I have been reading a book called The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up: The Japanese Art of Decluttering and Organizing by Marie Kondo. I saw it on a table at Barnes and Noble and felt like I needed it. It is a very easy, uncluttered sort of a read. Very simple, very organized, a nice sized book that feels good in my hands.
My home is not super cluttered. I don't think I'm a hoarder or anything like that. But, I know I have too much stuff. I have room for the stuff, which is part of the problem. Sort of. I have a small attic space and I have a pretty big unfinished basement that is sort of like the Hades of the house. Things get thrown down there and they pile up, they spill over, they spread out, they get dusty and then moldy. Those are mostly things we "might need". Sort of. I don't think I actually need any of this stuff. Besides the roof and walls and all those good basic things. So much of what I have is extra. So much of it is over-abundance. I am not complaining. But I am feeling a need to let some of it go.
It is strange that part of what comes with the over-abundance is the guilt. I have so much, some people have so little, I have a hard time throwing anything away. I donate lots of things. Constantly. I fill bags with stuff and then I put them in my car. I wait until it's night time and I drive by the little town thrift stores in town and leave them outside the door. Afraid if I ask them to take my things they'll say no. I hand off my guilt to them. If they throw anything out, they are the ones who have to sleep at night knowing they added to the mountain at the dump. The dump. I've never been but I want to go. The dump in my mind is an enormous pile of wasted things that greedy thoughtless people have thrown away. Along with some normal waste. But mostly needless waste. I hate wasting things.
I have moved a bunch of times and a bunch of times, I have moved things that I thought I might need, or might do something with. Old wooden frames I inherited from an artist who owned that house in Woodstock before I did. A big old drum my grandfather bought at a yard sale and gave to me. So many tools, left behind by handymen and carpenters like bread crusts and apple cores. I collected them and put them in a drawer. So many nails and screws and hooks. So many houses, so many renovations. Thinking when I am done renovating my house, I will give all that stuff away. But that day never comes.
I grew up in a big house with my mother. When she died, I inherited all of her things and our families things. A lot of it, I was able to part with and a lot of it, I kept. When I moved from my mother's house, I moved so much. Towards the end of the move, I decided to leave a set of metal shelves in the basement and the movers actually cheered.
Some of the things I let go of, I regretted. I think when you're young and you lose someone you love and it is the first time you've ever lost anyone like that, you don't know what you will miss and what you won't. My favorite things I kept of my mother's are the mundane things. Her glasses in her glasses case, her wallet, a rolled up trident wrapper I found in her pocket.
Today, on a wave of tidying that I have begun in my house, I started to sort through my studio. So many art supplies.... sewing, all kinds of painting, oil, acrylic, watercolor, egg tempera, tempera, water based oils, enamels, collage, rug hooking, knitting, crocheting, needle felting, drawing supplies like craypas, pastels, colored pencils, markers, all kinds, erasers, sharpeners, scissors, thread, fabric, yarn, hole punchers and on and on....
In the bottom of an old tin of sewing notions, like zippers and snaps, buckles and fusion tape, I found a Chapstick. I knew right away that it was my mother's and knew that I had saved it because it was hers. I opened the cap and smelled it. It was strawberry and still smelled like a strawberry scented lip balm. A thin, white tubed Chapstick, with SPF 15 and it was used up to the bottom. Pink and small inside.
Now, this book I'm reading, it talks a lot about letting go of the past.
This part of the book is shifting something inside of me. Something that feels really uncomfortable and crumbly. Something old and dry. Like a dried brittle bouquet.
The book talks about holding each item you own and seeing how you feel.
If it gives you pleasure and joy, you can keep it. If it doesn't, you
should discard it. I had thought when I started to read this book, that all of the things I own, I love. That I kept these things because I do love them and care about them and it feels good to have them because they mean something to me.
She talks about throwing out old letters and old photos! And I keep thinking about all of the letters I have in my attic. Somehow I ended up with all of these notebooks that I passed back and forth with friends in high school. Why do I still have them? I think to me, these things are like little portals to another time in my life. I don't know why I have an impulse to hold onto times in my life that are gone. To hold onto who I was then. There's no other way to go back there. I miss those times. I do. I feel like I have had a lot of loss and the only thing I have left of those people I lost are actual things. Maybe holding onto those things doesn't make me any closer to that time. I am not sure.
I have noticed that when I think about the things that I am keeping because "I can't just get rid of them" because they have some sentimental value, it is not with joy. It is with some heart ache. And maybe, just maybe, if I let go of those things, I will let go of some of that heart ache. Terrifying really. It is pretty risky. I am not sure. But I am working on being willing and seeing how that feels.
I held my mother's 19 year old lip balm in my hands and I knew she had held it. She had bought it, she had carried it around in her pocketbook or had it by her bed or in her pocket. She applied it to her lips and her lips smelled like strawberries. It was hers. And sadly, that is the closest I get to going back in time, to being near her.
And I threw it away. I thought, well, it's just 19 year old lip balm. It doesn't actually bring me closer to my mom. I did not even remember that I had it, I will not miss it. I have other things of hers that are better than old lip balm. It's okay to throw it out.
That was six hours ago. For a few hours I have been thinking about that lip balm and wishing I had kept it. How could I just throw that out? Isn't it something? Isn't it still better than nothing? I felt pangs of regret. I mulled it over. Already in the garbage. I'm not going through the garbage to get a 19 year old lip balm. I won't.
And just now I remembered the garbage bag I put it in was actually right here. And the only other thing in it was some old sweater sleeves. Yes, old sweater sleeves. Just the sleeves. So I took the lip balm out. And now it is on my desk. I thought if I had saved it, I would have put it with her old wallet and that would be okay. To have a little collection all together of her things. That would feel alright for now. But now, with it back in my hands, my heart feels heavy.
I guess one will be more painful than the other, the burden of keeping these things verses the letting them go. I am not sure which is worse. I think about what it would feel like to have none of these things. Would I feel freed or would I feel more lost? These objects are like little anchors. If I let them all go, I will float off and maybe that will be for the best. Maybe it will set me free to go to new places and move forward. Maybe being anchored is not the best thing. Or maybe I will be like an astronaut untethered in out space forever. With no lip balm.
I suppose, my current life is full of it's own anchors and foot holds. If I were a friend of mine, I would say, "Let it all go! You'll be free! Who knows how these things hold you back and the only way to find out is to let them go. Be fearless."
You be fearless. I'm keeping my dead mother's old lip balm another day.
But still, everything in my house looks different to me now. I am aware of how uncomfortable these things feel when I think about them or see them. Maybe it is just a matter of time before I am really sure that discarding these things is fine and feels just right. I count this new view I have of my belongings as huge progress. Quite astonishing to me, actually.
It is one thing to have your own history but to carry your parents and grandparents history is a lot. It just is. Do you know, I have my grandmother's journals AND my mother's journals AND my journals? And I have thought, how great is that? I should DO something with these journals. Edit and combine them. Match up the days and have all three entries together, at the same age or the same date. Make it a novel. They are all sitting in boxes. How do you get rid of something like that? I don't know. That's why I haven't. Doesn't seem right.
Do you know what else? I have my mother's brass bed frame. A bed frame that my parents bought when they were married and young at a place in Long Island. I think it was in Valley Stream. A place that you could sit and have tea and also buy antiques. If I thought about it long enough, I am sure I would come up with the name of the place. Tiffinannie's. That didn't take long.
Full sized bed, which explains the divorce if you ask me. I could never sleep in a bed smaller than a King with anyone. I was conceived in this bed and also, my mother died in this bed. So I have it. Where is it? The only place it would fit where it wouldn't get ruined; lying flat, under my own king sized bed. I have thought if I get rid of it, I would regret it. And I just might. But, I have just started to think, maybe it is time. I do not feel joy when I think of that bed, under my own bed. I would like to have empty space under my bed. Maybe it is time.
I have so many letters from old boyfriends. I was so loved. So nice. Maybe I will mail them all back to my old boyfriends. So they can remember how much they loved me. In case they forgot.
It is time to let some of those sandbags go. Maybe a little at a time is fine. I do want to feel lighter. I don't want anything I don't love. I am finding the whole process sort of fascinating. I am impressed, surprised, confused, excited and scared.
I am so curious to see how it will unfold. And what will be left behind.
Sunday, January 4, 2015
Friday, December 19, 2014
My dog.
I am sitting on my kitchen floor, on Spidey's hang out. Spidey is my old dog and his hang out is two 3' x 5' rugs pushed together and covered with a sheet with his dog bed that's wrapped in a contractor bag and duct tape, with a zipper furry cover, a water proof crib mattress cover and a towel on top. A dog equivalent to the hospital bed in your living room for your elderly family member.
Wheaten's are supposed to live to be about 12 or 13, so his 14 years is a long time. This year he got suddenly old, slow and messy.
An hour from now, a vet is coming to the house to euthanize him. Joseph and I will be with him and he'll be in his home, on his bed. When we pick our five year old son up from kindergarten, we'll walk him home and then tell him that our old dog has died. We've talked about it a lot. I've tried to prepare him for the day I knew was getting closer. He talks about how sad he'll be. I talk about how Spidey will be free of his body and his spirit will be like a puppy again and he will be so happy.
I have been telling Spidey we are going to free him of his body. I have been asking my mom to meet him on the other side and my grandmother too. I'm imagining them walking up to Spidey and welcoming him with hugs, rubbing his ears, saying hello. Showing him how he can still see us even though we can't see him.
I wonder if I will hear his ghost feet walking in the house at night.
I wonder if our little boy will be okay with it all. We'll have Spidey in the house until Desmond is home from school. Joseph has dug a hole in the yard. We'll bury him all together, the three of us. I have a pink sheet picked out to wrap him in and I think I will write some love notes to Spidey on the sheet with marker. We have candles lit. We have flowers. I am terrified.
I am scared I am making the wrong decision. I hate that he is still alive and that I am making a decision to end his life.
He can still get around, although he is very wobbly on his feet and if he falls in the right way on the hard floors, he can't get himself up because he slips. He ends up like a fish out of water, flopping around until someone comes to pick him up. He can barely see. He walks into walls and doors and doesn't always see what's happening. He can hardly hear anything, he doesn't react when I walk into a room or when I call his name. He can't find things with his nose very well anymore. But he still likes food. And he loves to be pet and hugged and kissed. He has lost control over his bowels and for what seems like the better part of the last year we have been cleaning and cleaning and cleaning up after him, daily, now several times a day. I always said I was okay until he started peeing all over the place, which has begun now too.
I don't know. He is old, he is wobbly, is he in pain? Probably. He is skin and bones. And fur. His skin allergies are bad, he is scabby and probably itchy. That used to happen in the summer time but it's still happening now. He has chronic eye infections and one ear that is prone to infection as well. Some days he has a sty on his eye that bleeds. Some days, the growth on his lip bleeds.
But he is always happy to see us. Always looking for his food. Always grateful for attention. He has been a super sweet, over sized lap dog.
I feel guilty for not having been a better dog parent. I should have walked him more. Taken him more places. We used to take him on hikes and swimming. Then we had Desmond. It was so hard for me to walk the two of them together, I didn't do it enough. I think Spidey had 9 decent years and then 5 years just hanging out. Tolerating Desmond's rough attempts at play or torture.
Spidey drives me crazy. He has a way of blocking my path as you move through the house. Getting in step with me and then stepping right in front of me and stopping so I almost fall over him. He has peed and pooped on everything this past year. He didn't like other dogs after he had a fight with a dog at a friend's house. The dog was a black Portuguese water dog. For a while, Spidey was aggressive towards black dogs and was pretty racist, than it was all dogs. He is the kind of dog that would not run away but he might wander off if you're not watching. He loves kids, he loves all people. He barks like crazy at the mailman though, even though they always give him cookies, or maybe because they do. He loves a ride in the car and sticking his head out the window to feel the wind. He used to know peoples names. We used to go to Long Island together to visit our friends a lot and I would say, "Where's Maureen?!" and he would look at Maureen and jump up and put his paws in her lap and kiss her. He new a lot of names.
He was born on August 19th of 2000 and I bought him for myself as a birthday gift when I turned 26. I found him a few days before but waited to pick him up on my birthday, Nov 19. He was 3 months old and was a brown and black bear cub. So cottony soft and fluffy and for a few days he seemed sad. But he warmed up to living with me in Long Beach, Long Island and we would go for walks on the beach, even in the snow. When I gave him his first hair cut, all of the baby brown fur cut away to a creamy white fur and he was a new dog! I put a red bandanna on him. He was so handsome.
I thought, when I got him, I was going to take him cross country with me in an RV. But I chickened out and moved to the Hudson Valley instead and here we still are.
This is hard. This is so hard. This is much harder than I thought it would be. It's been so difficult to care for him this year and after I had Desmond he really went from being more like a person in my mind to being more like a dog. I thought this would be easier. But it is just terribly sad.
I had a pug that I got when I was 12. I had him put down when I was 24. I lived alone, he was my dog, I made the decision and I took him to the vet by myself and it was not horrible. It was sad but it was okay. This feels much harder. I think it's because there are more people involved. Joseph and Desmond. Joseph loves this dog as much as I do and Desmond hasn't known life without him, even though I don't know how much he has added to his life other than being a constant furry presence. One that made Desmond whine and cry if his breath or his farts were too stinky or if he was in the way of his games or sitting on his toys. We had to keep Spidey away from Desmond when he was a newborn and Desmond away from Spidey because he was too old for rough-housing. They have co-existed and tolerated each other but still, Desmond loves Spidey. And I think, Desmond worries about death. He knows my mother died and that it is sad for me. My uncle just died this Fall. Another woman he knew died this past year. I think he worries about me dying. He is always asking me if I'm young. Reassuring himself that I am not old and dying. Not yet. I tell him I am young. I think I am. I hope I live to be very old.
The vet is coming soon.
After she puts the dog down, he will be here with us until school is out. What will we do with him? Keep him in the kitchen? Wrap him in a blanket and put him outside? What will I do with myself? How do you wait for your kid to come home from school so that you can tell him our dog has died and now it is time to bury him? How will we bury him? What will it feel like? What will it feel like tomorrow? What will it feel like this summer, walking over his buried body in the ground?
I feel scared. And anxious. I want it to be tomorrow already.
I will miss Spidey's warm furry body and face, his cataract eyes, his smelly old dog kisses.
Powers that be, give me strength to walk through this day for Spidey, for myself, for Joseph and for Desmond. Let me get to the other side with some sort of grace and ease. I am going to try to remind myself to just float with the current today. I don't like this. Not at all.
Wheaten's are supposed to live to be about 12 or 13, so his 14 years is a long time. This year he got suddenly old, slow and messy.
An hour from now, a vet is coming to the house to euthanize him. Joseph and I will be with him and he'll be in his home, on his bed. When we pick our five year old son up from kindergarten, we'll walk him home and then tell him that our old dog has died. We've talked about it a lot. I've tried to prepare him for the day I knew was getting closer. He talks about how sad he'll be. I talk about how Spidey will be free of his body and his spirit will be like a puppy again and he will be so happy.
I have been telling Spidey we are going to free him of his body. I have been asking my mom to meet him on the other side and my grandmother too. I'm imagining them walking up to Spidey and welcoming him with hugs, rubbing his ears, saying hello. Showing him how he can still see us even though we can't see him.
I wonder if I will hear his ghost feet walking in the house at night.
I wonder if our little boy will be okay with it all. We'll have Spidey in the house until Desmond is home from school. Joseph has dug a hole in the yard. We'll bury him all together, the three of us. I have a pink sheet picked out to wrap him in and I think I will write some love notes to Spidey on the sheet with marker. We have candles lit. We have flowers. I am terrified.
I am scared I am making the wrong decision. I hate that he is still alive and that I am making a decision to end his life.
He can still get around, although he is very wobbly on his feet and if he falls in the right way on the hard floors, he can't get himself up because he slips. He ends up like a fish out of water, flopping around until someone comes to pick him up. He can barely see. He walks into walls and doors and doesn't always see what's happening. He can hardly hear anything, he doesn't react when I walk into a room or when I call his name. He can't find things with his nose very well anymore. But he still likes food. And he loves to be pet and hugged and kissed. He has lost control over his bowels and for what seems like the better part of the last year we have been cleaning and cleaning and cleaning up after him, daily, now several times a day. I always said I was okay until he started peeing all over the place, which has begun now too.
I don't know. He is old, he is wobbly, is he in pain? Probably. He is skin and bones. And fur. His skin allergies are bad, he is scabby and probably itchy. That used to happen in the summer time but it's still happening now. He has chronic eye infections and one ear that is prone to infection as well. Some days he has a sty on his eye that bleeds. Some days, the growth on his lip bleeds.
But he is always happy to see us. Always looking for his food. Always grateful for attention. He has been a super sweet, over sized lap dog.
I feel guilty for not having been a better dog parent. I should have walked him more. Taken him more places. We used to take him on hikes and swimming. Then we had Desmond. It was so hard for me to walk the two of them together, I didn't do it enough. I think Spidey had 9 decent years and then 5 years just hanging out. Tolerating Desmond's rough attempts at play or torture.
Spidey drives me crazy. He has a way of blocking my path as you move through the house. Getting in step with me and then stepping right in front of me and stopping so I almost fall over him. He has peed and pooped on everything this past year. He didn't like other dogs after he had a fight with a dog at a friend's house. The dog was a black Portuguese water dog. For a while, Spidey was aggressive towards black dogs and was pretty racist, than it was all dogs. He is the kind of dog that would not run away but he might wander off if you're not watching. He loves kids, he loves all people. He barks like crazy at the mailman though, even though they always give him cookies, or maybe because they do. He loves a ride in the car and sticking his head out the window to feel the wind. He used to know peoples names. We used to go to Long Island together to visit our friends a lot and I would say, "Where's Maureen?!" and he would look at Maureen and jump up and put his paws in her lap and kiss her. He new a lot of names.
He was born on August 19th of 2000 and I bought him for myself as a birthday gift when I turned 26. I found him a few days before but waited to pick him up on my birthday, Nov 19. He was 3 months old and was a brown and black bear cub. So cottony soft and fluffy and for a few days he seemed sad. But he warmed up to living with me in Long Beach, Long Island and we would go for walks on the beach, even in the snow. When I gave him his first hair cut, all of the baby brown fur cut away to a creamy white fur and he was a new dog! I put a red bandanna on him. He was so handsome.
I thought, when I got him, I was going to take him cross country with me in an RV. But I chickened out and moved to the Hudson Valley instead and here we still are.
This is hard. This is so hard. This is much harder than I thought it would be. It's been so difficult to care for him this year and after I had Desmond he really went from being more like a person in my mind to being more like a dog. I thought this would be easier. But it is just terribly sad.
I had a pug that I got when I was 12. I had him put down when I was 24. I lived alone, he was my dog, I made the decision and I took him to the vet by myself and it was not horrible. It was sad but it was okay. This feels much harder. I think it's because there are more people involved. Joseph and Desmond. Joseph loves this dog as much as I do and Desmond hasn't known life without him, even though I don't know how much he has added to his life other than being a constant furry presence. One that made Desmond whine and cry if his breath or his farts were too stinky or if he was in the way of his games or sitting on his toys. We had to keep Spidey away from Desmond when he was a newborn and Desmond away from Spidey because he was too old for rough-housing. They have co-existed and tolerated each other but still, Desmond loves Spidey. And I think, Desmond worries about death. He knows my mother died and that it is sad for me. My uncle just died this Fall. Another woman he knew died this past year. I think he worries about me dying. He is always asking me if I'm young. Reassuring himself that I am not old and dying. Not yet. I tell him I am young. I think I am. I hope I live to be very old.
The vet is coming soon.
After she puts the dog down, he will be here with us until school is out. What will we do with him? Keep him in the kitchen? Wrap him in a blanket and put him outside? What will I do with myself? How do you wait for your kid to come home from school so that you can tell him our dog has died and now it is time to bury him? How will we bury him? What will it feel like? What will it feel like tomorrow? What will it feel like this summer, walking over his buried body in the ground?
I feel scared. And anxious. I want it to be tomorrow already.
I will miss Spidey's warm furry body and face, his cataract eyes, his smelly old dog kisses.
Powers that be, give me strength to walk through this day for Spidey, for myself, for Joseph and for Desmond. Let me get to the other side with some sort of grace and ease. I am going to try to remind myself to just float with the current today. I don't like this. Not at all.
Sunday, March 9, 2014
Good art.
I just watched this video of a woman dancing around her home, draped in a sheer bit of fabric. Watch it and come back to me.
http://www.nowness.com/day/2013/11/27/3501/wild-rose
As I watched, I thought, how beautiful.... how lovely she is, how lovely the light is, how smooth that bit of sheer fabric would feel on my skin, how it would feel to dance like that, almost like a child, with no insecurity, just in the pleasure and appreciation of my body, of the fabric, of the light and the air.
I also thought, how self indulgent, she's too proud, she's being too provocative, people won't like it. Men will like it, women will not like it. Someone, I would say, some collective, has taught me to think that way. Has taught me to judge myself, to find my faults, to be ashamed of them, to hide them away. Not to be proud, or celebrate myself. To keep pleasure private. Especially the pleasure of celebrating my self. And to judge other women in the same way.
I love that this made me think so much. It was filmed and I suppose edited by a woman. And I am glad these two women took the time to play. To make this little film. Like a window to gaze through. Just a few moments, both strange and lovely.
It made me think about how I have cinched in my spirit over the years. How I have chipped away at rough edges and fluffed up the parts of me that I thought you'd like better. I have a sculpted personality now. I guess it is always in progress but so much has been done already. So many bits of me have been shaped. I imagine it is the same for all of us. We are taught how to behave. To sing quietly, to sit still, to be modest, to be humble, to be civilized. To go to sleep when everyone else goes to sleep at the sleep-over and not keep laughing deliriously. Because those girls won't talk to you again if you do. To wear what everyone else is wearing. Not to ask the wrong questions or say the wrong thing. Or misbehave.
I was disappointed that I cringed at all at that film. Why? Why should I? It's nonsense. Any cringe I felt was put there by someone else. I think it was lovely. And why not. Why shouldn't she (we) be lovely and proud and share those moments. Just like a child saying, "Look at me!" With my child, I respond, "Yes! Look at you! You are so wonderful!" Because he is. And I am. And you are. And everyone else can just get over it.
And that's good art.
http://www.nowness.com/day/2013/11/27/3501/wild-rose
As I watched, I thought, how beautiful.... how lovely she is, how lovely the light is, how smooth that bit of sheer fabric would feel on my skin, how it would feel to dance like that, almost like a child, with no insecurity, just in the pleasure and appreciation of my body, of the fabric, of the light and the air.
I also thought, how self indulgent, she's too proud, she's being too provocative, people won't like it. Men will like it, women will not like it. Someone, I would say, some collective, has taught me to think that way. Has taught me to judge myself, to find my faults, to be ashamed of them, to hide them away. Not to be proud, or celebrate myself. To keep pleasure private. Especially the pleasure of celebrating my self. And to judge other women in the same way.
I love that this made me think so much. It was filmed and I suppose edited by a woman. And I am glad these two women took the time to play. To make this little film. Like a window to gaze through. Just a few moments, both strange and lovely.
It made me think about how I have cinched in my spirit over the years. How I have chipped away at rough edges and fluffed up the parts of me that I thought you'd like better. I have a sculpted personality now. I guess it is always in progress but so much has been done already. So many bits of me have been shaped. I imagine it is the same for all of us. We are taught how to behave. To sing quietly, to sit still, to be modest, to be humble, to be civilized. To go to sleep when everyone else goes to sleep at the sleep-over and not keep laughing deliriously. Because those girls won't talk to you again if you do. To wear what everyone else is wearing. Not to ask the wrong questions or say the wrong thing. Or misbehave.
I was disappointed that I cringed at all at that film. Why? Why should I? It's nonsense. Any cringe I felt was put there by someone else. I think it was lovely. And why not. Why shouldn't she (we) be lovely and proud and share those moments. Just like a child saying, "Look at me!" With my child, I respond, "Yes! Look at you! You are so wonderful!" Because he is. And I am. And you are. And everyone else can just get over it.
And that's good art.
Saturday, January 4, 2014
Desicions
I was thinking today, about how I've done a lot of accepting in my life. Which is a good thing. I don't mean settling. I mean accepting things that have already happened or people in my life for being who they are, no more, no less. I can look back and say, yes, that happened, it's okay. So and so will always be so and so and no-one else. And from all the things I have had to work to accept, I have learned something and grown in some way.
I have tried to make decisions along the way, as we all do, that will make us happy in the end. Like a game of Othello, move by move, I am trying to flip the chips on the board, white or black. Flip them all over to happy, or as many as I can. And I get nervous that I will not make the right moves. Especially as I get older, as the game goes on, I have less time and less moves I can make. The board is filling up. I am afraid I will end up with more sad chips face-up than happy. For now, I feel like I am doing well, but seem to be at a pivotal point. I want to make a big decision. One that could flip a lot of chips one way or the other.
I was thinking about how I have gotten good at accepting things that are done but could use some work on accepting the risk involved in making choices for the future. Especially big ones. I wish someone would tell me what to do. I wish my mother were alive so I could ask her what she thinks. I wish I had a crystal ball I could gaze into and see all outcomes and choose the best one.
It is hard to want a lot of things, to be afraid of most of them and having to choose only a few.
Next year Desmond goes to kindergarten. From 9 am to 3 pm, I will be free, five days a week. This, my friends, is an opportunity. What will I do with this opportunity? This is the question.
I could keep doing what I've been doing, outside of mothering. Work on house projects, art projects, writing projects and other projects more wholeheartedly. That sounds really good. I could also give myself a little time to re-coup. Take a breather. Take some time to think about making a big change or continuing on as I have been. This seems like the safest bet. The gentlest and the easiest.
I have been thinking about a Master's Degree in Social Work. To be a therapist down the line. To go to school and get a "real" job and work with other adults in the adult world. To be helpful, to be useful outside of my home. To be able to say at a party when someone asks, "What do you do?" "Oh, I work at such and such a place, with such and such people and I do such and such." Actually, I should just start saying exactly that at parties. Can I get a Master's in Such and Such? Because I would be really good at that.
I have often thought of being a therapist, doing some sort social work. I think I would enjoy it. But I might not. No guarantees. So, that's risky. Also, it costs money! Oh, and time! Money and time. Valuable things. It would take years. But it could happen.
Another major big, and even more life-altering option is having another baby. I must be mad. I can only think to blame my cave-woman brain for this. Some biological clock that should have run out of batteries by now. Why do you torment me? Should I have a second child? Will I go insane? Will I be a terrible, mean, depressed mother if I do this? What if the second child is autistic? What if we have another child and then we all get cancer from GMOs at the same time? What kind of world is this? What if the two kids hate each other? What if they fight all the time? Would he be mean to a little sibling? Would I resent him for it? What if I love the second one more? Or less? What if my boobs end up 6" lower than they are now? What if my body can't bounce back after being stretched so far a second time? What if I age even more rapidly than the president with a second child? Will my puffy eyes become even more pronounced? Like two big croissants on my face? Puffy and wrinkly and flaky.... like chocolate croissants with the dark circles. I'll have chocolate croissant eyes. What if something happens to Desmond, shouldn't I have a back-up kid? Would a sibling make Desmond a better person? Would it be fun? Would it be too hard? Would it be easier? Am I too old?
It would be harder to travel. More expensive in every way. We could do more for and with Desmond if it is just him. But I'd have a better chance of my children keeping in touch with me, right? Maybe at least one would. Maybe one would take care of me in my old age. Because I will be old pretty soon. Or dead. My mother died when she was 48. What if I die young? Do I want to leave two children behind instead of one? Would that be better or worse? If I were 48 when I died, a baby I have now would only be 10 years old. That won't happen though. That won't happen.
With Desmond I knew I wanted to be a mom, there was not much else to think about. I was so curious about being pregnant, giving birth, nursing, caring for a baby, raising a child, creating a family. I had no idea each of these things were going to be such hard work. And so painful. Sleep training was beyond challenging. Doing all of that again, knowing what I would be in for would be a very different thing. I would have to be crazy, I think. I feel like I'd be scared the whole time. That wouldn't be good. Still, I am considering it. I would do things differently if I did it again. I would not eat EVERYTHING I wanted to this time while I was pregnant. I would give birth in a hospital, so I could have some drugs. Not much I could do different nursing but at least I know what pump works now. Sigh.
It's exhausting just thinking about it. I am afraid. I don't want to do any of that. But there is a nagging feeling that someone is missing in the house. Someone is tugging at me.
I don't want to stay home another five years. I don't want to put a baby in child-care either. Maybe I could go to school part time? Is that even possible?
So, I sit in front of this Othello game of life. And I stare at the board. I am not sure what move to make. It may seem like I am over-analyzing this. But, I guess I feel like I should think about it. You know, before I make a human. Or decide not to. Send a "request denied" back into the ether. Sorry, baby in waiting, or cave-woman brain, or biological clock. Mamma wants a pay-check.
I have tried to make decisions along the way, as we all do, that will make us happy in the end. Like a game of Othello, move by move, I am trying to flip the chips on the board, white or black. Flip them all over to happy, or as many as I can. And I get nervous that I will not make the right moves. Especially as I get older, as the game goes on, I have less time and less moves I can make. The board is filling up. I am afraid I will end up with more sad chips face-up than happy. For now, I feel like I am doing well, but seem to be at a pivotal point. I want to make a big decision. One that could flip a lot of chips one way or the other.
I was thinking about how I have gotten good at accepting things that are done but could use some work on accepting the risk involved in making choices for the future. Especially big ones. I wish someone would tell me what to do. I wish my mother were alive so I could ask her what she thinks. I wish I had a crystal ball I could gaze into and see all outcomes and choose the best one.
It is hard to want a lot of things, to be afraid of most of them and having to choose only a few.
Next year Desmond goes to kindergarten. From 9 am to 3 pm, I will be free, five days a week. This, my friends, is an opportunity. What will I do with this opportunity? This is the question.
I could keep doing what I've been doing, outside of mothering. Work on house projects, art projects, writing projects and other projects more wholeheartedly. That sounds really good. I could also give myself a little time to re-coup. Take a breather. Take some time to think about making a big change or continuing on as I have been. This seems like the safest bet. The gentlest and the easiest.
I have been thinking about a Master's Degree in Social Work. To be a therapist down the line. To go to school and get a "real" job and work with other adults in the adult world. To be helpful, to be useful outside of my home. To be able to say at a party when someone asks, "What do you do?" "Oh, I work at such and such a place, with such and such people and I do such and such." Actually, I should just start saying exactly that at parties. Can I get a Master's in Such and Such? Because I would be really good at that.
I have often thought of being a therapist, doing some sort social work. I think I would enjoy it. But I might not. No guarantees. So, that's risky. Also, it costs money! Oh, and time! Money and time. Valuable things. It would take years. But it could happen.
Another major big, and even more life-altering option is having another baby. I must be mad. I can only think to blame my cave-woman brain for this. Some biological clock that should have run out of batteries by now. Why do you torment me? Should I have a second child? Will I go insane? Will I be a terrible, mean, depressed mother if I do this? What if the second child is autistic? What if we have another child and then we all get cancer from GMOs at the same time? What kind of world is this? What if the two kids hate each other? What if they fight all the time? Would he be mean to a little sibling? Would I resent him for it? What if I love the second one more? Or less? What if my boobs end up 6" lower than they are now? What if my body can't bounce back after being stretched so far a second time? What if I age even more rapidly than the president with a second child? Will my puffy eyes become even more pronounced? Like two big croissants on my face? Puffy and wrinkly and flaky.... like chocolate croissants with the dark circles. I'll have chocolate croissant eyes. What if something happens to Desmond, shouldn't I have a back-up kid? Would a sibling make Desmond a better person? Would it be fun? Would it be too hard? Would it be easier? Am I too old?
It would be harder to travel. More expensive in every way. We could do more for and with Desmond if it is just him. But I'd have a better chance of my children keeping in touch with me, right? Maybe at least one would. Maybe one would take care of me in my old age. Because I will be old pretty soon. Or dead. My mother died when she was 48. What if I die young? Do I want to leave two children behind instead of one? Would that be better or worse? If I were 48 when I died, a baby I have now would only be 10 years old. That won't happen though. That won't happen.
With Desmond I knew I wanted to be a mom, there was not much else to think about. I was so curious about being pregnant, giving birth, nursing, caring for a baby, raising a child, creating a family. I had no idea each of these things were going to be such hard work. And so painful. Sleep training was beyond challenging. Doing all of that again, knowing what I would be in for would be a very different thing. I would have to be crazy, I think. I feel like I'd be scared the whole time. That wouldn't be good. Still, I am considering it. I would do things differently if I did it again. I would not eat EVERYTHING I wanted to this time while I was pregnant. I would give birth in a hospital, so I could have some drugs. Not much I could do different nursing but at least I know what pump works now. Sigh.
It's exhausting just thinking about it. I am afraid. I don't want to do any of that. But there is a nagging feeling that someone is missing in the house. Someone is tugging at me.
I don't want to stay home another five years. I don't want to put a baby in child-care either. Maybe I could go to school part time? Is that even possible?
So, I sit in front of this Othello game of life. And I stare at the board. I am not sure what move to make. It may seem like I am over-analyzing this. But, I guess I feel like I should think about it. You know, before I make a human. Or decide not to. Send a "request denied" back into the ether. Sorry, baby in waiting, or cave-woman brain, or biological clock. Mamma wants a pay-check.
Thursday, December 26, 2013
Touch
You know, it's funny. So many things are funny. I have had an urge to write so many times this past week. About all the things that are funny. And strange. And confusing.
I had an interesting day today. I kept my cool in a way I have not been able to before with my four year old. For almost two hours, I stayed calm while he flailed around, feeling his way through his life, through his experience, his day, his emotions. Directing his frustration at me. And I stood like a polished marble wall, let is all slide right off. Instead of like the velcro ball I can be so often, holding onto his fit. Or like a spider web, catching his tantrum and holding it up. At the same time, I was able to love him and be patient and walk through it beside him and we both came out the other end, calm and exhausted. I lay next to him in his bed as he settled himself for a nap. Moving my hand over his hair, remembering the way my mom used to move her hand over my hair, so gently. Placing my hand on his little shoulder. Sending him love and healing thoughts through my palms. Then we both slept.
I read somewhere recently, something about how a hug can express things we cannot say. I felt today, when I was hugging my husband, like my heart was speaking to his heart. I have a feeling that my heart has been very careful since my mom died. When I was in college, I had a boyfriend. We used to stare into each others eyes. Just very much in love, looking into each others eyes, smiling, for minutes at a time, quietly being in love and settling into each other. For some reason, that memory of that feeling stands out to me as a feeling of abandon. Being in love. That falling feeling, the falling in love, letting yourself fall and drifting, following it completely.
After my mom died, that boyfriend and I broke up. And I don't think I ever looked at anyone that way again. It is only recently in my life, that I have been able to spend time gazing into my husband's eyes, before I have to look away. I think after my mom died, I suddenly understood something. There are no guarantees and everything ends. You can love someone but you should also be prepared to lose them. And I think, I lost the desire to lose myself in love that way. I sort of ended up loving in a way that was a bit guarded. A careful kind of love.
But every once in a while, that veil slips away. Today, holding onto my husband, I felt a great, full, whole sort of love, including the conscious awareness that someday he will be gone. I felt the great sadness of missing him in his future absence. A wild and clutching sort of "don't leave me" feeling, welling up and taking hold of me and in turn, him. My heart reached out and held onto his for dear life. I don't know. The funny thing is, it doesn't sound like a good feeling, but it felt honest. It felt like the truth and I felt grateful for the feeling and for this person in my life. Love is a scary thing sometimes. Because it feels so important, and necessary, and big, and at the same time, so fragile.
Later, we stood in the kitchen and talked about that hug. I told him, I had felt sad that some day he would be gone. He smiled at me and said he was not going anywhere. That's what my mom said, I told him. Before she died, when she knew she was dying, I told her how much I would miss her and that I didn't want her to go. She said, "Where would I go?" And maybe she is still here, beside me. But her physical presence is what my heart and my body misses. Two of my husband's fingertips rested on my hand as he spoke to me, grinning about his immortal self. I could weep thinking of those two fingertips not existing anymore. But this is life. Life ends. And until you experience losing someone you love, it may seem.... like a light and airy idea. But oh, the body, and all of the love it holds, the energy it radiates, the way a body feels, it's warm skin, it's soft hair, the lines and creases, the moles and freckles, the tiny hairs, the fuzz, the eyes, the teeth, their breath, their hair, their scent, the weight of them, the gravity, their feet planted on the earth, their hand in your hand, their voice, their laughter, their fingertips on your hand.... these things are golden, precious in every way. And when they are gone, they are gone. The love I feel, includes the knowledge of how fleeting these things are. How temporary. How lovely. How missed they will be. And my heart is bigger for it. I love you now. I miss you already. I am grateful for this moment of feeling you here with me and at the same time, a little sad that it will be gone some day.
I was driving in my car tonight, by myself, listening to a David Sedaris audio book. I laughed out loud and it sounded so much like my mother's laugh. But it wasn't her laugh, it was mine. Still, things like that can take my breath away and make my heart skip a beat. Maybe a little bit of my mother lives in my laugh. Certainly some of my mother lives on in me, in my body. It's funny. And sad at the same time. And I suppose some of my mom, and me, and my husband live on in my little boy. I hope they both outlive me. I hope we all grow to be very old. And I hope, by the time I die, I am less attached to this physical world and it's warm bodies. And it's ice cream. And pizza. I already miss pizza.
I had an interesting day today. I kept my cool in a way I have not been able to before with my four year old. For almost two hours, I stayed calm while he flailed around, feeling his way through his life, through his experience, his day, his emotions. Directing his frustration at me. And I stood like a polished marble wall, let is all slide right off. Instead of like the velcro ball I can be so often, holding onto his fit. Or like a spider web, catching his tantrum and holding it up. At the same time, I was able to love him and be patient and walk through it beside him and we both came out the other end, calm and exhausted. I lay next to him in his bed as he settled himself for a nap. Moving my hand over his hair, remembering the way my mom used to move her hand over my hair, so gently. Placing my hand on his little shoulder. Sending him love and healing thoughts through my palms. Then we both slept.
I read somewhere recently, something about how a hug can express things we cannot say. I felt today, when I was hugging my husband, like my heart was speaking to his heart. I have a feeling that my heart has been very careful since my mom died. When I was in college, I had a boyfriend. We used to stare into each others eyes. Just very much in love, looking into each others eyes, smiling, for minutes at a time, quietly being in love and settling into each other. For some reason, that memory of that feeling stands out to me as a feeling of abandon. Being in love. That falling feeling, the falling in love, letting yourself fall and drifting, following it completely.
After my mom died, that boyfriend and I broke up. And I don't think I ever looked at anyone that way again. It is only recently in my life, that I have been able to spend time gazing into my husband's eyes, before I have to look away. I think after my mom died, I suddenly understood something. There are no guarantees and everything ends. You can love someone but you should also be prepared to lose them. And I think, I lost the desire to lose myself in love that way. I sort of ended up loving in a way that was a bit guarded. A careful kind of love.
But every once in a while, that veil slips away. Today, holding onto my husband, I felt a great, full, whole sort of love, including the conscious awareness that someday he will be gone. I felt the great sadness of missing him in his future absence. A wild and clutching sort of "don't leave me" feeling, welling up and taking hold of me and in turn, him. My heart reached out and held onto his for dear life. I don't know. The funny thing is, it doesn't sound like a good feeling, but it felt honest. It felt like the truth and I felt grateful for the feeling and for this person in my life. Love is a scary thing sometimes. Because it feels so important, and necessary, and big, and at the same time, so fragile.
Later, we stood in the kitchen and talked about that hug. I told him, I had felt sad that some day he would be gone. He smiled at me and said he was not going anywhere. That's what my mom said, I told him. Before she died, when she knew she was dying, I told her how much I would miss her and that I didn't want her to go. She said, "Where would I go?" And maybe she is still here, beside me. But her physical presence is what my heart and my body misses. Two of my husband's fingertips rested on my hand as he spoke to me, grinning about his immortal self. I could weep thinking of those two fingertips not existing anymore. But this is life. Life ends. And until you experience losing someone you love, it may seem.... like a light and airy idea. But oh, the body, and all of the love it holds, the energy it radiates, the way a body feels, it's warm skin, it's soft hair, the lines and creases, the moles and freckles, the tiny hairs, the fuzz, the eyes, the teeth, their breath, their hair, their scent, the weight of them, the gravity, their feet planted on the earth, their hand in your hand, their voice, their laughter, their fingertips on your hand.... these things are golden, precious in every way. And when they are gone, they are gone. The love I feel, includes the knowledge of how fleeting these things are. How temporary. How lovely. How missed they will be. And my heart is bigger for it. I love you now. I miss you already. I am grateful for this moment of feeling you here with me and at the same time, a little sad that it will be gone some day.
I was driving in my car tonight, by myself, listening to a David Sedaris audio book. I laughed out loud and it sounded so much like my mother's laugh. But it wasn't her laugh, it was mine. Still, things like that can take my breath away and make my heart skip a beat. Maybe a little bit of my mother lives in my laugh. Certainly some of my mother lives on in me, in my body. It's funny. And sad at the same time. And I suppose some of my mom, and me, and my husband live on in my little boy. I hope they both outlive me. I hope we all grow to be very old. And I hope, by the time I die, I am less attached to this physical world and it's warm bodies. And it's ice cream. And pizza. I already miss pizza.
Saturday, November 23, 2013
The Message
It has been over a month since my last post. I have not forgotten you. In fact, I think of you often. I think a lot about what I could write about. Some things feel too personal or too preachy or too boring. But one thing I have been thinking a lot about this month feels just right.
If you know me..... I think I just found a tiny dead worm in my salad.
If you know me, you probably know my mom died a while back. It seems to come up eventually. It's something I carry with me and sometimes I take it out to show other people. Look, see? I had a mom. She died. Breast cancer. I was 21. I am still sad about it. Then I put it back in my pocket.
You may also know, that I have been to a few mediums. I have always had an interest in psychics, mediums, ghosts, the paranormal, all that stuff, since I was a little girl. When I was a kid, I only wanted books from the library that were ghost stories, and I watched tons of Scooby Doo episodes. Forever disappointed that it was never really a ghost or a monster, just someone in a costume.
Long story short, recently, a friend of mine urged me to go with him to see a medium. He had seen the medium before and said she had changed his life. She is in New Jersey, my friend is in Beacon. So he made an appointment for each of us on November 4th. I drove the hour down to Beacon and jumped in his car and he drove us to New Jersey.
This friend of mine is a friend from college. We lived in the same dorm, the only dorm at our small school. He always listened to great music. We were not close friends but thanks to Facebook we have been in touch and have come to know each other a little better. He has a brother who passed in a tragic boating accident. This brother is who he had gone to try to connect with when he first found this medium. And it changed things for him.
I don't remember the medium's name. Lynn something? I don't know what town we were in. I didn't much care for the details. I just wanted to spend the day with a new, old friend and go somewhere I had never been and maybe have my life changed, maybe not. Even more than I love going someplace new, I love to be taken someplace new.
My friend is a mystical kind of guy. I didn't know this before. And I was so thoroughly intrigued and entertained by him. Talking with him in the car there and back and over dim sum, made all things seem possible. Because he believes in some pretty far out things. And I believe in him. All in all, that day was a perfect adventure.
This medium, she was legit, I think. She told me a lot about my mom, a lot about how she died. She told me my mom is always with me, that she is always talking to me, comforting me or advising me. She said that my mom rests her hand on my right shoulder a lot. She also said that my mom likes to sit at my kitchen table, which I translated to my kitchen desk. We do have a desk with a chair in our kitchen but no table. It seems like an appropriate place to sit to observe things in my house. And whether this is true or not, I like to imagine her there now, keeping me company. I wish she would fold some laundry while she is sitting there.
But, here's the thing. I guess my big wish, every time I see a medium, is that they will say, "Your mom is with you. She wants to tell you how much she loves you, that she knows you miss her, that she is so proud of you, what a wonderful mother you are, how much she loves your son, that she is watching over him, and what a wonderful man you've married and the home you've created is so lovely. And you will see her again when it is your time to pass on. And she's never appeared as a ghost to you because..... And the person you should talk to about publishing your book is......." But that never happens. But this time, was the worst. She did not relay any of those messages, other than "your mother is with you". What she did say was, "Your mother says you're very uptight. You worry too much. Stop avoiding stressful situations, it's creating more stress in your life." What? Really? That's what she wants to tell me from beyond the grave? That I'm uptight? I know I'm uptight! And that I worry too much.
When I left, I felt annoyed. It is ultimately aggravating to sit down across from someone who may actually be talking to my dead mother, for only an hour and then hand them money and walk away. It is hard to walk away from someone who can talk to my dead mother. I want to talk to her. And I don't want to hear this bullshit about how uptight I am.
But, here's the other thing. I heard what she said. She the medium, or she, my mother, it doesn't matter really where the message came from, I heard it. And it was true. And it was important to hear and to take it in. She was right. And it was not news to me. But maybe, if that was what my mother felt it was most important to say in that moment, not that she was proud of me, but that I should chill out? Then maybe that was what would she thought would help me most. And maybe it was.
Since that day, I have thought a lot about how uptight I am, how worried, how caught up I am in all the things I can't figure out, that I have not accomplished, all the things that I am doing wrong, or not doing at all, should be doing, or shouldn't be doing. I am missing out on the moment. Which is also not a new thought, but one I forget. To be in the moment. This is where it's at. In this moment, I have an awesome life. I have this little boy who is four years old in this moment and he will not be four forever. Every day, he is older and is growing and changing. And HE is the very best thing I've done so far and the very thing I've wanted most in my life. And I am so proud of him. I love my husband, he is a great man. I love our house. I love this life. I am healthy. We are all, the three of us, healthy. These are amazing things and they can also change at any moment. But, in this moment, they are here, they are true and I am paying attention to them. Experiencing joy. I am allowed. It is important.
I have been letting go, and letting go, and letting go some more. There is no rush, there is no pressure, there is no deadline. I have been thinking about being led. Letting the Universe guide me and seeing where it is it will take me. I am open to the adventure and the experience. It feels good to step out of my head and into my shoes and walk, or sit, or lay flat on the floor and breathe. Just be.
For however long this lasts, I hope to be able to just let go and float with the tide. Trust that all is well. And if it doesn't seem quite right, it is just a bend in the road that will take me where I am meant to go. All the while, expecting joy and letting it in.
Deep breath.
And another.
Good job.
If you know me..... I think I just found a tiny dead worm in my salad.
If you know me, you probably know my mom died a while back. It seems to come up eventually. It's something I carry with me and sometimes I take it out to show other people. Look, see? I had a mom. She died. Breast cancer. I was 21. I am still sad about it. Then I put it back in my pocket.
You may also know, that I have been to a few mediums. I have always had an interest in psychics, mediums, ghosts, the paranormal, all that stuff, since I was a little girl. When I was a kid, I only wanted books from the library that were ghost stories, and I watched tons of Scooby Doo episodes. Forever disappointed that it was never really a ghost or a monster, just someone in a costume.
Long story short, recently, a friend of mine urged me to go with him to see a medium. He had seen the medium before and said she had changed his life. She is in New Jersey, my friend is in Beacon. So he made an appointment for each of us on November 4th. I drove the hour down to Beacon and jumped in his car and he drove us to New Jersey.
This friend of mine is a friend from college. We lived in the same dorm, the only dorm at our small school. He always listened to great music. We were not close friends but thanks to Facebook we have been in touch and have come to know each other a little better. He has a brother who passed in a tragic boating accident. This brother is who he had gone to try to connect with when he first found this medium. And it changed things for him.
I don't remember the medium's name. Lynn something? I don't know what town we were in. I didn't much care for the details. I just wanted to spend the day with a new, old friend and go somewhere I had never been and maybe have my life changed, maybe not. Even more than I love going someplace new, I love to be taken someplace new.
My friend is a mystical kind of guy. I didn't know this before. And I was so thoroughly intrigued and entertained by him. Talking with him in the car there and back and over dim sum, made all things seem possible. Because he believes in some pretty far out things. And I believe in him. All in all, that day was a perfect adventure.
This medium, she was legit, I think. She told me a lot about my mom, a lot about how she died. She told me my mom is always with me, that she is always talking to me, comforting me or advising me. She said that my mom rests her hand on my right shoulder a lot. She also said that my mom likes to sit at my kitchen table, which I translated to my kitchen desk. We do have a desk with a chair in our kitchen but no table. It seems like an appropriate place to sit to observe things in my house. And whether this is true or not, I like to imagine her there now, keeping me company. I wish she would fold some laundry while she is sitting there.
But, here's the thing. I guess my big wish, every time I see a medium, is that they will say, "Your mom is with you. She wants to tell you how much she loves you, that she knows you miss her, that she is so proud of you, what a wonderful mother you are, how much she loves your son, that she is watching over him, and what a wonderful man you've married and the home you've created is so lovely. And you will see her again when it is your time to pass on. And she's never appeared as a ghost to you because..... And the person you should talk to about publishing your book is......." But that never happens. But this time, was the worst. She did not relay any of those messages, other than "your mother is with you". What she did say was, "Your mother says you're very uptight. You worry too much. Stop avoiding stressful situations, it's creating more stress in your life." What? Really? That's what she wants to tell me from beyond the grave? That I'm uptight? I know I'm uptight! And that I worry too much.
When I left, I felt annoyed. It is ultimately aggravating to sit down across from someone who may actually be talking to my dead mother, for only an hour and then hand them money and walk away. It is hard to walk away from someone who can talk to my dead mother. I want to talk to her. And I don't want to hear this bullshit about how uptight I am.
But, here's the other thing. I heard what she said. She the medium, or she, my mother, it doesn't matter really where the message came from, I heard it. And it was true. And it was important to hear and to take it in. She was right. And it was not news to me. But maybe, if that was what my mother felt it was most important to say in that moment, not that she was proud of me, but that I should chill out? Then maybe that was what would she thought would help me most. And maybe it was.
Since that day, I have thought a lot about how uptight I am, how worried, how caught up I am in all the things I can't figure out, that I have not accomplished, all the things that I am doing wrong, or not doing at all, should be doing, or shouldn't be doing. I am missing out on the moment. Which is also not a new thought, but one I forget. To be in the moment. This is where it's at. In this moment, I have an awesome life. I have this little boy who is four years old in this moment and he will not be four forever. Every day, he is older and is growing and changing. And HE is the very best thing I've done so far and the very thing I've wanted most in my life. And I am so proud of him. I love my husband, he is a great man. I love our house. I love this life. I am healthy. We are all, the three of us, healthy. These are amazing things and they can also change at any moment. But, in this moment, they are here, they are true and I am paying attention to them. Experiencing joy. I am allowed. It is important.
I have been letting go, and letting go, and letting go some more. There is no rush, there is no pressure, there is no deadline. I have been thinking about being led. Letting the Universe guide me and seeing where it is it will take me. I am open to the adventure and the experience. It feels good to step out of my head and into my shoes and walk, or sit, or lay flat on the floor and breathe. Just be.
For however long this lasts, I hope to be able to just let go and float with the tide. Trust that all is well. And if it doesn't seem quite right, it is just a bend in the road that will take me where I am meant to go. All the while, expecting joy and letting it in.
Deep breath.
And another.
Good job.
Saturday, October 19, 2013
Morning
I think it's unfortunate that I should wake up in a bad mood, ever. I think there should be a reset button and when I wake in the morning, I should at the very least, feel neutral. I have had a string of days that I have felt extra tired, and have had extra aggravations. Some are my own doing, some are not. I can't control the spot stealer at the gym, although I can change how I look at it, I suppose. I left my interior light on in my car once again this week, killing the battery. I don't even know how this is possible, as I was not IN the car in the dark and would not need that light on. You would think the car would beep when I turn off the ignition if a light is on. It beeps incessantly for everything else. The one thing I'd want a beep for, it's not into. I hate beeping. I had an unpleasant Facebook event a couple of days ago. Last night, determined to cook the dinner I had planned, frantically cooking at 7:30, I dumped half of my peeled, cubed and marinated eggplant into the hot oven, the oven drawer beneath the oven and the floor. I keep having aggravating dreams.
Sometimes, I wake up in the morning with a feeling of worry. Wondering what will happen today. A general grumpy, cloudy, feeling. And I think, oh man, you are setting yourself up. Do not step a foot out of this bed until you are happy. That doesn't work. Most of the time I have all of 30 seconds to wake up and get out of bed. I must teach my four year old to call for me in a nicer way. His morning, "MAHMMEHHHhhhhhhhhhh......." is so whiny. I have to get quickly out of bed or else I have to hear it repeatedly.
I am in bed right now. I got to sleep in today. And woke from dreams about my dead mother being alive and not calling me on my birthday. I have a ton of things to do today and feel a bit overwhelmed and worried. I have a sense that my feelings in the morning call the day to me. I am ordering off a menu and I am choosing events that will fit my mood. This makes me more nervous.
Writing is making me feel better though.
The more I focus on that spot stealer at the gym, the more she's gonna drive me crazy. I know it. I guess I'll be shopping for a new spot. I love the gym. I love the classes I take and the child care, the hour I get to move my body and feel strong, follow instructions and not worry about anything else. I love the people there. I love that it is only a four minute drive from my house. I love that we can afford the $25 a month membership, worth every penny. I would not give up the gym for anything. I would give up my spot for my happiness though.
Shitty dreams are just shitty dreams. My dead mother didn't call me in my dream but when she was alive, she never missed my birthday. She made me the same pink lemonade ice cream cake from scratch every year. She was always, always, happy to see me.
When my car battery died yet again in one week, my husband, yet again, jumped it for me and let it run in the driveway. When I dumped all that eggplant into the oven and stood there staring at it and said, "I don't even know what to do with that!", my husband said, "I got it." And he cleaned it up. When Facebook slapped me in the face, I had friends that said, it's okay, we love you. And my husband offered me a massage. I knew what he really meant though and I said no thank you, I just wanted to go to sleep.
The point is, my life has got my back. I am loved. The morning after the Facebook debacle, I went into my son's room to get him up and he held my face in his little hands and kissed me all over for my face while I laughed. Life is predominantly good. I am very lucky. I am very blessed. I try very hard to keep it that way. I wish I could wake up happy every day. But I suppose, I am human and human nature says differently. Especially in America. What a strange world we live in. So much abundance, so much worry. So much safety, so much fear. But, I love my little town. The freshly painted red bridge, the chocolate shop. I love my friends here. I love this amazingly warm Fall weather we're having, the trees leaves changing and falling, the light changing. Halloween coming.
The window curtain at the head of my bed is a vintage cream and blue grey flowery thing. It has a hole in it that I keep thinking I have to mend, and I will. Right now, through that little hole, I can see some leaves blowing in the breeze, in the sun, on a tree in my yard. Just a tiny window into the the day outside. It looks so beautiful. For this moment, I am glad that hole is there. It's like a little floating, shimmering, morning jewel. Good morning.
I think I can get up now. Did I mention I got to sleep in? Today is going to be okay.
Sometimes, I wake up in the morning with a feeling of worry. Wondering what will happen today. A general grumpy, cloudy, feeling. And I think, oh man, you are setting yourself up. Do not step a foot out of this bed until you are happy. That doesn't work. Most of the time I have all of 30 seconds to wake up and get out of bed. I must teach my four year old to call for me in a nicer way. His morning, "MAHMMEHHHhhhhhhhhhh......." is so whiny. I have to get quickly out of bed or else I have to hear it repeatedly.
I am in bed right now. I got to sleep in today. And woke from dreams about my dead mother being alive and not calling me on my birthday. I have a ton of things to do today and feel a bit overwhelmed and worried. I have a sense that my feelings in the morning call the day to me. I am ordering off a menu and I am choosing events that will fit my mood. This makes me more nervous.
Writing is making me feel better though.
The more I focus on that spot stealer at the gym, the more she's gonna drive me crazy. I know it. I guess I'll be shopping for a new spot. I love the gym. I love the classes I take and the child care, the hour I get to move my body and feel strong, follow instructions and not worry about anything else. I love the people there. I love that it is only a four minute drive from my house. I love that we can afford the $25 a month membership, worth every penny. I would not give up the gym for anything. I would give up my spot for my happiness though.
Shitty dreams are just shitty dreams. My dead mother didn't call me in my dream but when she was alive, she never missed my birthday. She made me the same pink lemonade ice cream cake from scratch every year. She was always, always, happy to see me.
When my car battery died yet again in one week, my husband, yet again, jumped it for me and let it run in the driveway. When I dumped all that eggplant into the oven and stood there staring at it and said, "I don't even know what to do with that!", my husband said, "I got it." And he cleaned it up. When Facebook slapped me in the face, I had friends that said, it's okay, we love you. And my husband offered me a massage. I knew what he really meant though and I said no thank you, I just wanted to go to sleep.
The point is, my life has got my back. I am loved. The morning after the Facebook debacle, I went into my son's room to get him up and he held my face in his little hands and kissed me all over for my face while I laughed. Life is predominantly good. I am very lucky. I am very blessed. I try very hard to keep it that way. I wish I could wake up happy every day. But I suppose, I am human and human nature says differently. Especially in America. What a strange world we live in. So much abundance, so much worry. So much safety, so much fear. But, I love my little town. The freshly painted red bridge, the chocolate shop. I love my friends here. I love this amazingly warm Fall weather we're having, the trees leaves changing and falling, the light changing. Halloween coming.
The window curtain at the head of my bed is a vintage cream and blue grey flowery thing. It has a hole in it that I keep thinking I have to mend, and I will. Right now, through that little hole, I can see some leaves blowing in the breeze, in the sun, on a tree in my yard. Just a tiny window into the the day outside. It looks so beautiful. For this moment, I am glad that hole is there. It's like a little floating, shimmering, morning jewel. Good morning.
I think I can get up now. Did I mention I got to sleep in? Today is going to be okay.
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