I've been struggling with something for a while now. Let's see if any of you have a similar problem. Years ago, about 24 years ago to be exact, somebody was very mean to me. Flat-out rude. In front of quite a few people - some of whom took up for me and tried to right the situation. Thank goodness for those people, because I didn't end up thinking that the entire room hated me. Twenty-four years? How would that affect me still? ......you might ask.
Here's the deal. I imagine myself coming in contact with that person in the present. (It could happen, although chances are it won't.) Instead of imagining my gracious self saying "Oh, I remember you, hello!" I scheme and pet my cat, a' la Dr. Evil, and dream up ways to tell the whole imaginary crowd that they were very mean to me in the past and don't deserve my attention now.
My heart knows, however, that such a reaction would be wrong, immature and against everything I teach and try to live. I really don't think I have it in me to confront anyone in that way, no matter how I feel inside. I could probably type it, from the comfort of my own home, constructing all the phrasing to show me in the best light, them in the worst.......oh wait, that sounds so familiar.
Maybe we all have a past incident that we would love to re-visit in today's time, just to show "I was right" or "You were wrong" or "Look where I am now!" I suppose it's human nature. In reality though, we need to remain gracious and kind. I have stalked the mean person from my past and seen them in family pictures, having fun, looking oh so nice. I suppose I could change my heart and be my sweet self if ever a chance meeting happened again. Thinking about payback is amusing, but in real life, I vote for being nice, all the time.
Showing posts with label moving on. Show all posts
Showing posts with label moving on. Show all posts
Saturday, June 2, 2018
Wednesday, January 20, 2016
Happy Birthday, Mitzi!
Mitzi turned two yesterday.
Mitzi is my Mitsubishi Outlander.
Although she's only two, she already has 42,000 miles. Once I bought Mitzi, life shifted into the
fast lane. I wrote a little story about
test driving Mitzi and Peter Frampton playing on the radio. A man named Robbie made a comment about my
story in a grief forum. A couple of
weeks later he messaged me. Now that I
know Robbie, I am surprised he ever sent that message! The story that I shared with the world ended where Robbie and I got
engaged. The truth is that the
engagement started a whirlwind of activity that has only just started to slow
down a bit!
Planning a wedding wasn't easy, even as small of an event as
we had. There were only thirty family
and close friends invited and the wedding was held at a beautiful nine-bedroom
house in Destin, Florida. It could not
have happened without the help of said family and friends and for that we are
forever grateful. The only regret was
that both of our fathers were unable to be there. We loved our ceremony and the fact that both
families were able to remember and honor those that we lost while still
celebrating with us in our new found happiness.
We decided, not long after, that moving to the Mississippi
Coast would be our goal. We were still
sending wedding thank-yous as I began
filling out job applications. Once
interviews were scheduled, preliminary plans for selling the Texas house
began. Once I got a job, searching for a
place to live (with six pets!!!) was difficult.
It began as wanting to rent a house for a year to figure out what we
wanted, but soon changed to going ahead and buying a house. Buying takes a little time, so we had to also
find a furnished apartment to rent so that I could start the new job. I kept a calendar over the summer, using code
letters for which house we actually slept in that evening. There was only one occasion where we spent
more than seven nights in one place. A
triangle was carved on the highways from Houston to Jackson to Biloxi. And Mitzi was the champ that traveled those
miles. She was relieved upon occasion by
a Penske truck or two, but she also took her turn pulling "Dino", the
12-foot Uhaul trailer. Mitzi has taken
us on uncertain rides, heard us complain and cry and voice our fears; but Mitzi
has also heard our laughter, our hopes, our wonder at the beautiful sunsets and
rainbows. And yes, Mitzi has seen our
hugs and kisses along the way. Just this past Christmas, she traveled, full of presents and wearing reindeer antlers, to bring family - and three dogs - together for the holiday.
Mitzi turned two yesterday.
She has two dents, but don't we all?
I took her for a full wash and cleaning at Classy Chassis. She deserved it.
Thursday, October 30, 2014
A Fair Catch 10/30/14
I get a little disappointed when my team doesn't try to run the kickoff. I suppose the special teams players know exactly when they should take that chance and when they should just wave their arm and kneel, knowing they'll get to start from the twenty yard line. Recently though, I looked at the fair catch from the kickoff returner's point of view.
He was looking high into the sky at the same time that all these enormous beings were rushing toward him with the sole purpose of knocking him flat, if not backward. Between glances at the ball, which he must catch, he had to judge how many and how close the enormous beings were so that he could know whether to wave his arm casually and kneel down. At that point, the enormous beings have to rein in their attack and run on past him, not touching him at all.
Robbie and I are engaged. We first talked about getting married a while ago. It was an inevitable, perfect progression from messaging, talking, meeting, dating, meeting family members and realizing that we loved each other and didn't want to be alone ever again. Within that realization was also the clear-cut knowledge of what marriage involves. Both of us have already successfully navigated richer or poorer, better or worse, and especially sickness and health. We know what commitment means, and we are committed to each other now.
The engagement was not a surprise to the close family members. Our parents and children, especially, love us, understand fully, and want us to be happy. There were a few stirrings that we heard about secondhand. People like to think that they know what's best in a situation when they have no idea what the situation is actually like. I look on those individuals as the enormous defensive players bearing down on our situation that we are trying to carefully and happily enact. To those people: I wave my arm. I call a fair catch. Run on past us and let's start a new drive. We'll return to the game together. It may be on the twenty with a long way to go, but we're going to do it together. I love Robbie and he loves me. We know what's in store and we're ready. Watch out - it's going to be a touchdown.
He was looking high into the sky at the same time that all these enormous beings were rushing toward him with the sole purpose of knocking him flat, if not backward. Between glances at the ball, which he must catch, he had to judge how many and how close the enormous beings were so that he could know whether to wave his arm casually and kneel down. At that point, the enormous beings have to rein in their attack and run on past him, not touching him at all.
Robbie and I are engaged. We first talked about getting married a while ago. It was an inevitable, perfect progression from messaging, talking, meeting, dating, meeting family members and realizing that we loved each other and didn't want to be alone ever again. Within that realization was also the clear-cut knowledge of what marriage involves. Both of us have already successfully navigated richer or poorer, better or worse, and especially sickness and health. We know what commitment means, and we are committed to each other now.
The engagement was not a surprise to the close family members. Our parents and children, especially, love us, understand fully, and want us to be happy. There were a few stirrings that we heard about secondhand. People like to think that they know what's best in a situation when they have no idea what the situation is actually like. I look on those individuals as the enormous defensive players bearing down on our situation that we are trying to carefully and happily enact. To those people: I wave my arm. I call a fair catch. Run on past us and let's start a new drive. We'll return to the game together. It may be on the twenty with a long way to go, but we're going to do it together. I love Robbie and he loves me. We know what's in store and we're ready. Watch out - it's going to be a touchdown.
Tuesday, April 29, 2014
Sometimes I Can't Say It, But Disney Can 4/29/14
I can't say certain things. I have a code that I employ. Those close to me usually know what I mean, but I avoid the most direct words. I don't know why, I should be able to speak clearly about anything. I enjoy employing the right words to get a message across. So why am I shut down when it comes to talking about Scott's death and all the things that happen afterward? I didn't even want to type those words in that last sentence.
Many of you have heard me speak directly, contradicting what I just said. It does happen. I try hard. I act. I pretend that I can say that and move on with the story or conversation at hand. I fool myself and it works for a while. Other times, I just can't. My voice can't speak "when Scott died", so I say "...with what happened...", usually with a wave of my hand and a sad look on my face. People understand. They don't push. I'm pretty sure people would understand anything, though, so I don't know why I hide.
I hide what I'm doing. If I say I need to "get some things done", I am probably finally cleaning his clothes out of the chest of drawers and taking them to Goodwill. If I have a "meeting", I am probably finding out how to transfer assets or close an account (or even a business) by seeing a professional in person or talking on the phone.
I'm trying now, though. Since I'm starting to be open about the fact that I'm seeing someone (dating, have a boyfriend, in a relationship.....what's it called when you're in your 50s??), I'm really attempting to state the facts. Today, though, Disney made it clear. You see, there are some Disney movies that, when they are showing, I can play every word of dialogue and every song lyric in my head. I can do a complete talk and sing-along with these certain few movies. Today, it was "The Lion King".
It's "Field Day" at school for the the next three days. During Field Day, a grade level goes outside for their fun races/relays for half of the school day. Six grade levels, one half day each = three entire days. Since the coaches run field day, the 'large group' time happens with me and the art teacher. All the kids in the grade level, sitting in the gym, watching a movie. Sounds easy, right? It is, about eighty percent of the time. The other twenty percent is filled with the challenge of pre-teens that have attitudes, eight-year-olds that hit each other, or little ones that throw up or bite someone. Today I play imperial ruler and choose which movie will entertain a grade level the best. I decided that third grade would get "The Lion King". They needed a powerful movie because they came in all dressed in their colored t-shirts, ready to go for their afternoon of field day. I was blindly singing along when I sang these words:
I'm trying now, though. Since I'm starting to be open about the fact that I'm seeing someone (dating, have a boyfriend, in a relationship.....what's it called when you're in your 50s??), I'm really attempting to state the facts. Today, though, Disney made it clear. You see, there are some Disney movies that, when they are showing, I can play every word of dialogue and every song lyric in my head. I can do a complete talk and sing-along with these certain few movies. Today, it was "The Lion King".
It's "Field Day" at school for the the next three days. During Field Day, a grade level goes outside for their fun races/relays for half of the school day. Six grade levels, one half day each = three entire days. Since the coaches run field day, the 'large group' time happens with me and the art teacher. All the kids in the grade level, sitting in the gym, watching a movie. Sounds easy, right? It is, about eighty percent of the time. The other twenty percent is filled with the challenge of pre-teens that have attitudes, eight-year-olds that hit each other, or little ones that throw up or bite someone. Today I play imperial ruler and choose which movie will entertain a grade level the best. I decided that third grade would get "The Lion King". They needed a powerful movie because they came in all dressed in their colored t-shirts, ready to go for their afternoon of field day. I was blindly singing along when I sang these words:
"From the day we arrive on the planet
And blinking, step into the sun.
There's more to see than can ever be seen,
more to do than can ever be done.
There's far too much to take in here,
More to find than can ever be found.
But the sun rolling high
Through the sapphire sky
Keeps great and small on the endless round
It's the Circle of Life
And it moves us all
Through despair and hope
Through faith and love
Till we find our place
On the path unwinding
It's the Circle,
The Circle of Life"
I'd heard it at least five hundred times before. I've sung along, taught the notes, conducted it in performance. I've even heard it several times since Scott died. (See what I did there? I'm trying!) But I heard it differently today because of the progression of events in my life. Who knew that a cartoon about lions could validate what I was discovering; that life can move on - from despair to hope? Quite often though, I find that songs or writings can give me inspiration, validation and a sense of confirmation for what I am feeling. I think we all do, and that's part of the reason the arts exist.
Moving on doesn't mean we leave our past behind. (Or "your behind in your past" , as Pumbaa says!) Simba didn't want to talk about Mufasa's death, either. But his friends encouraged him to try to keep enjoying life. "Moving on" is not about forgetting the past; for me it means finding my place on "the path unwinding". I have my own personal "Timons and Pumbaas". Thank you for all your kind words and encouragement to find my place.
Last, but not least, a round of applause for Tim Rice, lyricist, and Disney - well said, my friends.
Moving on doesn't mean we leave our past behind. (Or "your behind in your past" , as Pumbaa says!) Simba didn't want to talk about Mufasa's death, either. But his friends encouraged him to try to keep enjoying life. "Moving on" is not about forgetting the past; for me it means finding my place on "the path unwinding". I have my own personal "Timons and Pumbaas". Thank you for all your kind words and encouragement to find my place.
Last, but not least, a round of applause for Tim Rice, lyricist, and Disney - well said, my friends.
Saturday, April 5, 2014
Help-books and Fun-books....
Just today, I stumbled across the fact that there are actually books out there meant to help people like me. Help-books. Not being much of a non-fiction reader, this fact did not surprise me as much as the number of them available. The funny part is, I've thought and planned to turn these blog posts into a book, in case they could help someone else that is grieving. I just didn't know that lots of people have already done that! I'm not sure whether any of them have the plot twist of meeting someone new so soon, as I have. I'm trying to record and remember all the feelings that go with along with it - don't know if any of those other books do that! I should probably read them all and find out!
Do these books give advice? I think some do. They are meant to be Help-books. I did peruse one at Barnes and Noble one evening. It had chapters on everything from immediately after your spouse's death to a chapter called "Widows and Sex". I did not buy it - I did what anybody would do, looked at the 'good' parts and put it back down. I didn't really learn anything new or groundbreaking, so you will get no details from me!
I feel a little guilty, though, that I've done all this writing and not read what others have said before me. (I generally feel guilty about most everything, no surprise there!) I've read little bits, just not books. A blog post is about the right length for my concentration these days. I started reading a John Grisham book that a friend lent me in January. To me, that's a Fun-book. It's April and I'm on page 72. I'm only able to sit for so long until thoughts and ideas flood my brain and I have to just get up and do something. Sometimes the something is writing down the thoughts. Sometimes it's cleaning out a drawer. You never know.
I jump up, do whatever it is I feel needs "doing", and move on to the next thing. I don't go back to the book. That is not the person I used to be, when a Fun-book could devour my days and nights until I finished it. Readers are a special breed of people. The list of things we can ignore while immersed in a book can include family, friends, pets, hunger, chores....on and on. I am one of those, usually, just not lately.
I did research and read Help-stuff. Not books. Thank goodness there are web pages and support forums out there that I could read in a 'drive-by' style. They did help, a bit. But what helped mostly was sitting here and organizing what I was feeling into sentences, paragraphs and full posts. I've been pretty honest about what I've been feeling for the last eleven months. I want to remain true to form, just because everyone has been so loving, supportive and encouraging. Writing these little posts has been my therapy, my meditation, my crutch, punching bag and wailing wall. I think writing took the place of immersion in Fun-books.
I don't think I'll read the other Help-books. I am moving forward on my own. Well, mostly on my own. My boyfriend has been through the same loss, so I have a new sounding board; one that has been there. Perhaps, though, I'll just keep writing in case this one turns into a Help-book itself. It would be a privilege to help anyone. Anyone at all. It's also non-fiction, so I probably wouldn't read it, but that's all right; I'm living a non-fiction life right now and it's turning into a story that I wouldn't put down!
Do these books give advice? I think some do. They are meant to be Help-books. I did peruse one at Barnes and Noble one evening. It had chapters on everything from immediately after your spouse's death to a chapter called "Widows and Sex". I did not buy it - I did what anybody would do, looked at the 'good' parts and put it back down. I didn't really learn anything new or groundbreaking, so you will get no details from me!
I feel a little guilty, though, that I've done all this writing and not read what others have said before me. (I generally feel guilty about most everything, no surprise there!) I've read little bits, just not books. A blog post is about the right length for my concentration these days. I started reading a John Grisham book that a friend lent me in January. To me, that's a Fun-book. It's April and I'm on page 72. I'm only able to sit for so long until thoughts and ideas flood my brain and I have to just get up and do something. Sometimes the something is writing down the thoughts. Sometimes it's cleaning out a drawer. You never know.
I jump up, do whatever it is I feel needs "doing", and move on to the next thing. I don't go back to the book. That is not the person I used to be, when a Fun-book could devour my days and nights until I finished it. Readers are a special breed of people. The list of things we can ignore while immersed in a book can include family, friends, pets, hunger, chores....on and on. I am one of those, usually, just not lately.
I did research and read Help-stuff. Not books. Thank goodness there are web pages and support forums out there that I could read in a 'drive-by' style. They did help, a bit. But what helped mostly was sitting here and organizing what I was feeling into sentences, paragraphs and full posts. I've been pretty honest about what I've been feeling for the last eleven months. I want to remain true to form, just because everyone has been so loving, supportive and encouraging. Writing these little posts has been my therapy, my meditation, my crutch, punching bag and wailing wall. I think writing took the place of immersion in Fun-books.
I don't think I'll read the other Help-books. I am moving forward on my own. Well, mostly on my own. My boyfriend has been through the same loss, so I have a new sounding board; one that has been there. Perhaps, though, I'll just keep writing in case this one turns into a Help-book itself. It would be a privilege to help anyone. Anyone at all. It's also non-fiction, so I probably wouldn't read it, but that's all right; I'm living a non-fiction life right now and it's turning into a story that I wouldn't put down!
Tuesday, March 18, 2014
A strange path to a very happy place 3/17/14
Very happy? How? I've been on my own for 10 months and had to do more "stuff", and endure more than the normal share of hardships. Hidden away from the world, with only a relative or very good friend on the phone or with me, I've broken down so many times that I started to think I was broken. I started to think that my outward brave face and strong attitude was holding me back because I didn't give myself an appropriate amount of "sulking around in public" time. Well, sorry, people, I'm not going to pout for all of you. I know for a fact that some people thought it was strange how quickly I went back to work last year, and how I've just carried on........as if nothing at all happened. I'd like to see how those people react in the face of a tragedy. (Obviously though, I do not wish tragedy on anyone.) I think many of them would then realize that going back to work and seeing people and sharing stories-sad, funny, or happy-can be healing and comforting.
I did pour feelings out through my writing, though. The first few pieces I wrote after Scott died, I sobbed the whole way through writing. Some later pieces, I pounded the keys of the computer unreasonably hard, because I was very angry about the subject. I also had to let some sit and take their time - as well as completely delete some and not publish others. I became obsessed with tracking my page views. This blog engine has a stats page for me, on which I can see how many views each post has, how many views today, last month, and all time for the blog. I can also see the referring website, the country you are in, and which browsers have been used. Not in a personal way, just numbers accumulation. I quickly became obsessed with my 'numbers'. I've been known to check my page counts at dinner, in the airport, at school and while shopping. In trying to 'boost' my numbers, I shared links to my blog in a lot of places. I just never realized that somebody in one of those places would go back and read every one of them. Not only read every one of them, but then contact me, end up talking with me, and later on want to meet me.
At this point, I have to apologize for my earlier post that ranted against the lady that told me to "meet someone online". Kind of. That was still somewhat insensitive of her. If we still wore black for a "period of mourning", it might not have happened. But never mind the online love lady, I want to talk about this person that found a link to my writing I posted in a grief support forum. This person sent me a private message almost two months ago on the forum, saying they admired the job I was doing as a mom and a teacher after my loss. They had experienced loss, also, and we started messaging back and forth and talking about different things. I suppose you've figured out by now that it's a 'he'. Where did this come from? I didn't ask for this, or go looking for this, or sign up or join or advertise.....it found me. From my writing. Whoa.
We progressed to talking on the phone. I'm two months behind on my recorded TV shows. It's very scary when you don't know someone at all, but then you're talking and sharing experiences, and you feel you start to know them. And then he got the nerve (I know for a fact that it was just as scary for him...) to ask if we could meet. My answer? "Not yet, I'll think about it.". I mean, what is a girl supposed to say? Then I went to Mardi Gras. There will be a chapter in the book that tells what happened at Mardi Gras to make my decision clearer. (I dream about making these writings into a book that may help others who travel this path. Everyone can dream, right?) The week after Mardi Gras, he asked again to meet. I said yes. We worked out a plan for him to come visit me in Texas. It was exciting, but I experienced a nervousness that beat out any performance nerves. I felt I knew him, after two months of talking.....and I was comfortable enough to tell him on the phone: "Well, I know you're not an ax-murderer, so yes, I will invite you!"
Without throwing details to the world in my writing (because there is another person involved in this story....) I would like to say, with all respect to everything that has happened in the past year, that this weekend was like a fairy tale or a Hallmark channel movie. It started with flowers and ended with a good-bye kiss. I didn't even check my blog stats one time. I'm happy at the moment, in spite of the strange path. I hope you can be happy for me, too. I'll be careful, I promise.
I did pour feelings out through my writing, though. The first few pieces I wrote after Scott died, I sobbed the whole way through writing. Some later pieces, I pounded the keys of the computer unreasonably hard, because I was very angry about the subject. I also had to let some sit and take their time - as well as completely delete some and not publish others. I became obsessed with tracking my page views. This blog engine has a stats page for me, on which I can see how many views each post has, how many views today, last month, and all time for the blog. I can also see the referring website, the country you are in, and which browsers have been used. Not in a personal way, just numbers accumulation. I quickly became obsessed with my 'numbers'. I've been known to check my page counts at dinner, in the airport, at school and while shopping. In trying to 'boost' my numbers, I shared links to my blog in a lot of places. I just never realized that somebody in one of those places would go back and read every one of them. Not only read every one of them, but then contact me, end up talking with me, and later on want to meet me.
At this point, I have to apologize for my earlier post that ranted against the lady that told me to "meet someone online". Kind of. That was still somewhat insensitive of her. If we still wore black for a "period of mourning", it might not have happened. But never mind the online love lady, I want to talk about this person that found a link to my writing I posted in a grief support forum. This person sent me a private message almost two months ago on the forum, saying they admired the job I was doing as a mom and a teacher after my loss. They had experienced loss, also, and we started messaging back and forth and talking about different things. I suppose you've figured out by now that it's a 'he'. Where did this come from? I didn't ask for this, or go looking for this, or sign up or join or advertise.....it found me. From my writing. Whoa.
We progressed to talking on the phone. I'm two months behind on my recorded TV shows. It's very scary when you don't know someone at all, but then you're talking and sharing experiences, and you feel you start to know them. And then he got the nerve (I know for a fact that it was just as scary for him...) to ask if we could meet. My answer? "Not yet, I'll think about it.". I mean, what is a girl supposed to say? Then I went to Mardi Gras. There will be a chapter in the book that tells what happened at Mardi Gras to make my decision clearer. (I dream about making these writings into a book that may help others who travel this path. Everyone can dream, right?) The week after Mardi Gras, he asked again to meet. I said yes. We worked out a plan for him to come visit me in Texas. It was exciting, but I experienced a nervousness that beat out any performance nerves. I felt I knew him, after two months of talking.....and I was comfortable enough to tell him on the phone: "Well, I know you're not an ax-murderer, so yes, I will invite you!"
Without throwing details to the world in my writing (because there is another person involved in this story....) I would like to say, with all respect to everything that has happened in the past year, that this weekend was like a fairy tale or a Hallmark channel movie. It started with flowers and ended with a good-bye kiss. I didn't even check my blog stats one time. I'm happy at the moment, in spite of the strange path. I hope you can be happy for me, too. I'll be careful, I promise.
Saturday, February 8, 2014
Briefcases and Tiffany hearts 2/8/14
There were these guys when I was in fifth or sixth grade. They were smart. They played kickball, did a little music, but mostly they were the smart guys. Then all of the sudden, they all started carrying briefcases to school. A briefcase - like a Wall Street broker or something. The rest of us just giggled a bit and went back to band, swim team, staking out our favorite equipment on the playground (do the words 'witch's hat' spark a memory, anyone?) and yes - we all played massive kickball tournaments, even briefcase guys. When the briefcases started their run, I was carrying a clarinet, some played sports, some loved makeup, clothes and shoes, others were under the hood of a car before they could drive. It's as if, somewhere around ten or eleven years old, a great imaginary dividing ceremony takes place and sends us to our group.
If you're a reader, you are also recognizing this idea from some great fiction out there. "Divergent", the "Harry Potter" series, many others play on this theme, that you all of the sudden 'grow up' and 'find your group' at that age. The thing is, it's an eternal theme because it rings true in real life. I watch it happen with the darlings I teach, year after year. In fourth grade, they start 'hanging around' the kids that are most like them, instead of just anyone. Girls who take dance outside of school stick together, etc. And if you think I'm giving an idyllic, fairy-tale view of this natural separation, I will throw this out there: I referee more mean comments, hurt feelings and actual tears simply because very young friends are growing apart and they don't have the emotional maturity to realize it's okay, you can miss that friend, you can make an effort to still be friends, or you can remain acquaintances. They don't know. It's their first bump in the road of all their friendships and relationships to come. By fifth grade, the groups set themselves. I give them a talk each year about moving on to middle school and finding their 'group'. I love when they come back to me and visit, and band (or choir, or orchestra, or theater...or even football or art) is their whole life, all their friends are from that group and their grades are fantastic and they are headed for college.
I've been living the very adult version of 'finding my group' for the past nine months. Before nine months ago today, I didn't belong to any group that had experienced tragic loss. Loss of grandparents, older aunts and uncles, yes. But I had lost no parents, siblings, or children. I didn't have that frame of reference before May 8th. I started thinking this way because I saw an image that made me reflect on the changes that take place long after you find your first 'group'.
Tiffany hearts? Yes, they made me think. I wore these earrings on Thursday and Friday. Invariably, every time I looked in the mirror, one heart was upside down. I fixed it, tightened the back, but to no avail. Of course, the earrings being hearts, it made me think - my heart has felt upside-down lately. It just jumped out at me that we always need to find our group. Life changes, and life changes us. I'm still the person I was before, but with a new addition to my personality. And it makes me gravitate toward certain people. I have been able to have better heart-to-heart conversations with friends that have experienced loss than with others lately. I'm not saying "I'm not your friend anymore" to anyone. I'm simply feeling more of a kinship with those that always have their 'event' in the front of their minds, just as I do.
The upside-down heart brought that home to me. A right-side-up heart looks settled, closed, happy, and states 'don't change me'! An upside-down heart is one that has been turned over and is now looking to find its way back. Nothing is settled anymore. That is how my earrings taught me a little something about myself this week. Most of me is settled. But there's a part that's been moving toward a bit of a different group. And that's okay. I think every heart should have an upside-down section. It keeps us from turning inward and never experiencing new things.
The briefcase guys didn't keep carrying briefcases into high school. The band kids learned to make friends with the athletes. Finding your group is an ongoing process, because life is an ongoing journey. When you look in the mirror and find out that part of your heart is upside-down at the moment, be happy that in spite of all, you're not too set in your ways to change just a bit. Because the road twists and turns and you'll be left behind if you don't.
If you're a reader, you are also recognizing this idea from some great fiction out there. "Divergent", the "Harry Potter" series, many others play on this theme, that you all of the sudden 'grow up' and 'find your group' at that age. The thing is, it's an eternal theme because it rings true in real life. I watch it happen with the darlings I teach, year after year. In fourth grade, they start 'hanging around' the kids that are most like them, instead of just anyone. Girls who take dance outside of school stick together, etc. And if you think I'm giving an idyllic, fairy-tale view of this natural separation, I will throw this out there: I referee more mean comments, hurt feelings and actual tears simply because very young friends are growing apart and they don't have the emotional maturity to realize it's okay, you can miss that friend, you can make an effort to still be friends, or you can remain acquaintances. They don't know. It's their first bump in the road of all their friendships and relationships to come. By fifth grade, the groups set themselves. I give them a talk each year about moving on to middle school and finding their 'group'. I love when they come back to me and visit, and band (or choir, or orchestra, or theater...or even football or art) is their whole life, all their friends are from that group and their grades are fantastic and they are headed for college.
I've been living the very adult version of 'finding my group' for the past nine months. Before nine months ago today, I didn't belong to any group that had experienced tragic loss. Loss of grandparents, older aunts and uncles, yes. But I had lost no parents, siblings, or children. I didn't have that frame of reference before May 8th. I started thinking this way because I saw an image that made me reflect on the changes that take place long after you find your first 'group'.
The upside-down heart brought that home to me. A right-side-up heart looks settled, closed, happy, and states 'don't change me'! An upside-down heart is one that has been turned over and is now looking to find its way back. Nothing is settled anymore. That is how my earrings taught me a little something about myself this week. Most of me is settled. But there's a part that's been moving toward a bit of a different group. And that's okay. I think every heart should have an upside-down section. It keeps us from turning inward and never experiencing new things.
The briefcase guys didn't keep carrying briefcases into high school. The band kids learned to make friends with the athletes. Finding your group is an ongoing process, because life is an ongoing journey. When you look in the mirror and find out that part of your heart is upside-down at the moment, be happy that in spite of all, you're not too set in your ways to change just a bit. Because the road twists and turns and you'll be left behind if you don't.
Saturday, February 1, 2014
Why the Daffodil? 2/1/14
Why the daffodil? You know the daffodil in my profile picture? They are one of my favorite flowers. When we lived in England, we had this sprawling house on an enormous yard with trees, landscaping, grapevines, a full row of apple and pear trees.......and daffodil bulbs hidden all under the grass of the front yard. Every year, when the grey skies would finally lift a bit and spring would give us a warm day or two, my front 'garden' was a sea of yellow daffodils. I had never had them in any of my yards or gardens before that, so I was thrilled at their beauty and the ease with which the re-appeared every year.
Last year, I bought a bag of daffodil bulbs on a whim at Home Depot. I had cleaned some pesky plants from around one of my pine trees in the back yard, leaving a small bed that was begging for some prettiness. The bag sat on the back porch for a few weeks until I finally got up and dug holes to plant them. I surrounded my tree with daffodil bulbs, then had enough left over to line the edge of the flower bed up front. I crossed my fingers for them and forgot about them.
Well, I didn't totally forget. I went out back to the tree every few days, looking for signs of life from underground. Sure enough, little green blades eventually forced themselves through the hard-packed dirt, and grew a little taller day by day. Eventually, one of the blades had a lump at the top - a lump destined to be a flower. In the time between planting those bulbs and seeing the possibility of a flower, we had some freezing weather, some very warm weather, stretches of no rain, suddenly too much rain - everything but snow and ice. Not last year. The leaves didn't care. They grew taller and taller, until I predicted: "My daffodils will bloom by Easter, I can tell!" I was very excited. Bloom they did, and I took a little time out for a photo session. The flower in the picture is indeed one of MY daffodils. I only brought a few inside to a vase. I left them to put a smile on the yard. It wasn't a sea, but it was a happy spot. By the time they were gone, so was Scott.
The brown leaves wither away and you forget the bulbs are under the dirt. They've been under there for almost a year, waiting, preparing, letting nature guide them as to when those leaves should start their journey again. They've endured extreme heat, flooding rains, freezing temperatures, sleet, and numerous critters, domesticated and not. They just know they are supposed to stay right there underground until nature says rebirth must happen.
The experience of the daffodil bulb (MY daffodils) is similar to the walk of grief. I have endured paperwork, meetings, making huge decisions, breaking down, working in spite of all, and trying to be wise for a future that could maybe ever be happy again. I'm getting there. It's as natural as the daffodil leaves that I laugh a little more again. That lady carrying five copies of a court document out of Office Depot? That was me. It's moving along as nature intended that probate court is finished and I must fill out more applications, file more paperwork....but it's leading somewhere. About a week ago, I noticed the tips of the leaves peeking out of the ground. The flowers will be back this year. Nature has said "it's time", even though there was a freeze last week and another predicted for next week. They know how to time it. And they are strong. They are hardy. A beautiful flower that spreads joy for a season, then bends its head to go away and prepare to be reborn the next year.......that is "why the daffodil".
Last year, I bought a bag of daffodil bulbs on a whim at Home Depot. I had cleaned some pesky plants from around one of my pine trees in the back yard, leaving a small bed that was begging for some prettiness. The bag sat on the back porch for a few weeks until I finally got up and dug holes to plant them. I surrounded my tree with daffodil bulbs, then had enough left over to line the edge of the flower bed up front. I crossed my fingers for them and forgot about them.
Well, I didn't totally forget. I went out back to the tree every few days, looking for signs of life from underground. Sure enough, little green blades eventually forced themselves through the hard-packed dirt, and grew a little taller day by day. Eventually, one of the blades had a lump at the top - a lump destined to be a flower. In the time between planting those bulbs and seeing the possibility of a flower, we had some freezing weather, some very warm weather, stretches of no rain, suddenly too much rain - everything but snow and ice. Not last year. The leaves didn't care. They grew taller and taller, until I predicted: "My daffodils will bloom by Easter, I can tell!" I was very excited. Bloom they did, and I took a little time out for a photo session. The flower in the picture is indeed one of MY daffodils. I only brought a few inside to a vase. I left them to put a smile on the yard. It wasn't a sea, but it was a happy spot. By the time they were gone, so was Scott.
The brown leaves wither away and you forget the bulbs are under the dirt. They've been under there for almost a year, waiting, preparing, letting nature guide them as to when those leaves should start their journey again. They've endured extreme heat, flooding rains, freezing temperatures, sleet, and numerous critters, domesticated and not. They just know they are supposed to stay right there underground until nature says rebirth must happen.
The experience of the daffodil bulb (MY daffodils) is similar to the walk of grief. I have endured paperwork, meetings, making huge decisions, breaking down, working in spite of all, and trying to be wise for a future that could maybe ever be happy again. I'm getting there. It's as natural as the daffodil leaves that I laugh a little more again. That lady carrying five copies of a court document out of Office Depot? That was me. It's moving along as nature intended that probate court is finished and I must fill out more applications, file more paperwork....but it's leading somewhere. About a week ago, I noticed the tips of the leaves peeking out of the ground. The flowers will be back this year. Nature has said "it's time", even though there was a freeze last week and another predicted for next week. They know how to time it. And they are strong. They are hardy. A beautiful flower that spreads joy for a season, then bends its head to go away and prepare to be reborn the next year.......that is "why the daffodil".
Sunday, November 10, 2013
Practicing What I Preach or How to Act Like a Grown-Up 11/10/13
"He hit me!" "I did not!" "Yes, you did, your elbow hit me when you sat down!" Mrs. McCarty then intervenes: "If I accidentally stepped on your hand, would I say 'sorry' so, so quickly?" Elbow child; "Yes...." "Then say 'I'm sorry, I didn't mean to do that' to her." Elbow child, mumbling, head down; "I'm sorry." Mrs. McCarty; "You didn't mean to do that, you're just saying you're sorry that it happened! That's how we are nice to each other!" Elbow child; nothing.
This happens at least once a week. In elementary school, little accidental bumps and jostles can be interpreted by the 'victim' as a crime against themselves and all of humanity. I always use myself as the example 'bad guy', because they know what my reaction would be. I'm so, so sweet and nice, and I would feel terrible if I stepped on their little hand (which does happen but only a couple times a year, so I have a great safety average! And no serious injuries ever, thank goodness.) By telling them to apologize for the fact that the mistake happened, I hope I'm teaching manners, maturity, responsibility, you name it. The thing is.....can I practice what I preach with adults?
In the process of walking through my grief, I present what I consider a very 'normal' outside. I work, laugh, joke, complain, suggest....all different from how I feel on the inside. I hide the sadness by instinct. It's not because of you that I hide it - it's because of me. Sometimes I go a little further than I want in the 'normal'. Evidently, one day, a while ago, I made a comment at lunch (based on a happening conversation, mind you...) that 'maybe there's someone out there for me'. I didn't mean now. I might not mean ever. It was an offhand comment, in context of the conversation. There was someone there, though, that took my words to heart.
This particular someone is on a totally different path, having been divorced for a long while, and recently seeing someone. A couple of weeks after my comment, this person seriously encouraged me to 'Go online, honey. Match.com, it worked for me.' I kind of said "Oh really!" and turned the conversation back to my people at my table. Later, I complained to friends. That bothered me. I was approaching only six months without him, how dare this person suggest such a thing right now? After I complained, and got the sufficient amount of pity from my net (what's a net? read this and find out: http://momastery.com/blog/2013/11/07/idea-title-im-even-sure-read-nets-well-call-nets/
I'm not on drugs, or bulimic, or getting arrested....and I have a net. I am more fortunate than young Glennon. I am also thankful that she has found her way in life and for her ability to inspire others. So...I complained to my net about that 'insensitive remark', got my assurances that I was right, that person was wrong, and was done with it. I mean, we love to complain to our friends and be assured that our view is the correct one, right? It's a national sport!
Well, it happened a second time. The person had reached a milestone in their new relationship, and was obviously (and rightly) elated. And once again, they took the chance to look at me and say 'Match.com, I'm tellin' ya, Ms. McCarty'. OH!!! I packed up what was left of my chips and yogurt and walked out. I found some net people. I told them, incensed. I got pity and confirmation (Thank you net!) And then, I realized.....for some reason, that person thinks that's OK, and this is going to keep happening unless I say something. Boy, did that let the air out of my balloon. I was going to have to address it, instead of complaining about it! I knew that as soon as I asked the person to stop, they would totally apologize, maybe even feel badly about having done it, but I DIDN'T WANT to talk to the person. I had turned into elbow kid!
It took two days. I knew I had to, and I knew I wanted to do it privately. I am the grown-up. When by chance I finally said...."You know, I'm just not ready to hear that, the match.com thing. Congratulations, so happy for you, but not me, not yet." The person apologized, said 'of course'.....and brought up the time I said 'maybe there's someone out there for me'. The person had taken me at my word. My 'trying to be normal' conversation turned on me, said 'Oh, this is what you want, eh?' and then I had to be a grown-up and say "Sorry, but please don't..." because of my mistake of being fake. I did it. I was the grown-up. My net applauded me. I, on the other hand, did not applaud myself, because I realized that my offhand comment had fed the whole situation.
Where do I go from here? If I am the grown-up I think I am, I guess I need to mix a little of my inner sadness in with my outer 'normal'. The icy covering needs to break and mix with the deep dark cold water of sorrow, and form a slush that can create a completely different attitude from either 'fake' or 'hidden'. I'm going to work on that. It's the grown-up thing to do.
A little addendum:
What if I had gone to the person accusingly? What if I had done it publicly? Too many people these days don't understand the good manners of taking turns to talk things over, and listening to the other side. Prime example: any 'political' news show where both parties or pundits that side with both parties are represented. They all end up yelling and interrupting, guests and hosts alike. I shudder to think that America bases its actions on what we see on the television. One of my main problem with politics in any forum is the lack of manners. How many families have talks about issues? How many do it the grown-up way? Do you listen and consider before you yell your defense? I have news for everyone - you're not always right. You're also sometimes only partially right. If you don't listen to what the other side says, you're compounding, not solving the problem.
This happens at least once a week. In elementary school, little accidental bumps and jostles can be interpreted by the 'victim' as a crime against themselves and all of humanity. I always use myself as the example 'bad guy', because they know what my reaction would be. I'm so, so sweet and nice, and I would feel terrible if I stepped on their little hand (which does happen but only a couple times a year, so I have a great safety average! And no serious injuries ever, thank goodness.) By telling them to apologize for the fact that the mistake happened, I hope I'm teaching manners, maturity, responsibility, you name it. The thing is.....can I practice what I preach with adults?
In the process of walking through my grief, I present what I consider a very 'normal' outside. I work, laugh, joke, complain, suggest....all different from how I feel on the inside. I hide the sadness by instinct. It's not because of you that I hide it - it's because of me. Sometimes I go a little further than I want in the 'normal'. Evidently, one day, a while ago, I made a comment at lunch (based on a happening conversation, mind you...) that 'maybe there's someone out there for me'. I didn't mean now. I might not mean ever. It was an offhand comment, in context of the conversation. There was someone there, though, that took my words to heart.
This particular someone is on a totally different path, having been divorced for a long while, and recently seeing someone. A couple of weeks after my comment, this person seriously encouraged me to 'Go online, honey. Match.com, it worked for me.' I kind of said "Oh really!" and turned the conversation back to my people at my table. Later, I complained to friends. That bothered me. I was approaching only six months without him, how dare this person suggest such a thing right now? After I complained, and got the sufficient amount of pity from my net (what's a net? read this and find out: http://momastery.com/blog/2013/11/07/idea-title-im-even-sure-read-nets-well-call-nets/
I'm not on drugs, or bulimic, or getting arrested....and I have a net. I am more fortunate than young Glennon. I am also thankful that she has found her way in life and for her ability to inspire others. So...I complained to my net about that 'insensitive remark', got my assurances that I was right, that person was wrong, and was done with it. I mean, we love to complain to our friends and be assured that our view is the correct one, right? It's a national sport!
Well, it happened a second time. The person had reached a milestone in their new relationship, and was obviously (and rightly) elated. And once again, they took the chance to look at me and say 'Match.com, I'm tellin' ya, Ms. McCarty'. OH!!! I packed up what was left of my chips and yogurt and walked out. I found some net people. I told them, incensed. I got pity and confirmation (Thank you net!) And then, I realized.....for some reason, that person thinks that's OK, and this is going to keep happening unless I say something. Boy, did that let the air out of my balloon. I was going to have to address it, instead of complaining about it! I knew that as soon as I asked the person to stop, they would totally apologize, maybe even feel badly about having done it, but I DIDN'T WANT to talk to the person. I had turned into elbow kid!
It took two days. I knew I had to, and I knew I wanted to do it privately. I am the grown-up. When by chance I finally said...."You know, I'm just not ready to hear that, the match.com thing. Congratulations, so happy for you, but not me, not yet." The person apologized, said 'of course'.....and brought up the time I said 'maybe there's someone out there for me'. The person had taken me at my word. My 'trying to be normal' conversation turned on me, said 'Oh, this is what you want, eh?' and then I had to be a grown-up and say "Sorry, but please don't..." because of my mistake of being fake. I did it. I was the grown-up. My net applauded me. I, on the other hand, did not applaud myself, because I realized that my offhand comment had fed the whole situation.
Where do I go from here? If I am the grown-up I think I am, I guess I need to mix a little of my inner sadness in with my outer 'normal'. The icy covering needs to break and mix with the deep dark cold water of sorrow, and form a slush that can create a completely different attitude from either 'fake' or 'hidden'. I'm going to work on that. It's the grown-up thing to do.
A little addendum:
What if I had gone to the person accusingly? What if I had done it publicly? Too many people these days don't understand the good manners of taking turns to talk things over, and listening to the other side. Prime example: any 'political' news show where both parties or pundits that side with both parties are represented. They all end up yelling and interrupting, guests and hosts alike. I shudder to think that America bases its actions on what we see on the television. One of my main problem with politics in any forum is the lack of manners. How many families have talks about issues? How many do it the grown-up way? Do you listen and consider before you yell your defense? I have news for everyone - you're not always right. You're also sometimes only partially right. If you don't listen to what the other side says, you're compounding, not solving the problem.
Saturday, October 12, 2013
Along The Rocky Road 10/12/13
There are things I'll never say
and feelings I'll never express.
You have to know it's just my way,
I don't mean what I do say any less.
If I smile, I mean it somewhere,
even though my eyes fill with tears.
The duality of grief and living
is complex and full of fears.
I enjoy any conversation,
it's nice to hear a voice.
Emptiness gets really loud
and it's not like I had a choice.
I was blissfully unaware
of living with such daily pain.
I regret now not taking the care
with other friends that beat me there.
Striving to appear normal, like "each day is new"
I'm programmed that way, society to blame,
Stopping to cry isn't how we play the game.
But grief is churning inside of me like a bubbling witch's brew.
Writing this to thank all those that guide me along,
message me on the computer, a squeeze on the arm.
Letters, notes, comments, songs,
A hug, a smile that says "I know where you are."
I may not let on, but I need you desperately.
Being alone is not as easy as I thought it would be.
Were all of your encouragement in the shape of letters written,
you would find them faded and worn so thin from reading again and again.
I will survive, you and I both know that.
I just have to work through the new way of life
at the same time I'm wrapping up with everything past.
One step at a time on a rocky road -
Thank you to those that share the load.
and feelings I'll never express.
You have to know it's just my way,
I don't mean what I do say any less.
If I smile, I mean it somewhere,
even though my eyes fill with tears.
The duality of grief and living
is complex and full of fears.
I enjoy any conversation,
it's nice to hear a voice.
Emptiness gets really loud
and it's not like I had a choice.
I was blissfully unaware
of living with such daily pain.
I regret now not taking the care
with other friends that beat me there.
Striving to appear normal, like "each day is new"
I'm programmed that way, society to blame,
Stopping to cry isn't how we play the game.
But grief is churning inside of me like a bubbling witch's brew.
Writing this to thank all those that guide me along,
message me on the computer, a squeeze on the arm.
Letters, notes, comments, songs,
A hug, a smile that says "I know where you are."
I may not let on, but I need you desperately.
Being alone is not as easy as I thought it would be.
Were all of your encouragement in the shape of letters written,
you would find them faded and worn so thin from reading again and again.
I will survive, you and I both know that.
I just have to work through the new way of life
at the same time I'm wrapping up with everything past.
One step at a time on a rocky road -
Thank you to those that share the load.
Tuesday, October 8, 2013
Accepting Change and Trying Not to Break Things 10/8/13
Roxy-cat fell asleep on my computer keyboard yesterday. She pretty much owns the house, so that isn't a surprise. This is a cat that will smack a 55-lb. dog in the face if he tries to take her place on the couch. She regularly 'yells' at me if I stay gone too long - very loud, prolonged meowing. I've read that she is supposedly vocalizing her love, but it sounds like yelling to me! I think she feels better after she yells at me, like she's had her say, and it helped! She wasn't yelling yesterday, though, she was fast asleep on the keyboard.
The thing is, I wanted to use my computer at that time. She was in my way. So, I did what any good cat lady would do, I picked her up and put her down on the floor beside me! Only.....Roxy didn't want to get up. Is the keyboard of the computer nice and warm? Does it massage? Is she just obstinate? Who knows, the mind of Roxy is mysterious. Because she didn't want to get up, she held on to the keyboard with her claws. The inevitable result? She pulled a key right off. Of course, anyone might say that I pulled the key off by so cruelly lifting the darling from her nap. I noticed that the claw was caught, but the key popped off before I could let her go for relief. I wasn't too worried, I've put keys back on before. They kind of snap back on, easy, right?
I put the key on. I pushed. No snap. I looked at it - Oh! It's not the 9, it's the 6, turn it the other way! No snap. Little white plastic pieces underneath keep slightly moving and not snapping. It's broken. The cat broke the computer key. All because I insisted on pulling her off her spot, and she tried to hang on. Hmmmmm......
I can identify with Roxy. I get really comfortable with certain places, things, people. I'm pretty sure that I'm the kid that cried when I was seven and my mom get a new car. I don't know how I ever left for college....I think just to prove I could do it. I still have favorite t-shirts, blankets, jewelry, mixing bowls.....get the idea? I am huge on tradition and comfort. I pride myself when I can change, move, toss out, rearrange - because I know that doing so is a total challenge to my personality. I really prefer to hang on, just like Roxy.
Who handles change better? The adventurous personality? The rebel? The military kid? That would be a great study. I have learned to handle it because there were other entities forcing the change. I have never really wanted to leave any of my jobs. It just happened. I never really wanted to live so far away from family, it just happened. And I certainly never wanted to end up on my own at this age and stage, it just happened. I'm hanging on with my claws like a stubborn cat right now. I'm not cleaning out rooms in the house, because I want don't want to sell the house. I do know that I have to, and I will....I just don't want to!! (Funny note - we were going to sell it this spring anyway...) So let's just hope I can turn and face change with a winning attitude and pull my claws back in and not break anything. Maybe if I have a place where I can go and yell for a little while, I'll feel better.
The thing is, I wanted to use my computer at that time. She was in my way. So, I did what any good cat lady would do, I picked her up and put her down on the floor beside me! Only.....Roxy didn't want to get up. Is the keyboard of the computer nice and warm? Does it massage? Is she just obstinate? Who knows, the mind of Roxy is mysterious. Because she didn't want to get up, she held on to the keyboard with her claws. The inevitable result? She pulled a key right off. Of course, anyone might say that I pulled the key off by so cruelly lifting the darling from her nap. I noticed that the claw was caught, but the key popped off before I could let her go for relief. I wasn't too worried, I've put keys back on before. They kind of snap back on, easy, right?
I put the key on. I pushed. No snap. I looked at it - Oh! It's not the 9, it's the 6, turn it the other way! No snap. Little white plastic pieces underneath keep slightly moving and not snapping. It's broken. The cat broke the computer key. All because I insisted on pulling her off her spot, and she tried to hang on. Hmmmmm......
I can identify with Roxy. I get really comfortable with certain places, things, people. I'm pretty sure that I'm the kid that cried when I was seven and my mom get a new car. I don't know how I ever left for college....I think just to prove I could do it. I still have favorite t-shirts, blankets, jewelry, mixing bowls.....get the idea? I am huge on tradition and comfort. I pride myself when I can change, move, toss out, rearrange - because I know that doing so is a total challenge to my personality. I really prefer to hang on, just like Roxy.
Who handles change better? The adventurous personality? The rebel? The military kid? That would be a great study. I have learned to handle it because there were other entities forcing the change. I have never really wanted to leave any of my jobs. It just happened. I never really wanted to live so far away from family, it just happened. And I certainly never wanted to end up on my own at this age and stage, it just happened. I'm hanging on with my claws like a stubborn cat right now. I'm not cleaning out rooms in the house, because I want don't want to sell the house. I do know that I have to, and I will....I just don't want to!! (Funny note - we were going to sell it this spring anyway...) So let's just hope I can turn and face change with a winning attitude and pull my claws back in and not break anything. Maybe if I have a place where I can go and yell for a little while, I'll feel better.
Sunday, September 29, 2013
The Next Section of Road 9/29/13
The weather is changing. October will be here in a couple of days. The kids at school will get to sing "October, Rocktober"! The choir will scurry to learn all the holiday songs that they must know for concerts at the beginning of November. Another group of second graders will do the cutie-pie Turkey Follies show. The fourth graders will start work on their Holiday show. I'll be busy. But I'm scared that busy won't be enough.
I used to be so excited when October first arrived. It meant my birthday was only twenty-three days away, then Halloween, then Thanksgiving, then Christmas!! Zoom, the holiday season started rolling on October first and never stopped. That's why I'm scared. The beginning of Autumn through the chill of Christmas and the New Year is one long holiday. Yes, certain dates are on the calendar for Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year's day....but all of us, commercial entities and families, take this season to celebrate. Non-stop. Food. Decorations. Parties. Cards. Gifts. Travel. Family. Costumes. Even pet costumes, if you are in my family. I'm scared that every single day between October first and the back-to-school time in January is going to be a very difficult section of the journey.
The few cooler days that suggest Autumn in the deep South are invigorating. "The high today is only going to be eighty-eight!!" You hear it all around. Everyone switches from cool clothes in summer colors to cool clothes in Fall colors. Any Autumn weekend where people wake up to cooler temps for a few hours of the day finds them running off to the farmer's market or an Oktoberfest in some community. We grab at any hint of a break from the heat and call it Autumn. Never mind how much you're going to sweat at that festival or game. Fall has arrived! I always felt the excitement just like everyone else. But I'm starting to understand why holidays are huge mountains to be scaled on the road of grief.
I'm trying to prepare my mind and emotions. That's what I do, that's how I've been handling things. I remind myself that certain days/occasions/tasks are going to be more difficult. I then carry on through those things by allowing the memories and thoughts, giving them a minute and trying to move on. I carry tissues in case I don't move on too quickly. I surround myself with people. I go different places. I have started to do different things when home alone. He used to have the television on during every waking hour. I choose music. I'm kind of tweaking life to sidestep sadness. I don't think it's a cop out, because the sadness still gets in there a lot of the time.
I also have a lot of help in handling things. My beloved girls will be home for the holidays, and they are the best medicine for anything, as well as the ones that share my feelings. Besides being a good friend, Meiling is the one that checks on me daily and watches for any sign that I need time, an ear, a shoulder, or Mexican food. Thank you my friend for being such a good "keeper" to me and my zoo, that's why my mom won't let you move away. Other friends, at work and far away, call and message all the time. That is still important. I love it. Family is forever there. Mom is always there. Thank you. And how precious is it that nephew Zach is flying in for Thanksgiving week? Just the right tweak can make anticipation not completely sad.
In spite of all the help, I still must travel the holiday season part of the road. I have read suggestions "just skip Christmas", "celebrate at a hotel", "light a candle for memory".....many ways that people in the same situation have chosen to travel their difficult stretch of the road. But will any of that change my feelings and memories? How will I not think, on my birthday, of him giving me the beautiful diamond band last year, and saying "Well, you are fifty, after all."? How will I not think of him not being here most Thanksgivings, but always getting the turkey leg when he was? How will I not remember how proud he was of the custom-sized nylon straps he made at the office and brought home to hold the Christmas tree box closed? We had a life together for twenty-eight years. It's impossible not to think!
I will allow the memories. I will try to move on. If I can't, I will cry for a while, then move on. I will appreciate all the family and friends that are there for me. After the holidays are over, I'll probably go on that site and write my own suggestions for 'surviving the first holiday season without a loved one'. But I will know that every road has different obstacles. I'm just preparing for mine. Since October arrives in two days, I have to put on my helmet and hold on to the rails. Walk with me, cheer me on, give me a cup of water.....the trek has begun.
I used to be so excited when October first arrived. It meant my birthday was only twenty-three days away, then Halloween, then Thanksgiving, then Christmas!! Zoom, the holiday season started rolling on October first and never stopped. That's why I'm scared. The beginning of Autumn through the chill of Christmas and the New Year is one long holiday. Yes, certain dates are on the calendar for Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year's day....but all of us, commercial entities and families, take this season to celebrate. Non-stop. Food. Decorations. Parties. Cards. Gifts. Travel. Family. Costumes. Even pet costumes, if you are in my family. I'm scared that every single day between October first and the back-to-school time in January is going to be a very difficult section of the journey.
The few cooler days that suggest Autumn in the deep South are invigorating. "The high today is only going to be eighty-eight!!" You hear it all around. Everyone switches from cool clothes in summer colors to cool clothes in Fall colors. Any Autumn weekend where people wake up to cooler temps for a few hours of the day finds them running off to the farmer's market or an Oktoberfest in some community. We grab at any hint of a break from the heat and call it Autumn. Never mind how much you're going to sweat at that festival or game. Fall has arrived! I always felt the excitement just like everyone else. But I'm starting to understand why holidays are huge mountains to be scaled on the road of grief.
I'm trying to prepare my mind and emotions. That's what I do, that's how I've been handling things. I remind myself that certain days/occasions/tasks are going to be more difficult. I then carry on through those things by allowing the memories and thoughts, giving them a minute and trying to move on. I carry tissues in case I don't move on too quickly. I surround myself with people. I go different places. I have started to do different things when home alone. He used to have the television on during every waking hour. I choose music. I'm kind of tweaking life to sidestep sadness. I don't think it's a cop out, because the sadness still gets in there a lot of the time.
I also have a lot of help in handling things. My beloved girls will be home for the holidays, and they are the best medicine for anything, as well as the ones that share my feelings. Besides being a good friend, Meiling is the one that checks on me daily and watches for any sign that I need time, an ear, a shoulder, or Mexican food. Thank you my friend for being such a good "keeper" to me and my zoo, that's why my mom won't let you move away. Other friends, at work and far away, call and message all the time. That is still important. I love it. Family is forever there. Mom is always there. Thank you. And how precious is it that nephew Zach is flying in for Thanksgiving week? Just the right tweak can make anticipation not completely sad.
In spite of all the help, I still must travel the holiday season part of the road. I have read suggestions "just skip Christmas", "celebrate at a hotel", "light a candle for memory".....many ways that people in the same situation have chosen to travel their difficult stretch of the road. But will any of that change my feelings and memories? How will I not think, on my birthday, of him giving me the beautiful diamond band last year, and saying "Well, you are fifty, after all."? How will I not think of him not being here most Thanksgivings, but always getting the turkey leg when he was? How will I not remember how proud he was of the custom-sized nylon straps he made at the office and brought home to hold the Christmas tree box closed? We had a life together for twenty-eight years. It's impossible not to think!
I will allow the memories. I will try to move on. If I can't, I will cry for a while, then move on. I will appreciate all the family and friends that are there for me. After the holidays are over, I'll probably go on that site and write my own suggestions for 'surviving the first holiday season without a loved one'. But I will know that every road has different obstacles. I'm just preparing for mine. Since October arrives in two days, I have to put on my helmet and hold on to the rails. Walk with me, cheer me on, give me a cup of water.....the trek has begun.
Saturday, September 21, 2013
Adam Levine is pretty - but just let me look at the sky occasionally 9/21/13
*to Ramona, Christina, Tricia, Meiling and mostly Cathi - thanks for the fun!!
It was a beautiful Thursday night for an outdoor concert. The rain had cleared and brought the temperature down! The crowd was immense. I think every woman and half the men in Houston came out to breathe the same air as Adam Levine. Maroon 5 is a good band. But their front man - he sells more than music. Those magazine covers, shirtless. The always-stylish hair, tattoos, tight clothes. He plays the part of "rock god" to the hilt. Oh yeah, and he can sing.
I got invited by a very sweet friend to go along with a few other ladies. I love concerts, and just by inviting me, she gave me a "thing" to look forward to that could take the place of the other wanderings my mind does these days. Kelly Clarkson and Maroon 5! Big talent! Fun friends! Laughing! Oh yeah - I laugh a lot. Sad people can laugh, too. Things don't stop being funny just because you're sad about something. Sometimes I lead with laughter. Other times, I simply smile because no laughter is inside me. I try to do what looks "normal", even though I'm not normal....yet.
Kelly Clarkson sings a lot of songs about losing boyfriends. I never realized how songs about losing a boyfriend could have so many lyrics that closely mirrored losing a spouse. Never mind "What Doesn't Kill You".... I was still getting my dinner (nachos, yum.....we bluffed our way into the VIP line so we didn't have to wait as long), so that one didn't really reach me. But then there was "Because of You", and "My Life Would Suck Without You". (Of course, my mind changed the second title to "My Life Does Suck Without You.") I sat, listened, and just looked up at the sky when the waves of sadness came. The clouds were beautiful. The moon was to our left. Only two or three stars were visible, sometimes even those ducking behind the clouds. I looked for a bit, then it would pass. Silly songs, silly lyrics, silly middle-aged lady taking them to heart.
After Kelly, the headliners were on stage. I had personally forgotten how many hits they've had over the years - songs that passed through my eardrums into my brain during the time that daughters ruled the car radio. (In my humble opinion, there is still good music being written and recorded today. You just need to look a little harder for it. The fun part about a blog is that it can be my soapbox if I want, it's my blog!) So, back to Adam Levine. I got the general impression that about 80% of the women in the audience would have left the place with him - as well as about 10% of the men. Even all the happily married women would have at least wanted to.....introduce the husband? Have coffee? Show him pics of the kids? He's very magnetic, and a huge cross-section of America wants to adopt him, for one reason or another. The other percentage of the audience were huge fans of the music - like the short, chubby dancing man in front of us. I appreciate and understand the craze about Mr. Levine.....but I felt as if everyone was in a museum with me, going crazy over the impressionists. While I thought they were pretty, I wanted to wander down the hall and look at the Old Masters. I texted my girls at college: "Good concert. Adam Levine is pretty". (Adam, if you read this, Maddy says she's single.)
I am actually writing about this to work through why I feel that I would rather meet Jagger than "Moves Like Jagger". Is it my age? I'm sure that's a big part. But most of all, I just know that I'm still having to look at the sky way too often. I probably don't want to meet Jagger, either. I try to hide it still. On any day, if I seem together and happy and secure - I've probably gotten more bad news. Anymore when bad news comes my way, I seem to deflect it as if I'm wearing some sort of armor.
Is the fact that I don't react immediately, sadly, uncontrollably, falling-apart-to-broken due to strength? No. I've heard that one a lot - "You are so strong." Meant as a compliment, I hope, to tell me that you admire the fact that I'm not in a fetal position on the floor, screaming. But it's not strength that keeps me going. There's nothing strong about sighing while I get ready for work, because the house is so empty. There's nothing strong about hiding behind my smart board to wipe away tears because my choir just broke into "Keep Your Head Up". There's nothing strong about going to an awesome concert with friends and laughing a lot about family, work and life. That's just living. Others may or may not notice when I look at the sky - I don't do it to be noticed, so it's ok if you don't. I just know that it's a measure of how often I have to re-gather myself to continue being normal. So I listen to Kelly Clarkson's amazing voice, appreciate her songs and the honest, funny way she talks to the audience, and I just stop and look at the sky when I have to. And I watch and listen to Adam Levine and Maroon 5, and look at the sky when I have to. After a few thoughts, a few breaths, I look back at the stage, or if I really need to cheer up, the short chubby dancing man. It was a good night, friends. Thank you.
It was a beautiful Thursday night for an outdoor concert. The rain had cleared and brought the temperature down! The crowd was immense. I think every woman and half the men in Houston came out to breathe the same air as Adam Levine. Maroon 5 is a good band. But their front man - he sells more than music. Those magazine covers, shirtless. The always-stylish hair, tattoos, tight clothes. He plays the part of "rock god" to the hilt. Oh yeah, and he can sing.
I got invited by a very sweet friend to go along with a few other ladies. I love concerts, and just by inviting me, she gave me a "thing" to look forward to that could take the place of the other wanderings my mind does these days. Kelly Clarkson and Maroon 5! Big talent! Fun friends! Laughing! Oh yeah - I laugh a lot. Sad people can laugh, too. Things don't stop being funny just because you're sad about something. Sometimes I lead with laughter. Other times, I simply smile because no laughter is inside me. I try to do what looks "normal", even though I'm not normal....yet.
Kelly Clarkson sings a lot of songs about losing boyfriends. I never realized how songs about losing a boyfriend could have so many lyrics that closely mirrored losing a spouse. Never mind "What Doesn't Kill You".... I was still getting my dinner (nachos, yum.....we bluffed our way into the VIP line so we didn't have to wait as long), so that one didn't really reach me. But then there was "Because of You", and "My Life Would Suck Without You". (Of course, my mind changed the second title to "My Life Does Suck Without You.") I sat, listened, and just looked up at the sky when the waves of sadness came. The clouds were beautiful. The moon was to our left. Only two or three stars were visible, sometimes even those ducking behind the clouds. I looked for a bit, then it would pass. Silly songs, silly lyrics, silly middle-aged lady taking them to heart.
After Kelly, the headliners were on stage. I had personally forgotten how many hits they've had over the years - songs that passed through my eardrums into my brain during the time that daughters ruled the car radio. (In my humble opinion, there is still good music being written and recorded today. You just need to look a little harder for it. The fun part about a blog is that it can be my soapbox if I want, it's my blog!) So, back to Adam Levine. I got the general impression that about 80% of the women in the audience would have left the place with him - as well as about 10% of the men. Even all the happily married women would have at least wanted to.....introduce the husband? Have coffee? Show him pics of the kids? He's very magnetic, and a huge cross-section of America wants to adopt him, for one reason or another. The other percentage of the audience were huge fans of the music - like the short, chubby dancing man in front of us. I appreciate and understand the craze about Mr. Levine.....but I felt as if everyone was in a museum with me, going crazy over the impressionists. While I thought they were pretty, I wanted to wander down the hall and look at the Old Masters. I texted my girls at college: "Good concert. Adam Levine is pretty". (Adam, if you read this, Maddy says she's single.)
I am actually writing about this to work through why I feel that I would rather meet Jagger than "Moves Like Jagger". Is it my age? I'm sure that's a big part. But most of all, I just know that I'm still having to look at the sky way too often. I probably don't want to meet Jagger, either. I try to hide it still. On any day, if I seem together and happy and secure - I've probably gotten more bad news. Anymore when bad news comes my way, I seem to deflect it as if I'm wearing some sort of armor.
Is the fact that I don't react immediately, sadly, uncontrollably, falling-apart-to-broken due to strength? No. I've heard that one a lot - "You are so strong." Meant as a compliment, I hope, to tell me that you admire the fact that I'm not in a fetal position on the floor, screaming. But it's not strength that keeps me going. There's nothing strong about sighing while I get ready for work, because the house is so empty. There's nothing strong about hiding behind my smart board to wipe away tears because my choir just broke into "Keep Your Head Up". There's nothing strong about going to an awesome concert with friends and laughing a lot about family, work and life. That's just living. Others may or may not notice when I look at the sky - I don't do it to be noticed, so it's ok if you don't. I just know that it's a measure of how often I have to re-gather myself to continue being normal. So I listen to Kelly Clarkson's amazing voice, appreciate her songs and the honest, funny way she talks to the audience, and I just stop and look at the sky when I have to. And I watch and listen to Adam Levine and Maroon 5, and look at the sky when I have to. After a few thoughts, a few breaths, I look back at the stage, or if I really need to cheer up, the short chubby dancing man. It was a good night, friends. Thank you.
Sunday, September 15, 2013
Scary Movies Aren't As Scary As Life 9/15/13
I just saw "Insidious, Chapter 2". If you know me, this is not surprising, you know that I love scary movies. When I saw the original "Insidious", I proclaimed it one of the best scary movies I'd seen in a long time. I even bought the DVD, which is not a habit of mine, as it is with some people. Today, I enjoyed the sequel, but not as much as the first. Is this because it's not quite as good, or because of my reality?
Scary movies want to make us afraid of ghosts, 'spirits', beings that are stuck in the afterlife because of some evil reason or another. I happen to know that there is no such thing, and what is left behind is much more difficult to manage simply because we are left alone to handle things.
I sit writing this with a box fan blowing into my 'office', because the air conditioner needs repair. It's leaking Freon in the attic portion, so they have to replace all those workings. I have reserved the pretty penny that it will cost, scheduled the work and requested my day off. These are all the responsibilities of the sole adult that owns the house. In one scene of the movie today, the ghost punched the woman in the face. I might have preferred that horror to the stress and cost of getting the a/c repaired.
This past Friday, I sold the dirt bike that he had left sitting in the garage. I knew what he had paid for it, and ended up taking a bit less, just to get rid of it. I didn't envision him sitting on it, or trying to start it - like the movie with its visions of a person long gone sitting on the bed. I just saw the bike, the space it's been taking up in the garage, the hope I had that it would start for the potential buyers after four months, and the dust and cobwebs that clung to it. Start it finally did, and after the exchange of cash, the bike was theirs. Of course, I typed out a receipt, one for them, one for me, because I could hear him saying "Make sure you give a receipt, I've see too many 'People's Court' episodes where stupid people didn't get anything in writing....." All right, I didn't envision anything, but boy, could I hear his words in my brain. That's not scary, though. That is comforting.
I am one person at home now - with three cars to choose from. I do intend to sell them and upgrade to something newer, and therefore (in theory) more dependable. One needs a new water pump, knock sensor, and catalytic converter. One just got a new water pump, but has a funny clank that I can't get it to make for the mechanic. The third is in decent shape, it's just ten years old! Now, I'll admit, we've been very spoiled as far a vehicles go - Scott could fix almost anything, therefore we got older, but more top-of the-line when we purchased. Having to sell and buy cars by myself is more of a nightmare than seeing a shadow face in the window. That's scary, but only for a minute. My fears these days are eroding me like water did the Grand Canyon.
Sometimes, there's just sadness. In the movie today, there was someone that was extremely mean and evil toward a child. Sadness. My heart breaks and prays for mistreated children on a daily basis. In my house today, I called little Marylebone, the Scottie, up to sit with me for a bit. I scratched him, then stopped.......he nosed my hand up for more. After a good five-minute scratching session, I realized that his dad is gone, his girls are gone, and I'm the only one left to pet a scratch him on a daily basis. I will say every now and then, I get help with this from my favorite fifth-grader Riley. Still, the thought that anyone, even the creatures, would not get enough attention from me because of all the responsibilities I now have is just plain sad.
Then again, there is the example of Riley. We took her to the scary movie today. Her mom carefully scanned the reviews and deemed it appropriate. We promised her she could sit between us. As it came time to go in, her nerves almost seemed to get the better of her - slowing her step and clutching her tummy. We encouraged and joked and promised that it wouldn't be that bad. She got settled, legs tucked up so she could turn and hide her face in her mom's arm, and the movie started. After a few 'jumps' and 'scares', her reaction turned from hiding her face to laughing nervously. It was very cute, her mom and I are famous for laughing in scary or serious movies, we find it takes away the intensity. Ok, maybe we annoy some people around us, but it can't be helped! Riley's laughter under stress was a reminder to me. The things I have going on at present may be scary, sad, stressful....but there's usually a little laughter in each day. And after a good laugh, you take a deep breath....and just keep going. Remember how I said Riley was nervous going in to the movie? On the way out, she was practically bouncing as she walked, and said "I'm so glad I went to see that!" I hope I can take things in stride like that and keep going. What an example. Take that, scary stuff.
Scary movies want to make us afraid of ghosts, 'spirits', beings that are stuck in the afterlife because of some evil reason or another. I happen to know that there is no such thing, and what is left behind is much more difficult to manage simply because we are left alone to handle things.
I sit writing this with a box fan blowing into my 'office', because the air conditioner needs repair. It's leaking Freon in the attic portion, so they have to replace all those workings. I have reserved the pretty penny that it will cost, scheduled the work and requested my day off. These are all the responsibilities of the sole adult that owns the house. In one scene of the movie today, the ghost punched the woman in the face. I might have preferred that horror to the stress and cost of getting the a/c repaired.
This past Friday, I sold the dirt bike that he had left sitting in the garage. I knew what he had paid for it, and ended up taking a bit less, just to get rid of it. I didn't envision him sitting on it, or trying to start it - like the movie with its visions of a person long gone sitting on the bed. I just saw the bike, the space it's been taking up in the garage, the hope I had that it would start for the potential buyers after four months, and the dust and cobwebs that clung to it. Start it finally did, and after the exchange of cash, the bike was theirs. Of course, I typed out a receipt, one for them, one for me, because I could hear him saying "Make sure you give a receipt, I've see too many 'People's Court' episodes where stupid people didn't get anything in writing....." All right, I didn't envision anything, but boy, could I hear his words in my brain. That's not scary, though. That is comforting.
I am one person at home now - with three cars to choose from. I do intend to sell them and upgrade to something newer, and therefore (in theory) more dependable. One needs a new water pump, knock sensor, and catalytic converter. One just got a new water pump, but has a funny clank that I can't get it to make for the mechanic. The third is in decent shape, it's just ten years old! Now, I'll admit, we've been very spoiled as far a vehicles go - Scott could fix almost anything, therefore we got older, but more top-of the-line when we purchased. Having to sell and buy cars by myself is more of a nightmare than seeing a shadow face in the window. That's scary, but only for a minute. My fears these days are eroding me like water did the Grand Canyon.
Sometimes, there's just sadness. In the movie today, there was someone that was extremely mean and evil toward a child. Sadness. My heart breaks and prays for mistreated children on a daily basis. In my house today, I called little Marylebone, the Scottie, up to sit with me for a bit. I scratched him, then stopped.......he nosed my hand up for more. After a good five-minute scratching session, I realized that his dad is gone, his girls are gone, and I'm the only one left to pet a scratch him on a daily basis. I will say every now and then, I get help with this from my favorite fifth-grader Riley. Still, the thought that anyone, even the creatures, would not get enough attention from me because of all the responsibilities I now have is just plain sad.
Then again, there is the example of Riley. We took her to the scary movie today. Her mom carefully scanned the reviews and deemed it appropriate. We promised her she could sit between us. As it came time to go in, her nerves almost seemed to get the better of her - slowing her step and clutching her tummy. We encouraged and joked and promised that it wouldn't be that bad. She got settled, legs tucked up so she could turn and hide her face in her mom's arm, and the movie started. After a few 'jumps' and 'scares', her reaction turned from hiding her face to laughing nervously. It was very cute, her mom and I are famous for laughing in scary or serious movies, we find it takes away the intensity. Ok, maybe we annoy some people around us, but it can't be helped! Riley's laughter under stress was a reminder to me. The things I have going on at present may be scary, sad, stressful....but there's usually a little laughter in each day. And after a good laugh, you take a deep breath....and just keep going. Remember how I said Riley was nervous going in to the movie? On the way out, she was practically bouncing as she walked, and said "I'm so glad I went to see that!" I hope I can take things in stride like that and keep going. What an example. Take that, scary stuff.
Saturday, August 31, 2013
There's Me, then there's (me) - a Squirrel-Fur Story 8/31/13
The first week of school is over. The routine has set in. The big kids have already learned some stuff (ha ha, gotcha!), and more and more of the babies are opening their mouths and singing with me every day. Here we go. That's Me. I will forever, though, equate this first week with the things I've had to do concerning probate, real estate, life insurance, and being the single parent. That is (me). There are barriers there. I'm not going to share that information with everybody out there. Yes, it may seem that I tell you a detail or two, but none of it chips the surface of the reality I'm living.
There is squirrel fur on the bedroom floor right now. Just a couple clumps, but that's enough to make me think that some squirrel left it behind on someone's paw as it ran and HID in my bedroom somewhere. I found a dead squirrel out back on Thursday morning - very possible that one animal or another brought the dead one's brother in the house! This is the kind of thing I do share. Amusing anecdotes. Enjoyable escapades. Hilarious happenings. (Alliteration kick courtesy of my favorite fifth grader, Riley!) I shall probably search for above-mentioned squirrel before I finish writing this today. That's my 'story of the day'. Unfortunately, there's a LOT more that goes untold.
Almost every day this week, there was an untold story, deed, issue. I can share a few of them here, but some I just only tell certain people. Me is an open house, but (me) is a locked closet. I know, everyone is that way, it just seems magnified to me now that I'm dealing with the aftermath of death.
College girl's laptop broke right before she headed off to school. Less than a year old, I knew it was still under warranty. I had to deal with having tech support help me on the phone, then reporting to them that it still didn't work, getting an RMA number, shipping it off, etc. Not that difficult, but computers were his department. I think every married couple, especially parents, have certain "departments". Laundry, paying bills, house décor, children and animal health - those were some of my departments. Computers, TVs, pool chemicals, cars, yard, insurance - those were some of his. Having to step in and run the other department is sometimes difficult because it is new territory, but always difficult because I'm only doing this because he's gone. I'm proud to say the freshly-repaired-under-warranty laptop arrived yesterday. Success in one new territory.
If only every little task that dealt with the aftermath felt like success. Who is really worried whether or not I remember to take the right paperwork to school with me so that I can stop by the lawyer's office after a long day and let them make copies of the appropriate papers for probate court? Who really cares that I answer the personal e-mails that still arrive in his inbox, giving them the sad news and telling them I will tie up all the loose ends and keep in touch? With each thing I do, however, I share my accomplishment with one of the people that get to know (me). My family, my best friends, sometimes a special friend at work.....but not everyone. Even the examples in this writing are not the ones that I consider the "big issues", - the ones that send me to my car or my chair at home sobbing.
So it's not for everyone to know every piece of business. I'd rather talk to you about how good the kids are this week (general consensus - they're tired!), or what was for dinner last night, or how cold it is in my classroom, and why can't I remember to bring my sweater to school?.....all of that is Me. What you might not realize is that (me) is sitting there eating lunch, and because of the cold room and the soap from just washing my hands, I was able to slip off the wedding band for the first time in many years. My finger was a size 6 in 1984. It's not anymore. Nevertheless, I worked it off. I didn't tell anyone, just put it on my pinky. It's not that I'm ready to be without it - I still have the diamonds on. I'm just scared if I put it back on, it would have to be cut off one of these days. Or maybe I am trying to give myself reminders that all departments belong to me now, and I can do it! I'm not ready to look unmarried, I'm just trying to do a good job at being the only one that takes care of everything. Talk about a sad story, a forlorn fable, a depressing drama. That's why I only let most people see Me, not (me). I can do this with help - special friends that give me pens, dinner, chocolate cake, anonymous cards - these gestures let me know there are others that understand (me), and even have a (me) themselves.
Me can finish out this part of the story for you: I called my friend to come over and help hunt the squirrel. My friend took one look at the fur and said "That looks like your hair, are you sure none of the pets got hold of a hairbrush or something?" I said no, and kept looking. After about five minutes of looking and talking, the answer dawned on me. "There is no squirrel!" I exclaimed. I knew the answer. I took a phone pic of silly Roxy-cat sitting on top of the wardrobe. The vacuum was in the corner in the pic. I moved the vacuum and took another pic, then put it back. (Lord knows we can't have a vacuum in our picture, it just wouldn't look proper, would it?) The last time I vacuumed, it was when my girls and I got our hair cut at the house. Sure enough, that multi-colored clump of hair that I thought was straight from a squirrel's tail was actually a mix of our reddish-brown, brown and caramel highlights hair scraps, freeing themselves from the evil beater brush of the Shark. I'm not hiding anything about the squirrel-fur story. That made me laugh today. I will choose to focus on those types of things. Here's hoping the laughter will at least help (me) keep my balance. Love, Me.
There is squirrel fur on the bedroom floor right now. Just a couple clumps, but that's enough to make me think that some squirrel left it behind on someone's paw as it ran and HID in my bedroom somewhere. I found a dead squirrel out back on Thursday morning - very possible that one animal or another brought the dead one's brother in the house! This is the kind of thing I do share. Amusing anecdotes. Enjoyable escapades. Hilarious happenings. (Alliteration kick courtesy of my favorite fifth grader, Riley!) I shall probably search for above-mentioned squirrel before I finish writing this today. That's my 'story of the day'. Unfortunately, there's a LOT more that goes untold.
Almost every day this week, there was an untold story, deed, issue. I can share a few of them here, but some I just only tell certain people. Me is an open house, but (me) is a locked closet. I know, everyone is that way, it just seems magnified to me now that I'm dealing with the aftermath of death.
College girl's laptop broke right before she headed off to school. Less than a year old, I knew it was still under warranty. I had to deal with having tech support help me on the phone, then reporting to them that it still didn't work, getting an RMA number, shipping it off, etc. Not that difficult, but computers were his department. I think every married couple, especially parents, have certain "departments". Laundry, paying bills, house décor, children and animal health - those were some of my departments. Computers, TVs, pool chemicals, cars, yard, insurance - those were some of his. Having to step in and run the other department is sometimes difficult because it is new territory, but always difficult because I'm only doing this because he's gone. I'm proud to say the freshly-repaired-under-warranty laptop arrived yesterday. Success in one new territory.
If only every little task that dealt with the aftermath felt like success. Who is really worried whether or not I remember to take the right paperwork to school with me so that I can stop by the lawyer's office after a long day and let them make copies of the appropriate papers for probate court? Who really cares that I answer the personal e-mails that still arrive in his inbox, giving them the sad news and telling them I will tie up all the loose ends and keep in touch? With each thing I do, however, I share my accomplishment with one of the people that get to know (me). My family, my best friends, sometimes a special friend at work.....but not everyone. Even the examples in this writing are not the ones that I consider the "big issues", - the ones that send me to my car or my chair at home sobbing.
So it's not for everyone to know every piece of business. I'd rather talk to you about how good the kids are this week (general consensus - they're tired!), or what was for dinner last night, or how cold it is in my classroom, and why can't I remember to bring my sweater to school?.....all of that is Me. What you might not realize is that (me) is sitting there eating lunch, and because of the cold room and the soap from just washing my hands, I was able to slip off the wedding band for the first time in many years. My finger was a size 6 in 1984. It's not anymore. Nevertheless, I worked it off. I didn't tell anyone, just put it on my pinky. It's not that I'm ready to be without it - I still have the diamonds on. I'm just scared if I put it back on, it would have to be cut off one of these days. Or maybe I am trying to give myself reminders that all departments belong to me now, and I can do it! I'm not ready to look unmarried, I'm just trying to do a good job at being the only one that takes care of everything. Talk about a sad story, a forlorn fable, a depressing drama. That's why I only let most people see Me, not (me). I can do this with help - special friends that give me pens, dinner, chocolate cake, anonymous cards - these gestures let me know there are others that understand (me), and even have a (me) themselves.
Me can finish out this part of the story for you: I called my friend to come over and help hunt the squirrel. My friend took one look at the fur and said "That looks like your hair, are you sure none of the pets got hold of a hairbrush or something?" I said no, and kept looking. After about five minutes of looking and talking, the answer dawned on me. "There is no squirrel!" I exclaimed. I knew the answer. I took a phone pic of silly Roxy-cat sitting on top of the wardrobe. The vacuum was in the corner in the pic. I moved the vacuum and took another pic, then put it back. (Lord knows we can't have a vacuum in our picture, it just wouldn't look proper, would it?) The last time I vacuumed, it was when my girls and I got our hair cut at the house. Sure enough, that multi-colored clump of hair that I thought was straight from a squirrel's tail was actually a mix of our reddish-brown, brown and caramel highlights hair scraps, freeing themselves from the evil beater brush of the Shark. I'm not hiding anything about the squirrel-fur story. That made me laugh today. I will choose to focus on those types of things. Here's hoping the laughter will at least help (me) keep my balance. Love, Me.
Wednesday, August 14, 2013
Just Ok 8/14/13
*The opinions and scenarios below are not intended to cause guilt, blame or any such feeling from anyone. If anything, I feel guilty for being the one with baggage, the one you must be "careful" around.
"How was your summer?" The opening line of anyone going back to school - students and teachers. Contrary to what you may think, not all teachers hang out together all summer long. We intend to "get together", and then the next thing you know, it's time to go back to those glorious meetings.
My school family knows me, they know my situation, and they know that my answer - "just ok" - is justified. It's not a bad attitude, it's not a diagnosed condition, it's just that truthfully - trying to make it through the last three months since my husband has been gone has only been "just ok". Matter of fact, sometimes, it's been horrible. Sometimes it's been numbing. Sometimes it's been manic - when I feel a little happiness, I go a little nuts because I'm not sure I'll feel happy again for a while.
I am blessed to have a work family that knows and understands. I want them to know - I don't care what you say to me. "How was your summer?" is normal. "How've you been?" is normal. I want to be normal. But I also have been changed in such a way that my answer to you might be "Just ok." or "Not so good.". Please don't let my honesty make you uncomfortable, just go with the flow. Tell me "I guess not." or "I understand." or "You're allowed.". Then we'll keep talking. If I turn insular for a moment, talking on and on about myself, wait until I take a breath and tell me where you went on your vacation. Every time I talk with someone or some group in a regular way, I am walking that path back to being normal.
I am just ok, by the way. I am a bundle of fears, plans, wishes, pain, hopes, loneliness, perseverance, wanting to give up, positive one day/negative the next....and did I say fears? I might talk your ear off about having to sell my house because it's too ridiculously big for us, or I might keep it from you that I have to go to court for probate one day. In trying to be normal, I hope you, all my friends, will let me choose what to share and what to keep. You are all so kind and understanding, I know you will.
"How was your summer?" "It was just ok, how about you?" The ball's in your court. Help me back to normal. I love you, my friends.
"How was your summer?" The opening line of anyone going back to school - students and teachers. Contrary to what you may think, not all teachers hang out together all summer long. We intend to "get together", and then the next thing you know, it's time to go back to those glorious meetings.
My school family knows me, they know my situation, and they know that my answer - "just ok" - is justified. It's not a bad attitude, it's not a diagnosed condition, it's just that truthfully - trying to make it through the last three months since my husband has been gone has only been "just ok". Matter of fact, sometimes, it's been horrible. Sometimes it's been numbing. Sometimes it's been manic - when I feel a little happiness, I go a little nuts because I'm not sure I'll feel happy again for a while.
I am blessed to have a work family that knows and understands. I want them to know - I don't care what you say to me. "How was your summer?" is normal. "How've you been?" is normal. I want to be normal. But I also have been changed in such a way that my answer to you might be "Just ok." or "Not so good.". Please don't let my honesty make you uncomfortable, just go with the flow. Tell me "I guess not." or "I understand." or "You're allowed.". Then we'll keep talking. If I turn insular for a moment, talking on and on about myself, wait until I take a breath and tell me where you went on your vacation. Every time I talk with someone or some group in a regular way, I am walking that path back to being normal.
I am just ok, by the way. I am a bundle of fears, plans, wishes, pain, hopes, loneliness, perseverance, wanting to give up, positive one day/negative the next....and did I say fears? I might talk your ear off about having to sell my house because it's too ridiculously big for us, or I might keep it from you that I have to go to court for probate one day. In trying to be normal, I hope you, all my friends, will let me choose what to share and what to keep. You are all so kind and understanding, I know you will.
"How was your summer?" "It was just ok, how about you?" The ball's in your court. Help me back to normal. I love you, my friends.
Monday, August 12, 2013
Only One First 8/12/13
We drove about 800 miles this summer with a kitten in the car. My sister found her abandoned in Florida while we were visiting. My girls had planned on adopting a kitten for their college apartment. It was a match made in heaven. "Isis", of the long tail. pointy ears, and pointy nose, has been walking, running, leaping joy in our house this summer. Joy helps put a little ointment on grief occasionally, so I think it was meant to be. Isis was a tiny baby kitten during this car trip, six weeks old at the most. We all cooed and baby-talked to her. Near the end of the trip, Queen's "Bohemian Rhapsody" came on the radio. I said "Awwww, it's Isis' first Bohemian Rhapsody.". We laughed - every tiny thing that happened to that new little creature could be a "first".
I, on the other hand, am not young, cute, new, or full of joy. Yet my new situation, I learned this weekend, will hold a lot of 'firsts'. And nobody will say "Awwwww!" These firsts for me are difficult, as they are the first time I will handle a situation without the amazing wisdom and insight of the man I trusted with my life. I am brave, and I like to think that a little of his wisdom and insight rubbed off on me during our years together. I research and calculate and figure and plan. The only problem is......there's no ratings, research, or math that can measure emotional cost.
My first this past weekend was buying a car for my daughter. We need to upgrade all of our older vehicles, as the person that could repair them and keep them running for us is gone. With my girls driving to college five hundred miles away, I need them in dependable cars. We had sacrificed a lot of dependability with no qualms about doing so, as Scott enjoyed keeping the cars running and could perform 95% of all repairs. Since that resource is no longer available, I have to step up and make sure all three of us are in good shape in the automotive department. With four cars to sell to upgrade three people, I saw it as an easy task.
It is easy to find ratings and rankings on vehicle dependability. It is easy to find the "right" price that you should pay. It is easy for my youngest daughter to be very specific about what she does - and doesn't- want in a vehicle. Then, to make it easier, I do have a very dear friend in the car business. They still made a profit on me, but I felt comfortable with the margin. I did have to make a trip to the location where my friend worked, but it was a bonus to spend a weekend with another very dear friend.
I was prepared. Money, insurance, proof of id, extra driver, (lots of dear friends helped with this enterprise!), a pen to sign my name over and over, and my phone fully charged to check Facebook and crush some candies. Dear friends dropped me at the dealership, where I got to work. It should be a breeze, right? I had already done all the research! First things first, I had to inspect it (having chosen it online), and then drive it. The sensibility of doing these things before signing and paying made total sense. I approved the car, gave the green light, and was seated at a desk.
Thank goodness for the phone! It evidently takes a long time to get all the paperwork together. I had to fill out one short form, and then just sit. I did enjoy the family with two little boys at the next desk. They were so young, so cute, and didn't care a hoot about the car Mom and Dad were buying! After so many Facebook checks, and so many tries at a certain level of Candy Crush, I was ushered into a business office. Then, the next question threw me.
Did I want to add a complete warranty? (OF COURSE!! THIS IS FOR MY CHILD!!) It would only cost x amount of dollars to do so, and it's a great idea! Whoa.........that's x more than the number in my well-planned, well-rehearsed script! Oh no! Who can I ask? I sent mind-messages to the person that would have advised me on this, hoping for some kind of vibe, positive feeling, big red stop sign, anything.....all the while, smiling, frowning and tearing up. When will I learn to carry tissues? Thank goodness, dear friend came in (maybe that was the positive sign?) and talked me through the decision, reassured me which choice was best, and I committed. All by myself.
That's it! Write it up! Pay the total! Accept the keys and drive my baby's car back to dear friend's house. That sounds easy. Only I know that I alternately talked to the sky and sobbed all the way back. I did manage to have some fun on the weekend trip, but I also took some naps and nursed a headache. I realized after I performed this great feat that I had done a "first". It was not fun, and none of the firsts that are yet to come will be either. The only way to get them to not be a "first" is to do them once. They may sound the same after that, but at least I will know the huge part of the lesson that I learned this past weekend: In all the research and preparation, don't forget to count the emotional cost, and prepare for it as well. It's a bold print-type cost and you can't hide from it.
Maybe there will be a post on buying the next upgraded vehicle - after I sell a couple to finance that endeavor. I hope that it will sound and feel pretty much the same, and I'll know what to expect. You can ask little Isis the kitten if that's true. You see, on the way home from getting her kitten shots at the vet about a week ago, "Bohemian Rhapsody" came on the radio again. I was just able to turn to that baby kitty and say "'Member this?" There's only one first, after that I should know all the costs involved, literal or emotional.
I, on the other hand, am not young, cute, new, or full of joy. Yet my new situation, I learned this weekend, will hold a lot of 'firsts'. And nobody will say "Awwwww!" These firsts for me are difficult, as they are the first time I will handle a situation without the amazing wisdom and insight of the man I trusted with my life. I am brave, and I like to think that a little of his wisdom and insight rubbed off on me during our years together. I research and calculate and figure and plan. The only problem is......there's no ratings, research, or math that can measure emotional cost.
My first this past weekend was buying a car for my daughter. We need to upgrade all of our older vehicles, as the person that could repair them and keep them running for us is gone. With my girls driving to college five hundred miles away, I need them in dependable cars. We had sacrificed a lot of dependability with no qualms about doing so, as Scott enjoyed keeping the cars running and could perform 95% of all repairs. Since that resource is no longer available, I have to step up and make sure all three of us are in good shape in the automotive department. With four cars to sell to upgrade three people, I saw it as an easy task.
It is easy to find ratings and rankings on vehicle dependability. It is easy to find the "right" price that you should pay. It is easy for my youngest daughter to be very specific about what she does - and doesn't- want in a vehicle. Then, to make it easier, I do have a very dear friend in the car business. They still made a profit on me, but I felt comfortable with the margin. I did have to make a trip to the location where my friend worked, but it was a bonus to spend a weekend with another very dear friend.
I was prepared. Money, insurance, proof of id, extra driver, (lots of dear friends helped with this enterprise!), a pen to sign my name over and over, and my phone fully charged to check Facebook and crush some candies. Dear friends dropped me at the dealership, where I got to work. It should be a breeze, right? I had already done all the research! First things first, I had to inspect it (having chosen it online), and then drive it. The sensibility of doing these things before signing and paying made total sense. I approved the car, gave the green light, and was seated at a desk.
Thank goodness for the phone! It evidently takes a long time to get all the paperwork together. I had to fill out one short form, and then just sit. I did enjoy the family with two little boys at the next desk. They were so young, so cute, and didn't care a hoot about the car Mom and Dad were buying! After so many Facebook checks, and so many tries at a certain level of Candy Crush, I was ushered into a business office. Then, the next question threw me.
Did I want to add a complete warranty? (OF COURSE!! THIS IS FOR MY CHILD!!) It would only cost x amount of dollars to do so, and it's a great idea! Whoa.........that's x more than the number in my well-planned, well-rehearsed script! Oh no! Who can I ask? I sent mind-messages to the person that would have advised me on this, hoping for some kind of vibe, positive feeling, big red stop sign, anything.....all the while, smiling, frowning and tearing up. When will I learn to carry tissues? Thank goodness, dear friend came in (maybe that was the positive sign?) and talked me through the decision, reassured me which choice was best, and I committed. All by myself.
That's it! Write it up! Pay the total! Accept the keys and drive my baby's car back to dear friend's house. That sounds easy. Only I know that I alternately talked to the sky and sobbed all the way back. I did manage to have some fun on the weekend trip, but I also took some naps and nursed a headache. I realized after I performed this great feat that I had done a "first". It was not fun, and none of the firsts that are yet to come will be either. The only way to get them to not be a "first" is to do them once. They may sound the same after that, but at least I will know the huge part of the lesson that I learned this past weekend: In all the research and preparation, don't forget to count the emotional cost, and prepare for it as well. It's a bold print-type cost and you can't hide from it.
Maybe there will be a post on buying the next upgraded vehicle - after I sell a couple to finance that endeavor. I hope that it will sound and feel pretty much the same, and I'll know what to expect. You can ask little Isis the kitten if that's true. You see, on the way home from getting her kitten shots at the vet about a week ago, "Bohemian Rhapsody" came on the radio again. I was just able to turn to that baby kitty and say "'Member this?" There's only one first, after that I should know all the costs involved, literal or emotional.
Sunday, July 28, 2013
Coming Up Next!
I watch a little too much reality TV. I have all kinds of excuses, too. "But it's about cooking!" "I just can't wait to see what they do next!" "They remind me of my family!" I have also justified watching certain shows by saying that I would never watch another type. I personally have never watched any type of "Survivor" (that's why hotels were invented), "Bachelor" (I went through everyone's drama when I was that age) or "Big Brother". Well, not exactly true on Big Brother. It's just that that the only one I ever watched was a British celebrity version in 2001. Comedian Jack Dee brought his packed suitcase to the elimination meeting every week. He ended up winning. No other version could ever beat that, in my mind.
One staple of the reality show is the send-off to commercial. "Coming up next on _____ ______!" Then they show you thirty seconds to one minute of what you'll see in the next half hour. After doing that, when the show returns from commercial (fast-forward time, in today's TIVO/DVR world), they show you the last minute that you saw before "Coming up next". You hear and see the exact same thirty seconds that you saw right before "Coming Up" and commercials. Finally, it steps into new footage. Some night when I'm really bored, I think I'll get the stopwatch and time exactly how much new material I get to watch during an hour show of that type. My theory: Since everyone records their shows and forwards through the commercials, we get less show. It's a trade-off for luxury. Or, somebody really important in TV-land thought that the old education adage "I'm going to tell you what I'm going to teach you, I'm going to teach it to you, then I'm going to tell you what I taught you" needed to be plucked from teaching (where they still encourage that mind-set, another subject) and made into editing policy for television shows.
I wondered, while watching Hell's Kitchen, one of the most notorious for repeat-editing, (but it's about cooking!) what would it be like if we had "Coming up next" in life? What if we could know what's just around the corner? Not many years down the line, but the next week, or month at the most? If that did happen, would the "editors" have any rules? We won't show you death, but we will a flat tire. You can't know when your baby will arrive, but you can see that you're sneezing and have a cold. Those are just silly thoughts, of course. I do believe that my mind thinks in that way right now because my reality in losing my husband is this: there was absolutely no way to predict it, and there is absolutely nothing I can do to change it. "Coming Up Next" for me, life without him. How to handle that?
I don't lie to any of you when you ask how I am. I only say "ok", or explain that it's one day at a time, or good days and bad days. But I've discovered that I hold my true feelings in a fortress. I can cry a bit with family or very good friends. I can exhibit being 'down' or listless to anyone. But I prefer to cry, weep, sob, whatever you call it, by myself. Sometimes my girls will catch me. But I don't want anyone to catch me. I also spend time alone looking at pictures and remembering. I guess I'm just reviewing life so far before I take a breath and start living it again. I really don't know why, so this is not an explanation. It's just a statement of fact. Learning that life is short, unpredictable, and un-changeable just makes you break down, over and over. Also, there is no time limitation on when you break down. I'm hurting more at almost three months gone than I did the first week.
None of us have "Coming Up Next" in life. We have to live in two mind-sets: one to take care of the moment at hand, and the other to take care of eternity. So, maybe the TV shows have it right. You live, love, work, play, - all the things that make you "you" - and you also prepare for the future, as well as reviewing the past. You can glean your own practical explanations from those very general words, because everyone is beautifully different in this world. Life is not reality TV - but we play out our own unconscious version of "Coming Up Next". Excuse me if I take a few minutes to review what has happened before I breathe deeply and jump into the new footage.
One staple of the reality show is the send-off to commercial. "Coming up next on _____ ______!" Then they show you thirty seconds to one minute of what you'll see in the next half hour. After doing that, when the show returns from commercial (fast-forward time, in today's TIVO/DVR world), they show you the last minute that you saw before "Coming up next". You hear and see the exact same thirty seconds that you saw right before "Coming Up" and commercials. Finally, it steps into new footage. Some night when I'm really bored, I think I'll get the stopwatch and time exactly how much new material I get to watch during an hour show of that type. My theory: Since everyone records their shows and forwards through the commercials, we get less show. It's a trade-off for luxury. Or, somebody really important in TV-land thought that the old education adage "I'm going to tell you what I'm going to teach you, I'm going to teach it to you, then I'm going to tell you what I taught you" needed to be plucked from teaching (where they still encourage that mind-set, another subject) and made into editing policy for television shows.
I wondered, while watching Hell's Kitchen, one of the most notorious for repeat-editing, (but it's about cooking!) what would it be like if we had "Coming up next" in life? What if we could know what's just around the corner? Not many years down the line, but the next week, or month at the most? If that did happen, would the "editors" have any rules? We won't show you death, but we will a flat tire. You can't know when your baby will arrive, but you can see that you're sneezing and have a cold. Those are just silly thoughts, of course. I do believe that my mind thinks in that way right now because my reality in losing my husband is this: there was absolutely no way to predict it, and there is absolutely nothing I can do to change it. "Coming Up Next" for me, life without him. How to handle that?
I don't lie to any of you when you ask how I am. I only say "ok", or explain that it's one day at a time, or good days and bad days. But I've discovered that I hold my true feelings in a fortress. I can cry a bit with family or very good friends. I can exhibit being 'down' or listless to anyone. But I prefer to cry, weep, sob, whatever you call it, by myself. Sometimes my girls will catch me. But I don't want anyone to catch me. I also spend time alone looking at pictures and remembering. I guess I'm just reviewing life so far before I take a breath and start living it again. I really don't know why, so this is not an explanation. It's just a statement of fact. Learning that life is short, unpredictable, and un-changeable just makes you break down, over and over. Also, there is no time limitation on when you break down. I'm hurting more at almost three months gone than I did the first week.
None of us have "Coming Up Next" in life. We have to live in two mind-sets: one to take care of the moment at hand, and the other to take care of eternity. So, maybe the TV shows have it right. You live, love, work, play, - all the things that make you "you" - and you also prepare for the future, as well as reviewing the past. You can glean your own practical explanations from those very general words, because everyone is beautifully different in this world. Life is not reality TV - but we play out our own unconscious version of "Coming Up Next". Excuse me if I take a few minutes to review what has happened before I breathe deeply and jump into the new footage.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)