In 2002, I was privileged to participate in the Live Oak Writing Project. It was a seminar on teaching writing, no matter what your subject. We spent one of our days walking around New Orleans and writing about what we saw or felt. As a salute to all you "summer vacationers:", here's my observation of the "Tourist":
Tourist
Tourist
Straw hat
Backpack
Map in hand
Tourist
Reading menus
Figuring tips
Having discussions
Tourist
Eating breakfast out
Taking an afternoon nap
Dinner at a theme-chain
Tourist
Tired feet
Sweaty hair
Two days 'til home
Tourist
Happy vacation-ing, eveybody!!
Monday, July 21, 2014
Sunday, July 13, 2014
Lunch and a Lecture
I feel like I just got in trouble. Correction, I feel as if I just got in trouble for something I didn't do. I have written about the arbitrary timeline that people place on grief before. However, I never thought that somebody would look me right in the face and tell me that others could be offended or hurt if I didn't respect the one year period.
I do want to clarify a couple of things. First of all, I am past the one year mark. (I almost said finish line, because that's the impression I got from today's lecture. ) I am, however, dating Robbie, who experienced his loss only nine months prior to the "words of warning". We are seriously dating. We have not run away to Las Vegas.
When a widow even starts to date a widower, two entire families and countless other friends are affected. The couple has to choose how to balance getting to know each other and possibly letting a relationship grow with being mindful of the fact that a mother, father, sister, brother and a child are gone. The remaining children, siblings and parents can't ever find someone that will allow a new start. That kind of relationship can't be replaced. I like how this clip explains it - substitute your own relationship for the word Dad:
The Dead Dads Club
Discussions about how to respect, love, understand and ease the way for everybody have been a habit for Robbie and me since the beginning. While we want all family members on both sides to be happy for us, we want them to know that we respect what they have lost. We also want them to know that we hold our own memories sacred, and both of us completely comprehend that we were happy with another person for thirty years or so. We are not trying to replace the ones that were lost. That's impossible.
So we listened to the lecturer, remaining politely silent while knowing inside that we are definitely trying our utmost to respect everybody and live up to our responsibilities. The only part where we missed the mark was on the one-year period of mourning. Robbie later asked these questions: "What am I supposed to do for that year? Go home to the empty house? Not talk to another woman? Not go on a date? Be sad night after night?"
If he doesn't do those things, will he get in trouble? Will I get in trouble if I'm involved? Would we not be "received" in polite society? Will our daughters never be presented? Will our sons never be invited to join the country club? Last century, perhaps, or the one before. We are not concerned with rules or silly consequences. We are concerned that all of our family members that suffered irreplaceable loss are given the time they need to understand that we haven't forgotten anybody; nor are we trying to replace them. We've made up our own rules, with love, responsibility and understanding as the guidelines. To answer the lecturer: it will probably take that long, but not because it's a magic number of days or months. It may take that long because we hold so many of you dear and love you as much or more than we care for ourselves. The lecturer is one of the dearest and most deeply affected. We want to do the right thing, timeline or not. We love you all.
I do want to clarify a couple of things. First of all, I am past the one year mark. (I almost said finish line, because that's the impression I got from today's lecture. ) I am, however, dating Robbie, who experienced his loss only nine months prior to the "words of warning". We are seriously dating. We have not run away to Las Vegas.
When a widow even starts to date a widower, two entire families and countless other friends are affected. The couple has to choose how to balance getting to know each other and possibly letting a relationship grow with being mindful of the fact that a mother, father, sister, brother and a child are gone. The remaining children, siblings and parents can't ever find someone that will allow a new start. That kind of relationship can't be replaced. I like how this clip explains it - substitute your own relationship for the word Dad:
The Dead Dads Club
Discussions about how to respect, love, understand and ease the way for everybody have been a habit for Robbie and me since the beginning. While we want all family members on both sides to be happy for us, we want them to know that we respect what they have lost. We also want them to know that we hold our own memories sacred, and both of us completely comprehend that we were happy with another person for thirty years or so. We are not trying to replace the ones that were lost. That's impossible.
So we listened to the lecturer, remaining politely silent while knowing inside that we are definitely trying our utmost to respect everybody and live up to our responsibilities. The only part where we missed the mark was on the one-year period of mourning. Robbie later asked these questions: "What am I supposed to do for that year? Go home to the empty house? Not talk to another woman? Not go on a date? Be sad night after night?"
If he doesn't do those things, will he get in trouble? Will I get in trouble if I'm involved? Would we not be "received" in polite society? Will our daughters never be presented? Will our sons never be invited to join the country club? Last century, perhaps, or the one before. We are not concerned with rules or silly consequences. We are concerned that all of our family members that suffered irreplaceable loss are given the time they need to understand that we haven't forgotten anybody; nor are we trying to replace them. We've made up our own rules, with love, responsibility and understanding as the guidelines. To answer the lecturer: it will probably take that long, but not because it's a magic number of days or months. It may take that long because we hold so many of you dear and love you as much or more than we care for ourselves. The lecturer is one of the dearest and most deeply affected. We want to do the right thing, timeline or not. We love you all.
Wednesday, June 25, 2014
You shine whether you know it or not! 6/24/14
I've spent a bit of time on planes this month. Most of my flights have been at night. Flights are just to be tolerated, you know, for the sheer convenience of not having to drive hours and hours. One of the most welcome moments is when they announce "Ladies and gentlemen, we've begun our descent into xxxx. (wherever you're headed...) Please be seated, stow your tray tables, return your seats to the upright position and fasten your seat belts." It's welcome because the flight is almost over, but also because you can once again see something out of the window besides clouds or just black night.
As I look down on city xxxx from the heights, I can see lights. Big lights, small lights. Lights that look like shopping centers, highways or neighborhoods with cul-de-sacs. The patterns of the lights identify the type of place. Some are white, most are yellowish from the great height. Of course there are red lights, too. The red ones you can see from above are found mostly on tower-like structures as if they are saying "Danger! Please don't hit us, Mr. Airplane!" The red lights serve as a warning.
I was also intrigued, whilst on one of my evening flights, at the variety of styles and colors of lights on the takeoff runway. I noticed at one point the the giant plane I was on (an A320 EOW, according to the safety card) was surrounded by lines of white lights with blue ones off to the side. However, the nose of the plane followed one straight line of green lights down the runway. The color and path created by those green lights led us down the runway into the sky.
We compare ourselves to lights sometimes. We encourage each other to SHINE and be the STAR that you are! These comparisons have to do with finding your inner strength and doing your best. But what if we are meant to be a different type of light? What if our main purpose in "shining" is to guide others? Suppose we are part of a team that forms the line of green lights to help someone else take off?
After 9/11, one of my favorite artists, Peter Frampton, realeased a song that expressed his views on how to deal with that horrible tragedy. He mentions holding hands, singing songs, and not forgetting. What spoke to me, though, was a refrain that repeats over and over near the end: "Find your light, turn it on, shine it down on everyone." You can hear it here. The light part happens at about 2:10:
Peter Frampton - Not Forgotten
In the end, Peter says (sorry for the familiarity, I feel I know him!), we can help others by "shining our light on everyone". I want to go a step further and say that we don't need to wait for a tragedy to shine. We are all lights. Perhaps we warn, maybe we illuminate for clear understanding, we might even encourage action like a green traffic light! Some may even have the tactful skill of acting as a yellow or red traffic light by gently guiding friends or loved ones away from danger or bad decisions. I want to encourage everyone to find your light, turn it on, let it shine on everyone; the individual that needs our light may be someone very close or an utter stranger. "Shine like the star you are" doesn't necessarily mean you're on stage. Our lives are our stage and our daily activities can be lit-up runways, welcoming porch lights or even a red stop light. Shine on no matter who is watching - or not. Everyone is on a journey and you might be the one that helps light their way.
As I look down on city xxxx from the heights, I can see lights. Big lights, small lights. Lights that look like shopping centers, highways or neighborhoods with cul-de-sacs. The patterns of the lights identify the type of place. Some are white, most are yellowish from the great height. Of course there are red lights, too. The red ones you can see from above are found mostly on tower-like structures as if they are saying "Danger! Please don't hit us, Mr. Airplane!" The red lights serve as a warning.
I was also intrigued, whilst on one of my evening flights, at the variety of styles and colors of lights on the takeoff runway. I noticed at one point the the giant plane I was on (an A320 EOW, according to the safety card) was surrounded by lines of white lights with blue ones off to the side. However, the nose of the plane followed one straight line of green lights down the runway. The color and path created by those green lights led us down the runway into the sky.
We compare ourselves to lights sometimes. We encourage each other to SHINE and be the STAR that you are! These comparisons have to do with finding your inner strength and doing your best. But what if we are meant to be a different type of light? What if our main purpose in "shining" is to guide others? Suppose we are part of a team that forms the line of green lights to help someone else take off?
After 9/11, one of my favorite artists, Peter Frampton, realeased a song that expressed his views on how to deal with that horrible tragedy. He mentions holding hands, singing songs, and not forgetting. What spoke to me, though, was a refrain that repeats over and over near the end: "Find your light, turn it on, shine it down on everyone." You can hear it here. The light part happens at about 2:10:
Peter Frampton - Not Forgotten
In the end, Peter says (sorry for the familiarity, I feel I know him!), we can help others by "shining our light on everyone". I want to go a step further and say that we don't need to wait for a tragedy to shine. We are all lights. Perhaps we warn, maybe we illuminate for clear understanding, we might even encourage action like a green traffic light! Some may even have the tactful skill of acting as a yellow or red traffic light by gently guiding friends or loved ones away from danger or bad decisions. I want to encourage everyone to find your light, turn it on, let it shine on everyone; the individual that needs our light may be someone very close or an utter stranger. "Shine like the star you are" doesn't necessarily mean you're on stage. Our lives are our stage and our daily activities can be lit-up runways, welcoming porch lights or even a red stop light. Shine on no matter who is watching - or not. Everyone is on a journey and you might be the one that helps light their way.
Saturday, June 14, 2014
A Tribute to Dad 6/13/14
Dad is eighty-one. He'll be eighty-two in November, one month and one day after I turn fifty-two. That means he turned thirty a month after I was born. How cool that he lived a whole life before his children started showing up - and that he left that life and embraced being a husband and a father with the vigor and single-mindedness that only he can muster.
I think Dad probably could've played college basketball somewhere. Instead, there was a broken leg, then he joined the service, as many depression-era children ended up doing. He spent time in Japan, which I always thought was so exotic - there was even a kimono that I could dress up in every now and then!
Dad ended up with three daughters. I do think perhaps that God purposely meant for him to have three girls! Maybe he would have been too demanding on boys - who can tell? Having girls was perfect. He supported our arts efforts as well as sports.
Dad was always involved, with a capital "I". Whether it was a softball team at work or being a deacon/Sunday School teacher/coach at church; Dad got a kick out of either running the show or helping out. His involvement spilled over to include us. I had a speaking part in a grown-up church skit when I was seven. Dad and his friend started a sports league for fifth through eighth graders at small private schools. Of course we played every sport. My Dad helped share church services at nursing homes on Sunday afternoons - and took my sisters and me along to sing and play piano.
If he wasn't in charge, he was supporting. My Dad came to every ball game that work would allow. He had a special outfit in school colors, and a jacket with our numbers embroidered on it. Each number was surrounded by a star for each year we lettered in basketball.
Dad made experiences special. When I turned thirteen, I got to order prime rib in a restaurant. My fourteenth birthday, Dad took just me to see "Oklahoma!" at a dinner theater. My sweet sixteenth birthday gift was a tailgating trip with friends to a Florida Gators game!
When I left for college, Dad did something very special. He wrote me one letter every week. Dad just caught me up on the household and sports news. In each letter was a one dollar bill. He never missed. My senior year, the ones turned into fives! Four years of college - one letter a week. That's my Dad.
Dad was the only one there with me when I took the walk down the aisle to get married. I'll never forget how we stayed out of sight until the last bridesmaid headed toward the front. Then he looked at me with his eyes a little shiny and said "Let's give them what they're waiting for!"
Dad doesn't remember a lot these days. The processes of age have taken the clarity and replaced it with confusion. Every now and then, a joke can find its way through. However, I remember all of the
things I've mentioned and more. I hope to tell him about recent changes. I know that even if he doesn't understand it, that somewhere inside, he's cheering me on wholeheartedly. He is half of the team that made me who I am; he is encouraging, involved, a bit silly and most importantly, a loving Christian father. Thank you Dad.
I think Dad probably could've played college basketball somewhere. Instead, there was a broken leg, then he joined the service, as many depression-era children ended up doing. He spent time in Japan, which I always thought was so exotic - there was even a kimono that I could dress up in every now and then!
Dad ended up with three daughters. I do think perhaps that God purposely meant for him to have three girls! Maybe he would have been too demanding on boys - who can tell? Having girls was perfect. He supported our arts efforts as well as sports.
Dad was always involved, with a capital "I". Whether it was a softball team at work or being a deacon/Sunday School teacher/coach at church; Dad got a kick out of either running the show or helping out. His involvement spilled over to include us. I had a speaking part in a grown-up church skit when I was seven. Dad and his friend started a sports league for fifth through eighth graders at small private schools. Of course we played every sport. My Dad helped share church services at nursing homes on Sunday afternoons - and took my sisters and me along to sing and play piano.
If he wasn't in charge, he was supporting. My Dad came to every ball game that work would allow. He had a special outfit in school colors, and a jacket with our numbers embroidered on it. Each number was surrounded by a star for each year we lettered in basketball.
Dad made experiences special. When I turned thirteen, I got to order prime rib in a restaurant. My fourteenth birthday, Dad took just me to see "Oklahoma!" at a dinner theater. My sweet sixteenth birthday gift was a tailgating trip with friends to a Florida Gators game!
When I left for college, Dad did something very special. He wrote me one letter every week. Dad just caught me up on the household and sports news. In each letter was a one dollar bill. He never missed. My senior year, the ones turned into fives! Four years of college - one letter a week. That's my Dad.
Dad was the only one there with me when I took the walk down the aisle to get married. I'll never forget how we stayed out of sight until the last bridesmaid headed toward the front. Then he looked at me with his eyes a little shiny and said "Let's give them what they're waiting for!"
Dad doesn't remember a lot these days. The processes of age have taken the clarity and replaced it with confusion. Every now and then, a joke can find its way through. However, I remember all of the
Wednesday, May 28, 2014
One year, cloudy water and Mother's Day
This was intended to be my final post. I told myself "I'll end it at the one year anniversary. I'll just let it be about the first year of grief." I tell myself a lot of things that don't happen. There's a story that is my life and I've chosen to chronicle it here. It would be unfair to leave it hanging at this point. I'm wanting to know what happens myself!
Mother's Day morning, the pool water was yellow and cloudy. Somehow, the cloudy water mirrored my attitude. Three days prior was the one year mark for Scott's death. It was a day. Not horrible, not great, just a day. I called his mom, I called my girls. I was grateful that the girls did the public, social media "wish you were still here" tribute. Both were beautiful, and I didn't want to have to do that.
I received one note in the mail before that day. It was from Maria, my college roommate, who lost her husband the very same way last September. Maria gets it. She understands that the date must be acknowledged, but she also knows about Robbie and how I'm feeling hopeful again. Part of her note said :You can now walk into May 9th and into your next chapter, or rather volume, feeling happy and excited." I kept that in mind on Friday, May 9th. I took a breath and carried on, thinking positively.
Friday turned out to be a positive day. Robbie sent me flowers at work. That's a big deal. A beautiful arrangement that was still going strong a week later, and a nice note. Positive, happy and excited were on the front burner. Saturday then dawned bright and my mood wasn't even shattered by Gordon getting dirt all over my white linen pants. Although alone most of the morning, I solved that problem by leisurely shopping and doing errands. My friend came over in the afternoon, we hit the pool and then saw a movie. Not too bad.
Mother's Day Sunday, I woke to one nice note, although not from my kids (at that point). When I looked out the window, I was surprised to see the the pool water had turned a cloudy yellow. I immediately checked chemicals, turned on filters, researched "yellow, cloudy water", scrubbed, emptied, etc. etc. I then sat back and crossed my fingers. That's what I do with the pool, a lot of the time. It may have been Mother's Day, but that water was not going to clear itself! The rest of the day was filled with either visiting or talking with those whom I love. I was only alone for a portion of the morning. I did talk to one person that was having their first mother's day without the mom of the family. As much as I want to reach out, and even though I've experienced almost the very same thing, I don't feel I helped very much. Some days are just hard.
I don't like not being able to help people and I don't like not being able to help myself. Thank goodness these "hard days" only last a while. Time marched on, I've seen Robbie face to face again, and last night my girls came home.....with a Mother's Day present. The few hours of the cloudy water and being alone have faded away like the cloudy water itself. All it took to clear the water was two bags of chlorine shock and a little time for filtering.
Most of the past year has been cloudy for me. I've learned that it is possible for the cloudiness to clear with time. It took the shock of the fact that life can go on with happiness and the time to filter that fact. It might not be exactly one year, but dismissing the timeline is becoming easier. Just this past weekend (two weeks after mother's day), the cloudiness started to creep back into the pool. No fair! I thought it was gone! I also thought that grief might disappear with the one year mark. You guessed it. It doesn't. It can be eased, though. Shock and time. Go away, cloudy days. I choose the shock of feeling happy and secure once again along with the time that has gone by to banish cloudiness and restore clear vision.
Mother's Day morning, the pool water was yellow and cloudy. Somehow, the cloudy water mirrored my attitude. Three days prior was the one year mark for Scott's death. It was a day. Not horrible, not great, just a day. I called his mom, I called my girls. I was grateful that the girls did the public, social media "wish you were still here" tribute. Both were beautiful, and I didn't want to have to do that.
I received one note in the mail before that day. It was from Maria, my college roommate, who lost her husband the very same way last September. Maria gets it. She understands that the date must be acknowledged, but she also knows about Robbie and how I'm feeling hopeful again. Part of her note said :You can now walk into May 9th and into your next chapter, or rather volume, feeling happy and excited." I kept that in mind on Friday, May 9th. I took a breath and carried on, thinking positively.
Friday turned out to be a positive day. Robbie sent me flowers at work. That's a big deal. A beautiful arrangement that was still going strong a week later, and a nice note. Positive, happy and excited were on the front burner. Saturday then dawned bright and my mood wasn't even shattered by Gordon getting dirt all over my white linen pants. Although alone most of the morning, I solved that problem by leisurely shopping and doing errands. My friend came over in the afternoon, we hit the pool and then saw a movie. Not too bad.
Mother's Day Sunday, I woke to one nice note, although not from my kids (at that point). When I looked out the window, I was surprised to see the the pool water had turned a cloudy yellow. I immediately checked chemicals, turned on filters, researched "yellow, cloudy water", scrubbed, emptied, etc. etc. I then sat back and crossed my fingers. That's what I do with the pool, a lot of the time. It may have been Mother's Day, but that water was not going to clear itself! The rest of the day was filled with either visiting or talking with those whom I love. I was only alone for a portion of the morning. I did talk to one person that was having their first mother's day without the mom of the family. As much as I want to reach out, and even though I've experienced almost the very same thing, I don't feel I helped very much. Some days are just hard.
I don't like not being able to help people and I don't like not being able to help myself. Thank goodness these "hard days" only last a while. Time marched on, I've seen Robbie face to face again, and last night my girls came home.....with a Mother's Day present. The few hours of the cloudy water and being alone have faded away like the cloudy water itself. All it took to clear the water was two bags of chlorine shock and a little time for filtering.
Most of the past year has been cloudy for me. I've learned that it is possible for the cloudiness to clear with time. It took the shock of the fact that life can go on with happiness and the time to filter that fact. It might not be exactly one year, but dismissing the timeline is becoming easier. Just this past weekend (two weeks after mother's day), the cloudiness started to creep back into the pool. No fair! I thought it was gone! I also thought that grief might disappear with the one year mark. You guessed it. It doesn't. It can be eased, though. Shock and time. Go away, cloudy days. I choose the shock of feeling happy and secure once again along with the time that has gone by to banish cloudiness and restore clear vision.
Thursday, May 1, 2014
Letting It Go 5/1/14
We watched "Frozen" this past weekend, Robbie and I. I have had a secret longing to see it for a while now. Any movie that captures that many kid's hearts has to have some bit of greatness to it. Truthfully, for me it didn't compare with "Lion King" or "Beauty and the Beast", but it tried. It was very well done and the music was amazing. I personally was excited and thankful to hear the choral music sprinkled throughout. Nice job. So now I can join all the others of you out there in the "Let It Go" craze.
Today, I watched the cute, cute video of some Marines watching "Frozen" and singing along with "Let It Go". It's adorable. They go absolutely crazy when Elsa throws it down near the end, hair escaping and Oscar-worthy ice evening gown spinning up from her magic. Watch this if you have the time. Play it and forward to 2:20 if you don't.
Marines watch "Frozen" (5/9/14 - my apologies, but I guess the owner disabled the link! It was adorable, though!) (6/3/14 CLICK IT!!! It's back, for a while at least!!)
Here's the point, simple and clear. Elsa was finally being HERSELF. Totally herself. And the men went crazy. Sure, she's drawn beautifully; what Disney heroine isn't? But I choose to believe that this video has a 'moral to the story'. Men want strong women that don't hide anything and are just......themselves. I should qualify that and say "most men". By most, I mean the ones worth keeping.
I'm vain. There it is. Clothes, hair, makeup? Very important. I like to look as nice as possible and I enjoy compliments. If you've read past blogs, you know that it's just a part of who I am. When I started dating again, I had a serious desire....to look good! I'm realistic, I don't deny the root touch-up, I complain about the zit on my chin (even though I'm fifty-one) and I call myself 'medium', because skinny was many years ago. I just want it to be known that I still care and I still try.
I had quite a few moments of panic, starting to date....until I realized that 'he' actually liked me. Robbie actually liked ME. Wow. My confidence came back with a vengeance. I got teased about "being bitten by the love bug" because I was wearing red lipstick. I suppose that could actually be a clue, if things work as I'm thinking right now.
Then, I wrote the blog about "The Circle of Life" from "The Lion King". A sweet friend messaged me privately, saying many nice things, including this:
" I think Let it go from Frozen would be more appropriate for the teacher I knew so long ago and more accommodating to your beautiful singing voice."
Wait, I just watched "Frozen"! I know what you're talking about! I have stepped out and just decided to let it go....to let life go on, and to be myself without apologies! It worked, too! He liked it! I was me from the start. There were no gloves involved......and it turned out fine!
So, those Marines were showing us a truth.....no matter who you are, or what it is you need to "Let Go", be yourself. Don't pretend not to eat if you're hungry, or that spiders are gross if you like them, or laugh quietly if you really don't. Be YOURSELF. You are beautiful and the right person will see it. Let it go......in the way that allows you to be you.
P.S. There is a comment under the Marine video, by the person that posted it, that says they went crazy when she shook her hair down because it was "hot". I just decided to interpret what "hot" meant. Interpreting and encouraging - that's the "real me". ;)
Today, I watched the cute, cute video of some Marines watching "Frozen" and singing along with "Let It Go". It's adorable. They go absolutely crazy when Elsa throws it down near the end, hair escaping and Oscar-worthy ice evening gown spinning up from her magic. Watch this if you have the time. Play it and forward to 2:20 if you don't.
Marines watch "Frozen" (5/9/14 - my apologies, but I guess the owner disabled the link! It was adorable, though!) (6/3/14 CLICK IT!!! It's back, for a while at least!!)
Here's the point, simple and clear. Elsa was finally being HERSELF. Totally herself. And the men went crazy. Sure, she's drawn beautifully; what Disney heroine isn't? But I choose to believe that this video has a 'moral to the story'. Men want strong women that don't hide anything and are just......themselves. I should qualify that and say "most men". By most, I mean the ones worth keeping.
I'm vain. There it is. Clothes, hair, makeup? Very important. I like to look as nice as possible and I enjoy compliments. If you've read past blogs, you know that it's just a part of who I am. When I started dating again, I had a serious desire....to look good! I'm realistic, I don't deny the root touch-up, I complain about the zit on my chin (even though I'm fifty-one) and I call myself 'medium', because skinny was many years ago. I just want it to be known that I still care and I still try.
I had quite a few moments of panic, starting to date....until I realized that 'he' actually liked me. Robbie actually liked ME. Wow. My confidence came back with a vengeance. I got teased about "being bitten by the love bug" because I was wearing red lipstick. I suppose that could actually be a clue, if things work as I'm thinking right now.
Then, I wrote the blog about "The Circle of Life" from "The Lion King". A sweet friend messaged me privately, saying many nice things, including this:
" I think Let it go from Frozen would be more appropriate for the teacher I knew so long ago and more accommodating to your beautiful singing voice."
Wait, I just watched "Frozen"! I know what you're talking about! I have stepped out and just decided to let it go....to let life go on, and to be myself without apologies! It worked, too! He liked it! I was me from the start. There were no gloves involved......and it turned out fine!
So, those Marines were showing us a truth.....no matter who you are, or what it is you need to "Let Go", be yourself. Don't pretend not to eat if you're hungry, or that spiders are gross if you like them, or laugh quietly if you really don't. Be YOURSELF. You are beautiful and the right person will see it. Let it go......in the way that allows you to be you.
P.S. There is a comment under the Marine video, by the person that posted it, that says they went crazy when she shook her hair down because it was "hot". I just decided to interpret what "hot" meant. Interpreting and encouraging - that's the "real me". ;)
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.
Monday, April 21, 2014
Double Classes and Holding My Breath 4/17/14
Surprise! The art teacher is sick today and there's no substitute! "Of course, I'll take those classes. No problem." I mean, what choice is there, really? Somebody has to take the extra group; I have one and PE already has two. Simple math, the music teacher takes the extra group.
So today, instead of having my usual thirty darlings, I get to control anywhere from fifty to seventy. Alone. I've kind of gotten used to alone. Actually, though, that may be changing.
The last time I had to endure double classes, I wrote about taking a breath. Taking a breath emotionally and letting the realization of "who I am now" find the cracks in the wall that let happiness shine through like bright summer sun. I am a little further along that path now. A journey continues on a daily basis, does it not? My itinerary has been busy lately.
I have seen the sunshine of happiness and I am now traveling a road of healing. the care, attention and understanding given to me by Robbie have helped me wake up and realize that joy can be re-discovered in the aftermath of sorrow. Robbie is traveling the same road, so when we need to take a break and sit on a bench for a while....we do.
Today, although I'm having to monitor double classes, I'm holding my breath - in anticipation. Robbie, who has kindly traveled the miles to visit me twice already, is visiting again this weekend. Although we talk very often, it's so much nicer in person. I'm anticipating laughter, serious talk, fun, a little sadness, but mostly a wonderful time.
Even though I had twice the students I usually do today...on the day before a holiday...I can smile on the inside and know that there's someone to listen to me talk about it when I get home. I may be alone in the classroom, but no longer in my spirit. What a difference. Robbie and I acknowledge our respective tragic pasts and are seeking a happier future. The sad chapters in our story have come to a close, and some happy chapters are being written. So talk on, big groups of kids. I'll hold my breath until 4:00 and enjoy the weekend.
So today, instead of having my usual thirty darlings, I get to control anywhere from fifty to seventy. Alone. I've kind of gotten used to alone. Actually, though, that may be changing.
The last time I had to endure double classes, I wrote about taking a breath. Taking a breath emotionally and letting the realization of "who I am now" find the cracks in the wall that let happiness shine through like bright summer sun. I am a little further along that path now. A journey continues on a daily basis, does it not? My itinerary has been busy lately.
I have seen the sunshine of happiness and I am now traveling a road of healing. the care, attention and understanding given to me by Robbie have helped me wake up and realize that joy can be re-discovered in the aftermath of sorrow. Robbie is traveling the same road, so when we need to take a break and sit on a bench for a while....we do.
Today, although I'm having to monitor double classes, I'm holding my breath - in anticipation. Robbie, who has kindly traveled the miles to visit me twice already, is visiting again this weekend. Although we talk very often, it's so much nicer in person. I'm anticipating laughter, serious talk, fun, a little sadness, but mostly a wonderful time.
Even though I had twice the students I usually do today...on the day before a holiday...I can smile on the inside and know that there's someone to listen to me talk about it when I get home. I may be alone in the classroom, but no longer in my spirit. What a difference. Robbie and I acknowledge our respective tragic pasts and are seeking a happier future. The sad chapters in our story have come to a close, and some happy chapters are being written. So talk on, big groups of kids. I'll hold my breath until 4:00 and enjoy the weekend.
Sunday, April 6, 2014
The Volcano vs. The Timeline - My Messy Beautiful
The Volcano vs. The Timeline
We think in numbers and time. We earn salaries, go shopping, pay bills and buy houses. We state our age, our graduation date, how long we've lived somewhere, and how old our dogs are in "dog-years". I truly believe we cling to numbers and time because they are concrete. They can't fade or morph from one fact to another. With our clingy-ness to numbers, though, comes human expectations. "If I make so much, I'll be happy at last." "Once this child is five, parenting will be a breeze!" (Or potty-trained, or in school, or out of braces, or driving.......on and on.) "When a whole year has passed, I'll feel better!" My mind tells me that last one again and again - that I need to physically push time ahead to get past the one-year anniversary of my husband's death to start feeling better and moving on.
My first true feelings when I realized that my husband would not recover and wake up from that heart attack were nothing but fear. I think I said over and over "What will I do?" It took weeks and months of sorting, filing, notifying, phone calling, visiting, etc. etc., to get to the place I'm at now. By place, I mean the numbers place. The cost, the income, the security. I actually am in an okay place as far as that goes. The fear still attacks every now and then, though. And that is what is Messy, Beautiful about my journey. I had a BEFORE and now I have an AFTER. BEFORE was still regular life. So happy together, but with the usual disappointments at work, challenges with children, unexpected expenses that threw us for a loop. AFTER is a volcano. AFTER left me with a fighter's attitude that was totally in conflict with the curled-in-fetal-position mourning widow that I thought I should have been.
I plunged right back into work, opportunities, vacations: in other words, life. I had to learn that the volcano could explode whenever it wanted. When my elementary choir sang "Keep Your Head Up", and one asked me afterward "Mrs. McCarty, were you crying because we sang so pretty?". Yes, sweetie, of course. You're too young to know about the volcano. When I clicked on the wrong button on the computer screen during a training session, lost someone else's work in the process, and broke out sobbing so hard I had to leave the room to recover: explosions.
Some have been big, some small. Some have been predictable, some completely out of the blue. I like an agenda. I like a schedule. (I also liked to check off what had happened on the church bulletin with the little pew pencil when I was young. Keep everything in order!!) So the randomness of AFTER has left me searching for order.
I started writing to find order. I wrote about the fear, the fighter's attitude vs. the public perception of who I should be. I wrote about feeling happy when I shouldn't. I wrote about feeling as if I would be alone forever. I wrote funny things the kiddos at school said and did - I wasn't even scared to tell about the third grade girl that told me I had hair on my toes! I also went online to understand grief. Surely if this happens to unsuspecting humans every day, there must be some rhyme or reason as to how to control the volcano! I joined a grief forum specific to loss of spouses. The writing and the forum then joined hands to shake the volcano even more.
A man on the forum followed a link to my writings and read every single one of them. Then he messaged me. Then we started talking on the phone (in spite of the fact that I wrote what I did about my toes)! "WAIT!!" screamed my sense of order and propriety. "It hasn't been a year!!" My logical self wanted the numbers and time in order. My old-fashioned self wanted to make sure I did nothing wrong or unseemly. The volcano, however, does its own thing.
We actually met in person a few weeks ago, and it was beautiful. We met again two weeks later and it's even more beautiful. In our case, the beautiful makes it messy. It's messy because we don't live in the same place, and we have both recently lost spouses. If we hadn't liked each other, (beautiful) it wouldn't be as difficult (messy).
I can say this, though: If mercury belongs to nature and can take that unexpected little dart across the table, then why can't human feelings? He and I will find out; we're going to see each other again. Sometimes you just have to let the volcano do its thing and blow up the timeline.
This essay and I are part of the Messy, Beautiful Warrior Project — To learn more and join us, CLICK HERE! And to learn about the New York Times Bestselling Memoir Carry On Warrior: The Power of Embracing Your Messy, Beautiful Life, just released in paperback, CLICK HERE!
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, April 1, 2014
Are you entertaining? 4/1/14 (not an April fool!)
It was the cutest question ever. I'm a sucker for the old-fashioned phrases anyway, but this one just made me giggle, blush and think "Oh, how cute!" at the same time. There is this adorable, very stylish, Southern LADY (capitals on purpose!) at my workplace. She is a source of inspiration to me because her charm and happy attitude never falter. She also went through losing her husband suddenly - but is now happily re-married.
I asked her, shortly after I started talking to someone, how soon after her husband died she started dating, or met her second husband. I was trying to sort through my own feelings of stepping into any kind of involvement, especially when a year had not passed. (Her answer was more proper than my situation, so I just tucked that knowledge away and carried on!) I just get the feeling that if I do something too quickly or without seeming to show proper respect, that everyone will pass judgement. Maybe I've watched too much "Gone With the Wind", but this is what my mind sees when people ask a question and I answer honestly:
So instead, I drop hints or keep quiet. If you read this, then you know - but there are very few of you, to tell the truth. I'm not sure some of my relatives even read it! It's a fact I can share now, though; I'm dating. He lost his special someone, too, so we have that in common. I didn't search for him, he searched for me. I feel like a character from a book because things have been so coincidental and magical. It's early days right now, but it's very nice.
I thought I was keeping things to myself and a few close friends, until the cute question today. Precious Southern lady came into the workroom for lunch, and started looking around while her food was heating in the microwave. "I just love to look at what everybody brings for lunch!" she drawled. Focusing on my little dish: "Oooh, you made a pot roast? For just you?" I blushed, and just shook my head 'no'. She then whisper-exclaimed (oh, so properly...) "Oh my goodness, are you entertaining?" I nodded, laughing, while she gave me a big hug. "I'm so glad to hear that, good for you!" I could only agree. Please don't faint like Aunt Pittypat.....please just accept the notion that I might be "entertaining" and it might be making me happier than I have been in a long time!
I asked her, shortly after I started talking to someone, how soon after her husband died she started dating, or met her second husband. I was trying to sort through my own feelings of stepping into any kind of involvement, especially when a year had not passed. (Her answer was more proper than my situation, so I just tucked that knowledge away and carried on!) I just get the feeling that if I do something too quickly or without seeming to show proper respect, that everyone will pass judgement. Maybe I've watched too much "Gone With the Wind", but this is what my mind sees when people ask a question and I answer honestly:
So instead, I drop hints or keep quiet. If you read this, then you know - but there are very few of you, to tell the truth. I'm not sure some of my relatives even read it! It's a fact I can share now, though; I'm dating. He lost his special someone, too, so we have that in common. I didn't search for him, he searched for me. I feel like a character from a book because things have been so coincidental and magical. It's early days right now, but it's very nice.
I thought I was keeping things to myself and a few close friends, until the cute question today. Precious Southern lady came into the workroom for lunch, and started looking around while her food was heating in the microwave. "I just love to look at what everybody brings for lunch!" she drawled. Focusing on my little dish: "Oooh, you made a pot roast? For just you?" I blushed, and just shook my head 'no'. She then whisper-exclaimed (oh, so properly...) "Oh my goodness, are you entertaining?" I nodded, laughing, while she gave me a big hug. "I'm so glad to hear that, good for you!" I could only agree. Please don't faint like Aunt Pittypat.....please just accept the notion that I might be "entertaining" and it might be making me happier than I have been in a long time!
Sunday, March 23, 2014
Let's Save the World, Teachers!! (Or at least finish the year!) 3/23/14
I saw "Divergent" last night. I really like the movies set in the dystopian future, especially ones based on YA novels that I have read. The young people have to overcome all the wrongs that have been set in place by silly grown-ups since the world ended/big war/great disaster...whatever happened in whichever book. There is always a challenge. The characters at that point in the story are stretched to their mental and physical limits trying to make it out/in/to the next stage/stay alive. The formula varies, but the final challenge, in the novels and the movies, remains the most tense, suspenseful, casualty-filled part of the story.
All teachers are getting ready to enter their final challenge. When I thought about going back to school after spring break, I thought about the last thirty minutes of "Divergent". I also thought about "The Hunger Games" and every single "Harry Potter" book. We're in the last months now. Almost every school has about ten to fourteen weeks left. Testing will be occurring on a regular basis. Administrators will be needing to wear diapers worrying about testing abnormalities and audits. Students will be getting in fights and falling in love. It's funny that they are tested right around the time when their year-long relationship with the others that surround them reaches its peak!
Spring Break is just what is says: a small break. The imminent end-of-year hill that we climb is in sight even though we are on vacation. (Is it subliminal that I accidentally typed 'hell' instead of 'hill'?) I hope, all my teacher friends, that you were wise enough to treat yourself well this past week, because that may not happen again for a while. We all know it, and our smiles and laughs to each other during the day will help us through.
So here we are, teachers....our final battle of this novel (or movie) is approaching. Choose your weapons, revive your skill-set, encourage your team. The good guys always win, don't they? I'm right beside you, let's go!
All teachers are getting ready to enter their final challenge. When I thought about going back to school after spring break, I thought about the last thirty minutes of "Divergent". I also thought about "The Hunger Games" and every single "Harry Potter" book. We're in the last months now. Almost every school has about ten to fourteen weeks left. Testing will be occurring on a regular basis. Administrators will be needing to wear diapers worrying about testing abnormalities and audits. Students will be getting in fights and falling in love. It's funny that they are tested right around the time when their year-long relationship with the others that surround them reaches its peak!
Spring Break is just what is says: a small break. The imminent end-of-year hill that we climb is in sight even though we are on vacation. (Is it subliminal that I accidentally typed 'hell' instead of 'hill'?) I hope, all my teacher friends, that you were wise enough to treat yourself well this past week, because that may not happen again for a while. We all know it, and our smiles and laughs to each other during the day will help us through.
So here we are, teachers....our final battle of this novel (or movie) is approaching. Choose your weapons, revive your skill-set, encourage your team. The good guys always win, don't they? I'm right beside you, let's go!
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