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.
Friday, April 27, 2012
Thursday, April 26, 2012
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 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.
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.
Sunday, April 22, 2012
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.
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.
Introspection
Heavenly aromas are wafting in from the kitchen, Matt is whipping up something truly scrumptious fro dinner tonight. I hear Katie in her room rocking out to Stevie Wonder. The birdies are chirping outside my window as I am writing this. I am sleepy, but the writing bug will not escape me until I put pen to paper.
I just took a bath, and as I was relaxing, my mind started drifting to the graduation we went to yesterday. My thoughts went everywhere. First, I was so proud of all the hard work and effort Josh, the graduate put out to make this happen. Secondly, I was thinking about the woman who gave the commencement speech. It had to have been the most self indulgent speech I have ever heard in my life.
I felt so badly for the graduates- ninety nine percent of her talk had nothing to do with them. It was pretty much her credentials, resume, her emptiness. She was supremely puffed up for fifteen minutes prior to this agonizing thirty minutes all of the attendees and graduates had to endure- by the school administration. So, she added forty-five minutes to the graduation, stumbling through, bragging, but most importantly- giving nothing on this day, the day which belonged to the graduates.
How many times could I get up for a drink of water and bathroom breaks? Answer- not enough. I no longer cared. I needed to breathe, stretch my legs, think. Looking around, watching others standing in the back squirming, wondering "What's it all about Alfie?"
People from not only around the country, the world are here on this day of days.... to celebrate their child, relative, friend. This is what they get to hear this woman's life, as we get dragged into her complete vacuum. Sheer emptiness, vacancy, trying to fill the glory days she used to live - on their dime. Again this was their day they worked so hard for. No inspiring words of hope. Just her life.
My mind wandered to the man standing nearby, and I began to feel sad. He reminded me of a friend of ours who had died a few years ago. He looked like him when he was younger. That familiar "knowing,"- time is fleeting. Little reminders along the way. Say what you mean to say. It can all sound so cliche, but it is so simple.Yet the hardest thing to do when put to the test. To forgive, love. Letting go of anger, hurt, resentment, old wounds, pride. Allowing love to come in. Takes enormous risk. Surrender. Taking the barbed wire we have so carefully laced around our hearts down.
Not for the feint of heart. It takes time, trust is involved. Sitting outside on that beautiful Spring Day, yesterday made me think of death and rebirth. I have been that self indulgent woman speaking when I am afraid and want to be heard. When I have been at my emptiest, nothing to give. Of course it's so easy for me to point the finger. But I always have to turn it on myself as well. Takes one to know one. I wish for her peace too. I can't say yesterday I did. I just wanted her to shut the hell up, to be honest. Today, writing.... ah, the frigging gift of writing. Introspection. Hmmm.....
I just took a bath, and as I was relaxing, my mind started drifting to the graduation we went to yesterday. My thoughts went everywhere. First, I was so proud of all the hard work and effort Josh, the graduate put out to make this happen. Secondly, I was thinking about the woman who gave the commencement speech. It had to have been the most self indulgent speech I have ever heard in my life.
I felt so badly for the graduates- ninety nine percent of her talk had nothing to do with them. It was pretty much her credentials, resume, her emptiness. She was supremely puffed up for fifteen minutes prior to this agonizing thirty minutes all of the attendees and graduates had to endure- by the school administration. So, she added forty-five minutes to the graduation, stumbling through, bragging, but most importantly- giving nothing on this day, the day which belonged to the graduates.
How many times could I get up for a drink of water and bathroom breaks? Answer- not enough. I no longer cared. I needed to breathe, stretch my legs, think. Looking around, watching others standing in the back squirming, wondering "What's it all about Alfie?"
People from not only around the country, the world are here on this day of days.... to celebrate their child, relative, friend. This is what they get to hear this woman's life, as we get dragged into her complete vacuum. Sheer emptiness, vacancy, trying to fill the glory days she used to live - on their dime. Again this was their day they worked so hard for. No inspiring words of hope. Just her life.
My mind wandered to the man standing nearby, and I began to feel sad. He reminded me of a friend of ours who had died a few years ago. He looked like him when he was younger. That familiar "knowing,"- time is fleeting. Little reminders along the way. Say what you mean to say. It can all sound so cliche, but it is so simple.Yet the hardest thing to do when put to the test. To forgive, love. Letting go of anger, hurt, resentment, old wounds, pride. Allowing love to come in. Takes enormous risk. Surrender. Taking the barbed wire we have so carefully laced around our hearts down.
Not for the feint of heart. It takes time, trust is involved. Sitting outside on that beautiful Spring Day, yesterday made me think of death and rebirth. I have been that self indulgent woman speaking when I am afraid and want to be heard. When I have been at my emptiest, nothing to give. Of course it's so easy for me to point the finger. But I always have to turn it on myself as well. Takes one to know one. I wish for her peace too. I can't say yesterday I did. I just wanted her to shut the hell up, to be honest. Today, writing.... ah, the frigging gift of writing. Introspection. Hmmm.....
Saturday, April 21, 2012
Golden Haired Boy
The Golden Haired Boy- with wild curly hair, that is how I will always remember him.
I was racking my brain today thinking back how old I was when I first met him. I want to say 8th grade, but was it 9th? I don't recall when he started working at the Ice Cream Counter at Thrifty's. My memory goes in and out. I do remember going up after school with my girlfriend from across the street.
Everyone was in love with The Golden Haired Boy. He was adorable, friendly, sweet and had the best smile. Many of the girls from St Luke's were smitten, I can only imagine how the other girls swooned over him. I know I did.
I liked Golden Haired Boy for many reasons. He seemed like he always had a tan.... did he surf?
He was smart, I liked his mind. He was only two years older than me, but he seemed so different than other boys I knew. He seemed truly kind and sensitive and had the kindest, warmest eyes.
I felt so sheepish around him... he affected me.
Meanwhile, another girl was having a major reaction to Golden Haired Boy, as well.
Many knew about this girls undying love for him, as a matter of fact. Tag.... in her mind, heart,
he was hers. When she claimed something- that was that. I was arch enemies with this other girl.
Not from anything I did really - I just happened to become friends with her "best friend." She claimed people, tagged them, and that was it. In her mind she "owned" them. I was just slow on the take. As I write this over thirty five years later, I feel so sad for the naive girl I was. I migrated in friendships. I never was a "since kindergarten til' death" kind of gal. I liked who I liked. If it worked - fine, if not, onward bound. That was just how I lived my life.This particular girl was not happy that I became friends with her best friend / my friend. She was not shy about letting anyone within earshot know this.
Golden Haired Boy and I went out once- this girl found out about it. Unfortunately she saw me in his car with him. This was not good, and I knew I was in for it. I was fifteen or sixteen, and she again told everyone within earshot I was .... not a very nice word. Her rumors about me swirled. This hurt me terribly. Her parents were very rude to me, as were my friends parents. She yielded a lot of power through her anger. It devastated me. I did not understand the ramifications of doing something just for me simply because I liked him . I was not friends with her. He didn't seem to like her, but the die was cast. She has had hatred for me... that seems to have lasted to this day.
Golden Haired Boy changed me.... he was so interesting, full of life, questions, visions of things I could not grasp. He was too much for my heart then. He was so real. I was too shy, swimming in insecurities and fears that I could not conquer at the time. I could barely look him in the eye, it was unbearable. I felt like he looked right into my soul.
I never saw Golden Haired Boy again since those days. Perhaps he is a farmer in the midwest, a doctor, a movie mogul, a lawyer, a truck driver, who knows what became of him. I am sure he is doing something interesting.
He sure made many girls hearts flutter back in the day, I am sure he still does!
I was racking my brain today thinking back how old I was when I first met him. I want to say 8th grade, but was it 9th? I don't recall when he started working at the Ice Cream Counter at Thrifty's. My memory goes in and out. I do remember going up after school with my girlfriend from across the street.
Everyone was in love with The Golden Haired Boy. He was adorable, friendly, sweet and had the best smile. Many of the girls from St Luke's were smitten, I can only imagine how the other girls swooned over him. I know I did.
I liked Golden Haired Boy for many reasons. He seemed like he always had a tan.... did he surf?
He was smart, I liked his mind. He was only two years older than me, but he seemed so different than other boys I knew. He seemed truly kind and sensitive and had the kindest, warmest eyes.
I felt so sheepish around him... he affected me.
Meanwhile, another girl was having a major reaction to Golden Haired Boy, as well.
Many knew about this girls undying love for him, as a matter of fact. Tag.... in her mind, heart,
he was hers. When she claimed something- that was that. I was arch enemies with this other girl.
Not from anything I did really - I just happened to become friends with her "best friend." She claimed people, tagged them, and that was it. In her mind she "owned" them. I was just slow on the take. As I write this over thirty five years later, I feel so sad for the naive girl I was. I migrated in friendships. I never was a "since kindergarten til' death" kind of gal. I liked who I liked. If it worked - fine, if not, onward bound. That was just how I lived my life.This particular girl was not happy that I became friends with her best friend / my friend. She was not shy about letting anyone within earshot know this.
Golden Haired Boy and I went out once- this girl found out about it. Unfortunately she saw me in his car with him. This was not good, and I knew I was in for it. I was fifteen or sixteen, and she again told everyone within earshot I was .... not a very nice word. Her rumors about me swirled. This hurt me terribly. Her parents were very rude to me, as were my friends parents. She yielded a lot of power through her anger. It devastated me. I did not understand the ramifications of doing something just for me simply because I liked him . I was not friends with her. He didn't seem to like her, but the die was cast. She has had hatred for me... that seems to have lasted to this day.
Golden Haired Boy changed me.... he was so interesting, full of life, questions, visions of things I could not grasp. He was too much for my heart then. He was so real. I was too shy, swimming in insecurities and fears that I could not conquer at the time. I could barely look him in the eye, it was unbearable. I felt like he looked right into my soul.
I never saw Golden Haired Boy again since those days. Perhaps he is a farmer in the midwest, a doctor, a movie mogul, a lawyer, a truck driver, who knows what became of him. I am sure he is doing something interesting.
He sure made many girls hearts flutter back in the day, I am sure he still does!
Wednesday, April 18, 2012
It takes What It Takes
I am so grateful for today, in the coming days, months, I will know the effects more from all this- right now I feel like a limp noodle. It's all about letting go. Surrender.
When it hurts, it is so easy to bolt. It would be much easier to go out to dinner right now with Ray and Matt. Just move on, but my heart knows what to do, go on automatic pilot. Everyone has their moment to take, when bolting is the much easier solution, when that familiar pain creeps in. I am out of here, this is uncomfortable. I feel the tell tale knot in my throat, tightening in my stomach. I am bracing myself. The big, uncontrollable cry is going to burst out- perfectly orchestrated. I am going to be out in public with an audience. And so it goes....
It started today talking about family, love, telling the truth, in a restaurant bar. Packed to the rafters no less.
Truth couldn't help pouring out, as did the tears between myself and the two gals I was with.
It was a very profound moment in time. We all understood each other on such deep levels. Loss wanting- needing family. Simply stating that loss and embracing what we wanted and needed.
It opened me up to express myself in a way I have shut down in the past, didn't know I had closed so tight.
Through our conversation, what opened up.... loss I have tried to bury over and over again so deep.
I thought I had healed.... but realized until today I only had put a bandage on the wound.
It needed air. I let these two in... to a place so private, so deep in my heart- I have kept people at a far distance. I asked them both if they would come to Forest Lawn with me.
We went in search of a particular tombstone, no matter how hard we tried to find.... couldn't.
I have been there countless times through the years- have found it in ten minutes or so. Today even after forty minutes or more.... I realized that was not why we were there. It was not to visit the tombstone. It was to let go.
We sat down and began to talk. First I didn't want to, then I felt that old friend panic. I wanted to run- I couldn't breathe. Then the tears came. My baby was buried here. I have done so much work through the years on healing this wound. What I realized when I finally had the courage to speak.... my guilt kept me so connected to loss. It was the first time in sixteen years I had ever spoken aloud about my guilt. The tears poured out and would not stop. I felt like something was wrong in my pregnancy.... I had been pregnant with twins, and was terrified there was something wrong with them. I never spoke to anyone about it, I never took any tests, and I never had an autopsy. For sixteen years, I was convinced my body, my mind created what went wrong. On the other hand, I was terrified at what it had created. I never felt that way with the other pregnancies.
I felt these feelings reflected the kind of mother I was.... and it wasn't a good one. It ate at me everyday. I never went for grief counseling, I just shut down afterwards, for many years. I had gone later to therapy for years but never discussed this. Having loving hands to hold as I told my deepest fears...it just melted away. I came home, Ray got home not too much after that. I told him what happened, he just listened. I was frightened to tell him the part about it being my fault for some reason.This is the man who has loved me through everything- especially this.
Tears rolled down his face, as he said-" It was me, I was the defective one." I was dumbstruck. What is he talking about? All of these years we had mourned together, held each other, but never really talked about this. Both carrying so much pain and guilt, staying in our own little worlds. We could mourn it, but we could not get past it. It was time for forgiveness.
Today we finally forgave ourselves. We both carried so much pain about something that was never in our control. It just happened. I never in a million years would have thought Ray saw himself as the defective one. I thought he saw me as that. Today I let it go. Sixteen years later, out of my body, mind, spirit, soul. Ray got the same rebirth. I never thought when I woke up this morning- by surrendering, true surrender I would feel these feelings. It takes what it takes.
When it hurts, it is so easy to bolt. It would be much easier to go out to dinner right now with Ray and Matt. Just move on, but my heart knows what to do, go on automatic pilot. Everyone has their moment to take, when bolting is the much easier solution, when that familiar pain creeps in. I am out of here, this is uncomfortable. I feel the tell tale knot in my throat, tightening in my stomach. I am bracing myself. The big, uncontrollable cry is going to burst out- perfectly orchestrated. I am going to be out in public with an audience. And so it goes....
It started today talking about family, love, telling the truth, in a restaurant bar. Packed to the rafters no less.
Truth couldn't help pouring out, as did the tears between myself and the two gals I was with.
It was a very profound moment in time. We all understood each other on such deep levels. Loss wanting- needing family. Simply stating that loss and embracing what we wanted and needed.
It opened me up to express myself in a way I have shut down in the past, didn't know I had closed so tight.
Through our conversation, what opened up.... loss I have tried to bury over and over again so deep.
I thought I had healed.... but realized until today I only had put a bandage on the wound.
It needed air. I let these two in... to a place so private, so deep in my heart- I have kept people at a far distance. I asked them both if they would come to Forest Lawn with me.
We went in search of a particular tombstone, no matter how hard we tried to find.... couldn't.
I have been there countless times through the years- have found it in ten minutes or so. Today even after forty minutes or more.... I realized that was not why we were there. It was not to visit the tombstone. It was to let go.
We sat down and began to talk. First I didn't want to, then I felt that old friend panic. I wanted to run- I couldn't breathe. Then the tears came. My baby was buried here. I have done so much work through the years on healing this wound. What I realized when I finally had the courage to speak.... my guilt kept me so connected to loss. It was the first time in sixteen years I had ever spoken aloud about my guilt. The tears poured out and would not stop. I felt like something was wrong in my pregnancy.... I had been pregnant with twins, and was terrified there was something wrong with them. I never spoke to anyone about it, I never took any tests, and I never had an autopsy. For sixteen years, I was convinced my body, my mind created what went wrong. On the other hand, I was terrified at what it had created. I never felt that way with the other pregnancies.
I felt these feelings reflected the kind of mother I was.... and it wasn't a good one. It ate at me everyday. I never went for grief counseling, I just shut down afterwards, for many years. I had gone later to therapy for years but never discussed this. Having loving hands to hold as I told my deepest fears...it just melted away. I came home, Ray got home not too much after that. I told him what happened, he just listened. I was frightened to tell him the part about it being my fault for some reason.This is the man who has loved me through everything- especially this.
Tears rolled down his face, as he said-" It was me, I was the defective one." I was dumbstruck. What is he talking about? All of these years we had mourned together, held each other, but never really talked about this. Both carrying so much pain and guilt, staying in our own little worlds. We could mourn it, but we could not get past it. It was time for forgiveness.
Today we finally forgave ourselves. We both carried so much pain about something that was never in our control. It just happened. I never in a million years would have thought Ray saw himself as the defective one. I thought he saw me as that. Today I let it go. Sixteen years later, out of my body, mind, spirit, soul. Ray got the same rebirth. I never thought when I woke up this morning- by surrendering, true surrender I would feel these feelings. It takes what it takes.
Tuesday, April 17, 2012
Joy Riding Gals
The cats o' plenty couldn't have been a tip off to my fourteen year old mind? Did I need thunder and lightning, omens were going down - we just were ignoring them that night. Especially when the key didn't fit in the lock. C'mon, whether I was fourteen or four hundred, this wasn't working.
Karen, Lydia, Anne and I decided to take the family wagon for a cruise yet again. I think Karen was new to this particular fiesta. I had tucked her away in the closet, hidden gently out of my parents sight (my dad wasn't sweet on sleepovers) so the inventive mind just stuffs your friend in the closet until the coast is clear. It never dawned on me Karen's comfort level, or whether she thought this might be a tad unwelcoming. I can't imagine going over some friend's house, then her saying, 'Ok, it's time for you to get in the closet for some undetermined amount of time, I'll let you know when the coast is clear. Please feel comfortable in my home.'
I can't tell you how hard I just cackled writing that. The 'norm' I grew up with is so ridiculous, that my only choice is to laugh! So, apparently the coast must have been clear...out the little gal came. The old folks must have settled down for their long winters nap. Anne was seventeen, and Lydia, Karen and I were fourteen. None of us, I repeat....nary a one had any form of drivers license. The three of us weren't even old enough to drive. Anne may have had a learners permit. So, all these omens were going on. I can't remember if that was the same night we walked down to St Lukes, and I convinced everyone one of the statues had talked to me. I may have consumed something and been in an altered state at the time. But.... I stand by my word. That statue rapped to me.
It is getting later into the evening. I am not feeling it. We had this next door neighbor named Fred Flintstone. Ok, This I cannot take credit for. My dad actually named him, and for the life of me I cannot remember why. Maybe he looked like Fred Flintstone? My dad used to call this one particular family "Mortician Chins" (I am laughing so hard I can't see straight), because they had super long jaws. Why Mortician Chins... and do Morticians have super long chins? I thought everyone knew what I was talking about when I said Mortician Chins. Most responded with "Deer in the headlight" looks..... what???
Back to our story. We are trying a couple more times to get this fine ride out of the driveway. I am a little tripped about Fred Flintstone and Mrs Flintstone. Falling on deaf ears, these lady friends want to go for a cruise in the lovely hamlet of Temple City. We start our ritual of pushing it back through the "Golden Arches" of the driveway, then starting the car out of earshot of our parents.
Now we have done this many a time on our cruises....but this is just feeling so wrong on every level. I look back on the street and see, I swear it seemed dozens of cats milling about. Are you friggin' kidding me? Then as we are at the end of the driveway, ready for takeoff....
One cop car with its lights shining it's spotlight, than another, then another. Seemed like Temple City's finest were out that night, welcoming us.We all unload from our ride, and these cats are going crazy meowing and climbing everywhere around the family wagon. This was around 1975, we were females in Temple City and were escorted to the front door. Very lucky I would say instead of getting hauled off to jail. My mom answered the door in her nightgown. (She did look lovely with the moonlight glistening on her face . ) She wasn't looking so happy as the door opened with four motley crew chicks meandering into the living room, followed by some wound up Sheriffs. Big doings going down in Temple City tonight!
We slung our heads in shame.... but true to her nature, Anne, my middle sister wasn't having it. She was a snippy thing and wouldn't be quiet. The Sheriff asked my mom if she would like to have Anne arrested. I had my 'inside' smile going on. I wanted to laugh, scream- haul that one away- now! But....Francie just said, "No, thank you, she would take care of it." (My dad never woke up with all the noise going on.) Francie wasn't too happy with all of us. A trip to Magic Mountain was the next day- my mom said I couldn't go. I told her I was going to kill myself if she didn't let me go. I was nothing if not dramatic, I was going to Magic Mt, and that was that! My oldest sister had to take over , bet she was pretty happy. Think I still went to Magic Mountain.
That didn't slow down our car hijinks. Sly/ clever/ sneakier come to mind. So I thought. I still would get caught this time in my brothers pinto after pulling an all night-er beginning of Junior year. Just one problem, failed to get my drivers license yet. We did have a couple of good cruises....until two or three in the morning. Joy ridin' gals just wanted to have fun. Those were the days.
Karen, Lydia, Anne and I decided to take the family wagon for a cruise yet again. I think Karen was new to this particular fiesta. I had tucked her away in the closet, hidden gently out of my parents sight (my dad wasn't sweet on sleepovers) so the inventive mind just stuffs your friend in the closet until the coast is clear. It never dawned on me Karen's comfort level, or whether she thought this might be a tad unwelcoming. I can't imagine going over some friend's house, then her saying, 'Ok, it's time for you to get in the closet for some undetermined amount of time, I'll let you know when the coast is clear. Please feel comfortable in my home.'
I can't tell you how hard I just cackled writing that. The 'norm' I grew up with is so ridiculous, that my only choice is to laugh! So, apparently the coast must have been clear...out the little gal came. The old folks must have settled down for their long winters nap. Anne was seventeen, and Lydia, Karen and I were fourteen. None of us, I repeat....nary a one had any form of drivers license. The three of us weren't even old enough to drive. Anne may have had a learners permit. So, all these omens were going on. I can't remember if that was the same night we walked down to St Lukes, and I convinced everyone one of the statues had talked to me. I may have consumed something and been in an altered state at the time. But.... I stand by my word. That statue rapped to me.
It is getting later into the evening. I am not feeling it. We had this next door neighbor named Fred Flintstone. Ok, This I cannot take credit for. My dad actually named him, and for the life of me I cannot remember why. Maybe he looked like Fred Flintstone? My dad used to call this one particular family "Mortician Chins" (I am laughing so hard I can't see straight), because they had super long jaws. Why Mortician Chins... and do Morticians have super long chins? I thought everyone knew what I was talking about when I said Mortician Chins. Most responded with "Deer in the headlight" looks..... what???
Back to our story. We are trying a couple more times to get this fine ride out of the driveway. I am a little tripped about Fred Flintstone and Mrs Flintstone. Falling on deaf ears, these lady friends want to go for a cruise in the lovely hamlet of Temple City. We start our ritual of pushing it back through the "Golden Arches" of the driveway, then starting the car out of earshot of our parents.
Now we have done this many a time on our cruises....but this is just feeling so wrong on every level. I look back on the street and see, I swear it seemed dozens of cats milling about. Are you friggin' kidding me? Then as we are at the end of the driveway, ready for takeoff....
One cop car with its lights shining it's spotlight, than another, then another. Seemed like Temple City's finest were out that night, welcoming us.We all unload from our ride, and these cats are going crazy meowing and climbing everywhere around the family wagon. This was around 1975, we were females in Temple City and were escorted to the front door. Very lucky I would say instead of getting hauled off to jail. My mom answered the door in her nightgown. (She did look lovely with the moonlight glistening on her face . ) She wasn't looking so happy as the door opened with four motley crew chicks meandering into the living room, followed by some wound up Sheriffs. Big doings going down in Temple City tonight!
We slung our heads in shame.... but true to her nature, Anne, my middle sister wasn't having it. She was a snippy thing and wouldn't be quiet. The Sheriff asked my mom if she would like to have Anne arrested. I had my 'inside' smile going on. I wanted to laugh, scream- haul that one away- now! But....Francie just said, "No, thank you, she would take care of it." (My dad never woke up with all the noise going on.) Francie wasn't too happy with all of us. A trip to Magic Mountain was the next day- my mom said I couldn't go. I told her I was going to kill myself if she didn't let me go. I was nothing if not dramatic, I was going to Magic Mt, and that was that! My oldest sister had to take over , bet she was pretty happy. Think I still went to Magic Mountain.
That didn't slow down our car hijinks. Sly/ clever/ sneakier come to mind. So I thought. I still would get caught this time in my brothers pinto after pulling an all night-er beginning of Junior year. Just one problem, failed to get my drivers license yet. We did have a couple of good cruises....until two or three in the morning. Joy ridin' gals just wanted to have fun. Those were the days.
Hangin' at Handlebars with the Homies
Ray and I were in the car this morning -I was driving him to work. He always laughs about me telling him stories from my childhood. But when I start telling them he says,"Wait- this can't be real. It doesn't even sound real the things you did when you were young. It just get's freakier and more bizarre."
It was September of '75 - I had just turned 14 the month before. A freshman in high school, just beginning everything. Starting school at Mission High in San Gabriel,Kenny Loggins alma mater. Lucky him it was co-ed back in the day, no wonder he had so much to sing about. The crew I went to Handlebars with was definitely an interesting one. (This was a bar in Pasadena that no longer exists, but was across the street from The Icehouse.)
First, how did I get out on a school night? It was the first weeks of school. My idol- Ellie, my sisters best friend was about twenty one. Then a fellow named Jim were my companions. Both were from the church I went to, St Lukes.
Now I have no idea why Jim went with us on this expedition, honestly. He was super religious, Ellie was a super party girl. ( She was receptionist at the church, along with my oldest sister. ) So, onward the christian soldiers we were - made our way to Handlebars. This is much funnier than you can ever imagine. I was fourteen, had to use Ellie's fake ID. She is using her real ID. But her fake ID is her .... so we are both using her ID to get in.
My hair is very short, blondish brown. Hers - long, platinum blonde. I am short, not super skinny- she is tall and very skinny. She has blue eyes, mine hazel. I am fourteen, she is twenty one. The guy still lets me in. Just no drinking stamp on mine. Yep, he sure didn't suspect a thing.Perhaps he was sweet on Ellie. Who wasn't? If I had been a dude, I would have been... I just didn't swing that way. But, I wanted to be exactly like her. Walk like her, talk like her, you name it.
I was so overwhelmed in the bar. This wasn't nine thirty mass, and there weren't any nuns and priests hanging out, I was in heaven. I started cruising my fourteen year old self around.Jim and Ellie had to reel me in. I wanted to dance, have a good time. The shackles were off for a few hours. No such luck for me.... but Ellie had herself some bubbly as I hung with Jim.More and more bubbly. Who said Catholic girls don't know how to have a good time?
Jim and I went out to his truck to wait in the alleyway for Ellie. Yeah, I don't have an answer for why we were waiting in the alleyway... I think that's just what you did. Ellie is having a good time with some young stud, I am sitting in the truck with this super religious dude whose bro' is a priest.
All of a sudden, snap goes his rear view mirror on the drivers side. I mean all the way off." Jesus Christ, they're makin' love." Okay, so I have barely kissed a boy, but I am pretty sure they are just making out. I am laughing to myself because this fellow has just broken his mirror too get a gander of the action. Plus.... I have to listen to him. He is at least ten years older than me. Yuck. Oh please Ellie....finish your biz, I don't want to sit with- well now he is no longer Jim anymore. I have named him "Make Love." The deed is done, just like every other time in life when I name some poor soul. There is just no going back- ever.
To this day, whenever I see him, randomly at Home Depot, I'll say to Ray.... "Oh duck there's MakeLove." I hate that once I get a name stuck in my head, that's it. It just won't go away for anything.
Wonder if he ever got his rear view mirror fixed?
It was September of '75 - I had just turned 14 the month before. A freshman in high school, just beginning everything. Starting school at Mission High in San Gabriel,Kenny Loggins alma mater. Lucky him it was co-ed back in the day, no wonder he had so much to sing about. The crew I went to Handlebars with was definitely an interesting one. (This was a bar in Pasadena that no longer exists, but was across the street from The Icehouse.)
First, how did I get out on a school night? It was the first weeks of school. My idol- Ellie, my sisters best friend was about twenty one. Then a fellow named Jim were my companions. Both were from the church I went to, St Lukes.
Now I have no idea why Jim went with us on this expedition, honestly. He was super religious, Ellie was a super party girl. ( She was receptionist at the church, along with my oldest sister. ) So, onward the christian soldiers we were - made our way to Handlebars. This is much funnier than you can ever imagine. I was fourteen, had to use Ellie's fake ID. She is using her real ID. But her fake ID is her .... so we are both using her ID to get in.
My hair is very short, blondish brown. Hers - long, platinum blonde. I am short, not super skinny- she is tall and very skinny. She has blue eyes, mine hazel. I am fourteen, she is twenty one. The guy still lets me in. Just no drinking stamp on mine. Yep, he sure didn't suspect a thing.Perhaps he was sweet on Ellie. Who wasn't? If I had been a dude, I would have been... I just didn't swing that way. But, I wanted to be exactly like her. Walk like her, talk like her, you name it.
I was so overwhelmed in the bar. This wasn't nine thirty mass, and there weren't any nuns and priests hanging out, I was in heaven. I started cruising my fourteen year old self around.Jim and Ellie had to reel me in. I wanted to dance, have a good time. The shackles were off for a few hours. No such luck for me.... but Ellie had herself some bubbly as I hung with Jim.More and more bubbly. Who said Catholic girls don't know how to have a good time?
Jim and I went out to his truck to wait in the alleyway for Ellie. Yeah, I don't have an answer for why we were waiting in the alleyway... I think that's just what you did. Ellie is having a good time with some young stud, I am sitting in the truck with this super religious dude whose bro' is a priest.
All of a sudden, snap goes his rear view mirror on the drivers side. I mean all the way off." Jesus Christ, they're makin' love." Okay, so I have barely kissed a boy, but I am pretty sure they are just making out. I am laughing to myself because this fellow has just broken his mirror too get a gander of the action. Plus.... I have to listen to him. He is at least ten years older than me. Yuck. Oh please Ellie....finish your biz, I don't want to sit with- well now he is no longer Jim anymore. I have named him "Make Love." The deed is done, just like every other time in life when I name some poor soul. There is just no going back- ever.
To this day, whenever I see him, randomly at Home Depot, I'll say to Ray.... "Oh duck there's MakeLove." I hate that once I get a name stuck in my head, that's it. It just won't go away for anything.
Wonder if he ever got his rear view mirror fixed?
Friday, April 13, 2012
I wasn't raised that way
If there is any group of words that probably unglues me more, this would be it. "I wasn't raised that way."Not because of the words themselves, but the source from which they came from. I have been watching Dr Phil this morning as a beautiful young girl is sitting on his stage. Alone. I will repeat: Alone. Her mother sits in the audience, unwilling to take a seat next to her daughter up on that stage, crying - fighting for her life. Dying from an eating disorder.
The courage this girl had, not only to write a letter to Dr Phil, show up, walk up on that stage, sit in front of an audience of people, while scared out of her mind. In the end, she took the help he offered her. I felt so happy.
I could relate so much to this young girl. She was so open, trying to express herself. Her mother, just sat. In the clips from home she just sat once again, saying that if she showed her daughter love - this would - fill in the blanks. Makes you feel all warm and cozy inside. (She had many reasons why not to.)
That is when I looked at Ray and said I am writing a story. It doesn't matter if it is on eating disorders, drugs, drink, molestation, pick your poison. Feeling unwanted, alone, frightened when not supported, takes it's toll. My world too was sitting on that stage alone- trying to figure things out as a girl, as a young woman. As a result I made many mistakes, it took me a very long time to forgive myself. Having children of my own helped me understand the learning curve. What it takes - especially with guidance, direction, support, love.
When as an adult I asked my mom why she would not do any of these things for me, she responded:
"I wasn't raised that way".
My level of forgiveness for my mother comes in stages. I will get there. Her world -Religion, Politics, and whether her children are going to burn baby burn disco inferno ( that would be the conversation of whether we are going to hell or not.) It is her way or the highway. Hmmm....
That lone stage I sat on for so long, in the end made me into the person I am proud to be today. Along the way, did I think I would survive? No... I thought I would shrivel and die and curl up into a ball of nothing. I wanted my mommy, I cried for her for so many years, I cannot tell you. She did not come, would not come, could not come. Even if she could, she was not going to. That was the hardest part for me to accept. The work she would have had to do, to uncover the pain in her life. It was so much easier to point the finger at her youngest daughter ( that would be me) and heap on helpings until overflowing, until I couldn't see straight. I took it... I believed it. She was my mother. I trusted her, I loved her, I needed her. I wanted nothing more in life - but her love.
I did everything in life to try to prove I was a "good daughter," worthy of her love. To my detriment, to my families. This would prove to be a bottomless pit. Only pain would come of this, loathing, disdain, loss of self respect. I had to build myself a new human. The old model was broken. I did. It seemed to take an eternity.... still working on it.
I am sorry that the woman who brought me into this world is so empty, angry, feels so gypped. Hides behind God, religion.... I wish her peace. I wish peace for my siblings and myself. We have carried heavy hearts for long enough. It's time for a new mantra....because "I was raised that way".
The courage this girl had, not only to write a letter to Dr Phil, show up, walk up on that stage, sit in front of an audience of people, while scared out of her mind. In the end, she took the help he offered her. I felt so happy.
I could relate so much to this young girl. She was so open, trying to express herself. Her mother, just sat. In the clips from home she just sat once again, saying that if she showed her daughter love - this would - fill in the blanks. Makes you feel all warm and cozy inside. (She had many reasons why not to.)
That is when I looked at Ray and said I am writing a story. It doesn't matter if it is on eating disorders, drugs, drink, molestation, pick your poison. Feeling unwanted, alone, frightened when not supported, takes it's toll. My world too was sitting on that stage alone- trying to figure things out as a girl, as a young woman. As a result I made many mistakes, it took me a very long time to forgive myself. Having children of my own helped me understand the learning curve. What it takes - especially with guidance, direction, support, love.
When as an adult I asked my mom why she would not do any of these things for me, she responded:
"I wasn't raised that way".
My level of forgiveness for my mother comes in stages. I will get there. Her world -Religion, Politics, and whether her children are going to burn baby burn disco inferno ( that would be the conversation of whether we are going to hell or not.) It is her way or the highway. Hmmm....
That lone stage I sat on for so long, in the end made me into the person I am proud to be today. Along the way, did I think I would survive? No... I thought I would shrivel and die and curl up into a ball of nothing. I wanted my mommy, I cried for her for so many years, I cannot tell you. She did not come, would not come, could not come. Even if she could, she was not going to. That was the hardest part for me to accept. The work she would have had to do, to uncover the pain in her life. It was so much easier to point the finger at her youngest daughter ( that would be me) and heap on helpings until overflowing, until I couldn't see straight. I took it... I believed it. She was my mother. I trusted her, I loved her, I needed her. I wanted nothing more in life - but her love.
I did everything in life to try to prove I was a "good daughter," worthy of her love. To my detriment, to my families. This would prove to be a bottomless pit. Only pain would come of this, loathing, disdain, loss of self respect. I had to build myself a new human. The old model was broken. I did. It seemed to take an eternity.... still working on it.
I am sorry that the woman who brought me into this world is so empty, angry, feels so gypped. Hides behind God, religion.... I wish her peace. I wish peace for my siblings and myself. We have carried heavy hearts for long enough. It's time for a new mantra....because "I was raised that way".
Wednesday, April 11, 2012
Paralysis
Ray calls this swimming in the vast ocean of.... when I used to write. Everything was a vast ocean of an abyss. I was a very cheery writer back then. Here read this honey. I can just imagine him thinking... "Dear God, if I have to read another vast ocean swimming up on the shore story I think I will....."
This pretty much went on for several years, hmmm, some good times going on in this household. I am pretty sure he was painting some vast abysses of buildings to go along with my cheery writing. It is what it is to get to the next step. I wouldn't want to go back to that time for anything, ever. But.... I wouldn't have missed those steps for anything in the world. It made me, me.Us... us. Those were our strengthening times. Seems like they would never end. We were just getting ready to move into this house that June.
This is what it felt like...... written 4/8/2001
Paralysis
My leadened legs have no movement. Shallow breathing, interrupted by gasps.
I am paralyzed by my own fear, no longer able to sit comfortably in my old life. My beautiful new life isn't in stock yet... so I wait in limbo, darkness. Very blind faith at the moment. My throat gurgling, gasping yet again for breath, heart fluttering, hands shaking. More of myself has been revealed.... I have exposed the real me.
I want to run, hide, where is my suit of armor? How could it have rusted through so soon? Seems as though I just took it off, but that was light years ago. Now I am more afraid than ever. My skin raw to the touch, my soul how it weeps. I mourn the death of the old me- as I await the new with clinging, desperate, hopeful anticipation.
This pretty much went on for several years, hmmm, some good times going on in this household. I am pretty sure he was painting some vast abysses of buildings to go along with my cheery writing. It is what it is to get to the next step. I wouldn't want to go back to that time for anything, ever. But.... I wouldn't have missed those steps for anything in the world. It made me, me.Us... us. Those were our strengthening times. Seems like they would never end. We were just getting ready to move into this house that June.
This is what it felt like...... written 4/8/2001
Paralysis
My leadened legs have no movement. Shallow breathing, interrupted by gasps.
I am paralyzed by my own fear, no longer able to sit comfortably in my old life. My beautiful new life isn't in stock yet... so I wait in limbo, darkness. Very blind faith at the moment. My throat gurgling, gasping yet again for breath, heart fluttering, hands shaking. More of myself has been revealed.... I have exposed the real me.
I want to run, hide, where is my suit of armor? How could it have rusted through so soon? Seems as though I just took it off, but that was light years ago. Now I am more afraid than ever. My skin raw to the touch, my soul how it weeps. I mourn the death of the old me- as I await the new with clinging, desperate, hopeful anticipation.
Oh Mother Dear
I am going through my old writings....
Can barely read most of them. Torn pieces of paper, hundreds and hundreds through the years.
Some stories, some just painful thoughts, memories. Only looking back can we see where we come from.
I wrote this one six years ago.
Oh Mother Dear
How I mourn for you oh mother dear how sorrow haunts your day
limitations and fears how you hold them near
no sight of sun nor breeze upon your face only darkness reigns inside your lonely lair
proclaiming about the family you love yet they've disappeared without a trace only felt your bitter wind howling round without a care
Oh mother dear with hardened heart and joyless life
look around you now as the end draws near
what happened will never be clear
Can barely read most of them. Torn pieces of paper, hundreds and hundreds through the years.
Some stories, some just painful thoughts, memories. Only looking back can we see where we come from.
I wrote this one six years ago.
Oh Mother Dear
How I mourn for you oh mother dear how sorrow haunts your day
limitations and fears how you hold them near
no sight of sun nor breeze upon your face only darkness reigns inside your lonely lair
proclaiming about the family you love yet they've disappeared without a trace only felt your bitter wind howling round without a care
Oh mother dear with hardened heart and joyless life
look around you now as the end draws near
what happened will never be clear
Tuesday, April 10, 2012
Snake-o
I was just rocking out to Rolling Stones, and looked over at Raym and said,"I'm going to write a story called "Snake-o." He just laughed and said, "I love you.... oh, the creative process".
He knows I have a very random brain that roams, so I have to just go with it no matter where I am, or whatever time it is. Come to think of it, I married one of those brains.
I hear him muttering to the cats.... "You cats are Snake-o's." This only makes my fingers get busier typing. He is in the kitchen foraging for something, seriously just saying "snake-o " to himself.
He laughs every time he watches me writing a story.... two fingers. Only way I know how.
In the summer of '75, I went backpacking with a group of people from my church. I had never been backpacking, barely hiking, but I had just graduated from 8th grade and was ready to do some serious roaming. I have always been an old soul. I think there was only one boy my age, everyone else was five to fifteen years older than me. It was up in Sacramento and there was a lot of adjusting I had to do.
Also, I think my oldest sister went on this first backpacking trip with me.
I think if I had a clue of how far we had to hike ( I was one lazy swine kid), I am pretty sure I was whining in my head big time. Let's not talk about the fact that I had no idea about the bathroom situation. Never had really gone camping before..... hmmm. This did prove to be an interesting learning curve.
The best part of this trip was getting stung on my butt by several bees, and having one of the church fellows have a look see.... than a few more gathered round my now pulled down jeans to evaluate the situation. I was very relaxed by this, more than I can say.
The gal pals and I were all laying out on this big boulder on the lake.... it was very hot.
I am quite sure we slathered ourselves in baby oil as we fried in the sun. Above the area where we were sunning was kind of a jumping off point to dive into the water. There were some very interesting characters on this trip, and being not 14 years old yet, I observed everything and everyone.
Especially secret love affairs that were not supposed to be going on. Yep, that was my favorite.
What else was I going to do... no TV, no radio.... it was people watching time.
Back to the gals and the boulder we were laying out on. We were all laughing, having a great time and suddenly this thing comes flying overhead. Wait, slow motion please. Did I just see what I saw?
A naked man just skimmed over my head.... bopping with his business.
We all just started laughing our heads off. Okay, I was fresh out of 8th grade... but even I caught on that this gent thought he was being seductive. Pretty sure laughter was not the reaction he was expecting as his frankfurter flew proudly over a bunch of repressed Catholic girls heads.
So, true to my nature.... I named it,... hmmmm, him.... "Snake-o". Made perfect sense.
That was that. He never had his original name back in our circle. Poor Snake-o.
He was sweet on one particular lady friend in our group.... pretty sure she was particularly horrified.
Later that night Duckie.... (I can't claim title to that one, someone else named her) taught me bathroom tricks in the wild. Good times.
He knows I have a very random brain that roams, so I have to just go with it no matter where I am, or whatever time it is. Come to think of it, I married one of those brains.
I hear him muttering to the cats.... "You cats are Snake-o's." This only makes my fingers get busier typing. He is in the kitchen foraging for something, seriously just saying "snake-o " to himself.
He laughs every time he watches me writing a story.... two fingers. Only way I know how.
In the summer of '75, I went backpacking with a group of people from my church. I had never been backpacking, barely hiking, but I had just graduated from 8th grade and was ready to do some serious roaming. I have always been an old soul. I think there was only one boy my age, everyone else was five to fifteen years older than me. It was up in Sacramento and there was a lot of adjusting I had to do.
Also, I think my oldest sister went on this first backpacking trip with me.
I think if I had a clue of how far we had to hike ( I was one lazy swine kid), I am pretty sure I was whining in my head big time. Let's not talk about the fact that I had no idea about the bathroom situation. Never had really gone camping before..... hmmm. This did prove to be an interesting learning curve.
The best part of this trip was getting stung on my butt by several bees, and having one of the church fellows have a look see.... than a few more gathered round my now pulled down jeans to evaluate the situation. I was very relaxed by this, more than I can say.
The gal pals and I were all laying out on this big boulder on the lake.... it was very hot.
I am quite sure we slathered ourselves in baby oil as we fried in the sun. Above the area where we were sunning was kind of a jumping off point to dive into the water. There were some very interesting characters on this trip, and being not 14 years old yet, I observed everything and everyone.
Especially secret love affairs that were not supposed to be going on. Yep, that was my favorite.
What else was I going to do... no TV, no radio.... it was people watching time.
Back to the gals and the boulder we were laying out on. We were all laughing, having a great time and suddenly this thing comes flying overhead. Wait, slow motion please. Did I just see what I saw?
A naked man just skimmed over my head.... bopping with his business.
We all just started laughing our heads off. Okay, I was fresh out of 8th grade... but even I caught on that this gent thought he was being seductive. Pretty sure laughter was not the reaction he was expecting as his frankfurter flew proudly over a bunch of repressed Catholic girls heads.
So, true to my nature.... I named it,... hmmmm, him.... "Snake-o". Made perfect sense.
That was that. He never had his original name back in our circle. Poor Snake-o.
He was sweet on one particular lady friend in our group.... pretty sure she was particularly horrified.
Later that night Duckie.... (I can't claim title to that one, someone else named her) taught me bathroom tricks in the wild. Good times.
Reach Out And Touch
I wrote this story in 1977. I was a Junior at Temple City High School. I am looking at the very wrinkled stationary it is written on, very 70's. I have very little from my past. Very few photos, school memorabilia, etc. But this I kept because it meant so much to me. This was the beginning of the end....
Then a rebirth again for me. My teacher Mrs Thompson, ( who was one of two fabulous English Teachers I had) entered me in a writing competition without my knowledge. I think she may have been on to the fact that I was beyond shy, and wasn't going to do it myself. I won, which did not make me happy.
The money part was good, but the other part - going in front of people at a luncheon (A Women's Day kind of thing) and reading it. No doing, not going to happen in this lifetime. I was so shy I cannot even tell you, and then some. I know people who know me think that is a human impossibility, but not true. I am still very shy. I just push myself, and from waitressing as a very young girl, I learned people skills to hide behind.
The day came... and guess where I was? Hiding behind our green plaid couch. I waited it out until everyone cleared out for work and school, (eight people, it took awhile) and then the coast was clear.
I never told anyone I won. I am sure I went in the kitchen and ate several bowls of Captain Crunch cereal, turned the TV on.... and that was that.
My teacher looked very disappointed in me when I came in the next day. I made a half hearted excuse claiming I was sick, very convenient. She told me she read my story.... and the ladies cried. I can honestly say I had very little emotion. Why would anyone cry over what a sixteen year old would write, and especially this sixteen year old. I had very deep feelings, but in my household they were just not allowed, so I kept them in my writing. We communicated with sarcasm and humor. Let me tell you, it was biting, mean as hell at times and survival of the fittest.
I sure wasn't going to show who I really was. That would nail me to the cross.
So this is the story that I won the competition in 1977. A sixteen year old who felt so deeply... as I still do today. Full circle of accepting who we are, where we come from and how we got here.
Reach out and Touch
When was the last time that you told your mom you loved her, or that very special friend that without her life would not be the same. I can tell that it must have been awhile ago, by the expression on your face. Is it so hard for you to lift yourself off your pedestal and say,"yes I care."
Is it inhumane for you, humiliating, exasperating, please tell me?
There are days when I see you, you act as if you couldn't even care. Other times your warmth, your bubbling joy surrounds everyone and everything and makes them as radiant as you.
That special glow in your eyes when things are going well. But is that the only time when happiness engrosses you, when things are going well for you? Can't you look beyond, can't you reach out and touch?
Do you wonder why I know so much about you? Why of course as I am writing this I am looking in the mirror at my reflection, as I am absorbing and reflecting, laughing and crying.
I think I have just begun to reach out and touch... I've just begun to touch my reflection.
Then a rebirth again for me. My teacher Mrs Thompson, ( who was one of two fabulous English Teachers I had) entered me in a writing competition without my knowledge. I think she may have been on to the fact that I was beyond shy, and wasn't going to do it myself. I won, which did not make me happy.
The money part was good, but the other part - going in front of people at a luncheon (A Women's Day kind of thing) and reading it. No doing, not going to happen in this lifetime. I was so shy I cannot even tell you, and then some. I know people who know me think that is a human impossibility, but not true. I am still very shy. I just push myself, and from waitressing as a very young girl, I learned people skills to hide behind.
The day came... and guess where I was? Hiding behind our green plaid couch. I waited it out until everyone cleared out for work and school, (eight people, it took awhile) and then the coast was clear.
I never told anyone I won. I am sure I went in the kitchen and ate several bowls of Captain Crunch cereal, turned the TV on.... and that was that.
My teacher looked very disappointed in me when I came in the next day. I made a half hearted excuse claiming I was sick, very convenient. She told me she read my story.... and the ladies cried. I can honestly say I had very little emotion. Why would anyone cry over what a sixteen year old would write, and especially this sixteen year old. I had very deep feelings, but in my household they were just not allowed, so I kept them in my writing. We communicated with sarcasm and humor. Let me tell you, it was biting, mean as hell at times and survival of the fittest.
I sure wasn't going to show who I really was. That would nail me to the cross.
So this is the story that I won the competition in 1977. A sixteen year old who felt so deeply... as I still do today. Full circle of accepting who we are, where we come from and how we got here.
Reach out and Touch
When was the last time that you told your mom you loved her, or that very special friend that without her life would not be the same. I can tell that it must have been awhile ago, by the expression on your face. Is it so hard for you to lift yourself off your pedestal and say,"yes I care."
Is it inhumane for you, humiliating, exasperating, please tell me?
There are days when I see you, you act as if you couldn't even care. Other times your warmth, your bubbling joy surrounds everyone and everything and makes them as radiant as you.
That special glow in your eyes when things are going well. But is that the only time when happiness engrosses you, when things are going well for you? Can't you look beyond, can't you reach out and touch?
Do you wonder why I know so much about you? Why of course as I am writing this I am looking in the mirror at my reflection, as I am absorbing and reflecting, laughing and crying.
I think I have just begun to reach out and touch... I've just begun to touch my reflection.
Saturday, April 7, 2012
An Easter Story of Forgiveness
When I look back at that time, there are so many things I wish I could change.
But I was in my twenties, head and heart full of steam... and absolutely no capacity to truly understand
as I would today.
I was over seven months pregnant with Katie at the same time Ray's mother lay dying in Huntington Memorial Hospital. It was Easter Week.... I remember so well.
The smell of the flowers every Spring remind me of her. We had just gotten back from Easter Brunch with Matt, and a few others at Charlie Brown's restaurant (That one's been gone along time). As we rounded the hospital corridor, we heard an unearthly scream, unlike any other. I had never heard a sound like it.... and just as I was trying to make sense of it, I looked up.
My neighbor from Sparklett Street (my childhood home) is standing in front of me. I feel like I am in a Twilight Zone Episode.
What the hell is happening? Besides the fact that I had just eaten so much food I couldn't see straight and was very pregnant.... I needed to sit down pronto. I had not seen Julie in years, she was the attending Nurse on our floor.
The screaming had come indeed from Ray's mom's room. I felt it in my bones. It sounded like a trapped animal. She was not ready to go home. I can't imagine the horror of facing down your life, especially a very unresolved one. Feeling the pangs of knowing it is at your door..... again I was clueless.
I tried desperately to hide my huge belly. I cannot tell you why, other than the fact that I had survivor's guilt. A new life was coming in, as hers was leaving. I remember that day sitting with her, (We were told to say our goodbyes) saying she would not see this baby. She snapped back in the harshest tone..
" What are you talking about?" Again, I had no clue about what she could be feeling, only myself and of course I took this terribly personally. We had a lifetime of hurt together, one more jab.
I watched my sweet hubby sit patiently with his mother, trying to reconcile what was to come.
So much loss from never saying goodbye to his father, like a thief in the night he was just gone one day....
That week we lived at the hospital practically, actually the week before as well.
A few days after Easter, I was sitting with Matthew, he was about three and a half.
I went back into the hospital room, Ray and his brother were standing over their mother.
I sat in the back of the room very quietly, just watching. They were telling her she could go home now. Be free.... it was so difficult to watch. It was like two little boys were lost in the dark,
so sad, yet so willing.That had been the story of their life, and this would be the ending of hers.
More silence. It broke my heart that Ray waited and waited and waited from both of his parents for some word, anything. Even before death.... nothing.
Not one word. "I love you". "You are wonderful". "I have been so proud of you".
"You are the most delightful son". Just silence.
I will say those words to this amazing man ...
You are everything and more. I love you. I am so proud of you. No mother would or could be prouder of you. You were the most delightful son. The day you were born the angels sang and danced.
I wish you peace this Easter , Pat.
You just didn't know, if you had known better, you would have done better. I believe your words are coming through me. Had I known I would have done better and been more compassionate... my words came later to others in Hospice, and will continue.
I wish us all peace, forgiveness, rebirth.... room in our hearts to start over. To be kind to ourselves.
Happy Easter
Friday, April 6, 2012
Good Friday
I was just thinking about something that happened about nine or ten years ago, on Good Friday.
I remember as a child we would go to Church on Good Friday somewhere between 12 -3 and observe the silence.
It took me many years to even talk or do anything between that time. I don't like to publicly talk about how I feel about religion. Growing up in such a strict religious household, where we were told how to feel, what to believe.... I carry my beliefs, let others carry theirs. I just do not want to be around hurtful, negative, cruel people.
Getting back to that day many years ago on Good Friday. Ray and I took a drive and ended up out
in northern San Diego County. We were driving around and found a Native American Reservation, called "Pala" with a Catholic Church on it. I no longer practice Catholicism... but I love Missions, Churches and always appreciate their beauty, history, reverence. This one was particularly beautiful in it's simplicity. It was a very old Mission and School with a Cemetery. Very primitive.
Pala now has a Casino, and it almost feels obscene when you drive through the poverty of this
Community. Many dogs running through the neighborhood, wild and abandoned... hungry.
Run down trailers that many of the residents live in. We felt such a draw to pull into the driveway of the Church. Across the street at the park.... we saw the school children playing. The park was was barely a park, some trees, a few benches, but the kids didn't care. They were having a great time running, laughing, playing.
We walked up to this simple Mission, and just like a few other times in our life.... a hush fell between us.
Humility like we had never experienced came over us. As we were walking into the Mission,
we noticed this very emaciated dog walking toward us. Ray and I just stared at each other not knowing what to make of anything. We stared inside the church through the open doors- it had a very long aisle, with pews on each side. Meanwhile, the dog was at such a weakened state, we thought it might die right there in front of us. This made us terribly sad and we were wondering what to do.
Just as we were considering so many possibilities... this exhausted dog that could barely walk, slowly makes it's way into the Church, painfully, one step at a time- all the way up the aisle to the front of the Church, stopped in front of the Crucifix and just looked up at it.
Ray and I could not talk, could not breathe as tears streamed down our face. We just kept looking into the Church at the dog, then at each other in disbelief. Slowly and painfully the dog took it's long pilgrimage back down the aisle, and just stood with us.
Ray went to the car and found something to put water in and we filled it up.
The dog drank every bit, somehow came back to life, and walked away.
We went into the Church and sat for the longest time without speaking. I would venture to say looking back that in general was a very difficult time period in our lives. Very lonely, filled with so much doubt and fear.
We knew something miraculous took place in front of us, it moved us both so deeply and brought us even closer together. It deepened our Spiritual Belief. The humility that day we felt on so many levels, the gratitude for the life we have been given, watching that dog near death take that long walk before our eyes. It is so difficult for me to write about this experience mainly because it was so personal, and because it was truly so humbling. Wishing you a peaceful day today.
I remember as a child we would go to Church on Good Friday somewhere between 12 -3 and observe the silence.
It took me many years to even talk or do anything between that time. I don't like to publicly talk about how I feel about religion. Growing up in such a strict religious household, where we were told how to feel, what to believe.... I carry my beliefs, let others carry theirs. I just do not want to be around hurtful, negative, cruel people.
Getting back to that day many years ago on Good Friday. Ray and I took a drive and ended up out
in northern San Diego County. We were driving around and found a Native American Reservation, called "Pala" with a Catholic Church on it. I no longer practice Catholicism... but I love Missions, Churches and always appreciate their beauty, history, reverence. This one was particularly beautiful in it's simplicity. It was a very old Mission and School with a Cemetery. Very primitive.
Pala now has a Casino, and it almost feels obscene when you drive through the poverty of this
Community. Many dogs running through the neighborhood, wild and abandoned... hungry.
Run down trailers that many of the residents live in. We felt such a draw to pull into the driveway of the Church. Across the street at the park.... we saw the school children playing. The park was was barely a park, some trees, a few benches, but the kids didn't care. They were having a great time running, laughing, playing.
We walked up to this simple Mission, and just like a few other times in our life.... a hush fell between us.
Humility like we had never experienced came over us. As we were walking into the Mission,
we noticed this very emaciated dog walking toward us. Ray and I just stared at each other not knowing what to make of anything. We stared inside the church through the open doors- it had a very long aisle, with pews on each side. Meanwhile, the dog was at such a weakened state, we thought it might die right there in front of us. This made us terribly sad and we were wondering what to do.
Just as we were considering so many possibilities... this exhausted dog that could barely walk, slowly makes it's way into the Church, painfully, one step at a time- all the way up the aisle to the front of the Church, stopped in front of the Crucifix and just looked up at it.
Ray and I could not talk, could not breathe as tears streamed down our face. We just kept looking into the Church at the dog, then at each other in disbelief. Slowly and painfully the dog took it's long pilgrimage back down the aisle, and just stood with us.
Ray went to the car and found something to put water in and we filled it up.
The dog drank every bit, somehow came back to life, and walked away.
We went into the Church and sat for the longest time without speaking. I would venture to say looking back that in general was a very difficult time period in our lives. Very lonely, filled with so much doubt and fear.
We knew something miraculous took place in front of us, it moved us both so deeply and brought us even closer together. It deepened our Spiritual Belief. The humility that day we felt on so many levels, the gratitude for the life we have been given, watching that dog near death take that long walk before our eyes. It is so difficult for me to write about this experience mainly because it was so personal, and because it was truly so humbling. Wishing you a peaceful day today.
Tuesday, April 3, 2012
Lessons In Love
The past couple of weeks have changed my thinking more than I have realized. Today, one of those changes. I met a friend of mine I have know since grade school days, for lunch. We reconnected a few years back, a push/ pull kind of thing going on. Between families, work, life.... it's hard to connect and stay in touch with old pals at times. Throw in misunderstandings and the party can be over. This fellow happens to be important to me. He has been like a brother to me, and it was painful to have a falling out with him.
A few weeks ago, one Saturday morning, I popped in where he was coaching a class. I hadn't seen him in a very long time. He was teaching a class in back and then came out to the front area wondering who was asking for him. We just stared at each other. He was very busy, trying to assess very quickly
(which is his personality) the situation. Oh... it was me. Hug, hmmm, he had to go. He can be very coolish at times, ( as though I am not, mirror mirror!), and I left feeling "why did I just do that?" We emailed back and forth a few times, and finally decided on lunch today.
I wanted to be honest why I had been distant with him over the past several months. It boiled down to hurt feelings. I could dress it up and make it fancy, but the truth was I felt like he didn't care about me. Todays lunch was one of those times when a deep connection took place, in the most wonderful of ways. We both felt heard... understood. Compassion and empathy was going on. Instead of just talking over each other, we let down our guards. I know why my friends are very strong males. I got some very strong dude-chick in me that likes to wrestle figuratively. I married a strong man, and all my male buds are fiercely strong. My favorite kind to rumble with.
If only it were that simple. The lessons in love I learned today. I have a fearlessness with my emotions, my spirit. With my physical being... quite the opposite at times. I can be very childlike. That is something I have not wanted to admit. The pairing I have come to understand. My mothering abilities.... my strength with my emotions, I don't have fear. Tussling... getting right in there. Pretty sure anyone who knows me well who is reading this is indeed chuckling. I probably should... I just don't. Reality with physical stuff: I got lost on the way home from lunch. My friend said "well just go back the way you came" . This is the same fellow who is a genius with computers. While driving over to his work today, he texted me twice. I stared at my phone like a deer in the headlights. First off, I am driving in a very unfamiliar area... I am tripping out a little bit. Second.... I don't really know how to text. That might take some doing. Definitely would need to pull over for half an hour and stare at my phone for awhile. Third, I couldn't figure out how to dial out on my phone. More deer in the headlights going on.
Finally I called and said I was close... where close? You know, not far. I am realizing that by not having a father figure (yes I had a father.... but he just kinda sat there), and brothers that had nothing to do with me... am searching in a positive way for support. I have so much love from my hubby, but it is nice to have brothers... real ones. We all fill different roles for one another. My skills are mothering, nurturing, support. I look to strong males who help me bring out my strength, my male side so that I am not just a floppy mess. The yin and yang. Allowing myself to admit that , yes I get lost. Yes... I trip on occasion about it. From deep seeded wounds from the past, I am finally allowing help. I am trusting that I am loved, worthy for my hand to be held sometimes when I am childlike, feel frightened, alone, need a friend.... instead of the old way. Acting cool aloof... everything is fine. Coming home and having a serious meltdown. I like this new way....
It seems the past couple of days I must be letting down more. Letting in more sunshine and light in my life. Loving words, support, kindness, sweetness is flowing my way. Lessons in love.
A few weeks ago, one Saturday morning, I popped in where he was coaching a class. I hadn't seen him in a very long time. He was teaching a class in back and then came out to the front area wondering who was asking for him. We just stared at each other. He was very busy, trying to assess very quickly
(which is his personality) the situation. Oh... it was me. Hug, hmmm, he had to go. He can be very coolish at times, ( as though I am not, mirror mirror!), and I left feeling "why did I just do that?" We emailed back and forth a few times, and finally decided on lunch today.
I wanted to be honest why I had been distant with him over the past several months. It boiled down to hurt feelings. I could dress it up and make it fancy, but the truth was I felt like he didn't care about me. Todays lunch was one of those times when a deep connection took place, in the most wonderful of ways. We both felt heard... understood. Compassion and empathy was going on. Instead of just talking over each other, we let down our guards. I know why my friends are very strong males. I got some very strong dude-chick in me that likes to wrestle figuratively. I married a strong man, and all my male buds are fiercely strong. My favorite kind to rumble with.
If only it were that simple. The lessons in love I learned today. I have a fearlessness with my emotions, my spirit. With my physical being... quite the opposite at times. I can be very childlike. That is something I have not wanted to admit. The pairing I have come to understand. My mothering abilities.... my strength with my emotions, I don't have fear. Tussling... getting right in there. Pretty sure anyone who knows me well who is reading this is indeed chuckling. I probably should... I just don't. Reality with physical stuff: I got lost on the way home from lunch. My friend said "well just go back the way you came" . This is the same fellow who is a genius with computers. While driving over to his work today, he texted me twice. I stared at my phone like a deer in the headlights. First off, I am driving in a very unfamiliar area... I am tripping out a little bit. Second.... I don't really know how to text. That might take some doing. Definitely would need to pull over for half an hour and stare at my phone for awhile. Third, I couldn't figure out how to dial out on my phone. More deer in the headlights going on.
Finally I called and said I was close... where close? You know, not far. I am realizing that by not having a father figure (yes I had a father.... but he just kinda sat there), and brothers that had nothing to do with me... am searching in a positive way for support. I have so much love from my hubby, but it is nice to have brothers... real ones. We all fill different roles for one another. My skills are mothering, nurturing, support. I look to strong males who help me bring out my strength, my male side so that I am not just a floppy mess. The yin and yang. Allowing myself to admit that , yes I get lost. Yes... I trip on occasion about it. From deep seeded wounds from the past, I am finally allowing help. I am trusting that I am loved, worthy for my hand to be held sometimes when I am childlike, feel frightened, alone, need a friend.... instead of the old way. Acting cool aloof... everything is fine. Coming home and having a serious meltdown. I like this new way....
It seems the past couple of days I must be letting down more. Letting in more sunshine and light in my life. Loving words, support, kindness, sweetness is flowing my way. Lessons in love.
Monday, April 2, 2012
Insight
I was just thinking of silly things from the past, well the list would never end. One that I thought was really funny back in the day. I think this would have to be around when I was around eighteen. My friend in the previous story I wrote about..." Motel 6", Gabrielle and I were eating buddies. She lived next door to me in a tiny apartment building in Montrose. We met a few years earlier and became friends. I don't mean eating buddies in a sweet, whimsical way. We were both serious bulimics back in the day... we would drive through fast food places one after the other. I realize there is nothing funny about being bulimic....after 25 years of putting in my time on this one, and having been healthy for so many years, laughter is essential. (So for those who take offense... please don't read.)
Gabrielle for some ridiculous reason trusted whatever I said. We would cruise in my blue pinto around town until we couldn't see straight. If we had gotten pulled over by the police, I am sure they would have arrested us and asked questions later from the state we were in. We appeared higher than a kite, but this was from sugar. You can see why I have chosen to be a very healthy eater now.
The biggest part of my life, why it works is simply telling the truth from the past the best I can. This one does not bind me. I don't feel that it has much to do with me anymore. I started at fourteen years old, and it was my life. I thought I would die this way. So it is not that I am nonchalant about this or take anything for granted. I worked really hard to figure my life out, as I continue to every day.
Back to cruising with Gabrielle in the pinto and our misadventures.
She had to unzip her pants because she had eaten too much and couldn't breathe. I am pretty sure she had put away a dozen donuts, but my memory is faulty thirty years later. I thought it might be a good idea for her to get out of the car for a minute, pants unzipped, gut hanging, hair disheveled.... deer in the headlights look. I didn't say we were rational.... high on sugar.
Again, why she agreed? She just did. The thing is.... it's just what we did to each other. It was her turn. Hard to understand when you are not "in it." So I said just get out for a minute and I'll drive to the signal. Out she went. Well.... anyone who knows me knows that just isn't going to play out like that. I burnt rubber in my pinto so fast. She became a dot in my rearview mirror, just standing there believing I would momentarily return. Game on.
I circled around her, over and over again and acted like she could get in the car, but pulled away quickly. It seemed so funny at the time. When you are in that state of mind, the things that are funny.... hmmmm. I knew my turn would come soon enough.... in some other way.
I am sure I was one huge passive aggressive shame monger.... the fact that she let me do this to her makes me sad. Only writing this story I have now have enough insight to see I was unloading all the shame that had been loaded on me as a child. Gabrielle... wherever you are, my deepest apologies.
Gabrielle for some ridiculous reason trusted whatever I said. We would cruise in my blue pinto around town until we couldn't see straight. If we had gotten pulled over by the police, I am sure they would have arrested us and asked questions later from the state we were in. We appeared higher than a kite, but this was from sugar. You can see why I have chosen to be a very healthy eater now.
The biggest part of my life, why it works is simply telling the truth from the past the best I can. This one does not bind me. I don't feel that it has much to do with me anymore. I started at fourteen years old, and it was my life. I thought I would die this way. So it is not that I am nonchalant about this or take anything for granted. I worked really hard to figure my life out, as I continue to every day.
Back to cruising with Gabrielle in the pinto and our misadventures.
She had to unzip her pants because she had eaten too much and couldn't breathe. I am pretty sure she had put away a dozen donuts, but my memory is faulty thirty years later. I thought it might be a good idea for her to get out of the car for a minute, pants unzipped, gut hanging, hair disheveled.... deer in the headlights look. I didn't say we were rational.... high on sugar.
Again, why she agreed? She just did. The thing is.... it's just what we did to each other. It was her turn. Hard to understand when you are not "in it." So I said just get out for a minute and I'll drive to the signal. Out she went. Well.... anyone who knows me knows that just isn't going to play out like that. I burnt rubber in my pinto so fast. She became a dot in my rearview mirror, just standing there believing I would momentarily return. Game on.
I circled around her, over and over again and acted like she could get in the car, but pulled away quickly. It seemed so funny at the time. When you are in that state of mind, the things that are funny.... hmmmm. I knew my turn would come soon enough.... in some other way.
I am sure I was one huge passive aggressive shame monger.... the fact that she let me do this to her makes me sad. Only writing this story I have now have enough insight to see I was unloading all the shame that had been loaded on me as a child. Gabrielle... wherever you are, my deepest apologies.
Motel 6
My mind's taking a trip down memory lane, each time I have gone down this particular road, I say to myself.... "What was I thinking"? I still laugh as hard as I did nearly thirty years ago, at the thought of this story. Really.... all of the things I did back in the day would be pretty frightening today, because it just seemed so much more innocent. The people, the times...
I was twenty years old and a friend of mine, Heather (who I waitressed with) was going to be modeling in a swim suit show in Palm Springs. Yeah, white trash gone wild.... what can I say? Another friend Gabrielle, came along for the ride. These two gal pals didn't know each other, and how I lined this one up, hmmm. Probably because we each had exactly enough to stay at Motel 6. Like I said, we were high falutin'. I think we figured we could count on the mercy of her modeling gig for some drinks and and appetizer or two.
I was lounging by the luxurious poolside of our beautiful digs, (Motel 6) as I am taking in the rays, I hear an enchanting voice next to me. Not really.... this fellow starts rapping to me. Okay, whatever. I'm twenty, I am in this fine motel, and Heather is upstairs getting ready for her gig. Why she was so fancy and had her own hotel room, I don't remember, but my other roomie, Gabrielle was upstairs also, with the stomach flu trying to feel better for the nights festivities. This voice sounded okay.... even better as he invited my lady friends and me out for a steak dinner. I barely looked at his face.... I was hungry. Like I said, white trash and associates, he looked decent enough. Dinner for three of us. ( Didn't we have amazing standards? ) Then he stood up.
Lord have mercy.... he was a little short. No disrespect at all to short people... but he was pretty short.
Just under five feet tall if that, just wasn't expecting it. I am considered short at not quite 5'5.
I left out that part to the gals... just that we were going to be taken out to dinner by a very nice gent. Steak dinner. We were young and hungry.... the gals looked at me with hmmm? Both gals had to be five 5'7 at least. That made me laugh even harder. So....we went to Heather's swim suit deal, than dinner. Well, we come to find out after our belly's are full, he is not even staying at the hotel. What the hell? why was he just sitting there. He said his room mate had the key and he was locked out. Uh huh. Then he asked if he could come back to the hotel, Heather and I just looked at each other. We knew what was going on... but Gabrielle had the stomach flu even worse by now, she just wanted to go back to our room. Heather was this very beautiful blonde girl, who every male was madly in love with. She looked so innocent, but was one of the toughest broads I have ever met. She grew up in El Sereno, which has some rough areas. This chick knew how to handle herself.
We both tried to pawn this fellow off on each other.... finally we said he could sit out on the lounge chair outside Heather's room. Fine... go to it. Heather had a single bed, who knew they even made single beds at hotels? We were just laying on the bed laughing our heads off, thinking about him sitting outside the window. Time passed, I wanted to go to my room after many hours of laughter and wondering what this guys trip was. It was all the way across the courtyard ( of course I am trying to make it sound fancy) I finally made my way back to my room by morning.
It must have been around six am... I unlock my door, walk in, look over at the sumptuous Motel 6 bed I can't wait to slump into. Gabrielle is tossing and turning in hers. I didn't have enough to drink, or did I? Who the hell is that in my bed? It 's him... short man. This can't be real. I run out shocked, in a daze leaving Gabrielle to her own devices. Yeah, I know what a pal I am. But wait.... why did she stay in the room all night with him? Oh, stories I could and will tell, believe me. I run back to Heather's room, laughing my head off. Telling the tale of who is in my bed. I think the stone fox thought he was going to get lucky when I got back to the room.
Later that morn I returned back to my room. No more naked short man. Gabrielle told us the story of how he came up to our room, telling her I said he could come up. She was so sick with stomach flu she could have cared less. Vomiting all night back and forth to the bathroom... with each pilgrimage she made to the bathroom, she looked over to see him removing another article of clothing until he was completely naked. I don't know why this one makes me laugh so hard. I guess, once again you would have to know Gabrielle. Her tough broad rivaled Heather's. I can just imagine her thinking..."What the hell?" and going back to bed. One naked man in our hotel... you've seen em' all. The best part of all, we were all good Catholic Girls.
He was perched once again poolside villa of Motel 6. We beat feet out as fast as humanly possible before Romeo caught wind of our departure. I realize he could have been a mass murderer, or something along those lines. This was the very early eighties. We were innocents that trusted and believed. The thing that makes me laugh the hardest is Gabrielle looking over and being so nonchalant as this fellow goes from fully clothed to naked. I would have run out of the room screaming.
I had some very strange experiences with her on different occasions... this one was mild. My sense of humor and what makes me laugh may be very different from others. I guess you just had to be there.
I was twenty years old and a friend of mine, Heather (who I waitressed with) was going to be modeling in a swim suit show in Palm Springs. Yeah, white trash gone wild.... what can I say? Another friend Gabrielle, came along for the ride. These two gal pals didn't know each other, and how I lined this one up, hmmm. Probably because we each had exactly enough to stay at Motel 6. Like I said, we were high falutin'. I think we figured we could count on the mercy of her modeling gig for some drinks and and appetizer or two.
I was lounging by the luxurious poolside of our beautiful digs, (Motel 6) as I am taking in the rays, I hear an enchanting voice next to me. Not really.... this fellow starts rapping to me. Okay, whatever. I'm twenty, I am in this fine motel, and Heather is upstairs getting ready for her gig. Why she was so fancy and had her own hotel room, I don't remember, but my other roomie, Gabrielle was upstairs also, with the stomach flu trying to feel better for the nights festivities. This voice sounded okay.... even better as he invited my lady friends and me out for a steak dinner. I barely looked at his face.... I was hungry. Like I said, white trash and associates, he looked decent enough. Dinner for three of us. ( Didn't we have amazing standards? ) Then he stood up.
Lord have mercy.... he was a little short. No disrespect at all to short people... but he was pretty short.
Just under five feet tall if that, just wasn't expecting it. I am considered short at not quite 5'5.
I left out that part to the gals... just that we were going to be taken out to dinner by a very nice gent. Steak dinner. We were young and hungry.... the gals looked at me with hmmm? Both gals had to be five 5'7 at least. That made me laugh even harder. So....we went to Heather's swim suit deal, than dinner. Well, we come to find out after our belly's are full, he is not even staying at the hotel. What the hell? why was he just sitting there. He said his room mate had the key and he was locked out. Uh huh. Then he asked if he could come back to the hotel, Heather and I just looked at each other. We knew what was going on... but Gabrielle had the stomach flu even worse by now, she just wanted to go back to our room. Heather was this very beautiful blonde girl, who every male was madly in love with. She looked so innocent, but was one of the toughest broads I have ever met. She grew up in El Sereno, which has some rough areas. This chick knew how to handle herself.
We both tried to pawn this fellow off on each other.... finally we said he could sit out on the lounge chair outside Heather's room. Fine... go to it. Heather had a single bed, who knew they even made single beds at hotels? We were just laying on the bed laughing our heads off, thinking about him sitting outside the window. Time passed, I wanted to go to my room after many hours of laughter and wondering what this guys trip was. It was all the way across the courtyard ( of course I am trying to make it sound fancy) I finally made my way back to my room by morning.
It must have been around six am... I unlock my door, walk in, look over at the sumptuous Motel 6 bed I can't wait to slump into. Gabrielle is tossing and turning in hers. I didn't have enough to drink, or did I? Who the hell is that in my bed? It 's him... short man. This can't be real. I run out shocked, in a daze leaving Gabrielle to her own devices. Yeah, I know what a pal I am. But wait.... why did she stay in the room all night with him? Oh, stories I could and will tell, believe me. I run back to Heather's room, laughing my head off. Telling the tale of who is in my bed. I think the stone fox thought he was going to get lucky when I got back to the room.
Later that morn I returned back to my room. No more naked short man. Gabrielle told us the story of how he came up to our room, telling her I said he could come up. She was so sick with stomach flu she could have cared less. Vomiting all night back and forth to the bathroom... with each pilgrimage she made to the bathroom, she looked over to see him removing another article of clothing until he was completely naked. I don't know why this one makes me laugh so hard. I guess, once again you would have to know Gabrielle. Her tough broad rivaled Heather's. I can just imagine her thinking..."What the hell?" and going back to bed. One naked man in our hotel... you've seen em' all. The best part of all, we were all good Catholic Girls.
He was perched once again poolside villa of Motel 6. We beat feet out as fast as humanly possible before Romeo caught wind of our departure. I realize he could have been a mass murderer, or something along those lines. This was the very early eighties. We were innocents that trusted and believed. The thing that makes me laugh the hardest is Gabrielle looking over and being so nonchalant as this fellow goes from fully clothed to naked. I would have run out of the room screaming.
I had some very strange experiences with her on different occasions... this one was mild. My sense of humor and what makes me laugh may be very different from others. I guess you just had to be there.
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