April Moon 15, Day 2

The prompt: Knowing what I know now, I would tell my ten-years-ago self:

Ten years ago I was 57. It was 2005, and we were full-on into our real estate career, busy, active, working hard.

My mother was slipping bit by bit, too many miles away from me. I was on the Arts Council and very busy with that volunteer work. We were about to launch a new photo club which would meet with nine people in our great room on that first meeting, and which, ten years later, has morphed into something a bit different than our original ideas, but is still going strong.

I'd come a long way, however, and really was well-launched on a good path for me. But there are a few things.....


Today I would tell that person who was me then to let it go. The people-pleasing. The fear. The resentment. The anger. The only thing all of that angst will change is ME, and not necessarily for the better. It will not change the people, places, or things at which the fear and anger are directed.

I would gift myself with Mary Oliver's miracle-working poem "The Journey" and memorize it. And I'd read more Mary Oliver poems.

I would remind myself that the most important thing about life are friends and family -- and honestly, I was already very aware of that in 2005, but still too trusting, too ready to accept people as honest and true. People are often not what they seem to be, even dear, close, loved ones. That is a bitter, bitter pill to swallow and process. Lack of trust, deception, lies, and fear are devastating.

I would pull that back in myself, me who had always given too much and carried too many others along, trying to fix it all for them. I wish I had known -- and understood -- then:

You strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do,
determined to save
the only life you could save.

“

”

From "The Journey", in Dream Work (1986)
 

I would give myself permission to have more fun, to be more spontaneous (something I still don't do enough of), to enjoy things.

I would be grateful for each day for my health, although I was already working to keep it good.

I would remind myself that I am strong and capable and that I can weather some terrible disappointments and griefs, and still be loving and kind.

And I would tell myself to be kinder: to myself, to my family and friends, to clerks, to telephone callers, to random people I see on the street. Judgement serves little purpose: kindness does.

#Reverb 14, Day 8

1. The hectic pace of our lives can make it difficult to remain connected to the things and the people that matter the most to us. We get wrapped up in our work or our busyness and connection falls by the wayside. 

How have you created and/or sustained connections in your life this year?

2. Hero: Who was your hero this year? Tell us why. What makes a hero in your eyes?

1. This is a blessing of retirement, I think -- to be able to spend time when and how and with whom you want. And yet there are still friends I seldom see or talk to, not because I don't want the connection, but because we get caught up in routines and travel and simply don't follow through. 

Friendship requires intention to sustain no matter what age we are, or to what degree our 'busy-ness' takes over our lives. When I was younger, I still found time to be with friends, to write letters or call (since there was no email nor cell phones back in the olden days). Not sure how I did it, but I made the time because it was important to do so.

Facebook has been a wonderful way for me to maintain some connection with friends I don't see or talk with  ear-to-ear very often, to strengthen some familial ties that have never been strong because of great distance between our homes, and even to nurture friendships that are much more local. This year I got to see a cousin I hadn't seen in, oh, more than 40 years, in great part because of the connection we'd established through Facebook! I try not to be a nuisance by reposting too much stuff, but making my comments personal. By reading posts and seeing pictures, I can get a much better idea of what is going on in the lives of some friends, what they like and don't like, and learn a lot about them. That is fun and interesting, and I hope they feel the same way about what I post!

The new reiki study and practice group that I began attending early this year has been the best new connection, however, meeting monthly but often connecting more than that through a FB group and/or meeting for a reiki session. Most of the members are new friends for me, and I am loving getting to know them better both through our meetings and classes, but also through our FB group and their pages. 

Social media can be a total pain and too much of an obsession, but it also can really help build connections when used responsibly and honestly. 

I still like sending emails (seldom snail mail any more), though, and for the past several years have sent a brief email five days a week to a few family members and friends (added at their request) just to stay in touch and let them know I'm thinking of them every day. I always include a quote that either I need to hear or think they do. I don't expect a reply from any of them, but occasionally get a response that lets me know my correspondence is appreciated. It's sort of like a little prayer for each of them as I send it -- and it blesses me too. 

And I've gotten a few snail mail cards from friends and/or family too, non-birthday ones, that have made me feel loved and blessed. It may be old-fashioned, but there can be a real pleasure in re-reading a note or a card that sits on your table or desk. I'd like to be more intentional about sending those this next year.

2. While I hadn't thought of her as a 'hero,' I have a friend and teacher and neighbor who has been such a wonderful friend and mentor and teacher to me this year especially.  Jessie Woods is a local business owner (The Gold Exchange) who is usually at the forefront of any downtown business promotion, but also is an incredibly creative and generous person who gives her time, expertise, and money to charitable causes, and sponsors several of them. 

She is also a reiki master and my teacher, and has donated space for our reiki group to meet and practice. And she has been right there for me every time I have asked for help with healing mind or spirit, even when I know she has been busy with meetings and her own business. 

She puts her beliefs and words into generous and thoughtful actions in a way I've seldom seen. And her example makes me want to donate my money and energy to others, to be kind and available when I'm asked for help, and to live my own beliefs in a positive and helpful way.

I am so grateful for her example and presence in my life and in our town, and for her leadership and generosity in establishing our reiki study group. We are all blessed who participate in it, and who know her.  Jessie makes a difference in the lives of many people in our area, and she inspires me to be kinder, more generous, and to keep learning and growing. Thank you, my friend.

August Moon 14: Day 3 -- Loving what?

Day 3: What do you love? Today we’re going to delve a little deeper. We’ve had a think about what it is that we do. Now let’s make some space for what we love. Say someone found all of this evidence many years after you’d gone: what conclusions would they draw about the things/ideas/people you loved? Angels watch over us in our great room, perched on the high ledge over the wood stove. Most are my mother's collection; a few are ours -- one from a grateful client. Angel chimes sit near them atop the built-in bookshelves. They make me feel connected to the Universe and to those we cherish.  A bouquet of mostly floral teacups surround a pretty floral teapot in our china cabinet, and sad to say, they are all mostly unused. The teapot was a wedding gift to my parents and has a few mended cracks visible, casualties from my childhood. The cups are from my grandmother's, great-aunt's, and my mother's collection, plus a few from my former mother-in-law, and I love them all.  That cabinet also holds white curved twin Red Wing Pottery vases -- another inherited wedding gift that somehow escaped breakage. We rarely have flowers because our two kitties like to nibble on them, but the connection to the past and my parents is strong there. Books are everywhere: old ones, oft-read childhood ones, the brown leather and gilt Shakespeare from my childhood displayed in the great room shelves along with a few china knickknacks and some handmade birdhouses. In the salsa-colored den on the white woodshelves that cover one whole wall -- the bulk of the collection, arranged by non-fiction subject and fiction alphabetical author, at least mostly. Colorful covers pop at us -- trade paperbacks mixed unashamedly with  jacketed hardcovers and somber Bibles and hymnals. It's our personalities in there, a pretty accurate representation of what we love to do, love to read, and who we are -- or at least were at some point. Our newer interests rest sedately in the Kindle cloud, unseen by eyes other than ours. And that, I think, is a loss of sorts, although I love my Kindle. Magazines too, in stacks waiting for periodical files; on end tables waiting to be read or finished; in baskets by the bed and my favorite reading chair.  Cookbooks are crammed into a built-in kitchen niche -- worn church and service club collections next to the ubiquitous red-and-white Better Homes and Gardens, A much-taped-up recipe file is stuffed with computer-printed samplings and long-ago hand-written recipe cards. My mother's and grandmother's recipe files rest in a cabinet nearby, and when I pull one out, the handwriting always brings them into the kitchen with me: Jule Kage and fruitcake cookies and pecan shorts every year at Christmas, especially.   Two paintings, one from each daughter, are almost the only non-photographic art on our walls, although our bedroom also holds the Holstee Manifesto which reminds us every morning as we get up about what is really important  Otherwise we are surrounded in every room  by photographic memories of events, trips, scenic vistas, and a few taken to illustrate my freelance articles that are particularly interesting.  There is no planned decorating in our house, other than coordinated, rather vivid, wall colors of red-dirt clay (although my brother snarkily referred to it as 'dead salmon'), muted oak-tree-leaf green, salsa red, and a few lighter peachy tones -- colors that reflect the outdoor landscape where we live, so visible in the big windows that are everywhere. But a theme? No. Each collectible, each knickknack has a history and is something we enjoy seeing daily. Kindly put, our style is eclectic.( And probably not helped much by the 6-foot-plus cat tree and numerous scratching posts in varying degrees of shredded sisal that sit next to the scratched-patina leather chairs and mostly intact cloth upholstery and quilts and afghans and pillows. We like comfort. So do the kitties.) While we have many music CDs, we like the country quiet and seldom think to play music in the house. It's a broad mix: Grateful Dead, Loreena McKennitt, John Rutter, Vaughan Williams, Traveling Wilburys, Johnny Cash, Mark Knopfler, the Beatles, Broadway shows.  Our preference in television series and movies swings to drama, but often with a twist, and yet we enjoy the Pixar movies too.  We are both generalists -- we enjoy a broad range of styles, of subject matter, of content, of delivery.  We like things around us that mean something to us, although we are slower to eliminate things that no longer reflect who we are or serve our needs, probably mostly out of habit. We like comfort and warmth. We love the outdoors and the ocean -- there are many ocean photos on our walls. We enjoy the feeling of being connected to our past and to those we loved, and also to the greater Universe. We are hodgepodge,diverse, a bit unorganized. Eclectic.

Reverb 13: Day 14...Best decision and best meal

1. What was the best decision you made in 2013? What were the results? How will you continue the good work in 2014?

2. Feast | What was the best meal you had in 2013?  Was it slurped standing over the kitchen counter?  Was the menu written in a language you understood?  Were you alone?  Or at a table filled with family and friends?

 1. I've pretty much answered this in roundabout ways under slightly different prompts. The best, the hardest, the most far-reaching decision I made this year was to stop being the representative payee for my daughter. It was a difficult decision involving a bunch of emotions and guilts and fears, but both of us will be better served and our relationship will evolve to a different place because of it.  That's the short answer. How it plays out for her in 2014 remains to be seen, but it was the right choice for me.

2. The best meals are eaten in the company of someone you love, and we've eaten some good ones. The very best meal this year wasn't so much about the food as it was the company. 

We were in Seattle visiting our daughter and her family, and after going on a shoe shopping trip for the kids and both parents in the morning, all eight of us went to  the Ram Restaurant and Brewery in the Kent Station mall. With four kids from age 5 to 13, eating out anywhere is pretty rare, and while both parents work hard, they often struggle to make ends meet. The Ram is not a super fancy restaurant but has a good selection of gourmet burgers and upscale sandwiches in addition to other menu items, and is a mini-brewery -- a really nice atmosphere, and one they had never experienced.

Watching the kids read the menu and the ensuing discussion about this burger versus that one, and the final choices was So. Much. Fun. But when we were served, we watched the eyes of the two older boys (11 and 13) get big as saucers: the burgers were practically as big as their heads.  They dug into those burgers and steak fries with gusto, commenting often on how good it tasted, how it was such a cool thing to do, and slowly they ate nearly everything on their plates. The 5 and 10 year olds were also chowing down, but their mom had helped them order items that were more appropriate to their appetite levels. And we could not have asked for more perfect manners from any of them.

I don't even remember what I ordered, although I remember everything was really good. When everyone had finally finished, the boys had a sizeable pile of fries left that they wanted to take home. But the two youngest had a complementary dessert with their kiddo meals, so we all consulted a dessert menu -- yes, even the two very well fed older boys. And they ordered root beer shakes. And while we were waiting for the desserts, the boys polished off every last fry. And then slurped up every last drop of those rich, root-beery, ice-creamy shakes, still commenting on how full, how stuffed, they were, how delicious it all was, and how it was the 'best meal' they had ever had.

Our waiter was simply marvelous, allowing plenty of time for decisions but still being attentive, and he served the kids full-sized desserts, not 'kid' size. (And yes, I had something chocolately and yummy too.) He helped turn this family lunch outing into a very special event for all of us. 

We had such a great time that day, and I don't think those two boys will ever forget that meal. I don't think I will either.

Once in a Blue August Moon -- Day 8: Letting Go

The prompt: What are three things you would like to let go of before the year is out? See if you can list three physical things and three emotional ones. For bonus points: conduct a burning ceremony or release your secrets into nature by writing them onto leaves/stones and dropping them into the nearest river/ocean.

Emotional

Frustration, anger, resentment, grief. Tied  together in a Gordian Knot-like bundle, these emotions center on my relationship with a loved child who has a mélange of problems, some self-induced, some based (likely) on her heredity, some that began long ago and were inflicted upon her. Whether she is either incapable of or does not choose to address root causes is difficult to determine. There are resources available to help; I see little motivation. There has been a choice to engage in self-destructive behaviors, however, and so much of the story is clouded either by lies or omission that it is difficult to trust what I hear or see. I finally have been able to draw boundaries that work pretty well, but there is still grief for a relationship I'd always expected to be different than it is, and frustration that it is unlikely to change much. This one has taken years to get this far; I don't expect it to be resolved by the end of the year, or perhaps ever, but I am making a reluctant peace with what it is.

Instant judgment. Think Walmart Internet pictures here -- the people in the skimpy, inappropriate, weird, dirty clothing, or wild, sometimes offensive tattoos emblazoned on highly visible body parts, or painstakingly manicured false fingernails on someone who is holding a sign asking for money. Children screaming and running amok in stores and restaurants without any sign that a responsible adult is watching them.  I judge. Not positively either. And not every case is quite as extreme as these, but I tend to rush to judgment. I want to practice looking at everyone with kind eyes instead of judgmental ones. I do not know their stories. I do not know how they love, what they do, who loves them. They cannot know mine either, this Amazonian, slightly overweight, grey-haired woman who stands behind them in line. May my eyes and heart soften this year.

Self-criticism. That damned judge who sits in my brain and officiates over his kangaroo court needs to be permanently ousted. No more shoulda-coulda-wouldas in the middle of the night. And he can take his ice weasel deputies with him. I'm pretty good just the way I am, and if I screw up once in a while, I don't have to serve time in the dungeon of despair for it.


Physical

About 20 pounds. Okay, ten pounds. Keep working at controlling portions, at snacking, especially on absolutely not good for me stuff (back, you delinquent Snickers bar, BACK to the shelf, I say!) I will get there.

Fear because of my atrial fibrillation. My regular doctor has referred me to a cardiologist, a mutual decision.  His office hasn't called yet. I haven't either. A few tests and a good consultation will either confirm or allay my fears. As it is, when I'm in afib, I am anxious that there is more wrong than a mere sinus node malfunction even though I have no other apparent symptoms of heart disease. Gah.

Not going to the gym/yoga. I feel better when I go. I am stronger, have better balance, and I feel slightly self-righteous about doing good things for my body. I love the meditative movement of yoga (and plan on trying Tai Chi as well). But I am so good at making up excuses not to go 'today' -- too hot (and I DID turn into a mole when our weather was so hot for so long), things to do, going somewhere -- and that needs to stop. I am better when I do this: I need to act on it.

We're spending many days in September beside the ocean. One at a time, each of these will go to Mama Ocean's heart, and I will release the negative energy into her constant vigil, and take in the positive energy to my own soul.

Scintilla#13, Day 12

Family ties....that bind and sometimes gag us, sometimes liberate us. This is the prompt:

Those that went before us have walked paths that we may never fully understand. Talk about a time when you learned something important about your family history.

Today the Supreme Court began hearings on marriage equality. Crowds of people are outside the Supreme Court building, demonstrations are both online and in cities and towns, and polls indicate that the majority of citizens support gay marriage.

My parents would have agreed.

But some years ago there was a disturbance in the extended family force that touched on this issue and also on the actions and ethics of our then-president, George W. Bush. What came out of that changed my feelings about those family members, and I seldom hear from or see them, both by instance of geographical distance and by moral and ethical distance.

The details don't need to be completely exposed in this venue. One family member clearly outlined in a family letter his opposition to Bush's war and the intolerance of thought towards gay and lesbian rights. It was a strong letter, but well thought out and supported, and it was emotionally and intelligently written from the heart. He acknowledged that he knew there would be differences of opinion, but hoped there could at least be discussion.

At least two family members shut him off completely first with angry, insulting words, and then with complete silence. They did not respond to phone calls, to letters, to any gesture of reconciliation, and to my knowledge at the time of his death a few years later, had never again spoken to him other than to say 'Don't ever call or write me  again.' It weighed deeply on him, and he talked with my mother at length about it, and even to me, and, I suspect, to other sympathetic family.

But what I think it did mostly was to bring out years of unspoken resentment and anger, based on I don't know what exactly -- probably a lot of history I don't know about that stretches back decades --  and divide the family.

I am too liberal for most of that side of my family. So was he. So were my parents, truth be told, but they pretty much subscribed to the 'don't ask, don't tell' school of getting along with family members with whom you don't agree, in the interests of not rocking the boat.

While there is shared history with my extended family members, there are apparently few shared values or morals or ethics with many of them. I can dance politely on the unsteady surface for a few hours at rare family gatherings, but  not for long. And I can't forget how they treated their family member when he spoke his truth from his heart. 

"Family quarrels are bitter things. They don't go by any rules. They're not like aches or wounds; they're more like splits in the skin that won't heal because there's not enough material." ~ F. Scott Fitzgerald.

A trip to family -- part 1

My mind is still all ajumble from spending a week in SoCal attending the wedding of  Tony's second cousin Ben, and all the emotions it stirred up.

Part of it was just getting away on our first post-retirement trip, part of it was the fun of the wedding and watching so many family interactions from so many sources. Part of it was being in the LA area -- so big and with so much traffic and houses built practically atop each other, and the myriad of shopping and food choices, and all the amazing eye candy that is the coastline. And then we drove home via Highway 1, up the luscious coast through Big Sur, where there are such amazing views that go on for miles and miles that you almost ache with the beauty.

Reentry has been slow here: I'm still finishing laundry although the suitcases are unpacked. I'm grateful to be back in my own bed and with our kittyboys, who we missed very much but who were well taken care of by the Anderson Veterinary Clinic where they stayed -- we finally figured out that they do not do well when we gone,despite twice-a-day visits from our friends who care for them. They need more attention, more cuddling, more socialization than that, and they act out when they don't get it.

I think there are several posts in the works about family: those of blood and those of bond, and I'm trying to sort through it all.

The wedding and rehearsal dinner were just exquisite in every respect. Elegant, delicious food and presentation in settings that showcased the magnificent coastline: the rehearsal dinner was at the home of the groom's parents, overlooking Long Beach harbor, which allowed us to see the twinkling lights of greater LA come on as the sun set. The wedding itself was on a sunny hilltop on the Palos Verdes peninsula, with ocean breezes accompanied by a string quartet, and rain chains cleverly filled with tiny bouquets dangling from the tree under whose limbs the ceremony was held. The subsequent dinner, also outdoors on a lovely patio, was a bit chilly despite the outdoor heaters, and the groom's father likened it to the north coast of Scotland -- LA weather can be mercurial in the springtime, and fog was in and out most of the day in  the various microclimates found there. We were glad it held off until dinner! A warmer tent filled with inviting couches and chairs and ottomans, and featuring a big dance floor was the focal point for the remainder of the evening. Guests were all dressed up and the mood was joyous -- so wonderful to have family gathered for a happy occasion instead of a funeral, as the groom's mother remarked.

We visited at length with our little clan of Maxeys and watched the interactions of the groom's father's much larger family - some 40 cousins and their families were there to celebrate. The bride's family and friends also were fewer, but they had also come some distance -- the couple had decided to marry in California rather than in the bride's home state. One very touching, somewhat sad note was a sweet slide show about the bride's deceased father, played while her mother and she danced to "I Hope You Dance."

The couple was clearly held closely in the collective hearts of all present, and you could feel the energy and love surround them, and all of us present. They've started their married life together in a magical way, one that I hope they can carry with them for years as they remember the vows they took, the good wishes that accompanied the ceremony, and the love they clearly share.

It made me happy to be a part of this family I've married into. We were so glad we were there, and we will make staying in better touch a priority.

More reflections to come....

The Scintilla Project - Bonus 1

The bonus prompt for Saturday is to talk about a time you left home.

I left home and went home the same day in September 1997.

A few days before I left Birmingham, Ala., a moving company had picked up boxes of possessions, assorted pieces of furniture, and many books. They would arrive about two weeks later in Pacifica, Calif., to a tiny apartment by the ocean.

I was leaving my home of seven years, my husband of 27 years, and many friends to move to California -- by myself -- because it was something I *had* to do. It wasn't that I had ties to my new home, although I have relatives scattered throughout the west. It was me. I had come to a place where I needed some changes, and the life I'd been living was not the life I wanted to live anymore. I knew I did not want to ever look back at my life and wonder "What if..."

That Sunday morning when I left home, I'd kissed my husband's forehead as he headed off to church and his responsibilities there and saw tears in his eyes: we would divorce over the next several months, a mutual and amicable decision. I finished my coffee, put my computer, a little television and a small suitcase in my new Saturn sedan, and turned to look once more at what was no longer my home: the roses and vines I'd planted on the side of the steep driveway, the red front door, the sheer curtains in the windows. I was done here.

And then I headed north and west to Springfield, Missouri -- to my parents' home, the Tudor-styled two-story house that they'd lived in since I was 10. That night, after a warm welcome and good dinner, I went to sleep in my old bedroom; the bed, dressing table, even the lamps of my girlhood still the same, and feeling a bit out of place: for the first time in my life, I had no home of my own, not then. I'd left home and come home -- but I wasn't home.

Celebrating a life -- loving a child

Thirty-six years ago today I lived in Columbia, Missouri, with my then-husband Jim. I was doing some freelance work for the association he worked for, and we'd been hoping to start a family one way or another, with no luck.

Just a week later we would celebrate his 34th birthday.

And about a week after that, I got a phone call  as I was getting dressed to go into the association office to do some work.

It was the Boone County Social Services Office. They had a baby girl for us. Born Feb. 17, 8 lbs 13 oz.

We held her for the first time a day later, this then-blue-eyed, dark-haired butterball of a cherub, and the following day,  two caseworkers brought her home to us.

It had been a long labor and delivery -- about four years total, as I recall. Biological parents have it easier: one lucky night, and you're pregnant. No home study, no questions about your marriage or your finances or your religion or what role you expect a child to hold in the family or your medical history.

A little more than a year later, she was ours legally,  birth certificate duly changed and court-approved.

She was the center of our family from the first day, and we all loved her, grandparents and uncle too. She was a cherished child, a very much wanted addition to the family, and her life was documented in photos by her daddy from day one. We went through first day at school, soccer games, birthday parties, Girl Scouts, church choir and youth activities, first date, prom, and various academic achievements. We fought, we made up, we talked, we cried, we laughed.

My baby girl is 36 today. Except for those first two weeks or so of her life, I've been her mother. I remember things she doesn't. I know things about her that few others do. I love her like no other ever will. And I wish her happy birthday, happy, happy birthday, and hope for many more good ones. We will celebrate her tonight with gifts and dinner, and I'm grateful to have her close enough to do that.

***************

It has not all been fun nor good nor easy. Especially in the past several years, she has struggled with some monstrous demons, some of her own making, some not. I've wished many times that her problems were the ones I could kiss and make better, but they aren't, and I've had my own struggle to accept that I can't fix her or even help her sometimes. She has to do that herself, has to want to do that enough to do the work. Some days she does; some days she doesn't.

Most of us would not continue a relationship where we are treated poorly, lied to repeatedly, and disrespected -- and yet many of us were similarly scornful of our own parents, if not to their faces (in a different time and place and custom), certainly behind their backs! And yet they loved us still -- and we loved them because we were family. Even when we don't like them, we love our family.

Some parents and children seem to have it easier: maybe their karma allows that on this round, and they are so very blessed to have it. I hope they know how lucky they are.

 My children  have had issues and problems that have not been within my control: the only thing I can determine is how I allow their issues to impact my life. That's not news in these pages: I've written a lot about setting boundaries and working to rebuild fragile relationships. And I've also written about loving them.

I think it's remembering how much that child was wanted that keeps parents still loving the errant and difficult adult that sometimes emerges from that darling baby. It's hope that keeps us praying and sometimes lecturing and supporting them as they try -- or don't try --  to work their way through their issues. It's hope that keeps us wanting the best possible future for them, and hope that allows us to continue to walk beside them, holding their hands as they follow and falter on their life's path. No matter how dark it gets, may they always know that they are dearly and deeply loved!

.

Reverb11 - Day 23 - Who I'm missing and Travels

#1 Prompt: Who did you miss?

#2 Prompt: Travel - Did you visit anywhere new this year?  Any plans to travel next year?


#1 -- Who did I miss? My parents, often, and never more than at Christmas time when my memories of Christmases past are so wrapped up in their presence. When I first married, we invited our parents and my brother (my ex was an only child) to come to us for Christmas, and they did for years, modifying that first when my in-laws divorced (after nearly 50 years) and he remarried, and then when my mother-in-law could no longer travel, and finally when my dad died and we went to Missouri every year to be with my mother until 2005 when she died.


That's a lot of years and memories: of putting together the Christmas jigsaw puzzle, usually primarily by my dad, with help here and there from all of us; of playing games -- Trivial Pursuit or Monopoly or Michigan Rummy or Screw your Neighbor -- eating nuts and candy and laughing. Going to church on Christmas Eve, and especially the year that my dad, brother, and husband all slipped in to the late service at the last moment on a very cold Indiana night -- I was already there in the choir loft and we'd all gone to an earlier, child-friendly service. The three of them lifted slightly whiskey-scented voices to the holy candle-lit atmosphere, and none of us could stop smiling.


I miss my friend Julia, again never more than at Christmas. For nine years we sang together at Christmas and other times, we laughed and cried and shopped and worked and shared stories and children. We are growing old together, although we see each other only every few years for maybe a week. I've no doubt that we'll sing again in that great celestial chorus, her short, round, red-haired frame next to my much taller and longer one, smiling all the way, even through our tears.


I miss my daughter, the person she was before illness and other things so clouded and distorted her mind. I still see flashes of that person, but it makes me sad to see such potential and intelligence and charm largely gone, and I am still trying to wrap my arms around who she is now, and who I am when I'm with her.

Always at special times of the year I miss my brother and sister-in-law, who I would like to know better as we grow older and hopefully wiser, and who become increasingly important as I age. And we miss our daughter and grandson, miss being able to know who they are becoming, and especially Gabe as he changes so much as he grows from a toddler into a pre-schooler.

I'm grateful that there are so many people that I miss, though, because it indicates that I am capable of great love, and also that I am the recipient of great love in return. It just doesn't get better than that.

#2 -- Travel is something that is on our minds for this coming year as Tony retires and our time is not bound by paid time off accrual. While I don't know that we'll do any long-distance trips in 2012, we are planning time in the LA area for a cousin's wedding, and also anticipate a trip to Seattle to see our daughter and her family.
Both trips also put us by our beloved ocean, where we've spent our vacations nearly every year since we've been together. Perhaps we'll make a trip further into the interior US to see my brother and other friends, but we'll see how time and money play out. For now, Tony is happy to think about staying home and working on projects that have piled up and that he is eager to begin. And I'm happy to have him here.

Reverb11 -- Day 18 -- Family Time and Lunching

#1 Prompt: Family: Recall a special moment with your family from 2011.  Describe in detail what you want to remember about this memory forever. 

#2 Prompt: Let's do lunch! - If you could have lunch with anybody, who would it be and what would you like to discuss?


#1 -- Family .My family is scattered, both immediate and extended, and the latter is not especially close: I've written some about that this year. Our girls are in Red Bluff and Kent now (and one who has been intentionally silent for several years is, we believe, on the other coast). When my mother was living, we gathered in Missouri for Christmas, my brother coming from Nashville, the girls from Birmingham (and once from Ohio), and we spent some fun times there, although it was never without some drama and anxiety. These days any family gatherings are few and far between.


This year, one special moment was a celebration of our grandson's third birthday. It was just Tony and me with V, her three older step-children, and Gabe, at a little picnic area near their apartment. We'd brought KFC,  watermelon and other side dishes, and some gifts for Gabe. They'd put up a badminton net and spread some blankets under a big tree, and for once the June weather was warm but not hot. Tony'd brought his video camera and captured images of Gabe riding his new Plasmacar and the other children and even V taking turns on it. We got to talk more to the older children than we had in the past, and really enjoyed the day with all of them: it was precious to see the love the kids have for each other. And it was a real joy to see V efficiently mothering them all, wiping faces, serving up watermelon and chicken, pouring drinks.


Never frequent for a bunch of reasons, such moments will be even fewer with them now in Washington, but we hope to visit them in 2012 and look forward to another picnic, perhaps on the shores of Puget Sound.


#2 -- Lunch. Anybody? Living or dead? Famous or not? The possibilities!


If I chose someone famous --  say, Oprah, or Hilary Clinton, or the poet Mary Oliver -- I'd probably be too nervous to enjoy the experience, and I'd expect they'd see it more as just another obligation to get through and be pleasant. So no thanks.


There are some long-ago friends I would like to see again, if only to find out how their lives have gone and what they've learned. And a handful of family members to share memories and figure out our similarities.


But I'd most like to have lunch with my parents. I'd like to know what getting older was like for them, what lessons they learned in their lives and what they'd do differently. I'd like to know how they figured out how to parent as well as they did, knowing something of how they each grew up. I'd like to know what they were most grateful for, and what their best memories were. I'd like to make sure they know how grateful I am for their love and support and non-judgmental acceptance (even when I'm sure they had doubts!), and how I miss them and think of them, especially at this time of year. I want to watch my daddy savor the good barbecued ribs he loved, and my mother taste the rich coconut cake from that little Victorian tea room she so enjoyed. I'd like once more to drink in the sound of their voices and their facial expressions and feel the touch of their hands on my face.

Reverb 11--Day 16--Writing and Community

#1 Prompt: Passion: How has writing helped you grow in 2011? In what ways would you like to invite more writing into your life in 2012?

#2 Prompt: A Community I Love - Online & IRL we're all part of a multitude of communities.  Tell us about one that moves you.

#1 -- After Reverb10, I was inspired to move the writing up a notch and begin to think about what kind of book I want to write. Well, that fizzled out, and I did not even write in the blog as much as I'd intended, at least until Dec. 1 when I began Reverb11. Clearly I need to have a better plan. Better intention Better execution. 

Nonetheless, I'm a writer, no matter how often or not I post something here. And I'm a reader too-- actually, I can't imagine being a writer without being a reader -- and I did read a lot more this year, intentionally. By thinking of how a story flows together, what works and what doesn't, how I respond to dialogue and description, I become a better writer myself. 

We joined the Redding Writers Forum in January and learn from the monthly programs as well as just hearing about who is publishing and where. And we both read some of our work aloud during Read-Around sessions -- inviting comments from the audience. 

 We'll keep going to the Writers Forum in 2012 and reading the two writing magazines we now subscribe to, plus several books about writing I've got on my iPad and also in paper. I'll keep writing in my blog, perhaps using prompts of some sort at least weekly -- there are so many out there to choose among, and that is good discipline. And I'll keep reading.

#2 -- I really love my Facebook community, trite as that may seem. Through FB, I've learned more about some newer friends, and we've made a conscious effort to connect at least monthly in person as a result, bringing some real treasures into my life. It's deepened connections to other friends because I get to see and hear what's in their lives more regularly than phone calls or even getting together can do,  and expanded at least a little my contact with friends from long ago. (Disclaimer: I'm pretty selective about who I choose to see my information and pictures and posts, and that makes a big difference in how I use FB, to be sure.)

I've reconnected with several cousins on both sides of my family who for years have been mostly fading memories and addresses in my Christmas card list. While I still can't say that I 'know' them, at least there are some pictures of them now (I'm talking decades of not seeing a couple of them, and now that our parents are gone, I don't even get the bits of news my mother used to tell me.) So I get to share a little about what their lives are, and they get to see some of mine. That's a big step towards a family reunion one of these days. 

Certainly that connection was what alerted to me that one cousin was in a life crisis back in April, and even though I'd seen him a handful of times since we were children, I really don't know him. But there is this family bond, a connection of shared memories. (I wrote about that time here and here.) And I've sent him a brief e-mail most days ever since, just a few sentences, usually with some kind of quotation. I don't hear back from him much, but I understand from another cousin that he's doing better.  That makes me so grateful for him and for our strange, interesting family ties.

FB has its share of criticism and problems. Any community does, virtual or face-to-face. But it sure works for me.

Letting go -- again

That old lesson of letting something/one go seems to constantly be in front of me, but a blogging friend posted a poem the other day that really helped me understand the concept in a new way, easier to wrap my head around.

It said:

To "let go" does not mean to stop caring.
It means I can't do it for someone else.

To "let go" is not to cut myself off.
It's the realization that I can't control another.

To "let go" is to admit powerlessness,
which means the outcome is not in my hands.

To "let go" is not to try to change or blame another.
It's to make the most of myself.

To "let go" is not to care for, but to care about.

To "let go" is not to fix, but to be supportive.

To "let go" is not to judge, but to allow another to be a human being.

To "let go" is not to be in the middle, arranging all the outcomes,
but to allow others to affect their own destinies.

To "let go" is not to deny, but to accept.

To "let go" is not to nag, scold, or argue,
but instead to search out my own shortcomings and correct them.

To "let go" is not to adjust everything to my desires,
but to take each day as it comes and cherish myself in it.

To "let go" is not to regret the past, but to grow and live for the future.

To "let go" is to fear less and to love more. 

--Unknown--

It's not new, it' s just new to me. The quote is all over Google.

Perhaps it feels relevant because we are on the cusp of change again: our youngest princess has moved to the Seattle area with her family to start a new, hopefully better life, although it's been a rocky start since her husband's (felony child-abusing) ex immediately filed a declaration that resulted in her receiving the three older children temporarily, and creating great turmoil. A court session tomorrow should result in V and D getting the kids back, and visitation mediation happening via phone. Nonetheless it has been difficult all around, especially for the kids, who have lived full-time with V & D for more than four years now. We've been on board to listen and soothe and comfort, and help as we are able.

Perhaps it feels relevant because I have worked hard to 'let go' of Princess #1 and my tendency to want to micromanage her life and choices, and for the most part am succeeding. Doesn't mean I'm sleeping all that well at night, when the ice weasels come out to play, but I'm not in her face all the time anymore -- healthier at least for me; it has got to be less frustrating for her. Her choices and decisions are hers to make, not mine, and the consequences of those choices also are hers, and I am not going to make them mine. The poem above helps me feel less like I'm abandoning her or that I don't care, because I do, very much. But I am not the responsible party here.

That said, I spent a good bit of July and August on the car search and ended up reasonably happy (although my tendency to second-guess myself after the deed was done appeared at least briefly). That's done. I've let it go. (really)

And we're looking at some changes in our lives too, although until it is actually fact I am not saying exactly what it is in this forum. These are good things, though. 

Another thing I'm in the process of doing is letting go of all the people I used to be: a very busy career woman, an active church and choir and committee participant, an involved mom with a school-age child, a do-it-yourselfer who painted, papered, stripped wood floors, made most of my clothes as well as R's dresses and tops. I'm not there anymore; I'll never be there again, nor do I want to go back. 

I confess to having some ideas of making some simple clothing again, since I find it hard to find styles I enjoy in colors that are pleasing, and especially for a reasonable price. I will probably end up volunteering in some capacity eventually, although nothing is singing loudly to me right now. I want to nurture my creative side again: I've been so caught up in managing R's affairs and illness and the business details of that for so long, and there is always something around here to clean out or tidy up or cook or fold, and so I've procrastinated finding my creative self for a long, long time. I want to let the need-to-ought-to-do stuff slide more and spend more time reading a novel or even beginning to write one, finishing the charm necklace I started two years ago and do more repurposing of my old jewelry., I want to put my ideas for landscaping our yard into action and start getting the bones in place.

 

I do not want to spend more time worrying about other people's lives and how they could fix them if they just listened to me. I want to let that go. All of that.

And I'm also beginning to accept where I am on the great wheel of life. I have fewer years ahead of me than are behind me. My butt-time career is really over, and I won't be climbing any more corporate ladders, not that I ever really did, with so much of my working life spent in non-profit and public sector areas. While I'm pretty tech-savvy and I read a lot about pop culture, I'm not in the main target audience for anything except Medicare supplemental insurance and walk-in bathtubs. I don't offer opinions anymore to anyone who will listen, and sometimes I'm sorry I opened my mouth when I do, partly because I'm realizing that disagreeing with a long- and strongly-held opinion is pretty useless and usually merely frustrating.

Life is short, too short to spend one more moment doing things and saying things that don't much matter to who I am. I'm letting go of the desire to please people, sometimes just by not saying what is in my head and at the back of my throat, but most definitely by not putting myself in a vulnerable situation in the first place -- i.e., doing something somewhere with people that I don't really care much about. I'm letting go of other people's expectations of what I will do or how I should act, and am resolved to be just who I am.

Yes, it IS all about me from now on!

 

(Well, that'd be me and my honey. But he loves who I really am, warts and all, and encourages me to be more me. It doesn't get better than that.)

That's my new plan for the rest of 2011 and forward into 2012. Be who I am now, let go of my need to control and please, seize the day for the good that we find in each one, and let regret go.

Family relationships: setting healthy boundaries

Family connections are still very much on my mind these days, partly because of the situation with my cousin, but also because of a play that I'm going to do later this fall titled 'Night, Mother by Marsha Norman.


The play is about suicide; it is just the two women on stage for the whole time, and it is powerful, dramatic, and thought-provoking. When we did the read-through, several people present, including me, were in tears. And we realized from that experience that suicide touches more lives than we perhaps realize. There are preliminary plans to involve suicide prevention groups and mental health professionals to encourage better awareness and speak to the issues that so often surround suicidal thoughts and behaviors.


Watch for more information and performance dates.

******************


I've also been contemplating family relationships, both extended and nuclear, and how we behave with those we are closest to. Sometimes we are most unkind to those who we supposedly love the most -- perhaps because we feel secure that we will be loved in spite of our actions? Or is it that we put down our mask within our family circle and reveal what is really going on if anyone cares enough to look deeply enough?


I also think there are givers and there are takers in every family, in every group. The givers -- of which I am one and always have been, sometimes not healthily -- will put others' welfare above their own in many cases and sometimes to go extreme lengths to make sure the needs of others are met despite whatever sacrifice it may entail. One of my daughters has done this in the extreme with most of her relationships, and they have cost her dearly in money, material possessions, time, and mental and physical health. She has not yet learned how to draw  boundaries. And I was probably not the best role model for her when she was young.


It took me a long time to begin to establish boundaries, and I'm still learning, but it is necessary to become fully who we are. (I continue to daily repeat Mary Oliver's poem "The Journey" about saving the only life I can save -- which is mine.)

This article speaks to boundaries, saying among other goodies: " You can’t set a boundary and take care of someone else’s feelings at the same time. You are not responsible for the other person’s reaction to the boundary you are setting."

It goes on to say that learning to set them is a process, and that you will do so as you are ready.

It's hard. It's not fun. But it IS liberating to take care of the only person I can really be responsible for -- myself.

There also are takers, who while they may give lip service to the needs of others, really want the attention to be on their needs, their wishes, their lives, and don't really want to listen to your stories. I've had experience with them in my family as well, although I'm finding that with some age and life experiences, some of the takers have achieved some balance in their actions and can give without expecting a return.

What makes us a giver or a taker? This article says it likely begins in childhood and how we are raised, what needs are met or ignored, how we are treated. And this one has some good exercises in how to begin to set them.

What is important now is that we can change. We can learn how to treat both ourselves and others with compassion and kindness. Setting boundaries is an act of self-love as well as an indication of acceptable behavior. It is not closing a door on a relationship, but rather an affirmation that both parties are important. 

More on life and death

Two poems I cannot get out of my head:

Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night by Dylan Thomas -- one of my favorite poets and the subject of my senior English thesis in college. "Rage, rage against the dying of the light." 

No Man is an Island by John Donne, another favorite from my college courses. "... any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind.
And therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee."

Too many conversations about death and dying and endings and letting go are running through my brain non-stop: Did I say the right things? Is he going to go through with it? What else should I have done? What can anyone do? What right have we to interfere in another adult's decision -- assuming, of course, that his intent is to harm no one except himself,  and thereby harming himself,  he harms others, undoubtedly irreparably, inconsolably. A moral conundrum. 


Until death at last appears unbidden on our threshold to complete our journey, there is always another chance. There is always a way through the pain, the uncertainty, the despair. It is hard work, to be sure, but there are many helping hands along the way if the person only can ask, can admit that death may not be the best solution at this moment, and allow himself to be vulnerable enough to accept a hand. 

We are always stronger working together than we are standing apart. An integral part of every 12-Step group is drawing on the collective strength of the group to keep going on every day, moment to moment, knowing that they are there to fill you back up at yet another meeting, to give you encouragement to keep on, to help you stay on track. 


I want so much for my cousin to know this and to find one shred of something that he still wants to do, to find, to be. Just one tiny thing can make all the difference between life and death. 


I always analyze my own actions and words after they've been done and spoken, and am a harsh critic: did I do enough? Did I do it well enough? Did I say what I meant, and was it received as it was intended? Could I have said something better, more clearly, more meaningfully? Why didn't I think to say/do this, or that, or something that would have worked better?


Yeah, I know. Gotta let that go.

 Deep breath.

Mine is the only life I can save. But may my prayers and my words and my actions reach others who need to hear that someone cares, that there is a way through the dark, that we are not alone in this world. 

Of life and death

"Silence in the face of evil is itself evil...
Not to speak is to speak. Not to act is to act."
        - Dietrich Bonhoeffer, a German pastor and author


Late the other night I saw a Facebook post written by a cousin that was pretty clearly a suicide note, although it was not despondent or angry. It simply said that it was time for him to go, embellished with a few descriptive phrases.


I posted a brief comment saying that it sounded very final, with a question mark, and eventually went to sleep saying prayers for him. 

He was on my mind when I got up, and when I logged on to the computer, I searched for the post but it was gone. So I sent him a brief message expressing concern and included my phone number. 

 I hesitated only a moment before I first contacted him, knowing I would be drawn into a conversation that no one wants to have and probably result in  an extended family crisis of sorts, knowing that I don't know him or who he really is, and yet I was unable to accept NOT responding compassionately to such a very public statement. What if my response could make a difference in how he feels? And what happens if no one responds to his post? How sad.

He called yesterday afternoon and we talked for several hours -- more, honestly, than I've spoken with him in decades.  Note: While I have many cousins on this side of my family tree, I am not close to any of them either geographically or emotionally. I know a few  a bit better than others, and we connect several times during the year usually through e-mail, but only rarely face-to-face or by phone. There is a family connection that I do honor, however.

Today's Daily Om speaks precisely to family and our connections with each other, and it struck me with its spot-on timeliness.  It explains the connection I felt when I read the post and why it is important to who I am.


This cousin is not a spring chicken: he is plenty old enough to know what he wants, has done some remarkable things and has, he told me, answered all his spiritual questions. He is tired of living, is facing some very difficult issues, and said that he doesn't have a plan for moving forward, can't see a future for himself. He also told me he had 'pulled the trigger' the night he posted his note, but it "didn't work." He did not elaborate.

Others who live in his area have now become aware and  involved. But I do not think, nor do they, following their own conversations with him, that anything we do or say will make a difference. Only he has control of his own destiny -- which, actually, is as it ought to be, since we cannot save any lives but our own.

Ultimately nothing was 'resolved' in our conversation. There are no magic words that will make a difference in how he perceives his situation, nothing I or anyone else can say that will deter him if he is determined to end his life.  But I cared enough to reach out to him, and that touched him. I acted out of compassion and from the shared experience of family heritage. I'm glad that I did. I'm sorry it took such an act for us to connect, even if briefly.


It also has made me consider where our moral obligation begins and ends as far as the taking of one's own life is concerned. He asked if I would try to stop him if he had a terminal disease, for instance. While I don't know for sure what I would do for myself should I be in that circumstance, I believe I would want to have the choice, especially when confronted with such debilitating illnesses as Alzheimers or Lou Gehrig's disease, for instance. (May that never be so...)

I believe he has the right  to end his life if he chooses. Both I and at least one other reminded him of the devastation his death would bring to his family, reminded him that change is the only constant and that all things do change,  and made sure he knew where to find help should he reconsider. He knows the drill; he knows all the talk. He'll do as he chooses. His is not a heat-of-the moment decision.

Were he a teenager or 20-something, I'd have responded differently.  But he isn't. He has thought this through and while I don't agree with his assessment of his future, I don't live in it either. And so I honor his right to make that choice for himself, and I told him that I would bear witness to what he told me -- and he encouraged me to use any part of our conversation to help others better understand what he is feeling.

Whatever the outcome, this will stay with me for the rest of my life. It has reinforced for me the knowledge that I am not ready to leave this world, not even if the next offers second chances and new beginnings as my cousin believes it does. This world, this life, has offered me plenty of both, and I am certainly not done with them yet. 

 "The Summer Day"  by Mary Oliver asks in its final line, "Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?" I want to cherish that wild and precious gift, every single day. 

I want to smell the newly mown grass and the heavily-laden, heaven-scented lilac bushes this spring. I want to sit out under the Milky Way and watch the meteor showers this year. I want to taste the still-sun-warm strawberries from the field down the road, and the first ripe tomato from my own garden. I want to read about another gazillion books, and go to the ocean this summer to cool my toes in the Pacific sand and marvel at its constancy. I want to pet more kitties and gaze into their all-knowing eyes and see that they, at least, have figured out the mysteries of the universe. I want to wrap my brother in my arms at least once this year and tell him how glad I am he is my brother and how much I love him. I want to go out to lunch with my daughters and buy them each something pretty and giggle at silly things with them, forgetting for a little while their problems and issues, and just celebrating our connection. I want to go to sleep every night in my husband's arms and wake up every morning to his loving brown eyes looking at my sleepy green ones. I want long conversations with him over good, strong coffee and hot breakfasts, and over fresh lunches, and over nutritious dinners. I want to cry when I see pictures or read stories that touch my heart or remind me of my parents and how much I miss them, even though I talk to them in my heart every day. I want to write long letters to my best friend and read hers that tell me all about her remodeling and gardening efforts, and her recovery from cancer, and I want to say thank you to the Universe, to the Mother and Father God, about a million times a day for every day that I have left on this beautiful earth.

For in spite of bickering and threats on the political front, pig-headed, stubborn zealots of all religions and political parties, in spite of the devastating effects of nature, in spite of an economy that is struggling to revive with valiant stories of renewal and rebirth -- and yes, second chances and new beginnings -- this is a beautiful earth. This is a beautiful life. I have lessons left to learn, and, I think, things still to teach. There will be pain and some suffering involved, I'm pretty sure, since growth doesn't happen without it. But I am not ready to leave it all behind. In fact, I'm ready for more total immersion: I want to make the very most of the days and years I have still to live.


I'm sad that my cousin can't see anything else for himself. But he has unwittingly given me a mirror to examine my own future and to see what I want. And for that, I am grateful beyond words. May my own life be a reflection of what I hope for others to see. And please say a prayer for him, and for those who will be so terribly lost without him. 

Reverb 10 -- A picture

For Dec. 25 -- Photo - a present to yourself. Sift through all the photos of you from the past year. Choose one that best captures you; either who you are, or who you strive to be. Find the shot of you that is worth a thousand words. Share the image, who shot it, where, and what it best reveals about you.

This is me with four of the people I love best in the world: missing is my wonderful husband, and my sister-in-law Liz is taking the photo.

I had just finished lunch in Redding ( October) with my daughter Vanessa, my brother Jimmy, my daughter Rachel, and our grandson Gabriel. Jimmy and Liz were visiting from Nashville, Tenn., before heading to the Bay Area for business. We hadn't been all together as a family for years and they'd not met Gabe.

This is a role I relish: mother, nonna, sister -- family matriarch, actually. It was so good to see my brother, who had just turned 60, and to see how much he resembles our father as he ages. It made tears come to my eyes a time or two.

My daughters continue on their separate journeys, and it is good to see how they support each other. In this moment, we were content to just be with each other.

Reverb 10 -- A name by any other....and Gratitude

For Dec. 23 -- New name. Let's meet again, for the first time. If you could introduce yourself to strangers by another name for just one day, what would it be and why?

I've been Beth for more than 63 years now.

As a child, I did not like my name because it calls to mind the delicate, generous, charming Beth of Little Women, and I am far more like Jo than like Beth, not to mention that whole dying thing.

I'm not an Elizabeth either, so no chance to change it to something different. I'm straight Beth.

I tossed around the idea of Tallulah, the name of a tall, eccentric actress (Tallulah Bankhead) whom I admired once upon a time. I thought about another favorite name, Hannah. Rejected them, and a bunch of others.

They are not me. I have imbued this name with my own flair, my own style, my wit, my outspokeness, my loving heart, my loyalty, my honesty, me

My parents called me Beth; my brother and sister-in-law call me Beth. My friends and my beloved husband call me Beth. My cousins and aunts and uncles know me as Beth, or perhaps BethKay. I know them; I love them. They know me by this name, and I hope they have a good feeling when they think of Beth.

Shakespeare wrote: "What's in a name? That which we call a rose
By any other name would smell as sweet."

So I'll stick with Beth. I don't want to be anyone else.

****************

For Dec. 24 -- Everything's OK. What was the best moment that could serve as proof that everything is going to be alright? And how will you incorporate that discovery into the year ahead?

You know what? Sometimes everything is NOT all right. Sometimes there is no 'best moment' that you can point to in a year and say it all will be okay. Sometimes bad things just happen, without warning, and not because of anything you did or didn't do.

I wrote here about hard times, and said, "It's not the good times that make us strong, it's the tough ones and how we handle stress, pressure, uncertainty, fear. The good times may give us the knowledge that this, too, shall pass, however, and that there are still good things to come. But it's in the fire that we are shaped and tempered and glazed."

This has been a year of fear and uncertainty and stress, of angst and drama, of days upon days of just walking through all of that. There have been good times too -- being with friends, enjoying family visits, laughing at plays and movies and stories, being by the ocean and with my wonderful husband. Those moments have been cherished, each as they came, and recognized as good, as peaceful and with contentment.

But this year I do not remember one single defining moment when I 'knew' everything would be okay. What I did learn was to walk through each day with some measure of serenity, on most days (not all), grateful that I was alive and okay and that those I love and cherish are alive and trying hard to make it work.

What I did learn is to be grateful every day, to say out loud those gratitudes even when situations are not ideal and emotions are tumbling over and around me. In enumerating my blessings, I can find a moment of 'all right' every day, and that has been enough for this year.

For 2011, I hope to find more 'best moments' -- but I will always count my blessings, every single day.

Motherhood, revisited

I'm trying to remember really hard tonight why it is I so desperately wanted to be a mother, why my ex and I went through years of fertility testing, adoption interviews, emotional pain that was devastating to our sex life and self-esteem.

There was a charming, delightful little bundle of baby at the end of all that. She grew up reasonably okay and we had some good times -- or so I thought until the last several years, when I discovered secrets she'd hidden which are now contributing in no small way to mental and health issues which are now front and center in her life, and which have certainly impacted mine, financially and emotionally.

Didn't protect her very well, it seems. Bad mama.

And then when my beloved came along years later with two more daughters, I was delighted to have them. And I fell in love with them. Oh there were issues there too -- but there also were some good times, some real bonding.

One has estranged herself from us for reasons we know not. Poof. Gone. No crystal ball here -- no explanation, no demands, no nothing.

REALLY bad mama.

The other, the one who has called me Mom for several years and who regards my first daughter as her sister, has pretty much said that I'm a crappy person who she has lost both faith in and respect for because I/we didn't leap to bail her out of an admittedly difficult place, and because I sent e-mail links without signing them or even so much as a note. And I didn't call her back when I said I would. (I'm guilty of that, no question. The e-mails were sent on the fly, in haste, not deliberately being 'cold,' and were intended to offer helpful information. I didn't call her back because ... it's complicated. But I should have.) She's saying she doesn't need this kind of 'family.'

Bad, BAD, ROTTEN mama.

So what's the solution since I can't go back to the past and change how I did things then, teach lessons better, act as a better example myself?

Beat myself up some more?

Self-flagellation may be the road to spiritual bliss in some cultures, but I'm not good with pain.

Give them whatever they want/need whenever they ask, regardless of the impact it may have on our own retirement plans or emotional health? Because that's what 'good' parents do -- devote themselves to the well-being of their children even if the children are adults and we have no say in the decisions they're making for themselves?

I don't think so. I don't think the parenting books think that's a good idea either.

Give 'em both one last check and move to outer Mongolia, leaving no forwarding address?

Tempting. Really tempting. Well, maybe not the outer Mongolia part, but certainly the no fowarding address part.

I don't think I'm a cold, unfeeling, uncaring person. Most of my life I've had the opposite problem -- getting too involved in the problems of others (and ignoring the ones of my own, which have a nasty way of eventually demanding attention). I've often trusted too easily, taking people at their word, and have been disappointed time and time again. I don't like to think of people being sick or sad or hungry or depressed or homeless or abused, and I try to help where and when I can.

But I don't know where this ends. I don't know where the boundary is between too much and not enough. I don't know how to say no or enough without it causing high drama and more trauma for all of us. Like most men, my honey is better at separating emotion from action, but he's not a happy camper either. Bad daddy?

(At least we're suited for each other, I guess -- bad mama and bad daddy. )

This is not what I'd pictured all those years ago. This is not how it was in my family nor in his, and not what our children grew up watching.

I'm still working to accept my children as they are, warts and all, and I love them dearly. But I'm not sure that means that I sacrifice who I am, what my dreams and goals and desires are, what we've worked for all these years, to meet their needs and wants now.

Wonder if Mongolia has an ocean? (heading for the atlas...)