Oh My Papa

My sister Anne has been egging me on to write this story- tonight she gave me another nudge.There is nothing  sad about this story though, with my dad's recent passing. The reason she wants me to write it is because of something comical that happened at his graveside. I believe with all my heart that if you cannot have a good laugh about  things, even during the most serious incidents sometimes- it's just stress relief, and this is one of those times.

After the Memorial Service at the Church, we made our way to the Cemetery where my dads ashes were buried( My mom wanted to do in the Catholic tradition.)  As we sat down for the short service, a priest  from the Church spoke for a few minutes. Then a Parishoner jumped up ( who my kids had previously named "Grandpas Biggest Fan") for other reasons back at the Church, broke out singing- with no ones prompting of "Oh My Papa." Now a couple of things are interesting about this. One- my dad used to love this song.  There's no way this fellow knew this, other than the fact that we are Italian. Second, he knows about five verses, as  his voice gets louder and more boisterous with every word, droning on and on. I couldn't look at anyone or I would have  burst out laughing- very loud and out of control. So I chose to look straight inside his large, gaping mouth. It was open so big and wide, I thought I had gotten lost inside Moby Dick. I couldn't look at particular faces, especially anyone in my family.


At no time did anyone, including my mother ask him to sing, or  did he ask anyone in my family if we wanted "The Concert." I think that is what made it so funny. He was just giving his free Concert Summer Series. As if the Summer Concert Series were to come to an abrupt end....he broke into"O Sole Mio" right in my mom's face.  He was really ramped up by now, not ready for the Concert to end. He took that song for so many twists, turns and verses..... it seemed we were all in a time warp by the end, and made our getaway. He couldn't have been more jacked up. In all fairness he is a very sweet man, who was singing from his heart. It just was so surprising and truly unexpected!

When we got back to the Church Hall, he was kind enough to serenade my mom  and her table with some lively Broadway ShowTunes. I didn't get a look at her face. My dad was definitely having a good time watching the show.

The Ride

Today is my son's birthday,  and I think it is the most relaxed I have seen him. We take Birthdays with great care for each other, wanting the sweetest, or outrageously fun experience - whichever way it swings for the individual. Seeing Matt feel like he could finally breathe- just do his own thing today made my heart sing. No more rules..... just  what feels right. We have come a long way from being "careful," not wanting to offend, tiptoeing through the years- finally being able to say, " I love you but get the hell away from me." Everyone in the family saying they have PMS.  That is the biggest gift for polite-nics. Saying how it is without fear of repercussion.
Growing up in a severely restricted household, then passing it on to the family you have created takes work to un-do.

Matt was born two days before my birthday, Katie on Father's Day. Our kids  knew when to time their births, filling our hearts to overflowing. It has been a very emotion couple of weeks leading up to our birthdays. Five days ago we buried my dad. I have heard my husband say so often - the circle of life continues on. I never really understood what he meant. I do now more than ever.There have been so many deaths of  friends loved ones in the past few months, few years. I have watched, listened, absorbed peoples thoughts, feelings, words, tributes, grief, love, frustration, aloneness, loss, exhaustion, process, healing, acceptance, remembrance.

Ray lost both of his parents at thirty five. I was over seven months pregnant with Katie when he lost his Mom. Only this week  can I  comprehend the sheer aloneness he experienced through it all. My heart took in fully the enormity of it all. No matter what stage you are at with a parent, grief can jolt your heart, ripping through your very being, while awaiting rebirth- to the new life awaiting you.  It is not done until it is done.

We were like two boats rowing in a river of loss barely getting through. Saying goodbye to one life,while awaiting the birth of a new one. We couldn't be further apart, not from lack of love, just  where our heads and hearts were. Neither had the  strength or capacity to enter each others worlds. Children became mine while I could not comprehend the depths of despair my husband had stepped into. Pure loss. I do now. If I could go back,  but it doesn't work that way.  It is the compassion, empathy, the in-betweens when he needed me. To just hold him,  listen, love him. Have patience -not let my anger, my relationship with his mother...simply allow him to grieve.

I'm not sure what this story is about : birthdays, death, birth, or just forgiveness, maybe love.
All of the above. This is what I know....  today is my son's birthday and it is a peaceful  day. I am so grateful for all the love in this home, in my heart right now. Happy Birthday my sweet Matt. I love this man, my husband- who has given me Matt and Katie- who I love like crazy. We have had a roller coaster ride of life together- that I would not change for anything. It's just life,  being willing to take the ride,  never knowing where you will end up.   I love being on the ride with Raym.  No one is more fun and makes me laugh as much. It's time to go on another ride, I am ready for The Carousel. Softer and gentler is my speed right now.

The Gift

I am sitting here listening to The Carpenter's on my son's record player. They are my brother's records, and I am lost somewhere in time between the 70's and now.  My heart is hurting, but not down and out-just split wide open. It hurts because there is fresh air hitting it, and I cannot identify this feeling. It also hurts because I lost something that I could never have in the first place- until it left.That is the fresh air hitting it.... it is all for such a good purpose, but such an indescribable pain, I could not and would not have had it here, ever in this lifetime with my dad. We just didn't connect very often in that way. We had our moments, but I had my expectations.... and he had his.We both were sorely disappointed and fell short.

The thing about being a writer like any other creative.... it is how we express ourselves. It doesn't stop when someone dies or tragedy strikes, at least it kicks in for me even more. I write more when I am severely bummed out. Never was one of those happy writers. I could write for  hours about the endless oceans waves of darkness and abyss rolling me out to sea. My hubby will laugh heartily about that. I think he has memorized that charmer. Even in my darkest hours, he would quote me on the abyss of my soul.  I have many of those stories handwritten in a box.

I am no longer at that stage of the abyss, I am just realizing life's interesting timing. Anyone who has sat with someone who is in the the hospital or ill- sometimes time seems to take forever, when really it is just a couple of weeks. You are in this time warp and have no capacity to understand you can never get  any of these moments back. I have heard it over and over- but I didn't understand it. It was tiring, confusing, doctors telling us one thing, a new crew telling us another. My dad was made of steel, outlasting everyone and everything. Even with  poor health, he wasn't going anywhere.The doctors said it was a miracle he was alive at all. He nearly lost all his blood at home, then was brought into Emergency and had a heart attack ( which apparently was the least of his problems.)

Something profound is happening, I cannot put into words without making them sound garbled. I feel him in the purest form. No anger, no frustration, no disappointment, just love. Something I never fully experienced while he was living - in this form.
I knew he loved me, in his way.  He carried so much pain, physical and emotional, that it was hard for him to reach out to anyone. He had his place in the kitchen, day after day, night after night.
The radio was his best friend.... the window with the curtain pulled back was his view of the world.
Every once in a blue moon he would venture out with his friend for coffee.

His world was the kitchen and his bedroom, where he slept in a chair the past four years - because he struggled breathing. He had been hooked up to oxygen the past ten years. I think had he been 'Joe Schmo' down the street my patience, compassion, so many things would have kicked in more, it did sporadically. Reading this after I have just written it- I would judge me as a terrible daughter. I can only speak the truth of what happened and what needs to heal. Depression that was never talked about ran so deep. I weep for him  had he been helped, really loved through it he may have had a different life. Unfortunately I inherited those genes that were never "talked" about. Having to watch a father who could not move at times, completely paralyzed by anxiety, depression, life.

Pretending doesn't skip a beat in their house even with his passing, perhaps even more so now.This is where I am changing.... or the gift my dad is giving me now. Be myself all the way through. I am turning fifty one Saturday. When is enough - enough?  I realize in many a household this dysfunction continues.... I have fought so hard to heal it in my own. I need to let it go in every part of my life.Talking about these unpopular things that we have had to keep in the dark, such as depression. Why do you think people stay depressed - staying in the dark.


The only way I have found to heal.... telling the truth. Feeling my feelings.
Allowing my pain to come out, as well as my joy. Letting go of what was never mine.
Filling up the well. Letting love in. Not complicated stuff.  Maybe that is why I feel my dad around me right now so much- the best birthday gift to me. What I have always wanted. His love.

Say Hello For Me

I am like a child on Christmas Day wanting to cram in so much writing. Not that my feelings are bubbly, frothy and overjoyed- they aren't and don't need to be. They are pure, raw and mine.Undiluted, to the point and flowing- a writers dream. My heart is not blocked and heavy by others points-of-view, judgement, rationale, punishment, burden. For the very first time I am in my own head enough just to let my thoughts flow freely and stand in my own truth.

My heart cracked open in a new way yesterday, it has over the past month and hasn't stopped. Saturday was the Memorial Mass. It was beautiful, a family friend said the Mass, and knowing our big Italian family for well over thirty years, how chaotic we were - and of course it was all about the food. Loud people and food. But a very nice tribute to my dad as well.

Listening to my oldest brother give the Eulogy, I learned so much about my Dad through my brothers eyes.The girls were our mothers / the boys were our dad's. Lines were drawn so many years ago, now it was time sitting in this Church to decide for myself, what did I choose, what did I believe? How did I feel? Was it time to let go and decide for myself through my eyes, as my fathers daughter.

The little girl whose life depended on him at three years old in Children's Hospital, when doctors told my parents I wouldn't make it through the night, laying so ill with pneumonia.
He wouldn't leave my side for two weeks. I would cry even when he left for bathroom breaks.
I remember every moment. As my father lay dying in the hospital, he said to me, " Clare, do you remember that little girl?" I immediately burst into tears. I was three years old, yet I remembered then as I do in this moment that little girl. I was in a ward, with many sick children at Children's Hospital. That little girl had leukemia and was dying. Her parents had abandoned her, and my dad ( I'm sure it was unbearable for him to see her alone and dying) would go over to her crib, hold her, trying to comfort her. In all my three year old fear, wanting only my father, would get very upset. I never understood what he felt as he said through the years,  "Clare, do you remember that little girl." Of course I remembered her,  she took my dad away. How could I have possibly understood at that age anything else?  I understand now. Dad, I told you it was your turn, I wouldn't leave you. I kept my promise.

We got so far away from that through the years- really far. I was so happy to have the opportunity  for forgiveness with each other. Time to sit together even when you weren't conscious and just be. The greatest gift for me was bringing you back to the place I was most comfortable with -Hospice. Sitting in that room, like I had with so many others- it was different this time though. It was you, now the rules were different. I comforted, supported, held many hands- but I didn't know what  it really felt like. I was simply an observer who cared deeply. I knew because of Grandma.... but with your own parent suddenly it became much more real, and felt very different.  It hurt different.

Yesterday I felt you with me, through songs in the store, everywhere. Saying the same thing. Let go. It is all the same message- forgiveness and love. I am listening in my dreams - I hear you, feel you. It was impossible in life to have this- too much water between us.  I have always loved the song "The Water Is Wide." Perhaps that is how I will think of you now. I know you are at peace, I finally feel it. I am sorry you have suffered so much in this life. I wish I could have known you dad.... really known the man you wanted to be. I think now we have a really great beginning- now you can be the father you always wanted to be, and me the daughter. Say hello to that little girl from Children's Hospital for me dad. I did get the best part of you- I just didn't know it until now.

The Record Player

Time suspended, sleep escapes me. My body, muscles, heart- feel heavy and burdened, not quite right. Not unlike many who have gone before me, and will walk beside me, many who will yet have to walk this road.  My Dad died a week ago tonight, and I feel even more disconnected then I did then. The Funeral is on Saturday, and I want it to go away.  Some of the bonds that were formed with family members are further damaged, while others are miraculously healed. Who would know or believe. Today was the first day in two weeks I have had time to just be, cruise in my car and feel by myself. I am not even sure what it is I was looking for- I just kept looking, searching for something. Some sense of balance.

I am listening to Carole King, with my head phones on. Ray sits beside me  on his computer and all feels right with that. He is my North Star. "Child of Mine," by Carole King is on right now. I have been spending a lot  of time at my mom's house this past week, more time than I have in such along time. I went into my Dad's room. I sat on the chair..... he  slept in a chair the past three or four years because he had to sleep upright to be able to breathe. I looked around his room. It looked so sad. I wanted something to hold onto, a memento, a feeling, a thought. The Quiet was deafening. My heart felt so empty, yearning for something that wasn't. I roamed upstairs, where I spent my twelfth to end of sixteenth year. It wasn't a long time in this house, it is not warm and cozy and welcoming for me. Simply a dwelling I visit.

I searched for something up there.... perhaps a piece of my past that I let me know that I existed.  I rustled through the Christmas Stuff in Joe's old room- found a box with my Grandma (on my Mom's side) stuff. Found a few old pics but it kept my heart yearning. I meandered out to the garage, a true no man's land. I looked at my Dad's old Florist Stuff and felt such pain and exasperation. "Why in the hell did you keep all this crap, Dad. What memory did you leave for me to hold onto?"

I looked over to a bunch of old record albums on the side of the garage. My heart let out a sigh. Music- maybe he was leading me to comfort after all. My brothers old albums, all my favorites. Beatles, James Taylor, Beach Boys, Gordon Lightfoot, Simon and Garfunkel. Those and more were the ones that got me through as a teenager and on. I asked my bro if  I could borrow them, and my heart lifted. Raym said he would pick me up a record player  this week. It has always been the music, writing.

I have been very angry and frustrated at the father I had. I forgave him, which was like peeling an onion over the past couple of weeks at the hospital. The pain of what wasn't .... and now allowing what possibilities in from another dimension are the most difficult. Just letting it be, letting the forgiveness soak in, and let him be a true father from where he is now, without all the baggage. That is where the steel around my heart crumbles.... the little girl comes out, and I suppose the true healing really will take place. I guess honesty is all we really possess.

I look forward to my new record player, my records, and hours of my past love of music and song merging with who I am today..... and just let it all be.

The Counter

Ok, I am sitting here watching Dr Phil- and this dumb b---- is sitting on the stage making excuses why she  allowed drugs and drinking  in her teens home, then blaming the kids. The kids feel insane as she keeps saying "no," it is everyone else's fault.  The kids, cops, other parents -as she stares blankly. Okay- this isn't even what my story is about,  way too much work, don't even get me started. I will never stop! What did get me revved up was actually tongue in cheek humor from this broad. Dating back, you guessed it:


Clare's School 101... From a Sixteen Year Old- All you need to know and more. 

I was thinking about when I started waitressing, and what I learned about peoples behaviors, and how it has served me to this day- when the red lights go off. Run don't walk. Now this is the real me.....
so if you aren't into my story at this point of the game, best be closing up shop and read something else,  I feel like letting it fly. Anyone who really knows me.... knows how tame I have been writing.  I love words, usage,  tone, meaning, shock value. Yes- "shock value".
 Too much Catholic School that never leaves me.  Pleasures me to no end. So here goes and if you think I am not grinning from ear to ear, hmmm.

So, back in the days of waitressing at sixteen, I was learning all about life - and people's behaviors.
First I will talk a moment about mine. I have something that I don't know what it is called- numbers dyslexia?  To this day I get numbers mixed up. I can't even explain it, but they get jumbled up in my head. So, back to waitressing. In the restaurant I began Hostessing first- and couldn't remember where all The Stations in the restaurant were.
It was a big place and all the girls had there favorite customers. They wanted me to put their regulars on their Station, but couldn't get the numbers straight in my head. The first four or five were fine- but past that they would get jumbled. These babes thought I was doing it on purpose. First of all, I wasn't smart, angry or cunning enough to pull off such a feat. I had not learned the female ways of the world to pull off such sabatoge. To calm my jilted nerves from these savage beasts, I would bring whole pies into the bathroom, place them up on the unit that held the paper towels for drying your hands. I  kept a large spoon there and would dig in when I got stressed. I am an interesting gal pal,  I know.

Can you imagine customers walking in, seeing this yummy pie perched up high, with a huge spoon rakishly laying in it? I would feast on that sucker until it was history.
I moved around a lot- I have always been hyper, and the sugar probably made me even more nervous and forgetful. These chicks were older and had worked this place along time, they were not having it with me, complaining constantly. Who could blame them? The managers had many "talks" with me. "I know you can do this if you just focus." Um, no, trust me, it's not gonna happen. By the time I became a waitress it was a million times better, I only had to focus on six stations. My life became  much easier, not to mention these gals got their perfect worlds back.

I had to do a lot of night shifts first, the morning shifts were the much coveted ones.
Working the Counter was the job no one wanted and that is pretty much where  I started.
Whoa- interesting crew. Now I know why one of the girls always unzipped her uniform way down in the morning and let her jugs fly a little more freely than usual, and they were some big bazookas.
She tripled her tips. I was sixteen, went to Church a lot and pretty much just stared.
Of course it was mostly men who sit at  The Counter. Now when you are very shy, come from an extremely Catholic Home and have no idea how to talk to boys let alone men- you do a lot of observing. I had just turned sixteen, starting Junior Year. This was my first real job after just coming off of a Summer of being a Camp Counselor at a Catholic Girl's Camp in Wrightwood.

I worked until 9 pm and management would try to push it later and later. The Counter People that came in as the evening grew later were very interesting. The Hells Angels Bikers, interestingly enough were the ones I feared the least- even to this day.  Again: Clare's everything you learn at 16.
They  very nice and the type that would have walked me to my car late at night. The gents that actually scared me the most:
The TV Preacher type that came in with their families on Sundays dressed nice and proper. Good family men. Then the same men would slither in some weekday evening as if I hadn't just waited on them , their lovely wife and children.... and tell me how"They liked my bedroom eyes."  First off, I had no idea what the hell they were talking about,  but it had bedroom in it, and second it was gross.
I was sixteen, they were a lot older, married and TV Preacher slithering in.That was one of my greatest lessons about trusting my intuition. Those kind always said the grossest things to us.
They looked so clean cut- but said the most repulsive things. To this day.... Ray can see it coming from seven years of waitressing. Okay, that's "One of them."  I just can't help myself sometimes. It is a look. You can just spot it. "Would you like some dessert?"  " Yes, you baby on the counter." By seventeen I wouldn't blink an eye and just say you are so original. By twenty I would say," Yum, how about you on the counter for dessert ," as I was bringing out my other orders, ringing up the register and clocking out.  I would be fired in two seconds now for what would fly out of my mouth. I  like words, very descript words. I met amazing people, and it wasn't just one type- but that was the type I am laughing about today. Believe me there were many!

For Halloween we used to dress in Costume each year. Some girls dressed as Playboy Bunnies. I would rather have shot myself. Even wearing my long hair down out of a bun was too much of a reveal for me. I dressed in twenties style one year. I don't think people got the romantic look. I did and loved it. I will post it. Believe me.... I was as wild child as they came.
I just didn't like gross, invasive and still don't. I am private- even though I am very public at times.
I learned so much from waitressing, I never realized  I would learn so much about life and keep applying it today.
I used to wait on Kenny Loggins Dad at The Counter.  I didn't really care or pay attention all that much, to be honest. I am pretty sure I was too interested in getting back to my pie in the bathroom.

Reinventing The Spencers

The past couple of days have been a  nightmare and heavenly. My darling has begun his vacation,
letting down after such a large scale project has not been easy, to say the least. The feelings of  coming back into the family, integrating again after being emotionally in another space for so long- it takes Raym awhile, and probably me to let the drawbridge back down.


This time around we realized some major changes took place from this particular project.We both changed so much. This was the biggest project of his career, and the Introvert had to come out of his shell and become a different person over the past few years, lead in a way he wasn't used to. I delved into writing in a way I had not before, and even deeper into my life. Dug in - tore it apart to find out where I needed to go, who I am all, the way through. Whatever that meant, and wherever it took me. We were both in foreign lands.  Our kids are grown, but  all still live under the same roof- we are a very close family, and communication is a very big part of our lives. It is always very evident when someone is out of step, out of tune.

Ray had to trust himself, that he was making the right decisions at work. Use his gut, raw instinct which he has always lived by, this time it was very large scale.  I was using this time, letting my instinct delve into the deepest part of remaining skin that needed to be peeled away. The past few months as deeply as we respected one other, our worlds seemed so far apart. Our love always there, but sometimes when you are so "in it," getting through challenges, white knuckling it, beyond grateful you make it through.

That's what the past six months have been like for both of us. It finally materialized the past few days, when there was time to come together and feel, release emotions that had built up. Things we didn't even know existed. As with our relationship- this can go way back- to the beginning. Until it is done, cleaned up... it is never done. I will never care what any theory is said about this. Remaining residue is just that- if there is still hurt, pain, stuff hanging in the air that is still incomplete- it stands between you.

The depth of love we share-  burns so intensely. We have always stated to one another we want to die in each others arms. The thought is unbearable not to be together. It is just how we feel. I say to him, "You better stay healthy and live a really long time, since you are eight years older than me.You are the best part of me, I have fought harder to find out who I am, because you  have stood beside me. Behind me when I have fallen. I continually reinvent who I am , as you do. It is who we are. The gift of  our children, this family makes me work harder every day to be more, better."

The advantage of stripping life down to the bone-  feeling clean. It takes everything, and feels like you will never be done walking through the fire. Today I feel like I am finally beginning.


What do you think break ups and divorce are all about, by the time they get there. Over spilt milk, I don't think so- there are so many things leading to that spilt milk or socks left on the floor. It is usually raw pain of not being heard, misunderstood, not feeling loved. We  were no different. The pain coming from growing up with parents who were not present. This is not about "poor us".  It is about understanding, those of us, any of us who grew up with Intimacy Issues. Letting down and letting another in, trusting. It doesn't matter if you have been in a relationship six months or thirty years- letting down all the way, fighting fair- opening your heart in your deepest pain and knowing, believing that person standing in front of you will still love you for you. Not looking at you in disgust as the tears start, and  roll through like a steam rolling train with no end in sight. The shaking, the anger, the grief. Showing this and more, all of me, my vulnerability, will you still want me? If I don't say the words perfectly what are in my heart in the heat of the moment- am I forgiven?

This has been the past two days, reinventing The Spencers on the deepest level. Telling the truth, but wait haven't we done this one million times? Oh, but this one went deeper. Ouch- do you still love me when the truth is less than pretty about the beginning? My neediness, your unkindness? This is the price we pay of uniting with no roadmap from either side, just love and a whole lot of hope.We wished, yet had no plan- I liked you and you liked me. We married and had babies and life felt like bliss because all we need was love until.....

I didn't understand how to balance a checkbook and you had no concept of time. I figured out family and you figured out work....  never a plan we just stuck to what we were good at. Time went on, we realized what we lacked. I need more in the Work Department - I want to find my way. It is time for you to be less Workaholic and participate in Home Life.We both feel so ill equipped, and shed more tears the past few days, realizing the changes that need to occur. Our shortcomings, what we had to overcome just to get here. A life time. Now the reinvention, the love, the one thing we know for sure that always gets us through.  Forgiving ourselves for our perceived imperfections, each other for hurting one another, never on purpose, it is because we are so close. I have never been as ready for this next adventure wherever it leads. We're both more than ready to turn the page and see what is waiting for us.

Marriage and All That

I  have been writing stories in my head since last night, which is nothing new, but what is new- is
wanting to write about marriage. My marriage and marriage in general. I was thinking so much about life, as Ray was sleeping so peacefully next to me until I  finally drifted off to sleep.
I was thinking- why are there manuals and classes for the dumbest things in life that you will never, even use. But the most important ones, relationships, marriages, parenting and  raising children- how did that get left behind in the mix? At least when I was saddling up my Dinosaur back in the day- Mrs. Ruthie Reader was teaching us Home Economics in High School.  I learned to fake sew and fake cook. Do a  Fashion Show with a polyester shell top I think- or was that when my mom put my sister and I in Sears Sewing Class? It all gets a little muddled.
 Not that I learned to be a  cook and wife from that. In the early days I  still  left  all the insides of the chicken in while cooking it. I was twenty one, just made sense to put it in the oven- guts and all. Sure it was yummy. I have a pretty darling husband , he has never said, "Your food tasted like hell- I forgot to mention "We have known each other thirty years. In December we will have been married twenty nine.
We were both definitely Clueless when we got married. I was twenty two, he was thirty. I believe our sense of humor is the strongest thing that has kept us going through the tough times. Sometimes you just have to laugh, and believe it or not we do with each other every day over the most ridiculous things. We usually try to out shock, out- whatever each other. Love and support is always there.

To tell you the truth, we both try to rack our brains about some "Romantic Proposal", neither of us can remember. The  thing I do remember, I knew he was the one for me. What we did know- we wanted to be together more than anything. Neither of us were particularly great prospects on the outside looking in. I was getting married again for the second time at twenty two, ( first time at eighteen) and wouldn't get a divorce until Ray pushed it, and took me down to City Hall.  I didn't get it, I was twenty one and immature, I couldn't see why or  how that could affect Ray or anyone else.  I was dragging my feet, but the truth was I liked Ray so much- I was scared to get a divorce and didn't want to make a mistake again. I knew I had found the right one- but how could I explain that to anyone at that time?

He was living in a Bachelor Pad- not terribly motivated and you know when I was making more than him at times as a waitress..... well, the truth is I never let him leave the Coffee Shop I worked at, I was a smitten twenty year old. He  was renting office space in a depressing building,  having just left The Bradbury Building downtown. The economy was in a recession, and little work was to be had. I still thought he was a regal beagle. We moved in together- and were honest about it with both sides of our family. No secret keeping- that went over big!  His mother disowned him, and mine did the equal version with me.

I think the reason Ray and I are so similar ( even though it appears on the outside we are different as night and day) is that we both wanted the same things. We both wanted normalcy after coming from insanity.  The benefits for us  having similar backgrounds-  an understanding and forgiveness
for behaviors that others might have abandoned ship long ago. Even we wanted to abandon ship on each other at times. There has always been this underlying forgiveness, love, understanding, even and especially when the rage, anger, tears, " I'm divorcing you look" comes out.
Right- anyone who has been married along time doesn't know that look- than right on to you!
Overcoming things together, just as every couple learns- is just part of the ride.

I think sometimes we expected more hurt, more pain to chew on- gave us more character to build.
That became the biggest BS myth, it just was more pain we became conditioned to from past experiences.We could not allow the good, success,  love, and support. The challenges, the fear, the mayhem became our way of life, living.We had to let go step by step, who wouldn't want to let go of all of that? When it becomes part of who you believe you are, your identity, there is sorrow in saying goodbye. In the final parting- saying goodbye to the beliefs, myths and people  as well.

This is where Ray and I now stand,  changing,  growing,  learning, feeling like babes- in -the- woods- of- life at times. It is time to welcome this new skin we are shedding. Just as all marriages, relationships must to move forward, grow - stay current, or face wilting. A rebirth takes place constantly, sometimes for one, or both. Other times inevitable endings. Marriage is that secret place no one tells you- where change is the only constant to thrive. It is that big wave you ride,sometimes  watching a beautiful, golden sunset together- other times falling under a riptide where you can't breathe, panic. Middle road is good, walking along the beach dipping your toes in the water. I am ready to do some soaking up the sun, playing in the waves and just seeing where the day takes us.

The Mount Charles

Patience is a virtue....  I think that is the number one thing I was put on this planet to work on. My darling hubby said he would get around to writing this story,  I do believe him in his Libran sort of way. He will think about it, weigh it, mull over it- ruminate. I however am a true Lioness,
Leo through and through. I think about it, and that's that. Let's do it NOW. That's pretty much how the average Leo rolls. We  don't let any grass grow green under our feet. Much to the detriment of ourselves many times- we are reactors.
Well, the Libra has spoken... and has joined in on this story, This is a collaboration and we are laughing as we retell this story of our lives together. First time collaboration on writing a story.

The "Mount Charles" has a lot of names that Ray came up with. It was originally  a Chevrolet Monte Carlo that I bought  at eighteen years old with the first hub.  I thought this was a very regal ride, after all, I was sporting a  blue Ford Pinto perched in the driveway.
Now with so many choices of cars, why a brown Monte Carlo at Hertz Rent A car you might ask yourself? I have no idea but perhaps I saw it on a commercial or thought it was super regal.
I wheeled out of that used Hertz Rent A Car place like I owned the road. I can't tell you how fancy I thought I was, all eighteen years old, Farrah Fawcett wanna -be- do and all.

That is how our story begins. Flash forward - selling it to my parents two years later, trading it in for a red 240Z and the single life. I was one happy gal pal. Flash forward once again  about  five years, married to my Raymond with two kids in tow.  One of our cars had broken down- blown engine, and we need another pronto. Enter The Monte Carlo, Mount Charles, Carlitos Way, as Raym had renamed the beast.
Out of desperation we bought it back from my parents. I was no longer eighteen, now twenty eight, how did that happen?  I am very hip to the fact that this car is very uncool. No way in hell I am driving this beast, I have a four year old and a new born that I am toting around in this ride. No way, Raym is doing this, I will drive the Subaru wagon.
Raym had started working in Culver City at a film Company, after always being self employed. This was twenty five years ago, and his first  step into the entertainment world  after working for Doug Trumbull, who had  originally started the company. This was Ray's first gig as an Art Director, so most things were new and he was winging it, feeling a bit out of his league. What was with this entertainment world?

One day as Ray was parking "The Carlito," at  work-  (by this time he had figured out to park it across the street in the Carwash Parking Lot, so no one would be the wiser) the headliner dropped even lower than usual on his head- dropping the beautiful fairy dust that it produced from above. If anyone has ever experienced a drooping headliner -this silt stuff falls out and doesn't stop getting all over your head and shoulders. It doesn't stop raining on you, especially in older cars.
Other drivers just see you with this veil of lining draped ever so gently all around your head and shoulders, like the warmest shawl.   It is a sight to behold.
 On this particular day the headliner decided to detach completely from the roof and do a super low rider on Ray. When he came back from lunch, however there was no more parking in the Car Wash across the street. What to do what to do?  "No one will notice if I park it in the corner,"  brave young Spencer thought. Later in the day a coworker said to Ray "Who drives that super ---- ---- car, a busboy?  "I don't know" he said, slinking away.  Later it was quitting time,  Ray usually beat feet out of there at a carefully scripted time..... before or after the rest of the crew to avoid being detected anywhere in the vicinity of the Mount Charles, let alone inside it,  especially  by the higher ups!
Unfortunately on this particular day the executives were chatty, (the president and VP's etc) decided to walk Ray out. What else could he do but fumble with his keys next to the closest BMW. That was like playing russian roulette, what if the beamer was one of theirs? All was well, they drove off.... and Ray shuffled over to "Carlito's Way." "I art directed this move " he thought triumphantly,smirking for sure at getting away with this accomplishment.
After leaving the parking lot, and driving round the corner, he stopped at a red light, looks over at the car next to him..... a shiny new Jaguar,  the carload of VP'S  he just left in the parking lot are just staring at him nodding and acknowledging his presence -  now the headliner is permanently draped over his head and shoulders- where did the BMW go?   The headliner foam was now raining, pouring down on him it's remaining contents. Staying the cool cat, he nods a friendly wave- turns bright red, slinks down and  drives off as the signal changes to green, acting cool but dying inside, as though this is an every day occurrence. Humility knows no bounds.

This makes me laugh thinking about him acting cool- I would have run out of the car screaming, explaining, laughing, I don't know.

We all start somewhere,  everyone has challenges with each stage of life.
We always will. I think it is about being able to laugh about them along the way.
Constant circle of reinventing ourselves-and just appreciating every step!

By the way the Company went bankrupt so who had the last laugh? Maybe the VP's are driving the Mount Charles now!

Watermelon

I have not felt like writing in awhile and the last few stories have been so serious that it is time for something that is humorous- at least this one makes me laugh!
Matt reminded me of this one as we were sitting here eating watermelon..... so here goes.

Back in 1980 at the tender age of 18 I was waitressing at a restaurant in Pasadena on Arroyo Parkway, a recent newlywed, and I actually thought I knew what was up. Hmmm....
My oldest sister and I worked together, she was the manager and we worked the morning shift.  She came in at five a.m., me at six fifteen. I was the laziest sloth imaginable to mankind at that age. I probably crawled out of bed at five thirty, powdered my greasy hair ( because I am sure I  allowed no time to take a shower) and I bet I put on a wrinkled uniform. We had to wear our hair in a braid, bun or pony tail- (pretty sure that is why I still wear my hair back to this day)

I lived about twenty minutes away, so I was always late-  this did not go over well with my sister/boss. It would get very busy in the morning,  and with only two gal pals working the whole place, you had to get going. That is where I learned my people skills, how to juggle many things at once,  and deal with hungry, angry people. It still comes in handy, especially now.
 
I never appreciated the skill it took to work half of a restaurant  the first  four hours of our shift without a hostess, while my sister took the other half. (It was a large place. ) It is a well oiled machine when it works, when it doesn't it is complete chaos. We liked it because we made most of our tips that way, before the other gals came in to work, but the hustling was intense.

We would have fun in the mornings and crank up the tunes. Disco was very in at the time, so we would just rock out as it made our mornings very entertaining and fly by. When the Restaurant Manager came in by ten, we would turn it down again. We had many regulars that came in once, twice, sometimes three times a day.
Some we didn't mind.... others, hmmmm.

The lingering gents always sat at the counter, and somehow had a "sixth sense" when we were the unlucky waitress working that section. Such a thrill to pour seven thousand cups of coffee to the same person all day. And no way-they would be back four times by noon, not to mention the afternoon. You're kidding.....

There was one special gent that took a liking to me.  I was  just a year out of high school, and as I said newly married. This fellow had a Gas Station next door to the Coffee Shop, and I would gas my lovely blue pinto up every week there. He started coming in more than usual it seemed, but I didn't really pay attention, until  he started parking  himself on my station everyday.
He was a rather interesting looking fella. I can't say he would have ever been my type, married or not.
It wasn't just because it appeared he didn't bathe frequently, or sweat profusely. Or..... stare constantly.
That didn't throw me off. Did I mention his breath? Or hair?  Oh, guess not- maybe later.
Maybe it was the way he would seductively shout my name..... "Cuuuuhhhhlllaaayyyrre."
All the while trying to get close to me with the smell of patchouli oil, B.O. and other stuff going on .

But alas,  there was one constant with this sexy beast- he ordered watermelon everyday, rain or shine.
He was watching his waistline..... but this is just a guess, I am pretty sure he may have been partying on something else other than watermelon when not at the Coffee Shop.  He was a  bit of a big fella,
and not on the tall side. I am pretty sure I was a few inches taller than him- which made it even worse when I was near him. It was okay when he was sitting down in the booth, but at the gas station he would get as close as humanly possible to me and  be level to me and my neck, or quite possibly a little lower. I could feel his dragon breath on me.  At this point of the story you are saying, "So why didn't you just beat feet and get gas somewhere else?" Well, I was still a very good obedient Catholic Girl, and he was a pushy,  strange as hell man that I just felt like I was supposed to get gas from and fill my pinto.

One day "Watermelon" decided he was going to leave more than his buck or two tip.
He left two- one hundred dollar bills. Well, that watermelon must have been pretty darned good I guess.
He said I deserved it- I felt a little uncomfortable, but okay Mr. Watermelon whatever you say.
Next time I go to get gas..... by this time I usually had to pay some type of penance like sit in his office and hear him talk and stare- this time he decides he wants to tell me something. Hmmmm.

He cuts to the chase. I know I hadn't eaten nearly enough rice pudding yet, or was it tapioca?
"I want you to be my vwoman." No I didn't add a "V", that's how he said "vwoman."
I wanted to snarl, chuckle,  yelp, gasp......

"I give you credit cards, apartment,  car, money... you come to me two, three times a week."
Okay, I really have not described this dude. He was wider than he was tall...... with the greasiest  hair slicked back. Yum.  I just sat there in disbelief wanting to laugh so hard.  I am friggin' eighteen.  He has to be in his late thirties at least, not to say that by twenty I didn't go out with a forty five year old-  but that was different.  He wasn't Watermelon, and he wasn't proposing I be his what?  What was he going to be my Sugarmelon? I tried reminding him I was married, with my plush pinto ride and all. That didn't sway the fox, he was married too. Things were starting too get a little uncomfortable and a little too real.

He gave me a really hideous gold necklace  and   some other jewelry that I threw away.
 Consequently I didn't go into Watermelons Gas Station anymore.  The final  joke is when his wife drives up in his big, red corvette. She hands me the keys and asks me if I want the Mercedes or the Corvette for the weekend.  I said neither- but they would not take no for an answer. It was the most uncomfortable situation I can tell you. I gave my brother-in-law the keys and  I am sure he had a rocking weekend.
The humiliated look on this  woman's face.... the horror on mine.

Watermelon gave it one more shot when he brought this older, very freaky man with bulging eyes staring me over like I was a steak dinner. I didn't get what was going on- Maybe in retrospect they had a thing for waitresses and wanted a harem.  Couldn't I at least have had a looker?  These fellas were an interesting crew, I just couldn't get into their style anymore. They knew it wasn't happening-some secretaries across the street I now noticed were sidling up to them. They were older gals.....
probably in their thirties,  but when you are eighteen they may as well be one hundred.

I think I will write more about some of the interesting customers-  had I not worked there I would not have met Ray two short years later. By then I am sad to say I was pinto-less. I sold that beauty to my sister, had to keep that gem in the family. I did have a fine brown Monte Carlo right after that- that I actually picked out and thought was as cool as a cadillac. Hmmmm. The next story must  be written by Ray, because that car got sold back and forth between my parents and us..... and he ultimately inherited it.
Now that story can only be told by him and it is pretty funny.
Memories are good.... we can look back and see how far we have come and have a good laugh at the ridiculous!

I Will Follow

How can it be seven thirty? Where did the day go?  It feels like it has been one of those lost days.
I am laying down on the couch with the computer on a pillow propping it up," Hoarder's"Marathon is on the television and Ray is watching. That is when I know my hubby is stressed, I  am starting to get into the groove of it today. When I am tired, I am like a restless,  irritable baby,  having no clue or ability to comfort myself in the moment. I decided in my delirium it was a great idea to organize the kitchen and have a bake-a-thon.

Why rest when you can be a whirling dervish?  It's just that it takes me hours to figure this little bit of info out to calm down. I just have to work it out and my family knows it. I did whip up a killer spinach-lentil soup.While I am in this mood, I grab for the chips to console myself, and get very salted out. Hmmm, by now I look like I am ready for labor and delivery.....

I have been writing all week about the situation with my younger brother. He overdosed on pills the beginning of the week, and has been in a facility - what the aftermath has been. Last night Ray and I went to a Preview Party for his work. It is a very busy and exciting time in his life, yet between the two of us, it was very difficult to get up with the people and celebrate. He is absolutely exhausted from his schedule,  and I am wiped out from this family situation.The turning point was when we met up with our dear friend who flew in from Pennsylvania last night, to celebrate his part in  the work he has done.  This was a real treat. The second treat, our daughter was coming to meet us later in the evening.

Ray went to meet up with Katie to let her know where we were, so I sat and just chilled out and chatted with our friend. He is a very sensitive man, and I am so grateful  he understood where I was coming from. (I didn't have to over explain myself) Ray and I  had such a great time with him in Pennsylvania,  we felt so welcome- it was wonderful to be at this party and just let down. I was telling him what the week had been like, and for some reason I just started talking about my parents. We were sitting at such a busy place.... so many people at this shindig, and I just didn't care. Life is just real when it is, and opportunity comes. You take it or you don't.

He and Ray have a lot of similarities, so I feel very comfortable with his personality. Every time I see him, I tell him he looks like Kenny Loggins ( he does) this time without the beard. As he talked, I realized how they both have had to modify their behavior - as artistic personalities to succeed. He  along with his brother  now run the company their father started. He is a very artistic, thoughtful, soft spoken man. The industry he works in is very rough, burly, masculine, manly man.When he gave me a tour with my hard hat on- through the facility last time I was there, I had to really put my game face on. It is very male dominated..... and I felt it every moment I walked through it.

I realized the same for my hubby,  how much he has had to change. From the  easy going artist sitting in his studio painting, having his own schedule..... (music  playing, shorts on, us just cruising around together when we felt like it, ) to- being responsible for huge projects, many people, and getting so far away from painting, drawing, quiet. Meetings, presentations, speaking in front of Presidents of Corporations,travel, heavy expectation to succeed.  Striking a balance.... and finding their voices. That was the point exactly what my friend was trying to tell me about my parents. It is time to find a different voice in myself with them.

I have always come so much from my heart, much to my detriment. I have worn it on my sleeve.The conversation with my friend last night about being so angry, frustrated with my mom. It has been all about my expectations. I thought I was always adjusting them, but listening to him last night.... I think I finally got it. Just as Ray and him have had to put their game faces on when they have to take the lead, that is what I now need to do with my parents. Take my emotion out, do the the best job I can.... and just be kind.

Ray has told me this throughout the years, my sisters have said the same thing- but my heart always gotten in the way. Why is it I have had so much patience with Hospice, dealing with someone else's family members, but no patience for my own?  Hearing from a non family member simplified it. I hear how lonely my mom is - she just wants to go for a drive, or out to lunch. I can do that. I am behaving no differently than her, if I am constantly commenting and judging her on her behavior,her negativity. It isn't working- she knows how I feel. My friend is right. He simply stated, "How about just trying to love her?"  I don't know how and what I have done hasn't worked in the past. This has been a week of total surrender. Surrender of my expectations. Of the past, what never was.If I am going to put my money where my mouth is- it's easy to talk about this when I am in the environment I am in at home, surrounded by love. Time to open my heart in a different way. I don't even know what that means as I write this, and it no longer matters. What I do know.... I am willing. And with that willingness- I will follow.

It's All For A Reason

Having liberated my fears about family secrets and shame,  I think I may be seeing a sliver of light at the end of the tunnel. Possibly it could be the beginning of a new tunnel. Writing about personal things,well I have been doing it for some time. But I have been doing it more or less about my own life, feelings. Yesterday I talked about my brother and what it has been like  dealing with him taking too many pills.The aftermath of many things he has gone through and how it has affected our family. Mostly denial. I think the tide may be changing....maybe miracles are happening or being allowed to happen through this.

I spoke to him last night- he simply just wants to come home, doesn't want to take advantage of the facility he is in. The reason I am talking about this, I know many people go through this- keeping secrets only makes people feel ashamed. Shedding light on this, while unpopular- we all need a hand,whether we are the one crying out for help, or one who is trying to figure out how to help. It is a lonely, isolating place to be. We have been down this road many times with my brother. He feels better then just wants to go home now and figure it out on his own. He has the ability to "act" very normal in front of the doctors, pull it together so he can just move on down the road. Then the cycle starts over again.

This is no longer okay with me. I have stayed very removed from my family  for sometime now. The crazy making - made me crazy making.  I brought it home to my family every time, it hurt them. I don't have a switch to turn off my emotions, I get very involved- want to fix the hurt. It eats me up inside. I want to do anything to make my brother better. Open my parents eyes.... right out of denial. I do not have these super powers. I have tried my whole life to extreme detriment. Super enabler queen. The only thing I can do is walk away at times.

When I put boundaries on- the rage comes out of my brother, my parents. So be it. But through the years I changed and grew. This time I was finally ready, prepared to come back into the fold. I realize I had done enough work.... I finally came back the adult, no longer the child. Fifth out of sixth looking for approval. Life long battle, it has ended. I came back for a different purpose now and I know what it is.

I have been talking to my oldest sister again through all of this commotion with my brother. Real forgiveness is taking place between us, I feel it in my heart, my soul. It is no longer just pretty words between us as in the past. My middle sister and I have been working on this for sometime- it feels as though we are getting even closer through this situation with my brother.

But what I realize in talking to both of them-we are getting ready for something else as well. My dad is pretty ill. None of us talk about anything in a real way. We use joking, sarcasm, whatever we can to get through. We have lived in a void- we were not allowed any emotions so we don't know how to relate to one another. Humor is all we know.When real feelings come up, especially about our parents I don't think we know what to feel. We watch others and pretend to know what it is like to come from a loving family with a mother and father- but it is only acting.

We just don't know what to do. We rarely saw love, mostly anger and disdain for each other. Contempt, disrespect, undermining- which then translated to the siblings. Undermining is where we have the problem and none of us really trust each other. It reminds me of the show, "Survivor. One sibling tells the other info.... but they tell a better tale. Who do you now believe? That has been our reality. My parents then tell yet an even better tale when angry at one of their children. Then who do you believe. Deep down we know the truth... we always know our turn will come, there is where the real pain is. There I believe is where my brothers pain is. He is the youngest out of six. He felt left behind in the mad house. I carry guilt that I left him there.


I know this is about wrapping things up. Getting back to the union of my sisters and me, the purpose my dad. He has very little breath left in him. His oxygen is no longer working well. Today a visiting doctor is coming. He will not go to the hospital, nor has he ever been in one his entire life. He was even born at home. He has a laundry list of health problems and his time, we know....  is coming to a close. It is time to make peace. My oldest sister spoke of it last night and she is right. Every time my brother has had a relapse of some sort- it has brought us together temporarily.Maybe this time it is for another reason, the three sisters are going to get together for the first time in years soon. We can no longer put off discussions my mom can't deal with.How can I blame her? Her son and husband have been never ending needs. She can barely see, drive or has any energy. I work on forgiveness and patience everyday. I know her life has not been a happy- or easy one.


What I am learning- it is what it is. I just need to show up now when I can. Too much has happened between us. I will stay open to all possibilities.  I have spent my life trying to love, please, honor them. Now I will simply be with them.... learn patience, silence, humility.

Keeping Secrets

Yesterday seemed liked one of the longest on record and saddest.
I  got a message from my sister, my brother was in the hospital again- I wasn't quite sure what had happened. He called her at three in the morning sounding very incoherent. As I write this, I feel I am  betraying some sick family secret I need to protect - I have done my whole life.

Obviously I have a need as a writer, a human being to relate and not stay in a cave anymore about this.
I know millions of people experience this- it is just that I have been so well trained to keep secrets.
I don't  want to carry so many anymore, the load weighs too heavy. I don't know what normal is sometimes.Yesterday I felt like I was hallucinating being around my mother and brother. It is not that I don't love them, I just can't play their pretend game in life and haven't in so many years.

I picked my mom up yesterday morning to take to the hospital to see my brother. Talking about everything but what was in front of us- I was going insane. Radio gets turned up louder as she droned on and on about the nothingness of life to avoid any real feelings. I do not do well with that on the best of days.

  He was in the hospital because he had taken too many pills.This is his fourth time in a hospital/rehab for  similar things.( Ray and I have admitted him three) I am feeling every ounce right now, not pretending. It hurt to see him paranoid, asking me if everyone could read his thoughts. If I could read his thoughts. Talking about the transmitters in his brain. My tears flow as the brother I love so dearly was someone I didn't recognize. He looked like a homeless man, wild eyed, crazed... confused, frightened, disheveled. Not the one I knew. Where did he go? Even writing this seems inconceivable to me. How can this be, it can't be true.

Earlier in the morning when I first called my mom to ask how my brother was- my usual question, I already knew... my sister already told me. But my mothers answer as usual, "Oh, he's fine."I blew a fuse. I was so tired of hearing he was fine. Fine is not calling an ambulance at 2 am going in the front yard barefoot in your underwear -waiting for the ambulance to arrive. Fine is not coming in on Mothers Day in a suit jacket- only and  your underwear on under it. Others acted like it was perfectly normal. I haven't been in a family situation in years, I was freaking out.

I love my brother. I have done everything I can to do- to get him help through the years. When there is so much denial surrounding the situation- it is a difficult to do this. I am worn down
from trying, caring, not knowing what to do, and most of all being his mommy. The letting go is the hardest part. I am  about six years older  than him, (ever since I was about twenty- I have been with Ray) I have felt like his parent. Getting him out of jams, so many things then we don't talk for long periods of time. This past one was in November - he went off his medication and I told him his behavior changed, he needed help. Immediately he cut me off. Boundaries aren't cool in my family. Saying how you feel can take a punishment of five years and upwards at times. I know, I have paid it with many of my siblings. I have not been a popular gal by any stretch.

I was talking to Ray about the face I show most of the time- usually smiley.
I really feel  like I have been a Warrior in battle for so long and I want to lay down  the gauntlet and just live my life in peace. I no longer need to prove I am strong. I know who I am- what I am capable of. Coming from this crazy making family that I have felt the need to protect- for God knows what reason. It's what  we were trained to do, and trained well. Protect the sickness at all costs. Yesterday, what I heard the whole day from my mother : How sick everyone is, with illness, death, disease, hopelessness. Hope we all don't die from some weird disease that's passed down in the family. My energy level was plummeting from not being able to grab some food all day, my brothers paranoia, and my moms cheery disposition.

What I took away from it-  I left this madness. I made a conscious choice many years ago to work my butt off and flee.To feel alone, frightened, not ever knowing where the road would lead- running wildly into the night,  just find my way the best I knew how. I could not breathe with these limited beliefs I grew up with. This fear, anger, shut down-ness.

Now I need to know I did my best. Yesterday I showed up, I got my brother into a facility again after the Hospital. I sat with him all day and listened to my Mother drone on and on about our impending health crisis to come. Later  that evening Ray and I went back and brought him clothes and essentials. He was calmer, now I need to be. It's time to let other siblings take over for awhile. I love my brother, but I need to let him do his work, and I need to do mine.

Hero

I am  traveling down such a windy road today- the windy road back to memory lane. I have no idea what led me on this particular one, especially talking about my first hubby, who I have never  really written about.  I have not really had much to say. Today I am owning more of my past, actually started writing an outline of a book I feel like I am ready to work on. It just finally makes sense to me, writing about "year sixteen" of my life . I made some serious headway in the  Coffee House where Katie works. So it seems my fingers want to go back to good old fashioned paper and pen- so be it.

To tell the story in this book, so much of my life would involve Jeff.  Thirty two years ago May 31st I married him.  Today I was watching "The Theresa Saldana Story" ( A Lifetime Movie) brought it all  home again. It is the true story of an actress who was brutally  stabbed multiple times, by a Scottish man who became obsessed with her. My hubby (at the time) was a Sparklett's water delivery man working in Hollywood- who happened to be on his delivery route near her apartment building and heard her screaming. He ran over and risking his life, subdued and stopped the brutal attack, and consequently saved her life.  He became a Hero overnight which was very difficult on him. I was waitressing in Pasadena, and I had just left him about two months before. 
 I met him at sixteen, married at eighteen, by twenty had become a different person- I had grown up and was no longer a teenager.

He called me one afternoon and told me what happened (with the stabbing) and our lives were never the same after.We went to the hospital that  same evening with a Police Escort  (because of nuts who come out and follow you, so they took us in unmarked car) and were told to pretend like we were still a couple. So the lies began.The All American Couple Lie which became unbearable for me. He had a girlfriend living with him who was extremely unhappy that I was with him. It just kept snowballing into crazy making.

We attended all these functions which were lost on the twenty year old in me. I was overwhelmed, couldn't talk to my friends because although I hadn't changed, they treated me differently-from a distance- likeI had something to do with Jeff and Theresa's newfound celebrity.  In reality- I would go home and cry because I felt  so alone. I remember one customer that I waited on (he always sat at the counter)  a "regular"- looked at me and told me you are nothing and don't ever think you are. He was an older man that used to be an actor. My mouth was just hanging open.

Jeff and I didn't talk- I cannot ever know what his life was like. He was on Larry King and every other news show.  He had people coming at him from every arena wanting his attention. Then the phone calls for both of us began. He had very scary violent people calling him. I started having people calling me in the middle of the night - just breathing, then hanging up,. I had never lived by myself- so I was scared out of my mind.  Jeff told me to expect it,  I thought maybe he was doing it to scare me. He was angry.

 One Sunday morning, as I was pouring coffee to a regular customer, I glanced at his Newspaper and  to my surprise a photograph of Jeff and I, along with an article about him, are on the front page. I am looking up at him adoringly.... right on que. I was doing what I thought the good wife look would be... lovingly gazing at my hero man that I am pretending to be smitten with- yet don't even live with.

Later, a reporter from the LA Times wanted Jeff and I to sit down and do a story together- not just him. We were not getting along so great by then.  I said we could do it at my apartment, which I shared with my sister.
The reporter got there early-and I finally cracked. I just didn't want to play anymore. It was one thing in the beginning to pretend like we were married for security reasons. Theresa and her hubby were also separated at the time as well. The whole thing was kind of a joke. Make it look cute for the media.
But this was my life- I had enough. She was a very cool gal as I told her the situation. Unlike some reporters, she had scruples and honored my feelings. She understood  between us what was up-  at that point I didn't care what BS went on, I was done. Write whatever you need to... I just am not lying anymore.

The last thing we went to together was a Victims For Victims  Charity Event that Theresa Saldana had in order to raise money. It was at some cool place in Santa Monica or Downtown and the Stars were out that night.

The best part was that no one gave me the heads up on what to wear. It was a fuschia prom-type dress with poofy sleeves and big giant hoopy thing on the bottom. To top it off I had baby's breath in my hair. Everyone else is slick Hollywood Cool in black.Yep- felt right at home. I was two years out of high school, completely out of my element and Jeff didn't want to be anywhere near me by now- so angry that I had left him. Me and my big fuschia dress swished around this Event trying to be very inconspicuous.

Watching the movie (which I haven't been able to find, nor have seen in years) this afternoon on my computer, the tears came and didn't stop. I never realized or had the maturity to see what really happened to Theresa. How brutal her attack was. We visited her several times, once at the hospital  then at The Motion Pictures Home for Actors ( which is no longer there.) It just all seemed like a weird drama to me. They all seemed so much older to me at the time- I just couldn't relate.

One thing I learned-  I had nowhere to turn. People make decisions about you,without knowing you.
it is such a bizarre situation to be in- so isolating. I just wanted a friend to talk to, instead seemed to get my fair share of people who wanted their moment in the spotlight.  I just wanted to hide and be protected for  just a little while. There would be none of that... I felt raw.

Ray would come in where I was working and ask me  how hero was during this time.  He was with someone at the time- I never told him I was split up.
Also att the time my best friend had Jeff in her wedding- but not me-  she knew we weren't  together anymore.  You can bet he was the "Star" of the Wedding. There were definitely some painful times through all of this. I learned the different characteristics  of people - that has helped me to this day, I am grateful for that.  Even the sheer "aloneness" I felt from not having support or comfort from others taught me great value in counting on myself. I became so much stronger at such a young age.

The happy ending to this story... finally one day Ray asked again how hero was.
I finally let down my guard, trusted, told the truth. No more hero. He told the truth- no more gal pal. He asked me out on our first date that day, thirty years ago this June. I wouldn't change one ounce of my life, it made me who I am, and happily married to the love of my life.

They're Just Not That Into You

 They're Just Not That Into You
 Those words are definitely not for just the dating crowd! I am thinking of all the friendships I have had-  realizing when one party is just not into the other. It can be a very slow death. One that I have been in lately-  and is definitely in that category. The thing about situations like this which happen to all of us at one time or another- we can learn from them, ignore what has happened and just move on business as usual, choose to get very offended, ( let's face it- who hasn't?) the options are never ending.

The friendship -  is now more that I think about it, an acquaintance from days of past. The days of youth-dom.  I think we put more stock into this time because our emotions get so riled up.We may remember things that mean something sweet from the past, the other person may have no memory whatsoever, or we could be the clueless one with someone else's tender emotions.

What conclusion I came to this week, I suppose today in particular by putting all the pieces of the puzzle together. Pulling back enough to look at myself and say- whoa girl, where have you gone? This person from your past gave less and less- as you tried to hang in there, not knowing their personality of present- all these years later. Something hit me time and time again in my gut- this feels like I am trying way the hell too hard. I felt like I was giving away myself, for what?  Waking up felt really good.


Some friendships were never meant for more than, "How's the weather". Others blossom into the most beautiful lifelong treasures. We never know where things will land. It is always interesting to see the effect someone from our past  has on our hearts. How they touch us- irritate us, push us, shake us up, make us think, help us grow. Fill our hearts with love, heartache, passion, so many emotions that mingle with the adult of today. It is always an interesting and sometimes uncomfortable dance until you learn the steps. Accepting the gifts that come with it.

I learned with this one, about myself more than anything which I am so grateful.  I learned patience in hanging  in there even though I knew long ago this person just wasn't into me. I wanted to believe in the sweetness of my past- perhaps our past that I wasn't ready to let go of. At times I felt somewhat undignified from such little response from this person. But ultimately, it was okay. It was always this persons choice to cut bait, mine as well- we are both adults. Maybe neither were ready for our own reasons, control, power, fear, need for forgiveness,  simple sweetness of the past. Who knows and it really doesn't matter anymore.  What I realize is  there is always a tinge of pain when it happens to you-when someone is just not into you. I have done my fair share and I guess it was my turn for the wheel of life to spin round in my direction.

 Change did come - stepping out of my Princess flats - into my Queen heels. Owning my power knowing, being willing to feel my feelings, all of them and move on. Wishing my friend well-  glad they have been a part my of life- for me to stretch, learn, grow.  From the past to  present day- thank you.  

The Road To El Dorado

Walking into our home last night felt like the most amazing thing, after a long day on the road and then the airport. This week away has seemed like a year mainly because I have shed so much skin.
I feel shot out of a cannon this morning, disoriented in a way.  I slept more last night than I have all week. I am wrapped in a cocoon of love.  I never realized until now- how truly grateful I am to be in this place in my life.

I went to Santa Fe, The Road to El  Dorado literally- to meet with a man who has been  doing meditation/healing work with me. Simply put- letting go of the past. Things that were getting in my way, holding me back.  To get to his home,  I had to overcome my fears of driving way the hell out in the middle of the New Mexico desert by myself. That scared me to no end. Santa Fe in itself is a very confusing town to navigate, then throw in being very bad at directions- and having all your fears come up and time to face them.
Cool mix.

The work I did with this man I have to say was  intense to say the least.  For the past thirty years I have been working on myself, but that was stepping stones upon arriving at his door. I fought like a wild banshee to lay down the gauntlet of my ego. It was probably one of the toughest things I have ever experienced.
Being away from home, altitude sickness, fears coming up like I can't tell you- and time to face the skeletons in my closet. No excuses, just do it.

We worked two hours at a time each day- I never have cried so solidly,  mourned so much loss - I didn't know was in my body. He dug out things that were from so far back. Over and over throughout the years I had been told to let go of my story. The hurts and pains we repeat over and over again.
The next person we retell the infection to- emblazoned brighter,  more lavish, details crisper each time.
 Please understand my pain, don't let me be alone in my agony. I don't know where to put this massive weight- burden.

This week, I finally connected with laying down the story. The  greatest, most dramatic story of my life.  Cinematic version: The Story of Feeling Unloved.  Beginning with my mother. I let it go after fifty years - I finally buried it, laid it to rest. I really was sad, terrified, frightened. Who would I be without my story with feelings of rejection, unwanted, unloved by my mother?  I was more terrified of this than anything.
Just letting in  the love in that I am worthy of,  allowing myself to be loved- just for me.

Of course every challenge came up this week to shake me to my core, have me run and hide and say I can't do this. I wanted to give up- be rescued. Believe me. But  I knew it was time for me to show up on that beautiful white horse and rescue me. That I was worth it. If I am the damsel in distress, I will show up. If I am a child frightened huddled in the corner- I will show up. Strong, proud , brave- again, I will show up applauding myself for the courage it took- instead of berating myself by saying..."that was nothing loser."

This week is the week of acknowledging- showing up for myself. Crossing the finish line.
It feels like I tore down it all so I can begin anew. It is Spring. The rebuilding, regeneration, renewal process begins.   Was it hellacious bootcamp. Beyond. Would I do it again- in a second.

Facing My Fears

It is interesting when ready to face our fears, the situations we will put ourselves in, challenge ourselves to see what we can handle. How far we have come in our own lives. Everyone has their own marks- one persons frightening event is a walk in the park to the next. Really who is to know or judge?

I learned for myself what hidden ghosts lurked in my closet the past few days. I thought myself to be fairly independent.  But the ghosts of the past reared their frightened little heads- they were ready to be revealed. Finally they wanted to come out of the dark. I am writing this from a hotel room in Santa Fe, New Mexico right now.  It is a beautiful sunny day outside, and tomorrow I will be once again there. But for today, I needed to learn some valuable lessons. Letting go.

I have had great anxiety about this trip for days. Katie and I came together for some mother - daughter bonding time, also for another reason. I have been working with someone who has been a very insightful teacher to me, especially with meditation. I wanted to come in person instead of just doing work over the phone, and through the meditation CD's.

I didn't realize the angst it would bring up coming, being the adult. It wasn't  being the adult as much as finally doing something solely for me. It was one thing to tag along on Ray's trips- take care of my family or anyone who has needed me. That has been my life's mission. To help whoever has needed my help. Now apparently I needed my help. I listened to my voice- from a mere couple of weeks ago.You need to go to Santa Fe now. Just for me - just because, that was a hard one for me to justify.


My anxiety level rose through the roof, the child in me was losing it. The night before I left, I was weeping like an inconsolable child, clinging to my husband. On the way to the airport, as I tightly gripped his hand... tears endlessly streaming, I began to understand. This was similar to me going off to College.When I left home at sixteen, full of anger- head full of steam and fully detached from any real emotions, I was able to just leave. No one saying goodbye, we'll miss you. It was just,"I didn't know your phone number." Really, that was the best you could manage?

I was finally feeling what it was like- now with love to go off into the world. I was terrified. I finally allowed myself to  reconnect to that wounded young girl.


The biggest terror  today- when I was driving to the house  I needed to get to from my hotel. It was out in the desert, and I had another melt down. I called Ray-  he has a photographic memory, and as he was sitting in a traffic jam in LA, talked me through it. He knows this side of me, and calmly told me which freeway to take. It seemed so silly that I was so upset, but I realized never having any guidance growing up, it was all coming back when I was  now forcing myself to do it on my own. This place was way out there, in the middle of nowhere.

By the time I got back to my hotel,  the headache I had from last night had increased. Something wasn't feeling quite right, and by this point, very little was making sense. My vision had been slightly blurry for hours, but I am good at ignoring things. I was driving into town, and I knew I was going down for the count. I called Katie ( she was shopping nearby) and told her I needed help.  My arms and legs were getting tingly,  I told her I would meet her back at the hotel. I could not figure out how I was going to get back to the hotel, nothing made sense anymore.  Somehow I got there - told the girl at the front desk I needed help, and she called an ambulance. I didn't want one- but I didn't know what to do.

I felt so out of control, ridiculous, but felt like I was going to  pass out. Last night we had dinner with a friend of  Ray's - so I had Katie call him. I had such a hard time letting people help me, felt so embarrassed. Everyone was so kind, so helpful. Altitude sickness is what  the diagnosis was. Never had it before- combined with not sleeping for several days and so much anxiety. It hit me hard.

It was all about letting go, trusting I was worth it. My worst fears were being away from home and something happening. Well I was, and it did. Guess what? I was loved, taken care of- just because. I am so good at doing the taking care of. I love it- makes sense to me.  Time to let go.
Let the real love in- the all the way through to the core stuff happen. Ask for help when I need it- even and especially when I am scared and cry like a baby.  It makes me stronger and able to love more fully. It opens my heart. Letting go of fear, pain, the stuff that is pushed so far down we didn't even know it existed. That is what this trip has been about.

Tomorrow will be the day to explore the City. I will go to the oldest church in the country, and many museums with Katie. Music and dinner. Life.

My daughter took over and was mother to me today. I couldn't see straight. I was humbled by her grace and love. I am learning- to let the love in.

Telling The Truth Faster, Just A Thought

This week I have recognized in myself some things I have pushed so far away, I thought they could not be real- only in others. Isn't that the biggest joke, the things we see in others -bitch and moan about. Couldn't possibly be like that, we are so above it, then blast, one day when we let our guards down enough, allow ourselves to look into our shadow side. Now I am not talking about anything rash like full on gander in the mirror. Just a side swipe, a glance will do. But holy crap- who was that? It could not possibly have been me staring back.

That's the kind of week I have experienced. The biggest  act of denial I have been in- Ice Queen. I am just warm and fuzzy and that is that. Right. I am in my present now, everything is left behind all accounted for. Check that one off- over and out. But, as I was exercising in the garage on my trusty gazelle which I just love while watching Nancy Grace- there was a story on about a child abducted from her home. I watched as her parents spoke to the press, faces full of the worst grief imaginable.

I felt horrible for them. I felt total sympathy, but what hit me hard- no matter how hard I tried I was incapable of empathy. This frightened me, I couldn't understand what the hell was wrong with me. What kind of monster was I? But I thought back over and over again to these situations. My same blank face.
I finally got it, having grown up in a home where my parents had very little empathy, especially for their children- our wellbeing ( other than being watered and fed) I had no comprehension of this behavior.

Of course, very different emotions, if this was for my own children, their friends, etc- but we are not talking about this.This is the blind spot in me. The child watching to this day inside of me, saw two people crying for their child- out in the world. Taken from them, devastated, beyond grief stricken. I saw no signs of this in my childhood. How could this make any sense to me? Nothing, just blankness coming across my face. It is not for lack of love, caring, concern that I am behaving in this manner. I have done so much work to heal, and then some.But there comes a point where I have  to forgive myself for some of my behaviors, simply understand that certain damages from the past stay with us.

What I understand in this moment from writing this- I can become more tolerant of other peoples stucks, owies, hurts. I have judged certain people, situations, things so harshly I imagine mainly because I could not forgive my own stuckness. It is what it is. What if I simply just put a bandage on this knowledge, sent it off lovingly with a pat on the back and wished it well.

Could I not possibly move forward faster, tell the truth faster, forgive easier? I understand these are just all notions spinning in space- I can take them in, or not. Putting a bandage on some of those owies sure seems a better notion than constantly picking off those scabs. After all, it's just a thought.

Goodnight Sweet Princesses

I had a conversation with a friend this week about some interesting things, but especially one in particular that we had  many years ago. She said, "Do you remember when you said you didn't think you would live a long life?" I said I did, and was quiet. I am quiet now thinking about those words.  I am sad thinking about them, and it is time to put them to rest.

The ghosts of the past haunted me, and I thought I, too would be carried away with them.
The first death that haunted me the most, a girl named Julie, who was eighteen when she died.
We were Camp Counselors together in Wrightwood, at Camp Maria Stella. I was fifteen, turned sixteen that summer. She had just begun her first semester of college, and  got killed in a car accident the summer after camp. Julie was a long, blond haired beauty. She was the Nature Leader, and in the evening we would sit around the Camp Fire as she played guitar. It was the first time I ever heard, "Secret of Life," by James Taylor. She sang it so beautifully, effortlessly. It seemed as though she was this ethereal creature.

Around that time- another girl, Mary (who was a receptionist at St Lukes), who I thought was a
creature more beautiful than words, lost her life. She wrapped her car around a telephone pole. My sister was good friends with her and a girl named Ellie. Ellie and Mary were two beautiful girls about seven years older than me.
I would watch Ellie and Mary as though they were Princesses. They fascinated me, especially at an impressionable fourteen years old.  I just couldn't figure out how anyone could be so thin or beautiful.
I learned soon enough.  One summer  before my fourteenth year, when I went back packing with my church-  I learned how the girls stayed so thin. Bulimia. Binging and purging. From that summer on I was bulimic-and stayed that way for 25 years... I knew that is how I would die.  Along the way, another one of our friends Jean died in her home. She left four small boys.  It was the first time I heard, "Perhaps Love," by John Denver.

I never realized how I marked so much death by music until now.
Then would come Ellie. My idol, the one who taught me the secret world of bulimia- she died in her home at thirty four of a heart attack. She left four small children behind. Katie was  about a year old. I wished it were me in the coffin. The pain was too much. I was twenty eight years old, just waiting it out for death to come calling on me.

Just get it over with already. But it didn't come. I waited, believe me.

As I am writing this it feels rather unbearable to go back and feel all these feelings again.
I loved these girls. I have always had a hard time forming close bonds with females for many reasons, but I think I am beginning to see even more why now. They go away.

It is time to put that to rest, to trust- open my heart to life. Risk. Let this pain go.
Life is here for me now.
I am listening to "Golden Years" by David Bowie.
It is now memories of life that are marked with music.

The View From The French Windows

As I sit this early rainy morning listening once again to my old tunes, I am feeling very reminiscent of days gone by. As Cat Stevens plays in my headphones, my fingers type rhythmically to his voice as though we are in our own passionate dance.

I was actually listening to Elton John a few minutes before, and my mind wandered across the street, (from where I lived as a child) and many years back to my best friend's house. Inside it felt haunted and run down. It was always dark. Her dad never came out of the kitchen, and we never went in. It was creepy.The french windows are open,  and Steve Miller Band or Led Zeppelin would be blaring on her stereo. I was into more mellow stuff like Cat Stevens,  but was known to groove  to her tunes in my brown cord bell bottoms.
This was around 1975, we were in ninth grade. We had a neighbor down the street who was heavily into weed, and my neighbor and her had themselves some good times. I tried a few times, but ended up eating everything, and the refrigerator. Hmmm.... that would be my luck. This friend down the street was a total hippy chick. The longest hair I had ever seen on anyones legs and underarms. She was very pretty, but always kinda bitchy to me. Clearly I was not a cool hip chick.

One time I was in hippy chick's house, there must have been twenty cats roaming about. The scent was,you could say somewhat interesting. Maybe my two friends were too stoned to notice. I just wanted to flee. I moved to the hood in seventh grade, so I was late to the ways of these gals. All of us went to St Luke's for grade school, but this girl down the street by now was in tenth grade, a woman of the world. Thinking back, I'm guessing she may have been a baby drug dealer.
I was too busy doing cartwheels in the front yard and baking lots of chocolate chip cookies.

 The funny thing was- the good girls I grew up with, the Good Catholic Girls  parents thought rocked the casbah, were actually the ones you would never want to bring home. The ones doing the most drugs, drinking heavily - having  sex at the earliest age ( with numerous abortions.)

However, due to serious repression, they/ we all knew how to put on our best game face,
and get what we needed to survive such ridiculous rules. My home was  equally ridiculous, so out of control that I was able to slip in and out much easier than my fellow cohorts. We all had the same  "burning in hell" rules. Some of us just took it to the extreme, more than others.

I have always worn my expression on my face- not a very good poker player. Now, my friend across the street. She knew how to play the game, as did another friend of mine. The funny thing was,
across the street gal liked to do her drugs- another friend down the street (not hippy chic) liked to hang out at church and had a thing for priests. I seemed to always live in alternate universes,  this was no different. Neither liked each other, so I just snuck out while Aerosmith would be blasting from those french windows across the street. I kew she was watching- but I needed my freedom. Always have.

Onward to my friend "church girl's"  world. We would go to mass sometimes twice on Sunday, so she could see her man toy priest. My reward for such dreaded boredom- getting a bag of nacho cheese chips and  half gallon of milk and sitting on the choir loft steps when everyone was gone. Now, that was my idea of a party. (Yes- I was a food head from the get go.) If you had to sit around and talk about fifty something year  old bald eagle plain wrap looking priests with personalities to match at fourteen. Well I am sure I had chocolate gem donuts to wash down the chips and milk.


This gal, it would appear to be squeaky clean wholesome princess- was worse than the other one. Anything went with this wild thing. Now, she looked like a librarian, that's what would throw anyone off. At the time, I had  platinum blonde hair, my sister would call me a "thirty year old divorcee."At this point I had  barely kissed a boy.  But... I looked a little wild, a little Lolita-ish.

Funny, the innocence of youth, when you don't have a clue....Those days are long gone. As I sit in my home now, listening to the music that brings me so much comfort - still. My friend across the street's home was torn down several years ago. A new one built. Not long after, someone moved into it and shortly after killed themselves.  I wonder what ghosts still haunt that house.

Powerless

I am restless, that tired, irritable feeling like when you are a child and the day is too long. So I decided to  just write and calm down. I put my headphones on, I'm trying to  retrain my brain to deal with life in a new way, instead of eating a huge bag of potato chips. I feel like I am pretty darned good at feeling my feelings, but someone I am working with right now has taught me that I need to go much deeper. Why when we feel like we are finally  at least a freshman in high school, do we have to go back to kindergarten?

I guess that is part of the process of letting go. Letting the new stuff in, getting rid of our never ending egos. Telling us how absolutely amazing we are at all times, or the other end of the spectrum, what a complete loser we are.  Middle ground rocks. What I am learning more than anything- it is okay to feel powerless. It always reminds me of the waves that come crashing in on the shore. Some are so humongous they could carry you out - it seems you might never see land again. Others just tickle your toes in the most gentle of ways, as the sun is setting. Life could not possibly be more perfect.

It just depends what moment,  hour, day, you are at the mercy of the sea.  A riptide could come, or not. One thing is for sure, allowing the waves to wash over you, riding that wave goes so much smoother no matter what strength they come. The wind has always calmed me, lifted my soul.Whatever strength, form it comes in - I could not be giddier. I have been this way since I was a child.

Feeling powerless in the waves. Running away from the tears, the pain, the anger. Allowing them to come, it releases so much that has been stored up - but I understand now, I don't even know what I was fighting. I run so fast and far, until I am crying in Target with audience included at no extra charge.

I laugh - I cry.  They are just emotions that I happen to be in touch with. They are only emotions. Like anger, fear, sadness, joy, love. It is part of life, to attach shame to tears - seems like such an outdated thought process.They are necessary to release emotions in order to move forward, just as laughter is necessary. I  held shame in my past for being "sensitive." I am also a lot of other things. That is one dimension of me. I am learning, by being sensitive it has allowed me to be in touch with my feelings and enables me to write.

I can also be a detached, cold as ice human being which I take no pride in. This comes from nothing but damage from childhood, which I work on daily- to open my heart. I love letting those waves wash over me... see where they take me.  It's all in the not knowing.