Indiscriminate scribbles

are those bagpipes I hear?

2011-09-20T00:04:00.002-04:00

But wait, I'm not dead. I don't think.

Although there are days I wonder.

The days and weeks and months are a blur. Everything is different yet nothing has really changed.

Is this eternity?

Somehow I was expecting so much more.

facing fear

2010-11-16T14:06:00.004-05:00

Wow, I just realized how long it had been since I posted. I've gotten really slack with this thing!

Perhaps I just needed to be nudged by the accumulation of thoughts that are now bursting at the seams of my mind.

Today's prevailing thoughts involve my work with EMS.

I knew this job would be a challenge. I knew there would be the shifts that would challenge my sensibilities and ability to shoulder the sorrow of the patients I care for and their families. I knew there would be calls that would force me to think on my feet and not rely so heavily on everything the books tell you. I knew I would be placed in situations that would challenge my physical strength and abilities.

What I didn't realize, and probably should have, is that this job also constantly challenges me to overcome my fears.

Afraid of the dark? Big deal, get over it. The power is out and your patient is in the farthest back bedroom of the old house that would be creepy even during the day.

Afraid to drive in the snow and ice? Deal with it. The lady having a heart attack on the other side of the county isn't worried about road conditions.

Afraid of spiders? Pssht! Your patient is lying on the ground with a gunshot wound and doesn't even realize the little bastards are crawling all over him.

Afraid of majorly screwing up? How in the hell can you be any good to them if you're frozen in fear?

We all let fear stand in the way of so much in our daily lives. It's amazing how quickly it dissipates when the situation doesn't allow you the time to even think about it.

job-specific prayers

2010-06-15T15:38:00.002-04:00

While you are praying we get there on time, praying we can help your loved one, praying that it's not as bad as it seems, we are saying prayers of our own. Here's the one I tend to start every shift with...

Dear Lord, please go with us today and keep us safe.
Please give me the wisdom to have sound judgment and make good decisions in the best interest of my best patient, my partner and myself.
Please go with me and help me to fulfill my duties with skill and compassion.
And please Lord, let my patients be skinny, and if they can't be skinny, please let the fire department be on scene to help me lift them.
Amen.

Of course I have a completely separate prayer said when it's necessary to drive at high rates of speed either to the scene or to the hospital. It goes something like this and is set on repeat throughout the trip...

Dear Lord, please help us get there safe, please help us get there on time.
Dear Lord, please don't let me do anything stupid to cause me to wreck this ambulance.
Dear Lord, please don't let anyone else do anything stupid to cause me to wreck this ambulance.
Dear Lord, if this ambulance does wreck please don't let my momma drive by and see it.

pissier and pissier

2010-02-01T00:58:00.003-05:00

So one of my favorite bloggers, Kate, let loose with a list of things making her pissy at the moment which has reminded me that every now and then, it's ok to be pissy.

And pissy I have been. And getting pissier by the second.

The husband likes to chalk up my pissiness to the time of the year. He's not lucky enough to have a wife who has PMS, but she is apt to get moody during certain times of the year and he seizes that as a rationalization for her pissy mood so he doesn't have to accept any of the responsibility for said mood.

So here we go...the list inspiring my current state of pissiness:

1) I'm sick of trying to clean this damn house! Correction: I'm sick of trying to clean this damn house while my husband sits on his fat ass in front of the television. I'm sick of cleaning off counters, only so someone can come along twenty minutes later to leave crumbs, trash or open containers of food on the aforementioned freshly scrubbed counter. I'm sick of being the only one who does laundry or cleans the bathroom or even recognizes that these things must be done. I'm sick of people looking warily at me like I'm some sort of irrational bitch for being pissy about the pee on the floor beside the toilet I just cleaned or the sticky mess on the counter I just scrubbed.

2) I'm sick of working 60-80 hours a week when I only work part-time!! I work two part-time jobs for two different departments of local government. Since I'm just a part-time employee, I don't qualify for benefits. So, I'm working my ass off either directly providing health care through one position or helping others figure out ways to get it through another position while I can't go to the fucking doctor because I have no health insurance. I am also sick of the 40 hour a week person in my house failing to realize that I am working so many hours and might need a little help getting things done around the house.

3) I am sick of all these damn animals in my house!!! We already had three dogs and a cat when The Boy got another cat. Then The Husband brought home an abandoned puppy and you can't walk through the damn house without stepping on a tail or being stepped on by a paw. I'm sick of the hair and the noise and all the damned pet supplies cluttering up my house.

4) I am sick of the snow and cold weather. It's currently 25 degrees and we have 8-10 inches of snow on the ground. They're calling for more frozen precipitation on Tuesday and again on Friday. My feet are cold and all this damn snow is wreaking havoc on my appointment book at work.

5) I am sick of being pissy. I'm tired of being in a crappy mood but people just keep pissing me off!

making my list, checking it twice

2009-12-31T20:17:00.003-05:00

It's the last night of the year and I'm laid up on my couch with the cold from hell so I decided to take a look back at this time last year to see if I'd made any resolutions.

Nope...I never do. But I did have a short list of things I'd like to accomplish. I wonder how I did with that.

* Complete the EMT-Basic course and pass the state certification the FIRST time. I've heard that a lot of folks fail the first time but I refuse to be one of them.

CHECK! Not only did I finish with the highest average in the class, but I also had the highest score on the state test. Yay me! I've also started working as an EMT for a local service and am loving it!

* Make myself go to church EVERY Sunday (unless of course I'm sick.) As much as I enjoy going and even miss it when I don't go, I still find excuses to to go about once a month.

CHECK! Ok, I had a lot of help with this one. I started teaching one of the adult Sunday School classes and I'm pretty sure one of the main reasons they wanted me to teach was to help ensure my regular attendance!

* Blog on a more regular basis. I've gotten slack in my blogging, primarily because my mind has been filled with shit not fit to see the light of day. I have this wonderful outlet, I need to use it. Of course, this may mean that I ramble even more.

Ok, so I didn't really accomplish this one at all. Again, most of the crap that floats around in my brain isn't fit to see the light of day. Plus there are a handful of people in my life who know about this blog and yes, it does make me a bit more reserved about what I share.

* Get my teeth fixed. My teeth are a nightmare and in major need of some extensive dental work. I have dental insurance, but I'm a complete wimp when it comes to having dental work done and I'm too cheap to spend the money. I have a hard time justifying it as a necessary expense if the tooth isn't hurting.

Um, yea. I haven't taken the first step towards taking care of this one. I guess this is one that needs to be moved to the top of my list for 2010.

Let's see...what else needs to be on that list?

* Stop procrastinating so much! I always find myself behind the eight ball because I put everything off until the last minute. I really need to start trying to tackle things immediately and not let them all pile up. This goes for crap at work, laundry, chores, social obligations, etc.

* Take better care of myself...meaning at least eating better and taking vitamins. Surely I can manage that. Maybe.

On that note, I've just finished a huge glass of orange juice and am pretty sure it's time for some chocolate! ;-)

a quick note to him

2009-12-05T23:07:00.005-05:00

Dear Bj,

I played pool with your son tonight. That's one of those things I don't do often because it reminds me so much of you. How is it that he holds the cue just as you did, that he puts that same spin on the cue ball, that he has that same swagger as he works his way around the table, when he never once saw you shoot a game?

I was struck by his hands, as I always am. They are definitely yours. I was struck too by his smile and his laugh, as I always am. And for a moment, a brief, fleeting moment, I felt as though you were still here.

He's happy. He knows he's loved. He loves his Momma and is fiercely defensive of me.He knows who you are. And he knows how much you loved him. He misses you and hates he never got the chance to know you better.

So do I.

I look at him now, at the threshold of manhood, still so much a child, and I think of you, of the life you deserved. I wonder, just as I have wondered a million times before, what your life would've been like had you been born to someone else, had she been able to grasp reality and not let her own insanity soil you so much. I see him in front of me, bright smile, laughing eyes and I have my answer.

He has chosen to be Baptized tomorrow. He was worried, for a while, about whether or not you believed, about whether or not you would be allowed to meet us on the other side, whether or not you were a child of God. I assured him you were...not just because of the conversations we had when you were here but because of the sense of peace God gave me as I prayed for you incessantly after your death.

You would be so proud of him...of the man he is becoming. I've explained that you believed he was the only good thing you ever did and he is determined to be the type of man you wished him to be - good, strong, kind and loving.

I miss you most during these times. I think of the sweet little kisses you gave me when he was born, the tender touch of your hand in mine as we watched him play as a baby and I wish you were here to see him now.

I wish he could know you as I do...that infectious laugh that lit up a room, that soft look of love in your eyes as you looked at him. I try so very hard to do right by you. To raise him as you wanted him to be raised. To keep you as part of our lives.

But oh, how I miss you!

It's gotten easier. I no longer cry every day. Yet still I long for your touch, to hear your voice. But I thank God every day for giving me a part of you. And I still thank Him for not allowing him to have your brown eyes. I'm not sure I could handle that.

You told me, oh so often, not to plan for you to be a part of our lives as he grew older. You were so sure you would die young. I told you, oh so often, that I simply couldn't imagine it any other way. I was so certain you would live forever. And here we are, all these years later and you are still part of my very being.

The day we married you kissed me and whispered "not even death."

I take a breath and hear those words, feel your breath warm upon my ear and I know you were right.

There are not words to express how much I miss you, how much I long to have you at my side. But I have also yet to find the words that describe how I still feel your presence, how I know you've never really left my side.

I love you Bj.

when tiny dribbles become giant waves

2009-11-22T21:54:00.005-05:00

So apparently The Husband was tuning me out the day I told him the secret of living peacefully with me. Big surprise there huh?

I laid it all on the table before we got married and told him to pay special attention to two keys points that were the keys to, not only understanding me, but dealing with me on a daily basis.

Point #1: I need to be loved. That's the only reason you're here. I don't need someone to pay my bills. I don't need someone to fix things when they're broke (although that would be a really cool benefit.) I need someone to love me. And since I'm a needy bitch (and this is important,) I need to be constantly reminded of that love. Don't ever, ever, no matter what else happens, allow me to believe that you don't love me or care about what happens to me because once I get that thought in my head it will be very difficult for me to shake it.

Point #2: I don't bitch about the little shit. Or at least I try very hard not to. If I'm bitching about the toilet seat being left up or the fact that your aim is horrible, consider yourself warned, there is something else bothering me. I'm not going to call you out every time I feel unloved, unappreciated or am royally pissed about some asshole thing you've done because believe it or not, I don't want to argue with you. But, (and this is important) I will lose my patience and begin nit-picking and bitching about all the stupid, inconsequential shit that grates my nerves. So pay attention, if I'm bitching about little shit, start asking me questions if you want to know what's wrong with me because I'm probably really steaming over something else.

To his credit, The Husband has at least been making a concerted effort to be attentive and to demonstrate, in his own way, that he loves me. Of course that's directly linked to the fact that his biological clock is ticking like hell and he's thinking he might just want to have a baby, but that's another post for another time.

I've been bitching about his aim for months now. I've been bitching about the dog hair all over the floor. I've been bitching about his grunting and groaning and moaning. I've been bitching about the amount of room he takes up when we sit in a booth at a restaurant.

He hasn't yet asked me what the hell my problem is. I guess he assumes I'm just pissy. I know part of him is certain I'm crazy and that my moodiness has something to do with whatever is not quite right in my head.

Perhaps he is simply trying to avoid the same argument I am. Perhaps he is just clueless. Or perhaps he just doesn't give a shit.

Either way, he's known for almost a year now that the cancer has returned. I mention its presence every so often as a reminder, hoping that somehow this time will be different. When I first mentioned the recurrence to him, I was hopeful. A few weeks passed and I mentioned it again and he had the good grace to ask if it was getting any worse. Since then? Nothing. Nada. Not a word, not a question, nothing said in response to comments I make about it.

A friend of mine offered that maybe he just doesn't want to deal with it. Maybe he doesn't want to talk about it because talking about it makes it real. Maybe.

But we've been here before. And when I asked him the first go around why he refused to talk about it his answer was very simple..."you've got to understand, I know you're probably thinking about this all the time, but that's just it, this is happening to you, this isn't happening to me so I'm not thinking about it all the time." I haven't quite been able to shake those words.

No, that's not a conversation I want to have again. The last time we had that conversation it ultimately led to me asking for a divorce. For now, I'll just keep bitching about the pissy dribbles around the toilet.

well ain't that a kick in the balls

2009-11-14T23:27:00.003-05:00

Figuratively speaking of course. Because I don't have balls. Although I've often been accused of having big brass ones.

But alas I've been blessed with dysfunctional lady parts. Seems like the damn things have never worked right! That's why I had a rough pregnancy. That's why I had a hysterectomy at the age of 25. That's why I've had two surgeries, countless laser ablations and several rounds of topical chemo.

And now that's why I don't even care if I never have sex again. Sex hurts. And when it hurts I look. And when I look I am reminded of the cancer that continues to fester.

(By the way, if you know me outside of cyberspace and pick up the phone to call me, don't. There's a reason I haven't mentioned it. I don't want to talk about it.)

It's been back for a while...came back not long after I healed from the last surgery. Some days it doesn't bother me at all and I don't even think about it. Most days it's a mild annoyance...a constant irritation, reminding me that all is not right in the region. It reminds me of Winston's varicose ulcer in Orwell's 1984.

Then there's days like today. A quick round of sex brings about pain and of course me being me, leads me to investigate the source of that pain. The investigation reveals everything I expected to see (from previous examinations) and confirms earlier suspicions that yes, it has clearly spread to previously uncharted territory.

I am immediately annoyed. I am then filled with that nagging, haunting sense of doom as I envision this invader creeping, slowly taking over. The fact that I have these thoughts only annoys me more. That wave of nausea washes over me. I can't speak. A piercing pain grabs my mid-section. And I wonder stupidly, for a fleeting second, if this is what it feels like to get kicked in the balls.

don't close your eyes

2009-10-28T23:24:00.003-04:00

They say that I must learn to separate myself from the human face of this job.

I say that if I ever get to the point I am no longer able to see that human face it is time for me to quit.

I guess that's how a lot of people deal with it though.

We find their bodies broken and bloody. We find them gasping for breath, their hearts too weak to beat. We hear the cries of their husbands and wives, their children, their parents.

We do what we can.

Some of us close our eyes, refusing to see past the flesh and bone. Some of us close our hearts, refusing to feel their pain.

But sometimes all we can do is care. What good are we to them if we lose that ability?

relentless tide

2009-10-13T12:58:00.003-04:00

As usual, I have a gazillion things on my to-do list, but I can't seem to check any of them off because my mind is a million miles away.

I would entertain the possibility that I had ADD if it weren't for the fact that the distractions are rarely varied. No, my attention always seems to be focused in one direction - that single, all consuming wave of emotion that begins with a sharp catch of the breath and begins to ebb with the whispered exhalation, "you have no idea how much I love you."

damn vortex

2009-10-04T22:46:00.003-04:00

Well hell, I did it again.

To borrow a thought from a dear friend of mine - that damn vortex! It will get you every time.

So often it seems as though there's nothing really going on in my life, yet once I suddenly catch my breath and look back, I'm like, "wow! no wonder it was so easy to get sucked into that vortex."

Things I've done over the past 2 months:

* Started teaching Sunday school. I hate the term "teacher" though. After all, in order to be qualified to "teach" shouldn't you really have a firm understanding of the subject? Shouldn't you be able to answer questions? So, I lead the Bible study discussion for my age group every Sunday morning. And I haven't burst into flames yet, which proves that whole idea of forgiveness.

* Contracted, suffered through and recovered from a nasty case of walking pneumonia. This was the second time I've had that mess. Funny thing though - I was never actually sick. At least not "sick" as in sniffing, sneezing, runny nose sick. My chest had already been hurting for a week before I got the sniffles, which only lasted a couple days. Mostly I just felt like there was an elephant sitting on my chest and I couldn't quite catch my breath.

* Quit smoking. Again. Ok, it's only Day 12 and I've cheated twice, but I'm working on it. The whole pneumonia thing really scared me. It was the second time I've had that mess and this time I was downright out of breath and literally gasping for air. It occurred to me that I'd been smoking for 20 years and I was probably pushing my luck. If I keep smoking, odds are good I'll end up living my life out of breath and gasping for air. No thanks. I get the picture. I'll stop.

(Of course, I've discovered my mom is absolutely right about what has kept me from actually quitting. She told me that my problem with quitting was simply that I was too stubborn. You'd think being stubborn would come in handy when trying to muster up the willpower to do something, but I'm stubborn in a backwards kind of way. When I decide I want to smoke, I go smoke a cigarette, whether I've quit or not.)

* Started working part-time with the local EMS service. I'm still in the training phase, riding as a 3rd person provider. I was most nervous about driving the ambulance, so of course my first time driving was an emergency traffic call down a curvy road. I'm doing ok though and really think I'm going to enjoy this type of work. This gives me a total of three part-time jobs though, which makes scheduling a bit hectic. As The Boy pointed out the other day, once you put it all together it's like I work a full-time job plus an extra part-time job. I wish The Husband would reach that same realization. He seems to be trying though.

Things I haven't done over the past two months:

* Written any blogs. Instead I've been writing Sunday school lessons, grant reports, letters to friends, to-do lists (that never seem to get done)and grocery lists. I hope to get back on track with that routine as well.

* Kept up with my blog subscriptions. I've missed reading them and hope to get back into the routine although I'm not sure I'll ever get caught up on all of them. That's where I'm off to now - to see what everyone else has been up to for the past two months.

things I wonder about

2009-08-07T11:38:00.010-04:00

My fellow blogger Maria (who has such a knack for combining incredibly funny with incredibly deep to make for a heartwarming read) has been wondering about things lately, which prompted me to do some wondering of my own.

1) I wonder why we never see birds falling from the sky, or out of trees. Birds have to die, I'm certain of it. But I've never seen a bird that died from natural causes. I've seen the ones who had very unfortunate encounters with cars, those assaulted by other animals and, in one particularly sad incident, a bird who mistook a freshly washed, giant plate glass window for an unencumbered entry to my office. (I refused to ever wash that window again for fear of it happening again.) BUT, I've never seen a bird sitting on a power line or tree limb suddenly lose the fight. I've never come across a dead bird that hadn't died of some horrific trauma. Where on earth do the go? I've been told that animals cart them off too quickly for us to discover, but I have a hard time buying that. There's a LOT of birds in this world. Where do they all go when they die and how is it that no one I know has ever seen one fall out of the sky or off a perch? A weird thing to wonder I know, but it's always troubled me.

2) Why is it that you always start to feel better if you finally call to make that doctor's appointment, only to feel worse again if you decide to cancel? I could chalk this up to the placebo effect, except the same holds true for vehicles. They never make that funny noise at the mechanics, but as soon as you leave the garage, it does it again.

3) Why is it that my husband cannot sit through a single commercial but can be sitting on the edge of his seat for an entire four hour Operation Repo marathon?

4) Why is it that men take so much pride in their ability to write their names in the snow, but refuse to practice their aim in the bathroom? (Incidentally, I recently read somewhere that if you painted a fly or some such silliness in the bottom of the bowl, they will always aim for it, thus making cleaning the toilet and surrounding area a much more bearable task.)

5) Why is it that at 5:30 in the afternoon, when everyone in town is doing their grocery shopping, there will be 15 store employees milling around but only two registers open and no one bagging groceries?

6) Why is it that I seem to be the only one in my house who recognizes when a vacuum cleaner, dust rag or broom should be used?

7) Why is that I seem to be the only one who knows how to use these fancy-fangled devices?

8) Why is it that when I'm looking for a job there's none to be found, but when I already have several, everyone wants to offer me another one?

9) Why is it that none of my dogs are confident in my ability to go pee by myself? Ok, as annoying as it can be to have three dogs escorting every move I make, it really does give me a warm fuzzy feeling to know they're that protective of me. "Oh no, woman is going to another room, ON GUARD, GO!"

10) Why is it that two of those same dogs seem to forget I exist as they fly through the woods after an unknown creature, seemingly oblivious to my demands and pleadings that they "STAY!!! COME BACK HERE!!"

11) How does my cat know I'm going for a bowl of cereal? If I even THINK about getting a bowl of cereal, she is in my lap or rubbing herself against my legs. And don't let me sit down on the couch with a bowl of cereal, because she will insist on sitting on the arm of the couch (or the back, above my shoulder) trying to shove her fat kitty nose into my bowl. If I'm not eating it fast enough for her, she'll nudge the bottom of the bowl with her fat kitty head. More than one bowl of cereal has been dumped in my lap that way. Or she'll bat at the spoon with her paw.

12) Why do I continue to sit the bowl down for that damn cat when I'm finished??

13) Why is it that the men-folk around here fuss there's nothing to eat in the house when there's a refrigerator full of leftovers that need to be thrown out because they opted to eat frozen pizzas on the nights I worked?

14) Why do these same men-folk not understand why I refuse to cook more food when there's still leftovers that need to be eaten before they go bad in the refrigerator?

15) Why do I let such crap get under my skin so bad? I know that in the grand scheme of things, little daily annoyances really don't matter. I try to remind myself of that as I feel my temper rising, but after a while I explode and everyone in the house decides I must just be cranky that day.

If they're old and he's a teen, I must be middle-aged

2009-08-04T18:46:00.002-04:00

Getting old sucks.

It's as though I woke up one day recently to discover that everyone around me has gotten old.

My great-grandmother recently turned 95, but that's not what triggered it for me. She's always been old, at least for as long as I've been around.

I think it was more that my grandmother turned 70 last year. When I looked at her one day and realized that, even though she could still pass for 50, she is now what most people would consider elderly.

That point was really driven home a few weeks ago when she called to let me know she had made her final arrangements and worked out a payment plan so she could cover the cost herself. She was calling me to let me know that I was the one she listed to receive her cremated remains.

I was only partly shocked. She and I have had that conversation before. I knew what she wanted done and had long ago agreed to ensure her wishes were carried out. But the fact that she has finally, not only put it in writing, but made firm plans, kind of took me aback.

Then, just a few days ago, my mom, who is 52, called to tell me that her doctor had just informed her that she had osteoporosis and needs to start considering treatment options. So there I am, doing a ton of research on the internet, shocked to discover that my mom, the woman who rocked skimpy bikinis in the 80s and mini skirts even in the 90s, is now frail. FRAIL!

I guess I've reached THAT point. You know the one. Where you finish raising your children, just in time to take care of your parents and grandparents. My son will start high school in another year and be ready to start college or strike out on his own in another 5 years.

I'm not sure I'm ready for all this.

whole

2009-07-18T23:02:00.003-04:00

I think I recognized the restaurant - one of my favorite little places at the beach. He sat across from me, laughing as we talked.

I remember thinking, even in my dream, "my God, he's whole again." His hair was long, threatening to spill into those deep brown eyes. It's been a long time since I've seen it so long.

For the life of me, I can't remember what we were talking about, but I know it included a comment about cheesy bread. But the conversation was comfortable, easy. We laughed, a lot.

My alarm clock jerked me back to this world. But I was whole again, for just a little while.

home

2009-07-09T00:05:00.000-04:00

The pounding of the surf reverberates within my very being, the salty breeze caressing my skin.

Home.

It calls out to me, beckoning me closer, promising forever.

still

2009-07-08T00:04:00.002-04:00

It is constantly in motion.

The ever present ebb & flow of the tide causing great swells to roll across the surface. Frothy waves crashing in the shallow waters, quickly crawling their way upon the shore, only to be sucked back out just as quickly.

The sand is forever shifting, the landscape forever changing, at the mercy of the tide & winds.

There is an incredible stillness about it all. A pulse that is so fast it cannot be felt to be measured.

It is endless and it is timeless.

It is where forever is found.

there's no doubt about it...

2009-07-05T14:13:00.004-04:00

I am a creature of habit.

The husband and I decided to try a new beach last week.

I was excited about the idea of seeing lighthouses and exploring a new island.

Well, I was excited until I got there. I don't think the long drive helped. A seven hour drive is a bit of a shock to the system when you're used to getting to the beach within 4-5 hours.

The place was gorgeous. At various points, you could see both the ocean and sound and I found myself in awe when I thought of how often those stretches of island had been under water. Given that fact, I suppose it's no wonder that the island is virtually barren of development.

I had no idea where anything was. The beach we usually visit has become like a second home to me. I know where all the cool little hole-in-the-wall bars are, where all the cheap diners frequented by locals are, where every little side road takes you.

There were no little-hole-the-wall places there and what few side roads existed led only to non-descript beach homes that all looked alike. No cute little cottages, no hot dog stands and NO DOUGHNUTS! What's a girl to do when she can't have doughnuts for breakfast at the beach???

There were plenty of pricey little apparel shops, hammock shops and shops that offered coffee and do-it-yourself beading.

It didn't even smell like beach. I'm not sure if it was the sound or lack of piers or high winds, but there was no salty spray in the air, no immediate whiff of fish, salt, sand to greet you upon your arrival. I missed that.

So, I spent a few days lying on an unfamiliar beach, on an unfamiliar island, that was 7 hours from home.

Thank God I'm leaving tomorrow for some serious "real" beach time with my aunt. We'll stop for doughnuts on the way to the hotel, walk the piers, eat lunch in little hole-in-the-wall places that may not remember your name, but recognize you from years past.

And, the minute we cross the bridge to get to MY island, my beach, we'll be welcomed by a salty, sandy, fishy scent that will linger long after we come home.

There my spirit will be revived and I'll come home recharged and ready to go. Or at least, that's been the routine.

happy independence day

2009-07-05T00:09:00.004-04:00

"Suzie" and her husband came over tonight to help us celebrate the fourth.

She's one of the few people who understand...who was around then, who knew both of us, who really gets it.

The pictures in The Boy's room were almost enough to make her cry.

I knew she'd understand the trunk and the strange things it contains...the wallet that still stores a small amount of cash, the candy that was never eaten, the glass jar of water that manages to stay cold no mattter what the temperature.

She recognized the smell immediately. And suddenly I felt a little less crazy.

She would understand why, no matter how good this life is, I will always want something different. Why I nearly welled up in tears tonight, accepting, for the millionth time, that he wasn't here.

She understands that I am no longer whole, that a part of me died with him, that no matter how much time passes, no mattter how much things change or life goes forward, I am his wife. She understands that is who am. She knows that person.

And she wonders how I continue to be the person I've become.

I often wonder the same. And know that I would trade everthing I am, everything I have for just one more moment.

more specifically

2009-06-17T10:38:00.004-04:00

So you're poking along, attending to the everyday business of living and you're feeling more than a bit distracted. Downright detached even. So detached that you start wondering if you're actually awake or if this is all just a dream.

I've spent the last few months like that. I'm 99% certain I'm awake and not dreaming, but I'm having a hard time "waking up" per se.

A little detachment is a good thing. It's not healthy to be so wrapped up in yourself, or in the everyday bullshit of life, that you miss the bigger picture. But too much detachment leaves you damn near useless.

Oh don't get me wrong, during this time, I've completed the EMT course and passed my state exam with flying colors, so my brain is apparently still functioning. It just doesn't seem to be relaying the message to the rest of me that I am indeed alive.

It's hard to explain. It's not quite numbness, although many of my senses certainly seem dulled. It's just...detached. Disconnected from everything around me, detached even from myself.

It makes it damn hard to write. It makes it damn hard to do much of anything beyond the absolutely necessary. I'm here. But I'm not. Hell, the thing is, I'm not even sure where the rest of me is.

I swear...

2009-06-04T22:21:00.001-04:00

I am alive. I really am.

At least I'm 95% certain of that.

off the map

2009-05-19T00:20:00.003-04:00

It's been brought to my attention that I'm in a weird place right now.

Indeed I am and I'm not entirely sure it's a good place to be.

A friend of mine asked me earlier today how I was doing. My response was, "well, I'm still in one piece."

But that's not entirely true.

In fact, I feel as though I'm completely unraveling at the seams and losing bits and pieces of myself all over the damn place.

fearful procrastination

2009-05-01T01:23:00.005-04:00

I'm listening to Nirvana. I'm also remembering the mint chocolate chip ice cream waiting in my freezer. That almost makes up for the fact I'm listening to Nirvana.

People often ask, "Well what do you want to do?"

I want to sit in a cabin in the woods, reading, sleeping, eating...and writing.

Writing, truly writing, is a painful, soul-wrenching experience that leave me exhausted - hateful because I want to be left alone to get it over with.

The moment I sit down and really begin to work, it's like ripping off the bandages. I bleed across the page until I'm spent. Then I sleep.

I awake, I read, I eat. I write.

I've been putting it off. I'm not certain I can withstand the bloodshed.

*&$#%@!!!!!!

2009-04-28T10:51:00.003-04:00

The Boy's case was continued. Because the court system is completely jacked up. As always.

I am, however, proud to know I am no more tolerant of the complete destruction of personal responsibility through plea deals, loopholes and crafty defense attorneys when it is my own son at the defense table.

I am even more proud of his indignation that he was not allowed to plead guilty today and accept his punishment.

Perhaps a few steps along that path have been right.

on being a parent

2009-04-28T00:26:00.004-04:00

My house is surrounded by really tall trees that are full of birds this time of the year. Apparently, all the ones who like to sing really loudly are nocturnal.

This can be maddening while you are lying there trying to sleep, your mind racing a thousand miles a minute as you pray incessantly, "Please God, help me through these next few moments. Allow me the knowledge and strength to do the right thing. Instill in me the grace to be humble and accepting, even if the right thing is hard to do or gets me hurt." You replay every step you've already taken, questioning whether each of them has been in the right direction. You incessantly plead forgiveness of every misstep.

You think all these thoughts in a single second. You repeat them every 60 seconds.

Then, just when you think you have a moment of quiet, a moment of still — those birds start singing.

Soon it will grow late, and the singing will silence. The heart will still be burdened with worry and longing and fear. But the eyelids and soul will rest under the heavy blanket of faith and acceptance.

Then that blasted alarm clock will blare some music, reminding you that tomorrow is court day for The Boy. The same boy who set the trash can on fire at school. The same boy, who very much like his father, believes he is smarter than everyone else, the rules don't apply to him and to hell with the consequences, even if it means he or someone else gets hurt.

Moments like these I really miss his father. I miss not being able to say, "he's YOUR son, YOU make him understand!"

And I pray, "Please God, help me through these next few moments. He's YOUR son, allow him the knowledge and strength to do the right thing. Instill in him the grace to be humble and accepting, even if the right thing is hard to do. Allow me the knowledge and strength to do the right thing by him. Please God, help me to know I'm stepping in the right direction to help him along the right path." You replay every step you've already taken, questioning whether each of them has been in the right direction. You incessantly plead forgiveness of every misstep.

You think all these thoughts in a single second. You repeat them every 60 seconds.

For nine months, for 13 years, for his entire life.

compassion, laughter and tact

2009-04-25T12:55:00.004-04:00

I really like the medics I'm riding with. They have great senses of humor and are really good at the job, but seeing them in action reinforces my belief that not only do I have what it takes to be a good medic, but I have what it takes to be a KIND medic.

Don't get me wrong, they care about their patients and weren't nearly as heartless as a lot of the medics I've run across, but there were a few things that made me raise my eyebrows - things I would've done differently, things I hope I would never do.

Our first call was an intentional overdose, a middle-aged woman with a history of depression. Because of the nature of the call, by the time we arrive, the scene is crawling with volunteer first responders and law enforcement not to mention several nosy neighbors. The patient was conscious and, for the most part, alert. We walked her out of the house to the stretcher.

Eye raise #1: The woman's condition was stable so there was no real rush to transport. When we arrived she was wearing a flimsy, strappy night gown that fell about mid-thigh. The straps kept falling off her thin shoulders as we helped her to the front door of her trailer and the stretcher just outside. It was warm outside, but my instinct was to wrap a sheet around her shoulders or something before we paraded her outside.

Eye raise #2: As we walked through the trailer with her, one of the medics questioned her about why she took so many pills. She tearfully admitted that she had done it on purpose because "they had taken her grandbabies away from her." The medic responded that this wasn't the way to handle things and that doing things like this would ensure that she never saw her grandbabies again, at which the woman howled that she "was never going to see them again anyway." Once we got her into the ambulance, the medic reminded her several times that her attempted suicide was not the way to handle things, that she had to be strong and couldn't be "pulling stunts like this." He was never really ugly about it, but was extremely firm in his tone. I couldn't help but feel sorry for the woman. Here she was, obviously feeling as though there was no hope, to the point she tried to take her own life, and the entire ride to the hospital she had to listen to a medic telling her how she'd fucked up. I understand what he was trying to do, I really do, but the way I see it, this woman was about to be swarmed by doctors, nurses, psychiatrists and law enforcement once she got to the hospital - all of whom would be telling her how she'd fucked up. Seems to me, she needed at least one person who wasn't judging her. Maybe I'm looking at it all wrong, but we can treat her, transport her and be kind to her without adding to the chorus of people telling her how bad she'd fucked up because she was so miserable she would rather die than live.

Another patient was dispatched out as a breathing difficulty. We arrived on scene to find an elderly man in a nursing home who was a bit beyond "breathing difficulty." The poor man was literally drowning in his own fluid. He was conscious, but didn't seem at all alert or aware of his surroundings, although he did grunt in response to verbal stimuli. The nurses assured us that was his "normal" mental state.

Eye raise #3: As we were wheeling the patient out of the facility, the two medics were laughing and cutting up with each other. I can understand this, they weren't being inappropriate or anything, but they never told the patient where they were taking him or what was going on. I know he was only semi-alert, but just because he was not responding very well to us doesn't mean he wasn't aware of his surroundings - it doesn't mean he wasn't frightened about what was going on and it seems to me that instead of laughing and cutting up, you should be taking a minute to reassure the patient and explaining what's happening.

Eye raise #4: The laughing and cutting up crossed a line as we were leaving the facility though. The smell of carnations was strong in the lobby and one of the medics commented on it, which began a brief conversation between the two medics about how they hated the smell of carnations because it always reminded them of death. It just seemed like an inappropriate conversation to me given the circumstances and I kept hoping our patient couldn't hear them.

I think both medics felt a bit bad about it a couple hours later when we came back through the ER with another patient only to find the elderly gentleman was feeling much better, smiling and talking with two family members. Obviously that had not been his "normal" state, regardless of what the dipshit nurse had told us. It just goes to show that you should ALWAYS watch what you say and assume that the patient can hear you.

I know it's easy to judge from the "outside," but I would hope that as I gain more experience, I would continue to believe patients should be treated with respect and dignity, regardless of their state or how they came to be in such a state.

easier than I thought

2009-04-25T12:40:00.002-04:00

Alrighty then, yes, I believe I can do this EMS thing.

My first ride went fairly smooth. We weren't incredibly busy, which gave me plenty of time to get acclimated and get over my nerves. We only ran four calls, all of which were pretty straight-forward and routine - an overdose, a breathing difficulty, a fall with a laceration to the face and a transport.

I've learned that no, seeing a stranger's blood and/or private regions doesn't really bother me. I don't get car sick riding backwards in the captain chair and I can keep my balance by planting me feet just right as we run emergency traffic to the hospital. I figured out the fancy monitors and oxygen set up, which are much different than the equipment we use in class. Substandard care in nursing homes has always pissed me off, but it's going to be even more so now that I will see the effects up close and personal.

While it's been pointed out that I must be a bit touched to want to get into this line of work, I managed to finish my 12-hour shift without looking like a complete dumb ass. It was a good night.

I lucked up and will be riding with the same two medics for my second ride next week. Now that I'm familiar with the equipment on the truck and have been broken in, I'll play a much more hand-on roll in patient care.

do or do not...

2009-04-22T23:39:00.004-04:00

I start my ride time tomorrow night and am nervous as hell.

I'm not really worried about screwing up and killing someone because I'll be riding with a medic and another EMT-B and I know they won't let me do anything THAT stupid. I am however, a bit concerned that I'll pull some dipshit move and embarrass the holy hell out of myself.

I suppose my only real fear is finding out that maybe I'm not cut out for this after all. People who should know these things assure me I'll do fine...they tell me I have the right mentality for the job. I know I'm good at keeping my cool in emergency situations and I currently have the highest average in the class. Of course I'm also the only one in class who hasn't done any ride time yet either, because I'm a chicken shit like that.

Knowing what to do and being able to do it in theory is completely different than actually DOING it! I guess I'll find out tomorrow.

how long can I last?

2009-04-21T17:24:00.003-04:00

I'm pretty sure my husband and child have forgotten what I look like.

Well, maybe it's not quite that bad, but it's getting pretty damn close. Here's lately most of my evenings have been spent either working at the tavern or in class. This week is a perfect example. I'm in class Monday and Wednesday, doing a 12 hour shift on an ambulance Thursday night for class and working Friday, Saturday and Sunday nights. So tonight is the only night I don't have to be anywhere. Of course I won't be home tonight either. I'll be taking my mom out to eat for her birthday since I didn't get to do it last week.

Meanwhile, my days are spent either studying or trying to fulfill my duties as a program manager for the county.

It doesn't look like my schedule is going to get any lighter anytime soon either. Class will not end until the end of May and I have to pull four 12-hour shifts on an ambulance and two 8-hour shifts in the ER before then.

"You can't keep going at this pace," a friend's mom admonished me, when I told her I hoped to keep the program manager job along with my hours at the tavern and work on an ambulance once I finish class.

It occurs to me that she could be right. I'm getting too old for this shit!

warming up the old brain...me-me-me

2009-04-08T13:44:00.005-04:00

It's been a struggle to form a coherent sentence the past few months so in an effort to get my juices flowing, I'm taking a crack at this meme I ran across on another blog, Terroni who blamed Maria.

1. What is your idea of perfect happiness?
I'm not at all certain perfect happiness can be achieved in this life. In fact, I'm fairly certain that it can't be. That's not to imply I'm some sort of severely depressed woman who has given up on finding that perfect happiness. Nope, I'm merely a moderately depressed woman who believes perfect happiness can only be found once we enter the Kingdom of God (i.e. once you're dead.)

2. What is your greatest fear?
It probably varies by day and the circumstances invading my life at the moment, but my longest-standing, deepest-rooted fears are that I will not be loved, or that once people really get to know the "real" me they will judge me unworthy of love.

3. What is the trait you most deplore in yourself?
It's almost impossible to choose only one, but most of them eventually come back to my complete lack of motivation.

4. What is the trait that you most deplore in others?
Again, it's almost impossible to choose only one, but most of them ultimately come back to a lack of compassion.

5. What living person do you most admire?
I admire anyone who can roll with the punches of life without becoming hardened or bitter or losing their faith in God.

6. What is your greatest extravagance?
Food. I spend an obscene amount of money eating out because I enjoy a good meal and think the best meals are the ones I don't have to cook. It used to be pot, but then I had to become a responsible, drug-free adult. Apparently I just have a lot of "munchie" flashbacks. :-)

7. What do you consider the most overrated virtue?
Patience. Of course, I'm severely lacking this particular virtue which may be why I like to think it's overrated.

8. On what occasion do you lie?
Most often when I'm trying to spare someone's feelings.

9. What do you dislike most about your appearance?
My teeth. I've always had horrible teeth. The alignment is awful and they are extremely weak, which has led to massive cavities in most of them. If I hadn't heard false teeth were so painful, I would have them all pulled and purchase a nice radiant smile for myself.

10. What living person do you most despise?
I most despise cruelty in general. The only person I've ever truly despised was the mother of my first husband. She was cruel and manipulative. I still haven't decided if she was merely insane or downright evil. It's taken me many years to forgive her for the pain she inflicted on him, for the chaos and conflict she created in our lives.

11. What words or phrases do you most overuse?
"certainly," "of course," "what the fuck?"

12. What or who is the greatest love of your life?
Marshmallows. Well no, but they're right up there. I've been blessed with several. My son, even though he drives me to the brink of insanity. I did not realize such all-encompassing love was possible until I became pregnant. My son's father, for whom I felt such an innocent, utterly devoted sense of love for. The One, who I met when I was 13 and knew immediately he was my other half. He was the one who completed me. Even after all these years, I only feel complete when he is in my life in some capacity. The Second One, who came along long after I'd lost The One, long after I lost my son's father, right when I had given up on ever being capable of feeling such love again.

13. When and where were you happiest?
Prom night my senior year (spent with The One), for a week at the beach July 1999 with my son and his father

14. If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be?
I wish I could muster up more motivation to get more accomplished in my daily life.

15. What do you consider your greatest achievement?
The fact that my son has never doubted my love for him. Now if I could just convince him of the need to follow the rules and quit lying to me.

16. If you were to die and come back as a person or thing, what do you think it would be?
I would hope it would be a big fat house cat who got to lay around and sleep all day, preferably with a loving owner who would let me curl up in their lap when I felt the need for affection.

17. Where would you like to live?
In a small southern town on the shore. I always feel productive there.

18. What is your most treasured possession?
My photographs and the Bible my mother gave me.

19. What is your favorite occupation?
I truly loved being editor of the newspaper, but I look forward to being able to provide real hands-on help to people in an emergency situation. I would love to become a counselor one day, a grief and Hospice counselor in particular.

20. What is your most marked characteristic?
Most likely my laugh.

21. What do you most value in your friends?
Honesty. I firmly believe honesty is paramount in all healthy relationships.

22. Who are your favorite writers?
Charles Dickens, John Steinbeck, William Shakespeare, Edgar Allan Poe,

23. Who is your favorite hero or heroine of fiction?
Scarlett O'Hara, even though she is a selfish, spoiled bitch throughout most of the book. I love her spunk and determination.

24. Which historical figure do you most identify with?
The ones whose names no one remembers, the every day people who labored and loved and made a quiet impact on their little corner of the world.

25. What is it that you most dislike?
Feet, macaroni and cheese, the smell of cat litter (even clean cat litter) and clumps of dog hair in the floor

25. What is your greatest regret?
not going to college when I was younger

26. How would you like to die?
quick and painless, preferably in my sleep

27. What is your motto?
"The only thing I HAVE to do is stay white and die."

Bless you, for it is spring

2009-04-05T09:17:00.003-04:00

Spring has officially sprung here in the South, meaning the grass has turned a bright emerald green and everything else is budding and blooming in all shades of pink and yellow. It's absolutely gorgeous.

Of course that also means that everyone mowed their grass yesterday. Add that to the pollen dripping from the trees and ACHHOOOO!!

It's a small price to pay for bright sunny days. We need to enjoy them while we can. By the end of next month it will be hot as Hades and everything that's now bright and splendid will start to wither in the baking sun.

If I wasn't so slack I'd post some pictures.

I'm not dead yet, but I will be if I don't start pushing harder

2009-03-25T13:50:00.002-04:00

"It is not a bad idea to get in the habit of writing down one's thoughts. It saves one having to bother anyone else with them."
- Isabel Colegate

Isn't that the truth! I suppose that's why I haven't posted anything recently. There just hasn't been much of anything rattling around in this mind of mine the past month that I'd want to bother anyone with...even semi-anonymous folks floating around out there in cyberspace.

That's not to say this has been a quiet month...quite the contrary actually. I'll hit the highlights and will hopefully resume a regular blogging schedule.

- Some extremely suspicious places have cropped up that lead me to believe the cancer has returned (again.) Of course it waited until after I allowed the $800/month health insurance lapse so I could continue to afford my house payment. I already know what they'll say anyway.

- The boy went temporarily stupid and set a trashcan on fire at school. Not only did he get expelled for 365 days, but he's not also facing a felony charge. He's not even 13 yet!!! This is what happens when you have a thing for bad boys...eventually you have their children. They will most likely drop it to a misdemeanor, in which case he'll get off easy. Too easy in fact. I don't know what scares me worse, the idea of him going to juvenile detention or the idea of him getting off with a slap on the wrist.

- We've been invited to join the church we've been attending regularly. It's a Baptist church and, since I did not grow up in the church, I have not yet been Baptized. So at some point over the next few weeks I'm going to be dunked in water by a pastor who promises to hold my nose. I made the silent promise to him that I would try not to break his wrist as I clung to it for dear life. I did however mention my fear that I would be the first adult in the history of the church to flail around madly while going down, terrified I was drowning.

- The same pastor left me flooded with humility during our meeting regarding the Baptism when he asked me to share my testimony and then offered that he had no doubt as to my salvation. He also asked me to serve (i.e. teach Sunday school on a regular basis.) He is an elderly man, who I am sure has seen much in this world and I have no doubt as to his ability to see clearly my imperfections. The first time I served as a substitute teacher in Sunday school my response to his question about how it went was simply, "well I didn't burst into flames so I suppose it went well." I truly believe God sent brought him and that church into my life to show me that it is indeed by God's grace and not my own worth that I was blessed with salvation.

- I have only two months left in my EMT training. So far I've maintained a near-perfect average in the class, but I'm certain my first CPR will be go much like this:
MEDIC: You have to really push hard on those chest compressions, I'm still not reading a pulse.
ME: But that's gotta hurt and I don't want to hurt him.
MEDIC: He's not going to feel it, he's DEAD and he's going to STAY dead if you don't start pushing harder!
This is a perfectly plausible scenario as so far, the only problem I've had with hands-on skills is not being firm enough. Although I did manage to whack the airway obstruction out of the infant on the first try.

damn good husband

2009-03-03T21:51:00.003-05:00

I would make a damn good husband.

My first husband first pointed that out to me when I was juggling two full-time jobs to keep us afloat. He would remind me of that the following year when I pushed our Ford up a hill in the snow and ice, and again the year after that when I fixed the botched "do-it-yourself" tune-up he'd tried to perform on his car.

At the time, it was a tremendous source of pride for me. I was proud of the fact that I could work hard to take care of my family. I was also proud of the fact that my daddy had taught me basic mechanics of cars, simple machinery, etc. and I wasn't afraid to get dirty. I was proud of the fact that I was self-sufficient.

Of course, that was ten years ago.

These days it just annoys me.

I'm on my second husband now and I don't want to make someone a damn good husband! I want to HAVE a damn good husband so I can concentrate on being a damn good wife.

I don't want to have to be the one that knows how to fix shit, or be the one that has to keep up with when the oil needs to be changed. I don't want to be the one who has to make all the major financial decisions or make sure the bills are paid. I don't want to be the one who has to climb up on a stool to change a light bulb because he can't figure out how to get the cover off.

Believe it or not, I can cook and clean and all that other "wifely" shit, and would love to do it more. I'd love to be an "old-fashioned wife" but I resent the hell out of someone asking me to do both!

not even a life raft could save you

2009-02-23T16:19:00.005-05:00

Have I missed an important memo?

Did the world elect to name me as the patron saint to every self-destructive, lost and lonely asshole among us?

What's the deal, pickle?

How is it that every disillusioned, dysfunctional, self-destructive asshole finds his way to my door with the grandiose notion that I can somehow save him from himself? And why in the hell do they keep coming back????

Good hell! (To borrow a phrase often used by Maria.) Is the universe trying to tell me something about the role I'm supposed to be playing on this earth or is this the idea of some kind of cosmic joke?

Well it's not very fucking funny.

"The savior of wicked men." Yes, some asshole actually referred to me in such a manner and then had the audacity to be slightly miffed when I told him that I'd gone out of the savior business as it was too time and emotion-intensive with very little return on my investment. Besides, I tend to leave the savior business to entities much better equipped than myself.

Here's a newsflash folks, NO ONE can save you from yourself!!! Get it through your heads! (My apologies to my readers for this angry rant, but sheesh!!) I'm so tired of hearing these guys wallow in self-pity, "well this is what the world has made me and why should I care if no one else does?" Um, hellloooo!!!! You are the only one who chooses who you are. You are not the sum of the hand life has dealt you, but are the sum of how you choose to play those cards. Don't blame the world because you made the wrong choice and don't expect me to offer anything but a good old fashioned ass kicking when you're sitting around talking about folding and walking away from the table because it's just too hard.

Sink or swim dude, sink or swim, but drowning is one hell of a shitty way to go out and I have no intention of sitting here watching you go under when you refuse to even tread water.

rolling up my sleeves

2009-02-22T19:43:00.004-05:00

It hasn't always been this way.

I remember a time - it doesn't seem that long ago - when the words flowed effortlessly. They would wake me in the middle of the night, insistent in their urgency to be released across a page. In the morning I would awake to find them scribbled in a notebook, or jotted on a napkin, and was thankful my muse had woken me enough to record them.

I was distracted during waking hours - one ear tuned to the world around me as the other paid attention to the whirring of words in my mind. Most days it seemed as though I were living dual lives - taking notes in biology while simultaneously scribbling a poem on the opposite page. During the evenings, when the rest of the world was quiet, I'd churn out page after page, an endless stream of verse, prose, lyrics, whatever.

Then one day I woke up and realized I hadn't written a thing in months. I chalked it up to the fact that I was busy working and caring for my son, who was a baby at the time.

The next thing I know years had passed and I'd only managed to churn out what had once been a day's worth or work.

"Am I out of words? Have I completely lost all inspiration? Maybe I'm not really a writer after all."

When grief invaded my life, it forced a surge of words. So much pain, so much anger, so many questions. It had to come out somewhere and it spilled across the page.

Soon I was working as journalist and was again writing on a daily basis, but I was no longer writing for myself. Instead I was writing for everyone else.

"Ok, maybe this is it. Maybe I'm simply destined to write non-fiction. Maybe I've just lost that creative spark."

Meanwhile the stories have been writing themselves. Scenes played out repeatedly - opening lines, entire paragraphs, chapter after chapter - all trapped inside my mind. Tens of thousands of words swirling around in a frenzy.

"Will they disappear if I don't hurry to commit them to ink?"

There's been a recent shift in the winds. Instead of sitting around, waiting for the muse to do all the work, I suppose it's time I realized she's already done her part. Now it's just a matter of me forcing myself to sit down and put it on the page. Hmmm...this could be painful!

ugh

2009-02-19T11:30:00.002-05:00

Every cold virus in a ten-mile radius seems to have found me this year.

That's right, I'm sick, AGAIN!

I think this is some sort or cosmic payback for all the colds I've dodged in recent years and my boasts this fall that "I hardly ever get a cold anymore."

I should've kept my mouth shut! I had a blissful week free of stuffy nose and burning chest only to wake up yesterday completely unable to breathe through my nose.

I'm wondering if it has something to do with hiding in my house for too long. Maybe my immune system got slack not having to fight off so many germs. Either way, I'm now clutching a kleenex constantly and taking an unGodly amount of anti-snot drugs in an effort to not be quite so disgusting while out working with the public.

If I refuse to shake your hand, don't be offended, I'm just doing my part to stop the spread of these little bastards!

when taking a whiz becomes a romantic act

2009-02-15T21:22:00.002-05:00

Ok, I think it's safe to say my husband does NOT read my blog!

Yes, that's right, "romance" was delivered via a huge teddy bear (that really is very soft and cuddly) and a funny Homer Simpson "talking" card expounding the joys of a relationship that allows you to take a whiz with the door open.

The funny thing is, I almost bought the exact same card for him, but opted for a sweet one instead.

I received no professions of undying love or anything like that, but I do have a written promise (in the card) that he will try to improve his aim.

The teddy bear hasn't kicked him out of the bed yet, but he considered it.

forget the flowers, just don't lick yourself in public

2009-02-13T13:33:00.004-05:00

I almost feel sorry for men like my husband on Valentine's Day. The marketing folks really set them up to look like shit.

I mean really, how many guys out there are romantics at heart? Granted, I know there's a few, I've even dated a few, but for the most part, for most men, candles only come out during power outages and flowers are sent when they're trying to get out of the doghouse.

It almost pains me to think of some of these men. They are expected to muster up some romance one day a year and I can't imagine the pressure. Us women have it lucky. We're just expected to don some particularly alluring lingerie and offer up the goods. But the menfolk are expected to wine and dine and romance us...for a lot of the men I know, that's like asking a dog to not lick itself when you have company. It goes against its very nature!

So guys, take it from a woman...this year, don't bother picking up teddy bear from the drug store or spending a fortune on flowers and perfume and candy and cards. Well ok, a card is always a good idea. Trust me guys. Romance can't be bought at the five-and-dime or even at the ritzy jewelery store. If your woman wants romance, and they all do, give it to her straight, in a fashion more in keeping with your nature...make sure you're clean and smell good and the instant you see your lady love on Valentine's Day, pull her face to yours and kiss her like you mean it, like you'd drown without the feel of her lips against yours and then look her right in the eye and ask simply, "have I told you lately how much I love you?" Never take your eyes off hers as you tell her that she is the most beautiful woman in the world and you find her utterly irresistible. Tell her that you thank God every day for her. Tell her all the things you never say when you're vegged out in front of the game, or stressed after a long day of work.

THAT'S romance! THAT'S what your woman wants from you. That teddy bear will end up in a closet somewhere within two weeks and those flowers will wither and crumble. But over the next year, every time she gets annoyed because you haven't taken out the trash or have her on mute so you can hear the game, she will remember those few minutes when you told her exactly how you felt. She'll remember the touch of your hand on her face, the touch of your lips, the look in your eyes when you said those words. And she just might not yell at you for licking yourself next time you have company.

stirrings

2009-02-08T12:57:00.004-05:00

The weather has been absolutely gorgeous for the past two days. It's almost as though mother nature took pity on me and decided to give my spirit a little taste of spring!

Oddly enough, I'm not taking advantage of the warmer temperatures and spending time outside. Instead, it's at least motivated me to throw open a few windows and clean my house!

Houston, we have a problem

2009-02-04T23:39:00.002-05:00

It's much more than writer's block.

It's a complete system failure.

I've often joked that I hibernate in the winter, but these past few months have been so strange. I've just been completely out of sorts. I'm not really depressed, nor am I overly anxious or stressed or upset. I'm not really anything. And that's the problem.

I'm just kinda here. Kinda numb. It's as though I've switched completely to auto-pilot. I go through the motions and that's about it. Hell, even my motions are limited. I've done as little as humanly possible and still seem exhausted by the effort.

Maybe I am depressed, although I don't feel particularly blue. I've been here so many times before. I've always snapped out of it. Yet each time, it frightens me, as if I'm afraid I won't emerge from the fog.

grab the fire extinguisher

2009-02-03T12:41:00.002-05:00

My lungs are smoldering.

I've spent the past week coughing, trying to dislodge an elephant that has taken up residence on my chest. My cough has gotten so severe I have now been exiled to sleeping on the couch so my husband can actually get some sleep.

It's one of those nice dry, barky coughs, that leaves your respiratory tract groaning under the friction. I'm pretty sure that friction has caused a few sparks that torched my lungs last night. They're smoldering this morning, a dull achy burn.

And yes, my stupid ass continues to smoke.

get a move on

2009-02-01T15:18:00.002-05:00

It's an absolutely gorgeous day - one of those warm, sunny days that has you momentarily fooled that Spring has arrived.

I should be outside trimming my rosebushes, or even better, moving them both. Instead I'm cooped up in the house washing clothes and trying to recover from a nasty chest cold.

The sad truth of the matter is that even if I weren't sick, I still wouldn't be outside. I'd still be in the house, not doing a damn thing, unable to muster up enough motivation to do anything more.

Life is passing me by as I sit here, accomplishing so little, wondering where my energy and motivation have gone.

keep writing

2009-01-27T02:42:00.003-05:00

I recently heard from an old teacher of mine, my speech and debate coach actually. A brilliant, witty man who challenged me intellectually and showed unwavering faith in my abilities. Not only did he teach me how to speak (and speak well) in front of a room full of people, but he also taught me how to walk in high heeled shoes.

When I graduated, he gave me a copy of the book "For Writers Only" and inscribed it with the following words, "Keep writing! I am so proud of you. You can and will do anything you want to do!"

I wanted to get married and have a family. I've done that.

I wanted to write for a newspaper. I've done that.

I wanted to run a newspaper. I've done that too.

I wanted to write a book. Hmmmm...guess I need to get started on that.

why can't frumpy be glamorous?

2009-01-26T14:16:00.004-05:00

I wish I could be more stylish. Always have. But it's just not me.

I have several friends who always look as though they just stepped off the cover of a magazine.

My best childhood friend, whom I've renamed Suzie for the purposes of this blog, is one of those women. Her hair is always perfect, stylish and chic and her makeup accentuates her best features. Her clothes fit just right in all the right places and she always looks so well put together. She doesn't even have to spend a lot of money doing it. She can take bargain finds from Family Dollar and make them look like a million dollars.

I don't have that gift.

Growing up, I used to love watching her get ready as she meticulously applied her make-up and fixed her hair. Even now, I perch on her bathroom sink and watch her.

I would love to look that stylish when I go out, but I always seem to fall short. Frumpy is probably the best way to describe my look. I feel most comfortable in jeans and tee-shirts. Even when I get dolled up, folks may say I clean up well, but I could never pass for stylish.

A lot of it is the fact that I hate to spend time on beauty rituals. I enjoy my sleep and most days I crawl out of the bed, brush my teeth, run a brush through my hair and throw on the first thing I grab out of the closet.

When I do take the time to look a little better, I feel like a complete phony. Curl my hair, apply some make-up and I feel more like a silly little girl playing dress up than a fabulously stylish woman comfortable in her own sensuality. Especially lipstick and fingernail polish. I hate wearing them both and while I may occasionally smear on some lipstick, I never paint my fingernails.

There are times, when I dress more like a stylish, trendy kind of woman instead of the frump that I am, that I can look in the mirror and say, "yes, I like that, I look nice." But the moment I walk out the door I feel as though I'm crawling in my own skin as though everyone around is looking at me shaking their heads and thinking, "who does she think she is?"

Suzie has tried for years to get me to come out of my frumpy little shell, but as much as I sometimes think I'd like to be that stylish, trendy put together kind of woman, I think I'm much happier being comfortable in my own skin.

Of course all that being said, I'm really excited about getting my hair cut tomorrow by one of my super stylish friends! Maybe she'll be able to add a touch of glamor to this old frumpy bag!

discontent

2009-01-26T01:10:00.002-05:00

"You seem content," he wrote.

I replied that yes, I've managed to find a measure of peace.

I wanted to scream, "NO!! I'm nowhere near content!"

But of course I couldn't do that. I couldn't tell him that I had only felt truly content for two brief moments in my life, both in his presence. I couldn't tell him that I was certain that even that sense of contentment would have proven a mirage if given enough time.

And I couldn't tell him that I realized a long time ago that I would most likely never be content, although I still struggle to accept that realization.

I don't suppose this constant sense of being discontent, of being unfulfilled, is entirely a bad thing. I often believe it is that incessant search for contentment that keeps me pushing, keeps me putting one foot in front of the other.

Of course it's also what keeps me awake in the middle of the night.

aha!

2009-01-18T18:58:00.003-05:00

I bet I have the full attention of the men folk in just a few minutes.

I'm headed to the kitchen to fire up the griddle so I can cook bacon and pancakes. Nothing like bacon to get the attention and undying devotion of men folk...and dogs.

UPDATE: I had the attention of my men for the full 30 minutes it took them to wolf down dinner. On the up side, my dog has now joined me on the couch even though she didn't get a single crumb of bacon!

background noise

2009-01-18T18:16:00.003-05:00

So I'm sitting here being annoyed, which seems to be the norm these days. It's weird, I've been fluctuating between a state of calm, closely akin to auto-pilot and a crawling out of my skin sensation that makes me want to strangle everyone around me.

The husband and the boy are watching football. Again. When they're not watching football, they're playing a football video game. So much for getting any relief once football season finally ends. I do at least have my Saturdays back now that the college season has ended, but it's amazing the crap they will find on TV in order to avoid having an actual conversation or doing any chores. Ugh!

So I sit here, in an effort to spend "quality time" with the family, my work laptop in my lap since my wireless card in my personal laptop is on the fritz. I figure I should at least make the effort to be in the same room, but it seems as though we're still worlds apart. So, instead of being holded up in my cave, where I usually go to hide when I don't seem to exist to anyone else living in this house, I'm sitting on the couch in plain view, playing Stack 'Em and Scrabble on Pogo.com, the voices of the announcer and the menfolk of the house providing the background noise.

I suppose I should be grateful that I have background noise. But sometimes it's easy to forget how much I hate the silence.

one fuzzy little sheep, two fuzzy little sheep...

2009-01-14T00:39:00.003-05:00

I should be sleeping.

I have a long day tomorrow starting bright and early.

But instead of sleeping, I've been laying in bed for three hours, my mind insistent on keeping me awake. If it were afternoon instead of after midnight, I'd be out like a light.

My husband on the other hand, started snoring as soon as his head hit the pillow. I'm jealous.

you may incur a small processing fee

2009-01-10T14:39:00.002-05:00

The letter finally arrived.

I'm taking down the Christmas decorations and doing laundry - a sudden flutter of activity as I begin to process all I've been told.

distracted

2009-01-10T01:32:00.002-05:00

I should be working.

I should be taking down the Christmas decorations, or cleaning this house, or finishing this book I've been reading since Thanksgiving.

Instead I'm practically sitting on the damn mailbox. Waiting.

disconnected

2009-01-08T23:33:00.006-05:00

I'm feeling a bit bitter today.

Fortunately for those who must deal with me, it's not really a bitchy bitter, but more along the lines of a disconcerted, "you dipshit" bitter, tinged with just a touch of sadness.

I suppose most of us have come across that "one great love." You know the one - the moment you meet them you know your life will never be the same - the one you recognize immediately as an intricate part of your destiny - the one you know you will love forever.

I met mine when I was 13. He is the one who introduced me to the boy who would become my best friend who would become my husband.

He was also the first one to break my heart. Repeatedly.

He was a complete fucking asshole to nearly everyone around him, one of those troubled, tortured types I always seemed to have a thing for. He was distant and cynical, always sure to keep everyone at arm's reach. He seemed to have a soft spot for me.

The first conversation we ever had ended when I hauled off and smacked the shit out of him. Our second conversation ended with him grabbing my hands and kissing me. We spent the next year holding hands and arguing.

Then, my freshman year, he disappeared without a word, whisked away with his family to another state. I was crushed. Still to this day, it's all I can do to keep from tearing up when I hear that damn computer generated voice drone, "we're sorry, the number you have reached has been disconnected. If you feel you have reached this recording..."

It would become a pattern. Over the next couple of years, as we both struggled through adolescence and each moved a number of times, he would reappear, only to suddenly disappear again, without a word. My letters would go unanswered, phones would be disconnected and I was left wandering what horrible fate had befallen him. At that time in my life, I was absolutely starved for love. Each disappearing act dealt a heavy blow and I was torn between loving him and hating him.

By the beginning of my senior year, we seemed to have struck a balance. In fact, that was one of the happiest years of my life. He was still two states away and we hadn't seen each other since freshman year, but he managed to stick around for the full year and we both ran up enormous phone bills talking almost daily.

I will never forget that Christmas, staring at the lights on my grandmother's tree as we shared a long, hushed conversation filled with plans and promises. We were in love. He wanted to marry me. I wanted to have his children.

I can still see the dress so clearly in my mind, high neck, fitted bodice, a soft cream antique lace, long lace sleeves that came to points and hooked around my middle fingers and what seemed like hundreds of pearl buttons.

Spring came and with it the senior prom. I don't think I really believed he would come until suddenly, there he was, standing in my grandmother's living room, my Papa helping him to straighten his tie. I think I spent the first 30 minutes in the bathroom barfing.

Once I got over my nausea, we enjoyed one of the most magical nights of my life. There were teary goodbyes the next afternoon and assurances that it would only be a few more months.

But, a lot can happen in a few months. I was terrified of moving to the side of a mountain and he was terrified to leave it. It's ok, we'll figure something out.

Then, suddenly, a phone number dropped into my lap. My best friend, the one who'd held me so softly as I cried in those months after that first disappearing act, the one who had pledged to love me forever in spite of my insistence that there was simply no room left in my heart.

We had lost contact with one another after my first move. Great Love's sister (who had dated him for a while) actually called me one day not long after my move in hopes I knew how to find him. We promised each other if either of us spoke to him, we'd share the other's information. That was two years before I found fate had planted him 20 minutes away from where I was living.

All hell broke loose and it broke loose quick. Phone calls were suddenly filled with arguments and jealousy. "I don't want you calling him because I know he's in love with you, he always was."

But he's my FRIEND!! Why can't you understand that??

I called of course. He sobbed at the sound of my voice. Explaining as he composed himself that the sister had gotten in touch with him two years earlier and told him I had died, committed suicide actually, which was believable enough given my state of mind at the time.

I was livid. Even all these years later, I don't know that I've ever been more angry in my life.

My world was suddenly filled with accusations, denials...heated arguments that probably would've turned violent had we not been separated by two states.

Then came the ultimatum. "Choose, me or him. I will not share you."

The wedding dress was left in the little shop, the final two payments never paid.

For me the choice had been clear. Best Friend became my husband. I would only speak to Great Love once more over the next seven years. I was five months pregnant and my husband was suddenly terrified of becoming a father. He told me he wasn't sure he was really in love with me at all. That night, I stood sobbing in a gas station parking lot dropping dime after dime into the pay phone to make the long distance call.

I didn't tell him I was pregnant, nor did I tell him we were fighting. He begged me to tell him where I was, to let him come get me.

"Just tell me if you ever really loved me."

I could have sworn he was crying when he assured me that he always had and always would. I hung up, dried my tears and drove home.

My husband eventually snapped out of it, assuring me he truly did love me, although it would be years before I forgave him for ever placing that doubt in my mind and in fact, I'm not sure I fully forgave him until after he died.

Over the years as we battled his seizures and his depression and his self-destructive ways, I carried an enormous sense of guilt. I loved them both with all my heart and felt I was somehow betraying them both. My husband had once told me, a couple of years after we got married, that the two of them had made a pact in high school. They each promised the other that whoever ended up with me would love and care for me well. I had chosen to spend my life with the one and I assumed I would spend my eternity with the other.

When my husband suddenly died, I couldn't help but wonder if I'd somehow fucked it all up and gotten it completely backwards. I remember being so angry with him for leaving, so angry that neither of them had kept their promise.

Two years later, I was facing a hysterectomy, and still haunted by the notion I'd somehow fucked up fate. I was in an off cycle of an on-again off-again relationship so I decided to give Great Love a call.

It just so happened he would be in the state with his mother and brother in a few weeks. We met for a weekend in the mountains. It was pure bliss. It was decided we'd give it another go.

"But, if you're in my life, you need to be IN my life, don't leave me hanging around waiting several months to hear from you."

He promised. True to his word, he sent a heartfelt email the day they returned home.

True to his nature, it would be several months before I heard from him again.

No, I'm sorry, I've been down this road with you too many times, I'm not doing this shit again. While you've been wrapped up in your own little world, mine fell apart and Mr. On-Again Off-Again was the one who helped me put it back together - all he's asking for is a fair chance and I owe him that.

He made no bones about it when he informed me he didn't want to be my friend. It was all or nothing, which did I choose?

Again, my choice seemed clear, the greatest love on earth isn't worth squat if there's no friendship there to back it up.

I wrote to him every year on his birthday for the next several years, but of course I never received a response. Needless to say, Mr. On-Again Off-Again and I finally called it off for good and I met my current husband.

I wrote once more, to tell him I had remarried.

His birthday rolled around in November and as always, I thought of writing, but I didn't. But this year was different. This year I couldn't shake the nagging sense that something was wrong, of "needing" to write to him. So, just before Christmas, I sent off a letter to his last known address, not expecting a reply.

"I think of you often and hope you are well. I am well and happy and continue to pray you have finally found a sense of peace in your life. Blah blah blah."

Imagine my surprise a few days ago to get a call from his mom. Apparently, a year and a half ago, his famous temper and a night of heavy drinking left him with a bullet in his leg and a mandatory three-year prison sentence for assaulting a police officer. I can't say I'm surprised. Quite frankly, I was certain he'd self-destruct before he was 21 and I'm almost ashamed to admit I was confused and angry as hell years later when I realized my "safe" choice had been the one to self-destruct and die while he was still plugging right along.

His mom filled me in on the years that have passed - his hateful, needy wife who now has a boyfriend, the giant rift she caused between he and his brother. The sister who's been diagnosed as manic depressive. And how happy he was that I had written. He asked her to call me, because "she's my friend, she's always been my friend. She'll write to me, but will you make sure it's not going to cause any problems with her husband?"

Mmm-hmmm....so now that he's at absolute rock bottom with no one but his mom to give a damn, NOW he wants to be my friend.

Of course I will write to him, because I still love him just as I've always loved him, but no, it will not cause any problems with my husband because I've already made that choice. Twice.

This time, any choice made will be his...have me as a friend or have me as nothing. At this point in my life that's all I have to offer. At least you know my number is never disconnected.

a random glimpse

2009-01-07T12:16:00.003-05:00

My mind is not cooperating, but in keeping with the whole "blog more often" thing, here's a random glimpse into the recent going-ons in my world:

* The holidays were a bit tense as both my mother and grandmother had hefty doses of the blues. I set about to enjoying the season anyway, without them. I made enough sausage balls, cookies and cheese rings to feed a small army, but apparently the folks in my house eat more than a small army.

* I still have not taken down my decorations. This is one of the drawbacks of having an artificial tree. If the tree's not turning brown, shedding and creating a serious fire hazard, there's no big rush to take it down. I love the lights and the coziness of my den when it's decorated for Christmas so I figured I'd enjoy it a bit longer. I've promised The Husband I'll take them down this weekend. Yea, we'll see how that goes!

* It seems to have been raining non-stop for the past few days and my dogs insist on tap dancing through the mud every time they go outside. Luckily their muddy little paw prints seem to be contained in the laundry room, but there's not much that can be done about the scent of wet dog hanging over the house. Uggh! There's a reason most people refuse to allow long-haired dogs to live inside. Those mutts better be glad I love them!

* I received a call last night from the mother of a very dear friend whom I haven't heard from in ages. It seems as though his temper and a good deal of alcohol cost him a three-year stint in prison. I'm sure I will write more about this once my mind has fully absorbed it and mulled it over a bit.

* I have begun an EMT course and am confident I have the people skills, compassion and self-control to do the job. I am not, however, at all confident in my ability to ever be able to find someones pulse in their wrist! I am equally unsure of my ability to drive an ambulance in the snow and ice. This will surely be a recurring topic over the next six months.

* I have become very attached to someone who was previously a mere acquaintance. A series of candid conversations through email has inspired a friendship that I hope will last for years to come. It's funny how two people's worlds can exist so close to one another for so many years and then one day they collide, allowing you to discover how similar your struggles have been and reminding you that "good peoples" really do exist close to home.

* I've managed to re-organize my massive walk-in closet, but for some reason my desk is still covered with paper, books, notebooks and various folders that are probably filled with work I should've done months ago.

* Good things always seem to happen right about the time I've quit looking for them. I'll explain this one later as well.

Welcome to 2009!

2009-01-01T12:18:00.000-05:00

I've never understood the fuss about New Year's. It's not as though anything really changes other than the last two digits of the number signifying the present year. Tomorrow will simply be a continuation of today, much like today has been a mere extension of yesterday.

I suppose I can easily enough grasp the symbolic nature of it all. A fresh start, a celebration of having survived another year, blah blah blah. I will at least concede that it's a great time for cleaning out closets and reorganizing and, of course, it's an excellent excuse to consume massive amounts of alcohol with friends.

I've never been one to make New Year's resolutions, partially because of my "take it or leave it" attitude regarding the milestone, but mostly because I don't see the need to set myself up for failure.

Of course, now that I'm thinking about it, I'm not really that much of a goal-oriented person anyway. I don't set long-term goals for myself, I simply decide to do something and go out and get it done.

But in an effort to get into the swing of this New Year's thing, here's a short list of things I'd like to accomplish in 2009:

* Complete the EMT-Basic course and pass the state certification the FIRST time. I've heard that a lot of folks fail the first time but I refuse to be one of them.

* Make myself go to church EVERY Sunday (unless of course I'm sick.) As much as I enjoy going and even miss it when I don't go, I still find excuses to to go about once a month.

* Blog on a more regular basis. I've gotten slack in my blogging, primarily because my mind has been filled with shit not fit to see the light of day. I have this wonderful outlet, I need to use it. Of course, this may mean that I ramble even more.

* Get my teeth fixed. My teeth are a nightmare and in major need of some extensive dental work. I have dental insurance, but I'm a complete wimp when it comes to having dental work done and I'm too cheap to spend the money. I have a hard time justifying it as a necessary expense if the tooth isn't hurting.

**********

As long as we're at it, I suppose I might as well go ahead and recap the primary lesson I learned in 2008:

* There's no need in worrying about that which you cannot control. My logical self has always known this, but I never really applied it to my own life until this year. Leaving my job, a second surgery, extremely tight finances - things that would've all had me in basketcase mode in years past - seemed to roll right off my back this year. Granted, I was often stressed about how we would pay the bills, but I paid what I could with what I had and refused to let it get to me.

***********

As I look around the world at the beginning of this new year, I have a very difficult time mustering up any grandiose hopes for peace, prosperity or progress. It seems as though there are more people hell-bent on destroying each other than interested in cooperation.

Our own country is gripped in the throes of bipartisan fear-mongering that has rendered our government virtually incapable of of any real change, although it can be assured, the beast that was intended to be by and for the people will continue to bleed us all dry to finance continuing greed and corruption.

Somehow I have still managed to retain a belief in the basic goodness of man. It's sometimes difficult to do when I see how man treats one another. One has only to look at the comment section of any news story to see the hate, distrust, cruelty and often utter stupidity that festers in the hearts of so many others. Sometimes I begin to wonder if the human condition has deteriorated so much that it is beyond the point of salvation. Civility seems to have gone out the window and in this "me first" society, it's sometimes hard to remember that there are still people who care. There is still kindness, compassion, generosity, love and integrity in the hearts of many of our neighbors. You just have to look past the surface scum of our society in order to see it.

So as we venture further into this new year, I am doing so with a loving heart. We're all we have on this earth and I'm hopeful 2009 will see more of us reaching out to take the hand of those beside us.

silly momma, reindeer don't have wings

2008-12-02T14:08:00.006-05:00

After our son was born, my husband and I had several serious discussions about Santa Claus.

We were both firm in our belief that we should never lie to our child, believing that his ability to trust us in all matters was paramount. But where did the line between lying and denying our son the joy of Santa Claus lie?

We recalled my own childhood Christmases filled with the magic of Santa and compared them to his, filled with the same harsh reality that permeated his life throughout the rest of the year.

We ultimately decided we simply didn't have the heart to deny our son a touch of Christmas magic.

Our son on the other hand, had other ideas.

As soon as his second Halloween costume was packed away, I began reading the story, Twas the Night Before Christmas, and we began watching all the classic Christmas cartoons, Rudolph the Rednosed Reindeer, Frosty the Snowman and a Charlie Brown Christmas, just to name a few.

I scouted the area malls in search of the "real" Santa, you know the one, the jolly old man with the full white beard and twinkling blue eyes. I finally found one two towns away and off we went.

Our son was not impressed. If anything, he was a bit frightened by the man in the red suit.

Later that night, as was having his bath, my two-year old informed me in a tiny, authoritive voice that "Santa Claus not real, he just fortend!"

"What, why do you think that?"

"He not can see EVERYBODY...no time. He not real, he make no sense."

"Well Santa Claus is magic and his sleigh is really fast," I offered, suddenly panicked because I had not thought I would ever have to argue the logic of Santa Claus.

"The reindeer pull sled?"

"Yep, reindeer pull his sleigh and Rudolph lights the way!"

"See, Santa Claus fortend!"

"Why does that make Santa pretend?"

"You so silly, reindeer not have wings," the boy announced triumphantly with a fit of giggles.

I could hear my husband choking on his laughter in the hall as I caved in, saying only, "All I can tell you is they're magic reindeer and magic reindeer don't need wings. One day you'll see, have a little faith!"

That night, long after our baby boy was sound asleep, my husband and I giggled for hours over the boy's seamless logic.

Christmas morning came. The stockings had been magically filled and there were extra presents for each of us, wrapped in special Santa paper, under the tree.

"See, Santa did come," I announced.

The boy just looked at me and giggled.

For the next several years I continued to talk about Santa, careful not to argue with the boy's logic, and the boy continued to erupt in giggles, "momma, you're so silly!"

When he was in second grade, the boy awoke on Christmas morning to find our stockings were filled as always and the plate of cookies left the night before were empty, save for a few lingering gingerbread crumbs. There was a note tied to a ribbon under the tree.

"Follow me," he read aloud as began wrapping the ribbon around his wrist. He followed it through the house, out the back door and into the yard, where a huge trampoline sat dusted in frost.

I watched from the living room window as his eyes grew wide and he turned to run into the house.

"He's real, he's real, Santa Claus really is real," he hollered as he ran through the door.

I laughed until tears streamed from my eyes and asked what finally changed his mind.

"There's no way you would ever stand out in the freezing cold in the middle of the night to put that trampoline together!"

"I might have, how do you know?"

"Oh momma, don't be silly," he giggled as flew back out the door to climb on the trampoline.

Four years later, the boy came to me in all seriousness and confided that he was having mixed feelings on the whole Santa thing.

"Santa can't be real, because there's too many kids that go without and I still don't believe reindeer can fly, but, but..."

"But you also can't believe your mom would ever stand out in the freezing cold in the middle of the night to put together a trampoline?"

"No, it just doesn't make sense. You HATE the cold!"

"Maybe so, but I LOVE you and Christmas magic makes all kinds of things possible."

"Ohhhh, I get it! Momma, you're so silly!"

Oh, and for all you non-believers out there, or for those of you who just need a bit of Christmas magic, enjoy this video - my favorite Christmas cartoon ever!

sex ed 101

2008-11-30T22:51:00.017-05:00

*WARNING: The following post may contain especially explicit language and adult content.*

Sex. I've been thinking about it a lot lately. Well, to be more specific, I've been thinking about previous experiences and the many lessons I have learned from them.

The First -or- "Introduction to the Penis"

Up until this point, my sexual education had been limited to a health class discussion of the reproductive system and what I had picked up from the trashy romance novels my grandmother kept tucked away in her credenza. Needless to say, the references to "wantonly arching towards his throbbing manhood," a few diagrams depicting the male anatomy and my own limited experience in kissing (that never made it past a few gropes of the fully clothed breast,) left me completely unprepared for my first voyage into the world of sex.

It felt awkward being completely naked in front of someone else. I was even more uncomfortable with someone else being naked in front of me.

I remember thinking, "there's no way that will ever fit!"

That was my first lesson learned. Apparently, if you shove enough, anything will fit.

While I loved him dearly, he was definitely not the best instructor to lead the course on "Introduction to the Penis," having received most of his training from porn.

The course lasted several months. I studied hard and earned an "A" from the instructor. However, I was not at all prepared for my continuing education, although I certainly learned quite a few things along the way.

"Introduction to the Penis" left me fully versed in the art of pleasing a man through sexual acts. While I've added a few tricks to my repertoire since then, that first course pretty much covered everything so I was at least able to continue my education without ever once being referred to as a "dead lay."

I learned during that first course that sex most definitely does not equal love. In fact, I came away from it all firmly believing that the two had nothing to do with each other. Sex was merely a chore, an always painful duty performed to curb the animal appetite of man.

I learned that groaning uncomfortably or short shrieks of pain only encourages the beast and that soaking in hot water helps ease the lingering ache.

I learned that I do not like being commanded to climax. Interestingly enough, I did not actually learn to do that, although I did learn quickly how to fake it to speed up the process.

I suppose the most important lesson I learned from that first course is that it's okay to say "no" and perfectly acceptable to hurt a mother fucker who heard "yes" instead. While that particular lesson would serve me well in years to come, it would unfortunately not be of any use during my second course.

The Marine -or- A Crash Course in Safe Sex

At this particular point in my life, I was what many people referred to as a "bad ass." In spite of my small frame, I could easily bench more than my own body weight and had gotten quite a bit of practice in the "no means no" uppercut to the nose.

I had not only learned how to fight like a man, but also honed my skills in drinking like a man. I was proud of the fact that I could match a man shot for shot and still be the last one standing.

My rowdy nature, and a desire to go to college, led me to sign up for the Army's delayed entry program, a decision I immediately regretted and worked to get out of right up until the night before I was to ship off to Basic Training.

Sequestered for the night with a couple hundred other new recruits and folks looking to enlist, better judgment took a backseat to bravado and a growing despair that I wouldn't be able to disentangle myself from the contract before the bus pulled out the next morning.

"It's our last night before Uncle Sam owns us, let's have a drink!"

Well I'd never been one to turn down a drink and there was a healthy mix of guys and girls waiting to ship out the next morning, trying to re-enlist after a former discharge or trying to make their decision as to whether or not to sign up. Twenty or thirty of us piled into a double room at the cheap hotel where we were stuck for the night. Bottles were cracked open and plastic cups were filled, refilled and filled again. Music blared and a steady stream of people flowed in and out of the room.

Next thing I know, I am coming to a foggy sense of awareness. The room is silent, but I can hear faint whistles, catcalls, and hollering as though they were coming from somewhere far away and I feel the heavy weight of the Marine on top of me. I'm suddenly aware of what is happening, of the four guys standing behind him, cheering him on, but I can't move, I can't even speak.

"If you don't like it, get your pussy ass out of here," someone yelled.

I struggle to take in my surroundings and notice a blonde kid, like me fresh out of high school, sitting on the far side of the room, his back turned, head slumped in his hands.

Lesson #1 in the "Crash Course in Safe Sex," never, I repeat NEVER drink with a bunch of people you don't know!

Lesson #2, while you may be able to hold your liquor, you are not immune to extra shit tossed into the liquor which may render your ass completely unable to move and barely aware that you are alive.

Lesson #3, only one in five bystanders will even think to come to your rescue and odds are good he'll be too damn scared of the other guys and the 240 lb. Marine to do anything other than turn away and cry.

"Hey let me get some of that!"

I struggled to overpower the sense of paralysis, begged my mind to make my mouth work, to scream, to bite, anything. Suddenly I was swept up and tossed onto the bathroom floor where the assault continued.

Then it was quiet. Dark. Everything hurt. A light tap at the door before the doorway flooded with light, the shadow of the blonde kid. He was holding my clothes and crying. We were alone but he hurried to get me dressed and back to my room.

The blonde kid stayed in my room that night, holding me close, afraid he would have to go off to war, even more afraid of what he'd just seen. He was a good kid, from a good family in a small town. He'd never seen a naked woman before. He kept telling me over and over how sorry he was that he hadn't done something. He'd been afraid of the Marine and his cheering section. Fortunately for me the Marine was a stingy bastard and had refused to share. Neither of us slept that night, we talked instead. He stayed close to my side the next morning until we parted ways as he headed to his bus and I headed to the phone trying to find a way home, having convinced the CO to not make me go.

I was too ashamed of my own stupidity to ever breathe a word, a decision I regret to this day. I hitched a ride with a recruiter to a town close to home. I leaned my pounding head against the glass, refusing to cry or look at the Marine as he got into the same car for the 2 hour ride home.

The blonde kid wrote me a few times from Basic. I always answered his letters. I still have the picture he sent me of himself in full uniform and wish I could remember his last name. When I pray for our troops, I always offer up a special one for him.

Lesson #4, always get the tag number of the bus that hit you so you can send someone to demolish it when you finally recover from the shock.

Lesson #5, get tested regularly and wear a condom...the son-of-a-bitch gave me chlamydia.

My First Husband -or- The Difference Between Having Sex & Making Love

My first husband married a young woman who had been well trained in the art of pleasing a man yet herself found no pleasure in the act of sex.

My previous courses had left me with a number of sexual hang-ups. Patiently he began to debunk many of the lessons I'd learned.

Lesson #1, you should never, ever fake it.

The fact that we could communicate so well was always the glue that held us together. Having been friends for so long before we ever became lovers, we had an easy way of being together, perfectly comfortable saying whatever came to mind. It's no wonder that I once blurted out, "I hate sex," which led to a long conversation about why (most of which he already knew) and what we were going to do about it. The first step was for me to stop faking it.

"How else am I supposed to figure out what you like and what you don't?"

I didn't have the heart to tell my husband that I doubted I would ever like sex.

Lesson #2, our bodies are beautiful.

I particularly disliked sex during the day or with the lights on. Despite being slender and shapely, I was ashamed of my nakedness. I was ashamed of his nakedness. I did not want to see my naked body sprawled out there before him and I certainly did not want to see his penis coming at me. The penis repulsed me. I viewed it as a weapon, an angry appendage with a mind of its own.

I was also of the general opinion that I could never be clean enough. I sleepwalked a lot in those days and my husband would often find me in the middle of the night, semi-awake in a bathtub of scalding hot water, still in my pajamas. Sex itself was a major bathing ordeal. I felt as though I needed a firm scrub down beforehand and another immediately after.

My husband opted to make the best of the situation and began joining me in the tub. It became our special play time, as we splashed and bathed, giggling with the innocent curiosity of children.

"Look what I can do," he would boast as he hung a towel on his fully erect penis, sending me into a fit of laughter.

"Ha, that's nothing, check this out," I would return as I blew bubbles into the water doing Kegel exercises.

We decided we were both immensely talented and spent hours walking around the house naked. Before long, I loved the familiar sight of our bodies and enjoyed the many moods he set with candles, black lights and colored light bulbs.

Lesson #3, sex should never be painful, unless of course you're into that sort of thing.

I was definitely not into the pain, which worked out well because he hated the thought of hurting me. He was so very gentle in his lovemaking. He would often stop for reassurance that my whimpers weren't those of pain. I soon realized that sex was fun when it didn't hurt. I still didn't understand all the hoopla about it and certainly didn't feel the "earth falling out from under me" as described in the books hidden in my grandmother's credenza, but I could enjoy it for what it was, a demonstration of our love.

It was so hard on both of us after my son was born and for years, for the rest of my husband's life actually, I was plagued with contractions that would eventually cause me to undergo a hysterectomy. Sex was again painful. I denied it, but he knew. It all seemed so unfair.

Lesson #4, when you completely trust the person you're with, it's okay to give up control.

Previous experiences had taught me that it was safest to be in a position that allowed me on top. From there I could be in control. The panic attacks that came when someone was on top of me soon subsided and we began experimenting with a number of different positions.

Lesson #5, yes, the earth really can fall out from under you!

"Holy shit, I think you gave me a stroke," I panted as we both collapsed in giggles. The books were right about everything, that whole creeping, flushing heat suddenly exploding into a billion stars as the earth falls out from beneath you, leaving you clinging tightly to one another.

We laid there for hours, neither of us wanting to break the spell as we shared whispered conversations about what the future held for us. For the first time in my life, I didn't jump up to go scrub down after sex, choosing instead to fall asleep in the safety of my husband's arms. That was the night our son was conceived.

The next nine months of my life were filled with constant, passionate, all-consuming love-making. Even after the birth of my son and the pain that seemed to dampen every aspect of my life, I enjoyed a sex life that was both sweet and satisfying.

Lesson #6, a sense of innocence can sometimes be regained.

The Rebound Boyfriend -or- The Joys of Sex

After my husband died, I settled into a deep depression and longed for something, anything to ease the loneliness.

I soon found myself in a relationship with a man who loved life more than I had ever thought possible. He found joy in the simplest of things and was more than happy to share that joy with me, letting a bit of sunlight into my world, in spite of the fact that we both knew the relationship would never last.

He stayed by my side for several years, patiently and gently nursing my shattered heart back to some sense of normalcy, teaching me to find joy in the smallest of things.

One tremendous source of joy for him was sex and he particularly took pleasure in pleasing women. He was a skilled, artful lover and treated my body as some sort of prized treasure worthy of great care and attention.

Lesson #1, there is nothing wrong with enjoying sex.

Despite overcoming so many sexual hang-ups, I was still filled with the notion that sex was not meant to be enjoyed, that somehow my experiences with my husband had defied all natural laws and the notion that "nice girls" didn't like such things.

Rebound boyfriend was one of those guys that could sell ice to eskimos so he had very little trouble charming me. He immediately recognized that I had more of a desire to please than to be pleased, a fact he used against me during this particular lesson.

"But I can't stand being told to climax," I argued.

"I'm not telling you, I'm asking you to do it for me, just relax, you know I'm not going to hurt you."

I did indeed know that. While he had a volatile temper and easily doubled my weight, with a crushing strength that allowed him to easily pick me up with one hand, I trusted my heart, and my body, completely in his hands.

Months of patience and long hours of submitting my body to him without us ever actually having intercourse, eventually crumbled the remaining hang-ups and I soon found sex to be an absolutely fascinating, pleasurable experience.

Lesson #2, you are not dirty and sex does not always require bathing beforehand.

It's hard to argue the point when you're being swept up the moment you walk in the door from work and melting in his hands. I still prefer to bathe immediately beforehand, but it's no longer a necessity.

Lesson #3, it's okay to initiate and take the lead.

Now that I was fully enjoying sex, I had to learn that it was okay to make my needs known.

"If you want it, you're going to have to come to me," he told me, vowing that he would no longer be the one to initiate.

True to his word, for months afterward, if I felt that urge, I could no longer hope he would start something. Instead, I was the one luring him into the bed, and once there, if I wanted anything more than for him to lay there, I would have to tell him what I wanted, tell him what I enjoyed.

Lesson #4, batteries not required, but highly recommended.

Rebound boyfriend was a firm believer that every woman should know how to please herself and have the tools needed for the job.

"It'll keep you from doing some stupid shit."

Wait, what? This went far beyond any sexual lesson I had learned thus far. What do you mean I can please myself? That's just sick. I was never the curious teenager when it came to my sexuality so I only knew sexual pleasure as arising from things someone else did to you.

"Wait, trust me, check this out," he replied, placing the new slender toy he'd bought for me for Valentine's Day on a very sensitive area.

Needless to say, I became very attached to my toy, especially after the two of us parted ways after nearly four years. And yes, it did indeed keep me from doing some pretty stupid shit.

Moving Forward -or- Practical Applications

Thanks to the many lessons I've learned over the years, my current husband has married a woman who is completely comfortable in her sexuality.

My nakedness is no longer a source of shame. Instead I view my body as a playground that I'm willing to share with someone I love and trust to care for it. The male body is now a thing of beauty to me and I am no longer repulsed, but amused by the subtle actions and reactions of the penis.

I still remember all my lessons in how to please a man, yet I also remember the lessons in refusing to neglect my own pleasure as well. I know what I like and I'm not afraid to ask for it. Nor am I ashamed to sneak off with my toy to give it to myself.

My husband is sometimes taken aback by a woman so secure in her sexuality. He cannot appreciate the torturous course of study required for me to reach this point, or his good fortune at not having to deal with my previous hang-ups and false notions. However I'm sure he can at least appreciate my desire to retain all those hard-fought lessons through my firm belief that practice makes perfect!

they say you never forget your first

2008-11-29T13:30:00.007-05:00

I saw him yesterday.

That old familiar grin and the twinkle in his eyes - the one I always wondered if he saved just for me.

I was reminded of that first day we spent together, so much bubbling beneath the surface, giddy and nervous, afraid we'd say the wrong thing.

The familiar strength of those arms, where I spent so much time.

I remember the bruises that lingered along the inside of my thighs and I wonder if he ever learned to be gentle.

Sitting there talking, it all seems so familiar. I remember that feeling so well - spinning dreams, enthralled by the movement of his hands as he strummed his guitar - a couple of kids discovering a connection.

He jumps up to check on his kids. I'm reminded of the baby I never had, the one I never even knew for sure existed although I felt certain it did. I remember his disappointment when I told him I had started. It was my only lie, I needed more time - time to think, time to sort out all I had learned. When the blood finally came I cried, telling myself it had all been in my mind.

I turn to leave and remember I never got the chance to tell him goodbye.

when the light shines through

2008-11-22T01:04:00.002-05:00

Someone reached out to me this week, with words that brought far more comfort than they probably could have thought possible.

I am referring to two anonymous comments left on my last post.

Reading the two comments was like receiving a phone call from an old, familiar friend.

The first brought tears to my eyes simply because its tone was so familiar, its words so closely aligned to those spoken long ago.

My comment of thanks to the unknown person who managed to say exactly what I needed to hear at exactly the right time, was followed up with a second comment, presumably from the same person.

Again, it was exactly what I needed to hear at exactly the right time.

"Sometimes we forget that, it wouldn't be possible to feel such pain if the joy weren't there," the comment began.

My mind flew back to countless conversations regarding that exact notion, and to the day I followed the ambulance to the morgue.

That was the day my absolute, unwavering faith in the existence of God was cemented. Gripped in the clutches of the most heart-wrenching pain I have ever known, I was suddenly surrounded by an intense calm. The colors of the world around me were a bit brighter and I began to chuckle, in spite of the tears, as I realized what I should've known all along — such heartache could only be present in the face of an all-consuming, endless love and such encompassing love could surely only exist in a world created and ruled by God.

I know there is truth in the words, "the joy is still there." I am reminded of that joy every time my child offers some dry remark or random observation, every time he makes a goofy face for the camera and yes, even every time he offers some lame excuse as to why he didn't do his homework. I am reminded of that joy every time I hear the chords of a guitar, smell the salt of the ocean or eat a tomato sandwich.

Yet I haven't managed to reach the point when the reminder of that joy isn't accompanied by a shadow. Oh it's not always such doom and gloom, although I realize this blog tends to serve as the dumping ground for my darker thoughts and moments, most likely because those are the ones most necessary to release. There are often times when the joy nearly outshines the shadow, yet the shadow continues to linger.

Perhaps it is merely my melancholy way...or maybe I've somehow failed to properly let go, although I still struggle to determine how to separate the joy from the shadow so as to let go of the one without losing the other.

I don't know. I know that his face passes through my mind a thousand times a day, most often accompanied by that warm glow that always seemed to surround us. I know that the recent barrage of dreams ceased after I cried in the darkness on the bathroom floor. I know that even while in the midst of the darkest of shadows, I wouldn't trade one ounce of that joy or a single moment of that warm glow.

And I know that I am thankful to that anonymous someone who somehow offered the words I needed to hear.

Just out of reach

2008-11-16T03:24:00.006-05:00

There's a reason I don't drink very often these days. Especially when I'm alone.

More often than not it ends up the way tonight did...with me sobbing on the bathroom floor and sitting here at my keyboard shaking.

It all started with a fucking cake.

A Winnie the Pooh cake. The last time I made a Pooh cake was for my boy's 3rd birthday. That was the last one his daddy was here for.

I guess it wasn't just the cake. Who knows, I've been dreaming of him I lot lately, nearly every night over the past few months. It makes it awfully hard to go about the business of living. And I must admit, the pint of whiskey I've consumed tonight makes it awfully hard to go about the business of typing.

It's been eight years. It shouldn't be so fresh, shouldn't still hurt so do damn much.

You would think that anyway.

Yet every time I close my eyes, I can see that trailer, feel myself standing at that stove cooking his dinner, putting my hair up for work in that bathroom — the bathroom he died in. Sometimes it seems like just yesterday, like I've just woken from a dream and have no real comprehension as to how I got here...other times it feels like an entire world away, another life that only exists in my mind.

Tonight was just my own stupid fault. I haven't drank in a few months and decided I wanted to do the cake decorating (for my best friend's son's first birthday) old-school style, meaning I'd drink heavily while decorating the cake.

I know it sounds crazy, but cake decorating is much more fun when drunk. The combination really got me through the year or so immediately following his death. I'd get completely trashed while baking and decorating 4-tier wedding cakes. It was a sort of therapy — it gave me something to focus on while I ignored the ache in my heart, trying my best to drown it with Crown.

As depressing as it may sound, those were some good times. Several friends would be over at the house, my kitchen homey and warm as I baked and decorated and drank.

My mom came over tonight. She drank her vodka as I shot down my whiskey. I really enjoyed myself.

Right up until she left and I found myself alone — standing in our kitchen every time I closed my eyes, waiting for him to come home from work.

It's times like these that threaten to drive me crazy. I can close my eyes and see everything just as it was. I am aware of his scent and sense him standing just behind me, just out of reach. And no, this isn't merely the result of consuming too much alcohol...it still happens when I'm completely sober. I just have a much harder time pushing it to the back of my mind when I'm intoxicated.

So there I am tonight, the cakes finished, my mother gone home, the pint empty....my husband and son had gone to bed hours beforehand and suddenly it hit — the racking, silent sobs that leave me in a helpless pile on the bathroom floor.

I close my eyes and am heart-broken because my soul's sight is filled with what once was...I open them, and I'm angry at the world surrounding me — one I barely recognize as the one in which I belong.

I can hear Dr. Hook from the other room...

"Sometimes I still think about you
Sometimes I wish that you'd call
And sometimes I feel like
You're lying here with me
And it's still the sweetest of all"

...and I crumble, my heart and mind trapped in a time that is no more yet refuses to recede into the past.

I hug the toilet, urging myself to puke...it's gotta be the alcohol — that's why my heart is racing and I can't seem to catch my breath, the knot in my chest growing tighter every time I blink, seeing his face...just out of reach.

But I haven't drank enough to be sick...and I certainly haven't drank enough to not remember it in the morning.

No, I've drank just enough to open the flood gates...but not nearly enough to ease the pain the inundation causes.

I am trapped between that which was, that which is and that which awaits me in eternity — intermingled...a giant clusterfuck of all I've ever loved, my only sense of home. It alludes me, always just out of reach...the memory of it haunts me, the promise of it taunting me, as I cry out to God, "please, just let me have him back!"

church bells are ringing

2008-10-10T01:52:00.003-04:00

I have started going to church.

Having never grown up in a church, I've never fully grasped comprehension of the importance of Christian fellowship. It hardly seemed a prerequisite for having a relationship with God.

However,the desire to attend church regularly has been nagging me over the years. It first began when The Boy was just a baby. I worried that I was robbing him by not having him involved in a church. In the end, I always came back to the idea that I would be a complete hypocrite to sit in church every Sunday, going through the motions, when my faith was so shaky.

I never really had much doubt as to God's existence. I truly believe we are born with that innate knowledge, although I admit, I often wondered if perhaps He really was just a creation of a people desperate to believe in something, anything. There were also plenty of times it seemed much easier to ignore His existence, but I never could manage to fool myself to such an extent that I could exclaim "There is no God" without a strangling fear of invoking His wrath. No, my struggles were always simply a matter of my faith in His love for us, my faith in His wisdom and of course, my faith in my own worthiness.

I have also always been troubled by the notion of Jesus Christ as the one true path to God, the solitary savior of all mankind from his sins. I had studied other religions during my search and it struck me as cruel that entire nations of people would be forever banished from God because they chose a different path to take them there. I am afraid that even now, long years after I accepted Christ as my personal Savior, I still have a great deal of difficulty in accepting that God would ultimately reject so many others.

But I digress.

In the years since my husband's passing, I have felt a heightened sense of urgency to begin attending church. I tried to ensure that God was not a stranger in our home and made certain The Boy knew Him, yet I have been haunted with the idea that we were both missing out on something terribly important by not going to church.

We have visited a number of churches over the years, each leaving me disappointed and often even angry. Sitting in a sanctuary surrounded by people who are supposed to be there to worship the Lord but instead view church as just another social clique makes my skin crawl! I often wondered if it wasn't simply the weight of my own guilt, my own sense of inadequacy and unworthiness that made me so uncomfortable in so many churches. But no, the ladies, turned around in the pews, gossiping with their neighbor just before the service began, the men winking at me as their wives bowed their heads to pray, the people looking down their noses at others who did not quite fit in - these were the things that kept us from returning to many of the churches we visited.

And then of course there were the fire and brimstone preachers. The ones who tried desperately to convince you of your eternal damnation should you miss a single service, the ones who sought to put "the fear of God" into their congregations, terrifying the congregation with endless stories of God's wrath against the wicked and His certain abandonment of your soul should you stray from his teachings. We didn't often return to these churches either as I have always firmly it should be love, not fear, that brought a person to God and I was determined that my child not be taught otherwise.

After a while it seemed as though I had abandoned the idea of church altogether.

Then last month, on the anniversary of his death, I visited the mother of a friend who died last year. Never having really known her that well and having a lot of preconceived notions of who she was, I was surprised at the comfortable nature of our conversation. I was even more surprised that, when the subject turned to God, faith and an invitation to attend her church, I found not a trace of judgment in her eyes nor voice.

The Boy and I sat in the back pew during the worship service that Sunday. My husband, who did grow up in a church, had made it clear he had no wish to go. I knew a number of the people there and many of the ones I didn't know made a point to introduce themselves. I have never felt so welcomed in a church. My friend's mother gave me a copy of the booklet they're following in Sunday School before I left.

The next Sunday I bounced out of bed, despite my utter despise for waking up in the mornings, eager to get dressed and head to the service. The following Sunday The Boy and I attended Sunday School, surprised when my husband announced before we left that he would meet us there for the service. This past Sunday was our second week of Sunday School and fourth service. My husband met us for this week's service as well. The Boy has become involved with the youth program, enjoying their weekly Bible study and I am hoping to talk my husband into taking him to his weekly Boy Scout meetings so I can begin attending their weekly women's Bible study.

I find myself reading ahead in the Sunday School lesson and picking up my Bible to read various scriptures throughout the week. Somehow my life seems more full now but I can't quite put my finger on what it is that now fills it. God was already there. I suppose there's a lot to be said for fellowship after all.

We will not be going to church this Sunday because The Boy and I will be out of town spending the weekend with my great grandmother, who is the only person who ever took me to church as a child. At 94, her health no longer allows her to attend church. Her failing eyesight caused her to replace her cherished, soft leather bound Bible years ago with a new, large print version. The words on the front of her old Bible are worn almost completely away after so many years of use and the back cover is nearly completely separated from the rest of the book, but I carry that Bible with me to church every Sunday, complete with her perfect attendance ribbon and a few church directory photo proofs of her and my great grandfather. I also carry my newer Bible, that is just now really seeing any use, as I'm afraid to use hers too much. I simply like having it with me. No one at church has yet to look at me strangely for carrying them both each Sunday. This Sunday I will have them both at her house, along with my Sunday School lesson and perhaps a bit of fellowship with The Boy and I can somehow repay the gift of faith she gave me so long ago.

say my name

2008-10-09T02:57:00.002-04:00

I guess I've finally broken this long silence because I've been thinking of him so much lately. Perhaps if I air out these thoughts they will finally recede to a deeper level of my mind and quit erupting so often.

The word "affair" doesn't do it justice. An affair is cheap, tawdry, all about the sex - or at least that's how I see it in my mind. There was nothing cheap and tawdry about this at all and the sex was merely a byproduct.

It began innocently enough. Old friends who hadn't seen each other since high school reconnected through the internet. Things had always been easy with him. There was never that need to censor yourself and conversations with him often had a way of revealing truths about yourself you never knew existed. Some things never change. Late nights spent discussing everything and nothing all at once, hours passed quickly as we enjoyed companionable chatter, a connection begun as teenagers quickly cemented more than a decade later.

Meanwhile I was miserable with my current life. My marriage was unraveling around me. It did not explode with anger and accusations or demands. I think I could've handled that. Instead it suffocated in silence, two people in their own little worlds, worlds which rarely seemed close enough to touch. It was safe. It was secure. That was what I had wanted after a tumultuous first marriage full of soul scorching passion, the death of my first husband, my best friend, leaving me in tatters, taking solace where I could, accepting of the ideal that such a connection, such a joining of two souls could never be possible twice in one lifetime.

I didn't realize that loneliness is so much sharper when the echo of your own words is the only answer that meets your ears, when your solitude is breached by another presence. I suppose we can accept being lonely when we are truly alone. It's not so easy to accept when someone else is sitting on the couch.

A year into our marriage, which had seemed to grow more and more distant from the moment we said "I do," I received my diagnosis and was scheduled for my first surgery. I was terrified, my mind filled with all the worst case-scenarios as we had yet to receive any definitive information. Through it all, he was silent, my mother and best friend filling the roles of "hand-holders" during doctors appointment he never attended. When the silence was finally broken, it was to ask whether he could somehow "catch" this cancer.

I had spent most of that first year reminding myself that men weren't great communicators, that I couldn't compare my first marriage to a man with whom the conversations were easy and endless about everything and anything to this new marriage to a man with whom the conversations were virtually non-existent but provided a steadfast quality my life I had always lacked.

I explained to my husband once that I needed three things from him - companionship, affection and sex - and that I could deal with not having any one or even two of those three things, but damn, I needed something and couldn't seem to get any of it at home.

The final straw came when the surgery was scheduled, my husband never realizing he was expected to be present, nor understanding why he should want to be and me forcing him to sit down and discuss the matter only to be told, "you've got to understand, this is happening to you and I'm sure this is all you can think about, but that's just it, this is happening to you, it isn't happening to me."

Suddenly, with the uttering of that phrase, I knew my marriage was over. Safety and security was no longer at all approaching enough. Life went on as usual for several months, I in my world and he in his, as I struggled to make myself accept the life I had chosen.

Then an old friend appeared from cyberspace, bringing with him a light I had forgotten existed. Suddenly my life was filled with easy and endless conversations and a growing sense of urgency to free myself from what I believed was a loveless marriage as it was becoming more and more unbearable. A death in his family brought him within a few hours of where I lived and I set off to visit with him. My husband never said a word about the endless conversations or my decision to visit.

The minute I saw him I knew I was lost. I only stayed for a few hours and there was nothing sexual about it at all. Just two friends seeing each other after many years, both jittery as teenagers on a first date but neither giving voice to the pounding of their hearts.

It was days later before he told me he was falling in love with me. The distance between us was unbearable. It had been relatively easy to keep things in perceptive when you were only dealing with computer conversations with someone you hadn't seen in more than ten years. It was a completely different ballgame having seen each other, as though that somehow confirmed the reality of our existence.

Within a few weeks I had decided to take some time off work and board a train to go stay with him for a week. Although he knew where I was going, my husband said nothing as he kissed me goodbye at the train station. Nor did he say anything when he picked me up at the station a week later, despite the fact that I hadn't slept hardly any the entire week and my eyes were puffy and red from having cried the entire 8-hour trip back.

Several days later I told my husband I wanted a divorce. He said he hadn't realized the problems between us were so severe. "But I've tried to talk to you about them so many times, hell I even told you six months ago O was so miserable I was going to end up cheating on you even though I've never cheated on anyone in my life." He just kept saying he didn't realize how I'd felt and admitted he'd often tuned me out when I was trying to discuss it.

He promised to work on things, that things would get better. "You don't understand, I'm past the point of wanting to work on it, I just want you to leave."

I finally told him that I knew we didn't need to be married because I had cheated on him. Oddly enough I think he was more upset that I told him than that I had actually committed the act. "There's nothing here, we don't have a connection." He couldn't understand what connection I was talking about. I actually wrote of that sense of connection in this post at the time.

And so you think you've found that connection with him? "Yes."

He moved out the next day, vowing that he had not yet given up on us.

Meanwhile I realized that when I get that "follow you off a cliff" feeling it's usually because it's someone who will lead me right to the edge of the cliff. My friend was much like my first husband in that way. He was drowning in a sense and I had long ago made up my mind to never again subject myself to the pain that comes with loving and living with someone who has given up on the living part.

All the while, my husband was dogged in his efforts to convince me to give our marriage another chance.

Holy shit, if, after all this, he is still so insistent that he loves me and wants to be my husband, he must really love me and want to be my husband. He deserves that chance. It's only the right thing to do.

Needless to say, lines had already been crossed and there was no going back to the easy conversations and effortless friendship I had enjoyed. We tried for a while, but he eventually decided it was easier to not have me in his life at all.

I was heartbroken and angry. They say it is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all and that may very well be true, but not when you lose such a valuable friendship in the process. And especially not when you begin to doubt the value of that friendship to start with for being unable to survive.

And so here I sit, nearly a year since I last spoke with him. In many ways my marriage is stronger. I've come to appreciate the steadfastness of my husband and his tolerance for my moodiness. I've come to appreciate that he never yells, never leaves and never alters his pattern. I've come to appreciate his clumsy efforts at being supportive and his attempts to at least pretend to pay attention as I prattle on.

He has mentioned the affair only once since our reconciliation and that was this past May as we reached the one-year mark. When I expressed concern for his dreary mood one day, he simply responded that he couldn't help but think of what had happened the year before, quickly following it up with assurances that he wasn't trying to make me feel guilty for it or throw it up in my face. And indeed, he's never once thrown it up in my face. Somehow I think he understood, even though he's never found the words to tell me that. He's had a much easier time forgiving me than I have forgiving myself. Our marriage is still silent for the most part, but standing there beside me day in and day out speaks volumes.

Yet I still terribly miss the easy and endless conversations about anything and nothing all at once and continue to kick myself for throwing it all away in an effort to recapture something I was damn lucky to get the first go 'round. That too fills me with guilt.

breaking the silence

2008-10-09T00:34:00.007-04:00

There are several subjects I've staunchly refused to broach here. I suppose some things are better left shoved to the back of my mind, far away from the harsh reality of the light of day.

One such subject is the complete crumbling of my marriage more than a year ago and the resulting affair.

Come to think of it, I generally avoid the subject of my marriage all together. I suppose it is mostly out of some sense of loyalty to my husband that I do not write of these things. He knows of the affair of course, but it has not been mentioned in our home since. He also knows about this blog, although I'm not at all certain he bothers to read it, as it is also not mentioned in our home.

I'm certain he wouldn't want to be reminded of the matter and even more certain he would probably raise immortal hell over the public airing of the private aspects of our lives, but this blog was intended to be the catch-all for the maddening thoughts that race through my mind each day, the nagging notions that haunt me in the middle of the night and, basically, everything that makes me ME.

So I've decided to break my silence. To hell with it. Most often my long silences here are the result of my attempt not to somehow betray him by giving voice to that which goes unspoken in our daily lives in spite of the fact that it consumes my thoughts.

But it seems as though a hell of a lot goes unspoken and I grow weary of the silence.

the itsy bitsy spider

2008-10-01T23:54:00.003-04:00

I have spent the past two months in a puddle of self-pity while making frequent trips to the doctor and taking pills.

I came through the surgery and the resulting surgical site infection well, only to be laid on my ass by a critter I never even saw.

Right after the surgery I noticed a spider bite on the outside of my calf. It looked harmless enough and I paid it no mind. As I finished up my seven-day round of antibiotics I noticed the bite was still visible and I remember thinking, "hmmm, this is odd, that must've been one hell of a spider!"

Within a week of finishing that first round of antibiotics, the harmless looking bite had begun to swell and soon I was sporting a hard, 5 cm knot on the side of my leg. I waited a few more days, until the pain finally became unbearable and I could no longer put any pressure on that leg without a sharp shooting pain running down my shin.

The doctor was puzzled. It's definitely some sort of infection. It doesn't look like staph. It's not acting like any spider bite I've ever seen. Let's try a different type of antibiotics and see what happens.

I'll tell you what happened, the antibiotics just pissed it off. By the end of the first week, the knot was continuing to grow larger, was still an angry red and had begun darkening like a deep bruise. Next thing I know, I'm having an inch long hole cut into my leg and having it packed with gauze. Two days later, puzzled that there was still no improvement at all and thinking it must be staph, the doctor cleaned out a bit more of the wound he'd made and packed it again.

By this point I could barely walk.

What kind of pain is it, the doctor asked.

I can't even describe it. It aches and burns all at the same time and every few minutes it feels as though a hot knife is slicing down the inside of my shin.

The gauze came out a few days later when tests confirmed it wasn't staph and I was placed on a third different antibiotic. The official diagnosis? Some unnamed spider.

That was a week and a half ago. I still have a visible circle, about 5 inches across, around the hole made by the doctor and it is still hard to the touch, but the swelling has gone down and the pain has subsided, only flaring up at night if I've spent too much time on my feet or when I accidentally put pressure against it. It's no longer hot to the touch and stopped draining a few days ago, forming a normal looking scab so I assume that means it's no longer infected.

I finally finished the antibiotics yesterday and somehow I've managed not to become addicted to the Vicodin I was eating like candy for a couple of weeks there. Now maybe things will get back to normal around here.

Of course, thanks to a flyswatter and a large amount of Raid, there's probably not a spider living within a five-mile radius of my house!

seven deadly sins

2008-10-01T00:11:00.002-04:00

My health has been for shit lately, so I chose not to spread my whiny-ness by avoiding the blogging world completely. Here's a survey I ran across regarding the seven deadly sins just to get me back in the swing of things. I can't wait to catch up on my blog reading!

Wrath....

Who did you last get angry with?
seven men who are elected to represent this county...as one body, they are complete idiots who cannot accomplish anything or grasp even the simplest concepts.

What is your weapon of choice?
a knife, preferably a switch blade, but any knife will do

Would you hit a member of the opposite sex?
damn right, if they have it coming, especially if they have me cornered or hit me first, but I'm a girl, so it's fair...besides if I hit them I figure they have a right to hit me back whether I'm a girl or not

How about the same sex?
only to defend myself, although there was a time I wasn't so patient

Who was the last person who got really angry at you?
hmmm...I don't know, probably my Granny but it's been a while. I seem to have a knack for easily angering her because I refuse to buy into her martydom.

What is your pet peeve?
I hate it when people are rude for no reason. I know everyone has bad days, but some people simply do not grasp the concept of polite, much less kind, interaction with their fellow man

Do you keep grudges, or can you let them go easily?
I used to hold a grudge forever, but I've gotten pretty good at letting them go. I finally realized I was only hurting myself by clinging to the hurt and anger.

Sloth...

What is one thing you're suppose to do daily that you haven't?
with three dogs and a cat in the house, I should probably vacuum every day but I don't. It's an endless chore.

What is the latest you've ever woken up?
I've been known to sleep all day

Name a person you've been meaning to contact, but haven't?
I had been meaning to call my friend Mike for the last few days, but he ended up calling me today cause he knows I'm slack

What is the last lame excuse that you made?
I didn't cook dinner tonight because the meds had upset my stomach so the menfolk had to fend for themselves

Have you ever watched an infomercial all the way through?
quite possibly back in my days as a stoner, but never when I was in my right mind

How many times did you hit the snooze button on your alarm clock this morning?
I didn't count, but it bought me an extra 45 minutes

Gluttony....

What is your overpriced yuppie beverage of choice?
since I hardly consider whiskey a yuppie beverage, I don't have one...when I do get dragged into a coffee shop, I order coffee, that's right, straight coffee, go figure!

Are you a meat eater?
indeed, I have a special fondness for beef and pork

What is the greatest amount of alcohol you've had in one sitting/outing/event?
we used to kill a 1/2 gallon quite often, but by myself, I'd say a fifth

Are you comfortable with your drinking and eating habits?
I generally eat one meal a day and snack the rest of the time. I probably should eat a little healthier...and I should really cut out the sodas....alcohol-wise I only tie one on every few months, so I'm good with that

Do you enjoy candy and sweets?
yes indeedy...in fact I will be making some fudge tomorrow :-D

Which do you prefer: sweets, salty foods or spicy foods?
all the above! lol

Have you ever looked at a small house pet or child and thought, "lunch"?
lol, um, no, I'm a glutton, but not that bad!

Greed....

How many credit cards do you own?
one, and since I've been out of a job for a while it's currently maxed out

If you had a million dollars, what would you do with it?
pay off all my bills, pay off the bills of my parents, my granny and my aunt Linda, kick some to my brother and a few choice friends, stash some for the boy's college, use some for my college, stash some away for old age and start a foundation to help support a variety of causes through grants

Would you rather be rich or famous?
rich, who wants the hassle of people nosing into your life because you're famous?

Would you accept a boring job if it meant that you would make megabucks?
at this very moment? yes, but I wouldn't stay long

Pride...

What's one thing that you have done that you're most proud of?
my son is happy, healthy and has never once doubted that his momma loved him

What's one thing you have done that your parents are most proud of?
I think they're probably just proud that I didn't crash and burn or turn out to be a complete loser

What thing would you like to accomplish late in your life?
I'd like to accomplish it a lot sooner in life, but it doesn't look like that's going to happen...I want to be a grief and Hospice counselor

Do you get annoyed by coming in second place?
not when the first place person really deserves it

Have you ever entered a contest of skill, knowing you were of much higher skill than all the other competitors?
no, in fact, I'm usually the underdog

Have you ever cheated to get a better score?
no, but I did write papers for other people on occasion

What did you do today that you're proud of?
hmmm....I forgave someone who really hurt my feelings without even telling them they had hurt my feelings

Lust...

How many people have you seen naked (not counting movies, family, strippers, locker rooms)?
hahahaha....more than I care to remember and for the record, NO, I do NOT want unsolicited pictures of your penis!!! That is NOT a turn on!

How many people have seen you naked (not counting physicians, doctors, family, locker rooms, or when you were a young child)?
not enough to where I have to worry about running into them on a regular basis, or finding any compromising pics or video on the net

Have you ever caught yourself staring at the chest/crotch of a person of your chosen sex during a normal conversation?
I am sometimes impressed by the perfect fit of certain jeans on certain people

What is your favorite body part of a person of your gender choice?
eyes, lips, arms and butt...in that order

Have you ever had sexual encounters (including kissing/making out) with multiple persons?
no, and sorry but that's not on my wish list

Have you ever been propositioned by a prostitute?
um, no, I've been asked if I would consider prostitution though and yes, I turned them down

Envy....

What item of your friends' would you most want to have for your own?
hmmm...I can't really think of anything at the moment

Who would you want to go on "Trading Spaces" with?
nobody, everyone's life is a little screwed up

If you could be anyone who existed in the world, who would you be?
what's wrong with just being me? I'm ok with that.

Have you ever been cheated on?
yes and it hurts to the quick

Have you ever wished you had a physical feature different from your own?
I wish I could've lost my baby belly, but alas, he's 12 and I still have a pooch...I tell myself it gives me character, lol

What inborn trait do you see in others that you wish you had for yourself?
highly driven motivation

What deadly sin...

Do you do the most often?
sloth

Do you do the least often?
envy

Is your favorite to act on?
it's a toss up between lust and gluttony, depending on my mood, lol

excuse me while I step outside...

2008-08-31T01:01:00.002-04:00

Take a walk, talk a breath, step outside yourself.

I used to be so good at that.

I guess that's one of the abilities we lose as we get older. I've become anchored so firmly in now, in the daily bullshit that commands my attention, I am no longer able to easily step outside myself, step outside my life and exist in a state of limbo, hovering somewhere between this world and another.

That escapist nature allowed me to cope with an awful lot of shitty life circumstances that would have broken me otherwise. Granted, it also caused me to be slightly out of touch with reality at times and put up with a lot more bullshit than I should have.

Perhaps that's why we lose our escapist tendencies as we get older. Time starts running out and we no longer have as many years to waste by stepping outside ourselves in order to put up with the bullshit.

stupid cancer II

2008-08-27T20:17:00.002-04:00

As long as I'm on a roll about the stupid bullshit related to cancer, here's another thing really griping my ass at the moment.

It's a royal pain to try to live a normal life when your schedule is full of appointments with specialists an hour away.

My biggest worry today has not been whether or not I'm told Tuesday that the surgery was successful, but whether what I'm going to do about Tuesday if I'm offered this job I interviewed for yesterday.

Freelancing simply isn't paying the bills, especially when you have to pay over $700 a month just to keep your health insurance, a necessity at this point. So, I've decided to scrap the freelance/work part-time and finally go to school idea and find another full time job. Yesterday I interviewed for a great job in the district attorney's office. He is supposed to make his decision this week because he's hoping he can have the job filled next Tuesday.

Well, therein lies the problem. Let's say I luck up and am offered this job. Now I have to explain the importance of my keeping a previously scheduled doctor's appointment, preferably without having to disclose my condition. I mean really, I know there's laws against such discrimination but who really wants to hire someone with cancer, regardless of the fact that I've only had two surgeries over the past two years. My Lord, each surgery requires at least three separate doctor's appointments, not counting the actual surgery itself.

Meanwhile, I've got some other things I need to look into and take care of, but I can't hardly risk taking any long lunches any time soon, IF I do luck up and land the job.

Sheesh...life was so much simpler before the word "cancer" was ever uttered.

stupid cancer

2008-08-27T19:49:00.003-04:00

Cancer.

The word is haunting me today.

I really don't like that word. I don't like the morbid thoughts it brings with its every utterance and I particularly don't like the bullshit you have to put up with when you have it.

The second surgery is now behind me. I won't find out until next week if it worked, but until I'm told otherwise, I'm assuming it did. I was right in assuming this surgery was minor compared to the first one, it was. However I did get a surgical site infection immediately that kept me extremely uncomfortable for much longer than I should have been and led to a stand off with a bitchy nurse in the oncologist's office.

"Well how do you know it's an infection," she asked in a condescending tone usually reserved for small children who insist on jamming things up their noses. "What does it look like?"

Um, the hole left from the surgery is now filled with yellow pus.

"Well I'm going to have to see you before I can prescribe any antibiotics."

Um, could you just pass the information along to my doctor...."Well, SHE is going to have to see you too so we can be sure this is REALLY an infection."

This went back and forth for 30 minutes as I tried to explain to this woman that I was in extreme pain and had been doped up on Percocet for a week, so I was pretty sure there was no way I was going to be able to make the hour drive to the doctor by myself, and since, she had waited until one o'clock in the afternoon to return a 9 a.m. phone call, I was pretty damn sure I couldn't get anyone who could make the 30 minute drive to my house to haul my ass down there.

"Well, I guess you'll just have to wait until Monday," was Nurse Ratchet's huffy reply.

Um, lady, I'm thinking it's not real smart for me to wait through the weekend knowing this infection is only going to fester and worsen.

"Well, we don't know that it IS an infection now do we," she shot back.

Um no lady, YOU do not know it is an infection because you obviously think I'm a friggin' idiot. I, however am not an idiot, am certain it IS an infection, am also certain I will contract some sort of friggin' blood poison if I sit around and wait until Monday and am quite frankly tired of having to arguing the point with your rude ass. I'm sorry you've obviously had a bad day, I hope it improves for you and that you don't have to explain to the doctor on Monday why I'm back in the hospital. Have a nice day, goodbye.

Sheesh! Luckily, I'm not an idiot and I have a very nice family doctor, who was willing to work me in that afternoon. So, I hauled my sorry ass into the car and drove the 30 minutes to his office for him to take a look and confirm that yep, it was an infection and it was probably a very good thing I hadn't tried to wait until Monday.

The $84 antibiotics he prescribed had me feeling much better by Monday when I called the nurse back to inform her of the diagnosis. Bitch.

Now I'm sorry, I know from having worked in a doctor's office that doctors and nurses hate it when people self-diagnose, but I also know, from the same experience that nurses have no right to make such judgments on their own, without the doctor's input. I can't help but worry about the patients who look to their doctors and nurses as Gods of some sort and always trust their judgments. I wonder what becomes of them and figure they probably have a much higher death rate.

how odd

2008-08-27T16:37:00.002-04:00

I just noticed I do not have a label for "fate," a point which struck me as very odd, seeing as how fate, or rather my belief in fate, has played such a key role throughout my life.

I've made many a weighty decision based on the notion that I wouldn't be confronted with such a decision at all if fate had other plans. I also spent a great deal of my life firmly believing that by doing so, I had fucked up whatever plan fate had once had in store for me. That thought caused an unbelievable conundrum within my soul as I struggled to rationalize how an ignorant human could fuck up fate, if it truly were inevitable. I labored over how the idea of free will played into fate and wondered if maybe I had simply misinterpreted my fate all along.

After all, it's not fate if it has to be forced right? But if that's true, than why on earth does it seem so forced to do the other and take no action on that which I've always believed was my fate?

And yes, I'm rambling. I blame it on the rain. But at least now I have a post labeled "fate."

ho-hum

2008-08-27T16:28:00.002-04:00

Today has been one of those completely off the wall days when I'm filled with conflicting emotions about anything and everything. One of those days that made me argue up and down with a shrink that I had to have been crazy.

He maintained I was merely damaged, I maintained I was nuts. How in the hell do sane people run the entire gamut of emotions in a single day and NOT be crazy? Or, perhaps it would be better to ask how one could do such and not GO crazy?? Sheesh!

Of course, I can trace most of my problems to a complete unwillingness to let go. Ever. Of anything.

I've always been a bit proud of the fact that I'm a "forever love" kinda girl, meaning that once I love you, I will always love you. The one problem with that is that the object, or objects of your affections never seem to be around forever and you're left with your love and your memories. I suppose I finally understand the statement, "forever is a long time." At the time I first heard it, I thought it to be utterly cruel. I now understand the compelling truth of it, in spite of it's cruelty.

Forever is indeed a long time.

However, I must confess that, as long and grueling as forever may be, I would still choose forever over never.

beach trip breeds irrational fears

2008-08-08T02:22:00.002-04:00

Wait. These two things are not supposed to go together. The beach is usually a source of relaxation and rejuvenation for me, what the hell? How could the beach trigger irrational fears? We'll chalk it up to poor timing and a subconsciousness entirely too adept at putting two and two together.

I spent the last week of July at the beach with my husband, son and my husband's sister and her family. It was the longest stay at the beach I've been able to enjoy since '99, the summer before my first husband died. Enter, subconscious deductive reasoning, followed quickly by an irrational fear that my current husband's death must be imminent.

My conscious self, not being nearly as clever as its subconscious other, didn't catch on at first. I came home from the beach, suddenly trapped in this whirlpool of morbid thoughts regarding my husband. During the day, while he was at work, I kept waiting for the phone to ring, a strange voice on the other end of the line informing me of his death. When night came, I caught myself listening to his snoring, growing alarmed if it altered the slightest bit, and jumping up to make sure he was breathing if it actually stopped.

Alarm bells went off in my head, warning me that this was not normal behavior.

I was a bit antsy about his health when we first began dating. Not long before we got married, he twice made the comment that he was certain he would die young and was promptly sent to the doctor for a complete physical. I was sure to remind him that I had already spent one marriage with a husband who insisted on reminding me of his belief he would die young and oh yea, hey jackass, he DID die! Don't ever say that to me again.

He hasn't. He is in relatively good health other than recurrent kidney stones. So why was I suddenly so afraid he was going to drop dead any minute?

Suddenly I was on "Who Wants to be a Millionaire" and was stumped so I used a life-line and phoned a friend, who promptly began laying out the facts of the case.

Fact: The only other time during my adult life that I have been to the beach for a week was with my first husband and our son - during the last week of July. What a coincidence. He died the following May. We had been married for five years.

Fact: Come September, my husband and I will have been together for four years and we will begin working on our fifth year.

Needless to say, within a few minutes the answer was clear. Duh! Sometimes I think I'm a complete idiot, especially when it comes to grasping the obvious.

My logical consciousness tells my subconscious self to shut the hell up and relax, all the while keeping a wary eye on the calendar, ticking off the days until we reach the comfort of June.

Part 2: living in the rural south - a love/hate relationship

2008-07-17T00:46:00.006-04:00

Vegetation

The south remains full of lush green vegetation even in the midst of a long, hot, rainless summer.

Blackberry bushes run rampant in the south and while a severe drought can keep the berries from growing fat and juicy, you can count on the brier-studded brambles continuing their struggle to take over your yard.

The sweet smell of honeysuckle heralds the official start of summer in the south. The flowering vine is a favorite of butterflies and bees and southern children love to the pick the flowers, sucking the sweet nectar from them. Don't let the honeysuckle vine fool you though. It tends to mingle with poison ivy and is known to choke the life out of anything in the path of it's climb.

The ghostly brown tentacles of kudzu in the winter doesn't mean the plant is dead. Come summer, kudzu will cover the south in a heavy green blanket, thanks to the well-meaning, although a bit hasty intentions of some horticulturists and soil conservationists. Kudzu has been known to swallow up entire farms, houses and even livestock and small children in its relentless hunger to devour the south.

Morning glories offer a brilliant splash of color to the southern landscape in the summer. You can count on it returning every year, regardless of how many times you've killed it and careless homeowners will quickly find that morning glories left unattended for the summer will run rampant, crawling up into the siding of homes, twisting along porch rails and window sills to the roof.

A whole mess of weeds threaten finely manicured lawns across the south and, having been born and raised in the south, I am beginning to believe we southerners would be much better off by giving up our fight and letting the damn things take over. After all, grass - real grass that you are trying to grow - falls into one of three categories in the south. There's brown, dirt dead and "Damnation that shit's tall!!"

Dirt dead grass generally stays that way, although clumps of towering weeds demand you mow it, throwing the dust into the air, which turns to muddy streaks on your, um, glistening, face.

Brown grass is deceptive. It can remain in a suspended state of brownness, refusing to grow an inch for as long as three months. Then, boom! A good gully-washer hits and you leave for work the next morning, hoping rain, followed by a day of strong sunshine will put a bit of green back into it. By the time you come home from work, that brown grass has suddenly been transformed into "Damnation that shit's tall!!" Inevitably, one of two things will happen at this point. 1) The temperature will suddenly top out just over 100 degrees, the sun and humidity threatening to melt you from the inside out if you even think about pulling out the lawn mower or 2) the Heavens will suddenly open up and give you a two-day gully-washer followed by six days of sunshine and a lawn mower that refuses to crank.

This potentially dangerous situation requires what I like to call the tiresome two-step. Contrary to what you may be thinking, the tiresome two-step is not a dance, although it does require a great deal of cooperation and attentiveness among partners (you and your push mower.) It's quite simple, although it does take a bit of practice. Don't worry, your partner will let you know immediately if you do it wrong by bogging down and shutting off. You take two steps forward, then two short steps back, quickly forcing all your upper body weight down on the handle of the lawnmower in order to raise the mowing deck at least a foot into the air. Hold that position until all grass clumps fly free from the blade. (Warning, this is usually when the creepy crawlies start panicking and go on the offensive, but we'll get to those in Part 3.) Now, walk forward two steps and repeat. And repeat. And repeat. And repeat. And don't forget to be mindful of the briers on the blackberry bushes and various vines wrapping themselves around your legs as you battle to reclaim your lawn!

Part 1: living in the rural south — a love/hate relationship

2008-07-16T23:45:00.006-04:00

Weather

The first key to understanding life in the south, particularly rural parts of the south, is understanding the weather. You can thank, or blame, the weather for practically all things southern.

There are generally two season here in the south — Summer and Winter, that's it, just those two. Spring and Fall never really visit the south. Instead we have what can only be compared to a menopausal woman. One day it's 80 degrees and the next day the temperature never rises above 50. Nope, we're left with Summer and Winter and roller coaster days that fall in between the two.

Summers in the south are hot, I mean HOT!!! Folks from Arizona and New Mexico, who face 120 degree days come to the south and melt. Southerners are blessed with an ever-present sauna, just outside their front door. One step outside and immediately your hair is curled and your glasses are fogged up.

There are some prissy southern ladies who like to say that we are accustomed to the heat and don't sweat, but merely glisten. BULLSHIT! I don't care if you've been born and raised down here, there is no getting accustomed to living life in a steam room and even the most refined ladies SWEAT! Fortunately, your clothes hang damn with the humidity anyway so you can almost get away with telling the "I don't sweat, I glisten" whopper!

Even the rain is afraid of the heat. We have two types of rain during the summer here in the south - sprinkles and gully-washers. Sprinkles are just that, little drops of water that leave polka dots on the pollen covering your car and hit the pavement with a sizzle, causing the steam to rise. Gully-washers are exactly what the name describes - torrential downpours that flood the ditches and swoosh violently through the gullies, creating their own, new gullies as the parched earth is unable to soak up the sudden deluge that most often comes when a hurricane passes through or a severe thunderstorm springs up in a cloudless sky. Your only warning that a storm is approaching is the leaves of the trees. When they suddenly look silver, the wind exposing the bottom sides of the leaves, take cover, a storm is coming, even if the sky is bright blue as far as you can see.

I should also point out that whenever any amount of rain falls in the rural south, the air is suddenly filled with the aroma of cow shit. Don't ask me why.

Winters in the south would most likely be considered fall in other parts of the country. They are mild and wet. Unlike the summer where you may go three months without seeing so much as a sprinkle, winters generally bring a number of gully-washers, which frequently lapses into what seems like a 40 day flood. Every so often the sky will spit out a dusting of snow, but most likely you will go to bed to the sounds of a gully-washer and awake to the cracking of limbs as the weight of ice pulls them down, taking the power lines with them.

Displaced yankees laugh when we close down the world over an inch of snow, but it doesn't take long for them to realize why. 1) The snow is always hiding an inch of ice glazing the road surface. Go ahead and scrape it away to expose the glass-like slip and slide! 2) It really is true what they say, southerners can't drive on that shit! Oh, don't get me wrong, we can tear down a backwoods, dirt farm road at 70 mph without knocking a berry off a bush or spilling a drop of beer, but we can't go thirty feet on the white stuff without ending up in a ditch!

the problem with tadpoles

2008-07-16T23:43:00.002-04:00

There's a friggin' tree frog living in my gutters!!

You would think this wouldn't really be much of a problem, but apparently it's tree frog mating season or something cause that damn thing is loud!!

And no, tree frogs don't go "ribbitt. Ever hear a cat try really really hard to get up a particularly stubborn hairball? THAT is the rhythmic song of the tree frog!!

This is the thanks I get for refusing to dump out water that has tadpoles in it.

contradictions

2008-07-15T15:30:00.000-04:00

It dawned on me earlier today that most of my friends seem to fall into one of four categories: stoners, cops, the continually cheerful and the perpetually depressed.

No wonder I've never hosted a party.

meanwhile...

2008-07-14T11:59:00.003-04:00

I haven't been working. Well, that's not entirely true. I've been doing a bit of freelance work for a daily paper nearby, but I'm not on anyone's payroll.

A large-scale, permanent freelance opportunity has been looming on the horizon, but hasn't quite materialized yet, making it very difficult for me to make my post-surgery plans.

I had intended on going to school, but if this project doesn't come through, I'll have to buckle down and find a "real" job. The guy in charge of the project hasn't fully made up his mind whether or not he wants to go forward with it and I'm left on hold.

The only thing worse than trying on bathing suits is looking for a job! It is so discouraging. I see plenty of jobs I can do, jobs I could do well, but without a college degree my options are quite limited. Know that I've been paid to do something I love, I simply dread the idea of having to spend 8 hours a day behind a desk answering telephones. I think I'd rather go back to waiting tables before I do that.

deep breath

2008-07-14T11:41:00.002-04:00

I have no excuse for my absence from blogging lately, other than slipping off into that vortex that sometimes sucks me down, away from the rest of the world.

I'm in the process of seeing surgeons and waiting for them to schedule an early August appearance in the operating room. I had said I wouldn't have another invasive surgery done, but I had also once promised my family that if the treatment after the first surgery didn't work, I'd concede to one more surgery. So, that's what I'm doing. One more surgery, keeping my fingers crossed that this one will keep the cancer at bay for longer than a couple of months.

I lucked up this go around. I still have to meet with the second surgeon on the 22nd, but the first surgeon, seems pretty confident that, while I'll be miserable for a few weeks afterward, I shouldn't have any long term complications. That's right, I'm special, I get to have two surgeons going at me this time around! I'm not too horribly worried about the second surgeon's prognosis. She's the one who did the last surgeon so i know she's good at what she does and since I've been here before, I have a pretty decent understanding of what's involved. I'll be laid up for a few weeks, but I should come away with all the important muscles & functions in tact.

Now I just have to steel myself for the pain.

sinful minister

2008-06-19T22:52:00.005-04:00

Counseling. That's what I told my daddy I wanted to do. But that's not entirely accurate.

I suppose ministering would be a more appropriate word to use. I want to minister to people. I know that I cannot shelter them from the storm, but I can at least huddle with them through the worst of it, simply so they are not alone. I want to help ease their fears, offer them comfort, a warm dry blanket in the middle of the downpour.

Daddy says that you can't fix people, they either deal with it or they don't.

But wouldn't it help if you simply had a sounding board, someone you could talk to, someone who didn't cast blame or claim to have all the answers?

Daddy says that not everyone wants help.

That's fine, if they don't want it, they don't have to have it, but it's there if they need it.

As odd as it sounds, especially to those who know me, I have before thought of studying theology and entering the clergy for that very reason, but I have little faith in man's interpretation of God and am not at all certain my heart is pure enough to reflect God's love.

always playing catch-up

2008-06-18T22:52:00.005-04:00

The local American Cancer Society's Relay for Life was held a couple of weeks ago.

I went again this year, just as I have gone for the previous five years.

I gave Relay heavy coverage in the paper and shared the courageous stories of the survivors. Two years ago I received my cancer diagnosis a few days before the big event. My surgery followed a few weeks later.

It was hot and steamy all afternoon during that Relay. The enormity of it all hung sticky in the air, clinging to me, making my limbs heavy. Every motion, every emotion, every reaction was a great effort.

I was solemn that night as I walked around the track, lined with luminaries lit in honor of a survivor or in memory of someone who had "lost the fight."

I mourned for those who'd passed and I celebrated those who still lived. And I thought it odd so few of us, healthy or cancerous, could never set ourselves apart enough to realize that we are all dying from the moment we are born.

I was afraid, mostly at how much it would hurt (and cost) to take care of this cancer problem.

I thought often of the number of survivors I had interviewed over the years, including those who, soon after, lost their fight with cancer. Every one of them was me. Or at least could be. I had always thought that way, even long before my diagnosis. I'm cursed with a strong empathy that allows me to put myself in almost anyone's shoes and try on their life for a bit. I guess that's why I was always able to tell their stories.

During the time surrounding the Relay a year ago, I had recovered from the surgery, which had been quite a shock to my psyche, my marriage was drowning and I had learned that more invasive surgery was needed to fix the problem. But oh yea, that might not work either.

So anyway, I went again this year, having decided not to have any more invasive surgery (invasive meaning where they remove parts of me) until such time as is absolutely necessary. It's a quality of life thing. (I could also say the fact that I'm still smoking is a quality of life thing too, but simple fact is, I'm addicted and weak.)

A friend asked how I was doing to which I replied, "oh just fine. I feel great as long as I'm not going to doctors."

She immediately began morphing into her "mom" zone and asked when I had last been to the doctor.

"I had a sinus infection about a month ago...oh you mean the oncologist?" I blushed, sufficiently ashamed and admitted that I had no idea. "I've pretty much just been ignoring it and it's not really bothering me."

She clucked my name and gave me the stern "mom" look that made me duck my head and promise to follow up with someone.

That's the shitty thing about having cancer. No one will ever let you ignore the fact that you're going to die. Well duh! We're all going to die. And quite frankly I have no desire to butcher myself (and go broke) in order to live.

But, I suppose if most days I choose to ignore the fact I have cancer, I really should at least be responsible in my ignorance and let a professional check me out to make sure there's no need to ring the alarm bells and summon the surgeon.

10 not so fascinating random thoughts

2008-06-18T00:27:00.000-04:00

A friend of mine tagged me to compile a "random, ten interesting things about me" list...since too many thoughts have been racing through my mind to capture them here, I decided to post that list here.

1) I can't wait to play the You Tube video of the baby my best friend just posted, but I know it's going to make me giggle and my husband is sleeping on the other side of the curtain.

2) I think it's very difficult to think of ten interesting things about myself, my views, or my state of mind. I shudder when I realize I'm only on number 2.

3) I am a forever love kind of girl. Once I love you, I will always love you, even if I never see you again or if you are complete fuckin' ass.

4) Despite 3, I also refuse to allow myself to be hurt and mistreated by those I love (not for very long anyway, don't even say it.)

5) I have discovered that as I get older, I have more pain in various joints. I think that's why I started drinking more milk.

6) I wish I liked pain enough to wax my legs. I absolutely HATE shaving my legs. I wouldn't mind, 'cept I get so stubbly so soon after. Which is why I want to wax my legs. But I'm certain that shit hurts to some degree and I see no reason whatsoever in inflicting pain upon myself in an effort to keep silky smooth legs.

7) I have really done nothing other than read for the past two days and loved every minute of it. I haven't had much time to read the past few years, my mind crammed way too full of other things. I'd forgotten how much I love to read. I checked out three novels from the library yesterday and have already finished two of them. My son was amazed. I don't know why. He does the same thing when he really wants to read a book and is enjoying it.

8) I ramble, duh! Not very interesting huh?

9) Bernie Taupin, who wrote many lyrics for Elton John, was my poetic mentor. It was his songs that inspired my poetic side. (Which I seem to have abandoned for some long years.)

10) I hate talking on the phone. (I'm sure my husband would never believe that, as much time as I spend on the phone.) Yes, I truly hate talking on the phone. Half the time if I haven't gotten something done, or have lost touch with someone it's because it involved me making a phone call.

opportunity or obstacle?

2008-06-10T11:22:00.002-04:00

Ever have a a hard time determining whether something placed in your path is an opportunity or an obstacle?

I'm there now.

Part of me is excited about an opportunity that has presented itself, but at the same time, another part of me is annoyed that my other plans are being thwarted.

When I left the newspaper a few months ago, it was for a number of reasons, primarily because the company that owned the paper was absolutely horrid. However there were other reasons as well, not the least of which being that I had utterly ceased to exist beyond the role of "newspaper lady." The community constantly demanded more and more of my time. More time that I should have been spending with my family.

I left the paper, taking a position as a political consultant. Recent events brought an abrupt end to that line of work and I found myself virtually unemployed, with a permanent part-time freelance project to help carry the financial burden.

My husband shocked me by announcing that perhaps it was time for me to write that book. He also reminded me that it would be a great time for me to go to school, so that I could begin working towards the career in counseling I've always wanted.

That was before he began seeing dollar signs.

The idea of my spending my time writing, for me, and going to school has been completely forgotten. Instead, I've been asked to start a new source for local news. It began innocently enough. Since I left the local paper has really been dropping the ball on some major stories, not reporting them at all, or horribly misrepresenting the facts. Members of the community have begged me to come back and tell them what's going on. I toyed with the idea of starting a blog or a website to cover local government. That's it, just local government. After my husband spent a few minutes with the calculator, it suddenly grew into a huge monster of a project, involving multiple layers of news coverage, including sports and schools which is impossible for one person to cover, and a print edition, with the help of a partner.

Problem is, I'm nor sure I see the difference between getting stuck at the newspaper and getting stuck at this new site, paper, whatever the hell you want to call it.

The project requires a level of commitment that I'm not sure I'm ready to offer again so quickly. Whatever happened to it finally being my turn?

old is new again

2008-05-30T13:27:00.003-04:00

In recent days I have been searching for a ramble, which I clearly remember writing down, yet cannot now locate.

In my search, I read through the posts of a nearly forgotten, now defunct, experiment with blogging.

I have decided to repost them here, in an effort to begin tidying up all I have found hiding in the recesses of my mind.

Emerging from the Darkness from 3/18/07

2008-05-30T13:12:00.001-04:00

I have stood before God and His judgment and have been found to be lacking.

I can clearly see in myself the sins of man and kneel before Him in shame, praying for forgiveness and for deliverance.

I realize now what I suppose I've always known — I am not the Master of my Fate, nor am I the Captain of my Soul.

Question from 9/20/06

2008-05-30T13:11:00.003-04:00

At some point or another we all ask what we would do if we were dying.

What a shame.
We are all dying from the moment we are born.
So often we insist on facing death before we accept that fact.
And only then do we ask ourselves how we wished to live.

How often have we been told, by many far wiser, to follow our hearts?
Yet we continue to struggle with the dilemmas our minds offer.

Is it truly the heart to which God speaks?
Can living your life for Him simply be a matter of following your heart?

A Child of God from 7/23/06

2008-05-30T13:07:00.004-04:00

“Dear Lord, how can my faith remain steadfast when I see the suffering you allow? Help me to understand,” I have pleaded since finding God.

“Dear Lord, surrendering myself is one thing, but how can I faithfully surrender my son to your will when I see the suffering you allow? Help me to understand,” I have pleaded since I conceived my son nearly eleven years ago.

God has recently seen fit to answer those prayers.

And that answer came in the form of words spoken by a ten-year-old little boy who is certain of two things in life; that his mother loves and protects him and that God and Christ love and protect him even more so.

“Momma,” my son said from the back seat of my car one afternoon. “I know I shouldn’t be worried about it but I’ve been thinking about what it’s going to be like when the world ends.”

So began the conversation that would end the greatest spiritual struggle of my life.
We talked about accepting Christ as your Savior, what that meant and what that would mean when the world came to an end. We talked about Heaven and faith.

Inevitably the conversation turned to the love God had for us all. I reminded my son that not even my love for him began to compare with the love God and Christ had for him.

“Hmph,” was the answer from the back seat.

“I know. It can be hard for us to remember that when bad things are happening huh,” I responded understandingly.

Then my son asked me why God allowed such bad things to happen if He loved us so much.

Not knowing what else to say, having never reached that understanding myself, I told him simply that I didn’t really know, that I knew there was a reason for it but I wasn’t quite sure as to what that reason was.

“Well I’ve been thinking about it and I’ve got a theory,” my son offered. "The way I look at it, God knows that when we get to Heaven, we're going to be just fine. We'll be happier than we've ever been, we'll never need anything and we'll never suffer again. BUT, I think God wants us to experience everything while we're here because otherwise we'll never appreciate Heaven. Besides, if we never have bad things happen, we'll never be able to understand what Jesus had to go through."

I was speechless, my knuckles white on the steering wheel, feeling as awestruck as if Moses himself had appeared in the backseat of my car.

“Momma, do you think I’m right,” he asked after a few minutes of silence.

“Son,” I responded, still processing what he had told me. “I have asked that same question of preachers, Sunday school teachers and Bible-toting little old ladies, but I have never had anyone give me an answer that made that much sense. I believe you are 100% right.”

That’s been over a week ago and still the child’s words that afternoon echo in my heart.

The day after he shared his theory with me, I had to explain to him that he had a seizure disorder. After we had talked about it for a couple of hours, I asked him if he was scared.

“No, I know you’re not going to let anything happen to me,” he answered with an innocent faith I sometimes believe only children can know.

He must have heard my heart fall to my stomach in reaction to his confidence in my ability to protect him because he suddenly turned and flashed me a brilliant smile, saying, “Besides, God’s protecting me.”

I believe him 100%.

That night, I said a prayer of thanks to God for blessing my child with such understanding. No longer any doubt in my mind as to God’s love for us, I gave myself and my son over to God’s care with an unwavering faith He would protect us both.

Ruling out Punishment from 6/15/06

2008-05-30T12:59:00.002-04:00

I guess we all struggle to understand how a God that is kind and loving and just can allow such suffering. Some say suffering is the result of, or punishment for, sin. But how often have we seen even the saintly suffer? There must be a purpose for it. Why else would He allow it?

Are we just assuming that God is kind and loving and just? At some point everyone wonders if maybe He's really an asshole. Then we are scared that He’s going to send us straight to hell for even thinking that.

I don’t think God minds you calling Him an asshole.

But I do think it pisses Him off when you stop talking to Him, when you stop believing. Or maybe it just hurts His feelings. That was the impression I was given by my great grandmother.

At some point we all feel as though God has abandoned us. In The Inner Loneliness, Sebastian Moore speaks of the homesick feeling that we all harbor deep within, no matter how satisfied we are with our lives, we always long for a little something more, something just a little farther out of reach.

A nagging, longing sense of knowing “I do not belong here, I am not of this world.” For I am of God and that is where I belong, and until I dwell in the house of the Lord, I will forever long for home.

Adam and Eve were banished. As we feel so often in our lives. We are told that it is during these times, when we do not feel the presence of God, when we are lost in despair and suffering, that He is carrying us.

But what is the purpose of having us suffer?

Wait.

Is it wise for us to be assuming that God is kind and loving and just? Do the New or Old Testaments tell us that? Does the suffering that we see everyday in the world tell us that? Why is it we believe Him to be kind and loving and just? Is it because that is how He expects us to be? The New Testament tells us of that expectation.

And why does He expect us to be kind and loving and just? Is it because He expects as to be Godly, because we were made in His image? Or is it because like a father, He expects us to be a little something more?

We are told not to be vengeful and yet is the God of the Old Testament not vengeful? We are told not to be jealous but is ours not a God who refuses to allow us to worship another as well? We are told not to inflict pain and suffering upon one another and yet He allows us to be afflicted.

The innocent are no more protected from earthly suffering than the sinful.

So the purpose of suffering must not be to punish.

And so we begin the process of elimination.

Comments from original post:

At 7/23/2006 10:06:00 PM, Blogger b. said...

Hello....I don't know you......you don't know me. I stumbled across your blog when I clicked on "next blog" at the top of my page. I wanted to thank you for your words, though not written for me, they are an answer to prayer.

So what began my search? from 6/14/06

2008-05-30T12:54:00.001-04:00

I was not raised in the church.

I never learned the song “Jesus Loves Me” and despite the fact that my mother had been raised in the Southern Baptist Church, we were not a family to share goodnight prayers or grace before meals. When it came to attending church or worshiping God, my mother always made it clear the choice was mine.

I was not indoctrinated within the confines of one set of beliefs, which left me free to explore and question, a freedom I will forever be grateful for.

I can still remember sitting with the little old ladies in my great grandmother’s Sunday School class and how cynical I was of their unwavering faith in the love of God.

“How,” I asked myself, “could these women, who have experienced first hand the horrors that men inflict on one another, women who have dealt with a lifetime of loss and heartache, how can they be so sure that a God who allows such suffering loves them?”

My great grandmother’s faith was steadfast and she held firmly to the belief that God’s will was above reproach.

My father, on the other hand, was just as cynical as I and tended to view God more as the mischievous prankster who enjoyed watching the ants scurry about in the ant farm He had created.

And so I began my search, armed only with my mother’s precious gift of allowing me to choose my own a path, a great desire to feel the peace of God’s love which my great grandmother took so much comfort in and the unabashed skepticism of my father.

Struggles from 6/11/06

2008-05-30T12:52:00.002-04:00

Yes, I have endured heartache and loss in life. I cannot name anyone who has not.

Is this not one of the earliest questions we ask of God?

“Why? Why do you, who is said to love us immeasurably, allow us to suffer so?”

Our faith wavers with the very thought.

They say that there is a reason for everything and that He never gives us more than we can bear.

I am constantly incredulous at the amount of faith He puts in my ability to cope.

Is this a test? Is He asking me to prove my worth, prove my faith, prove my goodness? And what if I should fall short of His expectations? Will He still forgive me? How often can you say, “I’m sorry, I’ll do better” and expect forgiveness?

Is He punishing me? I have often thought the sentence a bit harsh for my sins, yet other times I feel as though He has let me off easy and the weight of my own guilt proves nearly as severe as any punishment He could have dealt.

Is this a lesson? Why do I insist on learning things the hard way? Why do I have to be so obstinate and unyielding that I drive Him to beat me over the head with it?

Now, during another particularly trying time in my life, I am asking myself these questions all over again.

A very dear friend of mine, who knows me all too well, suggested that this time, maybe God is trying to teach me one of the most difficult lessons for me to learn…that I am not in control.

Funny thing is, I actually thought I had that one mastered.

Yet I found myself taking the long way home, windows down, music loud, just driving, in control.

Now that I think about it, now that I look back at some of the decisions I’ve made, remembering all the times I’ve questioned whether the ignorant hands of humans could foil fate, I realize my friend makes a very valid point.

It is so hard for us to relinquish control.

Why?

I have often wondered if it did not have something to do with original sin, which I tend to believe was a thirst for wisdom. Was the original sin a desire, very like our own, to not only understand God, but to reach that level of omnipotence ourselves, to have that control?

Holy men warn you that not all you perceive as miracles and blessings are sent from God, that they are instead deceptions intended to pull you away from God.

How much faith are we showing in God by trying to outwit Him, trying to deny the destiny He has designed for us? I have always believed that when it was my time to die, God would take me, regardless. I can’t shake the belief that we humans have little control over such things.

I have always viewed suicide as one of the ultimate sins. I cannot help but wonder if our incessant desire to extend the natural length of our lives is not just as sinful.

There are those who say that God has provided us with the wisdom and knowledge to lead longer, healthier lives, but I am not so sure that is not one of the biggest deceptions of all.

And why do we seek to prolong our earthly lives? Fear. Fear of what awaits us on the other side, a complete lack of faith in our God to put an end to our suffering and a lack of faith in our own worthiness of such a prize.

Control? Do I have enough faith in God to relinquish myself completely? Do I have faith He will care for and protect those I love from suffering? Do I believe myself worthy of God’s grace?

Doesn’t seem as though He’s left me with much choice.

But when I think of the God, as depicted by men, who would ask us to prove our faith by sacrificing those we love, I fear I will indeed be found to be severely lacking.

Blessings from above? from 5/18/06

2008-05-30T12:49:00.002-04:00

I've heard it said that not all we believe to be miracles and blessings necessarily come from God.

That they are indeed often tricks, deceptions meant to lead us down a false path of belief.

Well now therein lies a pretty big problem when you apply that theory to everyday life.

How are you supposed to know whether something is a gift from God or merely a temptation to stray from the path of the righteous?

Comments from original post:

At 5/21/2006 06:31:00 PM, Anonymous Anonymous said...

Look deep into your heart and work toward that answer. God only wants what is right for you. You have the rest of your life to live and God again wants you to live. You are a good person and that you know. Others who are now close to you see that person as well.

Faith from 5/17/06

2008-05-30T12:46:00.001-04:00

There is perhaps no greater insult to one who loves us than to doubt that love.
No greater nor unfair test than to ask that love to be proven.
Yet before we are willing to profess our own love,
We push Him to convince us of His.

Comments from original post:

At 5/20/2006 09:27:00 PM, Anonymous aca joe said...

My son asked me today, "Where did God come from?" I responded, "I don't know." I told him that was a question everyone wanted to know. So I asked him, "Do you think God loves you?" and he said "yes". I then asked him, "What do you think God looks like?" He responded, "I think he has a wrinkled face, grey hair and a long green robe." Sometimes I wish I could think like a child does when it comes to God. Maybe we just learn how to distance ourselves from God's love by all the distractions that we face daily.

Reflections from 5/16/08

2008-05-30T12:44:00.002-04:00

We change so much over the course of our lives, yet somehow we manage to stay the same.

I remember the person I was six years ago, who I was sixteen years ago, when we first met. (My God, has it been that long?) How vivid remain the emotions that kept me awake throughout the nights then, the course of my thoughts at that time still remarkably clear.

I would like to think I have become wiser and somehow, a better person, yet by most measures, I have remained the same and I find that somewhat comforting.

Would he recognize me if he were to see me now? Yes, undoubtedly. But would he like who I've become?

If he were to meet me today, with no memory of who I used to be, would he love me just the same?

Yes, I believe he would. So I must not have changed that much.

Focus from 5/14/06

2008-05-30T12:39:00.002-04:00

It really is all about focus. Think about it.

Think about how much we divert our focus to other things, things external to ourselves - the television, the radio, people at work, our husbands, our children and other people.

One common theme in most religious beliefs is that you must focus on yourself before you can become closer to God. Christianity tells us to look into our own hearts and know ourselves. Hinduism, Buddhism and just about every other Eastern religion tells us that it is through meditation that we come to know ourselves, a state I have heard referred to as self-actualization. Quite a catchy little phrase actually. Say it out loud, it just kind of rolls off the tongue.

Anyway, supposedly (or at least as a lot of theologians, psychologists and other folks who should know have said), it is by knowing one's self that one comes to know others and to know God.

But how many of us sit around focused on ourselves?

Yes, we spend a lot of thought on the things (and people) we want, we think would make us happy, that concern us, that anger us, that hurt us, things that other people do to us.

However, most of us do not spend a whole lot of time thinking about ourselves, going deep within ourselves trying to figure out why we did something, or why we have this feeling or that feeling, why we have certain thoughts or why we do what we do to other people.

That's how psychologists tell you to come to know yourself. They recommend you analyze yourself to learn yourself and that only by learning yourself can you know yourself.

The theologians have a slightly different approach though. The Godly men, regardless of denomination, all seem pretty sure that prayer and mediation are the true way to know yourself and know your God, an introspection as opposed to a self-inspection.

You can't hear God if you're not listening. "Shhh, hush now, don't make a move, don't make a sound, listen carefully and you will hear."

Problem is, most of us have a real hard time making ourselves hush and be still.

People hate to be alone. They hate to be left with their selves, no distractions, nothing else to focus on.

One of the most widely used forms of punishment is isolation. You're grounded, you're sent to jail, you're sent to solitary confinement.

So many of us spend our days trying to shift our focus.

And therein lies the problem.

So what do we do about it? Everything I've read suggests emptying your mind completely (and yes, using drugs to do so is considered cheating).

But how on earth do we achieve such a state?

They say by memorizing a prayer or piece of scripture or even a poem and repeating it to yourself over and over while sitting in a quiet room.

I admit I've tried it but usually end up having a panic attack because I freak out when suddenly I feel like I've forgotten to breathe.

They say that with practice you can truly clear your mind and regain your focus and that by doing so, you achieve a higher level of enlightenment.

Of course I'm still wondering if that's just because you're suffering brain damage because you kept forgetting to breathe!

Comments from original post:

At 5/15/2006 11:00:00 AM, Blogger Brandi said...

A friend sent me your blog and I agree. I have "worked" on clearning my mind using my yoga breathing. After a mintue or so of "clearing" I almost passed out from all the oxygen in my body. LOL! It's good to know that ladies from all over have the same problems and even though they will never go away we can in some way feel comfort in knowing we are not alone.
Have a great day and remember to breathe! :)

At 5/15/2006 08:04:00 PM, Anonymous Anonymous said...

If I try to clear my mind, and think of absolutely nothing it is impossible. It's like when I'm told to relax or calm down. I wish I could, but that don't make it happen. I think it would be easier if someone would just knock me out. On the other hand, sometimes it is impossible to focus. There are times when there is nothing at all on my mind. I can almost hear the hum in my own head. The most I have learned about myself, God,and everything that exist has been while I was asleep. My dream life has given me all I need to know about the little speck of dust that is me.

"The reckless raging fury that they call the love of God." from 5/14/06

2008-05-30T12:36:00.002-04:00

Inspired by line written by Rich Mullins, "The reckless raging fury that they call the love of God."

That reckless

raging

fury I know so well...

your own discontent

as you struggle to find a balance

among that which you long for

and that which you have been given.

Reasonable doubt

hazy,

clouding every judgment...

your own hesitation

as you turn to your God,

"Is this truly all which I am meant to have

or am I merely not living up to your plan?"

"Cause surely one who loves as You

could not bear me such pain."

The gripping guilt

felt

when you turn away for only a moment...

your own humility

as you question your faith

for simply daring to long for more

and being impertinent enough to ask,

why you could not have it now

and is it really worth the wait?

The Point from 5/14/06

2008-05-30T12:32:00.003-04:00

We all have those nagging questions

Which haunt us throughout our lives

And plunge us into a great search

That so often only leads us to more questions

Amidst these questions pacing my mind

Came a distinct voice from deep within

"Write."

But what could I have important enough to write that

it should ever be read? Write what?

"Write what you know."

Everyone has a story

Everyone has a God

"Write about God."

But who am I to write about God?

I who am no scholar or theologian or even member of a church

By what measure am I worthy to write of God?

A parent's wisdom, a Father's phrase

"Because I said so."

And so I write, breaking the most often given advice to write what you know. Instead, I write what I struggle to understand. And I share it with you in the hope that by doing so it will, in some small way, help you in your own search.

Comments on original post:
At 5/15/2006 02:28:00 PM, Anonymous Anonymous said...

I hope you never stop writing. As it helps you, I know it will help others. You have a gift, a very unique gift. Many of us might take that for granted, but you have made good use of your gift. I look forward to your next posting.

At 5/16/2006 09:50:00 AM, Anonymous Gene Alston said...

So you're a philosopher! Looks great. Congrats and keep it up.
G/A

At 5/18/2006 09:41:00 PM, Anonymous Anonymous said...

When it seems to look grey or facing the unknown, you count your points. Then a smile comes across your face. The start of another day begins and passes, but the smile stays within. Only you will understand.

how much sleep is adequate?

2008-05-29T00:01:00.004-04:00

I managed to avoid the temptation of crawling back into bed today. It was hard. The weather was dreary, the wind rather chilly and it lightly rained most of the day. It was a good day for napping.

Instead, I got dressed, went to the bank and drove into the city to secure a regular freelance gig with the daily paper there. While I was out, I stopped in to catch up with some folks.

This evening, I cooked dinner, if you can call it that when you primarily use the microwave and only use the stove to boil to cups of water. I suppose I should really call it nuking dinner. I read for a bit.

And now, when I really want to be writing, I'm friggin' tired and ready to go to bed. Screw it, tomorrow I'm sleeping in. I'm more productive when I sleep half the damn day.

you can't make me

2008-05-28T11:00:00.003-04:00

I struggled to wake up early this morning, thinking logic would have it that the earlier I awoke, the more I would manage to accomplish during my day.

That was two hours ago and so far I have managed to have one cup of coffee and chatted with a friend on the phone. Of course I have also made my rounds of cyberspace, checking out my favorite blogs, news sites and checking my various email accounts. Now I think it's time for a nap.

I may as well face the cold, hard truth of the matter...my brain simply does not function before noon. Until the sun is high in the sky, I cannot expect my brain to process vast amounts of information and I certainly cannot expect it to produce much of anything, other than a hangover-type fog which manages to be induced with or without the presence of alcohol.

Others have told me this is merely a lack of discipline on my part. I'm tempted to agree.

a damn good week

2008-05-23T23:10:00.002-04:00

So um yea, this has been a pretty shitty week. Of course, in many ways it's been a pretty damn good week too and since it was pointed out to me this morning that so many of the recent posts have been gloomy, I am going to refocus our attention and recap some of the really cool things that happened this week.

1) My son had to make a choice between disobeying my rules and doing exactly what he wanted or calling me to ask for permission. He chose to ask for permission, which of course I granted out of appreciation for his respect of me and my rules.

2) My husband was a stable, calming influence during a potentially volatile situation.

3) I got to spend one entire afternoon hanging out with my best friend, who has been by my side longer than anybody.

4) The strength of two other friendships was tested this week. Granted, one crumbled, but the other sprang up and flourished.

5) I discovered that I am no longer willing to allow people to take gross advantage of my giving nature.

6) Today presented an excellent opportunity for me to devote all my time to the labor I love most — writing, telling stories. This time around I get to tell really good ones.

7) I rediscovered the energy of music during a bout of insomnia when I finally pulled out my iPod and turned off my computer, in desperate need of escape.

Yes, all in all, I'd have to say it's been a pretty damn good week.

a quick prayer

2008-05-22T02:02:00.000-04:00

I was talking to a very good friend of mine tonight about all manner of things, including the tremendous number of children who are victims of sexual battery.

It just hurts my heart when I think of what's being done to those children. I know all too well the heartache, confusion, self-doubt, guilt and anger that comes with being taken against your will. Or being forced to submit.

Heaven help them and God love the ones who help them through it.

new rules

2008-05-22T01:06:00.003-04:00

As a child, growing up, I placed rules on myself. Strict rules, intended to keep me from getting hurt. After all, isn't that why most rules are in place to begin with?

Rule #1...Don't care. Just don't give a shit. If you don't care, they can't hurt you. I later realized this rule was impossible to follow and left you feeling pretty hollow and meaningless.

Rule #2...Don't trust anyone. If you never trust them, they can never betray you. I later realized they can still betray you without your trust and that not trusting someone greatly hinders your ability to care.

As an adult, I now find myself setting rules for others instead. Strict rules, intended to keep me from getting hurt.

Rule #1...Do not EVER touch me without permission.

Rule #2...Do not lie to me. Ever.

pissed off rant

2008-05-21T22:48:00.001-04:00

I know a man, who at this very moment, is most likely drinking a beer and thinking that I am one hormonal bitch.

Okay, in all actuality there are probably several men out there drinking beer having the same thought, my husband included, although I doubt he's bothering with the beer.

But guess what? I don't give a shit what they think. Believe it or not, not all female bitchiness is caused by hormones. Quite often, it is simply caused by assholes.

If you can't tell, my feathers are a bit ruffled. Well, actually, I'm pissed.

Granted, I'm probably a bit hormonal too. The hot flashes are a dead give away. According to the calendar, I am entirely too young to be entering menopause, but the hot flashes and witch's hairs that have started to sprout under my chin tell me otherwise. I think my ovaries have finally figured out that since I've had a hysterectomy they are no longer needed. I can buy a fan and pluck the chin hairs, but I can't do a whole lot with assholes who provoke me.

As I mentioned in a recent post, I've grown accustomed to guys talking shit, often crossing the line into downright lewd, crude remarks that should only be reserved for those paid for their services. It's a shame one friend of mine didn't read that post.

If he had, he probably would have at least thought twice before pawing at me today.

Over the years, I've learned to shrug off the ass-grabs without turning around and decking anyone, but damn! A girl has to have her limits and apparently grabbing the front of my shirt open and trying to pull my bra back, after I've told you there's no way in hell you're going to see the girls, pushes way past those limits.

"What the fuck is the matter with you?!! Don't do that kind of fucking shit!!"

Of course he feigned dumb, trying to laugh it off, making lame-ass jokes.

No, fuck you dude, that shit ain't cool!

What is it that makes some men believe it's okay to simply cop a feel whenever they want? I'm sorry, I wasn't aware that I was put on this earth purely for your entertainment and if you're going to assume the right to paw at me like I'm a piece of fucking meat, then I should at least walk out the door with some cash.

I didn't storm out immediately, no I was hoping he'd man up and apologize for taking liberties he had not been given, but of course that never happened.

"Where are you going? Don't leave."

Fuck this, I'm going home.

He's either a complete fucking asshole or a complete fucking dumbass. Either way, I haven't quite figured out how I'm supposed to be okay with it.

a change in the pattern

2008-05-20T12:59:00.002-04:00

I've always been a music lover.

I love most any kind of music that stirs the soul — anything that resonates with something deep inside of me.

It seems as though most of my life has been played out with a soundtrack in the background. When I was a child, it was Elton John, Bad Company and Jimi Hendrix. As a teenager, my world was filled with Led Zeppelin, Metallica, Soul Asylum, Smashing Pumpkins and Pink Floyd. During my first marriage and around the birth of my son, there were a few more added — Counting Crows, Nirvana, Pearl Jam, Sarah McLachlan, Mad Season, Tracy Chapman and Dr. Hook. Once my husband died I added some Godsmack, Red Hot Chili Peppers, Korn and Limp Bizkit. In recent years I've branched out to include various country songs along with a hodge podge of folks including Zakk Wylde, Ray LaMontagne, Morphine, Jack Johnson, etc. etc. etc.

Yet these days I seem to prefer silence. It's all a distraction now, so many memories entwined with each song. The notes open the floodgates so I pause the iTunes, turn off the radio and sit in silence...the echo of those songs and the memories they envoke, insisting on cluttering my mind.

told ya so!

2008-05-17T10:35:00.002-04:00

I always knew it was unhealthy to suck it up and smile in the face of assholes...now it's been scientifically proven. Read the story here.

But how does that fit into the whole "turn the other cheek" line of thought?

so close...

2008-05-17T10:29:00.004-04:00

So it occurred to me last night, as I was tossing and turning in bed trying to sleep that there is nothing but my own laziness, bitchiness and lack of motivation that keeps me from being the kind of wife I'd like to be.

Then I remembered that I WAS that wife in the beginning. Right up until I realized that, at least in my current situation, it wasn't very rewarding. Shit.