In My Head

THREADS

2012-01-16T15:36:00.006-05:00

Every time we lose someone, whether it is through death, disagreement, or otherwise, a thread comes loose from the fabric of our lives. Sometimes it’s a small thread. We patch it up and go on. Other times it’s a larger thread and the whole fabric feels different for a while – more slack and thus, more fragile. If too many come loose in a short period of time, we find ourselves slipping apart and struggling to regain the tension that makes our fabric / life work. It’s a strange thing. Worst of all is when a central thread is taken, like a mother, father, child, sibling or close family member. Now the fabric has changed, irreparably it seems at the time, and we have to figure out how to proceed.

I lost my Aunt Kathleen whose namesake I am - my mother’s older sister. I’ve loved her dearly since I was a very small child. She lived in Scotland where the family was born and raised and where all of my mother's family was during my childhood. I haven’t spent a lot of time with her. She’s been to the states maybe 5 or 6 times. I’ve been to Scotland two times up until now. But she always kept in touch, always made me feel special and like I was part of her family. As a child, whenever she’d leave to go back to Scotland, or when I’d leave Scotland with my mother to come home, I’d cry hysterically, devastated at the looming separation. I think that baffled both my aunt and my mother.

When my mother was dying, I spoke with Aunty Kathleen almost daily. In the past 7 years since mom’s death, I’ve spoken with her nearly every month. Knowing she was there offered a bit of my mother…and a family to which I belonged. She died suddenly from a fall a few weeks ago at the age of 88, still healthy and vibrant.

I flew to Scotland for her funeral the first week of December and was so thankful I was able to go. But I’m home now and suddenly realizing the loss. A very big thread for so many reasons and I’m keenly aware of the slack in my fabric.

Being in Scotland, the place where she lived – the place of my mother’s birth and the place where most of her family still dwells was an enormous experience. I was there only 5 days but in that small space and time, I was a part of a family – a thread in the fabric, experiencing each moment with my cousins and family friends. It was a feeling and experience that I’ve longed for – I think for most of my life. I feel homesick for Scotland and for my cousins whom I barely know. And I understand that if I went back in 6 months or next year, it would be different - everyone has their own lives to attend to. Those 5 days were special because we were enmeshed with the glue that was our love and respect for our dear aunt and we shared that time together to honor her and remember how special she was in each of our lives. It bound us together as a family and was, at least for me, a very precious time. She would have been so pleased.

As for me, I will keep in touch with my dear Scottish family always. And someday, I’ll go back again. In the meantime, I will pull taut the fabric of my life, remembering where and from whom I’ve come.

GHOSTS APPEAR

2011-10-30T11:31:00.007-04:00

I keep going back,
searching, looking….for something I can’t find.
Nothing but an empty field now,
outlined by brand new curbs
a framework of what once was.

The street that once claimed 100 homes -
a community diverse – Italian, Polish, African American, Mexican, Irish;
different accents, faint voices – now long gone;
grandparents now settled in their graves,
kids grown and off to new spaces.

I keep going back...
gazing at the spot where the childhood home stood,
nothing reminiscent of my time there save an old tree or two.
The carcass of a school playground and
the old church at the corner
the remaining vestiges
of childhood play.
Still I see everything,
silhouettes that materialize for a moment
evaporating before I get too close -
achingly near, but just out of reach.

I keep going back,
bits and pieces of the past...
Mr. Scavone's pigeons
whose ancestors search for bread
now at new locales.
Elderly crone, the old lady Woods,
neighborhood witch,
taunted by merry pranksters
secretly afraid,
now haunts only in memories
of the aging adult child.

I keep going back
as if I’ll find it this time -
this thing I cannot name
that haunts me with promises
of a rendezvous that can’t occur…
striving to find moments long past
or perhaps,
just something or someone to remember me back…

Still I go back time and again,
searching the unsearchable,
leaving empty, unfulfilled.
Looking for something I’ll never find
except in transient moments in my head.

Ghosts appear and fade away….

THINGS THAT ARE

2011-10-12T17:24:00.005-04:00

If you’re human, every so often a realization hits you or your paradigm gets shifted. It happens when a small fissure of light cracks the through a hard surface where a new truth dwells. When it occurs you have a choice – a split second where you can choose to freefall into that light and explore the new knowledge or rapidly blink it away and then it’s gone. Nothing has changed and you’re none the worse...or so you think.

I believe it happens time and again to most of us. Often we avoid the tiny splinter of light because somehow we know it will change us and that can be scary. And it’s a lot of work too. We have to examine it and try it on. It may feel tight and restrictive or it may not fit well with the rest of our intellectual wardrobe. So we let it go and assume that we know enough of the truth to get by.

As for me, at times I have boldly stepped through and looked at the “thing that is” squarely and honestly and have acknowledged it, allowing the restructure of my perceptions. It can hurt a bit at first. And it’s troublesome, illuminating new reality and shining light on the other pieces of my paradigm that are skewed and need to be modified.

Still, other times I’ve blinked my eyes back into focus on what I already know and believe. I’m comfortable with it and I don’t want the disruption to my reality - one that already sounds good in my head. So sadly, for that time being, it’s gone.

I like to think that I am more the freefall type at least most of the time. I like to think that I become more so as time goes on in my life. I’m open, involved, free-thinking, passionate and compassionate. Yet I’m amazed with the realization that occasionally, I still do the psychological two-step with my rational mind, hanging on to obtuse beliefs and feel-good philosophies regarding peace, love and the brotherhood of man.

I'm not saying that the idea of peace and brotherhood are foolish notions -rather, and obviously, that they are not easily achieved. They require hard work and commitment on the part of men, religions and governments. In the smaller spectrum, they entail listening to others and opening oneself up to different realities. They involve letting go of everything you think you know to look at reality through another’s eyes. Most of all, they require plummeting in to the light of truth when it presents itself and exploring with candor and courage the things that are.

CRITICAL MASS

2011-08-21T19:00:00.004-04:00

I'm tired of critical people.

You know the ones.

They disapprove of your lifestyle,

spiritual choices or seeming lack thereof,

political tendencies

and maybe even the way you speak, act and look.

If they don't agree with you,
they tune you out
then talk about you behind your back.
Anything you do
and any change you make in your life
is suspect in their eyes.

They don't understand you and make no attempt to try.
You're wierd, deceived
phony, crazy, angry or bitchy.
You're not enough of this and you're too much of that
and they let you know you've become unacceptable
in subtle and passive aggresive ways,
all the while wearing their bright white facades.

I'm tired of critical people -
Those with whom I'm unable to be myself.
Those who for a moment cause me to doubt myself
and seeing myself through their eyes,
believe I'm unacceptable.

I'm tired of critical people
who claim to have all of the truth
tied in a neat package with a bow,
who don't need to know even one more thing -
so complete is their truth.
Who stand in judgement of every one
with whom they disagree;
Who cannot sacrifice themselves
for a bit of kindness for an idea, thought or person
that is different from them.

I'm tired of critical people
who cannot open their eyes, hearts or minds.
Who can't concieve of things being different
than what they see right now.
Who can't accept those that are different
in any way from what they consider the norm.

I'm tired of critical people
whose critical natures are self-sustaining
and perpetrate more and more negative energy
among themselves and their kind.

I'm tired of allowing critical people

inside my head...

to make me critical

of myself and of them.

SLEEP STUDY, WHAT?

2011-08-04T18:52:00.001-04:00

I'm going for a sleep study tonight. That's where someone I do not not know studies me - sleeping...kind of.

It's my second one. I had my first one about six years ago. At the time, I was constantly exhausted. I couldn't drive in the car for more than half an hour without feeling like dozing. My eyelids were a light purple color - very attractive.

My husband had noticed my sleep apnea long ago. He said that sometimes I would quit breathing for close to a minute which of course alarmed him to no end. Finally, when I got sick of being tired and tired of listening to him and my doctor go on about my sleep issues, I agreed to go for the study.

It was weird. They hook you up all over the place. I mean your head, face, arms, legs and chest. Then, about the time you feel really uncomfortable, they tell you you can go to sleep when you're ready.

Ready?.....I have wires all over me stuck to my body with sticky goop that will probably never come off. A complete and total stranger is sitting in another room monitoring my snoring and sputtering and eyelid movement the entire night. Sure, no problem. You bet! I can sleep. And I did...sort of. I was told in the morning that my sleep was disturbed 341 times in a six-hour period.

Holy Toledo! No wonder I was so tired. So they fix you up with a C-pap - a machine that forces air into your nose and prevents the soft tissue in your throat from closing. And it works! It has done wonders for me.

So, that's what I'm doing tonight. I guess you're supposed to have the study redone every two years or so in case the air pressure in your C-pap needs to be adjusted. Or, if you really need a night of discomfort and self-consciousness. And really, who doesn't?

Truthfully, I will say that if you have sleep apnea, do something about it. Because it's dangerous for one thing. And you'll realize that you felt like shit for years without even knowing it. And then you'll feel so much better you'll be like "wow, how did I function before C-pap?"

My evening of torture begins at 8:00 pm. I'll be outa there by 5:30 am. Piece of cake!

"BIRDIES" For Abby

2011-07-26T11:55:00.002-04:00

Our little Abby loves when we sing to her. And she likes to sing herself, but she's a little shy. I go through a whole repetoire of songs when she's at my house. I made this one up on Saturday morning. She had me sing it at least 12 times. It was a hit! Who knew I had such talent?

I love being a grandma!

Birdies fly high....high in the sky,

They use their wings to fly, fly, fly.

Birdies fly high....high in the sky,

They use their wings to fly, fly, fly.

Birdies in trees, say tweet tweet.

They're looking for buggies to eat, eat, eat.

Birdies in trees, say tweet tweet.

They watch for good buggies to eat, eat, eat.

GUILT TRIP

2011-07-02T18:17:00.007-04:00

Ring….ring…. Good afternoon! Queen of guilt trips speaking. Our special today includes our sizzling crispy guilt-trip burger with a side of our seasoned curly guilt fries and a large ice cold I told you so. Can I take your order?

I’ve been told recently by someone close that I’m the queen of guilt trips. This was quite a slap in the face to me.

My mama was the Irish version of a Jewish mother when it came to guilt-trips. She was a handful - long story.

Anyway, I’ve made it my mission in the last 15 years or so to avoid making people, especially my children, feel bound by guilt. I often think I go overboard and forgo saying things when they need to be said out of fear that I will cause guilt or shame. But I also think that like everyone, I may do some things without even realizing it. I don't want to be the "you neva caull me" mother.

So, I’m bummed. I didn’t see that coming.

Oy vey, they think I'm meshuganah! Now I've got shpilkes in the Geneckteckessoink and I'm feeling verklempt…

MA WEE MAMMY

2011-06-21T17:46:00.003-04:00

My mammy was born in Scotland but we're Irish by ancestry. My grandparents both moved from Ireland to Scotland and raised their family there.

The Scottish have a brilliant way with words. It was never dull at "oor hoose." These are some of the sayings I grew up with (said with a thick Scottish accent):

If you die wi a face like that, no one'll wash it.

Someone just walked over ma grave.

Look at you, hanging around like a knotless thread!

I feel like the wreck o' the Hesparus.

Quite yer greitin! (crying)

If you cry on yer birthday, you'll be cryin' all year.

If he was chocolate, he'd eat himself!

Quit yer blethering.

Och, yer a good wee girl!

Och, yer a cheeky wee bitch.

Och, ya wee bugger

You're daft!

You'll have a sore bahooky if ye don't stop.

Wash yer oaksters (armpits).

Och, yer a lovely wee lassie.

I miss ma mammy...

I'm goin' hame.

Oh, Jesus, Mary and Joseph!

BITCH SLAP

2011-06-14T22:19:00.004-04:00

Everyone needs to vent. We all need to bitch once in a while...true story. But people don't like it when you say what you're really thinking; when you talk about all the crazy, or not...stuff that's in your head. And they'll criticize you for it. And they'll talk about you. And they'll BITCH about you.

Well, this is my bitching spot where I have the freedom to ruminate, postulate, protest, hypothesize, philosophize, and just plain bitch.

Just sayin'

MOTHER TERESA WOULD JUST MAKE THE DAMN COFFEE

2011-05-20T12:09:00.016-04:00

At work this morning I was performing my morning ritual of “making the coffee” as I do every day because…that’ my job. This ritual generally includes a plastic secretary smile that belies the chronic and unceasing complaining that is going on in my head every day at this time about my low status in the corporate universe along one or more of the following lines:

Glad I spent all that money which I’m still paying back on a master’s degree.
Sob's can’t make a pot of coffee?
Why does God/universe hate me?
Karma?
Job titles: plumber, maid, hostess and office manager and that's just at work– don’t ask.
Various and sundry other grievances regarding my current work life.

But while I was driving to work I was thinking about peace, love and the brotherhood of man. No really.

I’ve been reading this book by Pema Chodron called “Taking the Leap” in which she discusses various eastern and Buddhist practices toward becoming a better person. One of the practices is called Tonglen, which serves to help one reduce selfish attachment and promote the development and expansion of loving kindness toward all beings.

For example, when you look at say, a homeless or mentally ill person on the street, or anyone whose gaze you may evade in order to escape the reaction or feeling they evoke in you; with Tonglen, you would instead breathe in and confront that feeling or emotion and breathe out goodwill and kindness and the wish for comfort in that person's life. You are confronting the feeling that makes you uncomfortable. That's my very simple version of Tonglen - it's really way much more than that, but it's first dealing with your own reaction to discomfort, then projecting goodness on to the individual you would otherwise have avoided.

Today when I was contemplating Tonglen, I thought it must be much like the way Mother Teresa thought. I think she put herself in the shoes of the people she served – actually becoming one of them so she could minister and serve them with true compassion.

This morning while I was performing my internal bitching session in concert with coffee-making it occurred to me - Ugh! Mother Teresa would just make the damn coffee!

So, if I can't overlook something so silly as a bit of ingrained sexism in the office how will I ever truly be the kind of person I want to be - kind, compassionate and loving. It's really all about just getting over yourself.

Well, anyway, I never said I was Mother Teresa. I made the coffee but I've got to keep working on that attitude.

IMAGINE

2011-05-15T18:41:00.005-04:00

We are a species filled with imagination, resourcefulness and creativity. We create from what we envision.

We're sometimes gullible. We can believe in almost anything. Different groups, different beliefs - we place our trust in the government, USDA, FDA,
EPA and the AMA, just to name a few. We believe in faith healers, televangelists, psychics and mediums.

Some believe in a "rapture" wherein everyone who is a true "believer" is one day caught up into the heavens to be with God, or that Jesus Christ is coming back on a white horse. Others believe in 7 virgins for every martyr for their cause.

We swallow info on every fad diet that comes down the pike. We'll try every miracle vitamin product, wrinkle cream and exercise dodad that finds its way to the market. We're gullible man!

And yet, we pray for peace and promote war. Imagination run amuck. That's not right. Why can't we create peace....imagine oneness....the brotherhood of man...non-violence.

Well, I think that this is the side God's on........see below.

Imagine there's no Heaven
It's easy if you try
No hell below us
Above us only sky
Imagine all the people
Living for today

Imagine there's no countries
It isn't hard to do
Nothing to kill or die for
And no religion too
Imagine all the people
Living life in peace

You may say that I'm a dreamer
But I'm not the only one
I hope someday you'll join us
And the world will be as one

Imagine no possessions
I wonder if you can
No need for greed or hunger
A brotherhood of man
Imagine all the people
Sharing all the world

You may say that I'm a dreamer
But I'm not the only one
I hope someday you'll join us
And the world will live as one

~JOHN LENNON

MAMA

2011-05-09T20:45:00.002-04:00

Tomorrow is Mother's Day. I will be celebrating with my two children at my son-in-law's mother's home and I'm looking forward to it.

I haven't always looked forward to Mother's day. I didn't always have the best relationship with my own mother, although I loved her dearly. Somehow, that put a crimp in our celebrations - at least on my part. I was always hyper vigilant that nothing was said that could somehow be turned against me at a later date because that was mom's forte. I also felt guilty about my own mothering skills as my children grew up. Mother's day just reminded me of how unworthy I was compared to most of the other mothers I knew back when I was struggling to raise my own.

Now I realize how wasteful that kind of thinking is. My mom died on May 10, 2004, the day after Mother's Day. She was ill - her heart was failing and she was suffering from dementia and living at our home when she died. She knew who we were but didn't always know where she was. As the dementia progressed, she became very quiet, docile and passive - a shell of the person she had been. She stayed in bed more and more each day. She ate very little - mostly just tea and toast. She watched a little bit of TV but slept most of the time.

I took care of my mom, especially during that last year when she lived with us. But somehow, I still managed to avoid her. Not that I didn't see her daily - I can't really explain it. We had someone come in during the day to take care of her while we were at work but I was there every night. I did what had to be done but managed to keep a solid distance between us - I guess emotionally. I was incredibly uncomfortable and I think, a little cold sometimes. I guess I was protecting myself.

On our last Mother's Day celebration, she did not even get up to eat with us. I brought her a small plate of food in her room and she ate very little. Later, we all had dessert and tea in her room with her while she opened her presents. There was lots of talking and laughing and she really seemed to enjoy herself. It was very sweet.

I wish I could have that day back again. Knowing what I know now, I would do things differently. I would spend the entire day in her room with the windows open and curtains blowing in the breeze. I would watch TV with her and hold her hand. I would talk to her and ask her to reminisce about her family and childhood. I'd let go of all the unspoken stuff that stood between us and I would tell her all of the great things I remember about her.

Like my memory of walking down the street with her eating an ice-cream cone at the age of 4 or 5 on a warm summer's day. I dropped my cone on the sidewalk and it landed upside down on the ice cream. I started crying and mom, cool as a cucumber, told me not to cry, picked up the cone and wiped it on the front of her shirt so I could eat it. I was seriously in awe. She was my hero. I can still remember to this day the admiration I felt for her that moment.

I'd talk about her kelly green wool dress and her kelly green fur hat that she donned every St. Patrick's day when she went out to celebrate with her friends. She always looked so awesome in that get-up and she loved to celebrate our Irish ancestry. She was quite the party girl in her day.

I'd remind her of how she always brought me a box of Milk Duds when she was at the movies with friends.

I'd tell her of how much fun she was when I was small and all the little things she did to make me laugh. I'd tell her she was the best grandmother to my children that anyone could have hoped for and that I learned to be a good grandmother from her.

I'd let her know that I was so thankful for all the times she helped me when times were hard and I'd tell her how much I loved her in spite of the emotional distance that grew between us over the years.

It's kind of a shame - so many things left unsaid that were clouded over by hurt feelings and mistrust. And what was I protecting myself from anyway? Sigh... just a plain waste of precious time.

It's said that "hindsight is 20/20." In my experience, that's very true.

So, these days I try very hard to make sure that my relationship with my grown children is solid and filled with love and trust. I don't want them to go through the same kind of sadness and loss when it's my time to go and I don't want anything left unsaid. That's where the greatest loss is and it can be avoided.

I'm not terribly sad anymore though. Mom knew that I loved her. We always kissed and hugged every time we saw each other. And we always said I love you. I have some great memories of her. I only wish I'd shown her more.

I love you mom.

SABOTEUR

2011-05-06T18:56:00.004-04:00

I’m forever sabotaging myself. I don’t like to admit it – but it’s true. And it’s not because I want to. Why on earth would a person do that to themselves? Yet, here we are.

Yesterday I realized that I feel like my life is out of control. Not just because I ate two candy bars and the last piece of angel food roll that I didn’t really like anyway. And not just because I’m always so squeezed for time and our finances are extremely tight.

These are just a few things, most of which by themselves would not be a big deal, but combined with a list of other trials, tribulations and missteps, become one big time-bomb ready to go off.

It doesn’t have to be that way. I heard a phrase last week that really stuck with me. “Be the captain of your own vessel.” I haven’t been doing that and I think that’s odd for me because I have long been a strong personality. As a younger person, when I wanted to do something I found a way to do it - come “hell or high water” as the saying goes. But these past few years - not so much.

I’ve been feeling tired and a little beat down by life circumstances and I’m not bouncing back like I used to. I’ve gained weight and bought myself a few health problems with it. I won’t go into the details but for cryin’ out loud – no one is forcing that shit down my throat.

I think sometimes that we act out because we’re not getting what we need. Generally, at least for me, it’s something that I won’t allow myself to have. I really don’t take much time for me. It’s not because I’m an unselfish giving person either. Rather, it’s more the ultimate selfishness. Trying to be all things to all people…trying to make everything all better for someone I love – kind of like the great and powerful OZ on the beloved classic, The Wizard of Oz. “Pay no attention to that man (woman) behind the curtain.” The façade starts falling apart while I try to keep it together, all the while acting like nothing's wrong.

I let this stuff into my head – I live with it and as a result, I act out. For example, I sabotage my diet almost every day and on bad days, I really go to town like the candy bars and cake incident yesterday. I tell myself every day that I’m going to start exercising but then put it off until tomorrow. I lament about my job situation but for all intents and purposes have stopped trying to change it. Tiresome.

Seeing this in writing kind of pummels my self-image. But that’s okay because I’ve been actively assaulting it anyway.

I spent some time thinking about it today and I’ve realized that we get into these mental predicaments and often are not even conscious of what we’re doing to ourselves.

So today, I have decided to become the captain of my own vessel again. I’m refraining from my attempts to take over other people’s vessels. Instead, I’ll allow them the dignity of steering their own. I’m determined to remind myself of the stamina, gumption and strength that I always had in the past and I’m going to reclaim it. I’m making a plan for my:

Health
Mental state
Spiritual state
Financial state
State of relationships

Today I set sail.

PRETENSE I - THE NATURE OF THE BEAST

2011-03-07T18:07:00.003-05:00

I wrote this in the hospital two weeks ago. It took some time to convince myself to post it.....

“The conflict, the craziness and the sound of pretenses falling all around.”

02/23/2011 - Day 2 – hospital:

Today I’m in the hospital; the result of an “episode” yesterday at work. While reviewing coverage for insurance quotes for a new prospect I began to have trouble finding my words. The result was a halting and almost stuttering monologue that both alarmed and embarrassed me. I knew what I wanted to say but had trouble getting the words out. It felt like what I imagine a seizure feels like.

The prospect, a long-winded gentleman, didn’t seem to notice unless he was just being nice. The problem lasted for 10 to 15 minutes out of the 40 minute conversation. I lost my focus and was completely unnerved by the time I got off the phone. My co-workers convinced me to go to the ER and I was admitted on Tuesday (yesterday) afternoon.

This is a relatively new situation for me. I am usually on the other side of the gurney/hospital bed. In the last decade I’ve seen my mom in and out of the hospital times too numerous to mention; and finally moving into our home where she spent her last days with us. In the past 4 years, my son, daughter and husband have all been through hospitalizations for some pretty serious health matters. As for me, except for a small emergency appendectomy and overnight stay, I have remained hospital free – the witness, caretaker and hovering protector of the others.

02/24/2011 - 1 Day Later:

“Do I wear you out? You must wonder why I'm relentless and all strung out - I'm consumed by the chill of solitary.”

I’m really not sure what to make of all this. I don’t feel old enough to be on blood thinners. I feel way too “healthy” or at least too darn good to be lying in a hospital bed and yet…here I am.

I’m waiting for the results of what I hope is my final test, the MRI. This is the one that will determine whether I had a stroke, proper. If it was just a Transient Ischemic Attack (TIA), and I suspect it is, it will probably not show and I will probably be able to go home today. The scary part is that a TIA is considered a warning stroke and 10 to 20 percent of people who have a TIA, go on to have a major stroke within 3 to 6 months so there are risk factors I must address. Still, I want to go home.

3 ½ hours later:
“I don't want to dissect everything today. I don't mean to pick (it) apart you see but I can't help it.”

No results yet – just plenty of time to think. I've discovered a dilemma: I want to be “all clear” and yet, if I am, then what happened to me on Tuesday? Will everyone at work think I’m nuts? If they do, does it matter?

Answer: Hell yes it matters because then I’ll wonder if they’re right. But, since when do I care what others think? I suppose in truth, I've always cared – especially in the past; in fact, way more than I should have. But in recent years I have been developing the freedom of not caring and I'm getting there....I think. It is an amazing feeling if properly maintained. However, I do value my integrity (totally overused word) – and my belief in myself and I guess I sort of fear for that. Will the looks on their faces combined with my imagination cause me to lose faith in me – in my own strength? Sad, that…..I’ve been told I’m diabetic and may be prone to stroke but I’m worrying about my image….ghaaaaa! Pretense.

12:30 PM - Ordered lunch

“And all I really want is some patience - a way to calm the angry voice.
And all I really want is deliverance.”

I guess this is one of those “where the rubber meets the road" sort of deals. I’m feeling vulnerable I guess. I don't like that. Well, and I am vulnerable, and we are all vulnerable to some extent - but mostly, I just loathe showing it and feeling it, and being it. Shut up! No, you shut up! Sigh...these two aren't getting along...

“The conflict, the craziness, and the sound of pretenses falling all around.”

Let me be clear (nod to Barak)... I don’t want to be sick - no one does. And I do want to know what happened on Tuesday - truly I do. I mean really, we’re only vulnerable when we don’t know what’s going on right? Once we find out, we can set a course of action.

1:20 PM

“And I am frightened by the corrupted ways of this land - If only I could meet the maker. And I am fascinated by the spiritual man - I am humbled by his humble nature.”

I had lunch but I can’t really say I enjoyed it or even tasted it. Anxiety has set in. What a drama queen! I’m going home today! Oh and by the way, I am spiritual! Just not religious.

2:00 PM

"Why are (we) so petrified of silence?
Here can you handle this? SILENCE……
Did you think about you bills, your ex, your deadlines,
Or when you think you're going to die?
Or did you long for the next distraction?”

I called the nurse to see if she has heard anything about the test results. I'm a pest.

3:00 PM

I called the nurse to see if she has heard anything about the test results. Yep, I've alienated my nurse now.

4:30 PM

I called the nurse to see if she can call the doctor or neurologist to see about the test results.

5:00 PM

Cathleen, the stroke coordinator came in to tell me she looked at the MRI results and they are good but she’s telling me off the record because she is a nurse and not a radiologist. She will try to expedite the doctor's decision about letting me leave if she can.

6:00 PM

I called the doctor’s office and it is closed so I called the nurse and asked her to page the doctor and neurologist about the test results and to see if I can go home. I'm really not a good patient. The nurse is giving me dirty looks now. She has people who are really sick to take care of.

7:15 PM

Dr. Montpetit finally gave in and sent the discharge orders - he wanted the neurologist to discharge me but he never responded. I am on aspirin therapy and have been diagnosed with TIA aphasia. I have a list of directions to follow but I’m going home baby!

7:30 PM

"And all I really want is some peace man,
a place to find a common ground.
And all I really want is a wavelength.
All I really want is some comfort -
A way to get my hands untied.
And all I really want is some justice..."

I walk out of the hospital on my own and drive myself home. I’m back folks – fully in control; all vulnerabilities tucked safely away for the moment; pretenses strung around my neck like a pearl necklace. I’m back.

But enough about me.......

Quotes from the song "All I Really Want." ~Alanis Morrissette

REALITY BITES

2011-02-12T21:45:00.000-05:00

I recently experienced something that no mother should ever have to go through. Last Friday, I went to pick my son up for work and found him unresponsive and not breathing. His feet and hands were blue, his lips were black and his face was a mottled purple. He had fallen in his bathroom and his head and neck were wedged against the wall with his head pushed forward on to his chest. At first look, I was sure he was dead but when I touched him, he was warm so I was hopeful. I called 911 and waited with the dispatcher on the phone for someone to arrive. I was fighting hysteria and running back and forth from the front door to the bathroom begging the dispatcher to make them get there sooner. After what seemed like an eternity, but was probably 6 minutes at the most, the dispatcher told me to go outside and flag down the police car that was just pulling into the apartment complex. This would prove to be the last time I was permitted to be in the apartment for awhile.

My son overdosed on heroin. He has suffered from heroin addiction for some time but has been clean for 3 years. During the 2 weeks preceding this event I knew something was wrong and had confronted him about it. Despite his protests and typical “you’re crazy” allegations, I knew. I have always been intuitive where my children are concerned and with my son, my intuition borders on paranormal. I have amazed my husband many times with the uncanny accuracy of my instincts and my son even more.

I cannot tell you the terror of those moments in time. The word terror doesn’t do them justice. All I can tell you is that in those moments, I saw my boy’s life from birth to that moment and I wanted to somehow capture it - them. I wanted to hold that baby and keep him safe in my arms. I wanted to hold his bicycle seat on his first two wheeler a little bit longer. I wanted to somehow capture the instant where everything went wrong and sent him down this sorrowful path. But I couldn’t – each lightning image, feeling, and word slipped away almost the moment they appeared. I feared he would slip away with them. I felt a large part of me would die as well.

And that’s life….the intangibles that we take so for granted. We spend most of our lives asleep – not living in the moment, savoring what is right now. I’m the queen of sleepwalking; of being so busy with what I have to do later, tomorrow, next week or next year. Thinking about every moment except the one I’m in. How much did I miss of my son’s living breathing moments being distracted and not present. Oh God.

My son has survived this onslaught from darkness. He’s alive and out of the hospital and my gratitude knows no bounds. And each moment that I spend with him now reminds me of how fragile this life can be, and how tenuous our hold on the present really is.

My son is pursuing recovery through an immediate available resource but my hope and prayer is that he will also seek counseling and strength through support of sponsors and groups that deal with addiction and on whom he can draw when reality bites.

And as for me; I have been reminded yet again how powerful our own self-deception can be and how easily we can let what is truly important slip away while we busy our mind with trivia and events that may never happen.

I cannot control my son or make his decisions for him, nor can I change my past or his. But I can be here, awake and now in each moment; present to my family and friends that I love so much. There is no time to waste and no guarantees. What we have is the moment we are in. It is time to awaken.

“Often it takes some calamity to make us live in the present. Then suddenly we wake up and see all the mistakes we have made.” ~Bill Watterson

CHANGES

2010-12-16T20:57:00.003-05:00

Tim and I recently made a substantial life change. We switched to a vegan diet. We have given up all meat, poultry and fish as well as any dairy products derived from animals. This has come as a surprise to our children and I’m convinced that the rest of our family will be astounded as well. I’m a little surprised myself. I have toyed with vegetarianism on and off throughout my life. I have never liked the thought of eating other creatures, especially furry, warm blooded ones with two eyes – and a mom. But Tim….let’s just say, his nickname is Sausage Boy. Over time, through conversations, health issues, and changes in perspective, we decided together to make the switch. Anyway, it’s been about ten weeks now and all is well. But that’s not really what this post is about. I want to talk about change.

I recently had a phone conversation with an old friend - one with whom I have had very infrequent contact over the past many years. Although our conversation was brief, I discovered that he was experiencing some unpleasant life circumstances. While we didn’t get into much detail, I did express my concern and hopes for a positive outcome for him. His response was brief and to the point. He said that he “couldn’t change after all these years.”

I haven't been able to get that statement out of my head. I realize that overall, we are creatures of habit. We have our comfort zones and often loathe the thought of stepping outside of them. Sometimes, that’s me. But I think most often, I invite change. I’ve been changing most of my life. In fact, over the last decade or more, I’ve come to regard change as something that is essential to me. I’ve always liked sticking my toe outside of the circle and it seems the older I get, the more I’m inclined to do so. Sometimes it’s a toe; other times a foot, and on some occasions, a full body jump. Perhaps it’s my bid to stay young and relevant, at least in my own mind. Or maybe it’s a survival technique or just my nature - I’ve always been a bit of a rebel.

Still, I wonder what causes us to lose our flexibility and become stiff, dry and afraid; closed to new ideas and fearfully fighting to preserve what we have become comfortable with, regardless of truth or consequences. My initial guess is the f word - FEAR. When you’re young - well at least, when I was young, I didn’t really know the meaning of fear. I was naïve, stupid and pretty certain I was invincible. It was either dumb luck, the grace of God, or both that I survived. As I matured, I settled down a little, but never found my niche.

It seems that the older we get, the more we need absolutes – things we can count on and believe in. And God help anyone who tries to shift our paradigm. I recognize that in myself occasionally and when I do, I resist it. I don’t want to get stuck in the quicksand of old age that can’t see past what has already been established and holds it in a death grip. I saw it happen to my mother and step-dad as they aged and I made a mental note to do everything in my power to remain flexible. In fact, sometimes they would make statements like; "call these the golden years? What a crock!" in their old persons voices. Sometimes I hear that voice developing in me. I put on the brakes.

Our world doesn’t make it easy to keep the fresh idealism of youth, but the truth is that the universe and everything in it is in a constant state of change. And so are we - from birth to death, whether we want to be or not. Conceivably, that is why humans, especially as they age, hang on so tight to the paradigms they have embraced. It gives them a sense of control. But it's an illusion. There is no freedom in it because it is actually just fear.

These days my tendency toward change is more mature and viable and I’m pretty comfortable with it. I’ve been experiencing an inner revolution in my search for truth and I like it. I think embracing change, seeking truth and being ready to acknowledge that which is unorthodox is the answer to keeping the mind and outlook fresh and ushering true peace into our lives.

Anyway, I think about what my friend said and hope that his eyes and heart open. If something isn’t working and we want it to work, we have to change our approach within and without – to revolutionize our thinking and commit to change whenever and in whatever way necessary. It’s natural and much better than the alternative.

Anyone can create change.

"I watch the ripples change their size
But never leave the stream
Of warm impermanence,
and so the days float through my eyes
But still the days seem the same.
And these children that you spit on
As they try to change their worlds
Are immune to your consultations.
They're quite aware
of what they're going through."

~David Bowie - "Changes"

BADGE

2010-10-25T21:37:00.002-04:00

What’s your badge? Policemen and firemen wear them. Girl scouts and boy scouts wear them. What are they? Badges are things we wear or display to say who we are or what we believe. People wear badges of all sorts these days. Some have bumper stickers on their cars. Others wear t-shirts or hats that declare their mind. Still others wear permanent badges on their bodies in the form of tattoos. It seems that many people today, at least in our American society, want everyone else to know what they stand for, what they think and what they believe no matter how absurd. Because, it’s all about them I guess.

I have always frowned upon bumper stickers. Have you ever seen the vehicle with five or more bedecking the bumper, windows and trunk? They may be political messages, funny sayings, quotes or insults to the driver behind them. They may talk about their kids or spouse or have an image of a little guy peeing on….I don’t know…something. I never got that one. What I think when I see a vehicle like that is that I have easily discovered way more about the owner of that vehicle than I ever wanted to know. And I don’t want to be friends. They have put a piece of their mind on their vehicle and I fear they’ll have none left. Ouch!

But now let’s talk about me. Heh, heh, apparently I’m a bit judgmental. But, I don’t allow bumper stickers on my car and I don’t get tattoos. I don’t put signs on my lawn and my t-shirts are pretty generic. I’m by and large fairly understated and therefore have viewed myself as kind of underground in a manner of speaking.

Not so… Interestingly (to me) it turns out that I have a badge as well - and no one is more surprised than I. It’s not something that I wear or drive around in but it’s out there for everyone to see. I wear my badge on Facebook. I really didn’t become conscious of that until recently. To me, I’m Kathy - a spiritual but not religious person with liberal tendencies and strong feelings on injustice and oppression who has worked as an activist for a few different organizations and has made no secret of her radical tendencies, in particular, on Facebook.

I don’t think that’s necessarily wrong. Facebook is a social forum and as such, should be open to discussion and intelligent conversation among those who care to confer about political, social, spiritual and community issues if they so choose, and to those who just want to keep in touch and have fun. Both are acceptable I think. But Facebook is just sound bites. It is a great medium in many ways but a long way from reality in others. And I suppose that what bothers me about the wearing of my particular badge is that I am way more than that badge yet somehow, I fear my ego and I have conspired to make it my identity. It is not. I have certainly managed to alienate myself from old friends recently. Not a big surprise – in their world there are some differences that are insurmountable. I have looked at it as their problem. Still, I do seem to push the envelope all too often. Does that make me one of the bumper sticker people? I don’t know. I have some thinking to do…..

30-Day Challenge - Outcome

2010-10-25T07:15:00.000-04:00

Tuesday, October 19th was the final day of my 30-Day Challenge. My goal was no sugar and white flour for 30 days. I did well with no sugar except for one small slip while on vacation. I sincerely forgot and had an ice cream cone. Yes, the ice cream had sugar and the cone did too. Otherwise, no sugar at all.

I didn't have much white flour but found that avoiding it all together was tricky. So, I decided not to beat myself up about it.

On the up side, I did lose a total of 6 pounds and with very little exercise. heh-heh, I think the exercise thing needs a 30-day challenge of its own. Anyway, it's a drop in the bucket so to speak, but still, 6 pounds just from the deletion of one food "staple" is significant.

As a result of my Challenge, I don't seem to crave sugar with the same intensity. I also feel better and have more energy. That's a huge plus and probably my biggest goal of the Challenge.

My intention now is to limit sugar to special occasions. These do not include end of the work day, weekends and pity parties. I'm talking about birthdays, holidays, vacation and the like.

In the end, it's all about choices and choosing the healthy ones. I like that.

DAY 24 - 30-DAY CHALLENGE

2010-10-13T17:19:00.000-04:00

Today is day 24 of the 30-day challenge - no sugar, no white flour, exercise and smaller portions.

Okay, here's the deal.....I have not been faithful to the no white flour, exercise 4 times per week and posting bi-weekly. I have been somewhat faithful to the smaller portions. But the good news is that I have managed to abstain from sugar and for that I am grateful. Baby steps...

I have lost 5 pounds and gained one back, meaning....I really lost 4 pounds. My only excuse is that this week we are on vacation and not eating totally as we would if it were another week: ) However, there has been more exercise this week what with beach walking, town walking and dunes climbing. I attribute this as the reason I only gained one pound back of the 5 lost.

I guess I'm looking at it from the perspective of making small consistent improvements. That, and the benefits wrought so far; I have reduced my sugar cravings considerably. I am much more conscious of the food choices that I make. I actually feel much better without the sugar.

I am limiting white flour but find that sometimes, especially away from home, white flour is hard to avoid. I have had it sparingly. I have had sugar free ice cream and sugar free cookies. I am rethinking that stuff because it is still high in calorie and perpetrates the desire for sweets (although not nearly as bad as sugar does). Plus, I don't think the artificial sweetners are all that great for you.

Anyway, it's a start. I am looking forward to my next challenge......meat and dairy free. Seriously.

DICHOTOMY

2010-10-04T21:32:00.006-04:00

Reading the news this past week brought serious questions to mind. I’ve been thinking about my concept of this country – our country, the United States of America. The most common model portrays a young upstart, revolutionary country. A land of freedom filled with promise. A land pursued by immigrants who paid for freedom with their blood, sweat and tears. It’s a gritty, magnificent supposition - an inspiring story. We love that story and have built our patriotic self-image upon it. But assuming that our concept is subjective as it surely is, there must be an element of fiction to our narrative that we’ve failed to acknowledge. Voices from outside our circle of wagons call out the incongruities but we ignore them.

I’m no different. For most of 50 years I have been inundated with a paradigm of the United States as the “greatest country in the world.” But frankly, these days I’m baffled. I cannot reconcile that which I’ve heard all my life from the reality that I am seeing in our world…our country in particular. I’m referring to the dichotomy between the image of our young, progressive, innovative, forward thinking, tech savvy, cutting edge nation and the “burn them at the stake” mentality that we also espouse. How in the world do we reconcile this? Fact is…we don’t even try. For the most part, we are totally oblivious to it. What’s more, we don’t really want to know. We have our story and have created our collective self-image. Don’t mess with it and don’t mess with us! It’s much easier to spout the platitudes we’ve heard and accepted without question since we were babes. And God help the person that tries.

It’s been said that the truth shall set you free. I believe that statement with all my heart and I’ve been on a quest for the truth for some time now – maybe my whole life. Still, I’m always taken aback when confronted with the seeming hypocrisy of our collective and egoic image of us as a people and nation. I’m just not satisfied anymore with accepting facile narratives of the American way. And what is the American way? It’s a pretty subjective statement don’t you think? Wikipedia describes it thusly: “The American Way is a term for the way of life in the United States.” It “is an expression that refers to the lifestyle of people living in the United States of America. It is an example of a behavioral modality, developed from the 17th century until today. It refers to a nationalist ethos that purports to adhere to principles of "life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness." It has some connection to the concept of American exceptionalism and the American Dream.” And yet, whose way of life is it expressing? Whom does it represent? The homeless and indigent? Which way of life are they referring to?

I’ve been thinking a lot about these issues while grappling with my own beliefs and mores in the last few years. What is unmistakable are the inconsistencies in our shared, and again collective national image. How can something that is broken be repaired if one does not concede that it is broken. How can we be evolving while living in the dark ages?

A few of the issues that got me thinking this week were capital punishment, racism, “don’t ask, don’t tell," and war.

In this past week, a woman was executed in California; the first execution in five years in that state. Not really that unusual unless you consider the barbarism of killing someone as a punishment for crime…in this purported “Christian nation.” Other countries decry our bent on this most extreme of punishments and yet, we continue. What is our reason for this? How do we justify the taking a life? Do we use the Old Testament bible – an eye for an eye? Do we use economics? “It’s too expensive to take care of them for life.” In fact, it’s barbaric, archaic and very sad. There is no peace in it. What is the truth about this behavior? Why do we continue to do it?

Here’s an article you might want to read from Miami Herald journalist Leonard Pitts – Take an eye opening ride on the racial profiling Turnpike. He is reviewing a book authored by Joseph Collum about racial profiling in America – one small demographic and human selection of America specifically. It’s an appalling look at a sad reality for many people of color today . http://www.freep.com/article/20101001/OPINION05/10010325/1322/Take-an-eye-opening-ride-on-the-Racial-Profiling-Turnpike

But that’s just one little slice of our racist culture. While not as overt as it once was, racism still permeates everything from our socially unjust food system on one end of the spectrum, to the veritably insane reaction to the election of a black president. There are excuses on every end of the spectrum as well. It’s so much easier than facing the truth about ourselves. Bigotry lives large in the United States of America.

This past week the Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell Law repeal failed to get the 60 votes needed in the house for the repeal to go through. This farcical law did nothing for homosexual Americans except allow them to serve in the military under cover. In fact, over 13,000 were kicked out of the military since the law went through. I would say I’m incredulous but this is the same country that still executes criminals. Not only are the civil rights of homosexuals being ignored, they are camouflaging it under the pretense of “preserving the sanctity of marriage. Why? Because it's an abomination before god? Kind of like defending slavery using the bible as was done decades ago using what? the laws in Exodus? People continue to pick and choose what works for their "Christian" agenda. Where is the truth? It’s much easier when something makes you uncomfortable to find a way to justify your reaction to it.

We’ve spent years fighting a war that was based on lies. We’re still in Iraq and in active warfare in Afghanistan. No one talks about the lies anymore. We're fighting a war on terror. Picture Jesus in a helmet and flack jacket carrying an American flag at the front of the battle. That's the basic unspoken but underlying representation of American military action in many circles. A war backed by God. Really? I’m amazed at how our “Christian nation” justifies our imperialistic tendencies. Where is the truth?

We are foaming at the proverbial mouth over illegal immigrants and yet, we are a country of immigrants. We came, we conquered and we exploited the real owners of this country who now live on small parcels of land, impoverished and virtual slaves in the greatest country in the world.

This is just the tip of the iceberg. People are starving to death here in the United States. They are dying for lack of health care. How is this possible?

But that’s not comfortable is it? So, we just fall back on the patriotic jargon that dulls our senses and our hearts.

The American dream…aptly named. Is it possible that we exist in our own fairy tale? I can tell you this; if you’ve been born and bred here, it is a difficult thing to not buy into the rhetoric. It is drummed into you from birth. But, if you look past the patriotic idiom; past the religious oratory; and past the stubborn desire to cling to what may be a dream/fairy tale, you may begin to see truth – if it’s truth you’re looking for. Something needs to change and telling the truth is the only way it will happen. Truth is demanding, but it will set you free.

Food for thought:

“If America wants to stop terrorism, it needs to stop terrorizing the world.” ~Paul J. Balles

"A great many people think they are thinking when they are merely rearranging their prejudices." -- William James

"We do not see things as they are, we see things as we are." - The Talmud

Day 8 - 30-Day Challenge - Small Successes

2010-09-27T13:44:00.003-04:00

I’ feeling kind of confident ~~cocky~~ today. I have lost 2 ½ pounds since day 1 of the 30-day challenge! And this in spite of my digressions from the rules. Woot!

In reality, I know I should lay low on the bravado. I’ve had my weight fluctuate up to 4 pounds in a five day period according to how much salt I put on my, er, broccoli ~~french fries~~, ahem.

All the same, a small success really helps in the motivation department. Plus, I notice the sugar cravings have decreased somewhat – one of the big goals of the challenge. So today is a good day. And it’s Monday!

Day 6 - 30-Day Challenge

2010-09-25T10:55:00.001-04:00

I'm on day 6 of the "30-Day Challenge," which I'm thinking of changing to the 10-Day Challenge or better yet, the 6-Day Challenge. Because I'm a whimp.

Really, the problem is that while I have done very well on the sugar - I've only had a few pieces of 100% whole wheat bread with trace amounts of sugar it it; and not terribly bad on the white flour, I went quite a bit off course yesterday. Our were nephews visiting from up North so we ordered a variety of Thai food to share. I had the brown rice - good choice...but also the noodles - white flour. I also bought a sugar free pie and sugar free ice cream for dessert and of course the pie was made with white flour. But it was a special occasion you see...

On the exercise front - not so good...only twice in the past 6 days. I have to work on that.

I suppose I need to rethink my desired outcomes for this challenge. I want to be healthy, stabilize my blood sugar and get rid of those pesky sugar cravings, but I also want to lose weight. It always comes back to the old, "calories in - calories out" mantra. So, barring the occasional sugar free dessert or Thai dish, it is important to remember that these digressions must be VERY infrequent and in very small amounts.

On a side note; I read this week about how Bill Clinton, after the last time he had a stent put in his heart, changed to a primarily plant-based diet with no dairy and very infrequent servings of fish. He lost weight and said that his body has been repairing itself. That really appeals to my inner vegetarian which has lurked beneath the surface of my life since I was very young. I've toyed with it on and off. In fact, last summer, Tim and I ate no meat at all for 3 months...a little expirement. We did eat dairy but relied mostly on whole grains, legumes, vegetables and fruit. And it was great - we felt good and liked the food. Although we're not huge meat-eaters, we did end up gravitating back to meat. I think about that alot, but it takes a lot of effort to completely change your diet and way of living. We talk about it now and then but with busy lives, never make a commitment. We shall see.

Anyway, regarding my 30-Day Challenge; I'ma keep at it.

Day 1 - 30-Day Challenge

2010-09-20T19:30:00.000-04:00

This may be a little trickier than I thought. I started my 30-Day Challenge today - no sugar and no white flour. I'm also adding exercise, healthy whole foods and smaller portions to the mix. Sounds simple enough, no? No!

I had my egg whites and my 100% whole wheat bread for breakfast and everthing was cool. I was all, I can do this!!  But while I was eating my black-eyed pea soup for lunch and purusing the ingredients list on the bag, I discovered to my dismay that sugar is one of those ingredients. Drats! So, it appears if I am to avoid sugar in its unnatural form completely, I have to find bread that has no sugar or forgo bread completely. A well intentioned friend at work mentioned Ezekiel Bread that is sold in the health food section of some supermarkets. I have seen and tasted this bread and while it is not terrible, it will be a cold day in hell when I spend $5 on a loaf of bread. Not gonna do it...wouldn't be prudent, ha! What to do, what to do...

I didn't exactly exercise, but I did work in the garden for an hour. Dinner was lefovers from the semi-lowfat eggplant parmesan that I made yesterday.   Feeling ecstatic that I didn't have to cook, I sat down to my meal. Only that's when I realized that the breadcrumbs I used for the eggplant are made with white bread that more than likely has sugar as well. Hrmph! And yes, I ate it anyway...but I didn't enjoy it quite as much...

I may have to tweak this thing a bit. I don't eat that much bread anyway so if I do have some here and there, is that cheating on my 30-day challenge? I don't know.  In the words of Scarlett O'Hara, I think about that tomorrow.

30-Day Challenge

2010-09-19T11:27:00.003-04:00

Today, I have made a decision that I hope will positively affect my life both now, and in the future. I have found myself at a crossroads. I have been doing a lot of growing spiritually and emotionally these past few months…I have also been growing in other ways that are not so wonderful. You see, my body is in a sad state of disrepair. I am at my heaviest ever since I began my weight gain regimen some 18 years ago. Yes, I’m being facetious…. I didn’t do that on purpose but circumstances and medications have taken their toll. I have dieted, lost and regained over the years. Add to this the fact that I have become inordinately fond of sugar and have, in the last year, pretty much abandoned any thought of diet and exercise. I have come to realize that my poor physical condition will never enhance the spiritual me that dwells within. I also find it hard to remain positive when I feel weak and tired and uncomfortable in my clothes. And if that’s not enough, I think I may be having some blood sugar problems. So, looking reality hard in the face, I find compelling inspiration.

After careful thought and more than a few M&M’s, I decided today to give myself a 30-day challenge. One can do anything for 30 days, right? I’m not going to go all crazy and inflict an extreme life change on myself all at once. Instead, my intention is to cut out all sugar and white flour for 30 days and see what happens. Hehe…actually, that is pretty extreme considering – you’ve got to start somewhere. I also intend to add moderate exercise at least 4 days per week. That can mean a 30 minute walk, 20 minutes of beginners yoga or just 20 minutes of stretching exercises – BUT, it must be done a minimum of 4 times per week. Here are my parameters:

No sugar or white flour: Any bread, or pasta must be 100% whole wheat and in small portions. Brown rice only. No sugar unless it is natural, i.e. fruit. No ketchup or anything with high fructose corn syrup. I will allow sugar substitutes for now.
Very minimal dairy products.
Meals will consist of mostly vegetables, whole grains and lean protein.
Snacks will be mostly fruits and veggies.
Try to maintain point levels according to the Weight Watchers calculations that I’m familiar with.
Post at least bi-weekly on my progress.
I decided to post this plan – not that I exactly have widespread following – I think Tim is my only reader, but whatever. It will make me feel accountable. I start tomorrow 09/20/2010.

So, wish me luck, good success and all that jazz!

A Room of One's Own

2010-08-08T10:59:00.002-04:00

I’ve been in a bit of a blue funk lately. I suppose I’ve let those monologues that play in our heads at times get the best of me. At least briefly….I’m fully able to pull myself up by the bootstraps, as it were, and suck it up. I have done that for most of my life and will continue to do so. At least that’s the plan.

It’s been the usual…you know; I’m not where I thought I would be, and all that stuff. But there was an atypical twist this time. I have come to realize that I’m a bit isolated….from friends, from family, from making new friends – from people in general. I seem to have withdrawn somehow.

This has never been what I intended but my guess is that it’s a byproduct of the journey I’ve been on.

Friends:
I have a sizeable network of friends from my early years when I was entrenched in fundamental Christianity. It was a tight knit group and we spent many fun and happy hours together growing up, building relationships, and supporting the dogma that we all embraced.

I have changed, slowly at first, then picking up speed like a locomotive – fast and furious. I left the church almost 2 decades ago but kept the friendships, and for awhile, the dogma. My friends have gone their ways to different churches but have maintained the basic fundamental beliefs. I have not. Over time, as I began to trust my own thoughts and decisions again, I changed - radically. I kept those changes somewhat underground for a time, but as life goes on, I find it more and more difficult, if not impossible to do so. It’s not honest. However, it turns out, that when you are in a group that that is very one-dimensional in their thinking, consider their beliefs to be the only true path to God / salvation, whatever, and that all others lead to destruction, there is not much wiggle room for friendship – at least on their part…..which is a whole different can of worms and not for this post.

Family:
I grew up kind of isolated. I am an only child of an immigrant mother; all of her family lived in Scotland; and a much older father - his family lived in Tennessee and I never knew them. I had a few brief connections with my Scottish family but because of distance, gossip or who knows why, those did not really develop into adulthood. My dad kind of kept me from his family – I don’t even pretend to know why. Mom was his second marriage – he had a son by his first. In the last few years, I have had some brief contact with that side of the family including my half brother, but again – distance and history have kept the chasm wide open. As for my parents, well let’s just say my parents did not have a marriage made in heaven - so again – lots of isolation on the homefront.

Now, it seems I long for those familial ties but to no avail. I can’t seem to make a good solid connection with these people – now mostly cousins, nieces and nephews. Not to blame them, mind you – I’m a stranger to them…but it’s kind of hard not to have anyone that remembers you as a child, or someone to remember with.

Addendum to Family:
This is not meant as a “poor me” story. I do have wonderful children and for that I am more grateful that I can put into words. I have a wonderful husband and stepchildren, significant others, and grandchildren – I have been abundantly blessed in that area. I want to make that perfectly clear.

Making New Friends:
Whew! I find that’s not so easy at this point in life. It may be me. It’s probably me – I’m almost sure it’s me. It’s weird - I hated the isolation in my youth. In fact, I drove friends crazy with my desire NOT to be alone – I spent so much time alone at home. But now, I crave solitude. I’m most comfortable alone, or with my husband. I seem to be a bit of an anti-social misanthrope these days. It may be that I see myself as not friend worthy. Or, it may be something else entirely. But I do better at a distance when people can’t see the real me. I think I don’t trust myself to make new friends. I’m almost always certain that people won’t like me. Ugh! That is just so weak and I can’t stand weakness, particularly in myself. So….my subconscious solution is to keep to myself and pretend I’m still the social creature that I once was. Okay, I’m hypothesizing – work with me on this.

The Real Solution:
The real solution is to be myself, no? To completely “out” myself for the radically changed person I’ve become in thought and belief and let the chips fall where they may. I hate to lose friends that I care for but I don’t really have them anyway. They don’t know what to make of me. In any event, it will either cure my solitary tendencies or strengthen them. We shall see.

GRANDMA / GRANDPA CAMP 2010 - OR, I LOVE BEING A GRANDMA

2010-05-01T10:49:00.070-04:00

Last weekend we had our first annual (maybe) Grandma Grandpa Camp Extravaganza at our house. All 9 of our grandchildren attended. They range from ages 10 months to 12 years old. That's Abby, the smallest in the flower basket. I'd be lying if I said it wasn't crazy, insane, tiring and sucked almost all the life out of me...and Papa.

I'd also be lying if I said it wasn't fun, funny, rewarding, filled with love and new insights and discoveries into the personalities and characters of these little people that we love so very much.

We had planned activities like an art table where they painted and drew pictures to decorate our campsite.
We had an awesome scavenger hunt that, although confusing, seemed to bring a smile to every face...none more than me and Papa's. The older ones helped the smaller ones. That's Sarah with the beautiful smile. She was an amazing helper.

We watched movies and ate popcorn and smores (cooked over the stove because of rain - we didn't let them see us doing that), and had story time. Everyone had to tell a joke or a story and everyone got a prize afterwards.

We had pillow fights, pizza and snacks. Abby, who seems to love any event involving her cousins, had a hard time going to sleep because she didn't want to miss the party so she stayed up a bit later than usual. But she was totally entertained. Each child dotes on her as the baby of the family and made sure she was always having fun.

And there were smiles...plenty of smiles! OWEN

RYAN

NICHOLAS

JACOB

NATHAN

COLIN

TYLER

There were lots of laughs...and

crazy antics

A little flexing...

and pillows flying!

And finally, some sad goodbyes: (

But a good time was had by all.

There is no better time spent than that with ones you love. I know that any time I feel a little blue, I can revisit moments like these and remind myself how very very blessed I am.

Of Mice and Men - Kinda...

2010-03-05T10:46:00.003-05:00

I’ve had the flu this week…not as in sniffles, runny nose and scratchy throat, but full blown flu with high fever, chills, headache, no appetite, and a cough that developed into an upper respiratory infection requiring antibiotics and strong doses of prednisone to relieve the breathing problems exacerbated by asthma. I literally lay in bed for two whole days. I couldn’t read or watch TV or even check email or Facebook. I slept a lot and I thought a lot – mostly feverish disjointed and unconnected thoughts in between a few tears of self-pity and crying for my mother. It was a toughie. However, I think something good came out of it.

Today is Friday. I’m still in bed. My temperature is down now to 99.7 and I’m feeling weak but well enough to sit up in bed and wander into the living room once in awhile. I’ve read the paper, checked FB and looked at my email. I’ve also put together some of the thoughts that were roiling around in my head the past few delirious days.

I was never much of an achiever in elementary or high school. I was a pretty solid “Group 2” staple (If you went to Catholic school in the 60’s you’ll know what I mean) and blended into the background as best I could. I was pretty wild and on my own at the age of 18 and married with two babies at the age of 22. My foray into the world of overachiever didn’t begin until after my husband moved out. Talk about an education…I learned quickly what the world was like for a woman without a plan, without higher education, and no money or child support. I started working full time and went back to school at the age of 28 at our local community college funded by the Pell grant. I didn’t know exactly what my plan was. I'd grown up with a minimun of adult supervision and direction and thought that the only jobs out there for women were nursing or teaching and I didn’t want any of that. I took a few classes at a time and worked at various jobs that paid under $7 per hour. And I learned and loved it. I loved school and the idea of school, and I excelled. What a surprise to find out that I could do so well. It kind of filled a void and gave me back some of the self-esteem that I lost during the deterioration of my marriage.

Fast forward: It took me 18 years to get my bachelor’s degree and another 4 to get my masters. I raised kids, took classes, dated and married my husband Tim during that time. Sometimes I took semesters off if the schedule became too rough with my kids. I didn’t go at all for a few years while my kids were in high school because they required a lot of attention during that time. But somehow during those years, a goal developed inside of me. It was not specific to a particular career; having a career was the goal. I think at the time I really didn’t care much what it was – just that it paid well and afforded me the …I don’t know…prestige that I craved. I never wanted to be in a position again where I had to depend on someone else for survival and I never wanted to feel like a lower life form again.

Ahh – “The best laid schemes o' mice an' men, gang aft agley (often go awry), An' lea'e us nought but grief an' pain” ~Robert Burns. Never were truer words spoken. After getting my master’s degree in a field in which I was not all that connected or consumed, I worked hard to break into the field with absolutely no success. I won’t go into full detail here but suffice it to say I have an extremely hard time getting an interview for anything.

I have done volunteer work for a few different social organizations over the past few years. It is work that can be enjoyable and I had hoped that it would help develop me for whatever my career future holds.

REALITY CHECK 2010: I recently garnered the position of “President” of the org that I am currently involved with. Oh yeah! Before you think “wow, that’s awesome” let me also add that I am the only active board member at this time. The former President, my friend, quit to pursue other ventures. The other board members are really just in name only. So, I am the board. I’m tired just thinking about it. And it's a lot of work; networking, writing letters, showing up at events and coordinating events, etc... There is no pay and it's not easy getting people to join in. It's a great cause and all that...but I don't think I can do it. Much more so...I don't think I want to. I am tired just thinking about it.

These few paragraphs cannot do any justice to the way I have really been feeling these past 6 months. I don’t have enough energy myself to try to do it justice but I want these thoughts down in writing.

I’ll be 54 in a few weeks. I have been struggling internally for months and years now over my inability to get "somewhere;" the fact that I can’t seem to get out of the office job I have had for 22 years where I am the office manager ~~secretary~~ even though I have a higher education than anyone else there. When I get there in the morning, I have to make the coffee for god's sake. To top it off, I can’t seem to make a good impression on anyone these days and I’m so tired of trying.

I realized these last few days that maybe I should quit trying so hard. I’m exhausted and have been seriously depressed and I guess, ashamed. I have felt like something is innately wrong with me. My thought yesterday was that I just wanted to give up…not like die - give up, but just to stop trying. Just to be me, a wife, mother and grandmother. I hear lots of people do that and are very happy with it. I have a wonderful family with 9 beautiful grandchildren, not to mention 6 awesome kids. They’re not all mine by blood but my heart does not know the difference and I love each one dearly. I’ve pretty much been flogging myself regularly because of my perceived failings – for not being good enough. That takes a lot of time away from cherishing what I do have. I’ve been like the horse with blinders on that can only see the path in front of him/her, continually plodding toward something and never arriving. Meanwhile, I’m missing all the wonderful activity that is going on in the sidelines and berating myself as a failure.

I don't know. I'm not making any absolute decisions until I'm completely back on my feet again but I do know that something must change inside of me.

Oh well – I don’t claim to have all the answers from my sickbed induced semi-delirium but I have certainly given myself something to think about. Time for a nap.

STRANGER IN A STRANGE LAND

2010-02-08T13:31:00.003-05:00

Last night I watched the 2010 Super bowl. Or, at least, the commercials and half time show. The legendary Who performed at half time. I was pretty excited to see them, feeling proud of their representation of my generation and its significant contribution to music, among other things. The light show was great and the band did a medley of their most famous songs to fill in the 17-minute performance. Roger Daltry and Pete Townsend looked, well... old. I didn’t have a problem with that. While their voices were not in the top form of their youth, they sounded okay and the music was great. So, I was disappointed to see negative comments, some by people from my own generation and not only about their performance, but the way they looked and about why they would be booked to do the Super Bowl instead of a more current performer. Wow! WTF?

My mother used to say that everything was for the young. I only half listened at the time because…well just because. That’s what you do when the world is YOUR oyster. But I remember now and I think I'm starting to understand what she was feeling. These days, I’m feeling that way myself. I’ll be 54 in about 6 weeks. That’s still pretty young by today's standards, but it doesn’t feel that way sometimes.

Lately, I feel that age is the significant factor in just about everything I do, from how I dress to what I eat, think and associate myself with. I’m kind of a late bloomer and just got my master’s degree 3 years ago; I’m progressive, tech savvy and young thinking, yet I’m overlooked for jobs because of my age. How can one expect someone over the age of 50 to be sharp and competent when there is so much youthful talent out there?

Such is the world we live in and the ethos we nurture here in these United States. We do not value the wisdom that comes with age. Covert maneuvers by our mainstream culture push that which is older to the side, treating it as outdated and ineffective – standing in the way of the future – totally replaceable by that which is more high-tech and trend savvy and...young.

There are still cultures in this world that value older people. It’s sad that we’re not one of them. I’m sorry mom. I didn’t get it when you were here. I do now.

Stranger in a strange land…

This land is your land,

this land is my land…

Not really.

This was my land when I was young.

Now I’ve rounded the corner,

past middle age.

I’m a stranger

feeling as though I don’t belong;

an intruder, encroaching on a landscape

where I no longer have a solid footing.

I’m almost 54.

I used to be someone

or, at least thought I was.

Perhaps it was just an illusion.

But I had a voice,

I had a song.

Folks listened,

and they watched to see what I would do next….

all of us marveling at the possibilities ahead of me.

Then, looking into the eyes of older folks, now long gone

as they relived memories of their heyday,

and remembered the intensity of their own youth,

I pushed impatiently past,

lost in the brilliant optimism of my own possibilities.

I remember my mom’s impassive eyes

In her 7th decade,

gazing back at her past

with wonder, perhaps regret

quietly regarding the unspoken words

that she heard all too clearly;

“move over, its my world now.”

And now I,

in what seemed like the middle of my ascent,

slipped softly past the point of no return

Without even knowing that it happened.

It is I who is expected to move out of the way.

But, I’m not ready…

I’m still relevant…

Significant…

I am.

I feel the same as I did when I was 20.

I don’t look the same but I’m still that girl;

still have plans and hopes and dreams.

But that face in the mirror looking back at me…

aging traitorously…

that’s not me!

But, that is me…

A stranger in a strange land

Kathy Cristoforo (C)

THE ZEN OF WINTER

2010-02-03T15:30:00.002-05:00

ZEN - enlightenment that is attained through meditation, self-contemplation, and intuition.

I’m still on winter – hmmm, I guess you might call this a tangent? When I got up today it had snowed. Not very much - we haven’t had as much this year as we’re used to in southeastern Michigan. It was probably an inch and a half or so. But it did the trick, transforming the gray landscape into a wonderland. The sun was shining and everything was covered and sparkling. My drive to work was slippery but delightful. Again, I marveled over the quiet beauty that is the season of winter, my new muse.

Dignified, regal, elegant in its simplicity, winter is the soul of reflection. It is the contemplative season, ceasing outward activity for tranquil introspection, keeping sweet secrets that will surface in the spring in a vibrant rush of new life.

Winter is the guru of cyclical nature, leading us to slow down, reflect and savor the warmth of hearth and home and family and friends, and to forge a mental path for the days to come when time will be stolen by other outdoor activities. Relish the solitude, the chance for brief intervals of hibernation; to recharge and become enlightened.

The Zen of winter.

WINTER REVISITED

2010-02-01T10:05:00.002-05:00

I’ve been contemplating winter for awhile now and I’ve concluded that its bad reputation is the result of misunderstanding and perspective. I’m a Michigan girl and as such, can be expected to either love or hate the season. And by love, I mean as in winter sports, skiing, ice skating,snow-shoeing, snowman building, hot chocolate, red cheeks, and the like. And by hate, I mean bitching constantly for at least 4 to 6 months about the upcoming cold weather, being cold, the cold weather and the snow, wearing winter coats, the long miserable season of cold weather, ice and snow, and finally the slow departure of the winter season of cold weather, ice and snow, being cold, winter coats….

I love all of the seasons and in Michigan, they are very distinctly different seasons – no blurred lines, each one with a charm all its own. I suppose I, like many of us, used to be a combination of the love winter/hate winter crowd. I used to number the seasons. Autumn was my favorite – then spring, summer and finally winter. I realized this year that I can’t do that anymore. I see their innate beauty and diversity and how each one imparts something to the others.

Winter is a feast of the senses. It’s vibrant in its stark solitude. It’s restful and designed for respite from the business of the planting, tending and harvesting seasons. It is beautifully elegant in its glittering white cloak and soulfully quiet in demeanor. These days I see winter with different eyes and I love it. It’s a time of rest, reflection and hibernation, staying in bed late reading on weekend mornings. I think winter may be my new muse - I’ve even written a poem about it, posted in the past few weeks.

Here is my list of winter delights, both past and present:

 Hot tea, cheerful warm fires and sparkling snow
 Cozy blankets, warm mittens, soft sweaters and colorful scarves
 Rosy cheeks and catching snowflakes on your tongue
 Christmas lights and goodwill to others
 Steaming bowls of homemade soup and warm bread
 Clouds of warm breath in the frigid air
 Casseroles shared with family and friends
 Birds on the wire keeping warm
 Snow angels
 Hot cider, steaming chestnuts and snowmen with carrot noses and coal eyes.
 Snowballs and sleds
 Frozen lakes dotted with ice shanties
 Warm steamy clouds rising from the city sewers
 Sparkling stars in a cold, clear silent night sky
 Being warm in the cold
 More time to rest
 Reading in bed
 Time to reflect
 Time to plan
 Time to be grateful
 Hibiscus or Paper Whites in a cup to bring thoughts of spring

Winter is lovely.

WINTER

2010-01-12T18:46:00.046-05:00

Winter,
oft despised and lamented.
Yet... were the eyes open,
its majesty displayed
through dormant limbs
filtering gray light, or
dazzling sun and bright blue heavens;
raising bare hands to the sky,
and casting glittering diamonds on snowbound earth.

Those barren arms stretched forth,
fairly bursting with their secret of life to come.

Winter, a masterpiece in its own right;

Naked yet resplendent in simple elegance.

Beauty in solitude.

Beauty in frosted silence.

Beauty in quiet reflection,

Winter...

for those with eyes to see.

Kathy Cristoforo (c)

TIME...or My Existential Side...

2009-11-28T10:27:00.003-05:00

Time Has Come ~The Chambers Brothers

Time…somewhat illusory, don’t you think? I’ve thought about time my whole life really; and from a whole bunch of different perspectives and viewpoints depending on such variables as my age, circumstance and frame of mind. In fact, I even observe time in visuals – one in particular. Since I was a child I have always pictured the year – 12 months - like a clock. January is at 12:00; June at 6:00 and so on. I don’t know what prompted that visual but I’ve always had it and when I think of a month, I see it on a clock - always. But I digress…

Time…it is something we often take for granted, especially in our youth. I never thought about tomorrow in my teens and twenties. I didn’t plan a thing and lived only for the day. I suppose I had my reasons for that…doesn’t matter now. I remember at the age of 25, thinking, wow, I’ve got 25 more years before even hitting 50! Time in those days was an endless luxury. Days were longer and there seemed an infinite array of possibilities laid out before me. By the time I hit my mid 30’s my perspective was starting to shift a bit. I saw my mother and step-dad aging; watched their friends die and worried…how much longer before time would force me to endure their loss? I noticed the days becoming shorter. Still, at the age of say 37, I perceived an extravagant amount of time ahead of me – more than 10 years until I even hit fifty.

Time…it is camouflaged by seconds, minutes, weeks, days, months and years. 40 was a bit of a turning point for me. The folks were ill and where once I’d counted on them for assistance, they now counted on me. My own children were in the early stages of adulthood and I unwittingly became a grandmother at the age of 41. I felt the noose of time tightening around my neck.

Time… “is a sort of river of passing events, and strong as its current; no sooner is a thing brought to sight than it is swept by and another takes its place, and this too will be swept away.” ~Marcus Aurelius Antoninus. I’m now in my early 50’s. Somewhere – I’m not sure of the exact time or place, or the year or particular age, in the midst of the endless luxury of time, a small seed of awakening has been occurring, bringing with it the awareness of the passage of time. My view of time is vastly altered from the perception of my youth. Oh, I still see the clock – that never changes; only now I hear the ticking as well. My parents are gone and I’ve lost a dear friend. My children are well into adulthood and I’m watching my grandchildren grow, oh so fast. There is no denying the speed with which each moment in time is passing.

Time…, “Tomorrow and tomorrow, and tomorrow, creeps in this petty pace from day to day.” ~William Shakespeare. The interpretation of the word illusion is: “action of mocking;” “something that deceives or misleads intellectually;” “Perception of something objectively existing in such a way as to cause misinterpretation of its actual nature,” “a pattern capable of reversible perspective” (Merriam Webster). And that is time; an impossible to win game, an anomaly and something not to be grasped. Time is like a runaway train. You cannot keep up with it and don’t know how it has slipped through your fingers. I was just feeding my baby girl and yet 32 years have passed. I’m a grandmother with sore fingers, hormonal issues and gray hairs hidden by a $4 bottle of dye.

Time…it’s like a thief in the night. At the age of 53 I must conclude that the only way to grasp time is to let go of it. It’s not real. What is real is the moment in which we/I exist right now. The ones before and the ones to come are phantoms that exist to steal us away from savoring the present moment. Too much awareness of time forces one to live in a story of the past and/or a projection of the future, melancholy, angry or wistful for what has been and anxious, striving, fearful or discontent for what may or may not come.

Time has come today…to acknowledge and cherish this moment in time and recognize that is all there ever is.

Time…
“Now the time has come,
There are things to realize.
Time has come today…
Time has come today…”
~Chambers Brothers

Foiled again…or, would you like some cheese with that whine?

2009-11-12T11:16:00.003-05:00

Foiled: To prevent from being successful; to thwart.

I swear, there’s a conspiracy. Because, really – I just don’t get it. Maybe it’s my destiny? Perhaps I have a subconscious need to fail? I was born under a bad sign? I’m being tested…Someone has to flunk out…why not me?

I awoke in a bit of a funk this morning. It happens occasionally. As a rule I try to avoid thinking about this stuff, but sometimes it has its way with me. Today must be that day.

Since this is my blog and there are only about three people actually who read it, allow me to wallow ~~whine~~ for a few moments without guilt.

I’ve always liked the story about the Phoenix rising from the ashes. You know, that mythical bird whose life burns fiercely at the end and is reduced to ashes? But from the ashes, a new phoenix egg is hatched and the phoenix rises to live again; a resurrection of sorts or a miraculous comeback. There are a few different versions but the one I like best is where “the new phoenix embalms the ashes of its old self in an egg made of myrrh and deposits it in the Egyptian city of Heliopolis (sun city in Greek)” (Wikipedia). It is said that the bird's tears contain healing abilities of pureness, and their cry is that of a beautiful song.

Anyway, I have liked to apply that scenario to my own life (delusions of grandeur?). I have believed that hard work, energy, determination and ambition would somehow bring about that “rebirth” that I was looking for. I would overcome my humble and misguided beginnings. Damn it all, I was going to prove something, although now, for the life of me, I can’t say exactly what.

I realized early, albeit not early enough, that I had to do something to ensure that I would never have to depend on another person for survival again. It became my mission.

I’m a musician - at heart - primarily a singer. It’s in my blood, my family line – it’s me. I wanted to learn an instrument and took a few piano lessons but felt I needed to work toward something with which I could support myself and my family after a divorce in my 20’s left me with 2 small children, a home, no child support and a $7 per hour job. So I went to school..for 20 years on an off. I took advantage of government programs for single moms. After I remarried, I took out federal loans to continue because after all, I was making sure I could fend for myself. I wanted to major in music but couldn’t see how I could support us on a musician’s salary. I also longed to study psychology but thought it was a tenuous link to a decent financial future. I chose human resource development, not because I loved the idea, but because it sounded doable. So many manufacturing companies in the area that would need HR people. I obtained a degree in HR, not quite making it into the field – somehow still stuck at the insurance agency. But no problem! Surely a master’s degree would be the thing. So, I got a master’s in training and development because it was easy – I could continue on at Oakland University and attend off campus sites which was easier for me with my full time job. Additionally, Instructional design, the emphasis I chose, had the possibility of earning a nice sum in the future.

Fast forward to the future – 2009. I graduated 3 years ago. I am still working for the same small insurance agency that I have been at for almost 22 years. I cannot, I repeat, CANNOT, get into my field. In fact, I cannot seem to get into another job anywhere. It is not for lack of trying by the way (ok, not trying that hard lately).

I am not doing any music…I suppose I should be but I don’t know how anymore. I don’t want to go to church and I don’t want to sing worship music. I don’t play an instrument and there’s not a huge market for 53 year old singers who don’t even have their own repertoire and/or instrument. Yeah, boo hoo.

I am very interested in social activism and work on the fringes with a group that is currently being revitalized but I somehow feel lost there as well.

I have concluded that I have wasted so much precious time and energy doing things I felt I was supposed to do, that were supposed to help me get started on my path to ……I don’t know what…somewhere, but instead, find myself running up against my old nemesis yet again; the stone wall.

I still have desire to work, be successful, do things I love, but I may be running out of energy, willpower and vision. Don't get me wrong, there are many wonderful things about my life, but for this particular pity party I'm focusing on my work/creative life.

As is often the case, I’ve learned my lessons well and I know what mistakes I’ve made…now! I have discovered them just a bit too late. Well, in truth, it’s probably never too late to figure out what you did wrong…but hey, this is my whine okay? While there is life left to salvage and while I’m still one to make the best of a situation, i.e. … taking lemons and making lemonade, the sadness over what could have been lingers and as I am wont to do, I revisit the losses occasionally and entertain a moment of mourning ~~self-pity~~.

Foiled again. Worst of all...foiled by my own choices or lack thereof.

But wait, there it is…that teeny part of me that is an eternal optimist (I hate her sometimes). But she’s in there nonetheless. That’s the part that makes me try again. So, like that frickin’ phoenix, I will dig myself up out of those ashes, metaphorically speaking, and rise again. Well, at least, I'll keep on trying. Ghaaa!

WE LIVE IN HOPE

2009-11-07T16:25:00.001-05:00

Every underprivileged and or minority group believes they have cornered the market on despair. To the impoverished, under-paid, out of work, hungry and homeless, there is no more dire straits than theirs. To be fair, for each group with their own particular paradigm, the feelings are real, palpable. But the truth is, where there is one pocket of misery, you can be certain that somewhere, there is another that is much worse.

Should that thought bring comfort and cheer? No…but it may perchance provide a sense of solidarity with those to whom life has been less than kind and the knowledge that one is not alone in the dark. It may offer a vague unnamed sense of relief that can only come from knowing that one’s present distress is not the darkest of scenarios.

So, we take our peace from counting our blessings and thanking the powers that be that we aren’t so and so, and them over there… and thus, we are comforted and go on to live another day. We live in hope.

White Hot Truth

2009-07-31T19:27:00.007-04:00

So, I’ve mentioned that I’m a bit of a rebel right? Yep – from day one I have been the polar opposite of most of my family.

My father came from a long line of staunch Republicans. My mother had a laundry list of searing prejudices. In my young teens I protested the Vietnam War on Kennedy Square in Detroit on a number of occasions, knowing that my parents would disapprove and that my half brother, who was a decorated officer in the army, had done at least three tours there and been wounded. My dad was so proud of him. Actually, I was proud of him too, although I barely knew him. He is much older than me and I'd spent very little time with him. Still, I couldn't reconcile my feelings about that god-awful conflict. Little as I knew at that age, I felt in my heart that it was wrong.

I rejected the racial prejudices of my mother and quite frankly, went out of my way to befriend the very people she disdained. Was there spite involved? Maybe a little...but I didn't agree and so, believed it was my duty to forge my own path.
So, I guess you could say there was an element of rebellion involved. But, in spite of the fact that I became very busy at a very young age raising two children and trying to keep a family together; in spite of the fact that I took a lengthened detour through fundamental Christianity; and, in spite of the fact that I tried very hard to fit into a more conservative mold through some of those years, I found that when I came out on the other side, my basic viewpoint still leaned toward the “bleeding heart” liberal view.

The fact is, I cannot tolerate intolerance and I despise arrogance. I hate lies and deceit. So, good for me right?...champion of the underdog…purveyor of peace, source of great tolerance… Not so much.

Recent self-reflection has revealed an unpleasant dichotomy between my theory and my practice. Turns out, I’ve always been intolerant of, what I perceive to be foolish. But now I find that intolerance reduces itself to an even baser state; a place where I may sometimes bait and exploit said foolishness – possibly for my own entertainment; possibly to solidify to myself that it is, in fact, foolishness, and maybe to garner for myself a feeling of superiority as well. There you have it…the ego - run amuck. There is no peace in that. There is no tolerance in that. There is no diplomacy or kindness in that. There is no zen in that. And there am I – all smug and awash in my own perceived intelligence. I don’t like that about me. I'm working on that.

My parents are gone. My only "family" other than my husband and children, are people I barely know - my mother's family in Scotland and my dad's in, well all over the place really, but my brother lives in Tenessee. I have never told him the truth about my political leanings. At presidential election years, he always asks me if I'm ready to cast my vote for __________(input republican candidate). I say yes. Liar! But I don't want him to hate me, especially when we didn't have any relationship for over 20 years after our father died and my brother is one staunch republican. Oy! So, as much as I am for the truth, I'm a hypocrite as well. A rebellious, 53 year old hypocrite. That sucks. But I don't intend to tell Jim that I voted for Barak Obama, hate the war, watch and support Michael Moore movies and sit on various and sundry boards that support liberal causes. But that is the white hot truth.

Grandchildren

2009-06-02T20:24:00.016-04:00

"Grandchildren are God's way of compensating us for growing old." ~ Mary H. Waldrup

A new granddaughter was born at 8:50 am on Sunday, May 31st. Abigail Kate weighed in at 5 pounds, 10 ounces and 19 inches long. She was one month early and gave us more than a few anxious moments during the past two months or so. But she�s here now and the wonder and joy of seeing her makes it all worthwhile. Abby is our 9th grandchild and second granddaughter. While we dote on all of our boys, the rarity of little girl in our midst has us all quite giddy. In fact, one of her aunties is quoted as saying that Abby's parents may need a restraining order as she feels she may be prone to hogging (stalking) her new little niece. Of course, this is the mom with three boys! She needs a shot of girly now and then. We're also happy for Sarah, our first granddaughter. While she holds her own with all the testosterone at family gatherings, she will no doubt be thrilled at the new baby cousin who also happens to be a girl . We will count on Sarah to show her the ropes. She is our original family princess!

The other cool thing about a new baby girl in the family is clothing - baby girl clothing to be specific. Shopping for baby clothes is always fun, but shopping for clothing for a baby girl borders on euphoria. What don't they make for little women in training? And talk about pink. Our little Abby will be living in a pink wonderland much to the delight of her mother, grandmothers and aunties. Good thing too - her mother and dad bought a new puppy last summer. She is a female Yorkie Poodle mix named Isabella - Izzy for short. My daughter was spending way more than was wise on elaborate pink outfits and acoutremeau for Izzy. She needed a girl. So it's all good.

I haven't blogged much in the last month or so. I've been too busy working, planning a shower, planting a garden and receiving a new member into our beloved family. I've had lots of ideas to write about, but nothing that seemed important enough to take the time out for until this joyful event. Being a grandparent is amazing - there's really nothing like it. When I look into my granddaughters face, I see my daughter, 32 years ago and remember my own mom, now gone, looking with adoration at her new grandchild. Now I understand.

"Grandchildren are the dots that connect the lines from generation to generation." ~Lois Wyse

"Grandchildren are loving reminders of what we're really here for." ~ Author Unknown

"A grandchild fill a space in your heart that you never knew was empty." ~ Author Unknown

"Grandchildren don't make a woman feel old; it's being married to a grandfather that bothers her." ~ Author Unknown (I added this one cause it made me laugh)

"A child needs a grandparent, anybodies grandparent, to grow a little more securely into an unfamiliar world." ~author unknown

"Grandchildren are a grandparent's link to the future, and grandparents are the child's link to the past." Author Unknown

Seriously?

2009-04-19T18:18:00.001-04:00

So it was Monday, about two weeks ago, which is bad enough if you ask me; but compounding it was the fact that I had a few forbidden glasses of wine on Sunday night. I have sworn off wine for quite some time but it just seemed necessary that Sunday night to…I don’t know…stretch out the weekend, extend the feeling of freedom, none of which it does in reality. Reality is just a tough Monday. I don’t always sleep well when I drink wine so I was a few hours short on sleep. To top it off, it snowed on Sunday night.

Now, this is Michigan. A little snow doesn’t rattle us. But it was April 6th and had been almost 70 degrees on the weekend and after a long snowy Michigan winter, it was kind of the last straw. But whatever. Thinking that the snow was the real wet kind and the temps not too low, I heated up my car so the snow would hopefully just slide off and I wouldn’t have to scrape. But in the true spirit of Monday, all snow was intact on all windows. I was running late so I figured that I’d use the wipers and roll the windows down to get the snow off.

Again, I have lived here all my life! I know about snow okay? I had all of my stuff on the car seat including a bunch of shower invitations I was mailing out for my daughter’s baby shower. I’m sure you rational thinkers already guessed the outcome. I rolled the windows down but the snow stayed in position, for as long as it could really – before it fell into the car – all over me on my side and on all my stuff on the other side including the invitations. So that was the start of my Monday. Note to self – you know better than that – it has never worked!

The rest of the work day was probably “business as usual” but in my somewhat altered and slightly stressed state, things seemed a bit out of proportion. And man, was I tired. I won’t go in to all the murky details of a work day that also happens to be a Monday. Suffice it to say that I relieved to see 4:30.

I left work and drove to pick up a prescription at an area Costco. On my way home, I was passing a cemetery that my best childhood friend happens to be buried in. She’s been gone a long time and I don’t go often anymore, but I thought about her and decided I’d stop for a minute.

I parked and got out of my car, stepping on the snow covered grass to walk toward her grave which is maybe ten yards from the road. I took about three steps when my left leg sunk calf high into soft wet mud. I almost fell but caught myself as my right leg sunk in as well, just below knee high. I can’t tell you exactly what went through my head at that moment. But picture, images of biblical proportions – the ground opening up and swallowing me…hands pulling me into the grave…candid camera, just to name a few absurdities that passed through my head at warp speed. Before I even had a chance to pull a leg up out of the muck, I sunk even further. Within seconds, I was at knee level in wet mud on a freshly dug grave.

To say I panicked is an understatement. But to my credit, I didn’t scream. As a rule, I generally flourish under pressure and after I got my bearings and realized there were no hands groping, no ground opening up – no living dead… just me…standing on a freshly dug grave that had been camouflaged by snow, having a Monday. Note to self – go straight home after a day that started out like this.

It took a little doing to get my feet out of the muck – I was down pretty deep. And my next few steps were fraught with exertion through yet more of the freshly dug grave. I had a long wool dress coat on which made my escape a little more awkward. I finally hauled my mud besotted self on to solid ground and looked around to see if anyone had seen this debacle. Nope. Thankfully, I wore short boots that day for the first time in a few weeks because if I’d worn shoes, they would now belong to the deceased, whomever he or she may be. I looked at my friend’s gravestone and decided to forgo the visit. Note to self – only visit cemeteries on good days.

That crazy little experience bothered me on so many levels. I mean, really? Sinking into a grave in a cemetery on a gloomy Monday evening when I feel like crap both mentally and physically? What’s up with that? Is the universe trying to tell me something? Is it a sign? Is it God? Or am I just looking for an excuse to have a glass of Monday wine? I decided on the latter. So, I had a glass of wine and ate half a bag of chocolate Easter eggs for dinner. All better! Note to self – there is a word for this…I think they call it self sabotage!

Keepin' it Real

2009-04-09T10:32:00.000-04:00

I read something on a blog yesterday that, had I been drinking a beverage, said beverage would have come out of my nose. I said that, well…….for effect really, but the truth is I laughed hysterically, unable to speak, tears streaming down my face. My husband looked on waiting to hear what was so funny as I guffawed with helpless abandon. A blogger that I follow talked about seeing her young child off on the school bus one morning last week and overhearing another parent put her small child on the bus saying, “don’t give in to Satan.” Excuse me…I’m laughing again.

I get that it may not be a real gut buster for you. My husband, while amused, did not understand my extreme mirth. But in my world, my past, it is significant. I may have heard that a few times…Dear God, I may even have said that a few times. My two children are grown now. I don’t know if I used those exact words and I’m not asking them…. Let’s just say they knew more about Satan at a young age than anyone needs to – probably ever.

I don’t deny that there is evil in this world. But I no longer believe in a personal devil. To put it simply, I think that God and his energy is in all of us, good and bad alike. Kind of like the glue that holds everything together. We have choices and we have work to do. The evil is in our humanity – that thing that most of us, no, all of us struggle with on a pretty regular basis. We’re born our own little entity and the whole world revolves around us. We are first as children unable, and later, unwilling or to self-absorbed to look beyond our own little life paradigms. We struggle to gain control over the selfish tendencies that often dominate us. Sometimes we are successful and sometimes give in to the darker side of human nature. In some cases, the result is catastrophic. But the fight is ongoing in all of us. A lot depends on the kind of role models we have adopted or had thrust upon us and even more on our own insights, inner work, and introspection, as well as our relationship with the creator of the universe, however we view that entity.

My daughter, at the age of 7, gave away an expensive Cabbage Patch doll that she had wanted badly because she had heard that they were made by minions of the devil who could possibly speak through them. No, she did not hear this on the playground, but at church. There was actually a sermon in our church about Cabbage Patch Dolls (I never bought in to that one). But she heard it from one of the children in youth church whose mother had her burn her Cabbage Patch doll because of the brouhaha about the dolls and because the kid thought the doll had spoken to her. Oy! My daughter didn’t tell me she had dispatched the evil doll for quite awhile because she thought I might be upset about it. That little red headed doll, Alena Diane, cost $30 on sale in 1984 – a lot of money for our young family at the time. But when I did find out, it wasn't the cost that upset me. It was that my little girl had been robbed of the simple joy of receiving a doll she had wanted and loved.

But back to my main point: So, if the little kid messes up, did the devil make him do it? What I really want to say is how bad I feel for that poor little tyke getting on the bus to school to learn letters, numbers and socialization, and having to battle Satan as well during that busy day. Ugh! The worst thing Satan has done in that case is steal what should be a carefree time of childhood that is way too short to begin with.

FREEDOM!!!

2009-04-01T20:17:00.000-04:00

I just came back from a walk at the beach. It’s a beautiful day; sunny, blue sky, a few billowy clouds, low fifties, very windy, and the tide was coming in – some of my very favorite walking conditions. I started walking regularly last spring with the intentions of eventually running. I ran when I was younger and loved it but gave it up years ago. Over the summer I hurt my knee a few times trying to run, mostly because I have a little too much weight on me to put that kind of pressure on my knees. So, here I am again, trying to talk myself into a regular walking routine after work, with hopes of turning it in to a running routine eventually. Turns out it’s actually quite the struggle just getting myself to walk every day.

But today, I decided to walk at the metro park beach near our home. I pretty much had the beach to myself – surprising really. And invigorating, and exhilarating, and oh my – I don’t have words to describe it. I had my Mp3 player on, listening to a mix of favorites. I was so alone there that I could actually sing and do a few little dance steps while I walked. What a rush! I walked about three miles. I sang, I laughed, I smiled at the sky and the birds and the water and the sun and God. I said thank you a whole bunch of times. It was awesome and in stark contrast to my mood when I came home from work today.

I felt free. I don’t know how long it has been since the last time I really experienced that feeling but it must have been a long time ago because it was foreign, and yet kind of familiar and it was good. I’m not even sure what I mean by free. It's not like I'm talking about slavery vs. freedom or religious oppression vs. freedom or anything huge like that. It's freedom in a personal sense - a feeling that I remember, maybe from my youth but it was long ago and far away. It was delicious and I want more. So, when I got home, I researched freedom, trying to tie it to something tangible, real, something I can describe.

The French philosopher, Jean-Jacques Rousseau said, “Man is born free, but everywhere he is in chains.” The funny thing is, that it seems that one may not miss freedom until one experiences it after a long period of chains. So my mission, if I choose to accept it (wry smile) is to find out what freedom is; what that feeling is and how I can get it in everyday life. Can I?

Will it require giving up my job, or my home which keeps me tied to my job? Then I'd be free to live under the bridge... Shall I take off on an irresponsible trip to wherever my heart leads – perhaps become a modern day hobo. I'd miss my blow dryer and AC. Maybe pull away from family relationships that tie me down? That won't work...I'm kind of hooked on the fam. The possibilities are endless.

According to Wikipedia, freedom can also mean “inner autonomy or mastery over one’s inner condition.” Ah...sounds a bit more like it. And, a lot more work. What exactly is my “inner condition?” Yeah, loaded question and not for this post. Let’s just say it involves less sugar, less wine, less of lots of other things and more of many others. Still, that doesn’t explain that familiar long lost exhilaration I felt today that I equated with freedom.

Perhaps freedom, at least that fleeting and exhilarating sense of it, is an illusion meant only for small interludes of sanity in an insane and constantly moving world. Or, maybe it is something personal that means something different to each soul.

I've noticed that when I blog, I always try to come to a resolution at the end of the post. I don't have one today. But that's okay. I'll keep looking to recreate that glorius feeling more often. See you at the beach!

Perceptions II

2009-03-24T20:53:00.000-04:00

You know how you can be going along, minding your own business, feeling okay – no big problems? Everything is status quo; nothing but the little everyday annoyances that pester everyone, like stupid drivers, rush hour and whiney customers – irksome, but nothing that really breaks a wave on your radar. Then, for reasons unknown, ripples roll across your sea of calm. You’re not sure why but suddenly, everything shifts and you are left uneasy and without a clue.

Sunday was my birthday. It’s not like I’m all thrilled about being further into 50 something, but on my birthday, I’m a bit like a kid. I mean I have a birthday song…”Today’s my birthday.”… You’d have to hear it – but I digress. It’s not about presents or cards or cake. That’s all nice but it’s more. Maybe it’s about what I’ve come through in my life and the fact that I’m still here – a survivor against the odds – and with a beautiful family to boot.

Anyhoo, I was sitting at the table at my daughter’s house for a birthday dinner with my family. Everyone is talking and laughing and we’ve just had a nice meal. And then it hit – the shift. Nothing perceptible changed – only a shift in my own mind. No one else noticed a thing. Everything just continued on. I kept smiling and laughing, but on the inside, I was scared and sad. I wanted to cry but I didn’t know why and I couldn’t point to any one thing. I just wanted to go home.

The feeling persisted the rest of the evening. We had cake and ice cream, talked a bit more and left. When we got home, I washed my face, put my pajamas on and wrapped up in a blanket on the couch near my sweetheart, looking for solace in what is my personal safe harbor.

The next day, everything was fine. But, I thought about it all day. What causes that kind of shift in perspective, that jumbling of personal paradigm, especially when nothing has changed? Is it a blip in my psyche or a rumble in the spiritual realm? Maybe I need more medication – don’t quote me on that.

I don’t really have an answer. But the more I think about it, the more I realize that at that table were many of the people who are most important to me. I recall a conversation that I had with my husband on the way to my daughter’s home about the recent deaths of four teenagers killed by a drunk driver just a

few miles from there. We talked about how it could have been any of us sitting at that light waiting to turn, only to be destroyed by the poor choice of a complete stranger. No warning, no way of escape – countless lives altered.

I guess you could say, the more you have, the greater the risk of loss. But that is too simply stated. It doesn’t matter if you have one loved one or ten – a loss is a loss. All I know is that I had a small tremor beneath the surface of calm reminding me that all life is transient and precious and how my world could change by a random act, an illness or some unforseen event. None of us have a guarantee that trouble and sadness will not visit us. We don’t have an absolute road map for the future, so we have to make each moment count. My tiny temporary paradigm shift was the smallest fraction of what the families of those lost teenagers face, and mine was just that – temporary. So again, I look forward with a thankful heart, reminded of the importance of living in the present and refusing to dwell in melancholy and scary possibilities. But I’m determined to make each moment count with those that I love so much.

Magic

2009-03-07T14:25:00.001-05:00

Is there really no magic? I’ve entertained magical thinking all of my life. I didn’t realize I was still doing it until recently. When you’re little, you are taught to believe in magic. You know - Santa, the Easter bunny, tooth fairy and the like. You slowly begin to see that it isn’t quite so, which really kind of sucks. I beat up the little boy who told me there was no Santa when I was seven. I reallllly believed and besides, my mother wouldn’t lie to me! But there I was, sitting on my mom’s lap crying about Santa after my mom came clean and told me that he didn’t exist, at least not in the way I’d been led to believe. For a few years afterwards, I even tried to pretend there still was a Santa at Christmas time, but it wasn’t the same – my eyes had been opened. But you survive. It’s all kid stuff, right? Then there’s church. A whole new set of stuff to believe in that you can’t see. I have this picture of Jesus in a small glass frame that I was given at the age of 4. His eyes follow you wherever you move. I still have it. Being an only child, I spent a lot of alone time with that picture, talking to it, imagining Jesus talking back, joking around with it and taking comfort from it when I was scared or sad. He was my friend. I went to Catholic church and school, and absorbed all of those teachings. It was nice.

As Ive mentioned in prior posts, I spent 10 plus years as a Christian fundamentalist in my early 20’s and 30’s – a realm of magical thinking, most scary in the long run, and the one that may have had the most profound effect on me. I’ve heard every kind of magical thinking in that environment, partook of it myself and did not come away unscathed. When I removed myself from that environment, all hell broke loose as it were. I didn’t know what to believe or trust and eventually hung up on God for quite a while.

Life is different now. I guess my natural cynicism has resurfaced, but in a good way, I think. I’ve come to realize that our built in instincts are okay – even God given. They are put there for a reason to help us make sense of our world. I’ve realized that just believing something, no matter how much you want it to be true, doesn’t make it so. And rather than that truth being disappointing and upsetting, it is instead freeing and comforting. There doesn’t have to be an answer for everything and certainly all truth is not contained in the pages of one small book written by men. Now, for me, the creator of this universe is not some bigoted, giant, narcissistic entity, that demands all and treats us as pitiful, helpless and hapless creatures that can't make a decision for ourselves. Instead, the entity is one I trust and take comfort in, knowing that his design will not fail in the long run, no matter what it is; that I don’t have to know the whole mystery; understanding that all of the energy and life force is there inside of me for me to use for good, and is made up of and part of that creator; positive that his design is not so exclusive as to banish all who don’t lock in to one narrow perspective.

Still, I persist in my search for magic – little glimmers of fairy dust; proof that I am uniquely singled out, for, or to witness the magical whatever it may be. This past week has been a particularly tough one for me. I found myself on Friday attending a party of one, indulging briefly in light servings of self pity. I lost the dream, there is no magic - woe is me......I challenged God to show me the magic! I knew he would. I didn't have anything in particular in mind - just something magical. He did not come through. It’s true that old habits die hard and having been born and bred to expect it, I still wait for it now and then, often disappointed. And yet, that is part of the wonder of waiting for that special dispensation that may never come, or be recognized if it does. In the meantime, I try to live in the present moment which is what I make of it; and in that, there is peace, and a great measure of comfort, knowing that I don’t have to kick any ass for anyone else breaking my bubble, or lament over the disappointment of dreams that did not magically come true. I can choose to see magic in the smiles of my friends, the love of my family, and the little wonders and opportunities that come along happenstance to do good in the life of another soul. I can be grateful for the good things in my life. And, I can just be me working toward my own dreams and enjoying each moment that passes if I dare to do so. Even so, the child inside lingers on. I’ll still wish on stars and look for magic dust in the little corners of my life. But that will be my little secret.

Naomi's Tiara

2009-02-28T10:04:00.000-05:00

I have been captivated by…..........wait for it…Facebook, or crackbook as it has come to be called in some circles. At the ripe age of 52, I find myself checking FB on a pretty regular basis. It started out innocently enough. One of my younger colleagues talked me into putting on a Facebook page a little over a year ago. I posted some family photos and a bit of info about myself but that was pretty much it. My colleague was my only FB friend and how much can you share when you spend 8 hours a day together anyway and you are old enough to be her mother? I checked it maybe twice in the first year that I had it. Then suddenly, at the beginning of January, I started getting “friend” notices in my email for FB. Old friends whom I rarely spoke with had joined the FB community and found me. Now I have 66 friends, more than I have ever had in “real” life and it keeps me busy, let me tell ya.

In one way, I feel kind of like a voyeur, peeping into people’s lives and seeing what they’re up to at any given moment in time. They don’t even have to know I’m checking. And yet, these folks are offering it up, as am I. On the other hand, I am finding a sweet and gentle connection to people who may have just as easily dropped from my life forever never to be heard from again otherwise. I’m thankful for these connections and privileged that they choose to call me a FB friend. I’m also thankful for the opportunity to catch up with the children of my old friends, another significant aspect of FB. Some I knew from church years ago, and others are children of friends that I maintain infrequent contact with, and still others that are nieces and nephews that I barely ever talk to. Before FB, I would hear bits and pieces of their comings and goings, accomplishments and growth. Now, many are my FB friends, a dubious distinction for them – a delight for me. I hear what they’re doing, see their pictures, and converse with them on a limited basis – I don’t want to make a middle-age pest of myself.

I thought about this today after reading a particularly beautiful posting by the daughter of one of my dearest old friends. She contacted me to be a FB friend a few weeks ago which really pleased me. I am a little reticent of asking the younger ones to be FB buddies because I have heard they don’t like the dinosaurs invading their FB space, so I was honored to have her choose me. I haven’t spent much time with this beautiful child in the past 15 or so years. Although my friendship with her mom continues, it is remote because of distance, schedules and interests. I was at the hospital the night this child was born and our tight group of friends spent much time together when she was little. Then, our group began to dissolve with family, children and responsibility taking the forefront of our lives and sending us in separate directions.

You never think when you are young that this will happen with your group of buddies. You see yourselves as forever together, growing old, doing the things you have always done together. Maybe that happens sometimes – I don’t know. I doubt it. Life has a way of altering your plans for you. That is why the FB post put on by my dear friend’s daughter really got me. She talks about sometimes wanting to be a little girl again, and about sometimes…being one. We have all felt that way at one time or another. Her words ring true for childhood, friendships, family and dreams. This is Naomi’s post:

Oh, To Be a Little Girl Again!

"It's a beautiful day today...the sky is blue, spring is in the air, and the sun is shining brightly. I love my "grown up" life immensely--the busy flurry I run around in, the feats I accomplish, the endless striving for success, pushing myself to be better, learning new things, and taking care of business. But sometimes I stop in the midst of my whirl of adulthood and wish with all my heart that I could go back to being a little girl, blissfully ignorant of all the cares of the world, caring only that the sky was blue, the flowers plentiful, and the butterflies light and airy. I miss having the freedom to wear a tiara, to change my clothes six times a day, to splash in puddles, and to sing loudly and badly any little song in my heart. I wish I had more time to explore the woods, to gaze at the clouds, to soak in the moonlight, to twirl in the rays of sunshine. At heart, this is what I am. A little girl. And yes, I still sing the song in my heart, twirl in the sun, stare at the moon, and wear tiaras from time to time. I love my life, this balance of childhood and adulthood. I can't wait to have my own little girls---I'll have a legitimate excuse to giggle all the time!! :)' ~Naomi

To all my friends, FB friends, and family: I love you.

STOP

2009-02-15T12:14:00.000-05:00

Yesterday was Valentine’s day. You know – that popular holiday typified by large red hearts, ridiculously expensive gifts and cards, chocolate and all the other frills that can go along with it. But yesterday, the big red heart was replaced by a big red STOP sign in my head. Valentine’s day really doesn’t have much to do with today’s post unless you count the entire box of chocolates I ate yesterday, the effects of which I am still reeling from. STOP could have aptly been applied there. This post just took form on Valentine’s day.

I’ve been feeling overwhelmed lately. I can’t point to any one thing specifically. There seems to be a hodgepodge of circumstances, thoughts and emotions that are roiling around in my mind, making me feel slightly off center. I’m currently going through menopause so I could probably explain away about 90 percent of the crazy with that if I wanted to. But I don’t want to. Sure, I have rapid cycling hot flashes and mood swings that are probably terrifying to those with weaker constitutions, but that's just too easy. I will not be so easily dismissed. I will not go "gently into that dark night” without having my say and making a little commotion as it were.

Now I happen to be fortunate enough to have married a man whom I suppose is a perfect balance for me. While I struggle to remain positive, having been brought up in a pretty negative environment, he remains positive at almost all times. That really is a good thing because Tim, aka Pollyanna, often reminds me to look at the sunny side of life when he sees me spiraling. For this I am very thankful. For this I am also at times annoyed. Sometimes, his "turn that frown upside down" attitude makes me feel even a wee bit irritable.

I’m very busy. Hear me when I say this. I work full time and take care of a home. I pay the bills with a very tight budget, do the grocery shopping, laundry, cook the meals, plan and schedule, birthdays and holidays, shop for said events, troll for jobs in my field…you get the drift, especially if you are a woman reading this. So yesterday, we’re driving to our granddaughter’s basketball game, me and my sweetheart. As I've mentioned, positive thinking is not a natural trait of mine – I really have to work at it and I backslide sometimes. We’re in the car, it’s snowing, we’re late. My honey is driving slower that I would like and slows down even more when he realizes I am staring at the speedometer (he’s a little passive aggressive that way). I forgot to buy candy to take to my little ones for Valentine’s day so we have to stop at the store for that. There’s no windshield washer fluid in my van and there hasn’t been for days so we can’t see out of the windows. In addition, It’s Saturday and I have a laundry list of things that have to be done this weekend just to get us through the next week. You see where this is going right - the inevitable meltdown? It’s all building up inside of me and I open my mouth and say, “I hate being late, we still need windshield washer fluid, I can’t see out the window, I wish I had bought the candy yesterday, stupid drivers! I don't think I even took a breath. My partner responded by rolling his eyes and saying, “that’s right honey, let it all out at once,” in his most acerbic tone. A tiny revolution occurred in my mind at that moment. STOP STOP STOP! Every stop sign I saw was screaming at me. I had tears in my eyes. I had the fight the compulsion to cry for the rest of the day. My sweety never even suspected the mental insurgency that was happening during that ride to the basketball game.

And there it is. We’re all busy. But every woman I know will tell you that women bear the burden of time – or lack of it. And sometimes, we are the ones to blame. We don’t make time for ourselves. I thought it over today. I’ve been on Facebook lately – don’t ask…I’ll save that for another post. I’ve been seeing all of the beautiful youngsters that I knew from birth, all grown up and doing all of these wonderful things. I’m happy for them, I really am. But I'm jealous too. I’m looking at my endless years of childrearing, work, school and my two degrees that seem to mean nothing and wondering where the time went. I feel a sense of urgency that I can’t really explain. It seems that time is short and flying by so quickly. I have so many things that I want to do but not the time or resources to do them and fear that it will all be over before I know it. I love to sing and I’m pretty good. But I didn't do anything with that. I've always wanted to play the piano. I want to go to New York and Italy. I’m artistic and I like to write. I have an inventory that I won’t bore you with people!! I guess we all do. Suffice it to say that there are facets of myself that I don’t know much about and it may be time now for me to check them out.

I started my blog in January with a little post-holiday free time. I enjoy it – I get to say what I think even though I only have an audience of two. I have asked a few of my kids to read the blog and give me opinions but I think I can actually hear their eyes rolling in their heads. I haven’t received one response from them. I realize that they want me to be their mom. They don’t necessarily want to be burdened with the “me” beyond motherhood and grandparenthood. I understand that. I love being a mom and grandmother. But there is more to me and I’m thinking that now is the time time find out what those other parts of me are all about. Some people do that in the teens and 20’s but I was without direction and in the grips of the drug culture in my teens and a mother at the age of 20. Maybe now is my time. I wrote this today when I should be getting household chores done before a meeting that I am attending this afternoon. But the chores will have to wait. I needed to say this. STOP!

I am making a stop sign to remind myself that there is more to life than just our responsibilities. I am reminding myself to delegate more and work a little less. To stop and smell the roses sometimes. To spend a little time getting to know me. When I'm feeling crazy and overwhelmed, it will give me permission to just stop taking care of everyone and everything else and take some time for myself. That other stuff will be there when I'm done.

American Dream

2009-02-08T20:41:00.000-05:00

I grew up in a tough neighborhood on the east side of Detroit. We moved there from another Detroit neighborhood in 1960 when I was 4 years old, a result of my parents search for a nicer home and better environment. At the time, the new neighborhood was a lower middle class assortment of Italian and Polish immigrants – mostly Catholic, peppered with a few black families and those like mine; a mixture of a Scottish Irish immigrant mother and a father from the South. It was a fun and interesting amalgamation of ethnicity and cultural traditions that, at the same time, challenged and enveloped the “American dream.” Let me add, the American dream is and remains in a constant state of transition and redefinition.

In a few short years the neighborhood began a tumultuous freefall that started with the entrance of the typical elements of urban sprawl; the drug culture, which introduced crime, which brought in white flight, lower property values and ultimately, the lethal state of urban decay that resulted in whole neighborhoods of empty fields dotted with abandoned and burnt out houses used for drug deals and worse. By the time I was a young teenager the American dream had become a nightmare for those unfortunate enough to call the area home.

I went to Catholic school. St. Ambrose, the church I was baptized in, was a mere two blocks from my home. It lay on the border between Detroit and Grosse Point Park, off of Alter Rd. The elementary school, new at the time, was on the Detroit side of Alter Rd. and the high school was on the Grosse Point side. That Alter Road dividing line literally separated heaven (Grosse Point) and hell (Detroit). I know….real dramatic. But ask anyone who lived on either side and they’ll tell you. The difference in two blocks is as day and night.

School was an assorted mixture of Detroit and Grosse Point kids. It wasn’t a problem unless you considered the way the GP kids dressed, or at least that was the view of my cohorts and I. We had ambiguous opinions on the GP kids and looked down on them amongst ourselves. I'm sure they did the same. By the time we hit 6th or 7th grade, we were pretty much separated into groups by zip code. I don’t know if we understood that. It was never really put into words. It wasn't a bitter rivalry or anything like that. In fact, in school, we all got along okay. We could work on projects with them and make fun of teachers with them. It was outside of school on the grounds and in our groups that the we were separate. We were worlds apart and somehow we knew it although if you had asked us, we would have just said they were snobs, dressed weird and were spoiled rich kids. It was that simple. I guess I don’t really know what they said about us. In fact, I never really thought about it. But to this day, I can spot a Grosse Pointer at 100 yards.

My posse and I came from dysfunctional families to say the least. Each of the five of us had a story, with family issues, reckless conduct, close calls and tragedies. One of us did not survive. The rest have struggled, made gains, had losses, and have lost touch. In recent years, I thought perhaps this is the legacy of the urban landscape but I have come to realize how shortsighted that frame of thought is. To be sure, I have run into GP alum from St. Ambrose who have done exceedingly well, attending elite colleges and landing in well heeled professions. They’ve continued on in the traditions of their families. With time, I’ve overcome my blind prejudice and come to see those as good things, not something to be minimized. I've found that dysfunction knows no class or gender and visits and perpetrates its misery on the haves and have nots alike if conditions are right. But likewise, neither do hopes and dreams belong to one specific group. We all want our children to do better than we did and we hope we can provide that opportunity for them. Those hopes and dreams belong to everyone regardless of zip code. While its true that paucity often times lends itself to sad results down the line, that is not always the case. There are success stories; those who defy the odds and overcome their harsh environment, either through supportive family and friends, sheer determination of will, or, maybe a little of both.

I’m thankful that I survived my youth. It was not an easy time, and there was precious little guidance from anywhere. But I made it. I have raised two children of my own through some pretty hard times but they are both fine upstanding people. And I hope for them, the things that all parents who love their children hope.

You've Come a Long Way Baby!

2009-01-29T07:02:00.000-05:00

I’ve been at my current job for a long time – 20 years and 6 months to be exact. Not because I loooove the job. Not because I'm so dedicated. Certainly not because I haven’t tried to get a position in my field…well, you get the drift. Before my current job, I worked in a large claims office of about 70 employees. I was young, and pretty much at bottom of the food chain in the office but on one level, and one level only, the playing field was even. And that was the break room, or as I like to think of it, the great equalizer. Yep, we were all equal in the breakroom, from the branch manager to the front desk clerk, male and female, young and old.

The break room had a kitchen with a refrigerator, sink, cupboards and microwave. There were tables and chairs. You could use the refrigerator to store your food and beverages during the week, but everything that was not removed by Friday afternoon, was thrown away at the end of the day no matter whom it belonged to. If you made a mess preparing your food, you cleaned it up. You wiped the table when you were done at lunch or break time. There were always enough people around to hold you accountable. But the chief and most fundamental rule of the break room revolved around the coffee pot. It was simple. Whoever took the last cup of coffee from either the regular or decaf pot, made the next pot, thus ensuring there was always coffee available. It did not matter who you were. Those were the rules. Many are the time I saw the branch manager of the whole office making a pot of coffee. It was something you could count on like death and taxes.

So, when I came to my new job at the small insurance agency, I wasn’t fooled. I knew it was still a man’s world and I knew I was still a peon. I expected the man would be honing his macho by bossing me around ensuring his superiority over my female weakness. But nothing prepared me for my first introduction to my new job. My boss, while showing me around the office, walked me over to the coffee pot and said, verbatim: This is the coffee pot and it's your job to keep it full. I laughed - surely he was joking. With a big grin I said, ‘you’re kidding right/” He looked me straight in the eye and confirmed that he was not. The earth moved, but not in a good way. I was reeling and had trouble focusing the rest of the day. It was my first inkling of my new and even lower status.

Keep in mind, I, like most women, especially 20 years ago, had no illusions about what I was up against in this "man's world." At the time, I was a single mother with an ex who did not pay child support - ever. I had a high-school education and about 30 college credits so I knew the score. Yet still, the coffee pot directive came as a shock. Hadn't we advanced in this 20th century? Was not our generation of women the vanguard of feminism, the movement for equal rights, equal pay and dignity for women. Did not our female forbears in this very century garner for us the right to vote? I was apalled - and what's worse...I was stuck. I had already left my other job and didn't have much experience as it was. I was stuck with this dictator who viewed me as the "dumb broad" at the office. Remember the movie, "9 to 5," with Dolly Parton? That song became my theme song in my head for many years, through the $7 per hour pay checks, 10 cent raises, verbal snubs, and endless pots of coffee.

Fast forward 20 years: My kids are grown and gone. I am remarried and have earned a bachelor's and a master's degree. I'm still working at the same job. I won't go into my arduous and continual attempts to procure other employment - that's for another day. I'm not sure what happend. Perhaps I'm being punished by the God that I question so rabidly. Maybe I'm learning a lesson that I didn't quite get in a past life. Maybe my resume sucks...the point is - it's not for lack of trying. But I have learned a few things along the way and I believe my boss, the coffee tyrant, has as well.

My title is "office manager." Pretty much, I do the same things as everyone else with a few small added responsibilities. In years past, one of the other workers who started earlier than me and was lower on the office food chain, always made the coffee. When she left, I noticed my boss actually making coffee now and then. By that time, he wouldn't dream of asking me to do it for fear of my feminist wrath. But one morning, in a fit of magnanimous benevolence, I offered to make the coffee. That was about 4 years ago. I have been making it ever since. If for some reason I don't make it, the coffee tyrant tells one of the other ladies to do it. Don't get me wrong about the coffee tyrant. He is a good man. He's a hard worker and has a kind heart. But in his own words, he is a male chauvinist.

I am as close as it is possible to get to the top of the food chain in this now, 4 peson office and have been for years. I can't go any further - I've hit the ceiling as it were...glass, um plastic - I don't know. I didn't have to claw my way to the "top" either - I've just been here the longest. I've had to fight for every vacation day, most pay raises and priviledges that we have obtained. I have made myself a major thorn in the coffee tyrants side many times for the betterment of myself and the others and for that, I have no regret.

I've come to grips with the coffee debacle. Don't misunderstand - I know making coffee was never really the issue. It was just symbolic of all of the attitudes and perceptions that make up the gender gap and strain relations between all involved. I recently read the statement, "Because we live in a world of dualities, we often need to understand the shadow before we can appreciate the light," (Daily Om). While I still cringe at the menial tasks I perform such as washing the dishes in the office kitchen every third week and plunging the sink while sporting my currently worthless master's degree, I am able to overlook the coffee war. Saying I'm disheartened over my inability to get a position in my field is a broad understatement. I tear up every time I write out my monthly payment to Uncle Sam for the school loans. But I continue to search for the place I want to be. In the meantime, me and the coffee tyrant have come to a mutual respect and understanding now. Plus, we've grown up a bit.

For my part, I've realized the gender gap will not be bridged over a pot of coffee. I make coffee now as a gesture of kindness and willingness to serve my fellow man/coffee tyrant. I remain militant in the face of injustice but I choose my battles so much more carefully. And as for the coffee tyrant, I have seen cracks in the armor of his bravado. He is a bit more compassionate and respectful to women these days. I can't take all the credit for that - he is the father of two strong young women, but I like to believe I had something to do with his enlightenment. It helps to think so.

Birthday Month

2009-01-20T06:55:00.000-05:00

It's January, or as we call it in our house, birthday month. January can be a downer for many reasons; it's the month immediately following Christmas, so there is the extreme low following the extreme high of the holiday season. For some, there are the bills to pay following holiday excess. It's cold and snowy and gets dark early and then there is that long dreary stretch before the next holiday. In our family, we have the added stress of "birthday month." Our large and blossoming family has no shortage of birthdays anyway, but in January, there are eight. Starting with New Years day and going through to the end of the month we have celebrations, cards and gifts to buy and family get togethers. It seems a little stressful so soon after the major consumer free for all.

We were at a birthday party this past Saturday for our oldest grandson when the idea for this post took form. The party was held at a place that offers games of all kinds for kids and adults. It is a large venue with two floors so there are kids running all over the place and parents moving at warp speed trying to keep an eye on them. All the cousins were there as well as an assortment of the birthday boy's school friends, aunts, uncles and grandparents. In addition to the game rooms, there was the party room where pizza and salads are served in between playing and birthday cake. It was really a lot of fun - at least for me. My daughter was a little stressed.

I wandered among the game stations, stopping to watch each grandchild display his or her skill at a particular game while moms and dads stood close by offering encouragement and game tips. It was then that I realized that January birthday month in our family is the next big holiday - a wonderful and evolving celebration of life that lasts all month. I started to think about the special gift that is each family member - no matter what month the birthday.

I was an only child. My mother was an immigrant from Scotland so all of her family was there. My dad was from Tennessee and was much older than my mother. His mother died the year I was born and he never went back to see his family and rarely kept in touch. So, there was no extended family in my life. I envied the kids with brothers and sisters, aunts, uncles, cousins and grandparents, and holidays filled with the flurry of family get togethers.

My life now is a direct parallel to those years. My husband Tim and I have six children between us - two girls and four boys, all grown. We share eight grandchildren and have a new one on the way. In fact, we still have two that are not yet married so I'm sure there may be more to follow. I've been solitary in my past and surrounded with family in my present and I will take sourrounded with family every time. I see my family like a diamond, each person a different facet of the diamond, all perfect cuts that make the diamond almost perfect. I say almost because there are very few perfect diamonds. Most have small inclusions. Families are the same - they're not perfect but they're yours. This is an ode to my family - a list of the beautiful facets of my life that were born in January. There are more in March, April, June, August and October.

January 1st: Tyler is our oldest grandson. He made his appearance on January 1st, 1998 and our world has never been the same. I was 41 at the time and not convinced that I was old enough to be a grandma. I considered making him call me Aunt Kathy - that is until I saw him. I knew the moment I looked at him that ours would be a relationship that would span time and space. He and his mom, my daughter, lived with us for the first 3 years of his life. My husband and I spent a lot of time with him while his mommy worked and went to school so, for a brief time, he was almost like our baby. He is nearly as tall as me now and I constantly marvel as he develops, both physically and emotionally. He is and always will be a great way to start out the new year.

January 9th: Ryan is our youngest grandson and is four years old. He's beautiful with huge round eyes and a cherubic face. There has never been a more determined lad. Ryan's older brother Nathan has been riding dirt bikes with his dad and uncles for the past few years and this past summer, Ryan wanted to ride as well. But his dad told him he couldn't ride until he mastered riding a 2-wheel bike. Ryan has a tiny 2-wheeler that had training wheels on it. He looked at his bike, looked at his dad and said, "take the training wheels off dad." His dad took the training wheels off and to his parents amazement, that 3-year old boy got on the bike and rode down the street. When he came back he told his dad he was ready to ride the dirt bike! That's our Ryan.

January 12th: Tim is my husband and best friend. We began dating 21 years ago and have been married for 16. Not only is he supportive of my goals, hopes and dreams, but he stepped in as a father to my two children at a very important time and they love him very much. He is patient, kind and humble and always puts the feelings and needs of others first. He is a true partner and my better half. And he's cute! That's my Timmy.

January 17th: Nathan is our third grandson and Ryan's big brother. He turned 7 on the 17th. He is one of the sweetest and most caring little boys I have ever met. He is a very tenderhearted little boy. He watches out for his little brother and seem to try very hard to please his mom and dad. He's another determined little guy. The first time he walked, he was about 9 months old. He had been sitting in the middle of the room with nothing to hold on to. His mom watched him get to his feet by himself and then he took his first steps. He approaches everything with that same vigor.

January 25th: Scott is our new son-in-law. He and my daughter Erin married on October 25th of this past year and now are expecting a baby. Erin held out for her prince and he certainly fits the bill. He fit into our family immediately and he's everything I have prayed for for my daughter and then some. He reminds me of Tim in some ways, easy going, always happy to help, kind and thoughtful. He treats my daughter like a princess. He's a keeper.

January 27th: Matthew and Darrel, my husband's oldest and are identical twins. Where do I start with these guys? Tall, handsome, funny and wonderful men and fathers. Matt is the oldest, being three minutes older than his twin, Darrel. He is a body builder, technical writer, husband and dad. Everything he does, he does with a passion and singlemindedness that is amazing. Darrel, while appearing the more laid back of the two, actually isn't. He's a bit of a worry wart but again, one of the most wonderful men I know. He is a business owner and entrepreneur. He has a hilarious sense of humor and loves to pull phone pranks on everyone in the family. He has gotten me a few times. We don't tell him how funny he is because we don't want it to go to his head. He is a daddy extraordinaire - an exceptional father and a hard worker. I love these boys/men.

January 29th: Colin is our second grandson. He will be 8 years old on the 29th. Since he was 3 years old I have been convinced that he will be something...I don't know, maybe a doctor or a rocket scientist. He's a different little duck and maches to the beat of his own drum. While teacher say he daydreams a bit at school, I have seen that boy focus on things he is interested in with an intensity that would put a Nasa scientist to shame. One time when we were babysitting, he said to me, "Grandma, do you want to smell my carbon dioxide?" He had his hands cupped together. Okay...after I smelled it, he wanted to smell mine. He had been learning about it in school. He thinks about the things he is learning. I'm telling you, he may be famous some day! Watch out for Colin.

These are just some of the facets in my beautiful family diamond. Thank goodness for those birthdays that cause us to come together and celebrate the lives of those who bring form, essence and meaning to our families and our lives. No complaints from me.

Disillusion/Evolution

2009-01-15T10:44:00.000-05:00

Disillusion and evolution; According to Merriam-Webster, disillusion is "the condition of being disenchanted." Evolution is "a process of continuous change, from a lower, simpler, or worse, to a higher, more complex or better state." The words have two separate meanings and yet, I’m finding there is a fine line between them that not only separates them, but makes them kissing cousins as well. Let me explain.

I spent ten years of my life between my early 20’s and early 30’s in the grips of fundamental Christianity, or, in the words of one of my old professors," the darkest regions of fundamentalism." Then, I spent another ten years, at least, trying to deprogram myself from it. Yep, this is one of my nine lives – I’m thinking somewhere around life number 4.

I got "saved" around the age of 22 years old. As I've mentioned in prior posts, I was brought up Catholic and had rebel tendencies so, if you know anything about fundamental Christianity you have to wonder how I lasted 10 years - an oil and water kind of thing. I've wondered that too from time to time.

Anyway, at the time, I was mom to two very small children and in a marriage that was failing. From a small home bible study I was introduced to salvation with huge helpings of the bible, which of course, I, being Catholic, had never really read. What's more, I learned that the bible is to be taken literally - all of it. What? Adam and Eve? I'd never really thought about it. Jesus coming back on a white horse? The rapture? I'd never even heard of those things. It was overwhelming and at first I rejected these notions, but something - a need to bond with my new peers or a need to just find something to believe in took over. Well...that and my best friend was involved and I had to keep an eye on her. Don’t get me wrong, the people were wonderful and I still keep in touch with a few of them. We were all very young and looking for something - the blind leading the blind so to speak.

Interestingly enough, all of this newfound knowledge had me quite angry at the Catholic Church and I was pretty vocal about it. I felt they had deceived me and kept the truth of the bible from me. They were keeping me back from all of God's blessings, healing, prosperity, authority over the devil, raising the dead, and my rightful place in the kingdom of God. I mean, how many people went to hell that I could have warned! How many that I loved were in danger of eternal damnation? Well, I warned my mother and let's just say that went over like a lead balloon and she informed me, “you were born a Catholic and you’ll die a Catholic!” Case closed. I was born a Catholic? Hmmm…curious.

The church I was attending was run by three young pastors. They were very young with nothing more than high school educations. They had no professional training, but were passionate, extremely zealous, very kind and lots of fun. It was a small non-denominational church filled with people and families my age. What could be better?

The church was what is known as "spirit filled." The laying on of hands for healing of all sorts, speaking in tongues, prophesy and words of knowledge were regular and expected occurrences. The music was contemporary worship music with a full band of which I was a part. I had a great time there in the beginning. I discovered a talent for singing that I developed over time and I made a lot of wonderful friends. But something else happened. I stopped asking questions and I began to distrust my own instincts. I lost myself.

To make matters worse, the eutopian environment began to erode. Over time, the unchurch became an establishment of its own creation. Dogma was instituted only it was of their own making with bits and pieces culled from other ministries. I got divorced during that time and although they were much more forgiving than the Catholic church, attitudes of some people changed.

But here's the thing: Have you ever thought about the concept of hell? A place where justice is meted out by a supreme being (God). The residents of hell, according to the Christian religion, burn and suffer torment for eternity. The reason? It could be anything from murder to unconfessed sins. But the biggest problem is if they do not accept Jesus as savior, they are on the fast track to the "lake of fire that burns forever, sin or no sin" So, consider this: This theory excludes every religion that does not recognize Jesus Christ as the son of God, and, if your a fundamentalist Christian, even some that do. So, the God that created the entire vast universe, comes up with a plan to save mankind that is so narrow, that it is a sure thing that hell will be packed. One way - turn or burn. The concept sounds all too human to me - the brainchild of man. Not the creator of the universe. You would think that the creator would have a little more going on than that.

That is just one of many beliefs and teaching that began to eat at me. God, there were so many! They beleived it was God's will to heal all the time. When people died from illness as they inevitably did, there were assorted reasons discussed such as lack of faith, not enough faith - stuff like that - all pointing the finger of guilt back to you. Thus, you were always guilty, not worshipping enough, not enough faith, evil mind, not spending enough time with God, ets. For me, God became an insatiable black hole that could never be satisfied. I started to resent him - disillusion. The questions in my head became so loud, I started saying them out loud. Woo hoo - if you want some excitement, just try that in a fundamental church. I eventually left the church with my children.

It took quite a while to get over that 10 year experience - at least 10 more years. But I found myself again and I found God, the universe, the supreme being. I know he is there - evolution.

I think that God, the supreme being, the universe, whatever you want to call him has the capacity to reach us wherever we are. I think there are many paths to God. I don't know if he name is Jesus, Krishna, Yaweh or whatever. I still like to picture him as Jesus but without all of the extra stuff and exclusivity. I think God is for everyone in whatever way it is manifested whether through the Budda, Krishna or Jesus. But it's insanity to put this huge entity in a little box and claim it for yourself or your little group alone.

Heritage

2009-01-13T06:47:00.000-05:00

My mother was from Scotland. You might think that would make me part Scottish, but you'd be wrong...according to my mother. Her parents were from Ireland and so, we are Irish. Scotland was just the place where they lived. It's a pretty big deal in my family. Among my cousins, all from Scotland, there is great pride and loyalty in our Irish heritage. Make that the Irish Catholic heritage. I am not excluding myself - I also am very proud and that feeling grows as I age. I picture roots that grow stronger and deeper below the surface of my life as time passes.

I have always been a rebel from as far back as I can remember. It's as natural to me as breathing; something I was born with. I don't know exactly where that comes from. My mother was kind of the black sheep of her family. Maybe it came from her. She was the first and only divorcee in her Irish Catholic family in her generation, prompting her to leave Scotland and immigrate, first to Canada and then to the United States/Detroit. It was in Detroit that she met my dad, the second of three husbands.

The persecution of Catholics was one of the main drivers behind the "troubles" that have plagued Ireland and to a significant extent, the Irish in Scotland, and fueled the fury and fighting that has carried on for decades. In my family, discrimination came in the form of jobs. On job applications, they were required to identify their religious affiliation which up until the last decade or so, could cost them the job if they were Catholic. They were also identified by their names. For example, Meehan was known as a Catholic name. One of my cousins used his mother's maiden name one year to get a job because the name was considered a protestant name. Of course, that didn't go over well with the family as you can imagine. So vitriole and rebellion linger beneath the surface for the Irish in Scotland and in my family. Maybe it came from there.

I was raised in the Catholic church and went to Catholic school. I have fond memories of my early years in the church. My mother took me when I was small and made me go by myself when I got older. I had to bring home a church paper every Sunday as evidence that I attended mass. Since she was divorced, she was denied sacraments so she didn't want to go but felt it was important for me to be there. You don't need me to tell you that a teenager will take note of that kind of behavior and rebel. In Scotland, a popular term of endearment was, :Oh ya cheeky wee bitch." I heard that often as a child, but it was not a bad thing. In fact, it was generally said tongue in cheek and with a smile. But one day, I called my mom a cheeky wee bitch intending that same playful spirit. Apparently, being born in the US diluted my Irish/Scott quotient because my mom walloped me a good one. So, at an early age I learned two things; First - what is ok for mom to say is not necessarily ok for me to say, and second; what is ok for mom NOT to do is not ok for me NOT to do (church). Maybe it came from these experiences.

But here's what I think: I think a bit was inherited from my mother who was a rebel in her own right; A little from my father who was kind of eccentric, a free thinker and an unsuccessful entepreneur; and the rest from my own personality, or the stars I was born under, or my instincts and observations while growing up, or all of the above, or whatever. That's my theory - it is who I am, a part of me, and I've used it for good and maybe just a wee bit of evil too. But these days, there is a sense of maturity to my rebellion. Perhaps those rebel instincts have evolved into confidence in who I am and what I believe, or what I don't believe. In any event, I've come to trust those instincts.

Perceptions

2009-01-12T06:49:00.000-05:00

Do you ever think about the way you look at things? Do you ever tell anyone about it? I suppose we all have our own quirky perceptions. For example; I have always seen the year, January to December, as a clock....always. January is at 12:00; March at 3:00, etc. You get the picture. I don't know when I started seeing it that way but I must have been very young. I mean, really...when I change my calendar to say, April, I actually see a clock with the hands set to 4:00. I wonder where that perception came from. Was it something I learned in kindergarten or did I just come up with it on my own? Doesn't matter.

Anyway, over the past few years, in reviewing the stages of life, mine in particular, it has occurred to me that I have evolved from one "life" to another over the past 52 years and gone through some very different stages. You know, like the drug stage, drinking stage, Jesus freak stage. They have blossomed in my head and become "my nine lives." Keep in mind that I am only on maybe life number 6. It's not that I think about it all the time, but it's there. It's a part of me and I always come back to it. Now believe me; I am not fooling myself into thinking this is scintillating information to anyone other than myself but this is my blogspot. So, there you have it. On this page, I have the freedom to obsess. I'll come back to my nine lives on another post.

Sunday afternoon

2009-01-11T20:07:00.000-05:00

Today is Sunday, January 11th. This is my first ever blog entry. I'm not really sure what I want to write about, or to whom it will matter if I do. But I have a lot of thoughts floating around in my head and I want to write them down. So, I'll just start and see where this takes me...

I started another blog page last week. I got the title, "Kate's Musings," and the content outline. It is to be a blog about instructional design - my chosen field, which I've yet to work in. I figured that I could use it to collect information and ideas that I wanted to keep and network with others in the field through the blog. It is all good in theory, but after spending, oh, I don't know... ath least one hour setting it up and getting the right fonts, pictures etc., that's all I have done - there is no blog. I don't know why but I could not think of anything to say. If you know me, you are thinking about how crazy that sounds - I'm never at a loss for words, or so I'm told. I haven't been back on that blog site since. So, you can see that I am ahead on this one. I'm writing about the blog that I'm not blogging on.