Our House It Has A Crowd

During the time the ex and I were married he worked at a number of manufacturing plants in their accounting departments. He made friends over the years with a few of the other accountants and line managers and kept in touch with them for some years after leaving the jobs where he'd met them.

One of these friends of his popped into my mind today. I don't even know if the two of them stay in touch any longer and it really doesn't matter anyway since it doesn't pertain to this story. What does pertain is that this friend, who is Mexican-American, was the patriarch of a rather large, extended family. His siblings were always falling on hard times and since he was working and making a decent salary he ended up supporting them financially or allowing them to stay in his home for one reason or another. He even ended up raising a few of their children when those hard times became habitual or routine.

Personally, my open-door policy wouldn't have been so open-ended. I'd have allowed for one such trip through, possibly two if in need. Any more than that and it isn't need so much as indicative of a habi. Those sorts of habits usually end up with one or the other of us holding hard feelings. No thanks.

So far in the year that the ex and Yo (who is also half Mexican-American) have been married, her mother and her mother's boyfriend -- and their small dog -- have lived with them three times. Ex is pretty much supporting them, but to be fair, Yo's mom has been doing all the cooking and cleaning and housework for the family. Her boyfriend works, I believe, but only part-time. He does a lot of odd jobs around the house.

Kiddo seems to have adjusted well to having the two of them in the house and, if truth be told, I know she enjoys not having to do much housework or cooking. But when I spoke to her today I heard a puppy yapping in the background and casually mentioned it. Her response was an aggravated one. "We have more people living here now and they have a puppy."

I didn't ask how many or how they belonged to Yo. I didn't have to; I knew they did and that there were at least two of them. That house has three bedrooms (Ex and Yo's, kiddo's, and Yo's son's) and had six people and three dogs living in it BEFORE the however-many-others and their puppy have come to camp out. What is it with packing people in like fleas? Isn't the ex sick of living on top of other people? Is he planning to end up like his friend?

All I can say is I thank all that's holy that I'm not living there now.

Hm. I wonder if kiddo will want to come live with me?

((Song: "Our House" by Madness. Lyrics here:
http://www.lyricsplanet.com/index.php3?style=lyrics&id=52762 ))

It's Been A Long Time....

I've been sorely neglecting this little blog. I've been neglecting a lot of things the last couple weeks because I've been indulging an old habit/hobby of mine -- online gaming. I have tried various avenues for this -- most notably WoW -- but the constant grinding and farming for quests just wasn't able to hold my interest as much as the heavy roleplaying systems based on the Neverwinter Nights game. NWN is much like old school Dungeons & Dragons and that has always been near and dear to my heart.

I quit the game about a year before my divorce for a number of reasons, none of which I feel the need to slog through at this juncture. I've recently picked it back up (mostly because of HD, actually, who began again as well) and I've already found an enjoyment in it that was missing by the end of my last time through. Who says you can't revisit something and find something new when you do?

There's not been a lot to say anyway. Life's been rather placid. About the only thing of any consequence has been my continued correspondence with Grey. He told me once just about a week ago that I knew how much he cared about me. I told him then that sometimes I didn't, but thinking about it now? Why, yes. Yes, I do.

((Song: "Wait" by the Beatles. Lyrics here: http://lyrics.wikia.com/The_Beatles:Wait))

Must Have Used The Wrong Line

Filed in the "just when you think you've seen everything" file....

I have an imaginary point system when it comes to men and I'd wager most women (and men!) do too. Like most people, I have automatic deductions and additions that I apply. Do you smoke? Sorry, no. Are you really listening to me? Score! Look like you haven't bathed in a while? Bzzzzzz, move along. Are you into me without being disrespectful or lewd? Dingdingding! Wear your jeans too tight and under your gut and your hair too 'business in the front and party in the back'? See ya!

Some of my rules are obvious ones and others deeply personal. I don't have a lot of rules, but the ones that I do have are hard and fast. Otherwise, I think I'm pretty fair. I start a man out at the base point of zero, and then I let the chips fall where they may. It usually doesn't take long for the guy to provide me with reasons to add or subtract. Experience has taught me that it's generally a pretty good system.

My good friend Harl's mother passed away this past weekend. I took off work for a few hours this afternoon to attend her memorial service. After the service we all went to the church's dining room to eat lunch and I was seated across from Harl and her husband.

Soon a man with curly, probably dyed surfer-blond hair and who looked to be in his mid-50's sat down in the chair to my left. He took one obvious and appraising look at me and said, "Who are you?"

Before I had the chance to respond to what I hadn't decided was either a direct or a downright rude inquiry, Harl's husband told him that I was Harl's friend from high school. He then introduced the man to me as Harl's uncle, her mother's brother. Ahhhh. I dismissed the rudeness/directness issue immediately, taking into account that the service had been rough on all Harl's family members. I introduced myself by name and he responded in kind. I gave my condolences and we made small talk while we settled down to eat.

Imagine my surprise when not even a minute had passed before I had to whip out my internal slide rule.

Let's see......he tried to impress me with his Harley (-5), he placed his phone down on the table between us and let me know I needed to call my number on it (-5), and he told me to walk slower the next time I went back to the buffet so he could enjoy the view (-10). All those, while horrible attempts at pickup lines, were at least amusing so I comped him (+5). But oh, he wasn't done. Ten minutes into his sell he asked my name again (-5.) And finally, he capped it off by telling me he wasn't into relationships (which actually upped him +5!) but he lost those points in nothing flat by saying it was because he preferred to love 'em and leave 'em.

I had to respond to that last comment. "Not really selling yourself here," I told him dryly. That made Harl laugh out loud. He tried to explain it away by saying he'd given me a bonus because instead of finding out he was an ass after he kissed up to me for months, he was being honest and making me aware that he was an ass upfront. I had to score him a few points for a quick recovery (+5) but it still didn't make up for the whole impending ass-ness possibility (-20.)

All in all, he didn't do well at all, checking in at -35. Even at that score he was in my Oh-Hell-No category. But trying to pick up a chick at his sister's memorial service?

Insta-FAIL!

((Song: "Right Place Wrong Time" by Dr. John. Lyrics here:
http://www.stlyrics.com/lyrics/sahara/rightplacewrongtime.htm))

Way Back In The Hills....

Listening to bluegrass makes me feel like a child again; it stirs up a deep sense of nostalgia that other genres of music don't manage to do for me on a consistent basis. Disco makes me feel like dancing, the blues bring me down, jazz makes me feel mellow or cool, and rock? Rock is harder for me to narrow down because it inspires many different feelings in me depending on the lyrics and tone of the song. But bluegrass is easy to define.

If you knew me, you wouldn't peg me for a bluegrass fan. As a general rule my preference in music, whatever the genre, is lyrics-based. I listen primarily to the words first and consider songs as poems set to music. I'm not a fan of the hick mentality, and I certainly don't cotton to Christian music. Bluegrass is at its heart everything that I don't like and yet, it calls to me. The ex used to tease me about it because it was so incongruous to my ethos. Much bluegrass music is at the very least gospel-tinged if not seriously religious. I know that, but I can't explain it -- when I listen to bluegrass the religious aspects of the genre don't make much of an impression on me. I don't even really hear it because it feels so 'right' springing from this 'from the dirt' style of music. Something about the banjos, the mandolins, the picking of the guitars and the harmony of voices blending lend themselves to singing about the divine anyway. It's rugged and markedly individualistic even as it conjures up friends and family, love, and a place to hang your hat. It's a basic form of song from the heart and soul. Uplifting even when it's sad or lonely. It makes me sit and tap my toes and smile. It makes me ache for the Midwest of my youth and the times I sang along with my dad when he played his guitar. It makes me remember.

I'm not a fan of today's alt-country at all but I enjoy much of the old steel guitar stuff. Whatever the genre I like authenticity and for me, when it comes to country it doesn't feel authentic if it's borrowing from other genres. If you're going to be country, be country. Embrace it, invest in it, play it like it comes off the back of a hay wagon with three or four boys picking guitars and fiddling. Country has lost much of that, dipping its toes in the blues and slowing it down or diving into the rock waters and speeding it up. In bluegrass, that back in the hills feeling remains.

I don't think I've ever featured a song on my blog but there's a first time for everything. I should probably do it more often. I don't have the lyrics for this one so you'll just have to listen to it right here. It's Paul and Pap Wilson singing "Way Back In The Hills," a song written by Bob Amos and performed originally by Front Range. Enjoy!

Now That I Am Starting To Remember Who I Am

They say, "Ignorance is bliss." They also say, "Know Thyself."

Well....which is it? You can't have both.

Ignorance of sitations and events -- such as when someone you love takes a risk or if you did without realizing how close you came to danger -- can be blissful. It's often easier to accept loss of control if you're not even aware that you were out of it. But I don't buy the saying when it comes to self-knowledge. You want to stay ignorant, live in a fog? Really? You think that leads to bliss? More often it leads to confusion. You might lash out or self-flagellate and be miserable and not even know why. How sad that sounds. If you were living in misery wouldn't you want to know why you were?

Knowing thyself is a long process often fraught with peril and many people never even get there, but the knowledge you earn when you do isn't even the really tricky part. It's what you do with the knowledge that counts. Making the conscious effort to take the knowing and translate it into action. Making choices based on your authentic self and not the self you wish you were, the one you want others to think you are, or the one you desire to be. Facing what you know is true instead of dodging it.

Some people willingly throw themselves down in the middle between an obstacle and a solution and begin waging a battle royale between the way they think they need to live to be viewed as "right" and the way they know they need to live to be right with themselves. Some people do it because they give too much power to others and are too concerned with how others would view their behavior to allow their authentic self free reign. Others do it because of internal struggles, most of which have their origins in the dynamic duo of pride and shame. Perhaps buried mommy or daddy issues manifest by defining a range of restrictive behaviors that can't be indulged in (even if these would be beneficial in their situation) because their parents exhibited them and pride won't allow them to be "like" their parents. It might simply be a desire to maintain a particular self-image at all costs.

Put in plainest terms, when you behave in a manner consistent with what you know is good for you, you'll feel good as you're doing it. This is true even if you're doing something difficult. If you know that the reasons you're doing it are consistent with your authentic self you'll only rarely wake up in the middle of the night wishing you could be doing something else. You'll rarely walk through your day feeling angry, resentful or stifled. You might feel exhausted, stretched thin, or worried you might not find the strength within you to carry on but you'll rarely feel a deep sense of "not-right" if you're doing it for the right reasons for yourself. You'll take pride in the trial and in the knowing that when it's all over the doing will have sustained you instead of depleted you. You'll feel better having done it.

If you don't, though -- if you're consistently miserable and resentful, if you trudge through your day with lethargy or a sense of hopelessness, your heart a bird fluttering against its cage -- what does that say about the scales you're weighing everything on? If you keep telling yourself that you're doing the right thing but wonder why your mind and your heart don't jump on board waving that banner, then what behavior are you exhibiting?

What's with the martyr complexes? And why do we think it's so noble to be a martyr?

Whether you martyr yourself for others or you martyr yourself to outdated ideas of who you "should" be while blinking rapidly past who you are, the act of martyrdom brings poison to your internal table. At first you might say to yourself that you believe you're doing it out of charity and you don't expect anything from anyone in return. The reality of it is that you feel there's been an exchange made. Since the coin you've delivered is the sacrifice of a portion of your authentic self you expect to see some sort of tangible return, something of equal value from those you gave so much up for. This expectation rarely comes to fruition and it exists even if no one else is ever aware of what you sold.

What, then, is a valuable return? Initially it's appreciation or respect. At first the "thank you's" and the "I know this must be hard for you's" are enough to sustain you. Initially. But at best appreciation from others is a temporary poultice across a wound that never quite heals as long as the effort of acting in a manner inconsistent with deepest needs and emotions remains.

As time goes on more and more must be done to cover the wound. Whatever appreciation you get isn't enough. You start to feel like the world owes you something. You know you gave your coin willingly and it shames you to feel like you do but you expected equal value here! You think that someone else can give it to you and you get frustrated when it doesn't work that way. Of course it doesn't, and you know why? Because the only coin that really DOES matter doesn't come from without. The container you're trying to refill has only one existing source of fuel and that fuel springs from an internal source. It's like replacing gasoline with propane. You can putter along for only so long before you start seizing up.

The best example I can think of is a mother who whines that nothing she's ever done is appreciated. We all know someone like this -- miserable, petty, deeply unhappy, demanding and whiny. No amount of external appreciation is enough to wipe away the internal truth of a life that has been sacrificed for others. It's a gaping hole that can never be filled in. It's like quicksand....

Is it any wonder that martyrdom leads to misery?

((Song: "Starting To Remember" by Duran Duran. Lyrics here:
http://www.mattsmusicpage.com/duranduran/lstarting.htm ))

Is Keeping Me Waiting....

“Well,” said Pooh, “what I like best,” and then he had to stop and think. Because although Eating Honey was a very good thing to do, there was a moment just before you began to eat it which was better than when you were, but he didn’t know what it was called. ~ A.A. Milne

--

Pooh might not have had the word for what he felt but he knew how primally pleasurable it was to feel it. And it is so verrrrry delicious, isn't it?

According to Robert Plutchik's psychoevolutionary theory of emotion, this feeling -- commonly known as anticipation -- is one of the eight primary emotions (the others being anger, fear, sadness, joy, disgust, trust and surprise.) You'd think love and hate would've make it to the top eight but if you take a moment to reflect upon it it makes sense. Neither one of those could ever be called a simple or biologically survivalistic sort of emotion, now would it?

Is anticipation a survivalist emotion? Hm, perhaps.....perhaps not. But it is most definitely a simple one. See object of desire, desire it, take possession of it, relish the moments that hover between the have and the have not.

I adore those moments. Anticipation skating across my nerves, basking in the combined delicacy of agony and ecstasy. In the seascape of my emotional hitches and swirls there is always this one truth -- there, floating in those moments, is where I feel most alive. Perched on the edge of that space where I know that I don't know and I can't wait to find out. The control freak that I am devours those moments when control has abandoned me briefly but will soon return with a crash. Even when it's ghastly or agonizing, it's beautiful.

I'm not a risk-taker...well, at least not when my life is at stake. I've been known to risk my emotions though. There's no going back if I lose my life. No do-over's. In contrast, not risking yourself emotionally is like dying by degrees. It's merely existing. You won't die if your heart gets bruised even if it feels like you might. We're here to learn, my friends, not hide, and time is of the essence. I know my emotional landscape is a resilient creature, by design created to learn just as much (and often, more) by getting hurt as well as by keeping safe. The high of risking and experiencing a psychic return for my risk gives me a thrill unlike few things I've experienced. It's addicting. In other words, while I'm no adrenaline junkie I'm definitely a dopamine junkie.

Those anticipatory moments feel like taking a hit. Yeah, you might come down and crash hard, but wow.....what a rush!

((Song: "Anticipation" by Carly Simon. Lyrics here:
http://www.carlysimon.com/music/Lyrics/Anticipation.html ))

I'm On A Ride And I Want To Get Off

...but they won't slow down/the roundabout."

Those lyrics have been bouncing around in my head for the past hour or so. So much of life seems routine and predictable and then -- every once in a while -- something comes along that shakes you out of your self-imposed coma. It's really hard to stand back and let that something drop away and force yourself to step back into the routine. You find every cell in your body aching to remain in that maelstrom that makes you feel alive instead of existing.

We all know people or places or situations (PPS's) where that aliveness takes hold more readily. Like the proverbial yin and yang, your soul sparks when you face that PPS. It can feel sexual or even be sexual but mostly it's stronger and deeper than that....it's sensual. It feels warm like home even when it scares you half to death. It's primitive, it's unexplainable. You might want to try to explain it because people have a need for understanding in a cause and effect sort of manner, but you can't really face it with reason as a tool to analyze it or as a weapon to confront it. You just know it when you see it. When you do, if you're smart you hang onto that PPS. It is a silver thread joining you to being alive. You don't question, you enjoy. You learn.

It might seem like it would be very hard to deny that you could have this connection but humans are a very contrary species. We can talk ourselves into things, talk ourselves out of things, tell ourselves we don't want things that we do and tell ourselves we want things that we don't. Denial, it is said, is more than just a river in Egypt. Denial is one of our greatest attempts at channeling the whirlwind within. So yeah, it can be done -- people do it all the time. Some live their lives avoiding any contact with that river and others dive in headfirst and do only what their desires tell them to do.

I know it's hard to tread that line between living authentically and living in denial. Allowing yourself an occasional dip in that river might seem too dangerous. You might get caught in the undertow. It's why many people choose to avoid that risk and content themselves with walking on the outskirts of life, especially if they're the type that get so lost in the forbidden revel that they find themselves swimming out too far.

I can't stand not taking that risk. I waded in a pool where I didn't belong for years. It isn't something I regret, necessarily, for I learned about life and about myself while doing it. And I did belong there, once upon a time. But I spent more time yearning for my authentic self during those years than I did actually going about the business of being my authentic self. Life isn't the practice run, it's the main event. You gonna stand behind that curtain until the fat lady sings?

((Song: "The Reflex" by Duran Duran. Lyrics here:

http://www.geocities.com/ladyxanax13/Lyrics/TheReflex.html ))

Yes! Yes! Yes!

You just gotta read this!

It Goes To Show You Never Can Tell

It's come to my attention that I've neglected this little blog (thanks, BFF!) It's true, I have -- my attention's been elsewhere for a month or so.

No, it's not a man. Perish the thought! Besides, there's only one man I can think of that I'd bother making time and effort for at this juncture in my life and he's simply not available. What's that they say? C'est la vie? Yes, indeed.

My excuse, while boring, is a true one. I've been drawn back into the world of research. I'm not a great multitasker and tend to get a tad bit obsessive about my interests; I sink myself into each one of them. I have a friend that tells me it's lucky I was never remotely interested in the world of drugs because with a personality like mine I would've went whole hog. Maybe she's right. Luckily for me I have an even greater fear of relinquishing control.

Speaking of that, another friend of mine made a comment about my control issues the other day. HD and I were talking about this very thing and he said that was probably why most of my sexual fantasies revolved around being handcuffed, held down or being forced into submitting in some way. (For the sake of discussion, let's put aside my physical limitations for the moment and focus upon my mental environment.) Hm. Well, trust without fear equals desire, doesn't it? I can't find the first ingredient anywhere and if I did, would I recognize it because I can't seem to shake off the second? Perhaps that's where much of my desire has run off to.

I'm also surprised at my evolving attitude towards sex as a whole. For most of my life I always believed sex was an expression of love and you didn't do the one unless you felt the other; guilt would accompany any partaking of it without the prerequisite feelings of love. I'd sometimes even talk myself into thinking I had a more meaningful relationship with someone to avoid feeling that guilt. I've since admitted to myself that sex was something more as well. The actual act of sex -- while meaningful to me as a shared experience -- isn't a compelling, fixed need over the long term in and of itself. As much as is does represent that expression of love, it was also a vehicle to measure my sense of lack of control in a relationship. My desire for it was inversely proportional to how much I felt insecure about the stability of a union. The more stable something is, the less I need to use sex as a glue. This is the nature of my beast.

I've noticed over time that I have less need to maneuver myself out of the guilt I felt in sexual involvement. I don't have to justify my desire for physical expression by couching it in the sugar-coated terms of my youth. It is what it is. However, I wonder how much of the shift from "sex only in love" to "do it if it feels good" has come about because I'm resistant to allow anyone near enough to matter. I can now find a detachment about it that I never used to be able to find and this experience has simultaneously fascinated and repelled me. It gives me freedom of a kind I've never had before -- which is wonderful -- but at the same time it makes me despair of my ability to form any real attachments. Hm, perhaps some parts of the "sex in love" equation do still linger in my jaded romantic psyche.

Ah yes.....about that last bit. I'm so frightened of my capacity to let love disintegrate underneath me that I think it's less risky to live a solitary life. I've learned I seem to appreciate the things I can't have better than the ones that I do and once I've gained something it's only a matter of time before it loses that "new car" feeling and I start noticing the nicks and dings. What is that all about? Internal sabotage -- my projection of the fear within that allows me to keep people at a comfortable distance -- or merely a facet of who I am? Sometimes I think (hope? pray?) that it isn't and that I'm throwing that baby out with the bathwater, so to speak. Other times I'm absolutely certain I can't remain in love with someone long term because I'm not capable of shaping its form and adapting it to the ways I change over time.

Realistically the truth -- as it usually is -- is somewhere in the middle. That pendulum will finally come to rest and I'll arrive at that truth in its time.

((Song: "You Never Can Tell" by Chuck Berry. Lyrics here:
http://people.cs.ubc.ca/~davet/music/track/PULPFICT_ST1/PULPFICT_ST1-09.html ))

We Had Seasons In The Sun

Death.

In this week alone I've experienced three of its aspects. Death by old age. Death by disease. Death by accident.

I've attended three funerals this past week -- well, two funerals and a viewing. Thoughts OF death and ABOUT death have been foremost in my mind.

. . .

Grey's grandmother passed away. She was in her 80's. I think of this as a death due to old age even though one could argue that point -- she was ill, after all -- but to me, old age was a major contributing factor. Time's path was winding down for her and she knew she didn't have many years left to her. She could feel the stillness creeping up. She was tired. She may have even welcomed it.

My ex-mother in law passed away. Doctors had given her a few more months to live a few weeks ago but she suddenly took a turn for the worse. Within three days, she was dead. The disease she had -- cancer, long incubating or perhaps simply stagnant -- rose up like a oxygen-fed fire and swept through her. Organs shut down. Systems faltered. Every breath was a labor. In her lucid moments she said she was miserable. Still, she wasn't ready. She knew what was to come but she was going to choose to fight. It didn't give her the chance to even shore up for the battle.

My friend Queen's 45-yr old brother passed away. No one will ever really know what happened, they'll just be able to piece suppositions together from the fragments of evidence strewn around the accident site. Perhaps he fell asleep at the wheel, perhaps he was tired and angry and going too fast around a corner in the wee morning hours. He was just gone, like that, no warning. No time to tell anyone his thoughts or wishes or desires. No time to say goodbye. He simply disappeared.

. . .

What does it all mean, really?

((Song: "Seasons In The Sun" by Terry Jacks. Lyrics here:
http://www.guntheranderson.com/v/data/seasonsi.htm ))

Wow!

I haven't ever done this in my blog but there's a first time for everything, right?

I am enamoured of this watercolor, drawn by an artist/illustrator named Rachel Clare Price:

Isn't it lovely? The colors are fabulous and the movement in the swirls and shades of the dress is sublime. A print would look so wonderful on my wall!

I've linked to her blog, itslikeart, in my bloglist. Go check her out....

I Appreciate The Best But I'm Settling For Less

What's good enough and what's a dealbreaker? When we learn about something that shakes us to our core, how do we know if it's something we should walk away from because it's indicative of a pattern or if it's something we can adapt to?

I think a large part of that answer lies in how well we know ourselves and how secure we are in being who we are without needing something external to help validate us. Of course we all play roles in life and often we do because we feel we must in order to be accepted, respected, appreciated or loved. But like an actor who typecasts himself by only taking on the roles he's sure he can do, we can get so comfortable in our own performances that we forget what it means to draw lines in the sand and use the words, "No, this isn't acceptable to me and I won't live with that because I respect myself too much."

Yet…..that’s the problem, isn’t it? Self-esteem gets sucked out the airplane window. When people look to other people to tell them who they are, how can they truly understand the meaning of self-respect? They accept what other people do to them or say to them because somehow they think that it's their due and they tune out the only judgment that matters -- their own. I’m not speaking of the daily injustices we all face. I am speaking instead of the people that, at pivotal moments, turn down the volume on the internal clamour of pain or anger that rises in response to an attack on their self-respect from a source that refuses to consider compromise. Their fear of aloneness overwhelms their need for self preservation.

At that moment they have two choices; sell their self-respect to the offender or step back and refuse to allow themselves to be misrepresented or mishandled. The latter may cost them a friendship or a business deal or a relationship. The former? It may not seem like it’s such a bad trade. They manage to maintain the status quo and they don’t seem to “lose” anything at all. But ah, what they are really doing is the slow leak. It’s like a pinhole in the artery that nobody can detect on the ultrasound. It’s essentially whoring themselves out in fits and spurts, giving a little here and a little there until there’s nothing left. The former is much more tragic. It might very well cost them themselves.

((Song: "Looking For The Next Best Thing" by Warren Zevon. Lyrics here:
http://www.oldielyrics.com/lyrics/warren_zevon/looking_for_the_next_best_thing.html))

To Everything....

....there is a season.

My exh's mother has been diagnosed with Stage 4 gastric cancer that has metastasized to her bones. A preliminary endoscopic biopsy had come up negative but the doctor, saying he knew he'd seen something, insisted that the test be done again. This result confirmed what he'd seen. The next steps (treatment, pain management, etc.) are dependent upon results from another, more thorough biopsy.

I attended a family meeting last night and stood a little aside from the crowd. Yo had called me and invited me and I was glad she had -- my regard for her grew a little bit more because of it. MIL held court and spoke at some length to her children and her grandchildren. Amongst other things, she told them how proud she was of all of them. She said she hoped she'd been able to help establish strong family ties that would extend past her and keep the family units together. My throat tightened more than once. It was highly emotional, yes, but at the same time it was quiet....and powerful....and comforting.

I wondered what was going through her mind. I wondered what would be going through mine if I found myself in her shoes. Would I handle the knowledge with grace and dignity or would I cower and deny and curl up into a fetal ball of terror? Would I prefer to die instantly to avoid the trauma of the slow loss of control or would I prefer to wrest what little control I had out of what was left of my life? And lastly, as I stood there listening to her soothe her children instead of allowing herself to be soothed....did she realize what a gift it was to have the time with those she loved and assist them and herself in seeking such closure?

I don't know what I'll do when my time comes. I only hope that I'll have half of MIL's courage.

Her children's reactions, however, were what most interested me (pardon me if that sounds clinical, it's not what I intend) and were very indicative of their personalities as well as their historical relationship with their mother. The exh wore his heart on his sleeve. He was emotional at home and became fairly easily choked up during MIL's speech as well as later when he allowed himself to think about it. He adjourned to his brother's house after the speech was over. His brother, meanwhile, was silent -- he's the type to rarely display any emotion but irritation. Of the girls, the eldest was obviously upset but held herself in check -- she'd been through it all once before with the sudden death of one of her teenage sons in an accident four years ago.

The three eldest children weren't too outside the norm, as far as grief goes. The youngest, though -- her reactions were far and away the most interesting to me. Of all the children, the youngest has had the most difficult relationship with her mother for the most years. Being so much alike, the struggle for liberation, control and mutual respect was a roughly fought one. In the last half dozen years or so youngest began to settle into a committed relationship and have children of her own. She was finally grown up enough to look past the mother in her mother and see into the woman.

Youngest had been the one to take MIL to the doctor's appointments and had the most knowledge about what had been said to her during the consultations. Youngest switched into "instruction mode" quite often. Always a way to deal with her insecurities (she's a dozen years younger than the rest of her siblings and felt she was never taken seriously) this is an aspect of her personality that has always slightly annoyed me but it was especially noticeable last night.

Youngest was the one that kept reframing words and phrases others would utter. "Don't talk like it's a done deal," she'd say. "We don't know." Or, "We don't need to talk about all that yet, let's concentrate on getting mom better." The rest of the family would nod and say yes, but all the rest of us know. We might not have the diagnosis on paper yet, but we all know. MIL's been vaguely sick (and in the last year or so, not so vaguely) for the last decade. MIL told me she knew something was wrong and that she chose to be the ostrich and told youngest this. Youngest is just choosing to block her ears.

It's understandable, though.

Youngest is losing a mother she's barely had time to really get to know, adult to adult. There's a sense of deep unfairness in her for that. There's also a deeper wellspring borne of regret for being a stupid kid/teenager/young adult who chose to allow her own feelings of stubbornness and spite to control her behavior and push her mother away instead of hold her close. She thought she'd have years. She doesn't want to have to acknowledge that there's not much more time.

My research on cancer that metastasizes to bone is dire. Even if it's a form of gastric cancer they can treat, and even if they can treat the bones themselves, this sort of cancer is one (if not THE) most painful forms of cancer you can have. Median survival rate even with treatment is 42-67 days from diagnosis.

The next few months will be rough.

((Song: "Turn Turn Turn" by the Byrds. Lyrics here:
http://digitaldreamdoor.nutsie.com/pages/lyrics/byr_turntt.html ))

If That's Movin' Up Then I'm Movin' Out

I've moved into my new place and finally feel like I'm settling in. There are still a few boxes to unpack and place, a few pictures and art to put up, and a few pieces of furniture I'll have to rearrange (including the 6 ft long, mid-century mod credenza I'm buying today for only $45 - sweeeeet!) but for the most part it's beginning to feel like home.

Putting a bit of a damper on all my excitement is the fact that I've got this strange pain in my abdomen since Friday night, on my right side between my rib cage and my hip bone. I went to the doctor and he checked for a hernia since I'd been moving but didn't seem to think that was it. We took bloodwork -- he said it seemed my liver was a little tender -- and it'll be Tuesday before I get the results back. Who knows, it might be nothing but a torn muscle deep in there somewhere from the move. I swear, if it's not one thing it's another. Grrrrrr.

Still and all, being alone has been enjoyable. I haven't missed my roommate at all. When I look around my place and know that it's all mine, I feel content and satisfied. There are cicadas in the trees outside of my patio and I can sip my tea while I listen to them sing to me in the evenings. They stir my memories of lazy childhood summers in Illinois. I cook myself a great meal and I don't worry about whether another person will like it. I don't miss TV that much (I gave up cable, choosing instead to have internet service alone) because if I want I can relax in front of the computer and watch television shows streaming online. Currently I'm watching a pretty neat little Canadian show entitled "Being Erica." There are a few others I'd like to watch after that.

I'll have plenty of things to keep me busy. There are books I've wanted to read. I have plans for a couple furniture restorations and some more DIY projects around the house, as well as a resurgence in my genealogical pursuits.

I imagine I'll miss people eventually but for now, things are pretty sweet.

Song: "Movin' Out (Anthony's Song)" by Billy Joel. Lyrics here:
http://www.billyjoel.com/music/movin039-out-original-cast-recording/movin-out-anthonys-song ))

'Cause I Gotta Have Faith

Questions about faith -- faith in general, not just in the religious sense -- have been a part of my life for a very long time.

I don't think too many people operate under a complete absence of faith. I feel safe in saying most of us accept there are unknowns in the world and that those unknown things can and do have direct and profound influence upon human lives. We're all also aware that just because we don't know something, it doesn't mean it doesn't exist nevertheless. The shock of learning something has happened and the subesequent change in one's own personal reality (a death, for example, no matter if it was minutes or years before) doesn't change the moment in time in which the death actually occurred. That's simple subjective versus objective reality and isn't a difficult concept to grasp.

When it comes right down to it, however, I firmly believe some people are better equipped to engage in the processes that faith requires of them than others are. I'm not one of those people. I have this voice in my head, an insistent and uncompromising one. It won't let me ignore it. It refuses to allow me to seek the bliss of believing what it knows I find personally inconsistent. In the past I've tried to reach out and speak to some deity idea and invariably it begins to hiss at me. "You know you lieeeee....." it whispers, and yes, I have to admit than I am.

An important part of being able to find faith is being able to ignore that voice. How many times have I told myself, "I just have to believe that [fill in the blank] " -- but I don't? Countless times. Unlike many others, though, I can't take that next step and believe anyway. It's easy to believe in something that you WANT to or DO believe in and quite another to find faith in the midst of the denials of all your other senses. There have been times when I've wished with all my heart that I COULD seek the comfort that I see others sink into when they release themselves into the arms of their gods. It's just not the cards I've been dealt.

That's okay, though. I'd rather live an internally honest life, even if outwardly it doesn't appear that I am, than live an internal lie. I'm in constant turmoil if I allow myself to do that. I've served my time in that place in the past -- bound with the dual chains of duty and pride -- and finally managed to extricate myself. I'm a work in progress; I'm slowly learning how to integrate the two and live outwardly as I believe inwardly. It means having faith in myself. I continue to seek that sort of faith as well.

When I reflect upon my beliefs and their origins as well as why I can't seem to ignore that voice I hear in this matter above all, I find the concepts of faith, validity, and justice are indelibly entwined in my psyche. In order to place my faith in something there has to be a valid reason for me to do so. This validity doesn't always have a basis in rational logic -- my feelings are of equal validity -- but it does have to be something I've seen in existence or have experienced in action and can therefore extrapolate from. There must also be a sense of fairness or justice before I can allow myself to place my faith in something or someone. It's not enough to merely meet the criteria of a valid reason. While I can accept the randomness in nature, or in whatever collectiveness may exist, or even of chaos itself, I can't seem to accept the same from a deity responsible for the caretaking of humanity. That something could be flippant with the responsibility -- quite frankly -- is beneath my contempt. It's difficult if not impossible for me to allow myself to submit to the whim of another being. To willingly hand my life over for another to run? Goodness, my control issues run deeply!

Go ahead and laugh -- I realize the irony inherent in requiring proof for faith. Faith isn't supposed to be something based on proof. Faith just is, for no "good" reason, for nothing other than pure belief. Faith can and does exist independent of all that could be contrary to it.

I can't, and won't ever, find that sort of faith within me. The voice that whispers the truth that exposes the lie and exists in the deepest recesses of my being won't let it take up residence there. Even when I do the opposite, I know when any choice I make or desire I have is contrary to what I know is my personal truth. That's why I'll never know the bliss of blind or unquestioning faith.

((Song: "Faith" by George Michael. Lyrics here:
http://www.fortunecity.com/tinpan/gallagher/47/faith2.html))

You Tell Me That It's Evolution

Monday afternoon, at her invitation, I met with Yo after work. We spent a few hours chatting over coffee.

I don't know what my expectations were going in and I really tried not to think about it all that much. There was some initial nervousness, definite hesitation, and qualifications offered up for statements before they were uttered. To her credit she brought up what she called the "white elephant in the room" (the fact that everyone we know feels and acts uncomfortable when she and I are in the same room together) with a maturity belying her years. Hopefully it's now on its way to being smoothed over.

Rather than go over all the excruciatingly tedious details I'd rather just explore my impressions. She's more than I gave her credit for. I'm more than she gave me credit for. She wanted to know how the exh and I could remain friends and I think much of what I said -- and how I said it -- helped to ease her mind in that regard. We touched on each other's hidden insecurities and thoughts and bringing them out into the open helped release us from their power. As we left, she said she thought she understood now why everyone she spoke to said that if she got to know me, she'd like me. She expressed this with relief, as if it was now "okay" for her to like me, too.

Things like that just take time and I'm pretty sure it would have happened of its own accord eventually, but her willingness to face it head on instead of scurry around it, ignore it or backpedal earned her my respect. I understand now why the exh found her attractive. As I left her, I told her that I hoped she made him happy because although I'd tried, I just couldn't seem to do it. And for the first time, I actually meant it.

((Song: "Revolution" by the Beatles. Lyrics here:
http://www.beatleslyricsarchive.com/viewSong.php?songID=234 ))

It's Time For A Few Small Repairs

Sometimes the choices we make are instinctive ones driven by some internal compass pointing us in a certain direction even if we're not completely aware of its motives for doing so. My impending move, a desire that has risen more and more to the surface in the last few months, is one of these.

Last week my roommate asked me in a delicate tone (as if worried how he was handling the question), "So....what made you decide to move right now?" It was obvious he was concerned whether my choice to move had been triggered by anything in particular that he'd done or hadn't done. I told him no, that it was simply the "right time" and that the enjoyment and readiness I'd felt in the two weeks I'd spent alone had been the real turning point in my decision making process.

All that was true, though an incident yesterday definitely put the stamp of internal, rational approval on my abstract feelings. I'd decided on a whim that after work I would go about 40 minutes out of town to pick up an IKEA chairbed that someone was selling on Craigslist for my new apartment. I have precious little furniture of my own since I left most of it with the exh when we parted. I know a lot of women would have taken a lot of stuff, but really? I'm happy I didn't. I get to purchase my own things now. Purely, wholly mine. It's fun!

Anyway, I picked up the piece and went out for a relaxing dinner. I'd just hopped back in my car when I got a call from the roomie. He asked if I was going to be home in time for dinner or whether he needed to fend for himself; I told him where I was and to do what he needed to do. A brief frisson of irritation passed through me (when he doesn't show up for dinner, I don't have any trouble eating without him!) and then I shrugged it off, thinking no more about it for the remainder of the trip home.

Then I learned why the roomie called to begin with. He'd been concerned about the pork chops I'd had marinating in the fridge. He'd apparently been looking forward to them, and had no doubt halfway expected to see them served as the main course for dinner.

Objectively, this makes perfect sense. In his place I would've thought the same thing given the same circumstances. That's not the issue, not really. It's just that for me, it illuminated another underlying aspect to all this, one that I've figured out I really no longer want to deal with.

I'm done with cooking for people.

I've spent nearly two decades cooking for people, and men in particular. Don't get me wrong here -- I love to cook, and the creation of good food is a real joy for me. When I think about the pleasure I get in making a meal for a bunch of friends or my daughter it puts a smile on my face, and when I get the urge to experiment, the kitchen is usually the first place I start. Oh, I do so adore the process -- the planning, the purchasing, the creation, the meal itself. I just don't adore it when it becomes an obligation. An expectation. A responsibility. Those three words sap all the joy away from what is normally one of life's more joyous pursuits.

That's how this roomie arrangement of ours has ultimately ended up. The roomie doesn't cook and I knew that going in (we've been friends a long time) so when we agreed to be roommates it was agreed that I'd do the cooking. I've held up to that part so far, but as of now, I'm done. I wish to remove myself from any further obligation towards the upkeep or continued provision of another grown human being.

My feelings about this aren't the roomie's fault (or anyone's) and I don't want to even allow myself to begin the process of placing resentment or blame where it doesn't belong. Been there, done that, and it sucked. I'm well aware this is more about me. It's an aspect of my personality that isn't bad or good, but simply IS. I need to attend to it before it grows in a direction I don't wish it to grow. Unlike before with the exh, I need to tend to my emotional garden and prune it back before it gets out of hand.

Oh yes, I'm ready. It was a good call.

((Song: "Sunny Came home" by Shawn Colvin. Lyrics here:
http://www.cowboylyrics.com/lyrics/colvin-shawn/sunny-came-home-10530.html ))

The Feeling Coming From My Bones Says Find A Home

My apartment search ended this weekend with my John Hancock on a great little one bedroom place both near my office and not very far away from where I'm living now. It's tucked away on a side street behind a suburban subdivision instead of on a busily traveled road. The complex is clean and well-maintained and feels safer than most of the places I've looked at so far. The price was right, I get to choose a color for an accent wall, and the best perk? The complex is paying a moving company to move my stuff from my current apartment to my new one. Score!

My BFF has made a joking comparison of my living situation. She says it's as if I'm coming full circle again from my youth until now. When I first moved out of my parent's home I moved in with a roommate. I then graduated to living by myself for a few years before marrying and settling in with my husband. Now I'm doing the same thing but in reverse. After my divorce I moved in with a roommate. Now I'm "graduating" again to my own place.

All this is true on its face, but I certainly hope this doesn't mean that my next "graduation" is moving back in again with my parents! Ha! The horror........

I'm so looking forward to this. My own place! Those two weeks without my roommate helped cement my desire for a space of my own and spurred me to decide to start looking. I can't wait to decorate and stamp it with my own personal style. Yeah, I know. I'm a big doofus. Bring it on!

((Song: "Seven Nation Army" by the White Stripes. Lyrics here:
http://www.whitestripes.net/lyrics/lyrics-elephant.htm ))

Don't Tell Them To Grow Up And Out Of It

A conversation I had yesterday about my daughter....

"I don't agree with her lifestyle. Of course I love her, that goes without saying. But if she asks me if I agree with her choice of lifestyle I won't feel right lying to her. I'll have to tell her that I don't."

"So you think it's a lifestyle?"

"I think it's a choice, yes."

"I see." Long pause. "So.....okay. A choice. So you could choose to love women?"

"Well......no."

"Then why do you think she can choose to love men?"

---

This exchange has probably bothered me more than it should.

On the one hand, I know my daughter is secure enough about who she is to spend precious little time worrying about what other people feel about her sexual orientation. As a friend of mine said, she is intelligent enough to know that not everyone will embrace who she is, or understand, or even wish to bother to make the attempt. She knows some might try to strike out at her with verbal or even physical abuse. She knows this but follows her own path anyway. It's something I admire about her, to be so self-actuated at her age.

On the other hand, I couldn't help but feel a mixture of frustration, exasperation, indignation, impatience, contempt and superiority sweep over me at the words. My daughter isn't a freak and I resented the implication. I could see not being able to accept someone's choice of action or behavior, but being unwilling to accept my daughter for being lesbian is like being unable to accept me because I'm not. Hating on people because of the way that they're born is singularly stupid.

I realize that's applicable only if you believe that orientation is something you're born with. But....how can you not believe it? Setting aside the people who do choose to have relationships with one sex, the other sex, or both sexes (because there are those who make a choice to do so) there are a great many more who were simply born that way. I was born heterosexual. I didn't wonder or question my basic orientation. I experimented, sure....many do. But anyone who was born hetero should be able to acknowledge that they didn't make that choice; nature made it for them a long time before they had any concept of choice or belief. They simply embrace the reality of what they are and society embraces it along with them. I wonder what they'd do if society suddenly decided something else was "normal?"

I knew what my daughter was before she did. She was a little girl, and I knew it. I couldn't articulate it then, it was an amorphous knowing, but it was instinctive and it was correct. She didn't "choose" to like girls when she was 6 or 7 years old. She simply behaved according to her biology, as the rest of us do. I saw and experienced this awakening in her and there's no way anyone will ever convince me it isn't a natural phenomenon. To many, many people, it's not something they can grow out of. It's not a choice. It's who they are.

Yet I know that not everyone has the benefit of my experience to guide them as they're building their belief system. Attitudes are changing now, thank goodness, but there are still many people for whom any other option but Tab A into Slot B "just ain't right." I'll concede that it's much easier to do when you've been on the inside instead of the outside looking in. And I guess I'm being too hard on people -- you can only expect a certain amount of give in each of the people that you know, according to their capabilities. I know the urge to protect my daughter and defend her from judgment is what spurs my desire to obtain their acceptance as well as their tolerance. I know from experience, though, that many people can't give what they haven't got. I hate being a hypocrite, so I shouldn't expect from others what I can't do myself.

Still, she's my girl. My Mama Lion instincts are strong ones.

((Song: "Changes" by David Bowie. Lyrics here:
http://www.teenagewildlife.com/Albums/HD/C.html))

The Tick-Tock Of The Clock Is Painful

I've been looking for a new place. I checked out a sweet little garage apartment today and if it had been 100 sq ft bigger I would have taken it. It was built in the 40s and had dark wood trim and a blue-tiled kitchen floor. It had charm and I could really see myself there. Unfortunately, it had a tiny little bathroom as well as no place to store much of my stuff -- just one small closet and no other storage. Not to mention I would have to cool with a unit and not central air, and heat with space heaters. Oh, and it was furnished, so I'd have to use other stuff I didn't want while storing my own. But still.....rats. I wanted quirky and fun, which is what this place has. I dread having another boring old apartment and I certainly don't know that I'll be able to find a more eclectic place in the city I live in.

I haven't given the owner a definite "no," but I imagine that's what I'll end up doing. I wonder if I could possibly downsize that much??? Bleh, probably not. Rats.

Last night Grey and I had an interesting discussion. We spoke of Zen and Buddhism and had some back and forth about a number of thought processes that are entertained by practitioners of the belief system. We spoke of our own personal issues and gripes and stressors and it helped sharing them with another. We also spoke of time; how our lives are ticking away and the days of our friendship ticking along with it, yet we only get to see each other once a year, or twice if we're lucky. Neither of us liked that very much. Time always ends up feeling like the enemy.

I think he said it best when he said it should all just be "easy peasy." I find myself thinking that a lot more often these days.


((Song: "Inside Out" by Eve 6. Lyrics here:
http://www.lyricsdemon.com/72636/eve-6/inside-out/))

I Am Gonna Make It Through This Year If It Kills Me

Many people who know me well make it a point to tell me they believe I'm a pretty self-aware person. I try like hell to be, so I take their words as a very high compliment. I feel a sense of pride when they say that because it means my internal efforts are externally noticed. Who doesn't like that?

So it frustrates me all the more when I'm confronted with a brazen example of the breadth of my own ignorance. This morning I was working along like I normally do, listening to music and doing my job, when I suddenly realized my shoulders were hunched over the keyboard. I deliberately relaxed them and went back to work, only to realize a half hour later that I was all hunched up again.

It got me to thinking.

My left eye's been twitching for two days now. My neck is sore and stiff, something I've been attributing to working out and sleeping wrong. I have to struggle on a daily basis to regulate my breathing by breathing in deep and breathing out again in a slow pattern -- even trying it now, it's an effort, and I feel pretty relaxed.

Seriously, am I under this much stress? STILL? And if so......WHY????

I've always thought of myself as a relaxed sort of person. I chuckle about that now because I admit to being a control freak and I get antsy when I don't feel safe and secure. Who knows. Maybe in all my so-called self-awareness, I somehow missed the memo about the amount of stress I have always had. Perhaps I was just used to the amount I had and piling more on like I've done in the past couple years has finally pushed me past my comfort zone. But in the past I could always manage to find some way to soothe myself.

I'm having trouble with that now. It's finally sunk in.

I don't have the subtle security of a home and a family. My friends (once representing the different life I imagined I wanted more than the one I had, but couldn't get since I was married and had already made my choice) aren't the place I can run to any more either; they all have lives of their own. And you know, that's as it should be. We aren't in our 20's any longer. Now that I have the opportunity to have that life I thought I wanted, I find I didn't really want it as much as I wanted the lust for it. That lust is gone. I don't have much left to want.

So I just don't think I know how to soothe myself anymore.

The result? The stress is piling up. Without someone else to share the burden it's sitting on my shoulders alone and they're beginning to hunch over from it. There's got to be a way for me to release it. I can't even pin down all the originating factors -- if I could, maybe I could excise them, though I doubt it. There's this....this urgency.......inside me. Time is running out. For me, I mean. Mortality. No one to lean on. Did I really realize what I gave up?

Being here alone this week really makes me realize it now.

((Song: "This Year" by The Mountain Goats. Lyrics here:
http://www.themountaingoats.net/lyrics/sunset_lyr.html ))

A Change Is Gonna Come

I've been wondering for a while whether I chose wisely when I decided to pursue a paralegal certificate. I've been working verrry part time at a lawyer's office since January and it's been a bit of a tough row to hoe. I've enjoyed the people I've been working with but I haven't always enjoyed the work. I haven't been learning as much as I hoped to learn because there's simply not enough time to dedicate to instruction. This is mainly because the office is run slapdash, at breakneck speed, and there's too much work for too few employees. I've told my friends that the best way to illustrate how I felt about working there was by comparing it to a hamster running in a wheel.

I've been wanting to leave the office for about a month now and free myself up to pursue other things but I've grown accustomed to it. Financially, certainly, but moreso because I'm stubborn in the sense that once I start something, I don't like to change unless change is somehow forced upon me. I'm basically not a boat rocker.

Well, that change has just been forced upon me. I've been let go. Sure, there's this little part of me that's nursing some wounded pride (I should have done it first, waaaa!) but the rest of me is breathing just a little bit easier. I can look at it philosophically and assure myself that now I've been set free to find something else that fits me better. I've learned things here of both a practical and an emotional nature and that's worth the effort I put in.

But man, I'm sure gonna miss the extra cash!

((Song: "A Change Is Gonna Come" by Sam Cooke. Lyrics here:
http://theband.hiof.no/lyrics/a_change_is_gonna_come.html ))

Let's All Celebrate

Well, it's (sort of) official, at least in my mind. If I'm not celiac, per se, I'm definitely affected by wheat. I haven't eaten wheat for a week or so now but I decided to have a fried egg sandwich last night because I was lazy and didn't want to fix anything else.

Ugh. This morning I feel as bloated as a beached whale.

So yeah, it appears that it's time to re-evaluate my diet and make permanent changes. If I have colitis, and I may, then the wheat-free diet has seemed to help keep flare-ups to a minimum. So be it.

I'd been feeling a little down again -- as I mentioned a few posts ago -- but the last couple days have improved my mood considerably. I hope it signals the beginning of an upswing instead of a glitch. The roomie is headed out of town for a few weeks and that means I get the apartment to myself. Two whole weeks! Whoo hoo!

Well, gee. Whatever shall I do?

((Song: "Celebration" by Kool and The Gang. Lyrics here:
http://www.energyexpressband.com/lyrics/wedding%20lyrics%20celebration%20kool%20the%20gang.htm ))

Tyger! Tyger! Burning Bright

I had a dream last night that I'm sure was a reflection of how I passed the evening.

In my dream I was standing on the porch of a farmhouse I recognized as my grandparent's home back in the midwest, wearing a 1940's cotton dress and with a washbasin cocked on my hip. I was absorbing the night air when I noticed how still the creatures of the night had become. Not even the cicadas were singing. Just then the clouds parted and the light of the moon poured through, bathing the cornfields across the road in a pale light. A pair of tigers were out in the cornfields. I watched them for a moment, hardly believing what I saw, and then froze. Instead of backing into the house as I should have done, though, I watched one of the two dogs I had -- a big shaggy black one -- do its best to protect me. The dog darted out into the field to meet the pair and one of them engaged the dog, knocking it down with a swipe of its paw and setting upon it with fang and claw while the other continued methodically toward the porch.

The other dog -- a little terrier -- burst out from under the porch, barking, and began to run toward the one tiger approaching me. It was then that I backed up toward the door and called the dog to me urgently, trying to get him to come into the house. The dog didn't listen to me no matter how demanding I was, though, and the tiger ignored it as it pursued its one goal....me. I don't know if the dog died or if he simply got brushed aside. I tried to slam the door but it was too late and the cat came in.

It didn't turn on me, though, at least not to my recollection. The dream became blurry and I awoke. Afterwards I felt no lingering fear from it.

Possible Interpretations (gathered from http://www.dreamota.com/):

• Seeing corn in your dream means abundance, growth and fertility.
• A dream about a farm can be interpreted as nurturing and cultivating aspects of yourself. Perhaps the time is ripe for some project or idea to reach harvest.
• Tigers represent female sexuality and aggressiveness, power leashed or unleashed anger. If chasing you or another for the kill, what is there in yourself that you are trying to get rid of?
• Dogs in dreams could symbolise a large variety of ideas and concepts, but mostly they are symbolic of the dreamer's defensive structure and may represent personal boundary issues. Dogs could represent the more basic or "animal" parts of our nature and some think that they specifically represent male energy. They also symbolize loyalty or fidelity, especially to one's own values or intentions. Their appearance may indicate a treasure (skill, knowledge) you've ignored or forgotten that needs to be activated, or has the potential to be activated; some idea or aspect of yourself that you need to guard more carefully. Is something happening in your waking life that you need to be on guard about or need to guard against?
  

Fascinating. Don't you think so, HD?

((Poem: "The Tyger" by William Blake at http://rpo.library.utoronto.ca/poem/198.html ))

The Gap Between Crack and Thunder Is Closing In

I had an interesting weekend.

I went to visit a man I've known for about fifteen years now, off and on. Through the years we'd get in touch periodically but the last time we actually saw each other was about ten years ago. He and I have been back in touch for a couple of months and have been speaking on the phone every once in a while, catching up with our lives in the interim. We kept talking about getting together for lunch but our schedules never seemed to sync.

He left me a message on Friday and I called him back later that evening. Finally he asked me what I was doing on Saturday, saying that his next three or four weekends were booked. I told him I was free so we agreed to get together.

As I hung up I knew he had more than lunch on his mind.

Long story short, I was right.

The interesting part is that I'm in uncharted waters. I've always had this separation in my mind -- being friends was casual and relaxing and they were people you could be close to and hung out with. Dating, however.....now that was serious. I've always been the type that never wasted my time unless it was going to "go somewhere."

This won't, though. I don't want it to. He doesn't want it to. There are a hundred reasons why that's so and there's no need for me to explain further. The proof will ultimately be in the pudding. That being said, it's more than a little offputting to know that going in. I feel like I'm suddenly at odds with my fundamental self. There's a heavy whiff of that "so then why even bother?' feeling skating through me.

I know, I know. So okay, here's the thing. I'm trying to color outside the lines for once.

((Song: "Sometimes" by James. Lyrics here:
http://www.asklyrics.com/display/James/Sometimes_Lyrics/152106.htm ))

If I Squeeze My Grape, Then I Drink My Wine

You know how you get those days when all you want to do is get in the car and drive? Go nowhere, really, but just go? Listen to the music pour from the speakers and wash over you as you let everything weighing you down just empty out of you?

I'm having one of those days.

I thought about Grey today when I heard some Kenny Wayne Shepard pop up on my mp3 player. I texted him and we chatted a bit. Just touching base with him made me smile and feel better. I've been wondering if I'm not sinking a little bit again; dipping my toes in and breaking through the surface of a tiny depression. All the symptoms are there again. By now you'd think I'd know to anticipate that my moods will ebb and flow, but it concerns me that it seems the ebbs are coming closer and closer together as I am growing older.

Am I happy? Well, that's the million dollar question, isn't it? When my thoughts turn to escape -- even if I'm not really sure what it is that I'm trying to escape FROM -- it usually means no, or at least an "I don't think so."

When I first got divorced I went through a "celebratory" period, for lack of a better term. Going over to friend's houses, listening to music, dancing and singing and laughing. It wasn't that I hadn't done that before -- I had -- but it no longer carried the underlying frisson of "reporting" in to someone. Feeling that freedom was a wonderful antidote.

That celebratory feeling is gone now. I don't spend as much time with my friends and haven't because I'd rather spend more and more of my time in my room, alone. I don't feel the desire to go out and I don't feel as connected to my friends as I did then. I just feel very alone in a way that my friends can't fill.

I'm also frustrated at some health issues. More than each one independently, all together they make me feel helpess and useless and have made me look at my own mortality and the faster and faster passing of all-too-important years. It's one thing to think abstractly of your own finiteness and quite another to get old enough to really grasp its totality. I know that I'm in the midst of working through some existential issues and I won't get them sorted out until I reach an acceptance of both the inevitability of my own ending and my inability to prevent it from occurring. Right now I get angry and scared and feel indignation, injustice, desperation and futility instead of that place of calm acceptance.

This is a really hard battle for me. I'm a natural half-empty girl. Pessimism is my drink of choice. Maybe I'm just exhausted with the battle -- mentally, that is. When I'm in good health I'm a lot more upbeat and social and don't dwell on all these sorts of things. I need to remind myself that I won't always be in picture perfect health. I simply have to find way to enjoy life no matter what, instead of spending what years I have (and they could be a very many yet) in a funk fueled by my anger at losing what is, in actuality, only an illusionary control. After all, when my time does come, I want to be able to handle it with dignity and acceptance and not despair.

So anyway, these feelings, which I've experienced in the past, are back with a vengeance. That's why I think I've been dipping my toes into the waters of sadness again. Such is my lot. I comfort myself with the fact that after I forge through these issues I'll be in a better frame of mind. My mom tells me her 50s were much better than her 40s. I suspect that's because these sorts of things had been resolved. At least I hope so.

((Song: "Grey Room" by Damien Rice. Lyrics here: http://www.eskimofriends.com/lyrics.asp#grey ))

...They'll Make Little Creatures

A co-worker brought his son into the office today. The boy is about four or so. I can hear the kid chattering away and I've seen him wandering about carrying his coloring books and clutching his crayons. The women in the offices surrounding the perimeter of the father's desk keep coming in and clucking like mother hens over this kid. They laugh and hover and supervise, and it's annoying as hell.

In years previously -- meaning when my own kiddo was small -- I developed a "resistance," if you will, against younger children because of the constant exposure I had to my own child. I still noticed other people's children but I had a higher degree of tolerance for them. As the kiddo has grown, this resistance has been fading away because it's simply not needed for my continued survival any longer.

In other words, I've gone back to just not liking kids all that much.

I can't describe how thrilled I am that my own kiddo is beyond that stage and that she's rapidly growing into her own. I love her independence. It's like the reward that I'm finally getting to taste of after many years of toil.

I still have a greater tolerance for kids than I did previous to having one of my own, but even when I was in that stage I didn't do the full press court like some of these women here are doing. Perhaps some of the younger ones have that biological urge to reproduce leading them along; perhaps some of the older ones are nostalgic for times they felt they mattered more than they do now. I experience twinges of both those things and think every mother does. On the whole, though, I think I wasn't ever really designed to be an earthmother, willing to welcome all the little children of the world to her bosom. I'm more likely to be the one standing at the door kicking them out of the nest and looking forward to the hours of peace and solitude that await me.

I've wondered sometimes if that means I am a bad mother. A distant mother. An uninterested one. Am I incapable of the deep love for helpless humanity that is supposed to make a woman a real woman? I've let those thoughts intrude and beat me down on occasion. There's nothing quite like a little self-flagellation, eh? But then I think about the times that I smothered the kiddo and took care of her every need, and the deep and overwhelming love that I have for her even as I ache to push her out into the world and see her flower. I think about the years I willingly gave her. Then I realize that I don't wish to give her too many more of them and I feel the need to reclaim the rest of the years that I have to me, for me and me alone.

I think then that maybe I'm not so different from a lot of mothers. I'm just a bit more honest with myself.

((Song: "Creatures Of Love" by Talking Heads. Lyrics here:
http://www.actionext.com/names_t/talking_heads_lyrics/creatures_of_love.html ))

My Day At The Ex-In-Laws

I noticed that exh's family have welcomed Yo into their fold and make her feel like one of them. she looked comfortable amongst them as well. If the shoe was on the other foot and I was the second wife of some other family I'd want to feel like I belonged, or alternatively, I would want my family to be able to actively embrace another man that I loved and brought into the familial circle. Many families can't or won't do that, and it's a testament to exh's family strength that they can with such warmth.

I felt very much like I did those last few years when I would go to the house though...like an outsider, looking in. I think much of those feelings were internally generated, because everyone seemed genuinely welcoming and glad to see me. I would stand apart from everyone and watch rather than be in the midst of everything. It wasn't my place. Though I admit to imagining scenarios where I'd be the one everyone gravitated toward -- I think I even posted here that I thought I'd fit in better than Yo -- that didn't actually come to pass. Maybe it was of my own doing. I just didn't feel like I belonged there any longer. And I don't, not really. Just peripherally. Part of that feeling of distance is due to the time that's passed, but the other part came about when I saw exactly how much the family had embraced Yo. Even though that should be the way it is, and much of me is glad of that, I guess seeing it made me feel a bit marginalized. It's funny. I was wandering the empty house when everyone else was outside and saying to myself, "I want to go home, I don't want to be here," at the same time being a bit hurt that they replaced me. Why should I feel that, since it was my choice to vacate?

I did get the chance to sit for a bit and talk with my ex-sister-in-law, whom I'll call Carrie since she looks so much like SJP from Sex In The City. Her situation with exh's brother is much the same as it was two years ago and I don't doubt it will continue to be that way. I know she's aware that her marriage has been dying for a long time and the last couple of years have been the active throes. She says she knows her choices and that of them, for the moment, her choice is to stay where she is. I can't say anything about that choice because I did the same for a long time and understand it. She may choose differently once her youngest is grown. She told me that she will always consider me her sister-in-law and she said she'd like to make plans this summer to come up and have a girl's day out. I'll be there. Of all my ex-in-law's, Carrie is the one I care for the most.

In the strange department, Exh's youngest sister asked for my cell phone number and gave me hers. She said we should get together. Hm. I'll not hold my breath. She's a good person but she's a mom of three and she and I never did bond like Carrie and I did. Some of it was because of the ten years between us in age. Some, because during her youth she was a wild child and lived with us for a bit and abused our good nature. She's matured of course, but I'm afraid I have an elephant's memory and I nurse hurts for a long time. I like her, and respect her maturing, and see she's a different person, but our personalities just don't mesh like mine with Carrie does.

It was an interesting day. Don't know when I'll do it again.

I'm Still Alive

I've been performing a little experiment this weekend. I've gone wheat- and gluten-free.

I think I mentioned before how bloated I've been feeling? Well, I've lost about 5 lbs from what I weighed at the doctor's less than a week ago. I don't feel bloated and my energy levels are pretty high. I'm not sure if the change in diet has anything to do with it yet, but it's sure not hurting me.

I'm going to tell my doc to look for signs of celiac when he's doing the colonoscopy. Celiac can lay dormant for years and get triggered during long stressful periods or during bouts of serious illnesses like pneumonia. I don't know whether some of my bowel disturbances are due to anything like celiac, but even if I'm not celiac, perhaps I have an intolerance to it. I have felt better since leaving it alone. If that means adapting to an entirely new way of eating, especially giving up my adorable, lovely breads (*whimper*) then so be it. If it means I live and feel better, than it'll be worth it. I have a choice here. I can look at it from the avenue of what I lose or I can look at it from what I gain. What I gain is the ability to go outside my comfort zone; once again I can experience new foods and learn to widen my range of eatables. That sounds like fun.

Like quinoa! I tried it this weekend and I've really fallen for its unique texture and nutty taste. It takes some effort to make it because it has a soapy substance called saponin on it that you have to soak off (30 mins does the trick) and then rinse a couple times before putting it on to cook. But soooo worth it. A hard boiled egg and a bowl of quinoa in the morning with some soy milk and a sprinkle of muscovado sugar on top tastes like heaven.

I've done some reading this weekend, too. Wheat lies in so many insiduous places like in Splenda (maltodextrin) in soft drinks (caramel flavoring) and even in plain old cheddar cheese (annato, used for color.) Sheesh.

Anyway, I won't know for sure until I get all the tests done so there's no use fretting about it any longer. I'll just keep eating without wheat and see what I feel like over the next couple weeks. If I feel better -- especially if I don't feel bloated! -- then I'll make the change.

As we were speaking of the possibility of celiac this morning, BK told me that I needed to move out of my place and into my own apartment. She said something that gave me pause. She said, "After all, you're a new person so you need a new place. Look at what you're doing. Eating differently, exercising? You're remaking yourself."

Hm. Maybe I am.

I'll be spending Easter Sunday at the ex-mother in law's house. Exh invited me and the kiddo to go along and watch the little ones do their eggs. I haven't yet accepted an invite so I decided to take this one. I haven't seen exh's youngest niece yet -- she's about 8 months old or so -- and I can catch up with all of my ex-in-laws. I like them, they're good people.

I wonder how Yo will take this -- when I fit in so effortlessly and she's still trying? Two weeks ago I received notice of my cousin's death in the mail addressed to my old place, so it came to exh's house. He handed it to me; I read it and immediately become visibly upset. Exh didn't give me a hug or comfort me though Yo offered some words of condolence. A day later exh calls me and apologizes for not showing me comfort. He said, "You know, until she gets secure in the relationship between her and me," and I said, "Yes, I knew exactly why you didn't."

And I did. I understand it....but it amuses me.

((Song: "Alive" by Pearl Jam. Lyrics here:
http://lyrics.astraweb.com/display/970/pearl_jam..ten..alive.html ))

All We Are Is Dust In The Wind

I've been a little sad lately. I haven't felt like blogging much, at least not here. I do a genealogy blog that I've done a bit of work on, though. It's cathartic.

Nearly 15 years ago now I met my first real "cousin" doing genealogy that didn't belong to the last two generations of my immediate family. Her 3rd g-grandfather and my 4th g-grandfather were brothers. We bonded immediately, although there was over 30 years difference in our ages. She and I researched together for a long time and eventually took a trip together in '01 back to a little town in IL where our ancestors once lived.

She told me in January that she'd been diagnosed with terminal cancer of a kind that doesn't let its victims live very long. She told me one of her deepest regrets was not being able to documentally prove a father-son lineage that we intuitively knew to be true. I immediately scheduled a trip back to where they were living at the time so I could find that proof for her.

That is the trip I will go on in 2 weeks. I had hoped to make it in time, but I found out last week that I didn't. She passed away two weeks ago. I'm still going on the trip and it will still be a lot of fun. I hope I do find that proof. I hope that if I do, she'll know it no matter where she happens to be now.

RIP, my friend. I'll miss you.

Let's see.....in health news I have a colonoscopy/endoscopy scheduled for the end of April. That oughta be fun -- not. It'll likely put me about $1.5k in debt after all is said and done since my damned deductible is so high. We'll see....but I have Barrett's and would just as soon get all that looked at. Going under anesthesia is NOT my cup of tea anyway and I've heard with bad teeth it's not necessarily a wise idea at all. I suppose I'll have to call the doc and let him know I have bad teeth and see what he says.

I am sooooooo looking forward to that trip I mentioned. I'm tired. Working two jobs and hitting the gym (though due to a sore back I am out this week) is wiping me out.

This weekend is MINE MINE MINE! Roommate is gone, kiddo is with her dad. On the agenda: sleeping, laying about in pajamas, bringing my budgeting program up to date, planning the genealogical information I need to research on my trip, more sleeping. Maybe coffee in jammies and a good book here and there? Oh, and maaaaybe a little teensy bit of bad TV.

And unless something special comes up -- NO guests.


((Song: "Dust In The Wind" by Kansas. Lyrics here:
http://en.slowradio.com/lyrics/kansas:dust_in_the_wind ))

All The Thoughts In My Head

A few things on my mind today.....

The kidney stones are gone! Apparently I passed the little buggers sometime in the last four years, thank the stars. The x-ray I had on Friday didn't show a single one.

Yes, an x-ray. My kidneys were still hurting so I went. That, and I couldn't.....well.....you know. Get "things" moving? Still can't to a great extent and there is a lot of that hanging around up in my upper transverse colon and bowels. That's what was hurting. It wasn't my kidneys at all.

Ya know -- and stop right here if you get queasy easily or it's just TMI -- I've always been a 3-days between kind of girl. I've since learned that's borderline chronic constipation. Hm, who knew? I just thought it was 'normal' for me. It hasn't affected me in the past much because I wasn't doing any sort of physical exertion but now that I'm working out regularly and my water needs have shot through the roof, things have changed. I was trying to drink plenty of fluids but it appears I hadn't done a bang-up job of it. Oh, and I was getting only miniscule amounts of fiber in my diet.

I've made changes but I have yet to see any....err....tangible results. I've got a vacation to go to on the 15th so I'd best get a move on, if you catch my drift. I bought some Bran Buds cereal and some Activia yogurt and I'll give those a whirl. I'm also taking medication and hopefully things will flush out and I can stop feeling miserable.

I'm also contemplating a completely and utterly scary move -- purchasing a foreclosed home. I can't say much more on that because it's still in that diaphanous stage of thought -- just drifting around in my head. Fifteen years fixed, less than my monthly rent.....I'd have equity.....being frightened of the debt.....I'd have something that is MINE.......but do I want to live in this state instead of moving to a different one for the next fifteen years?....do I have to just because I have a house?....would I get stuck and saddled with this? Etc., etc., etc. Gah.

((Song: "In Too Deep" by Sum 41. Lyrics here:
http://www.lyrics007.com/Sum%2041%20Lyrics/In%20Too%20Deep%20Lyrics.html ))

Reality Check

I went to the gym today to do a short workout/introductory session with a personal trainer -- it's part of the package deal when you sign up. It wasn't a difficult workout but it did give me a bit of insight into some details.

First off, I weigh 137 now and I have a 36% BMI. That means I'm considered obese. Obese? GAHHHH!!!!! I have 49 lbs of body fat and 88 lbs of muscle/bones/lean tissue. He said he'd like to see me at 121 lbs with a 22% BMI, 27 lbs of body fat and 94 lbs of muscle/bones/lean tissue.

Ha. I haven't seen 121 lbs since I was 21 years old.

The trainer told me that it will easily take 8-10 months for that to happen. Currently he says I have about 77,000 calories to burn to reach the 121 lb goal, since each lb of body fat I now have will take a 3500 calorie burn to remove. 77,000/3500 = 22 lbs of fat that needs to be gone.

He also let me know that I need to EAT. The worst thing I could do, he said, is to tell my body to work harder yet deny it a steady supply of nourishment -- it will conserve by feeding off my muscle mass instead of my fat stores. He said that as we age, the body is losing muscle mass anyway and that lack of exercise only hastens the muscle atrophy. I have to admit that eating more has been a difficult thing for me even though I feel hungrier now. I've been on portion control for so long that it feels very "bad" of me to eat a lot. I've been maintaining 1000-1200 calories a day for a long time and he tells me that's placed my body in a long-term starvation mode, kicking my metabolism down even more from its naturally low starting point. Ack. I don't want that. I suspect that the dramatic weight loss I experienced in 2007 (approx 30 lbs in about 4 months) due to stress diminished my muscles stores rather than my fat stores.

I learned a lot from the session -- some that I knew already and was practicing, and other things that I knew in an abstract sense but had not done the connective thinking necessary to really understand it all.

I'm probably not doing enough and I will probably plateau at some point. I'll need to combat that by applying some muscle confusion techniques when that occurs. I'll also need to remember not to get frustrated and not give up. I'll be buying some resistance bands and using them at the house, and some dumbells too.

Good grief. I'm actually exercising! And liking it! Watch out people, the sky may just start falling any day now. Hee.

In other news, I'm heading out of town tomorrow afternoon to meet X. I haven't seen him since our trip to Las Vegas in December of '07 before my nasty bout of pneumonia. He's going to be in a big city about 3 hours away from me and called to ask if I could meet him (he didn't realize it was 3 hrs away, he thought it was only about 1 or 2 at most) and I told him sure. I said it was the least I could do since he treated me to Vegas! I managed to get a personal day off work and I don't have to drive back tomorrow night so we can both relax and go out to dinner and have a good time. My throat is a little sore right now and I've been feeling that for about 4 days since the weather changed. I've also had a headache off and on the last couple days too as well as an ache in my side near my right kidney that's tender. Here's hoping there's no replay of the meet X/get sick scenario of last time! Or (god forbid!) my kidney stones are moving!

Ehh, my life is just busybusybusy lately. Work, work, work. I haven't quite adjusted yet. I'll get there.

Time for bed. Must get my beauty sleep!

Feeling Good Was Good Enough For Me

I haven't measured myself this week to see if I've lost any more inches but it sure doesn't feel like it. I've been eating like a pig and only working out 4 days a week the last couple of weeks. I'm paying for it, apparently -- I've felt bloaty and miserable. I'd love to blame it on PMS or "that time of the month" but I can't. I was neutered way back in '01 and haven't had to deal with any of that in years. Amen, Hallelulah.

I do have a kinda-sorta-almost-but-not-quite-near excuse for the 4-day workouts. I did some leg lifts last Thursday that I (obviously) did wrong. I strained my back something awful and stayed home from work on Friday, taking Aleve and generally feeling sorry for myself. I decided to look at it as a much needed Mental Health Day.

The kiddo spent last weekend with me and she and I had a great time. We hung out at my BFFs place, where kiddo got a lesson on quadratic equations. BFF is a great teacher; she has had a lot of practice homeschooling her own three kiddos. She definitely has a "teacher mode" that she swings into for lessons and kiddo and I chuckled about that later. I'm sure that the lessons weren't what kiddo exactly considered a "great time" but in her defense, she was the one that took the initiative and brought her book along to my place. Good thing too; she's failing Algebra, got grounded, and is now attending tutorials at her school twice a week. I'm normally a stickler for grades but with Algebra I have difficulty mustering up the proper lecturing mode since I feel for her and understand her sense of simultanous struggle/apathy. I graduated Summa Cum Laude and the only reason I didn't graduate Magna was because of my stupid Algebra courses. Grrrr. They were just so difficult to wrap my head around. It's simply Greek to me, and useless, painful, ridiculous, pointless Greek at that. My kiddo and I are much alike in that regard.

Kiddo and I took a drive on Saturday night in the wee hours of the morning. The time had "sprung forward" and neither of us could sleep. We spent a few hours with our windows rolled down, enjoying the sights and talking and singing to the radio and laughing. I'm so lucky to have such a beautiful, unique, funny person for a daughter. I truly enjoy discovering all the whys and wherefores of how she thinks. We stopped for a snack at a greasy spoon and she told me she loved eating in places like that because they felt lived-in, like real people cooked there and made real food instead of the cookie cutter feel of chains. I drank my decaf (well for the love of God, it WAS 3 am!) and listened to her talk.

I'm going to miss these days when they're gone. I'm trying to remain cognizant of them and relish them as they happen. Life is all about these little details.

I'm feeling all right these days. I get sad on occasion but for the most part I'm doing well. I have so much in my life to feel grateful for.

((Song: "Me And Bobby McGee" by Janis Joplin. Lyrics here:
http://www.bluesforpeace.com/lyrics/bobby-mcgee.htm ))