Stuck on quotes

“I've learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.”
Maya Angelou

I have been talking with a couple of people about parenting during the past week or so.  A friend confided that her pre-teenager is not being very cooperative and wanted me to have a talk with her.  She, my friend, knows of some of the work that I have done over the years with troubled children and young adults and wanted me to share some of the horror stories with her daughter.  I am thinking that she intended that to be a lesson in what can happen in a life, but it seems pointless and a little cruel to do that, so I will not. 

So, anyway, the two of them spend most of their time together sparring like punch-drunk boxers and I hear that it is getting fairly loud and fairly weird and mostly just not working.  I suggested some professional counseling, you know, like from someone who is actually trained and qualified to help them, not some dope like me.  I do not know if that is going to happen, but I do know that they cannot have me mucking around in their lives, making things worse.  Gods, how could someone even begin to think that that was a good idea.  She is upset, well, actually angry, with me right now, but I think that when she has some time to think about this, that she will be able to see that amateurs should not be any part of this sort of thing. 

The other talking, which is actually writing because it is on a web site, forum kind of thing, is about a girl that is slightly younger.  I am too chicken and too invested in not adding to the burden of another parent by offering my honest opinion, so I have pretty much stayed out of that dialogue.  However, when the opportunity arose in another part of that site to discuss the kinds of things that we teach our children, it was the perfect and perfectly safe place to share a bit of how my daughter and I have been in relationship for all of her life.  So I thought.

I am guessing that in the realm of Internet groups that there is not any truly safe place.  I try to provide that for a medical issue site I manage, but even there it is impossible to be everything to everyone and the written word can be misconstrued and feelings can be hurt.  We try to make 'nice' and then move one, but it is an imperfect world, this one of relationships, and sometimes you cannot have everything be the way you would like.

So, as concerns the posting of my parenting philosophy and practice, I was chided for using a particular word, and no, this time it was not a curse word.  It was an adjective or verb or something.  I cannot remember the exact sentence, but it was one of those.  Since then, the person who chided me has apologized, but it really was not necessary.  We have written back and forth a few times and I am certain that I am probably only making things worse, but I do not care much.  If you ask me a question or open up a subject for discussion, you get what you get, because that is all that I have.

My sister is still wanting me to swoop in and parent her.  I am so conflicted about this.  I want to help her so much that it is nearly a physical compulsion to do what she wants.  It is as though there is some energy manipulating my mind and body.  I actually started to pack a couple of suitcases for the trip down there before I realized what I was doing.  Creepy.  She knows that if she needs anything, all she has to do is to ask for whatever that is and I will do my best to help her, but she is not asking.  I do not know if that is because she currently does not need anything or if she is waiting to see if I will cave and come down to rescue her once again.  It is in both of our best interests that I stay out of the rescue business, but I have to say that staying here is one of the most difficult things I have done in a very long time.

Next.  I am still ticked at my daughter, but am not willing to talk to her about it because she has a plate full of stuff from her own crap buffet.  So, I am calling her and talking to her, but I am not going over there.  Avoidance is working just dandy for me here and I am not going to mess with success as pertains to not discussing something painful.  Yes, I know that this is backward movement, but I do not care.  There is just too much other stuff going on and one less issue with which to deal is still just fine.

All of this parenting stuff never ends.  You get married and if you are lucky your spouse is not a total baby, but you do spend a lot of your time being the parent, especially, I think, if you are a woman.  It should be a break from all of that, the getting married and having an equal and life partner, but it is often a continuation of the parenting that you do for your siblings and your own fucked up parents.  Then, if you are fortunate to have children of your own, you, naturally, get to parent them, hopefully more effectively and more lovingly than you were parented.  Having children never ends and you always are there for your children in that slightly more superior position.  The sibs

I keep wondering when or if the time will come when someone will be available or willing to parent me a little bit.  Not like the parenting I had as a child, but in that other, that nice and loving and supportive way.  I would so love to have someone who would listen to me and maybe even try to help things to be better or guide me towards some resolution.  Someone who would take care of stuff and warm up some soup when I am feeling ill or share the baking of cookies and the making of hot chocolate on a frosty day.  All those things that I missed in my own childhood.  But, mostly the listening and supportive and unconditional loving kind of way.   Sure, I have wonderful friends, but they do not, and should not, have to play that kind of role in my life.  I just want to not always have to be the grown up in every darn circumstance or situation.

I wonder if people who had a nice family feel the need for some of those things once in a while.  I think that everyone longs for and needs some nurturing on occasion.  I wish that I had some of that.  I wish that I had some of those feelings from my own childhood to help carry me through my long nights of the soul. 

But, I do not.  What I do have is a nice life, one that I have crafted for myself, mostly all by myself.  It is a great life, really, and in the larger perspective, I really do not have anything about which to complain.  Unfortunately, that does not stop me from complaining all over the place here and that is fine, because that is exactly what I intended this place to be.  My safe place, where I can moan and groan and bitch my heart out.  No apologies, no filters, no regrets.  And, maybe it is all right that I was able to be the person about whom people forgot the stupid things that I said and forgot the dumb and careless things that I have done, but remember how loved and cherished, respected and honored I made them feel.  Maybe that has to be enough.

My island dream on the Neumayer Channel

Choices

I hear and behold God in every object, yet understand God not in the least,
  Nor do I understand who there can be more wonderful than myself.

  Why should I wish to see God better than this day?
  I see something of God each hour of the twenty-four, and each moment then,
  In the faces of men and women I see God, and in my own face in the glass,
  I find letters from God dropt in the street, and every one is sign'd
      by God's name,
  And I leave them where they are, for I know that wheresoe'er I go,
  Others will punctually come for ever and ever.

Leaves of Grass, Walt Whitman

I was in a nearby city yesterday, helping a group of nuns craft resumes that might be helpful to them when the bishops close their facility early next year.  One of them is a friend and I pretty much insisted that they at least think about not waiting until the last minute, which was their original plan.  It was very much like working with regular people (whatever the hell that means), but there were additional aspects that I had not considered or even thought might exist.  The chief one, and the one that kept me there until 6 p.m., and with only one resume completed, was that they want every aspect of their working life (more in the realm of philosophy or a mission statement) included in their resumes, which, by the way, they are invested in keeping to a single page.  It looks like it is going to take at least four more full days to get all of this done.  It might be shorter, but they insist on going out for a long lunch.  I agree that people have to eat and all that, but two hours is too much wasted time and, really, I cannot afford the restaurants where they are wanting to go.  Yesterday it cost me twelve dollars to have some nice sweet potato fries, a very sad sandwich and a glass of iced tea that did not have the courtesy of even pretending to actually have tea in it.  Lordy.

By the time we finished, I was exhausted and combined with all of the other issues in my life, I smoked on the way home.  Yeah, like in actual cigarettes.  Terrible practice for anyone, but especially for me.  Truth be told, it, the smoking, helped me to feel better.  I simply cannot fall back into this habit.  I officially quit over 35 years ago, but in times of stress I yearn for the comfort of that slender paper tube filled with finely shredded and perfectly cured tobacco.  In the past three years I have begun smoking again at least a half dozen times, from a few days to a week or two, with a big jump to the first lapse which lasted for three months.  So far, this time, it has been just two actual days of puffing, with seven cigarettes over five days.  Like that makes any difference.  When you smoke, you are a smoker.  And, a smoker is a smoker, whether you have one in your hand or not.  Inhale.

By some fluke I have four days off, in a whole row.  It would be a pleasure to stay home, stay in my jammies, shut off the telephone and read and watch DVDs.  At some point I will have to go out for groceries or to get cash to pay to have carryout food delivered, and that will not be a hardship because the newest thing here is to keep the heat on so that the air conditioning is not overtaxed.  It is 86 degrees Fahrenheit outside and the heat is on.  Sweating.

Late last week I had a moral dilemma and I addressed part of it last night and will address the rest on Friday.  I did not want to do it and I still do not want to finish it.  Whilst I have been comfortable taking a stand somewhere on the moral high ground for other people, always easier for us, it is only in the past couple of months that I have been able (or is it willing or gutsy or finally frustrated enough) to take any for myself.  I am hoping that this sort of thing becomes easier in time.  Good grief.

When I am out, I am keeping my head down to look for some of those letters.  And, I do not even believe in Whitman's God. 

No coffee for me

Not today anyway.  Three family or relationship-al things happened to keep me home today.  I have resolved or abandoned all of them, kind of a attempt at some kind of mental healthiness. None of this stuff is about me and I am weary.  I will not be doing battle until the lunchtime meeting that I called for Monday.  Yay!

I want something or a place that is far away from all of this.  Like a middle of nowhere mountain.  I would even be willing to give up time with my grandbabies if it meant that I could have some indeterminate time without anyone around.  No telephones, no people, no nothing, except lots of good books, all of my art crap and every single thing that I like to eat.  Oh.  That sounds like heaven.  It also sounds like running away.  I do not do running away.  Crap.

So, tossed away, every bit of responsibility, and all of it left to rot away on its own.  I will be watching the DVDs that I brought home from the library yesterday and drink my favorite diet soft drink and make popcorn with lots of butter and just totally waste the next thirty-six hours.  I have a nice selection of heartfelt stories and a couple of horror or mystery films, but no zombie stories because I just could not find any.  So sad, because even a halfway decent zombie movie really puts things into perspective. 

I never made it to coffee this morning and it turns out that hardly anyone else did either, and I am feeling inappropriately amused that the only two people who made it to the coffee shop are the two who like each other the least.  I think that makes me a bad person.  I should go to my room and be alone to think about that.  Oh, I already did that.  Cool.  Should help prepare me for when I go to live on my mountain, the one that no one knows even exists.

Born to be an assasin

I stood up for myself with someone who is not me and it felt great, fucking scary, but great.  Then I stood up for better treatment from someone else and it felt like a betrayal of the unspoken contract that is our friendship.  Still feels bad.

All these years, decades really, of being as quiet and non-confrontational as possible was the way I survived to do those things that I have already mentioned until even I am sick of them.  It has been only the past few weeks that I have seen that pattern in some of my other relationships.  Quite a shock, because I have always believed that even though life here in the homestead has been one long crap buffet, I thought that my other relationships have been healthy.  Or, at least healthier.

Sure, some of them are not so bad in the equality department, but some of them are just plain sad or weird or really sad.  One of my friends has a disorder on the schizophrenia spectrum.  Has had it all of her life and as a consequence, she has few friends.  I am one of them and whilst I am glad that I have been able to stick with her for all this time, other of our mutual friends simply could not handle how her illness manifests.  For the past several years she and her doctors have been struggling with the proper types and levels of her medications.  It is rarely one medication and the cocktails they try are often so distressing that it is impossible for her to reach an effective dose before they have to give up.  It does not help that she is convinced that health is only achieved by a trip to the health food store.  So, she takes all kinds of stuff, herbs and supplements, in addition to her prescriptions and it is weeks and months between the times when she feels truly well. 

One of the things that I do for and with her is to take her places when she is unable to drive and to be her passenger when she feels well enough to drive, but does not feel well enough to drive alone.  When she is the driver, she is never able to complete her errands because she loses energy before she gets to all of the places she needs to go.  That is fine, although it is distressing for her and I empathize with her wanting so dearly to be independent and do all those things for herself.

Tuesday was one of those trips where she wanted to drive and I and another of our friends went along for the ride.  She managed two of her intended stops and then pooped out in the energy department and we headed home.  Not a problem, since I and the other friend were along only because she wanted company.  The trip was to a nearby city and halfway home she told us that she had been feeling spacey and out of it the entire time and that the new meds were affecting how she felt and how she was able to physically move around.  And, I am thinking, what the fuck are you doing driving us around?  Just because you want to feel independent?  It was like another level of craziness on a day that already had more than its share because of her behavior in the two previous shops.  I took a deep breath and made eye contact with our other friend who was clearly as alarmed to be hurtling along on the highway with someone who was having a significant perceptional issue. 

So, I calmly said to her that when she is not feeling well, that it might be a good idea if she let one of us drive her to her shops.  And, she never said another word and I have not had the usual daily telephone calls from her since then.  It is because, even though I carefully phrased and modulated what I said, that her illness was not able to hear that, and that she is upset about the whole thing.  I feel so badly about this, but I will not be a passenger with her anymore.  I may have killed this friendship because I do not know how to keep my mouth shut.  We made it home safely.  Maybe that should be a sufficiently happy ending, but it is not.

I have two relatives that are experiencing difficult, really difficult times right now.  In the past I would have anticipated and met every need that they have.  That old me was the first to volunteer my time and resources to help anyone, but most especially family.  For these two women, within the period of only three days, I did not do that.  It just occurred to me whilst listening to one of them last week that I cannot do that anymore.  I cannot come to the rescue and fix everything, not any more.  I just cannot. I have taken myself out of their streams and am simply listening to what they have to share.  I do not offer suggestions or assistance or help or money or any of the things that I normally would have done without the slightest request from them.   

The line between helping someone and rescuing them is so thin and I have jumped in to do the rescue part too many times.  Looking back on my relationship with the one with whom I spoke last week showed me that I have done the helping and rescuing thing a lot.  It is not good for me and it is not good for her.  Her situation is serious, dire even, but unless she asks me for specific help, and it is help that will not deplete my own and newly limited resources, I will not offer anything to her. 

On Monday I was with the other relative and she was asking me for help.  So far, so good.  Unfortunately it is help that she knows is very difficult for me to provide and when I was slow to reply that I would help her, she became upset with me.  She tried to hide it, but we all know the expression on the face of a person who is disappointed in us and is judging the crap out of us.  I was shocked.  I had not been aware that that was part of our relationship.  It hurt so much to see all of that on her face and to hear it in her voice.  I am too upset and too cowardly to call her now to say that I will not be providing the help for which she asked and to which I agreed.  But, I am going to do that because it is in the best interest of both of us.  Sooner is better than later.  I just do not think that I have the heart to do it until next week.  She is going to feel that I am failing her and in a way I am.  I do not think that I have ever gone back on my word before, and that is where my failure lies. 

I do not yell.  I do not argue or contest anything with anyone.  I never even raise my voice.  There are times when I think tons of cross words in my head, but they never pass my lips.  I never rescind a promise or even the teeniest commitment.  I just do not.  But, with these three women I am doing exactly that.  I am breaking my word.  I am breaking my unspoken, yet clearly understood promise to be a certain person, to behave a certain way with them. 

I feel heartsick about all of this.  I am doing this, changing the way I am in relationship with them, because it is the right thing to do.  It is the right time, hell, it is past time to do this.  I am solid with that part, but I am not thrilled with having to actually do it.  If we truly are friends and loving relatives, my changing will not cause permanent harm.  We will have the opportunity to talk about my reduced circumstances and my increased desire to be a stronger person.  That is my hope.  I am struggling with how painful and difficult this kind of change is for me.  I swear, I am so tempted to backslide on this and return to the quiet and compliant and stupidly sacrificing person that I was.  Then I think about how they and other people might view me and wonder if it has always been the fact that I would never, could never say 'no' to anyone that was the reason I was liked.  I think that there is more sadness in my future if that turns out to be true, because I also think that this is only the beginning of learning to say 'no'.

Tuesday, for chr...

It just keeps getting better.  I am the little fucked up engine that not only can, I absolutely have to.  Lordy.

This is important enough to add.  I heard this in the film The Horse Boy.  It is a documentary about a family who travel through Mongolia to find healing for their autistic son.  This quote is from one of the resource people in the film, Roy Richard Grinker.

One way of explaining an illness is to say, "Oh, this person is sick."  Another way of explaining an illness is to say, "This is a different type of person, and they will have a different role in society."

Yeah, what he said.

Speechless

Even with all the stuff here, I offered to take someone who is not me out for dinner or lunch or whatever today, because it is Father's Day here in the U.S., and I knew that no one else would do anything about it, festive-wise. 

So, the offer was accepted and I said that he should choose where he wanted to go and we would just go there when he wanted to.  Except he has not spoken to me in the intervening four days and did not today and would not even look at me.  So, we did not go anywhere and I am left to wonder what the hell I did this time, when I did it and how I did it wrong. 

For chrissakes.

Lub-a-dub

You know how when you are busy, then everything gets busier, and your personal resources for coping become stretched to their limits and you find yourself hanging to your last nerve, just swinging there in the breeze with your fingernails dug in and you can feel yourself losing your grasp on being able to cope, slipping, slipping? 

Well, I am having that happen in the heart realm.  Instead of losing my hold on being hopeful, I feel as though I am slowing being covered with fluffy layers of unmet needs, pain, despair and even more need from the people around me.  Truth be told, I am part of that layering of misery.  Last week brought a very small and very insignificant local honor, not minimizing the project or intent of the people who offered it to me, but I am trying to keep this in perspective.  It is the equivalent of a pat on the head to me, the tiny guppy in a small pond, more like a puddle, frankly.

Along with that really nice thing, there was an offer to have a regular writing gig again.  Still a volunteer thing, but at least I will have a chance to be in print each month in a local newspaper.  I am not sure that I should be so thrilled with another layer of responsibility, but at least it is one that will make me happy to simply have a regular deadline and my words on a page that will be read, at least by the people and families of my subjects.  I am not complaining.  Really.  It is just that this thing and a request for help a few weeks ago to provide the service I do at our Library to another part of our community are things that have a future built in and are holding me to a geography from which I am trying, thinking about, leaving.  I went to that other town, the one near my daughter and her family, to look at housing options close to groceries and other stuff.  I found two buildings that look to be in my price range and tried to contact the management of them.  No success yet, but I will call them again sometime this week.

And, the whole layering thing is about that all of the people for whom I provide resources contacted me in the past four days.  Every single one of them.  That has never happened before and it is freaky that it would happen at the moment when I have decided to leave here and be somewhere, you know, more safe.  The closer I come to accomplishing that, the more I am aware of the things that hold us to a particular place.  I suppose that is true for everyone.  There are good reasons for leaving, for moving on in your life, that do not ignore the things that we have where we now are.  I wonder, is this simply a part of the letting go?  The grieving process?  Some kind of acknowledgment of the good parts of my life that are being sacrificed at the altar of what I want? 

If so, that is one, huge, fucked up cosmic joke.  If I want a life that is safe, free from the assorted assaults that are part of what living here offers me, then to leave and be released from this means that I have to give up nearly all the parts of my life that work well.  I am regularly struck that when I do something or am with some person, that it might be the last time, or one of the last times, that I can do that thing or see that person.  Sitting around the table with my friends, at coffee yesterday morning, I finally got it that that could be one of the last times that I am able to have that experience.  When I move more than an hour's drive away from this place, it will be only the rarest of occasions when I will see or talk to them again, and considering our ages and the various health issues we have, that will probably be a funeral.  Yeah, that thought really helps lighten my mood.  But, that sort of thing happens to me all the time, because I will be leaving behind amazing people and equally amazing work. 

It did not help that I received a telephone call from one of them yesterday afternoon. 
Apparently I was the subject of conversation between her and another of the women about my dilemma.
Apparently I am not supposed to be conflicted about any of this, that I should find a way to leave and stay at the same time so that I do not disrupt the flow of the group. 
Apparently, even though I shared two stories of wonderfulness from my week, I was pleasant enough but not nearly cheerful enough for one of them. 
Apparently I am supposed to not give the appearance of being quiet or subdued or sad or any of that other introspective and more serious stuff. 
Apparently I am supposed to continue to be the the person in the group who is always lighthearted. 
Apparently I am supposed to have rainbows shooting out of my ass no matter what is going on in my life.
Apparently I am a big, fat failure.

When I leave, I will, officially, be an émigré.  I will be leaving my country of origin for political reasons, the politics of wanting to live in safety.  That should be the name of a country, an actual place, Safety.  We pack our meager possessions and leave everything behind, home, friends, work, all the things that are a life.  Then we go to that new place where we can begin again, creating new opportunities to be sure, but maybe having to pretend that we did not lose anything of value to us in the process.

All of this is so much crap in the context of what something else that happened yesterday.  One of my siblings, whom I have asked to not call me when s/he is intoxicated, did call me.  S/he wanted the telephone number of another sibling, who is, by the way, the other sibling is I have asked to not call me when s/he is intoxicated.  I gave the number that I had for sibling #2 and sibling #1 asked me how I was and how I was doing.  I said that I was fine and that everything was equally fine, or words to that effect and asked how s/he was doing, blah, blah, blah.  S/he told me that, after quitting her/his job and spending every waking hour drinking (my words, but they are just a condensed version of what s/he said), s/he tried to commit suicide a few months ago.  The method used is nearly always unsuccessful and can cause some really horrific side-effects, and that is what happened in this case.  All of the details of the attempt and the resulting circumstances are irrelevant, except to say that the attempt was not serious, but the resulting health consequences are, and that the end result, if there can even be an end to all of this kind of stuff, is that a few weeks ago problems developed in her/his lower, right leg and it was amputated below the knee.

Homeless.  Hospitalized for some long and indeterminate time.  No insurance. No financial resources.  No relationships that would provide some support during this terrible experience, the time preceding it and since.  I cannot begin to understand, much less judge, her/his unwillingness or inability to contact anyone during this entire time.  If this sort of thing does not break your heart, then you simply do not have one to break.

However, it is kind of breaking mine because I insisted that s/he not call me when s/he was falling down drunk, and s/he extrapolated that to include not calling me at all, not even when this terrible process happened.  The drunken calling was too stressful and I simply could no longer take listening to her/him divest herself/himself of all of the pain and leave it with me.  It is complicated by the fact that s/he ran away from her/his life four years ago and lives several states away.  Just a total, fucking mess.  And, the worst part of yesterday's conversation is that s/he would like me to swoop down there, fix everything and bring her/him back here and take care of everything, medical, personal and financial.  I could not say a single word.  Not yes or maybe we can work something out or no or hell no.  In the moments during which I was trying to think about how I can use my resources to help or how I could find some help or whatever, and my mind was spinning with how I have always been the sibling to pick up the pieces and make everything better and how the hell was I going to be able to do that this time, s/he became angry and told me not to worry about it, that s/he would find a place to live, a roommate on Craig's List. 

This is where I am supposed to rush to attend and say that I will take care of everything.  But, I did not.  And, in that crystalline moment, I realized that this circumstance is just another area of my life where I receive threats.  If I do not immediately, without thought or reservation, jump into the situation and fix everything, then, well, I am not worth anything.  I do not count for anything unless I immediately fix whatever it is that needs fixing.  God, I am not minimizing her/his suffering or all of the bad brain chemistry, heinous childhood experiences, poor life choices that have brought her/him and every one of us to this point.

But, baby, this is not bailing you out of jail or giving you money or rescuing you and your cat or paying your rent or buying groceries and medication that you will later trade for booze or drugs or advocating between you and your daughter.  It is not listening to you moan about your life for hours, whilst the alcohol processes out of your system or you go through withdrawal.  This is not a circumstance where I could even say any of this to you.  This is the crap that I carry about our relationship and to burden you with it is not my way.

And, again, I could not say a word, none that might might more pain, but not even any that could help.  Then, the crying began and I was asked, then begged, to not be angry or upset with her/him.  I am not, not angry or upset or judging, and I said those things and more.  And, given my circumstances, I wonder what I can say or offer.

I barely have resources to care for myself, yet something, some help needs to be given.  If I stay here I have some additional resources to help my sibling, as well as doing and helping in all the other areas.  Unfortunately, they are not mine to give, as they belong to someone who is not me, and I am fairly certain that if he will not share any of what he has with his own daughter, that he is not going to allow me to bring my sibling here to live and be supported by him.  Even long-distance I can help with research and the disability process.  I can help with early use of her/his social security benefits.  I might even be able to take a week and go down there to make some local connections for her/him.  I can work with social services there to find housing and daily living resources.  I do not believe that I can find a way to bring her/him here, but if I stay here, in this house, I might be able to give her/him some of my own social security funds.  It is too new and raw for me to make any decisions today.

I am not a fatalist, nor am I dedicated to omens, portents and other signs.  But, there is something about the quality of all of this that is telling me to pay attention, that there is something important that I might be missing in my plans to leave, and it is my leg story.  Three weeks ago a double wound appeared on my right leg.  It was oozing for two days and then formed scabs, although it stayed red and swollen.  There is not, has not ever been any itching or pain, no discomfort or anything, not even when I press on it.  The swelling included my ankle and foot and was so bad that I planned on making an appointment with my doctor this week.  Approximately five hours after the conversation with my sibling, I noticed that I could bend and flex my ankle and foot.  By the time I went to bed, the swelling was significantly reduced and it is even better this morning  The swelling around the wound is gone, as is some of the redness.  Now, I am not saying that my mystery leg problems are related, but they certainly are at least a fascinating coincidence. 

I know that everyone has a life as complicated as mine.  I know that there are legions of people who experience challenges greater than mine.  I understand about the suffering and danger in the world and I pray and use my resources to help alleviate some of that, to the best of my ability.  My heart will not allow anything less.  Yet, surely, that does not mean that it is wrong for me to want some lesser quality of suffering in my own life.  When I was waiting on Thursday for something associated with this newspaper thing, I had all of this stuff in me that needed be to let out and I found an envelope and some papers in my bag and used the empty spaces on them to write about how truly privileged I am.  I wrote about how I could be in that place waiting for this little thing and that I had a way to get there and clothes to wear and could even afford a couple of things from the dollar menu at the place where I was waiting.  It was chock-full of the abundance of my life here, and it explored a bit of why I am in such a rush to leave.  It was about having perspective, appreciation for what I do have and whether or not the personal costs of having access to all of that is worth the price.  What that writing did not have was any conclusions, and that is exactly where I still find myself, even after this new information about my sibling.

What price am I willing to pay, what needs am I willing to release in order to the right thing?  Can I afford to make any wrong choices, even if they turn out to be temporary or reversible?  In this moment, it looks very much like I am going to stay here and pay whatever personal costs may be required.  Never before, even during some of the more challenging parts of my life, have I felt more indecisive and unable to sort through everything to find the truth, the rightness, of what I should be doing.  I have no idea where my path leads.

Is this perspective or am I just tired

So, anyway, I have had lots of time to work today on all the things that get left behind in the whole job thing, the bits, pieces and tatters, that usual, ordinary day stuff.  I worked on the web site that I made for clients, took a couple of walk-ins and began research on the legalities of job discrimination as regards to termination of employment.

Very interesting.

I found a lawyer-driven/run site that has a posting forum, in addition to some really stellar information on all aspects of law.  I think that what strikes me most, whilst reading there, is how entitled some people feel.  Yeah, I work with the public in a variety of locations, situations and circumstances and that informs me, and besides, I am human, too, so I have experienced the issue of entitlement from both sides.  A lot.  Both sides.  I recently dissolved into moderately serious weeping a few weeks ago whilst talking to one of the people at my insurance company when I could not manage to figure out what my health plan covered.  I mean, how stupid is that, and it is not like I was having a billing problem or anything, I just wanted information about what might be covered and could not formulate my questions so that they made sense.  Even though I was not complaining or whining or being a pain in the ass, I was as uninformed about what I needed as it is possible to be and I was feeling sorry for myself, but much more for the poor woman who got stuck with my call.  If anything, I was a kinder, gentler pain in the ass.  At least I hope that I was.  It does not happen every day, but I often find myself on the verge of crying, with no apparent problem or issue, just out of the blue.  In my defense, my life is so fucked up right now that even the slightest disturbance in the Force can reduce me to tears.

So, there I am reading away, trying to find any information that my client might deem helpful and then I had to stop and think for a while because it stopped being about the research and began to be about us humans and our humanness.  We humans hate taking responsibility for our actions.  Given half a chance, we are perfectly happy to allow someone else to take the flak for anything we mess up, no matter how small it might be.  Right now, today, in a town near to here, there is a man the police are looking to find.  Yesterday he was stopped for a traffic violation and pulled a gun on the officer who stopped him.  He then took off and disappeared into the forest, or what passes for a forest around there.  This morning's news has his wife reporting that whatever happened is not his fault because one of the police officers (not sure if it was the one who stopped him) has it "in" for him and that he is disliked in the community because of some issues with child support payments.  O.K., then, unpaid child support, traffic violation, threatening an officer with a gun.  Please, allow me to be the one who nominates him for citizen of the year.  Please.

We hate not being treated as special for all of our personally defined special needs.  We transcend hate and go directly to despising when we are informed of how we are not experiencing discrimination or prejudice or just plain rudeness when we do not get what we want, when we want it, and exactly and precisely how we want it.  In this respect, we humans suck.   Anyone who has worked in retail for longer than an hour already knows this stuff.

So, until the first walk-in arrived at my little cave here, I was feeling like maybe it is a good thing that we have messed up the planet so badly that our Mother (Earth) is just this close to shaking us off the planet, much the way a dog shakes off the water in his fur after a nice bath or a dip in the lake.  But, that person brought me back into balance and so did the next person.  Then I had a nice lunch and came back to the cave where I spent the next four hours with the nicest person.  It was her second session here and I think we have at least one more before we find a way to incorporate all her good stuff into her documents. 

So, a nice day, after all.  Oh, and I received a telephone call and am being interview and photographed (oh...my...god...no...not a photograph!  Like with a camera and everything???  Noooooooooooooooo!) for a newspaper article and I might have a radio interview in my near future, as well.  The occasion producing all of this is that tomorrow is my first anniversary doing this work in this place.  Remarkable.  I stuck with it and they stuck with me and it is wonderful to have this one place in my life where no one hates me or calls me names or threatens me or anything.  In this one place, this place for which I am thankful every damn day, I do not suck.

Looking on the bright side

I try to do than anyway, but with all the possible changes in my life, that is becoming more difficult; I have to make a conscious effort once in a while.

Tomorrow is my long day at the library and it is one day shy of my first anniversary of doing that work.  Even I have a hard time wrapping my mind around that.  I was hoping to make something sweet and kind of small in the portion-size department to take to celebrate, but I am too weary lately.  No energy.  No stamina.  No interest in doing anything.  A friend gave me a gift card to Walgreen's for my birthday and I was hoping to use that to buy some treats on the way to work tomorrow morning, but I cannot find it.  I wonder if it was in my coin purse that I lost at the charity shop.  Wherever it is, it makes no difference if I do not know where that is.

I will be looking at an apartment on Friday afternoon.  I will be visiting my daughter and the babies in the morning and until they take their naps.  I am not telling her about it, it is bad enough that she knows that I am looking for a place.  I am not certain if I shared how that happened, but it did and, gosh, I was hoping to keep all of this to myself until it was done.  Even then I was not planning on telling her or anyone else the finer details of how this came to be.  Crap.

So, anyway, after I look at that apartment, I will be driving around in that town, looking for places that might be within walking distance of groceries and stuff like that, but most importantly, the library.  I will not have a car or the Internet or my cats or my volunteering jobs or much of anything, so the library is what will keep me sane.

I am feeling very sad about leaving the women that began as my SS assignments, but have long since become my friends.  One of them can no longer drive and oh gosh, oh crap, this is all just too sad.  Man, how am I going to be able to leave my cats here?  How is that even going to be possible?

Maybe all of the pain is some essential part of the process of finding a safe, new life.  I do not know how I will do this.

Fire parte dos

Once there was a car.  Well, actually, it was a van or mini van or whatever they are called. 

One day the van was on its way home and it began to burn and smoke came out from under the hood and there was a terrible smell.  First came the smell and then the smoke and then the pulling off of the road and into the upper parking lot at McDonald's, way back behind the semi trailer trucks, just in case it burst into flames.

There were not any woodland creatures to gather around and watch, but there were two small buses of high school golfers who watched the smoke and nodded sagely, as only high school golfers can.

This week without wheels is going to be good practice for when I no longer have a car, which might be sooner than expected because I may have found a town in which to live.

I am not holding my breath, waiting for the good things to happen.  Doing that has been nothing but heartbreaking, or at least heartbruising.  I had exactly the same experience when I was holding breath, waiting for the bad and scary stuff to stop happening, which I finally gave up in favor of hope.  Frankly, neither one serves me and I finally just had to give it all up for Lent,or I would have were I still a Catholic.

I have a fire in my belly about what lies ahead, but I have this kind of death grip on whatever it will take to keep things under control.  It may be a big, fat bucket of water.  Or, it may not.

Like today. Between the stench, the smoke, the yelling (not by me, baby), the misdirections (also not me) and the rest, I may lose my damn mind.  Seriously.  I did, however, have a good breakfast and my bacon was perfectly cooked.

Lordy. 

The way of the Wuss Warrior

Oh, indecisive, lazy me.  On the days when I have stuff to do, I cram in as much other stuff as possible.  A full day means much accomplished and a clear conscience.  It also means that I often have to crash the following day.  I accept that, even though a stuff-day with only one or two tasks distresses me.  Vicious, wussy cycle.
Anyway, today is one of the trying-to-avoid-doing-anything-useful days and I am cleaning out my computer.  Well, not cleaning as in clearing out and getting rid of things, but finding the tons, probably, of things that I have found over the past few months or so that held some energy for me at the time.  When I find that stuff, if it still gets me all juicy, then I will put it here so that I might have a better chance of having it when I need it.

Tis true my form is something odd,
But blaming me is blaming God;
Could I create myself anew
I would not fail in pleasing you.
If I could reach from pole to pole
Or grasp the ocean with a span,
I would be measured by the soul;
The mind’s the standard of the man.
Joseph Merrick

 

Rumi
The Guest House
This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.

A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.

Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they're a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still, treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.

The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
meet them at the door laughing,
and invite them in.

Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.

 Some of my stuff.

I hear him laugh and I remember what first attracted me.
I loved his smile.
He made me smile and laugh all the damn time.
It was great. 
It made me feel cherished because he made the effort.

Sometimes I will catch a glimpse of the back of his neck.
My heart flutters, takes flight.
If he walks away I can hold to those feelings.
If he turns to look at me, my heart quails at the hate I see there.

I wrote this on the occasion of the 150th birthday of Ted Giesel, better known as Dr. Seuss.  Ted Geisel rhymed his way into the hearts of children and parents through the more than fifty books that he wrote.

Please join me, and the Fox and Knox and the fish and the Cat and Horton and the Sneeches and Marvin and Sam, and my personal favorite, the Lorax in a rousing chorus of (With sincere apologies, please Ted, no spinning in your grave, OK?)

Happy birthday dear Seuss
We are happy and loose
Whilst enjoying your cake
That we sliced with a rake.

The Cat brought the goat
And the ham in the boat.
Which we're eating for lunch
"Cuz we sure have a hunch

That our mother will say
In her sweet, grumpy way
That today is for treats
And for jumping on sheets

That are still on the bed.
("Although, don't bump your head!")
"Cuz your birth we do honor
With a proclamation from the 'guvnor.

Who is happy to share,
Whilst the Cat licks his hair,
That today is your day,
Hip-Hooray-Hip-Hooray!!

Billy Collins.  I am certainly not the only person who loves him, but I might be the person who holds him most dear.  The following was inspired by his poem, The Lanyard ( http://www.billy-collins.com/2005/06/the_lanyard.html )

Have I truly waited six decades to discover the poet and his lanyard?  What quality is there in this particular space and time that brings me to this page?

it was never about the the sickbed ministrations, the cool cloth on my fevered brow.  it wasn't connected to adequate clothing or healthy meals or strong bones or teeth.  The lack of those things hasn't destroyed my life, only made me stronger in their pursuit.

but it was about the lanyards that i gave to her.  not the actual, long, thin strips of colorful plastic, but the gifts and sacrifices i gave her from my meager resources and the tattered remnants of my heart.  The bits of me that i wove into every single attempt that i made to try to convince her that i was someone worth loving.  she never took the multi-toned weaving from my needy hands without disdain, distrust and outright disgust.  but, she was more than willing to take my time and my money and to suck the marrow from my bones if it so pleased and benefited her, and she were so inclined.

a life of indenture to a hope that was destined to be, and remains, unfulfilled.

even now, while i still spend myself to try to keep her from being expelled from the one place in the world that still allows her to stay, her response is, as ever, resistance and vitriol.  Is there, somewhere inside of me, the same attributes, the same behaviors?  Oh, dear god, if there is, please, my friends, let me know so that I can tear it from my breast and be free of this graveyard legacy.

what could i have accomplished had i not been caught in the thrall of my need to unravel her pathology, to find a way in, belly-crawl my way, undetected, to cower and settle at her feet, an unseen and un-assaulted pet.

The whole sucking air out of the room thing as it relates to the whole familial thing.

So, anyway, there I am, just talking to my daughter.  She called me, which is nice, because she rarely has a moment to herself, dealing with those two, little, alien creatures we fondly refer to as alien creatures.  Her sons. Babies, really, but now that the little one is fully mobile and verbal and has learned the rudimentary physics of throwing tiny cars at everyone and everything, I have to admit that they are, not-so-simply, little boys.

I remember being thrilled when the ultra-sound informed us that the first baby was the little boy for which I wished.  Then, later, the second happy surprise with his brother.  Other stories there.

So, then, we are talking and the reason for the call was not to simply chat, but to ask my advice on something.  She asked and I advised, but it was regarding a request that she would be making to someone who is not me and was about a resource that I do not have, which if I did have, she would not need advice about discussing this with someone who is not me, but would have just asked me and I would have said yes and that would have been the end of that. 

I knew that the discussion with the person who is not me would not go well.  She did, too, but asked anyway and I suspect that she also knew that I would not say anything negative about someone who is not me, but that is the kabuki dance we perform in order to survive this whole fucking mess.  And, it disturbed me, the part about knowing that she would, once again, be disappointed.  This sort of thing breaks my heart every single time, over and over again and it is just not fair that hearts can be so damaged by assault after assault, and still keep working so that they are ready for the next heartbreak.

It did not go well and there was the added benefit of being the recipient of a verbal attack on the premise that I knew about the request and did not prepare someone who is not me so that he would not be caught unawares by a simple request from someone who he is supposed to love and care for, neither of which he has ever provided evidence of doing.  Yeah, we sure do have fun over here.

I am not new to this process and I had a good idea of what was going to happen.  But, it must have rattled me and I did not notice and a bit further in the original conversation with my daughter, we were talking about the recent art thing and we chatted a bit about the process of one of the new pieces and how it was facilitated by being able to live in the gallery building for a couple of weeks and...then it happened.  I shared that part of what I did when living in that gallery space, in that city, was to continue to look for a small place to live.

That is when it felt like the air was sucked out of the whole damn room.  You have been there, that stunning moment when everything stops.  Silence, the void where nothing exists for that moment, not sound, not air, not breath, only the knowing that the conversation went where it was not supposed, not intended to go.  And, it is too late.  You cannot take back the words and the message they carry.  Too late.

Then, when there was air again, she asked me how long that had been going on and I told her for a while now.  And, she never broke stride and asked me how the search was going and I told her that the only two places that I could afford had too many steps to climb and she said that they were wrong for me because of that and how could I carry groceries up all those stairways and then she started talking about how a city very close to her has reasonable rents and how if I lived in a particular part of this city that I could walk to everything I needed and that I would only be ten minutes from her. 

Another moment, but this one had air and I realized that even though I have never spoken a syllable to her about any of the things that happen here, she must already have some sense of, not it, but something of something, just like some people have been telling me.  Important stuff.  It was not until much later, when our conversation had ended, that I realized that her first thought was that if I was going to move that it should be closer to her.

This changes some things.  Not totally and completely, but it alters the direction in which I though I had to move.  I have options that I did not have before. I will not have to lose my ability to see her and her family.  However, that one aspect, her suggestions about moving close to her and being able to walk to the grocery store and pharmacy and doctors and the rest tells me that she knows that leaving here will mean walking away with what I can carry, that the process will not be the dream divorce that everyone insists will happen.  I still feel hopeless about any degree of fair settlement.  I am trying to feel hopeful about other things, but I am also feeling shame about not having been able to keep all of this out of any conversation that I would have with her, but most particularly one in which she was asking advice about making herself vulnerable to another disappointment concerning someone who is not me.

I need a clean slate.  I need a safe place to live.  I need to get off of my fat ass and get rid of the rest of this stuff and just move forward in some way.  I need the Universe to bestow a whole shitload of cash and other resources on me.  Well, that last one is a 'want', not a 'need', but I want it anyway.  At the very least, I need to hold on to some reasonable dreams.  I need to breathe.

Fire

Once there was a large forest, being consumed by a fire.

All of the animals left the inferno and retreated to a safe place to watch.  They were transfixed.  They stood and felt helpless as they watched their forest burning.

Except for a hummingbird.  Hummingbirds are tiny creatures, but this one was exceptionally small.  The hummingbird watched the fire and said to herself, "I am going to do something about this terrible thing."  So, she flew to a nearby stream, chose a slow-moving area near the shore and scooped up a small drop of water in her beak.  Then she flew to the burning forest and dropped her small drop of water onto the flames and flew back to the stream, where she scooped up another small drop of water and flew back to the fire, dropped her small drop of water on the flames and flew back to the stream.  She flew back and forth as fast as she could.

The other animals stood by in amazement, as they watched her fly to the fire with her small drop of water and go back to the stream for more.  Still, the animals watched the fire, and they watched the hummingbird as she flew back and forth and back and forth, over and over again, even the pelicans with their fleshy beak pouches and the kangaroos with their belly pouches and the flying squirrels with their leggy pouches.  Even the elephant with his trunk.

And, eventually, they said to the hummingbird, "You are so small and your drops of water are so small and what do you think that you are doing and what do you think that you can do?  The fire is so big and you are so small."

And, the hummingbird barely paused in flying to the stream and scooping up her small drop of water and replied to the other animals, "I am doing the best I can."

The exhibit opened on Friday and it was the uneven success that those things always are.  The visitors to the gallery are there because they are invested in the art community or are interested in art in general or they know one of the exhibiting artists, or various combinations of those.  As co-curator of this show, part of my responsibility was to greet people, share information about the artists and their work, and assist them in viewing the pieces if that is what they wanted.  Quite frankly, I did a fine damn job of it.  The building is for sale and when anyone expressed admiration for that 115-year-old space I asked them if they were interested in living downtown.  It turned out to be my own, personal amusement for the evening and I had some truly wonderful conversations as a result of that sassy question.

I received lots of nice feedback on my pieces, and the people who hated my stuff or found it ridiculous were nice enough to keep it to themselves.  Bless their hearts.  Saturday brought a conversation with someone I really respect, one of the best artists that I know.  She has known me since before I started exhibiting and she told me that she likes the new direction my work has taken.  What she does not know is that I have no new direction, that this is an entirely scratch start for me.  I left all that other stuff behind, just as if it was a previous life.  At first, I did not know what she meant, because I feel disconnected from that older work.  I am guessing that the people who collected that stuff might not be so thrilled to hear that I feel that way, but it is what it is.

A few friends surprised me by stopping by and my daughter came down from her northerly city.  We did not run out of food or beverages, although person #1 allowed the under-age friends of his children to drink alcohol, which I did not discover until the evening was over.  Good fucking grief.  Even better is that Person # 2 disappeared halfway through the evening with person #3, and all three of them had more responsibility for the running of the opening than I did, yet felt perfectly comfortable doing whatever the hell they wanted to do.  There seems to be some kind of new rulebook for artists since I was last part of the scene.  I do not know, maybe the ones about how you can do whatever you like without regard to other people have always been a part of this.  Perhaps it is like that for everyone, and just not the people that I have been around lately.  Do I live such a small life that I do not already know about this?  Well, I kind of know it now.  It also kind of bugs me that people who should be setting the standards for behavior have no apparent sense of responsibility.  That is too freaking disturbing to me.

Apparently I am a clueless babe-in-the-woods, because person #2 informed me yesterday that he does this sort of thing all the time, that the marital status of either party is irrelevant if the 'encounter' is kept casual and only extends to drinks and lengthy, meaningful conversation and breathlessly fond glances, all of which he had enjoyed the evening before.  I wonder how his wife and her husband would feel about that.  Anyway, he and she turned up one full hour past closing time, whilst I was babysitting person #3’s older sister.  I was not amused, but she, the sister, was totally pissed.  I have to say that despite my advanced age, there is a world of things about the world and its people about which I know nothing. Yes, that is me...clueless...and not sure exactly how I feel about that.  I mean, I had the notion that most of the people in this rarefied atmosphere wanted to feel sophisticated or hip or cool and groovy or something.  Not me, I guess.  Or maybe it is just those men of a certain age and association with the arts, guitars and wives that are as clueless as I am.  All I know is that it makes me feel funny in my tummy and all that jazz.

Making the art was divine.  To be lost in that pleasure is, gosh, it is so wonderful.  Beginning begins with thinking about what I want to do, and that can take a stunningly long time, just for the ideas to percolate and take some kind of doable advance form, and the piece actually begins in that moment when the idea is born.  Then the gathering of materials and I just plunge in and allow the piece to go where it is supposed to go, and when I reach that point, I simply go along for the ride until the work informs me that it is finished.  So it was for these pieces.

Maybe only a single percent of the work I begin ends up completely different from my original thoughts.  It is the fire in my belly that creates the road, where a stream runs alongside.  That is on the wordy, goofy and pretentious side of metaphor, but I actually saw it.  I was so far up and I looked down and saw that I was moving above a macadam road, trees sparsely peppering the sides and the narrow, vaguely shimmering water, straight, both road and stream running true to my path, like fellow travelers, joining forces for some distant thing.  Someday I will hold that image in my hand as well as my heart.  Until then, I just have to close my eyes.

I may have shared that I have not exhibited in at least six years.  I have an excellent memory, and I do remember feeling weird and excited and maybe a little fearful prior to my first show, but I do not remember a crash afterwards.  And, I sort of had that this time.   Because of the horndog person #2, I arrived home too late to get any decent sleep and awoke still needing sleep, but I went to Saturday coffee anyway.  The breakfast was so-so, not horrible, but I still should have stayed home because I was snippy with one of the coffee babes.  Crap.  These are my friends and I was snippy.  I suck.  I do not even want to see them next time, I am too ashamed.

So, anyway, I will be making more art and am hoping to have enough for another exhibit this year, at lease a dozen pieces.  I can do it in relative isolation, the only other person here, where I live, does not talk to me.

Do the thing that scares you.  The chances are that no one else will get it.

So be it.

With spades.

Anyway, this is my attempt to insert photographs into a posting.  Here goes.  These are the four pieces that I had in the show.

Ooops, I have to edit here because I did not title these or say anything about them.
 Rumors

Myth

tree, a rescued book luminary.

Peace, Man.  Mandala

.Interior shot, not very good, but will try to get a better one tomorrow.

Boycotts

make me sick.  I received another invitation to join the boycott against BP.  For fuck's sake.

If you have strongly held opinions on this sort of thing and want a petroleum company to suffer, or make your displeasure known when a whole damn state does something you do not like, or when you despise the return policy of a store, or any other issue or company that pisses you off, then get off of your ass and the Internet and actually do something about the injustices in the world that displease you.  Write letters, form or join commissions, fight for legislation and its enforcement, and get involved.  Volunteer some of that time that you are wasting playing War Whatever or Mahjong or Spider Solitaire, or sitting in front of the television.  However, do not join some business-front or side-of-the-road protest with your lame-ass signs, for chrissakes.  I will make an exception if you create a dance and songs specific to the issue and you wear nice costumes and are light-hearted in your seriousness, and it would be nice if you served refreshments, healthy ones that include chocolate.

Sitting at your computer (unless that is the limit of your physical capabilities, then bless your heart, sweetie) and signing up for sites, calling talk shows, penning letter to the editor or grousing-but-not-actually-doing-anything to your friends and family (trust me, we are all sick of you at this point), and just generally being an uninformed pain in the nether regions is pointless.  Talk is cheap, in fact it is free.  Doing something constructive takes effort and the use of some of your resources. 

Get a backbone to go along with those opinions and make the personal sacrifices necessary to pony up the money, or volunteer a decent amount of your time, to accomplish something that does make a difference.  Gosh, I receive a very small Social Security payment each month and my retirement benefits were lost when my company went belly-up, and if I can do it, so can you.

At the very least, stop listening to the talking heads (and simply regurgitating what you hear), do your own research and become intelligently and meaningfully educated on the entire issue.  Or, you could just mind your own business.

Oh, one more thing, when you are out and about, stop  annoying, lecturing, scolding or abusing the people who work for these companies.  They do not make the rules.  They do not create company policy.  They do not police corporate behavior.  They are simply trying to hold on to their jobs, make enough money to take care of themselves and their families and maybe, at the end of the paycheck, have a little fun.  Give them a break and shut the hell up.