A Return To Sweetness

I am drained. As I write, I am listening to "All The Pretty Little Ponies." Kenny Loggins is sweetly singing in my ear. I accept. I have never felt this sweetness in my entire life. I am only recognizing this, as I hear the harmonizing voices singing, blending together. This saddens me to the core. Singing about going to sleep and when you awake, you shall have all the pretty little ponies. When I would awake, I felt stillness.
Complete alone~ness. Even in my crib I remember ~  a wanting, gnawing feeling. Just empty alone.
I am writing this, only to recognize the  "The Dark Black Hole Of Calcutta" that has been me.
 Never enough syndrome. I will not beat myself up for something I never got in the first place.
I have lived my life searching, always trying to put the  pieces of the puzzle of me together.
Trying to find the sweetness which must reside in me. I was just a child, like any child. In need of love, nurturing,cuddling, cooing. Not so different from any child in any neighborhood.

As the tears stream, they are my healing , my cleansing. I will not feel shame for crossing the river of freedom, truth. For stating my heart hurts, like so many others as a child  for lack of nurturing.
The measures I have taken to fill up this empty vessel called me. Some roads good, some not.
All in the name of "Feed me, love me, fill me, tell me I am beautiful, don't leave me. Love me."
I am leaving this shame behind today, as I listen now to" Pooh Corner." I have played these songs for my children. Never would I want my children to feel this kind of pain or anguish. Alone~ness.
No matter how old they were, or are, I would hold them, tell them how precious they are to me.
How my life changed in the most glorious way the moment they came into my life.

Now it is time to do this for myself. I have to be my own hero. No one is going to show up in this movie,
called Clare's Life, rush in and say..... I'm so sorry honey. I always loved you so deeply.
Embrace me with the warmest hug, hand me the mug of hot cocoa and warm blanket I have been handing out for so many years. No, I have to hand it to me now.  This I finally understand.
Always having to hug a mother ~  never have a hug coming for me,  made me a very good hugger~ I must say. I will look at the bright side now. I love hugging my kids. My husband.
It is time I hug me. This will take some practice. It is time to forgive myself, for whatever methods,
roads, places I have been, to fill this empty heart of yearning. I am ready to let it fill. Overflow. Let love in. Not just my husband and children's love. Those closest to my heart. It is time to branch out.
Time to trust I am worth loving. Time to let go ~ return to sweetness.

POWERFUL

I am  leaving behind my old shoes. I took them off Monday and knew I would never be returning to them. I have out grown them. They are out of style.
It is Wednesday and the sense of loss has subsided,  my heart is now just gently whimpering.
I knew I was saying goodbye to something big, but the full impact was too great to take in.
As I drove the freeway in my jeep, a rush of tears sprang from my eyes. A sound so primal from my throat gurgled out, as I tried to shift the gears from third to second. I exited the  off ramp from the freeway trying to contain my emotions. This only brought on a stronger wave of tears. As The Rolling Stones belted out  a tune, it seemed the words were made for this exact moment. I can't recall the song, but something about  a black mood, feeling the words swallowed me up  in them.  The moments were tortuous as I sat side by side several cars in traffic, as my body convulsed to the rhythm of the music. I just let go, let the river run where it needed.  Gushing, mourning, I had no idea what was taking over...... yet  somehow I did. My feelings had finally erupted, no longer contained. It was time.

I knew I was finally allowing myself to step into Womanhood. What I had feared so long~ had arrived.
Given away not purposefully.  Just systematically. Losing more of me as time went on.  Selling myself out  to be liked, loved, approved of. Monday was a day of great pain. The Great Awakening.
I realized how much of my power I had been giving away. Mrs. Rip Van Winkle had awoken from
a very deep slumber. Time to dust the cob webs off. What deep cob webs had formed!  I had to look at myself in a new way, from every angle. Physically, emotionally, you name it. Trying on clothes, and seeing how I have let myself go.  Who am I anymore. I used to have such an identity.  What happened to me ~ that loved to wear color? Who have I become? I have hidden myself deep, while  "becoming me."

The pain of letting go,  letting the  past be in the past. I see the toll it has taken. I see it in my face, my body, my spirit. It is time for my rebirth. I  have opened up and been honest. I have told my truth and revealed all of me and more. I am road weary. I am rebuilding. I am aware now of those who jump on the bandwagon and take potshots at that kind of openness.  I have  done my job. Done my work~ kept my nose to the grindstone.  I now wear my scars as a badge of honor. I earned them. I will not apologize for the  uncharted roads it has taken to get here. Some maps I have created proudly.
The patience, terror, darkness, tears, just plain sadness. I no longer care how it sounds.
If that sounds victim to some, tough shit. It's called real life..... Navigational Skills 101.
There cannot be sunshine without rain. All the New Age  positivity tires me. It's not entirely real
when emotions aren't allowed to be expressed. I am one hundred percent for  thinking positive. I am also one hundred percent for people being allowed to feel how they feel. Respecting feelings, good or bad.

Stifling feelings only makes it come out in another area, addiction. Thanks, but no thanks, already did that. It's just a thought or feeling, they will pass. Breathe, all is well. Believe.  How about a silly
little thing like just saying what you feel. Whatever that may be. Shameful or not. It is what it is.
We all have our secrets. Our shame. No one is perfect. We all are worth loving.
What about embracing that notion. Forgiveness. It starts with ourselves. There are no quick fixes.
Simply putting one foot in front of the other. Step one. We are all doing the best we can.
That is powerful. We are powerful. Enough stifling our emotions.  It's a new day, beginning now.

Goodbye

 It's done.  I know I've got my walking papers, yet I sit here frozen.  I took you seriously.
I loved you. My heart has crumbled into a million pieces, and I don't have the vaguest idea
how to retrieve it. I want to hate you, yet I realize I don't even know you. Just the image of you~ from what, a lifetime ago? When and how do I really know you? Do the tears flow any less? Does my heart
grieve for the friend who no longer wants to sit with me ~  laugh, talk, share, remember? Two
souls remembering. Today ends something  much more profound as I look back, walk away from
what felt like home. Not yours though. Never yours. I was mistaken and greatly apologize.

That's right, I forgot the rules of the Great Wanderer. Something better out there. Restless heart and all.
Too restless for the rest of us. Catchy don't you think. Draw us in, wind us up. I didn't think I was one of the great masses. Silly me. Yet I was. Just like every other silly little thing getting drawn into the great Svengali...... oh so hypnotic and masterful. Those hypnotic eyes sir.  How very fetching.

You have taught me yet again what a cold heart beats within.  Freedom you
yearn for kind sir? Run through the valleys and hills. Run. It is yours. To  your hearts delight.
Don't let me stop you.  I loved you yes, that is my crime. If I came too close, forgive me.

I hope you find what you are looking for in the wilderness of your heart, your life.
 Are you a mirror of me in some way as I rage on~  perhaps?

I do love you. I will always love you. You have left your mark. I really do wish you  the peace you are so desperately yearning for.  My heart hurts, quite simply. You were extraordinary.
You will be greatly missed. I am better for knowing you. That is why the sting is that much greater.
Goodbye.

The Ugly Duckling

Transferring from Mission, an all girls High School~ three months into the school year, put me in
an even more people pleasing position  than usual.  On one hand, for the  first time in my life I  had been introduced to the freedoms of Public School, after the confinement of Catholic. Whoa.
 I walked into one of my classes the first day. Now I don't know if I had Virgin Mary's Child stamped on my forehead, but I traipsed across the front of the classroom [okay, I tried desperately  not to be noticed, like a child who plays hide and seek, who is clearly visible to all] where everyone already knew each other quite well. Who is this newcomer? As I am trying to walk to my seat, I see this pretty, colorful balloon  blown up. I smile. I am thinking..... I like it here, and state how pretty the balloon is. Maybe a party is being thrown in my honor. These public school kids sure know how to have a good time. The whole class is now roaring. Hmmmmmm? Not quite the  reception I anticipated until a burly fellow from the back couldn't hold back, letting me know" it was a rubber." Welcome to Ninth Grade, can I go home now?


I got into the routine of this new life after awhile. I had been used to wearing a uniform for nine years,
so "free dress " every day was soon becoming a chore. On a very limited budget, I had  become very adventurous  putting my duds together. My mom had given me fifty dollars for the year,  even in 1975, I would say especially~ there weren't the deals there are today. " Dittos" pants  were very popular  at the time.  Millers Outpost was selling them for thirty something dollars. I was in a bind.
My mom was not too current on what it would take to make a Former Catholic girl fit in at Public School. I was the only traitor out of six kids to abandon ship from Catholic School,  so it was not smooth sailing, to say the least. [A long boring story why I  abandoned ship, I will tell  you when are  having a bad case of insomnia one night.] Plus the fact that there was little money to go around. I understood,
but fifty dollars was a hard pill to swallow. So I made do. I have  actually made my motto in life,
"Desperation is the mother of invention," from   this experience. I scrounged anything and everything I could from my sisters, my cousins  hand~ me~ downs. Here is the biggest joke, these fashionable
girls that scared me to death would say to me, "Where did you get your clothes they are so cute?"
I am thinking to myself, if you only knew. Well, that would be if I lifted my head to talk. I was horribly
shy. I felt like I had no talking rights. I was in awe of these Public School Gals.

Mrs. Haberlein's  9th Grade Art Class. Loggin's and Messina always on, I thought it was a rule.
The two Tina's sat near the music. They seemed so sophisticated. I sat fascinated watching them work, as the music belted out in the background. Mrs. Haberlein seemed like the kind of person who should have been the lunch lady you would see it Camp Movies. She  wasn't very nice. I had never taken an
Art Class before, and I was just assigned all my new classes, so here I sat for a semester.
Longest semester of my life. I sat next to  these twin sisters, who were extremely outspoken about everything. Incredibly boring, so I did my best to amuse. Took some doing.Always up for this task.


So, the fun, hip Loggins and Messina gals were on the other side of the room.  I was sandwiched between  the twins. Good times.  We had a paper mache  project due.  Most of the people in this class had gone to Junior High together. The closest thing I had seen  was on  The Brady Bunch.
Marcia and the Gang. In Catholic School it was first through eighth,  we didn't  do the " Junior High Thing."
We didn't take all the classes like Art. We  did spend a lot of time thinking about what we were going to say in the Confessional. That is a little like Art I suppose, especially for some of the kids  I knew. They had to be very creative when it was their turn. They must be Picasso's by now.

Back to The paper mache. What can I say?  I felt threatened~  I was way past threatened in this non~art class atmosphere. Except for listening to Loggins and Messina, they were my saving grace. Otherwise I wasn't feeling the love. So as everyone was creating their masterpieces, I began designing  mine. [Maybe not so much designing my duck.] Why I chose that duck, I have no idea. In retrospect perhaps that is how I saw myself, and was crying out. When I knew I wasn't going to get any help, and  had
no tools in my toolbox to help me  at the time, I mocked myself. It was a very familiar role.
Class clown. If I couldn't be great, than I would be a joke.


So, with all  the muster in me, I made it the Ugliest Duck you could imagine. It actually had a charm of it's own, with it's giant lips. Believe me~ I worked with what I had. Insecurity, fear, self doubt, to the best of my ability. The teacher never helped me. I was "one of those." She liked being next to the Loggins and Messina crowd. Who wouldn't? So grading time came. I thought I would get a C.
Passable, it's art~ right? No I got a low D and a disgusted look. I'll never forget it. Granted I didn't take the class seriously, I didn't know how. I needed help. Was totally out of my scope. I used the only skills I had: HUMOR.  The teacher was dry as the Sahara. Good combo for  Art Class.

It was very scarring for me. I hated Art after that. Never wanted to deal with it again.
Life is funny. It makes you deal with your biggest wounds. Of course I marry an Artist.
Not an average Artist, one who is exceptional.Taught our kids to draw from the time they were old enough to put a crayon in their hands. They too are excellent Artists. Writing this is difficult.
My hubby last night said,"It would be good if you wrote about the duck story  now. Healing time."
I felt like fainting and vomiting.  He is right about putting The Ugly Duckling Mythology away.
 It was only a teachers opinion. Obviously it goes so much deeper. Feeling like The Ugly Duckling.
Always scrambling as a child for acceptance and love. Playing the clown for love.
Only later on in life, much later as a mother, did I realize what a truly unkind human being this woman was. Having worked in many classrooms with my kids, I would never have been so negative and insulting to a child, as she was to me. Only in hindsight could I see she was just a truly unhappy woman,
who happened to "teach" art, if you call it that. I now feel sorry for her. That realization has taken me many years to come to.

I have a big knot in my throat. I am very uncomfortable. I am not that 14 year old girl anymore, walking into a new school completely alone, ill equipped. Frightened. No one to turn to.  Doing the best I knew how. Breaking family rules by leaving Catholic School, not understanding Public.  Having no one to talk to. Just surviving. Let the river run. It is. I am free. I love my paper  mache duck. My Ugly Duckling
is transforming into a Beautiful Swan~ as we speak.

Daisy Jane

Driving in Charlie's giant  pale yellow 70's car, some kind of old bomb that looked like a million others.
It was the summer of "75. We were winding our way home from a church camping trip. Charlie was in the seminary ~ college with many years left until he would be a priest. A group  of us went to Sacramento- camping. How I got invited, I have no idea. I am sure through my older sister who was a receptionist at our church. Everyone was much older than my thirteen years.   There was a boy  I went to school with that was my age. Most were five to ten years older than me. I thought I was unbelievably cool going.
I didn't care if it was a church group, I would not be home for a week, plus I had never  really been camping. I would learn many lessons of a life time from this trip.

Ellie was someone I absolutely idolized. Wanted to be. I never copied anyone in my life like I did Ellie.
Every girl wanted to be her, every dude wanted to do her. She had platinum blonde hair, tall [compared to me] very thin, and very tanned. Cool back in the day. I remember on this trip she couldn't lay on her stomach while sunbathing, because her hips stuck out too far. You guessed it, I wanted my hips to stick out. My Italian heritage wasn't so forgiving. I liked meatballs too much. Everyone always thought Ellie had  a tapeworm. This was 1975. Eating disorders weren't hip yet. I would watch this Golden Goddesses
every move. Even the way she laughed, her hand gestures.

There were many personalities on this trip. "Ducky,"  I don't remember why, she must have dug ducks.
The person who lead this fine and noble expedition  was a fellow named Bob, who  actually was
going to live in Sacramento, to become a Deacon in the church.  There were some other people,
but I do remember three brothers from Torrance. One named John that was very cute.
John had his sights on Ellie. Who didn't?  I had nicknames for everyone.
You will understand this one quite easily. Snake~o. This gents name was Mike. He was there with
his bro Mark [ the kid my age] Mike was about four or five years older than me. He thought he was
quite the ladies man. Only problem was...... the ladies didn't  think the same. Mike had to take drastic matters. I am snickering like nobody's biz as  I am traveling back in time. The girls were all laying out
getting nice precancerous skin lesions [who knew about staying out of the sun] as we slathered on baby oil. There was a cliff over our "lay out spot." Mike  took this opportunity to formally introduce his naked self to us, as he dove over us, right in front. It seemed like slow motion. Just a nice group of Catholic chickadees   hanging out on a summer day. Snake~o is now born. What can I say. I was thirteen. First thing that came ti mind as I saw that thing swinging in front of me.

Then there was the bathroom accommodations. Duckie showed me the ropes. She told me to pull up a log. Literally. We both sat on logs, while she sang Stevie Wonder's "Someday at Christmas" in July.
I can say I have never forgotten that song. Duckie sure knew how to sing it. Good times.

So many memories of this summer that have lasted a lifetime. Ellie, sweet beautiful Ellie
was not meant for this world. She died when my daughter was a year old.  That is now almost twenty years ago. Hard to believe. I think of her often. She influenced me in so many ways.
She never knew how special she was. So many addictions took over her life, her body.
Before her death, she had turned her life around. She left behind four small children.

I think of that drive back home to LA. Charlie driving that long stretch of freeway. Tunes blasting out.
Learning so much about life with all these unique people. I haven't seen Charlie much through the years.
I know he was in the Vatican for awhile. Sweet Charlie that I teased mercilessly. A priest for many years now. He is back home now. I miss him I think I will give him a call.

As we drove on, everyone in the car but Charlie and me were asleep, as the landscape blended into one pool of gray highway.We sat silently, which was not our way. Constant badgering, harassing, attacking,
playful, the only way we knew how. Thump, thump, thump.... that beautiful
heartbeat  sound  from the radio. "Daisy Jane" was on~  by the group America. I fell in love with it.
The wind blowing in my hair, the long, lonesome highway...... and the silence.

I haven't changed an ounce. The music, the wind, the highway still call me. I know something was born in me from that trip. Many things were.  So many memories I hold so close to my heart, that summer of '75.

Soul Chops

This makes me laugh, thinking about.  So many years ago when I was about twenty.
I was living in this very old one bedroom house in South Pasadena, you could call it "rustic."
I was very happy to be living there at the time.  I had just moved out from  a very brief  marriage,
[married at eighteen, I know what was I thinking?] The landlord  was  also my sisters. So it was very helpful since I had no money and no references of my own. Moving back home was not an option.
I had never lived by myself, so it was  a very new and somewhat....... okay I am lying, not somewhat~ it was an excruciatingly terrifying experience.


The landlord Mike, who was  about forty five, [which seemed ancient at the time]  proceeded to drive me  over  to
the house . On the way over we small talk, chit chat. I had met him on several other occasions, so I felt moderately safe. I am on my own now, so I have to be a big girl.
He  proceeds to tell me about how he throws Pajama Parties...... but I don't have to bring my pajamas.
Cool, this is going well.  I am looking out the car window~ALOT.

So that's how that part went down. I am chuckling thinking about him.  Well, I got through it unscathed, didn't have to put a deposit down, maybe the fool thought he was going to have a Pajama Party deposit. Well, now I am near his age, he must be three hundred. Party on boy.
Depends~ party. Not depends on me~ Depends diapers for him.
Okay, so I am being passive aggressive, but my memories are flooding back of him standing outside my back door at times. Creepy fellow. I did get through living there for a few months, quite terrified.
The bedroom was tiny, in the very back of the house. Phone in the living room. Way up front.
How I ever slept...... I don't think I did. Which brings me to "Soul Chops" lover. I worked with Linda Friday. Hmmmmmmmmm. Interesting gal.  We waitressed together. Let's just say she never missed a meal. I think I figured out why she liked working nights alone.  She cleaned out those dessert cases,
and I don't mean with windex. We would get the donut deliveries, that would mysteriously "disappear."
Delivery problems on more than one occasion, she would say. Wish I would have thought  of that one.

I laugh thinking how "she slid into home place"......... right in front of the walk in refrigerator.
Okay, it is not as though I didn't take  a huge spoon in there and eat heaping spoons of tapioca pudding and egg custard. I would be out of my mind if I said I didn't. I just didn't slide into home place, that time.
This gal Linda was a very theatrical creature who always compared herself to the the beautiful  actress,
Anne Archer. Thought she was her. Had to hear of all her Hollywood stories. I got that big spoon out with the tapioca, for these special times. Maybe bread pudding. I definitely sat a spell for these stories.

Linda had this favorite hot spot in Universal City,  Reubens which was popular in the day.
We hung out there quite a bit with her. She was madly in love with the lead singer in this one band.
We always had to sit in the front row. I have to admit this fellow was beautiful. He was, I am quite sure
happily married. Linda was relentless. Remember, she was Anne Archer.
She would sing every song seductively, into his eyes. Yep. You got the picture. Writhing gently in her seat.  I tried to act cool. I was twenty, remember? I think she was seven or eight years older than me. Seriously, she had no shame. Amusing at the same time. The thing I really only remember about them[the band] is they sang a song called "Soul Chops. " That amuses me to this day.

I don't remember how that catchy tune goes...... but, I bet there is one gal still shaking her hips, singing it ever so seductively somewhere. Anne Archer, watch out.

It is Time

 My heart is heavy. I am leaving  a world that is no longer mine. The shoes no longer fit.  I am not sad to be leaving it. I am sad to feel the pain of having been in it for so long. I could not have done it any other way.

I can only be where I am. Yet the tears flow none the less. Giving myself away again, for wanting that silly old thing called love. I know I will recognize this need in myself much sooner  with each step I take. 

Every risk. I am still smarting something fierce. I am just plain old sad. I am actually fine with this. 

It is the move forward stage I recognize, so familiar with. First I grieve. Not always sure what my washing machine of emotions is spinning. 

Without risking, I cannot move forward. Without loving,  my life would be very empty. The pain is just part of the package. The joy as well. My dreams are mine. The bruised heart will recover. I am more than familiar with these feelings of  alone-ess. I am listening to Winnie The Poo song. I have a lot lately.  Back to the House at Poo Corner. I yearn for a fantasy that was never. I listen to this song and it brings me such  comfort.  I played it for my children.  I think I needed it for me. Especially now. Sometimes in order to make great changes,  to fill the holes in ourselves....... we must take comfort where we can.

I no longer take any shame in this. What we lack~ we learn to develop, and pass on.

It is my turn.  I have always made children my number one.  I suppose to heal the wounded child in me. 

It is time to take the next step and give  back what God has given me. I have woken up now. I have healed this heart enough to give back. No more stripping away. Enough. I could keep stripping until there is nothing left. I am good at that now. It is time to rebuild. Give back what I have  learned. 

Step up my game. Make a declaration. I declare.................... it is time.

A Tale of Two Cities

I am far from done being haunted from this trip  Ray and I have taken. My mind will not shut down all the images that we have seen. I am quite sure I am not supposed to. Haunted is a good word.
It doesn't match the hotel I walked back into at night, after driving for hours on back roads, highways,
small towns, inner cities. I have no words for how sad I feel. I have tried to jump back into my
comfortable world, that I have now taken for granted. Not so many years ago worked so hard for
with my husband. Side by side, together as we built a marriage, so too we built a home from
much wreckage of our pasts combined. A very slow, impatient, imperfect process.

Just as we built the marriage brick by brick, it seemed we chose our homes. Usually very decrepit,
much in need of tender loving  care. Could life be imitating art, or vice versa?
Always the need to tear down, tear apart........ dig deep. Find out what was at the root of these houses?
Very little peace as you can imagine in our life, the constant, but necessary digging. Much peeling away for so many years. Too much baggage we both carried on this trip together. The only way to possibly survive- unloading what wasn't ours. That took much truth telling, sifting through many thoughts, emotions. Feelings that had been buried for many years. Ouch. Pushing each others buttons, and learning to trust one another. Real trust, not just ...... surface trust. As if our lives depended on it.
They did. We were putting it all out there. To be loved, rejected, trashed, embraced.
Never experiencing real intimacy in our lives, this presented true discomfort. Much testing.
We tested. Horribly. Like children. Neither of us would say this was our proudest moments in our time together. At times, we thought - this is just too painful. Something was stronger, always.

Love. We loved each other. No matter  the amount of pain we caused each other, we always had each others backs. Even when at war. We just loved each other, even when we wanted to kill each other.
Digging up roots, never easy. You never know how deeply they are embedded. How, when pulled up-
what that will trigger in another area. Ours were going off, like "The 4th Of July."
I am  one to push for change. Anyone who is close to me knows this. Not so comfortable for me either.
Just one of those things in life I must have signed up for!

Getting back to The Tale Of Two Cities -  this detour I just took you on, has brought me to this moment. Seeing so much devastation. Pushing my buttons, what it takes to rise from hopelessness.
Everywhere there is different layers, levels. The steps are always the same. The formula doesn't change, in rising from your ashes. Perhaps I have seen my Tale Of Two Cities. Lived with so much guilt from coming from such severe poverty consciousness. Rising from poverty thinking, living, behavior.
No, it wasn't on the level of shacks, run down steel mill workers. There was food and clothing.
A home to live in. The very basic necessities. Much more than what I saw while traveling.
But we raised ourselves, in my family. Six children. Just as my husband raised himself.
No guidance. Like true animals. We have been so unkind to ourselves, truly. No map book.
Again, what criminal act did we commit?  WANTING MORE?  To dream, God forbid dreaming big.
Shut that one down in a hurry.  I will finally stand tall and proud for what we have created.

The beautiful children we have. That we love more than words can express. We beam with pride.
Who truly are now our closest friends, now that they are adults. There is no one I would rather spend time with. A few other "adopted" family members I am so proud of. Love so dearly. Can't imagine not having in my life. They are and always will be my children as well. Relatives I love and am so happy I have bonded with - a real bond. It delights my heart to no end. New friends that have come into my  life, my heart. It is so much richer. My Raymond. He fills me with such JOY.  I feel so lucky to be married to the love of my life~ and best friend~ to end every night usually laughing. To feel his hugs, I am in heaven!

I no longer want to live in The Tale Of Two Cities I came from. I am editing this down to one.
I think I will follow The Yellow Brick Road. No more tearing our house apart. Our kids are insane from it. Perhaps more travel is now required in this  stage of our lives!  Enough painting a room fifteen times to get it right. [ Oh you know how those crazy artists are]   Really, time to enjoy our lives. This trip
was perhaps an eye  opener for what was in the past. It hurt, once again. My sweet hubby saw it in me.
With the warmest hug this morning he said, I'll come home early today. Too much thinking from this trip. Let's get some fresh air. I think you need to take some pictures of beauty and fill your soul. I couldn't see it. I was just "in it" That's love.

Celebrate Me Home

When he was twelve, my husbands father left his family. Both his parents were alcoholics.  His mother
stopped drinking. His father didn't. Eventually he moved into the  garage, police were called on more than one occasion. They divorced, and his father in time moved to New York.
My husband never saw him again. Many scars to heal. This trip was one of those. The Ohio trip.
As we drove into Columbus, Ohio from a very quaint town in Pennsylvania-[ we had been staying for
a brief business trip]the landscape changed dramatically. The rolling plush greenery of the hillsides,
now became abandoned  old  rusty steel mills.  Not too much on the horizon as we drove on.
We soon came to  the home his father had grown up in as a child.  Decay, half burnt down in the back,
[  someone was bored] it had been abandoned a few years ago.

I watched my sweet husbands face, such mixed emotions- the father who left never saying goodbye.
His brother and him learning of his death only in the past decade or so. A homeless man, their father....
living in Central Park  near the Zoo.This proud and amazing man, my husband, standing in front of
this house where his father once too stood. A boy filled with the same dreams he passed on to his sons.
A practical father who raised him, a railroad man, wanted his son to be a baseball player.
His mother had died when he was a young boy.... he had been shuffled around.
This boy with dreams...... silly things like ART.  Not practical for  Columbus, Ohio.
I looked up at the tiny second story... and pictured him sitting in his room upstairs alone.
DREAMING. He dreamt his way to California and met my husbands mother.

Unfortunately  that was not a wonderful union. But what was wonderful, the sons that came from it.
His mother stopped drinking, but that hopelessness crept up on her.  Pills and many other things took over. She loved her children, but had issues of her own.
The welfare check became her focus when  her husband was gone. What was inspired  from his father,
ART. His father had become a successful artist before alcohol consumed all their lives.
The two boys were on remote control, raising themselves.  These boys had the greatest gift that money could never buy. DREAMS. On they went their separate ways- very different men, these two brothers.
 The older brother kept his dreams alive. He became an Olympic Athlete.
My husband  kept his dreams  alive as well. He chose entertainment and art, became an Art Director for a studio.  I couldn't be prouder. I have watched him  through the years of many struggles and triumphs.

I watch this man rise in the end, on every occasion. Watching him stand in front of this home that was no more than a shack now, in a drug infested neighborhood,  facing his past with such grace.
Seeing where his father came from- starting to let go of the pain that has kept him shackled to his past.
I have admired him for so many reasons, but my love goes even deeper.
After twenty six years of marriage, our two beautiful children..... standing in front of HIS HISTORY.
Laying down the gauntlet, seeing- NOW- he was always worth loving. His father never felt he was worthy of love. The greatest gift his father passed on to him-DREAMS- He could not fulfill. The next generations turn. We leave the past..... in the past. Start over. See things for what they were. Mourn our loss. Let it out. Let the sunshine in. It's waiting for us. BIG, BRIGHT-BOLD-SUNNY.
Sometimes that's just how it works. We take the acorn from the giant oak. Start over.
We celebrate ourselves  home.

Let's Eat S'mores

Just a couple of the girls and me..... skipping down the lane. Turning round the corner onto the
Road of Life. Big smiles we wear as we venture out into the great adventure called: The Big Unknown. I used to fear this creature. Now I  embrace it. Wrap my arms around it. Tickle it.
Whisper sweet nothings in it's ear.  We all wear our Girl Scout Patches of Life proudly. Others Camp fire Girls. Some just navigated The River Wild on their own. This is what made us..... who we are.

It is what reunites us in adulthood. It has called us back together.... like long lost campers on a great overnighter. Bring on the wieny roast and the s'mores.  I've got the crackly fire started. Who wants to jump into the Lake with me?  We can warm ourselves by the fire.  We have so many tales to tell.
It's been so long since we have seen each other. I'll grab our mugs of hot cocoa.
I've never seen you smile so big! I'm happy too. I'm with all my friends again. It does seem like a life time ago. I never thought this day would come either. We did keep it in our hearts.... you're right!
To all my friends who have gathered around this toasty fire tonight..... and the ones who have gone before us.... I celebrate each and everyone of you. My heart is overflowing with love. This opportunity we have.... to tell each other what we mean to each other. I love you and can't wait to navigate many more Unknowns with you. I've got your back. I know you've got mine. Now let's eat s'mores.

WildThing

Within this heart beats a Wild Thing. It feels so funny declaring this. I have feared this knowledge my entire life. I have fled it.... denied it, bullied it, talked down to it. What is the "It" I could possibly be referring to. I always thought it was this very out of control person that would do completely inappropriate things.
Not be able to stop, and fly off into wild abandon..... never look back.
When I took acting classes in my  late thirties, [which scared me to death] I first  faced one of my greatest fears. I always wanted to be an actress. Even as a small child. Maybe more a Princess.
I always wanted to be rescued. That was more a fantasy. So I tried it out in College..... but was far too self conscious. Oh, I was dramatic enough. With my capes and clothes. Everything I wore seemed like a costume  at one phase in life.  I fantasized about being discovered..... as every young girl does.

I don't know what motivated me at the age of 36 or so to start acting classes.
If I was going to do it, like a true Leo, I went right into the Lions den. Hollywood.
Again, I don't know why. It scared me more than I can possibly tell you. I am a small town girl.
Do not hang out in Hollywood......  although our home is only half an hour or so away.
I live in the foothills in a mountainy town. Very far removed from that world.  But Wild Thing
was calling then. I just didn't recognize the voice. It was an amazing experience for so many reasons.
First.... how I ever drove the Hollywood Freeway without fainting or vomiting I will never know.
I was white knuckling it all the way. When I finally got out of my car and into the studio...... I felt like I was in a Twilight Zone Episode. Twenty Somethings sprawled everywhere. I felt one hundred years old.
Normally I have always felt pretty ageless. Not here. Time to face a lot of fears.  Wild Thing did not know what to make of The Truly Wild Things.

Every cliche you could possibly imagine was happening. I was pretty much dubbed "Suburban Mom."
Didn't like that title too much...... but seeing the other choices around me..... seemed okay.
I think that year of learning about myself, pushing myself...... being absolutely terrified,
yet somehow loving it at the same time really allowed me to bring out something in me that
I had not allowed before. No..... not Wild Thing yet. Believe me..... a couple of the Wild Things in my class had that title nailed down. It helped me reveal raw emotions  I had not felt before.
Which led me to really being able to express so much more clearly how I felt. Much less judgement,
whether it was expressed through laughter or tears. Either way was okay.

I stopped running from Wild Thing. What was so wrong with it anyway? The more I stopped running,
the more I could see really what a sweet and fun person Wild Thing really was. No longer the out of control person of my younger years who lacked proper judgement. Got into sticky situations.....
not the greatest impulse control. Felt actually very out of control. At the mercy of my whims.
So I stifled her. Shut down her voice. Put her in a room and made her be very still.
Proper Do The Right Thing now came out to make up for the sins of The Wild Thing.
Feeling there were too many to count....... control........and more control until I sucked the life out of myself. What was left? I got it right, with very little humor. The humorous, fun loving person,
had now become cautious, look before you leap to the point of no longer moving.

Studied, trained, study more. Get it right. Consult the experts, the books. Me.... was no longer me.
The balance [ which was never there] I was now me..... just dry as a bone. The risk taker,
was now fearful. Every decision was a fork in the road. It was a process to let it go.
A very long one. An amazing one to find my way back to me. Only better. This time.... with
balance. What an incredible difference. I am so excited to let Wild Thing out. She isn't going to
do any harm. She never wanted to in the first place. She never had any guidance to show her the way.
That's all . She wasn't a bad girl. Just a girl who was surviving the best way she knew how.
While being the adult..... when she was just a child herself. I love that Little Wild Thing.
She is itching to tear up the road. She has so much energy. She just wants to play. Have a good time.
She doesn't want to cause harm to herself or anyone else anymore. She just wants to be free.

Filling Up

My heart feels like a  pump at a gas station. Ready to be filled up to the brim.
What a difference from the old days...... just filling it half a tank, just enough to get by.
Have enough to coast for a little while.  No thought for the future. In the very early days,
not uncommon to run out on occasion. What has changed so drastically? First off,
this has been very gradual..... over many years of hard headedness. Lessons learned
without a doubt the hard way. Never going through the front door. Always the back, side,
Attic...... or no door at all. Busted it down more times than not.
Had to find my own way. Stubborn, passionate, ignorant at times. Just needed to find my way.
Needed to listen to my own voice. That was very foreign to me for so long.  Always the authority
figure had to be right. What could I possibly know?
That was incredibly frightening to listen and trust little old me. I fought it . I ran from it.
I did everything I could to shift that responsibility back to those who knew best.
I did a fabulous job of it. I was trained for it in Catholic School. Programmed exceedingly well.
Follow the leader, don't ask questions. Those kind of kids go to the Principals Office.

I was already feeling the heat of feeling different, I didn't need to bring it on.
Fit in at all costs was the motto. I desperately tried. Yet..... somehow I felt like I was always wilting, shrinking.... betraying myself. I could not possibly understand this. I surrounded myself with
people who overpowered my voice, my thoughts. Only in my secret, alternate life that I created for myself...... could I climb out of the narrowness that I was drowning in. The beliefs that made no sense to me. The fear that wasn't mine. I lost myself deeper in my early years. Thinking I was crazy, for feeling so different..... I retreated into negative behaviors to cope.  I didn't see any way out.

I had moments, glimmers of hope. That sustained me enough to keep my eye on the prize.....
which I had no idea what it actually was. I just always knew it was more. There was more.
Even in my darkest despair, I knew there was more. I begged and prayed for guidance to show me what it was. This was no quick fix. I was an incredibly impatient person. That was my biggest lesson.
First learn patience. I marinated and stewed in that mixture for a good fifteen solid years.

I thought in the beginning it was the cruelest joke known to mankind. I was used to getting what I wanted. I thought I was a tricky manipulator. Hmmmmmm. I wonder how many people were really on to me. That was my survival. I now know this. It took many years to undo lack of  empathy for others.
I carried none in my heart, my soul for me. How could I offer it to another. I certainly understood sympathy. Always. I was always a  sympathetic human being. To face and own the side of me that held very little empathy for others feelings was truly devastating. My gift of being a people person was now being challenged to the core.  I had to face me in the harshest and unflattering light of day.

I can honestly say the day I was willing to really look at my shadow side...... not just talk about it, or
read it in a book....... my world exploded.  The layers have been peeling for so many years.
This was different. I wasn't exactly the sweet angel I thought I was. Yes, I was always a good person.
But looking at my participation in events  I had not thought I was  part of...... what  a blow!
Apologizing and really feeling it.... seeing the pain I had caused. Listening to how people felt,
not jumping in and defending my position. Tearing their heads off. Raging, judging, punishing.
All very familiar patterns. Accepting this was the biggest part of it all.

Most important. Forgiving me. As is. Loving me even more for the courage to face myself. The sides of myself that I ran fast and far from. Hurting myself terribly through the years. Hurting others.
To know this now finally rests in my past. That  day has come. It is time all of this is now a part of my
past. It will always be a part of the tapestry that makes me..... me.
Because of my experiences.... I have now learned empathy. I am not afraid to love deeply.
To express it. Not hold back..... not an ounce. Laugh fully, cry the same.
I am me. Always was. I just found a new Crew to be with. One I am blossoming with.
One who actually says they love me back. Imagine that. I am giddy over things like that.
Life's simple pleasures. In my world.... it really doesn't take much.