especially as long as I keep the essential bills paid. We are a comfortable little family. Asa and I have gotten very used to life with just the two of us, and we welcome the thought of Ethan rejoining our home soon. We have plenty. We don't need more. I don't really even want more. Shockingly, the boys basically agree with me on this point. We've been through a lot, and we still have each other. Just being able to say that is enormous. As you know, I haven't been so sure I would always be able to say it. Ethan is still alive; what more do we need?
When I'm frustrated, I still fantasize. I dream of all sorts of things. I fantasize about traveling again. I fantasize about buying some new clothes. I fantasize about buying a new camera and really doing some serious photography. I fantasize about being able to spend real time writing. I fantasize about being able to retire, cook for and feed people for fun, and spend some time on adult literacy. I fantasize about all sorts of strange things. (And yes, I fantasize about "other things," but the blog doesn't seem to be the appropriate place to express those thoughts. I'm not totally boring!)
So, the payday fantasy will continue. When it frustrates me, I'll continue to remind myself of all those things that make it worth it, and I'll wait for the next three weeks to feel it again.
Let me explain . . . .
My fantasy is that when that monthly paycheck comes, I will be able to pay every single bill in full, I will be able to buy all those things I've run out of and need, and I will be able to fully stock the fridge and the freezer. For the last 25 years of my career in education, I have been paid on a monthly basis. You'd THINK at some point I'd reach a method of stretching that one check out over the course of the month, but it's just never worked out that way. One problem with monthly pay is that at times, it's a FIVE WEEK pay period instead of just four weeks. And then, to add insult to injury it's nearly SIX weeks between the December and January pay!! So . . . I fantasize.
Today is October 2nd. I got paid a week ago. That monthly euphoria hit, and I went crazy! Crazy I tell you!! I paid the electric bill, the cable bundle thing, the cell phones, rent, the water bill, the car insurance, filled the car up, and filled the fridge too. It was heavenly! The excitement lasted an entire week!!! I even took Asa out to eat one night. Frivolous, I know. And now . . . .
we wait. For three weeks, we will wait to experience the thrill again.
It's so strange how accustomed we've all grown to it over the years. I know I'm no different from thousands of others out there, and if they're lucky, they're better at stretching than I am. I'm actually not whining here. Really!! I'm fortunate to have a job. I'm even more fortunate to have a job doing what I love, even more so, to know exactly what it is that I love doing. I mention this tonight because sometimes the pattern just strikes me, and I think, "Leigh, when the hell are you ever going to figure this out?" My response is always, "Face it, you never will."
I think I'm right. I'll never figure it out. I didn't become a teacher for the money, total cliche, nobody does. I accept my inability to stretch farther, so that I can keep doing this. When I get frustrated, I think about the amazing kids I've had the blessing to know, and what all they've each taught me. When I get frustrated, I think about the kid in class the other day who, about 20 minutes after we finished reading "The Pardoner's Tale," piped up and said, "Wait, I get it! It was Death, and Death was able to kill the guys because they were greedy! Brilliant!" Of course, the rest of us had reached that realization 20 minutes earlier, but his face and smile were priceless when he reached it.
When I'm frustrated, I think about watching my history kids in the dual-credit class as they take their first college test for me. They begin with big, wide eyes, nervous. After writing for a pretty solid 80 minutes, they bravely bring me the blue book, which contains the great outpouring of knowledge. The ones who have followed my instruction for studying, etc., are proud of the job they've done, and it shows in the nervous smile. I love that!!
When I'm frustrated, I look around my house, and realize that I have everything I need, especially as long as I keep the essential bills paid. We are a comfortable little family. Asa and I have gotten very used to life with just the two of us, and we welcome the thought of Ethan rejoining our home soon. We have plenty. We don't need more. I don't really even want more. Shockingly, the boys basically agree with me on this point. We've been through a lot, and we still have each other. Just being able to say that is enormous. As you know, I haven't been so sure I would always be able to say it. Ethan is still alive; what more do we need?
When I'm frustrated, I still fantasize. I dream of all sorts of things. I fantasize about traveling again. I fantasize about buying some new clothes. I fantasize about buying a new camera and really doing some serious photography. I fantasize about being able to spend real time writing. I fantasize about being able to retire, cook for and feed people for fun, and spend some time on adult literacy. I fantasize about all sorts of strange things. (And yes, I fantasize about "other things," but the blog doesn't seem to be the appropriate place to express those thoughts. I'm not totally boring!)
So, the payday fantasy will continue. When it frustrates me, I'll continue to remind myself of all those things that make it worth it, and I'll wait for the next three weeks to feel it again.
Monday, July 16, 2012
Vinton, Louisiana and the house that haunts me . . .
In 1988, I decided to move to Atlanta, Georgia. I had been in Denton, TX, for 6 years, and thought it was time to move along and try some place new and vibrant. So, I packed up the cats, the car, sent the movers on their way, and started a new life in Atlanta. It didn't take long to find a teaching job, and I liked being in the big city, so I thought things were good. Unfortunately, it didn't quite work out that way. The teaching job became a growing disaster, and I became seriously ill with Epstein-Barr Virus. I have never been so sick in my life!! It was terrible, and I was at a complete loss as to how I was going to continue functioning. Without a couple of wonderful friends there, and the support of my step-father, I don't think I would have.
The first year in Atlanta was fine, it was the following 6 months when things started to go bad. It wasn't just my illness either. It was an overall feeling. I was dating, I had friends, I liked driving in the mountains, going to shows in the city, etc., but something just wasn't right. It was in those last six months when I began having a recurring dream. It was one of those dreams that kept starting the same way, but each time I had it, more would be added. It wasn't until after I left Atlanta, or made the decision to leave, that the dream began to make sense to me. So here, I'll tell you the full dream:
Several people (maybe 5 others) and I are walking down a street together. It's a modern day street, black paved, but no sidewalks, so we're walking in the street. It's definitely a small town. The big trees form a canopy over the street. I'm feeling uncomfortable because everyone is trying to convince me to do something I don't want to do, and I'm being difficult about it. They all want to crash a party. Of course it's not just any party, as a dream would have it, it's a party during the Antebellum period. Not a dress up party, an ACTUAL party in the Antebellum period!! I don't want to go because, as I say, we're obviously NOT from the Antebellum period, so how are we supposed to get in. Then suddenly, we are in Antebellum clothing, and everyone says, "See, we'll be fine!" I still don't want to go, for fear that we'll be busted, but I give in.
The next thing I know, we are at the front door of the home where the party is, and the owner is welcoming us in. My friends (and I still have absolutely no idea who those people were!!) turn to the left after entering, and begin mingling and eating, but I am stopped by the owner. He's a sweet man. Older man, and he takes my hand and says, "You must be a friend of . . . . " I have never known the name he says, but it was a female name, and as part of my awkward cover, I say, "Oh yes, I am." At that point, he takes me to the right, back in to the kitchen. The kitchen is from the 1930s, not the Antebellum period or modern day. I can still see the white tile counter top and back splash, the chrome faucet coming out of the wall above the large sink, the stove area behind me, and the large set of windows above the sink. At this point, the owner says, "I'm so pleased you're here. <Insert female name> would have been so happy to see you. Of course we buried her out there," as he points out the large window to a tree just at the bottom of a slope, "It was her favorite spot." At this point, I realize the girl I pretend to know is dead, and was the owners daughter!! As if I didn't feel bad enough crashing this party in the first place, I now feel HORRIBLE for pretending to know this sweet older man's dead daughter! Then he says, "Would you like to go out and see?" How can I refuse? So I go. I wake up just as we get to the small plot under the tree. I feel terrible, and just want to get out of there. There is also a man out tending to the leaves or grass, raking, and he looks at me as if he knows I don't belong.
That's the dream. I never had it again after leaving Atlanta. My step-father came, packed me up, and moved me back to Texas to go to grad school. I slowly regained my health, and when I did think about that dream, I assumed it was my gut telling me that I didn't belong in Atlanta any more than I belonged at that party, or pretending to know the dead daughter. Looking back on it, I thought it was a pretty cool dream, until . . . .
A couple of years later, I was going to New Orleans with some friends. My friend Arlene and I were in her little truck, and the other couple we were traveling with were in their car. The couple told us that they wanted to stop at a little hamburger place they knew about, which was just off the highway. We followed. That's when the dream became something completely different!!! As soon as we exited for Vinton, Louisiana, I began to feel sick at my stomach, but thought maybe I was just hungry. I got completely quiet, and kept gripping the door handle. I was riddled with anxiety as we drove down THE street from my dream!!! It was EXACTLY the street my "friends" and I walked down as they tried to convince me to go to the party. I felt worse and worse as we approached the hamburger place. Fortunately for me, it was closed! Good!! I just wanted out of there, but couldn't explain why. In fact, I still hadn't said anything. I knew Arlene was observing my behavior, and once, even asked if I was ok, but I think I just nodded. To head back to the highway, we went up the other end of the U-shaped road. Good, I thought. I don't have to go down that street again!! Well, I wasn't home free yet. At the end of that road, just as we turned right, was THE HOUSE!! It was EXACTLY the house from my dream! My heart was racing, my palms were sweaty, and I felt sick. As we turned right, I saw a man in the back yard, raking leaves, under a tree at the bottom of a slope. Yes, same tree, same slope, etc. Once back on the highway, I was able to relax, breathe, and let go of the door handle. When she recognized that, Arlene turned to me and said, "Ok, what the hell was THAT all about??" She said I turned white as a ghost, and my reaction was really weird. So, I explained what happened.
From that point on, I avoided any contact with Vinton, La. Just the name gave me the creeps! However, On my recent trip to New Orleans in June, I had to drive past it on the highway. Of course now, I'm conditioned to be anxious about it, and passed it rather quickly. But, on the way back, I decided to face my fear, and just drive through there again. I wanted to see if the house was really there, if I had just had a weird reaction to nothing and harbored all this anxiety for all these years for no reason. So, I bravely exited the highway, and knew exactly how to get straight to it. It was there. Same house. Fighting my anxiety, I got out of the car and took a picture.
I was relieved that in the 20 years since I last saw it, the edge of the backyard was overgrown with bamboo, and I couldn't see through it. THIS is the house! I simply couldn't get away fast enough! There's something very bad there, but I have no idea what. Now, I'm curious to know what happened there. I can't explain any of it.
The first year in Atlanta was fine, it was the following 6 months when things started to go bad. It wasn't just my illness either. It was an overall feeling. I was dating, I had friends, I liked driving in the mountains, going to shows in the city, etc., but something just wasn't right. It was in those last six months when I began having a recurring dream. It was one of those dreams that kept starting the same way, but each time I had it, more would be added. It wasn't until after I left Atlanta, or made the decision to leave, that the dream began to make sense to me. So here, I'll tell you the full dream:
Several people (maybe 5 others) and I are walking down a street together. It's a modern day street, black paved, but no sidewalks, so we're walking in the street. It's definitely a small town. The big trees form a canopy over the street. I'm feeling uncomfortable because everyone is trying to convince me to do something I don't want to do, and I'm being difficult about it. They all want to crash a party. Of course it's not just any party, as a dream would have it, it's a party during the Antebellum period. Not a dress up party, an ACTUAL party in the Antebellum period!! I don't want to go because, as I say, we're obviously NOT from the Antebellum period, so how are we supposed to get in. Then suddenly, we are in Antebellum clothing, and everyone says, "See, we'll be fine!" I still don't want to go, for fear that we'll be busted, but I give in.
The next thing I know, we are at the front door of the home where the party is, and the owner is welcoming us in. My friends (and I still have absolutely no idea who those people were!!) turn to the left after entering, and begin mingling and eating, but I am stopped by the owner. He's a sweet man. Older man, and he takes my hand and says, "You must be a friend of . . . . " I have never known the name he says, but it was a female name, and as part of my awkward cover, I say, "Oh yes, I am." At that point, he takes me to the right, back in to the kitchen. The kitchen is from the 1930s, not the Antebellum period or modern day. I can still see the white tile counter top and back splash, the chrome faucet coming out of the wall above the large sink, the stove area behind me, and the large set of windows above the sink. At this point, the owner says, "I'm so pleased you're here. <Insert female name> would have been so happy to see you. Of course we buried her out there," as he points out the large window to a tree just at the bottom of a slope, "It was her favorite spot." At this point, I realize the girl I pretend to know is dead, and was the owners daughter!! As if I didn't feel bad enough crashing this party in the first place, I now feel HORRIBLE for pretending to know this sweet older man's dead daughter! Then he says, "Would you like to go out and see?" How can I refuse? So I go. I wake up just as we get to the small plot under the tree. I feel terrible, and just want to get out of there. There is also a man out tending to the leaves or grass, raking, and he looks at me as if he knows I don't belong.
That's the dream. I never had it again after leaving Atlanta. My step-father came, packed me up, and moved me back to Texas to go to grad school. I slowly regained my health, and when I did think about that dream, I assumed it was my gut telling me that I didn't belong in Atlanta any more than I belonged at that party, or pretending to know the dead daughter. Looking back on it, I thought it was a pretty cool dream, until . . . .
A couple of years later, I was going to New Orleans with some friends. My friend Arlene and I were in her little truck, and the other couple we were traveling with were in their car. The couple told us that they wanted to stop at a little hamburger place they knew about, which was just off the highway. We followed. That's when the dream became something completely different!!! As soon as we exited for Vinton, Louisiana, I began to feel sick at my stomach, but thought maybe I was just hungry. I got completely quiet, and kept gripping the door handle. I was riddled with anxiety as we drove down THE street from my dream!!! It was EXACTLY the street my "friends" and I walked down as they tried to convince me to go to the party. I felt worse and worse as we approached the hamburger place. Fortunately for me, it was closed! Good!! I just wanted out of there, but couldn't explain why. In fact, I still hadn't said anything. I knew Arlene was observing my behavior, and once, even asked if I was ok, but I think I just nodded. To head back to the highway, we went up the other end of the U-shaped road. Good, I thought. I don't have to go down that street again!! Well, I wasn't home free yet. At the end of that road, just as we turned right, was THE HOUSE!! It was EXACTLY the house from my dream! My heart was racing, my palms were sweaty, and I felt sick. As we turned right, I saw a man in the back yard, raking leaves, under a tree at the bottom of a slope. Yes, same tree, same slope, etc. Once back on the highway, I was able to relax, breathe, and let go of the door handle. When she recognized that, Arlene turned to me and said, "Ok, what the hell was THAT all about??" She said I turned white as a ghost, and my reaction was really weird. So, I explained what happened.
From that point on, I avoided any contact with Vinton, La. Just the name gave me the creeps! However, On my recent trip to New Orleans in June, I had to drive past it on the highway. Of course now, I'm conditioned to be anxious about it, and passed it rather quickly. But, on the way back, I decided to face my fear, and just drive through there again. I wanted to see if the house was really there, if I had just had a weird reaction to nothing and harbored all this anxiety for all these years for no reason. So, I bravely exited the highway, and knew exactly how to get straight to it. It was there. Same house. Fighting my anxiety, I got out of the car and took a picture.
Saturday, July 14, 2012
Is it really that simple?
I came across this little quote, and continue to ponder the idea. Is it really that simple?
The first part involves finding what it is that makes you happy . . . When I was younger, I knew what made me happy. Didn't we all? But, as I've grown older, the idea of "what it is that makes me happy" has become ever so complicated. This is a multi-faceted idea. There is no single "what it is." I can think of some "things" which have always made me happy: anything connected to the beauty of space and astronomy, reading, music, movies, cooking, beautiful things, nice smells, steak, chocolate, wine, sleep, a warm hug, a cozy bed, studying history, Christmas lights, cuddly cats, cool air, the ocean, etc. Then there are things I "do" which make me happy: teaching, comforting, listening, helping, etc. So, finding out "what makes you happy" is like an onion. I continue to discover what makes me happy. Not to the heart of that onion yet.
The second part is the toughest though . . . find WHO makes you happy. Lots of "whos" make me happy. I have amazing friends, a loving family, etc., but I know that's not what is meant here. So really, the whole process of finding who makes you happy is overwhelming, isn't it? The idea that there is one person out there for each of us is just too much to think about. Is there really one for each of us??? Perhaps we aren't supposed to have one? What if we fight our instinct and let that one go by? Why do we make so many mistakes in choosing that one? Is the problem that I'm not supposed to choose, but wait till he falls in my lap? I simply can't bring myself to really deliberately search. I guess I do want him to just fall in my lap. Lol. Well, there's realism for ya!
I don't know. Finding the who is not something I dwell on. It would be wonderful, and I think he will come along before I'm down to my last year or two. In fact, according to an astrologer friend of mine, the ages of 50-52 are going to be amazing for me in this regard, especially if I'm in North Carolina or the coast of the Carolinas. Maybe she's right! Who knows?! I guess the point is that while the quote above is true, I believe, it's actually a very complicated thing to achieve. Life . . . it's complicated.
Now, off to start planning that trip to the Carolinas in a couple of years . . . . .
Hands
When I gave birth to each of my boys, one of the first things I wanted to do was see those sweet little fingers and toes. There's nothing like tiny fingers wrapping around yours. As a child grows older, we continue to treasure the hand. As they learn to walk, we hold on to the little hands to add support. Later, everywhere you go, you give the standard line, "Hold my hand while we cross the street, etc." I knew, as I felt that soft but firm grip, my children trusted me.
When Asa was only about 4 years old, he would draw the most intricate pictures of skeletons. He was absolutely fascinated by them! He drew every joint, every rib, and paid particular interest to the phalanges. He even learned the word phalanges, and loved saying it. He would say, "Mama, tickle me with the phalanges!" and then he'd wiggle his chubby little fingers for emphasis. I naturally followed that with full compliance. I was amazed by what he was able to create with those little fingers and hands.
I don't know about anyone else, but when my kids reached the age where they no longer needed to hold my hand to walk across the street or through a parking lot, or just simply walked up and took my hand to show me something of great importance, I was sad. I was proud that they felt independent, but I missed them needing my hand. One of the first stages of letting go.
I used to watch the hands of my grandmother as she crocheted, did her needlepoint, or sewed intricate Barbie outfits for me and my sister. They could make anything she imagined. It's funny though, I don't remember her hands ever looking really young. Beautiful and talented as they were, they had worked hard through her life. They washed clothes in the bathtub. They sewed amazingly beautiful clothes for my aunt and my mom. They were able to make things look beautiful when she didn't have much to work with. They had loved on me when I was sad, and held my hand when I was scared. Her hands were art.
There have been times when I've been sad, or worried, or anxious, and someone has reached for my hand to offer comfort. There's nothing else like that really, is there? I also remember being touched by the hands of a man who loved me. That is a rare feeling for some of us, but priceless. My mom has the coldest hands on earth, but they mask the warmest heart.
Lately, I'm especially grateful for the opportunities I have to hold Ethan's hands. Not many almost 17 year old boys will still let Mom hold their hands, but we see so little of each other, in the current situation, that he and I both seem to take comfort in it. When I hold his hand, it is still the hand of the little boy who would grab mine and beg me to come sit down and read to him. They are tough, but vulnerable hands. They are growing into man hands, but they are still my little boys'.
Our hands are of amazing value. They give, and they receive. They hold talent, love, creation, animation, etc, and they hold each other. They fascinate me. The pain in the hands of Christ on the crucifix. How must Mary have felt watching the hands of her child bleed and shake, knowing they were once the hands she held and kissed? I cannot imagine. I see hands, and I see love, comfort, and creation.
Sunday, April 1, 2012
Ethan's Cell
A couple of weeks ago, parents were invited to an Open House at the juvenile detention center where Ethan has been for the past year. We were told that we'd be able to meet his teachers, and to see where, and how he lived. In the nearly year since he's been there, we've never been allowed beyond the visitation/counseling rooms. It has taken these last couple of weeks to really process the experience --- it was a very powerful one!
I'll begin with meeting the teachers, and seeing some of the work Ethan has been doing. That, was a wonderful thing!! Each of his teachers praised him for his work, and more importantly, for his growth. His science teacher said, "Ethan came here a year ago as a little boy, but he'll be leaving as a really nice young man!" He beamed with pride as he heard each of his teachers saying similar things about him to me. He took care to show me some of the work he'd been doing, like the marble roller coaster for physics, and explain how he researched history topics, etc. Having the small group environment with a teacher has made a remarkable difference in his confidence because he's been able to have more direct attention when needed. Aside from the first six weeks or so of the year, he has worked diligently to make all A's and B's. He's met his goal, and I can see the satisfaction in his eyes. That was a reward for me!! He GETS the value of an education in a way that he didn't before, and takes self-satisfaction in what he's doing. Huge leap!! He really wants to graduate from high school now, and I believe he will. So, the school part of the Open House was wonderful!
The difficult part was actually sitting in his cell, and realizing where my once happy, smiling little boy has spent the past year. The cell is 10 x 8. It is entirely made of cement block. As a Senior II level, Ethan is now in the "senior" cell, which means it's really the handicap accessible cell. The good thing about that is that it's slightly bigger, the toilet and sink are not connected in one piece, and he has a "mirror" (similar to a cookie sheet bolted to the wall.) He said that the first time he sat on the separate toilet, and realized he could actually turn in two directions, he thought he was something special. He also commented that it was psychologically easier to drink the water out of the sink since it wasn't directly connected to the toilet. The little joys of life! So, that was the exciting part. Directly ahead, after entering the heavy steel door with the small window, is his bed. The bed is simply a raised section of cement block that spans the width of the cell. In the center of it is a "mattress," which is maybe an inch and a half thick, and an unbelievably flat pillow. He had decorated his bed with his "senior blanket" to make it look nice for me. I think I've mentioned it before, but in the program, they teach the boys how to crochet. It's a good skill to keep the hands and mind busy, and they deliver them to nursing homes. However, he gets to keep his senior blanket with him in his cell now that he's a Senior II. The blanket is orange, gray, white, and purple, and the only speck of color in the room. At the foot of the bed is a small area where his one change of clothes is folded and rolled, and neatly placed. At the head of the bed is a raised cement block which serves as a bookshelf.
I walked in, sat on his "bed", and looked around the cell as the door closed all but a crack. I just sat there, trying not to act like what I was feeling inside. I wanted to stay positive for Ethan, but what I was feeling inside was immense sadness. It was slowly sinking in that this was where my once sweet, happy little baby had been for the past YEAR!! For a year, he has not slept on a real bed. For a year, he has not been able to go to the bathroom in privacy. For a year, he has not been able to shower alone. For a year, he has been fully regimented, 24 hours a day. For a year, he has been looking at cement block everything. For a year, he has not been out at night, so hasn't seen the stars.
Then, I began to think . . . for a year, he has stayed alive. For a year, he has been safe. For a year, he has been getting help. For a year, I have been able to sleep better at night because I wasn't wondering where he was, or what might happen. The sadness I felt didn't leave, but it became counterbalanced with pride. I began to think how terrifying it must have been for him early on. I thought about how he has pulled himself through, sometimes kicking and screaming, but pulling through nonetheless. He has fought the system, fought himself, and fought everyone involved, but some part of him has always known that this was necessary, and that he wouldn't give up on himself, and we wouldn't either. I was incredibly proud of his strength, braveness, and progress. I was proud of him!!!
I'll begin with meeting the teachers, and seeing some of the work Ethan has been doing. That, was a wonderful thing!! Each of his teachers praised him for his work, and more importantly, for his growth. His science teacher said, "Ethan came here a year ago as a little boy, but he'll be leaving as a really nice young man!" He beamed with pride as he heard each of his teachers saying similar things about him to me. He took care to show me some of the work he'd been doing, like the marble roller coaster for physics, and explain how he researched history topics, etc. Having the small group environment with a teacher has made a remarkable difference in his confidence because he's been able to have more direct attention when needed. Aside from the first six weeks or so of the year, he has worked diligently to make all A's and B's. He's met his goal, and I can see the satisfaction in his eyes. That was a reward for me!! He GETS the value of an education in a way that he didn't before, and takes self-satisfaction in what he's doing. Huge leap!! He really wants to graduate from high school now, and I believe he will. So, the school part of the Open House was wonderful!
The difficult part was actually sitting in his cell, and realizing where my once happy, smiling little boy has spent the past year. The cell is 10 x 8. It is entirely made of cement block. As a Senior II level, Ethan is now in the "senior" cell, which means it's really the handicap accessible cell. The good thing about that is that it's slightly bigger, the toilet and sink are not connected in one piece, and he has a "mirror" (similar to a cookie sheet bolted to the wall.) He said that the first time he sat on the separate toilet, and realized he could actually turn in two directions, he thought he was something special. He also commented that it was psychologically easier to drink the water out of the sink since it wasn't directly connected to the toilet. The little joys of life! So, that was the exciting part. Directly ahead, after entering the heavy steel door with the small window, is his bed. The bed is simply a raised section of cement block that spans the width of the cell. In the center of it is a "mattress," which is maybe an inch and a half thick, and an unbelievably flat pillow. He had decorated his bed with his "senior blanket" to make it look nice for me. I think I've mentioned it before, but in the program, they teach the boys how to crochet. It's a good skill to keep the hands and mind busy, and they deliver them to nursing homes. However, he gets to keep his senior blanket with him in his cell now that he's a Senior II. The blanket is orange, gray, white, and purple, and the only speck of color in the room. At the foot of the bed is a small area where his one change of clothes is folded and rolled, and neatly placed. At the head of the bed is a raised cement block which serves as a bookshelf.
I walked in, sat on his "bed", and looked around the cell as the door closed all but a crack. I just sat there, trying not to act like what I was feeling inside. I wanted to stay positive for Ethan, but what I was feeling inside was immense sadness. It was slowly sinking in that this was where my once sweet, happy little baby had been for the past YEAR!! For a year, he has not slept on a real bed. For a year, he has not been able to go to the bathroom in privacy. For a year, he has not been able to shower alone. For a year, he has been fully regimented, 24 hours a day. For a year, he has been looking at cement block everything. For a year, he has not been out at night, so hasn't seen the stars.
Then, I began to think . . . for a year, he has stayed alive. For a year, he has been safe. For a year, he has been getting help. For a year, I have been able to sleep better at night because I wasn't wondering where he was, or what might happen. The sadness I felt didn't leave, but it became counterbalanced with pride. I began to think how terrifying it must have been for him early on. I thought about how he has pulled himself through, sometimes kicking and screaming, but pulling through nonetheless. He has fought the system, fought himself, and fought everyone involved, but some part of him has always known that this was necessary, and that he wouldn't give up on himself, and we wouldn't either. I was incredibly proud of his strength, braveness, and progress. I was proud of him!!!
Thursday, February 2, 2012
The Pledge of Allegiance
I can organize large events. I can organize small events. I can organize my thoughts. I can organize other people. Unfortunately, I'm not very good at organizing myself. I am a stacker, and I know where my stacks are, and generally what's in them, but I'm far from organized about it.
Speaking about organizing my thoughts, that's not what I'm here to write about today. As I was digging through some boxes in the garage the other day, frantically looking for something that wasn't where I KNEW it would be, I came across a couple of interesting things I hadn't realized I still had. One was the phone directory from West University Elementary School for 1975-76, my 6th grade year. It was so fun to look through! The most amazing part though, was that all of the faculty and administration were listed, WITH their home addresses and phone numbers. I can't even imagine doing that today!! I won't even call parents from my cell phone because I don't want them to drive me crazy once they have the number on caller ID.
The other thing I found was a paper I wrote for that horrible undergraduate English grammar class I had to take while in grad school. It was written in 1990, and discussed a rash of recent flag burning episodes around the country. To prove my point, I used some work I had my 6th graders do when I was teaching in Atlanta, Ga. I have saved them all these years, and they apparently had an impact on me. Anyway, since it was kind of fun to find, I thought I'd share the essay with you. You'll be sadly shocked at the evidence my students provided.
Thoughts on Flag Burning (1990)
The 10 o'clock news tonight showed a protest in Seattle over the flag burning issue. It was a violent scene. Police officers were rushing at, hitting, and wrestling with those who attempted to burn the flag. Spectators became violent with the flag burners, and the burners responded with equal violence. The last image was a burning flag on the ground.
Flag burning is not an issue I have felt particularly passionate about, but I did feel sad as I saw that flaming flag on the ground and the violence that surrounded it. My initial thought was that this was just another example of a growing lack of respect among Americans today. Although my opinion there has not changed, I began to think it must be something more than that. I wondered what it was that made someone despise a flag enough to want to destroy it in flames. To me, the American flag is a symbol of remembrance for those who have fought and died in its name and of the special rights found only in this nation. One of the special rights found here is freedom of speech, and to some extent, I suppose, flag burning falls under freedom of speech.
I wondered, what kind of an example we are setting for our children. Every school day begins, in most American public schools, with the Pledge of Allegiance. The children stand, place a hand wherever it happens to fall on their chest, and mumble a few words. Does this ritual have any meaning to them? Do they know why they are saying these words? Do they even know what words to say? From my experience, the general answer to these questions is no.
One day I watched as my room full of sixth graders made their meager attempt at pledging allegiance to the flag. After it was all over, I asked my students, "Why do we say the Pledge every morning?" They looked back at me with confused faces. Eventually someone said, "Because old people think it's important, so they make us do it." Another student said, "Isn't it part of our grade for social studies?" The other answers consisted of numerous, "I don't knows," or "Well, we just do because we always have." I was amazed at the responses I had gotten.
As I stood there before our future national leaders, my face must have given my frustration away. Realizing that my sixth graders had missed the point of words they had repeated daily for the last six or so years, I wondered if they even knew what the words were. I had only heard them mumble and had never deciphered the sounds. I asked them each to take out a piece of paper and write the Pledge of Allegiance. Again they looked at me confounded. When a boy said, "But Ms. Range, we don't know how to write in a foreign language," I realized the seriousness of the situation. What made it worse was that no one even laughed when he said that.
The papers turned in to me confirmed my suspicions that not only did my students not know the purpose for saying the Pledge of Allegiance, they did not even know what the words were. Below are some of the typical responses:
I plega alenga to the flag of unite states of america and to the repluic
for witches stand one nation under God inavede for lebery and justice for all.
I plege, a ligge to the flag, of the United States of America. And to the
probabey for witch it stands. One nation under God for library and justice for all.
I plege the leges to the flag of united states of united states of America to the
republic for Richard stand one nation under god invisible and justice for all.
I pleage allege to the flag of the Unite State of American and to repulic from
which in stand one nature on the god invible for which for all.
I pleag of leage to the flag of the United State of American And to the
rupucic of watch One Nation under god.
I plag a legue to the flag of the unit state of Amercie and to The repuice
for wice it stand One nuce under God in the vise Liverica and justice for all.
My students were pledging their allegiance to witches and people named Richard. They thought we were an invisible nation with libraries and justice for all. We spent the rest of the morning discussing why we say the Pledge and what the words mean. The next day, I posted the Pledge of Allegiance next to the flag. By the end of the year, each student knew the words and the meaning behind them.
As I watch these protesting flag burners, I wondered if they ever really knew the words to the Pledge of Allegiance and what they meant. Had they merely gone through the motions like my students had been? If the symbol has no meaning, then why not burn it?
If we are going to require students to say the Pledge in school every day, then they should be taught what it is all about. They should be taught not only the words, but what they mean and why we say them. They must understand the symbolism of the flag before they can show any respect for it. If this is not done, I don't see how we can be surprised when we see others setting the American flag ablaze.
Monday, January 16, 2012
Opening the windows . . . and maybe a door
On New Year's Eve 2011, I woke up to a little voice in my head, the first thing I heard, and it said, "It's time!" It was as clear as anything I've ever heard. First thought, and fully understood.
Over the last several years of putting the pieces of myself back together, I'd made significant progress, but was down to the final two missing puzzle pieces. The first piece was to clarify my faith, and the second, I believed, would come via the first. The second was to find a wonderful man to share and partner my life with. I figured that until I fully understood the person I was offering up to the world, I wouldn't find the right partner.
I suppose that until that morning, there just wasn't room for those two things in my life (as you may have observed in some of my previous blogs.) However, one of the main things I've had to work on through the course of Ethan's troubles, is "letting it go." Letting go of the false idea that I had any control over him or his situation. Once I really let go, and allowed myself to accept that he had his own path to walk in this life, and I couldn't walk it with him, and all I could do was love him and support him, that necessary space in my life opened up. It was a sudden thing. It felt like the first day of spring, when the air is still a little crisp, but has a smell of freshness. Then, you suddenly fling the window wide open!!! The curtains flutter, the air blows in with a strong blast, and you stick your head through the openness to feel that crisp, clean air on your face. That was the sensation. It was all in the mind, but I can tell you that every pore of my skin felt it. It actually reminded me of the last time I was in Florence, Italy. It was March, still cool, but the air smelled terrific. My hotel room, with huge window and shutters, opened onto a pedestrian street, but looking to the left, there was a perfect view of Piazza della Signoria and all the beautiful sculptures in the Loggia della Signoria.
At that moment, as I opened the window and the wind hit my face, I suddenly realized the freedom I had earned! I was finally independent. The failed marriage was in the past, the resulting massive debt was paid off, and I was in Italy doing EXACTLY what I wanted to do. It was a spectacular feeling.
The figurative breeze that brushed my cheek on New Year's Eve, was even more powerful. As it blew into the room of my mind, I realized just how much empty space there suddenly was. The air filled it up, and the room seemed to be waiting, excitedly, for what was going to appear in it. I know it sounds a little cheesy, but sometimes there's just a feeling which plays out like the scene from a movie, but in split-second time, all in the mind. This was one of those moments.
The first occupant for this newly opened room, was the spiritual piece. There have been many times over my life when I've thought about converting to the Catholic Church. I was born and raised as an Episcopalian, so it's not the biggest religious leap out there, but I never went forward with it before. The reliance on faith over the last year or two had given me much more reason to find the church and community where I really belonged, and in that split-second when the window was opening, and the voice was saying, "It's time!", it became perfectly clear!! The next week, I started classes at the local Catholic Church. It felt just as right as any other major decision I've made in the last several years. That puzzle piece is now underway, and should be official on Easter. I feel such peace and happiness about the decision . . . and fulfilled. There is great comfort in it.
As I said earlier, I felt the final piece couldn't fall into place unless the first one, the faith part, was in. Well, it's there, and now I'm beyond ready for the last one . . . a good man to share my life with. I have rejected the idea for so long that I was convinced it wasn't going to be a part of my future. But, part of the "It's time!" voice included this piece. Finally, and suddenly, I'm completely open to the idea, and, here's the strange part . . . . even welcome it! I'm also willing to go as far as work at it, to "get myself out there," (I hate that phrase!), and make myself available to it. My heart feels completely open to it. Who knows, perhaps I won't have to work too hard. Maybe the person I seek has been there all along, maybe for years, and it's just a matter of timing, which God takes such pleasure in keeping us the dark about. I don't know what will manifest, but I now have complete faith that something will. I'm whole again. My pieces are back in place. With the help of all who stored their collective memories of me throughout my life, I've put the puzzle together again, and it's actually a pretty beautiful puzzle. There's happiness, sadness, joy, hurt, anger, peace, love, success, failure, patience, impatience, struggle, and ease. All there. It's a colorful, intricate puzzle. Just one more piece . . .
In fact, since my heart welcomed this possibility in, it's been interesting . . . in a good way. :) Excitement, happiness, partnership, and, dare I say it, . . . love, WILL ultimately appear. I don't NEED someone to complete me; I am already complete. Now, to share it.
Over the last several years of putting the pieces of myself back together, I'd made significant progress, but was down to the final two missing puzzle pieces. The first piece was to clarify my faith, and the second, I believed, would come via the first. The second was to find a wonderful man to share and partner my life with. I figured that until I fully understood the person I was offering up to the world, I wouldn't find the right partner.
I suppose that until that morning, there just wasn't room for those two things in my life (as you may have observed in some of my previous blogs.) However, one of the main things I've had to work on through the course of Ethan's troubles, is "letting it go." Letting go of the false idea that I had any control over him or his situation. Once I really let go, and allowed myself to accept that he had his own path to walk in this life, and I couldn't walk it with him, and all I could do was love him and support him, that necessary space in my life opened up. It was a sudden thing. It felt like the first day of spring, when the air is still a little crisp, but has a smell of freshness. Then, you suddenly fling the window wide open!!! The curtains flutter, the air blows in with a strong blast, and you stick your head through the openness to feel that crisp, clean air on your face. That was the sensation. It was all in the mind, but I can tell you that every pore of my skin felt it. It actually reminded me of the last time I was in Florence, Italy. It was March, still cool, but the air smelled terrific. My hotel room, with huge window and shutters, opened onto a pedestrian street, but looking to the left, there was a perfect view of Piazza della Signoria and all the beautiful sculptures in the Loggia della Signoria.
At that moment, as I opened the window and the wind hit my face, I suddenly realized the freedom I had earned! I was finally independent. The failed marriage was in the past, the resulting massive debt was paid off, and I was in Italy doing EXACTLY what I wanted to do. It was a spectacular feeling.
The figurative breeze that brushed my cheek on New Year's Eve, was even more powerful. As it blew into the room of my mind, I realized just how much empty space there suddenly was. The air filled it up, and the room seemed to be waiting, excitedly, for what was going to appear in it. I know it sounds a little cheesy, but sometimes there's just a feeling which plays out like the scene from a movie, but in split-second time, all in the mind. This was one of those moments.
The first occupant for this newly opened room, was the spiritual piece. There have been many times over my life when I've thought about converting to the Catholic Church. I was born and raised as an Episcopalian, so it's not the biggest religious leap out there, but I never went forward with it before. The reliance on faith over the last year or two had given me much more reason to find the church and community where I really belonged, and in that split-second when the window was opening, and the voice was saying, "It's time!", it became perfectly clear!! The next week, I started classes at the local Catholic Church. It felt just as right as any other major decision I've made in the last several years. That puzzle piece is now underway, and should be official on Easter. I feel such peace and happiness about the decision . . . and fulfilled. There is great comfort in it.
In fact, since my heart welcomed this possibility in, it's been interesting . . . in a good way. :) Excitement, happiness, partnership, and, dare I say it, . . . love, WILL ultimately appear. I don't NEED someone to complete me; I am already complete. Now, to share it.
The windows are wide open, the breeze is billowing in, and I think I'll even open the door . . . .
Sunday, January 1, 2012
My Next Husband Will . . . .
Someone once told me that if I write my wishes down, they're more likely to manifest. Not sure that I totally believe that idea, but what the heck. In the summer of 2007, I was busy doing a lot of traveling, thinking about who I was, and what I wanted in life. It seemed like the thoughts were coming so rapidly that I couldn't keep track of them. So, I bought a little journal I could keep in my purse, and would be able to jot things down as they came to me, and to record things I very much wanted to remember. As I look back through this little journal, I see that I was sometimes good about recording important things, and there is some great happiness in it. I also see where some things were too difficult to write about, so I started them, but never finished. There is also sadness, like when my step-father died. Big thoughts, little thoughts, there are all kinds there. Interestingly though, I dedicated the first 6-8 pages to one category alone. It was titled, "My Next Husband Will . . . " Throughout the years, as they strike me, I will write something down that I want to remember later. Something that I don't want to forget just because I'm in the throes of passion and romance with a new love. Ok, that might be a bit much, but it's all the little things we think won't matter, after all, it's love, right?
Some of the things on the list are silly little things, and not deal breakers. Many obviously just popped into my mind based on the circumstances of the time I wrote them. Some of them though are big things, and definitely deal breakers. These things fall in no particular order of importance. They just appear as they came to me. Of course I don't expect any man to meet all of them, but I'll have to be sure to stick with the non-negotiables. I've settled enough in my past, so I'm guessing it's good to have a list.
So let it be written, so let it manifest . . .
Some of the things on the list are silly little things, and not deal breakers. Many obviously just popped into my mind based on the circumstances of the time I wrote them. Some of them though are big things, and definitely deal breakers. These things fall in no particular order of importance. They just appear as they came to me. Of course I don't expect any man to meet all of them, but I'll have to be sure to stick with the non-negotiables. I've settled enough in my past, so I'm guessing it's good to have a list.
So let it be written, so let it manifest . . .
- make me smile and laugh
- dance with me (in private is fine -- nice & slow)
- give massages without complaint
- he will have friends, and will be happy to cross friendships between us (my ex didn't really know how to have friends)
- MUST love to visit New Orleans (it's my hometown, and if you can't enjoy the music, atmosphere, fun, people, and even the filth of it, that's a problem)
- MUST love my boys
- listen to me
- genuinely care about me
- emotionally support me
- enjoy my company
- TALK with me/discussions
- be HONEST
- be strong minded, but not at the expense of others
- like to read
- love all kinds of music
- enjoy both going out, and staying in with me
- respect me
- respect some "alone time"
- do chores around the house without saying he's "helping" me --- that implies that it's all my job, and he's just helping out
- enjoy yard work enough to get it done, or hire someone to do it
- love to travel!
- be willing to tolerate my mini-history lessons
- hold my hand
- put his arm around me
- affectionately acknowledge me in public (just subtly)
- enjoy drinking, not to an extreme, just enjoy a beer or a glass of wine, or several
- be a little spontaneous
- enjoy my Irish music
- be willing to let me shop (which I don't do much of anyway) for things that "speak to me"--- especially jewelry, art, music, and books --- things you can never have too much of
- Not be grossed out by my naked body! Love it anyway.
- be a patient traveler
- have the same or similar political perspective
- enjoy high school football games of my students
- enjoy football, but not be stupid about it
- be able to fix things around the house, or at least have the sense to know when to call someone to do it
- know when to just hold me and let me cry, and support me
- be patient
- enjoy life, and have a positive attitude
- be down to earth and somewhat practical
- have common sense
- not be absent physically or emotionally
- be a man of faith
- love making love with me
Pretty good start, huh? Lol. Well, it may be a lot to ask for, but why not ask?
Another New Year's Eve
New Year's Eve. It's been a bittersweet day for me for a number of years now. I try to look at each new year as an opportunity for growth, new possibilities, and new potential happiness. I really do. I am basically a positive person, and I continually think, "It could be worse. I can handle this." But there are just some things that still make it hard to get through this particular celebration.
In 2003, the world as I knew it fell apart. My husband told me he had been unhappy for years, and no longer loved me, if he ever had. We agreed that he needed to move out, and set Jan. 4, 2004, as the deadline for his departure. In typical fashion, it was ME out looking for an apartment for him on December 15th, but I found it, and told him he simply had to go on the agreed upon day. After living through that horrible year, I have to admit that on New Year's Day, although very sad about the demise of my marriage, I also felt hope that things would get better from there. The worst was over, right?
At the end of 2004, I was 40 years old. On my birthday that year, I decided that since the first forty years had been devoted to my parents, my husband, and my children, the last forty years were going to be (at least partially) devoted to me --- my desires, my relationships, my dreams, etc. As I say, partially. Of course I've still got kids to raise, so there's only room for so much me.
2005, 2006, and 2007 rolled along with lots and lots of stress from work, lots of stress at home, and lots of stress from the ex. The best thing about 2007 was going home to New Orleans for my 25th high school reunion. It was at this point that I finally realized just how out of touch I was with myself. I would listen to people talking about me, and I didn't recognize the person they described. It was fascinating and disturbing at the same time. At one point, I was sitting at the table with several of the guys, as they were saying how they wanted to ask me out back in high school, but never asked because they though I'd say no. I was dumbfounded, and said, "You know, it's you guys who totally fucked up my life then!" Of course I said this with a chuckle. I went on to say, "If just one of you had actually asked me out back then, I would have have had a very different opinion of myself. I never knew I was wanted." Ah the what ifs of life. Anyway, as I finished out that weekend, I returned home even more determined to find the real me again, the one that others saw. I was still in there, just needed to strip some layers away.
As I welcomed in 2008, I knew things were going to change. I felt positive and hopeful. I paid off the massive debt my ex-husband had left me with from the divorce, and I took a trip (cash only!) to Italy for a week all by myself. Traveling by myself has always been a learning experience. I was more in touch with myself than I had been in years. In the summer, the boys and I decided that we wanted to move back to Texas. Big shift! We would leave the following summer. 2008 was a good year!
2009 was going to be a year of change. I knew that going into it, but had now idea just how much it actually would change. In the first couple of months of that year, I reconnected with the myriad wonderful people from my fraternity (yes, fraternity. I was a little sister. No sorority for me!) years. What a blessing!! The pieces were falling back into place. It was a year of big risks. Sold the house, quit the job, moved, start all over again, and get the boys settled in new schools, new city, etc. But it all worked, and at the end of 2009, I was convinced that it was all going to continue down that path of good.
Then came 2010 and 2011. These were just horrible years!! I wasn't sure I'd survive them, and I really wasn't sure my oldest son would survive them. They have been years of fear, pain, and uncertainty as we have dealt with my son's drug addiction. It has been a confusing and heartbreaking whirlwind.
So here comes 2012 . . . I'm still dealing with my son's drug addiction, but we seem to be making progress, and he's on a better road than he has been in a long time. Who knows how it will go, but I'm keeping the faith and hoping for the best. The other good news on that subject is that I've learned to accept that it is his path, and only he is in control of it. Letting that go, and relieving that feeling that I have to fix it, is good. I'll always be there for him, and I love him beyond words, but I accept that I can't fix it. My younger son is happy, healthy, and doing great. So my kids are as good as they can be at this moment. My personal life went back on hold over the last couple of years, and while I would have given anything to have someone to hold me at night, hug me and tell me it would be ok, kiss me and remind me that I am loved and doing a good job with all of it, and just remind me of the happiness, I didn't have the time or the energy , or the inclination to seek this person out. Couldn't imagine bringing someone new into the chaos, or who would want to enter into it. I gave up on those ideas, and reverted back to the feeling that I just wasn't meant to be loved that way, because Lord knows if I couldn't have it then, when my world was falling apart and I was feeling the worst pain in the world, the pain of a mother trying to keep her child alive, then I wasn't meant to have it. I was still feeling this way just about a month ago. But then, I realized a new year is ahead, and something clicked in my head. The very fact that I've weathered it, and we're all as good as we can be at the moment, is my invitation to reclaim that life I thought I was heading toward before. I feel like, suddenly, I need to go forward in that search for what I want. A happy mother can only help my boys, and although it's late in the game for them to have the father figure they always needed, it's not too late for them to still learn how to love, from my example. I suddenly believe that this year will bring me some love and romance. In fact, I haven't ever felt it this strongly before. So I know it's out there, and I need to take some initiative to find it. I'm ready. I remind myself that I'm absolutely worth it, I'm a hell of a catch, I'm strong and independent (which often frightens men), but the RIGHT man will love that. I have enormous amounts of love to offer, and when the man who recognizes it, isn't afraid of it, and cherishes it, he'll be luckier than he could imagine. And in the end, I'll be a very lucky woman. Bring it 2012!! It's my turn.
In 2003, the world as I knew it fell apart. My husband told me he had been unhappy for years, and no longer loved me, if he ever had. We agreed that he needed to move out, and set Jan. 4, 2004, as the deadline for his departure. In typical fashion, it was ME out looking for an apartment for him on December 15th, but I found it, and told him he simply had to go on the agreed upon day. After living through that horrible year, I have to admit that on New Year's Day, although very sad about the demise of my marriage, I also felt hope that things would get better from there. The worst was over, right?
At the end of 2004, I was 40 years old. On my birthday that year, I decided that since the first forty years had been devoted to my parents, my husband, and my children, the last forty years were going to be (at least partially) devoted to me --- my desires, my relationships, my dreams, etc. As I say, partially. Of course I've still got kids to raise, so there's only room for so much me.
2005, 2006, and 2007 rolled along with lots and lots of stress from work, lots of stress at home, and lots of stress from the ex. The best thing about 2007 was going home to New Orleans for my 25th high school reunion. It was at this point that I finally realized just how out of touch I was with myself. I would listen to people talking about me, and I didn't recognize the person they described. It was fascinating and disturbing at the same time. At one point, I was sitting at the table with several of the guys, as they were saying how they wanted to ask me out back in high school, but never asked because they though I'd say no. I was dumbfounded, and said, "You know, it's you guys who totally fucked up my life then!" Of course I said this with a chuckle. I went on to say, "If just one of you had actually asked me out back then, I would have have had a very different opinion of myself. I never knew I was wanted." Ah the what ifs of life. Anyway, as I finished out that weekend, I returned home even more determined to find the real me again, the one that others saw. I was still in there, just needed to strip some layers away.
As I welcomed in 2008, I knew things were going to change. I felt positive and hopeful. I paid off the massive debt my ex-husband had left me with from the divorce, and I took a trip (cash only!) to Italy for a week all by myself. Traveling by myself has always been a learning experience. I was more in touch with myself than I had been in years. In the summer, the boys and I decided that we wanted to move back to Texas. Big shift! We would leave the following summer. 2008 was a good year!
2009 was going to be a year of change. I knew that going into it, but had now idea just how much it actually would change. In the first couple of months of that year, I reconnected with the myriad wonderful people from my fraternity (yes, fraternity. I was a little sister. No sorority for me!) years. What a blessing!! The pieces were falling back into place. It was a year of big risks. Sold the house, quit the job, moved, start all over again, and get the boys settled in new schools, new city, etc. But it all worked, and at the end of 2009, I was convinced that it was all going to continue down that path of good.
Then came 2010 and 2011. These were just horrible years!! I wasn't sure I'd survive them, and I really wasn't sure my oldest son would survive them. They have been years of fear, pain, and uncertainty as we have dealt with my son's drug addiction. It has been a confusing and heartbreaking whirlwind.
So here comes 2012 . . . I'm still dealing with my son's drug addiction, but we seem to be making progress, and he's on a better road than he has been in a long time. Who knows how it will go, but I'm keeping the faith and hoping for the best. The other good news on that subject is that I've learned to accept that it is his path, and only he is in control of it. Letting that go, and relieving that feeling that I have to fix it, is good. I'll always be there for him, and I love him beyond words, but I accept that I can't fix it. My younger son is happy, healthy, and doing great. So my kids are as good as they can be at this moment. My personal life went back on hold over the last couple of years, and while I would have given anything to have someone to hold me at night, hug me and tell me it would be ok, kiss me and remind me that I am loved and doing a good job with all of it, and just remind me of the happiness, I didn't have the time or the energy , or the inclination to seek this person out. Couldn't imagine bringing someone new into the chaos, or who would want to enter into it. I gave up on those ideas, and reverted back to the feeling that I just wasn't meant to be loved that way, because Lord knows if I couldn't have it then, when my world was falling apart and I was feeling the worst pain in the world, the pain of a mother trying to keep her child alive, then I wasn't meant to have it. I was still feeling this way just about a month ago. But then, I realized a new year is ahead, and something clicked in my head. The very fact that I've weathered it, and we're all as good as we can be at the moment, is my invitation to reclaim that life I thought I was heading toward before. I feel like, suddenly, I need to go forward in that search for what I want. A happy mother can only help my boys, and although it's late in the game for them to have the father figure they always needed, it's not too late for them to still learn how to love, from my example. I suddenly believe that this year will bring me some love and romance. In fact, I haven't ever felt it this strongly before. So I know it's out there, and I need to take some initiative to find it. I'm ready. I remind myself that I'm absolutely worth it, I'm a hell of a catch, I'm strong and independent (which often frightens men), but the RIGHT man will love that. I have enormous amounts of love to offer, and when the man who recognizes it, isn't afraid of it, and cherishes it, he'll be luckier than he could imagine. And in the end, I'll be a very lucky woman. Bring it 2012!! It's my turn.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)