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.
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