My mind just traveled to many places as it can when writing. The challenge, bringing those thoughts together so they make sense, and not feel like you just did some 'shrooms.
Well, for some of you.....
It would seem I am quite frequently the lucky recipient, special reward of getting cornered by trap door spiders.... in the human variety. That would be a Ray-ism. Possibly someone at a party corners you, further and further into a space until there is no oxygen, breathing room to be had. Now those 'shrooms are looking pretty good. Unrelenting, clueless, they have breeched the boundary issue of human contact between two people.
That would be my first description of what drives me crazy, my second is the Energy Vampire. Case in point, sometimes when I am shopping, in the zone....writing stories in my head, or creating as I look around. When in the zone, yep here comes one, I feel it the breath round my neck. My limbs begin to stiffen, rod up my spine, interesting thoughts and language begin rattling around in my brain. Moving to another aisle swiftly, there is more enough room for the two of us Vampie. Round the bend, on to Round Two. No she didn't, as Vampie is nearly rubbing up against me. My next thought, enough of this get away from me. My peaceful place is completely gone, now I am pissed. Give it a rest sister, seriously.
Trap door spiders and energy vampires are very interesting creatures. The trap door usually bores me to no end, telling it like it is.... then goes on Prove Patrol Mission, you know what I am talking about.
"So tell me about yourself, what do you do, how much do you make, where do you live, how much do you weigh, how old are you???" ( Fill in the blanks-- of course I am taking it slightly to the extreme!) Meanwhile, my thought bubble is going to town, funny ways I want to answer, every way inappropriate, my hubby beyond grateful my grown up side usually kicks in.
This whole thought came about when I was at AAA paying car registration. The gal pal at the front tells me it is life insurance month, usually I am resistant, I will say yes.
Wouldn't you know it, I get the trapped door spider. Okay, chill out, maybe I can learn something from this. It does not start out well as this fellow loads me up with a heaping helping of guilt trip. About life insurance.... how much does my hubby have on me, a lot of sighing, inferences, crunching numbers furiously.
Cringing, yet at the same time wondering how quickly I can sprint to the front door without him noticing, he drones on and on. At this point I realize it would not matter if anyone was seated in front of him, as he delighted in the lilting sound of his own voice.Watching his face as he is speaking, now with more than slight amusement, this was becoming interesting. The fascinating mix of Bullwinkle and Mad Cow immediately came to to mind the more he spoke, sprinkling in a dash of charging Rhino for good measure. Wasn't such a bad day after all.
Saturday, November 1, 2014
Monday, October 27, 2014
The Playground
Moments of understanding come in flashes for me, the big aha, now I get it. Yesterday in the crisp early morning air, as I was watching my hubby sitting in the engine of a train... smiling, so full of joy- bam it hit me.
Why this particular lesson was hitting me so hard, and how hard I had pushed back, dug my heels in. I just sat in stunned silence, how could I not see this before? I was not ready, didn't have the tools
to get to this moment. I had arrived on this beautiful crisp morn, breeze blowing, as if straight out of a movie. It was so clear to me now, I had no previous experience, and had been beating myself up for not knowing the rules, having this particular handbook.
The moment came as I was watching a very patient and kind gentleman teaching a young man how to properly check and recheck his work, before the train could be in service for the day. It was the kindness in his voice, the ease in which he spoke to this young man.
It was the first time I really understood why team work was so important, and why walking away solves very little. My lack of experience in groups= my lack of experience with being raised in a family. My weakness in life, having been raised without the benefit of team work.
My idea of teams, team work, boiled down to every man for themselves, wait for your opponent to turn on you, several at a time possibly, never saw what was coming, how could I let my guard down? When parents were at the helm of such behavior, this would be a hard nut to crack, to trust. Always waiting, wondering, sleeping with one eye open. Identifying the behavior at it's roots, or it will continue for a lifetime. Yesterday I finally got to that place, understanding something so basic it.
You don't throw people away, walk away forever over a fight. You are allowed to have differing opinions. My differing opinions have cost me dearly, years at a time. My letters of forgiveness offered cost me, by being vulnerable, keeping my heart open- with attacks. However--- the gift through all of that ....you crawl, beg God for mercy. The lessons have been invaluable.
Had I literally not had the shit kicked out of me in my darkest moments, I would not have grown, stayed complacent.
Those experiences were some of my greatest teachers. At the time I wondered why? Only with enough perspective, time, healing, forgiveness could I possibly have gratitude. Groups, much like families come in many sizes, personalities, everyone is not going to get along. I had no understanding of this process, I was so out of my element, no matter how much study I had done, this one had to be experienced. Every time I would get too close, "something" would happen, go awry, arguments, anger, frustration, division. Recreating family.... it was all I knew.
The family I created with Ray had been a different story, we all wanted in the same thing... love.
The moment of understanding yesterday morning all came together, feeling excruciating pain of knowing I had been the cause of my husband not playing on the playground with some of the kids- from my inability to learn how to play.
He is my love, my heart, now I understood all the way through something I had not resolved inside myself - affected him so deeply. It begins with understanding, then forgiveness, and compassion.
I am looking forward to both of us being with kids on the playground, we're ready to play.
Why this particular lesson was hitting me so hard, and how hard I had pushed back, dug my heels in. I just sat in stunned silence, how could I not see this before? I was not ready, didn't have the tools
to get to this moment. I had arrived on this beautiful crisp morn, breeze blowing, as if straight out of a movie. It was so clear to me now, I had no previous experience, and had been beating myself up for not knowing the rules, having this particular handbook.
The moment came as I was watching a very patient and kind gentleman teaching a young man how to properly check and recheck his work, before the train could be in service for the day. It was the kindness in his voice, the ease in which he spoke to this young man.
It was the first time I really understood why team work was so important, and why walking away solves very little. My lack of experience in groups= my lack of experience with being raised in a family. My weakness in life, having been raised without the benefit of team work.
My idea of teams, team work, boiled down to every man for themselves, wait for your opponent to turn on you, several at a time possibly, never saw what was coming, how could I let my guard down? When parents were at the helm of such behavior, this would be a hard nut to crack, to trust. Always waiting, wondering, sleeping with one eye open. Identifying the behavior at it's roots, or it will continue for a lifetime. Yesterday I finally got to that place, understanding something so basic it.
You don't throw people away, walk away forever over a fight. You are allowed to have differing opinions. My differing opinions have cost me dearly, years at a time. My letters of forgiveness offered cost me, by being vulnerable, keeping my heart open- with attacks. However--- the gift through all of that ....you crawl, beg God for mercy. The lessons have been invaluable.
Had I literally not had the shit kicked out of me in my darkest moments, I would not have grown, stayed complacent.
Those experiences were some of my greatest teachers. At the time I wondered why? Only with enough perspective, time, healing, forgiveness could I possibly have gratitude. Groups, much like families come in many sizes, personalities, everyone is not going to get along. I had no understanding of this process, I was so out of my element, no matter how much study I had done, this one had to be experienced. Every time I would get too close, "something" would happen, go awry, arguments, anger, frustration, division. Recreating family.... it was all I knew.
The family I created with Ray had been a different story, we all wanted in the same thing... love.
The moment of understanding yesterday morning all came together, feeling excruciating pain of knowing I had been the cause of my husband not playing on the playground with some of the kids- from my inability to learn how to play.
He is my love, my heart, now I understood all the way through something I had not resolved inside myself - affected him so deeply. It begins with understanding, then forgiveness, and compassion.
I am looking forward to both of us being with kids on the playground, we're ready to play.
Saturday, August 23, 2014
Billy The Kid and Lamb Chop too.
My daughter had this book for the longest time that I would stare at- her books always fascinate me. "Men who love bitches,"hmmm, catchy title. I would look at it, kick it around, and finally awhile back I opened it. She bought this years ago, the reader that she is- having been in a very Bukowski faze through high school, we would sit and read together his books. I think his writing got me to want to really deeply express myself. Granted he was one angry, hurt guy, cussed incessantly ( I know I know my guilty pleasure) and loved detailing his sexcapades. Who's not down for that one, especially Bukowski style? "Men Who love Bitches", my mind began to wander back to high school, imagining some of the gal pals this book may have been intended for. Exactly, the ones that fascinated this gal.
As I write this I can't help but think of my darling friend Jimmy, really the first boy I became friends with in high school, to this day we are still close. We went through a number of years not being in contact, he moved away, then about six years ago we reconnected. Jimmy, I do believe this story is in honor of you. Freshman year, coming in late well into the second semester - and there was Jimmy.
Two years older than me, starting in with some joke- and yes hard for anyone to believe now, I could barely look up let alone utter a word. Jimmy just made it better, was funny, and never once was the kind of friend to ever make me think of a book about "Men Who Love Bitches." He just didn't roll that way, and I am so grateful my first high school male friend treated me with respect, humor and dignity.
It didn't stop me from watching what was going on around me. Being very quiet, new( wasn't quiet with those closest around me) I just observed mannerisms, a trait that has stayed with me to this very day. The most popular and absolute rejects of society fascinated me to no end. I think the latter kept kept my attention longer. There was" Billy The Kid" I I lovingly named- I don't know she just reminded me of Billy The Kid..... it was her hair. Lamb had super Lamb chop sideburns,was very theatrical with his theatrical homeys in the Quad. This is where I could have lived, truth be known. These theatrical groupies citing fake Shakespearean accents loudly rocked my world. Especially when Lamb did it, he was my favorite. Now I have lost interest in the popular crew, I am thinking about those sideburns and just want to gaze at them in my yearbook, take a spin at with "Billy The Kid" again. She is Ray's favorite, as I have pointed her out at least once in real life, as he says, "Oh I definitely see what you mean."
It was something about that popular crew, maybe the air they breathed was generated from a different land than the rest of us. I just knew I was from the "regular crew," sealed my fate the day one of my friends from my St. Luke's days (previous school) lovingly took me aside ( definitely kidding) let me know if I continued to "hang out " with one particular girl, she could not get me in the popular group. Okay, so I am only fourteen, but I have plenty of super hard headed Italian steam in my head. I am sure I gave a very good fake smile, by the next day probably gathered many a Billy The Kid, Lamb Chop and various others to strut through school. I sealed my fate with that one.
It did get somewhat lonely trying to figure my place, I have always just liked who I liked.
One of my friends she did like her drugs, wasn't my thing but I liked her. The other was a Church Addict..... seriously, talk about polar opposites! Those were my two closest friends through high school, neither went to my school, and didn't like each other, so I did more observing and trying to figure out where I belonged while at school.
The Men Who Love Bitches..... I just didn't know how to play the game. I was Frances' daughter, a simple gal who was used to wearing a uniform to school everyday. I was the only sibling who veered from all girl or boy Catholic High School and now and was struggling with it all, especially in the clothes department. My mom gave me fifty dollars to buy my clothes for the year. Hmm, I wandered on over to Miller Outpost at the mall. "Dittos, a type of popular girls pants in the 7o's were nearly forty bucks. I did the best I could do, but I bought those dittos, you know I did. I put together any combo known to mankind, borrowed, rifled, used hand me downs, I didn't care, I was desperate. I self consciously scooted my way down the halls through the lockers each morning only eye contact - the dots on the floor.
A funny thing I remember this one girl would say to me, " You always have the cutest clothes.
A. My first reaction..... keep your voice down someone will hear.
B. Right
C. I am so embarrassed I wish I could disappear.
Never did I think, wow, what a nice compliment, she really likes my clothes. I had nothing to compare it to, I felt so in it alone. I still have that first reaction to a compliment- trying to get out grow that one! The great lesson I learned from that, desperation is the true mother of invention and served me well throughout my life. I passed it on to my daughter, hopefully in a more creative form- having fun and looking at what is not there, make your own magic. Katie is amazing with creations, art, design and is definitely one of a kind.
I still like strange funky stores, I am a gal who loves diamonds in the rough, with people , places and things.
Yes, I wanted to be those shiny diamonds I saw walking around- more than you could possibly imagine. I had no idea who I was, until pushed!
Thanks Jimmy for making that scared freshman girl feel okay in her own skin.
As I write this I can't help but think of my darling friend Jimmy, really the first boy I became friends with in high school, to this day we are still close. We went through a number of years not being in contact, he moved away, then about six years ago we reconnected. Jimmy, I do believe this story is in honor of you. Freshman year, coming in late well into the second semester - and there was Jimmy.
Two years older than me, starting in with some joke- and yes hard for anyone to believe now, I could barely look up let alone utter a word. Jimmy just made it better, was funny, and never once was the kind of friend to ever make me think of a book about "Men Who Love Bitches." He just didn't roll that way, and I am so grateful my first high school male friend treated me with respect, humor and dignity.
It didn't stop me from watching what was going on around me. Being very quiet, new( wasn't quiet with those closest around me) I just observed mannerisms, a trait that has stayed with me to this very day. The most popular and absolute rejects of society fascinated me to no end. I think the latter kept kept my attention longer. There was" Billy The Kid" I I lovingly named- I don't know she just reminded me of Billy The Kid..... it was her hair. Lamb had super Lamb chop sideburns,was very theatrical with his theatrical homeys in the Quad. This is where I could have lived, truth be known. These theatrical groupies citing fake Shakespearean accents loudly rocked my world. Especially when Lamb did it, he was my favorite. Now I have lost interest in the popular crew, I am thinking about those sideburns and just want to gaze at them in my yearbook, take a spin at with "Billy The Kid" again. She is Ray's favorite, as I have pointed her out at least once in real life, as he says, "Oh I definitely see what you mean."
It was something about that popular crew, maybe the air they breathed was generated from a different land than the rest of us. I just knew I was from the "regular crew," sealed my fate the day one of my friends from my St. Luke's days (previous school) lovingly took me aside ( definitely kidding) let me know if I continued to "hang out " with one particular girl, she could not get me in the popular group. Okay, so I am only fourteen, but I have plenty of super hard headed Italian steam in my head. I am sure I gave a very good fake smile, by the next day probably gathered many a Billy The Kid, Lamb Chop and various others to strut through school. I sealed my fate with that one.
It did get somewhat lonely trying to figure my place, I have always just liked who I liked.
One of my friends she did like her drugs, wasn't my thing but I liked her. The other was a Church Addict..... seriously, talk about polar opposites! Those were my two closest friends through high school, neither went to my school, and didn't like each other, so I did more observing and trying to figure out where I belonged while at school.
The Men Who Love Bitches..... I just didn't know how to play the game. I was Frances' daughter, a simple gal who was used to wearing a uniform to school everyday. I was the only sibling who veered from all girl or boy Catholic High School and now and was struggling with it all, especially in the clothes department. My mom gave me fifty dollars to buy my clothes for the year. Hmm, I wandered on over to Miller Outpost at the mall. "Dittos, a type of popular girls pants in the 7o's were nearly forty bucks. I did the best I could do, but I bought those dittos, you know I did. I put together any combo known to mankind, borrowed, rifled, used hand me downs, I didn't care, I was desperate. I self consciously scooted my way down the halls through the lockers each morning only eye contact - the dots on the floor.
A funny thing I remember this one girl would say to me, " You always have the cutest clothes.
A. My first reaction..... keep your voice down someone will hear.
B. Right
C. I am so embarrassed I wish I could disappear.
Never did I think, wow, what a nice compliment, she really likes my clothes. I had nothing to compare it to, I felt so in it alone. I still have that first reaction to a compliment- trying to get out grow that one! The great lesson I learned from that, desperation is the true mother of invention and served me well throughout my life. I passed it on to my daughter, hopefully in a more creative form- having fun and looking at what is not there, make your own magic. Katie is amazing with creations, art, design and is definitely one of a kind.
I still like strange funky stores, I am a gal who loves diamonds in the rough, with people , places and things.
Yes, I wanted to be those shiny diamonds I saw walking around- more than you could possibly imagine. I had no idea who I was, until pushed!
Thanks Jimmy for making that scared freshman girl feel okay in her own skin.
Friday, August 22, 2014
Howdy Partner
Every time I saw "Partner," I expected him to have pistols packed in each holster,
Gary Cooper's determined look of defiance, yep. That's what I expected when I bounced on through Partners doors. Cool, level headed, ready for anything. Hmmm.... Howdy Partner.
Ray is sitting on the couch lost in his own computer world thoughts, but at the same time saying.... "What in the hell is she laughing about again? " He's trying to act cool as he sees me snicker and type fast. How fast can a gal who types with two fingers go? I type with my two middle fingers, why, I have no idea..... just how I roll, just seems to make sense to me. Got a pretty good rhythm actually, once I get lost in my own world. Okay, back to Partner...... so sorry.Met Partner and his gal well over fifteen years ago, was in need of a Chiropractor, can't remember what they specialized in- but seemed what I needed at the time. Partner and his gal were a Hubby and Wife team. Seems like we could have figured out that Dept, Ray's bro and mine both being chiropractors.
(Would have to travel to Pennsylvania for mine, though.) I started off as Mrs. Partner's patient, I liked her a lot, so didn't pay much attention to Partner, his holster and showdown at High Noon. But one day Partners wife took to the bed ill...... can't remember exactly what happened, in stepped the ever chivalrous Partner to the rescue.
Howdy Partner..... is he seriously talking to me, while saunters slowly across the room, ( seemed like slow motion) doing the severe lean back.
Now this is just funny at this point, because he is wearing his slackettes waaaaaay too high, his shirt severely tucked into those very high slackettes, and the lean gets even more severe backward. How does this Cowboy not fall?
Howdy Partner..... I look around again, wanting to just burst out loud, froth, dance a jig, who the hell didn't see Partner sauntering toward me in this rig whilst as dead pan as humanly possibly calling me Partner for the tenth time.
The set up for this Chiropractic Clinic seemed ultra modern to me at the time. It was a very large room,as opposed to the small rooms I had always gone to previously. When the kids were small, we went to Ray's brother ( now is sports therapist/ motivational speaker for athletes ) so we are all out together with Partner. I couldn't wait for Ray's turn to meet Partner..... I didn't want to spoil the surprise. He got even more of a super lean back, and I swear it is inhumanly possibly for that mans pants to be hitched up around his now it would almost appear to be his neck? Katie and Matt experienced Mr. and Mrs. Partner...... why not share the wealth, didn't want to be stingy. Partner started getting super controlling, maybe his pants starting strangling him and he couldn't breath?If we all didn't come in forever three times a week, we were "bad partners." So sad to say our Partnerdome ended one sweet day- but today for some reason, the memory of that fine man, that swell posture, and calling out to Ray this morn..... Howdy Partner just brought all that magic back.
Good times...... :)
Gary Cooper's determined look of defiance, yep. That's what I expected when I bounced on through Partners doors. Cool, level headed, ready for anything. Hmmm.... Howdy Partner.
Ray is sitting on the couch lost in his own computer world thoughts, but at the same time saying.... "What in the hell is she laughing about again? " He's trying to act cool as he sees me snicker and type fast. How fast can a gal who types with two fingers go? I type with my two middle fingers, why, I have no idea..... just how I roll, just seems to make sense to me. Got a pretty good rhythm actually, once I get lost in my own world. Okay, back to Partner...... so sorry.Met Partner and his gal well over fifteen years ago, was in need of a Chiropractor, can't remember what they specialized in- but seemed what I needed at the time. Partner and his gal were a Hubby and Wife team. Seems like we could have figured out that Dept, Ray's bro and mine both being chiropractors.
(Would have to travel to Pennsylvania for mine, though.) I started off as Mrs. Partner's patient, I liked her a lot, so didn't pay much attention to Partner, his holster and showdown at High Noon. But one day Partners wife took to the bed ill...... can't remember exactly what happened, in stepped the ever chivalrous Partner to the rescue.
Howdy Partner..... is he seriously talking to me, while saunters slowly across the room, ( seemed like slow motion) doing the severe lean back.
Now this is just funny at this point, because he is wearing his slackettes waaaaaay too high, his shirt severely tucked into those very high slackettes, and the lean gets even more severe backward. How does this Cowboy not fall?
Howdy Partner..... I look around again, wanting to just burst out loud, froth, dance a jig, who the hell didn't see Partner sauntering toward me in this rig whilst as dead pan as humanly possibly calling me Partner for the tenth time.
The set up for this Chiropractic Clinic seemed ultra modern to me at the time. It was a very large room,as opposed to the small rooms I had always gone to previously. When the kids were small, we went to Ray's brother ( now is sports therapist/ motivational speaker for athletes ) so we are all out together with Partner. I couldn't wait for Ray's turn to meet Partner..... I didn't want to spoil the surprise. He got even more of a super lean back, and I swear it is inhumanly possibly for that mans pants to be hitched up around his now it would almost appear to be his neck? Katie and Matt experienced Mr. and Mrs. Partner...... why not share the wealth, didn't want to be stingy. Partner started getting super controlling, maybe his pants starting strangling him and he couldn't breath?If we all didn't come in forever three times a week, we were "bad partners." So sad to say our Partnerdome ended one sweet day- but today for some reason, the memory of that fine man, that swell posture, and calling out to Ray this morn..... Howdy Partner just brought all that magic back.
Good times...... :)
Thursday, August 21, 2014
Home
I don't know the exact moment it hit, or even if there is an exact moment anymore. I think it is a series of baby quakes, and I am slightly shaken until the earth beneath me starts to rumble, saying, "Hey, seriously what do you need to pay attention- I'm talking to you." Boom, it's on. It was on several times today, okay, okay I heard. First quake- in Nordstrom Rack. I just realized--- I hate that store. I walk in and think, oh designer this, fabulous that, great prices, and my bigger than Leo part takes over, kicking the sweet gal to the curb. Yes, on occasion I have found some cool things- but overall I feel like crap. Have no idea why, it is just the energy in my local one. I feel really tired after maybe ten minutes, I sit in the dressing room with the worst self loathing taking over. Hmm.... and this is supposed to be fun? I actually dig shopping, so something is not right in my Universe when this is going down.
Figuring out maybe it is time to vamoose, I am out the door breathing fresh air again. this seems to make sense to me, and I crank up the music in my car..... featuring Wine Country which is just rocking my world. Ray and I got the CD about six or seven years ago, and I found it again the other day. It just soothes your soul like a gentle summer breeze and feels like you are taking sweet, windy roads even while doing mundane outings. But- the downside to this tenderhearted gal, my heart is already feeling so much, now it is just churning away as I am listening to these beautiful melodies. I am so thirsty, God knows why I pull into Panda Express to get an iced tea- it just sounded good. I text my friend, as we go back and forth, a pool a water forms beneath my eyes which I can no longer control, dripping down my cheeks. Trying to act like this is an everyday occurrence as I saunter over for yet another gigantic iced tea, I just give it up and let them flow. Who's kidding who, it's on, and I just want out of there. What I realize as I am walking out, purpose. Ok, if I have to lose it in Panda Express, (I am nothing if not for self exploration) purpose of being.....in my case, it's part two honey bunny- time to figure it out. I accomplished what was in my heart, stayed home, raised our children and couldn't be prouder of who they are. Now something else is calling me, not entirely different, It's still all about Love. Our kids taught my heart well. Part Two.
Over dinner tonight I talked to Ray about this revelation, we always talk about this revelation,
working together- our dream. The thing is, we really just like being together, with the desire to create a space, an environment where people can feel home..... loved, safe, creative, the in betweens we are still trying to figure out. We want to buy land, he wants a barn, both figuring out details- and lots of them. But one thing that has remained true, consistent and unwavering for Ray's bride. If we build it, they will come. The one true thing I know in my heart- a life centered around goodness, love, treating people with dignity and respect. I have gotten so stuck in the details..... instead of just moving forward and believing, letting my heart DREAM BIG, as it has moved me forward in every other area of my life, introduced me to all the people I love- instead of getting bogged down with too many details. It's not me, never has been.
That is who I can hire to help me, I have to understand my strengths..... we all do.
It is not about what so and so said we should do. What is in our hearts? I have been so fearful at times- because my heart wants to do what others would consider ridiculous. The path to my current life.....
I almost can't breath, the tears are here, they should be. The road has been long, rocky, severe at times,
seemed never ending at other times.... but somewhere inside me, there was a small voice that believed in dreams. At twenty when I felt the most washed up, couldn't go back home after being away since sixteen, failed marriage- sitting on my stoop in South Pasadena I'd had enough.I decided I wanted real love. No more running away from home, running from one problem after another, to another. It was done- I wanted real love, whatever, however it came, whatever it took, whatever it looked like. It came.... but not easily. Not for Ray or me. Neither of us traveled lightly with our pasts.
But the unpacking along the way, the willingness to do whatever it took to love, forgive, heal. That has been the past thirty two years- finding our way home. That will be our next adventure, creating a haven, a place where others can feel HOME. It all starts with that one step, that belief that there is more.
For me, it is usually Earthquakes, Avalanches, Landslides. I am hardheaded.... I wish I could get it the first time, second or third would be swell. But for me to make such great changes and believe them all the way through- sometimes my world needs to shake. Here's to the great Part Two..... next adventure.
Figuring out maybe it is time to vamoose, I am out the door breathing fresh air again. this seems to make sense to me, and I crank up the music in my car..... featuring Wine Country which is just rocking my world. Ray and I got the CD about six or seven years ago, and I found it again the other day. It just soothes your soul like a gentle summer breeze and feels like you are taking sweet, windy roads even while doing mundane outings. But- the downside to this tenderhearted gal, my heart is already feeling so much, now it is just churning away as I am listening to these beautiful melodies. I am so thirsty, God knows why I pull into Panda Express to get an iced tea- it just sounded good. I text my friend, as we go back and forth, a pool a water forms beneath my eyes which I can no longer control, dripping down my cheeks. Trying to act like this is an everyday occurrence as I saunter over for yet another gigantic iced tea, I just give it up and let them flow. Who's kidding who, it's on, and I just want out of there. What I realize as I am walking out, purpose. Ok, if I have to lose it in Panda Express, (I am nothing if not for self exploration) purpose of being.....in my case, it's part two honey bunny- time to figure it out. I accomplished what was in my heart, stayed home, raised our children and couldn't be prouder of who they are. Now something else is calling me, not entirely different, It's still all about Love. Our kids taught my heart well. Part Two.
Over dinner tonight I talked to Ray about this revelation, we always talk about this revelation,
working together- our dream. The thing is, we really just like being together, with the desire to create a space, an environment where people can feel home..... loved, safe, creative, the in betweens we are still trying to figure out. We want to buy land, he wants a barn, both figuring out details- and lots of them. But one thing that has remained true, consistent and unwavering for Ray's bride. If we build it, they will come. The one true thing I know in my heart- a life centered around goodness, love, treating people with dignity and respect. I have gotten so stuck in the details..... instead of just moving forward and believing, letting my heart DREAM BIG, as it has moved me forward in every other area of my life, introduced me to all the people I love- instead of getting bogged down with too many details. It's not me, never has been.
That is who I can hire to help me, I have to understand my strengths..... we all do.
It is not about what so and so said we should do. What is in our hearts? I have been so fearful at times- because my heart wants to do what others would consider ridiculous. The path to my current life.....
I almost can't breath, the tears are here, they should be. The road has been long, rocky, severe at times,
seemed never ending at other times.... but somewhere inside me, there was a small voice that believed in dreams. At twenty when I felt the most washed up, couldn't go back home after being away since sixteen, failed marriage- sitting on my stoop in South Pasadena I'd had enough.I decided I wanted real love. No more running away from home, running from one problem after another, to another. It was done- I wanted real love, whatever, however it came, whatever it took, whatever it looked like. It came.... but not easily. Not for Ray or me. Neither of us traveled lightly with our pasts.
But the unpacking along the way, the willingness to do whatever it took to love, forgive, heal. That has been the past thirty two years- finding our way home. That will be our next adventure, creating a haven, a place where others can feel HOME. It all starts with that one step, that belief that there is more.
For me, it is usually Earthquakes, Avalanches, Landslides. I am hardheaded.... I wish I could get it the first time, second or third would be swell. But for me to make such great changes and believe them all the way through- sometimes my world needs to shake. Here's to the great Part Two..... next adventure.
Wednesday, August 20, 2014
When Crazy is Normal
I write in cycles.... I can go for many months and not have the slightest interest in jotting anything more down than a brief grocery list. A note. Typically when this occurs, I am in the thick of it, living it, going through many changes, writing is the absolute last thing I have the energy for. I am haunted in my waking hours, my dreams, people I meet, all screaming, screeching, butting up against me, change is in the air.
I know when outwardly change happens.... I do something dramatic as a Leo needs to do.I chop off my hair. Got even more cut today..... and quite honestly- I told my gal I felt like shaving my head fresh new start. "How about we just clean it up," she politely asked ? Okay, guess that will work too. :)
For me when so much change is going on inside, I need to express it outwardly...... hair lady always says, " But why the hair? " Because I need a change.
We were chatting about growing up italian, throw in catholic.
I will digress for a moment, because it makes me laugh. While in Osh over the weekend, as Ray and I were cruising around, this gal pal working there stops in her tracks, stares and says...." You're kidding me?" Ok, is my lunch on my face, something on my shirt, did I say what I was thinking out loud and forget? Then she laughs really hard pointing at Rays shirt. "Don't Hassle The Hoff" with a pic of David Hasselhoff- oh that! We both just laughed..... and the conversation began, but what I appreciated even more, my hubby's fabulous sense of humor.
This gal pal and I were only a couple years apart, but could have been twins in the life and times of Catholic Girl's Life. Even down to making up sins when we couldn't think of any thing good for mandatory monthly confession in grade school. We were morphing as one, telling stories. Her sister becoming a nun, my bro going to the seminary to become a priest. Telling her, honestly until about two years ago I never made the connection about my siblings names..... Mary and Joe the two oldest.
Mary and Joseph- really??? Oh and Anne, the next one Mary's mother..... your kidding?
My mother was seriously into the saints names. I was born on St Clare's feast Day-
My Mother is Frances. St Francis of Assisi..... and the beat goes on. William, well, that seems fairly non saintly as far as saints rock, and then the baby, St Paul. I thought my brothers given name this whole time was "Billy", not William - no wonder I was in the "other class" in school, and it wasn't for brainiacs. I just took things, people, just about everything at face value, fifth out of sixth in line is just that. You do what you do- you always had someone telling you what to do, how to think, what to say.
Parents, siblings before you, priests, nuns, whatever, whoever.
I was a very compliant human being, quiet, shy beyond words. My world was one of observation as it remains today. I thought to myself today while out, "Who are you really?" Being somewhat of an extroverted Leo, a at times I need to play in the Sun. But honestly, what I am learning about myself each day, I am a loner. Something I have not cared to look at, or accept. I enjoy being alone, observing,
taking mental notes, etc. I love talking and meeting people, but then when I am full up, I am full up and need to go home to my sanctuary- it is how I survive and thrive. I am accepting all the parts of me, which in the past I denied, betrayed, was ashamed of, simply pushed away. In order for me to give the very best of me, I need my recharging time. Coming from a family with no boundaries......
When Crazy is Normal, I felt as though I were committing a criminal act by taking care of myself, stepping away, hibernating until I got my bearings back. This was never okay, so I learned to stick situations out way past the point of discomfort, sheer misery, agony, torture.
But because all the players ( family members) and their blank expressions normalized insanity, I began to act like crazy was normal. It was all about the numbers ( people) there were too many of them- I wasn't yet strong enough to fully stand on my own- and be the punching bag each time. My recovery time would get slower and slower, while depression would loom larger and darker. BUT- I wanted to fit in.
Just love me, like me, ok, just don't hate me. This would become my mantra and I would dance any dance that was required. It no longer mattered, only approval, one that would never come. Hair lady and I talked about what no longer is okay in our lives, I listened with new ears. Maybe more room with new ventilation with new 'do. How is this one? It is not okay to feel like crap before, during and after being around family, or people that don't give or are harmful.Why must I hang so tough, who am I proving this to anymore? I am worth more than just surviving, I, like everyone on this Planet- have a right to thrive and feel magnificent, whole, joyous.
Hows this one??? Ecstatic. Whoa, bold declaration for Frances' fifth child. The child that was so afraid to have dreams, to show LOVE.... which in this lifetime is the only thing that has ever made sense to me. Coming from The Sahara Desert of withholding households, punished for expression. Living in COLOR... bold and brave and beautiful and daring as we can be. Releasing our fears and cares and just going for it. Believing we are ENOUGH! Always were.... always will be.
It really is just one baby step at a time. Sometimes one forward, two back, and even tripping along the way. Here's the thing no one told any of us..... in that great manual of how things work. You're supposed to fall, skin your knees, get a little banged up. Color outside the lines- laugh, cry, yell, dance, jump, get mad, just get going. Whatever , however , everyone one of us has our own special way. When we allow it, quit punishing and denying.... that is when the MAGIC is unlocked.Trust and believe in yourself----- I believe in you.
I know when outwardly change happens.... I do something dramatic as a Leo needs to do.I chop off my hair. Got even more cut today..... and quite honestly- I told my gal I felt like shaving my head fresh new start. "How about we just clean it up," she politely asked ? Okay, guess that will work too. :)
For me when so much change is going on inside, I need to express it outwardly...... hair lady always says, " But why the hair? " Because I need a change.
We were chatting about growing up italian, throw in catholic.
I will digress for a moment, because it makes me laugh. While in Osh over the weekend, as Ray and I were cruising around, this gal pal working there stops in her tracks, stares and says...." You're kidding me?" Ok, is my lunch on my face, something on my shirt, did I say what I was thinking out loud and forget? Then she laughs really hard pointing at Rays shirt. "Don't Hassle The Hoff" with a pic of David Hasselhoff- oh that! We both just laughed..... and the conversation began, but what I appreciated even more, my hubby's fabulous sense of humor.
This gal pal and I were only a couple years apart, but could have been twins in the life and times of Catholic Girl's Life. Even down to making up sins when we couldn't think of any thing good for mandatory monthly confession in grade school. We were morphing as one, telling stories. Her sister becoming a nun, my bro going to the seminary to become a priest. Telling her, honestly until about two years ago I never made the connection about my siblings names..... Mary and Joe the two oldest.
Mary and Joseph- really??? Oh and Anne, the next one Mary's mother..... your kidding?
My mother was seriously into the saints names. I was born on St Clare's feast Day-
My Mother is Frances. St Francis of Assisi..... and the beat goes on. William, well, that seems fairly non saintly as far as saints rock, and then the baby, St Paul. I thought my brothers given name this whole time was "Billy", not William - no wonder I was in the "other class" in school, and it wasn't for brainiacs. I just took things, people, just about everything at face value, fifth out of sixth in line is just that. You do what you do- you always had someone telling you what to do, how to think, what to say.
Parents, siblings before you, priests, nuns, whatever, whoever.
I was a very compliant human being, quiet, shy beyond words. My world was one of observation as it remains today. I thought to myself today while out, "Who are you really?" Being somewhat of an extroverted Leo, a at times I need to play in the Sun. But honestly, what I am learning about myself each day, I am a loner. Something I have not cared to look at, or accept. I enjoy being alone, observing,
taking mental notes, etc. I love talking and meeting people, but then when I am full up, I am full up and need to go home to my sanctuary- it is how I survive and thrive. I am accepting all the parts of me, which in the past I denied, betrayed, was ashamed of, simply pushed away. In order for me to give the very best of me, I need my recharging time. Coming from a family with no boundaries......
When Crazy is Normal, I felt as though I were committing a criminal act by taking care of myself, stepping away, hibernating until I got my bearings back. This was never okay, so I learned to stick situations out way past the point of discomfort, sheer misery, agony, torture.
But because all the players ( family members) and their blank expressions normalized insanity, I began to act like crazy was normal. It was all about the numbers ( people) there were too many of them- I wasn't yet strong enough to fully stand on my own- and be the punching bag each time. My recovery time would get slower and slower, while depression would loom larger and darker. BUT- I wanted to fit in.
Just love me, like me, ok, just don't hate me. This would become my mantra and I would dance any dance that was required. It no longer mattered, only approval, one that would never come. Hair lady and I talked about what no longer is okay in our lives, I listened with new ears. Maybe more room with new ventilation with new 'do. How is this one? It is not okay to feel like crap before, during and after being around family, or people that don't give or are harmful.Why must I hang so tough, who am I proving this to anymore? I am worth more than just surviving, I, like everyone on this Planet- have a right to thrive and feel magnificent, whole, joyous.
Hows this one??? Ecstatic. Whoa, bold declaration for Frances' fifth child. The child that was so afraid to have dreams, to show LOVE.... which in this lifetime is the only thing that has ever made sense to me. Coming from The Sahara Desert of withholding households, punished for expression. Living in COLOR... bold and brave and beautiful and daring as we can be. Releasing our fears and cares and just going for it. Believing we are ENOUGH! Always were.... always will be.
It really is just one baby step at a time. Sometimes one forward, two back, and even tripping along the way. Here's the thing no one told any of us..... in that great manual of how things work. You're supposed to fall, skin your knees, get a little banged up. Color outside the lines- laugh, cry, yell, dance, jump, get mad, just get going. Whatever , however , everyone one of us has our own special way. When we allow it, quit punishing and denying.... that is when the MAGIC is unlocked.Trust and believe in yourself----- I believe in you.
Thursday, May 22, 2014
Holy Water
The last time I saw her, she had been vibrant, full of vigor and sort of reminded me of a beautifully aging hippy, yet not. She drove an old VW bug well into her nineties, and bought that baby brand spanking new. Maybe that is the only reason she reminded me of a hippy, otherwise nothing but pure elegance and good living reflected back from this gal. She was my piano teacher when I was a kid, all my siblings as well. I don't remember too much from the lessons, "Heart and Soul" was probably as far as I got. I played by ear, just didn't know it then to my great frustration and I am sure hers. But.... she was nothing but patient. When we were finished with our lesson, that was the best part, milk and cookies waiting.
My mom asked if we could stop by the house she is now living in, not five minutes from her own home, even on the same street. I didn't know what to expect as we walked in, she had broken her hip in the past year, several other things, or how many people lived here. As I approached her the first thing I noticed, frail, tiny hands, those same beautiful hands that taught me piano, now seemed so lost. She seemed even more beautiful, in the purest way.
My mom sat on one side and I sat on the other as she grabbed our hands and just held on like a child.
It was so sweet as I looked into her eyes and saw such love and goodness. I have always liked her, but never was able to be close to her as this moment. She was very active and perky are the only words I could use to describe her, very self sufficient. She had been a widow for many years, buried a son, raised three other children, I just always saw such strength.
Today, now as she held on, I felt her hands, wrists so fragile I was careful not to grip her too hard,
yet something was tugging at me hold on, don't let go. I dug around in my purse, (women and our bottomless pits of things) I knew I'd recently bought a really delicious smelling hand lotion and started massaging her hands very gently, rhythmically, almost as though it were a dance. We both relaxed more, our conversation becoming more natural, less stilted. I looked around the room with each stroke of her hand, observing two very darling older women in chairs, as we all sat watching an old black and white movie on some ancient TV set. The days were unbearably long, it was so clear.
It was so interesting looking back and forth between my mother and her. She wanted to touch, pure affection something my mother was struggling with. She told me she didn't want to take away all the kisses I had for my mother to her. It was just about the most darling thing.... as I assured her there was plenty in my arsenal of kisses, that I could promise would never run short. (This was one of my moms oldest friends from Temple City and watching them kiss each other was so good for my heart.... just sweetness of children)
She was holding the small bottle of lotion, cupping it, with kleenex I had given her to dry her hands. With almost reverent motions with the bottle as she spoke, telling me she might forget about the lotion, I asked her to smell it, that would help her remember and make her feel good. Life is interesting that way for all of us, when we break it down to just simple. I put my hand on her heart, it didn't matter what her head said at times, her heart always would lead her where she needed to go. In that moment, she began talking about her son, I knew in my heart which one she was talking about. Her heart was talking now.
We spoke for awhile longer, she thanked us both for coming, then my mom had gone outside, at this point. I have had my share of saying - that I would be back. I am not proud of this. I knew without a doubt I would be back this time, and every week thereafter. I thanked her, and finally knew why.
She was the gift, she was grace that I got to experience. Pure divine love.
She held tighter to the lotion, as I kissed her goodbye. She said she knew she wouldn't forget what it was, it was her holy water.
My mom asked if we could stop by the house she is now living in, not five minutes from her own home, even on the same street. I didn't know what to expect as we walked in, she had broken her hip in the past year, several other things, or how many people lived here. As I approached her the first thing I noticed, frail, tiny hands, those same beautiful hands that taught me piano, now seemed so lost. She seemed even more beautiful, in the purest way.
My mom sat on one side and I sat on the other as she grabbed our hands and just held on like a child.
It was so sweet as I looked into her eyes and saw such love and goodness. I have always liked her, but never was able to be close to her as this moment. She was very active and perky are the only words I could use to describe her, very self sufficient. She had been a widow for many years, buried a son, raised three other children, I just always saw such strength.
Today, now as she held on, I felt her hands, wrists so fragile I was careful not to grip her too hard,
yet something was tugging at me hold on, don't let go. I dug around in my purse, (women and our bottomless pits of things) I knew I'd recently bought a really delicious smelling hand lotion and started massaging her hands very gently, rhythmically, almost as though it were a dance. We both relaxed more, our conversation becoming more natural, less stilted. I looked around the room with each stroke of her hand, observing two very darling older women in chairs, as we all sat watching an old black and white movie on some ancient TV set. The days were unbearably long, it was so clear.
It was so interesting looking back and forth between my mother and her. She wanted to touch, pure affection something my mother was struggling with. She told me she didn't want to take away all the kisses I had for my mother to her. It was just about the most darling thing.... as I assured her there was plenty in my arsenal of kisses, that I could promise would never run short. (This was one of my moms oldest friends from Temple City and watching them kiss each other was so good for my heart.... just sweetness of children)
She was holding the small bottle of lotion, cupping it, with kleenex I had given her to dry her hands. With almost reverent motions with the bottle as she spoke, telling me she might forget about the lotion, I asked her to smell it, that would help her remember and make her feel good. Life is interesting that way for all of us, when we break it down to just simple. I put my hand on her heart, it didn't matter what her head said at times, her heart always would lead her where she needed to go. In that moment, she began talking about her son, I knew in my heart which one she was talking about. Her heart was talking now.
We spoke for awhile longer, she thanked us both for coming, then my mom had gone outside, at this point. I have had my share of saying - that I would be back. I am not proud of this. I knew without a doubt I would be back this time, and every week thereafter. I thanked her, and finally knew why.
She was the gift, she was grace that I got to experience. Pure divine love.
She held tighter to the lotion, as I kissed her goodbye. She said she knew she wouldn't forget what it was, it was her holy water.
Wednesday, April 9, 2014
Intersection
How can I be at such an intersection of feelings all at once?
Almost tingling with confusion, hurt, anger, exhaust, relief, wanting to fall into a deep slumber as I write this. The letting go stage- aha! I was just talking to my son Matt, we were looking back on the week my dad died. Sometimes enough time needs to pass where guilt, pretending, just letting what is or isn't just be. Sometimes when a person dies, we think we have to make them into someone they weren't when they were living. Why that is, I will never know. To some, we tell the truth and it is though we have committed some act of treason. Disrespect to the dead. Not to me.... it just is or isn't.
This story is important for one reason and one reason alone, it allows everyone to feel whatever they do about their parents, good,bad or in between. We don't wear the shoes of anyone but our own, have no idea how another feels all the way through, how someone was raised from childhood- what pushes peoples buttons up until present time.
The night my dad went into the hospital, kicking and screaming,( literally for weeks, months) almost fully bleeding out at home, then full cardiac arrest by the time he was in the emergency room. I suggest you stop reading now if you don't like details. My father to the very end was going to do it his way, and it didn't involve how anyone of us felt. In life this was a fact, overall, so in death this would be no different. What was I thinking- to get him to go to the hospital all that week, my mom wouldn't let me come down to their house, I was banned. I feel an enormous amount of pain writing this and some shame, but if the truth sets you free, then I am ready. I tried calling different agencies for help through the months, for my mom, for him. I knew the household was deteriorating, it was getting sicker with his secrets, and he was making my mom and brother keep his secrets. My youngest brother ( who lives in their back house) had just gotten out of a facility( for the fourth time) and was very fragile. The very next day after he returned home, my dad started having extreme bathroom issues and had my brother deal with it alone, and it was intense from the get go. By the end, it had deteriorated to the point where he wanted to eat meals in the bathroom, simply left the door open, acted like it was perfectly normal. His behaviors through our lives had been similar- I have to say in other ways, now that I look back. Such hight levels of inappropriateness that I have laughed off, or my brother and I would mimic my parents voices, anything because the truth is, it was just too much. I have told very close friends some behaviors that have gone on in that house, but I am still cautious to tell others-I can be very glib, when I am in a particularly high shock mode I will just say things, but what can you really do when things go on? We stay away now as much as possible, I didn't subject my kids to too much hopefully. They acted a little more dignified and normal when they were around.
My brother and I are the youngest children of six, and always felt responsible for our parents, he for my father, me for my mother. My dad was getting very out of control with issues at this point, and had my mom and brother lying to me, and everyone. My brother finally called and couldn't take it anymore one night when my father bled all down the hallway. I said I was coming over, my mother wouldn't let me in the house, it was getting insane. I finally said I was no longer there for them( to get in the door), I was there for my brother.
I called my oldest brother, my sister, and tried to get my dad to reason, get him to the hospital. My mom, my sister, my dad and me sat at the table, Ray and my brother were in the back house.
I begged my dad, anything to get him to go to the hospital. Nothing but him getting angrier and angrier and directing it at me, it got to a fevered pitch. He started in on me, I just didn't expect it.
What a miserable daughter I was, terrible teenager, snarling as he spoke, saying horrible things about me- the kind of girl I was as a teen. My mother and sister spoke not one word in my defense, complete silence. I told him he had not been a kind father, not done the job he needed to have done.
One thing I am proud of, no matter how low he went, I never went there with him.
He told me to get out, to never come back, I was a good for nothing, just like when I was a kid.
Still, nothing form my mother or sister..... silence.
Ray and Paul, my brother heard us going back and forth, heard some of what my dad had said.
They were enraged, I was shocked anyone would even be enraged at that point, because my sister and mom acted as if it were normal. As Ray defended his wife, my dad told him to get the hell out and never come back, it was awful.
My oldest brother acted like the whole thing wasn't going on, just kept wandering around. My dad told him he didn't want to go to the hospital, to that my brother said, "A guys got his rights." Sure does asshole, this is the same guy I had to console when he felt guilty about my dad dying, he just ignored the whole thing.
Yep, this is what it looks like when feelings of all this come out. I kept it in, held it together for everyone- everyone but me. Now over a year and a half later it is coming out, it is time.
The night my dad did finally go in the hospital, the only reason he would go- my oldest brother told him he wanted to go on vacation soon, so my dad went in. He wouldn't do it for anyone or other reason.
By the time we all went in the room at Emergency he had a tube down his throat. We were told he wouldn't make it through the night- time to say our goodbyes. ( He held on for another week)
Imagine six kids, spouses, all the grandchildren packed in this tiny room, no one in leadership role, no boundaries. My dad keeps pointing to me to come close to him. We hadn't spoken since the week before I know what he wants- us to say we are sorry to each other. No one backs up, no one gives us space, I don't do well in groups, with audiences..... you could hear a pin drop.
I apologized, crying, it doesn't stop there. He points for me to come close, he wants more, I know what he wants. I am beginning to lose it, this is too much. He wants me to make up with my oldest brother, and we haven't spoken in over three years. No way I am not doing this..... I see everyone perk up even more.... and that is how my family rolls.
He is frantically pointing to my brother and back at me, I feel as though I am on trial, if I don't do this- I am just a shit. Never in life would he just talk to me, with anyone just sit down for anything real. If we did try- full blown attacks so below the belt, and now he wants this, full audience so he can feel better. So much history with this brother who caused so much pain I cannot begin to express, he
had my sisters take sides against me- my entire family, agony was searing into me. So many lies....
and now it was my moment of letting it go, just be me for what I stood for, what I claimed I stood for.
My children were there......
I apologized, one of the hardest things I have ever done. Apologizing to someone who betrayed and destroyed me at such a young age so I could let my father rest in peace, a father who had not been a father. My children were watching, I was watching.... this was my life and I was fully present now in it. Not one ounce of breathing room or dignity did I receive in this process.
I will tell you something, the person who is typing this story today- is able to proudly stand tall and strong from that day, that moment in time, I faced my fears. One of my boogeyman, my brother, and it changed me.
Grace came to me, something I never knew before that moment, it was bigger than me.
I needed that time to heal, because my brother and I soon had to figure out together every step of the funeral - no one else came forward, months afterward with my mother as well.
I no longer feared him, he was just him, no more no less. I was able to go to lunch with my mom and him, after awhile I chose to no longer be around him, it just didn't feel good. I now feel sorry for him, he is a very sad person.
Our family came together for but a moment with my dad, then as quickly literally the moment he was gone- it was done, been that way ever since. Although I have two other sisters, I go separately to see my mother, they will forever be "the girls ,"to my mother, I am just me. When I am away I do better than when I am near them. I do and have done my best, and will continue to try, but damage is damage.
I now have people who have my back and vice versa, love me for me. It is new, I take it day by day, do the best I can. I have to let go of the Village I came from, The Village of Betrayals....
so I can be part of this wonderful love that awaits me everyday. These are the things I know, I write because it is all I know what to do, trying to make some sense of where I come from.
I forgive more and more each and every time- it is a process. I forgive myself for my shortcomings, I try harder, pray for willingness, understanding, less judgement and most of all compassion. I am at the intersection of my life.
Almost tingling with confusion, hurt, anger, exhaust, relief, wanting to fall into a deep slumber as I write this. The letting go stage- aha! I was just talking to my son Matt, we were looking back on the week my dad died. Sometimes enough time needs to pass where guilt, pretending, just letting what is or isn't just be. Sometimes when a person dies, we think we have to make them into someone they weren't when they were living. Why that is, I will never know. To some, we tell the truth and it is though we have committed some act of treason. Disrespect to the dead. Not to me.... it just is or isn't.
This story is important for one reason and one reason alone, it allows everyone to feel whatever they do about their parents, good,bad or in between. We don't wear the shoes of anyone but our own, have no idea how another feels all the way through, how someone was raised from childhood- what pushes peoples buttons up until present time.
The night my dad went into the hospital, kicking and screaming,( literally for weeks, months) almost fully bleeding out at home, then full cardiac arrest by the time he was in the emergency room. I suggest you stop reading now if you don't like details. My father to the very end was going to do it his way, and it didn't involve how anyone of us felt. In life this was a fact, overall, so in death this would be no different. What was I thinking- to get him to go to the hospital all that week, my mom wouldn't let me come down to their house, I was banned. I feel an enormous amount of pain writing this and some shame, but if the truth sets you free, then I am ready. I tried calling different agencies for help through the months, for my mom, for him. I knew the household was deteriorating, it was getting sicker with his secrets, and he was making my mom and brother keep his secrets. My youngest brother ( who lives in their back house) had just gotten out of a facility( for the fourth time) and was very fragile. The very next day after he returned home, my dad started having extreme bathroom issues and had my brother deal with it alone, and it was intense from the get go. By the end, it had deteriorated to the point where he wanted to eat meals in the bathroom, simply left the door open, acted like it was perfectly normal. His behaviors through our lives had been similar- I have to say in other ways, now that I look back. Such hight levels of inappropriateness that I have laughed off, or my brother and I would mimic my parents voices, anything because the truth is, it was just too much. I have told very close friends some behaviors that have gone on in that house, but I am still cautious to tell others-I can be very glib, when I am in a particularly high shock mode I will just say things, but what can you really do when things go on? We stay away now as much as possible, I didn't subject my kids to too much hopefully. They acted a little more dignified and normal when they were around.
My brother and I are the youngest children of six, and always felt responsible for our parents, he for my father, me for my mother. My dad was getting very out of control with issues at this point, and had my mom and brother lying to me, and everyone. My brother finally called and couldn't take it anymore one night when my father bled all down the hallway. I said I was coming over, my mother wouldn't let me in the house, it was getting insane. I finally said I was no longer there for them( to get in the door), I was there for my brother.
I called my oldest brother, my sister, and tried to get my dad to reason, get him to the hospital. My mom, my sister, my dad and me sat at the table, Ray and my brother were in the back house.
I begged my dad, anything to get him to go to the hospital. Nothing but him getting angrier and angrier and directing it at me, it got to a fevered pitch. He started in on me, I just didn't expect it.
What a miserable daughter I was, terrible teenager, snarling as he spoke, saying horrible things about me- the kind of girl I was as a teen. My mother and sister spoke not one word in my defense, complete silence. I told him he had not been a kind father, not done the job he needed to have done.
One thing I am proud of, no matter how low he went, I never went there with him.
He told me to get out, to never come back, I was a good for nothing, just like when I was a kid.
Still, nothing form my mother or sister..... silence.
Ray and Paul, my brother heard us going back and forth, heard some of what my dad had said.
They were enraged, I was shocked anyone would even be enraged at that point, because my sister and mom acted as if it were normal. As Ray defended his wife, my dad told him to get the hell out and never come back, it was awful.
My oldest brother acted like the whole thing wasn't going on, just kept wandering around. My dad told him he didn't want to go to the hospital, to that my brother said, "A guys got his rights." Sure does asshole, this is the same guy I had to console when he felt guilty about my dad dying, he just ignored the whole thing.
Yep, this is what it looks like when feelings of all this come out. I kept it in, held it together for everyone- everyone but me. Now over a year and a half later it is coming out, it is time.
The night my dad did finally go in the hospital, the only reason he would go- my oldest brother told him he wanted to go on vacation soon, so my dad went in. He wouldn't do it for anyone or other reason.
By the time we all went in the room at Emergency he had a tube down his throat. We were told he wouldn't make it through the night- time to say our goodbyes. ( He held on for another week)
Imagine six kids, spouses, all the grandchildren packed in this tiny room, no one in leadership role, no boundaries. My dad keeps pointing to me to come close to him. We hadn't spoken since the week before I know what he wants- us to say we are sorry to each other. No one backs up, no one gives us space, I don't do well in groups, with audiences..... you could hear a pin drop.
I apologized, crying, it doesn't stop there. He points for me to come close, he wants more, I know what he wants. I am beginning to lose it, this is too much. He wants me to make up with my oldest brother, and we haven't spoken in over three years. No way I am not doing this..... I see everyone perk up even more.... and that is how my family rolls.
He is frantically pointing to my brother and back at me, I feel as though I am on trial, if I don't do this- I am just a shit. Never in life would he just talk to me, with anyone just sit down for anything real. If we did try- full blown attacks so below the belt, and now he wants this, full audience so he can feel better. So much history with this brother who caused so much pain I cannot begin to express, he
had my sisters take sides against me- my entire family, agony was searing into me. So many lies....
and now it was my moment of letting it go, just be me for what I stood for, what I claimed I stood for.
My children were there......
I apologized, one of the hardest things I have ever done. Apologizing to someone who betrayed and destroyed me at such a young age so I could let my father rest in peace, a father who had not been a father. My children were watching, I was watching.... this was my life and I was fully present now in it. Not one ounce of breathing room or dignity did I receive in this process.
I will tell you something, the person who is typing this story today- is able to proudly stand tall and strong from that day, that moment in time, I faced my fears. One of my boogeyman, my brother, and it changed me.
Grace came to me, something I never knew before that moment, it was bigger than me.
I needed that time to heal, because my brother and I soon had to figure out together every step of the funeral - no one else came forward, months afterward with my mother as well.
I no longer feared him, he was just him, no more no less. I was able to go to lunch with my mom and him, after awhile I chose to no longer be around him, it just didn't feel good. I now feel sorry for him, he is a very sad person.
Our family came together for but a moment with my dad, then as quickly literally the moment he was gone- it was done, been that way ever since. Although I have two other sisters, I go separately to see my mother, they will forever be "the girls ,"to my mother, I am just me. When I am away I do better than when I am near them. I do and have done my best, and will continue to try, but damage is damage.
I now have people who have my back and vice versa, love me for me. It is new, I take it day by day, do the best I can. I have to let go of the Village I came from, The Village of Betrayals....
so I can be part of this wonderful love that awaits me everyday. These are the things I know, I write because it is all I know what to do, trying to make some sense of where I come from.
I forgive more and more each and every time- it is a process. I forgive myself for my shortcomings, I try harder, pray for willingness, understanding, less judgement and most of all compassion. I am at the intersection of my life.
Tuesday, April 1, 2014
Giant Stingrays
Okay, first of all, get it out of your pretty little head, we are not into oceanics.
The giant stingrays I am referring to- Schwinns, three wheelers, but at this point as you are reading this does it really matter. You know the kind you see in every weird town, where Ma and Pa Kettle , now three hundred years of age, is peddling. Carefree like the wind just cruising down Main Street USA.
Or, burnt out seventies meth addicts with long greasy hair, or some fifty nine year old on their 17th DUI rapping on their cell about the date their going on. I don't know what it is about these giant stingrays.... three wheelers, ok I 'fess up, Ray nicknamed them giant stingrays. But there is something about the people who ride them that amuses us to no end with every small town we round the bend into.
When I visit Temple City, where I grew up- I can make a bet on the fact someone will be riding a giant stingray on Las Tunas. Why is that so funny to us. Not that the people on the bikes are funny, just that giant three wheeler, bat out of hell heading out the gates, getting ready for ---- and the engines are a go!!!!! And here comes this three wheeler. We get more mileage on every trip, every town just anticipating that ride. Who will be on it, what they will be doing, where they are going. Ray calls me "Huella Howser," because my fascination with such mundane things......
I would interview them and ask them why? Why are you riding that thing? I really get the three hundred year old for balance- but that thing looks like an awful lot of work. Yet, when you are talking about your date from the night before, and going to "Bob's" house after a night of partying.... I guess those things do have their place. I would decorate mine for every holiday, and myself. Hmmm, just got me thinking. That's pretty much all I have on the subject o' the giant stingray.
The giant stingrays I am referring to- Schwinns, three wheelers, but at this point as you are reading this does it really matter. You know the kind you see in every weird town, where Ma and Pa Kettle , now three hundred years of age, is peddling. Carefree like the wind just cruising down Main Street USA.
Or, burnt out seventies meth addicts with long greasy hair, or some fifty nine year old on their 17th DUI rapping on their cell about the date their going on. I don't know what it is about these giant stingrays.... three wheelers, ok I 'fess up, Ray nicknamed them giant stingrays. But there is something about the people who ride them that amuses us to no end with every small town we round the bend into.
When I visit Temple City, where I grew up- I can make a bet on the fact someone will be riding a giant stingray on Las Tunas. Why is that so funny to us. Not that the people on the bikes are funny, just that giant three wheeler, bat out of hell heading out the gates, getting ready for ---- and the engines are a go!!!!! And here comes this three wheeler. We get more mileage on every trip, every town just anticipating that ride. Who will be on it, what they will be doing, where they are going. Ray calls me "Huella Howser," because my fascination with such mundane things......
I would interview them and ask them why? Why are you riding that thing? I really get the three hundred year old for balance- but that thing looks like an awful lot of work. Yet, when you are talking about your date from the night before, and going to "Bob's" house after a night of partying.... I guess those things do have their place. I would decorate mine for every holiday, and myself. Hmmm, just got me thinking. That's pretty much all I have on the subject o' the giant stingray.
Monday, March 24, 2014
The Wind
Alanis Morissette blasts in my ears, my moods feels like coastal weather, shifting from sunny to rain at a moments notice. I cannot keep up with it at times, this creative process,blessing or curse I wonder? I am who I am, I can be no different, not for lack of trying. I have tried to outrun me, hide from me, always having to prove, tough it out, push harder and harder, only for myself. And on again I would push, destination: Sedona, with a teacher for three, almost four days of non stop breaking down in order to build up again. I would not have wished this on my worst enemy. All in the name of letting go of "EGO". Well, this ego- still a bobcat, not quite ready to give up the ghost with this gentleman, few more rounds to go, and then some. ( Ray was back at the hotel waiting for me every night- my greatest reward ever.)
Daytime, the tearing down process, then night time back at the hotel, homework- hours and hours of it. People I needed to forgive, finally: Day three, Sedona Desert-
(Having previously gone through each person I needed to forgive, release, get angry about, if that fit the bill, really angry, find my voice... quit being such a good girl about those who hurt me, acknowledge those I hurt, forgiving those who victimized me, now let go of victim role, work on seeing the good, you name it. Hour after hour( with teacher) I had nothing left, and didn't care anymore, but a certain amount of fear, when the girl who brought me, now left me alone on the mountain with strange animal howlings now as my companion. Supplied with shovel, twigs, matches, all my papers, for every person I needed to forgive, the stack was thick with writings, and I realized then, I have to burn everyone of these things. About ten, twelve graves I needed to dig, say something about each person, letting go, then burning paper, cover up grave, make cross for each grave. Seriously?? Can't I just fake it like I had done so many other times in life??? But, as much as I hated this asshole who stripped my humanity to the bone, the more I fought, and let me tell you.... like a rabid dog. His process is something I would never, ever do again, ever. But I am someone who has always liked to break rules, I could sneak out, get away with anything, I was The Queen, The Pro, I knew how far I could push, uh just about anything, and I did. Growing up with a very out of control household, that is one thing I was always envious of with my two girlfriends, there were rules. I thought it was horrific.... yet deep down I longed for them. I pushed the limit more and more and more.
Now on this mountain, the tears, rage, frustration, heartache, fear.... what was I going to do?
What if a mountain lion ate me, or my biggest fear a snake bit me, the girl who brought me, forgot about me, left me here. This hurt, I didn't want to do this.... I already cried enough tears to fill the ocean- enough of this already. I was now simply scared, sad after all the anger. A girl who felt abandoned, alone, not worth fighting for.... and yet I kept digging one grave after the other, on my knees weeping, clawing at some, shouting, spitting, total irreverance at others. This infuriated me, a new rage came out. Then, finally through the rage a wellspring of tears in the purest form. I finally surrendered.
The day before, up at the meditation teachers house, she asked me who I thought God was? As always I felt as though it were a test. She was very loving, kind, patient. I felt embarrassed to answer, if somehow my answer would be wrong. That would be a very common theme in my life. I thought I was supposed to have some very magical, mystical, deep answer. In a very small voice as I stood outside, as The Wind blew..... I said- The Wind.
That has always been my feeling of God. Always as far back as a child, that has been what has comforted me, something I have understood, what has always brought me great joy. From that moment on I accepted that side of myself- and The Wind. Later I learned that is God, another word for him.... The Wind, my heart always knew, I just never trusted it.
As I sit writing this, it has been difficult to appreciate the lessons learned to bring me back to me..... to The Wind. No matter how many seminars, classes, places I have gone and will continue on,
this one was different, my very first one on one for such an extended period of time.
I had done many group sessions, regular hour therapy, but this just didn't stop. It allowed me to really dig in, time to work it out. He was the disciplinarian father, one I didn't understand and was having no part of. I fought with my life.... only in this moment writing this do I get it. Yes, he was an ass, rough, but there was no way around it with me. I had no respect. Zero. He knew it- I had to let go of my mothers view of men. My shame was unbearable- then kindness for me finally shone thru, humanity for me. I was a caged animal... by my choice. I wanted to be free, and I went to any means for my freedom. I have no regrets, my husband and son, all the men I love and respect deserved no less than me healing this side of me. Letting go of the painful female side as well, but the disrespect I was taught about males- I pray forgivable. I will work on this for my lifetime.
What I love and appreciate about my partner, my husband, my love. His trust and faith in me, even what would seem to others absolutely absurd, was right for me, he trusted me. That has been our marriage through it all, forgiveness, faith in one another, much laughter, taking leaps. Many a leap was taken early in his career, while others said why would you do that, ( with his risky choices... entertainment )just play it safe- teaching would be a good position, just stick to it. It was good for him, it is wonderful, but he wanted something different-in addition to.
We have blended beautifully the best parts of ourselves, to date. His with the financial aspect, mine with family, emotional, spiritual for us. We will ready ourselves over the next year or so to blend again, in a new way... one we haven't yet explored. This excites us both, to see what we have learned along the way. Dan Folgelberg has been singing in my ear, his music gives me hope, fills my heart with so much love. He is singing, " There's a place in the world for a gambler"
"And he sees, oh yes he sees, oh yes he sees. There's a song in the heart of a woman, that only the truest of loves can release, set it free, oh set it free. There's a a light in the depth of your darkness, there's a calm of the eye of every storm, let it shine, oh let it shine." Today I am proud of my work. The Wind and Me.
about maes
Daytime, the tearing down process, then night time back at the hotel, homework- hours and hours of it. People I needed to forgive, finally: Day three, Sedona Desert-
(Having previously gone through each person I needed to forgive, release, get angry about, if that fit the bill, really angry, find my voice... quit being such a good girl about those who hurt me, acknowledge those I hurt, forgiving those who victimized me, now let go of victim role, work on seeing the good, you name it. Hour after hour( with teacher) I had nothing left, and didn't care anymore, but a certain amount of fear, when the girl who brought me, now left me alone on the mountain with strange animal howlings now as my companion. Supplied with shovel, twigs, matches, all my papers, for every person I needed to forgive, the stack was thick with writings, and I realized then, I have to burn everyone of these things. About ten, twelve graves I needed to dig, say something about each person, letting go, then burning paper, cover up grave, make cross for each grave. Seriously?? Can't I just fake it like I had done so many other times in life??? But, as much as I hated this asshole who stripped my humanity to the bone, the more I fought, and let me tell you.... like a rabid dog. His process is something I would never, ever do again, ever. But I am someone who has always liked to break rules, I could sneak out, get away with anything, I was The Queen, The Pro, I knew how far I could push, uh just about anything, and I did. Growing up with a very out of control household, that is one thing I was always envious of with my two girlfriends, there were rules. I thought it was horrific.... yet deep down I longed for them. I pushed the limit more and more and more.
Now on this mountain, the tears, rage, frustration, heartache, fear.... what was I going to do?
What if a mountain lion ate me, or my biggest fear a snake bit me, the girl who brought me, forgot about me, left me here. This hurt, I didn't want to do this.... I already cried enough tears to fill the ocean- enough of this already. I was now simply scared, sad after all the anger. A girl who felt abandoned, alone, not worth fighting for.... and yet I kept digging one grave after the other, on my knees weeping, clawing at some, shouting, spitting, total irreverance at others. This infuriated me, a new rage came out. Then, finally through the rage a wellspring of tears in the purest form. I finally surrendered.
The day before, up at the meditation teachers house, she asked me who I thought God was? As always I felt as though it were a test. She was very loving, kind, patient. I felt embarrassed to answer, if somehow my answer would be wrong. That would be a very common theme in my life. I thought I was supposed to have some very magical, mystical, deep answer. In a very small voice as I stood outside, as The Wind blew..... I said- The Wind.
That has always been my feeling of God. Always as far back as a child, that has been what has comforted me, something I have understood, what has always brought me great joy. From that moment on I accepted that side of myself- and The Wind. Later I learned that is God, another word for him.... The Wind, my heart always knew, I just never trusted it.
As I sit writing this, it has been difficult to appreciate the lessons learned to bring me back to me..... to The Wind. No matter how many seminars, classes, places I have gone and will continue on,
this one was different, my very first one on one for such an extended period of time.
I had done many group sessions, regular hour therapy, but this just didn't stop. It allowed me to really dig in, time to work it out. He was the disciplinarian father, one I didn't understand and was having no part of. I fought with my life.... only in this moment writing this do I get it. Yes, he was an ass, rough, but there was no way around it with me. I had no respect. Zero. He knew it- I had to let go of my mothers view of men. My shame was unbearable- then kindness for me finally shone thru, humanity for me. I was a caged animal... by my choice. I wanted to be free, and I went to any means for my freedom. I have no regrets, my husband and son, all the men I love and respect deserved no less than me healing this side of me. Letting go of the painful female side as well, but the disrespect I was taught about males- I pray forgivable. I will work on this for my lifetime.
What I love and appreciate about my partner, my husband, my love. His trust and faith in me, even what would seem to others absolutely absurd, was right for me, he trusted me. That has been our marriage through it all, forgiveness, faith in one another, much laughter, taking leaps. Many a leap was taken early in his career, while others said why would you do that, ( with his risky choices... entertainment )just play it safe- teaching would be a good position, just stick to it. It was good for him, it is wonderful, but he wanted something different-in addition to.
We have blended beautifully the best parts of ourselves, to date. His with the financial aspect, mine with family, emotional, spiritual for us. We will ready ourselves over the next year or so to blend again, in a new way... one we haven't yet explored. This excites us both, to see what we have learned along the way. Dan Folgelberg has been singing in my ear, his music gives me hope, fills my heart with so much love. He is singing, " There's a place in the world for a gambler"
"And he sees, oh yes he sees, oh yes he sees. There's a song in the heart of a woman, that only the truest of loves can release, set it free, oh set it free. There's a a light in the depth of your darkness, there's a calm of the eye of every storm, let it shine, oh let it shine." Today I am proud of my work. The Wind and Me.
about maes
Blue Eye Shadow and Gladys Kravitz
I should have known as I heard those words ringing in my ears.
It couldn't, wouldn't and wasn't going to be good by any stretch of the imagination. Baby on my hip, a four year old tightly gripping my hand, down the steps, slowly, s-l-o-w-l-y we go.
"Oh, the neighbor seems nice, I think you will get along great, and your kids are about the same age,"the realtor belted out over and over. Hmmm. Leaning, slumped over the wall between our two houses... there she blew, "Blue Eye Shadow."The name came a little later, I will admit, but the picture of her remained in my mind, right there .... instantly.Tight perm, ungodly amount of blue eye shadow, and some sort of shiftette rig I had not seen in some time, decade? (This does put a smile on my face as I write, my typing seems to have picked up, second cup of java didn't hurt either.) She started the litany of rules -what we could do together. Was the room spinning? Wait we are outdoors, was that the sky spinning? We had just moved in and all I thought was whoa..... and get me out of here. On the other side was another interesting gal. No, I am kidding. Before we even moved in, a war had begun with some of the other neighbors and this doll.
(Okay, I am laughing again.) I have to just jump in..... this woman was your nightmare from hell-petitions for this, petitions for that. She started a war with the neighbor behind us, so the fence surrounding our property became a war between them, before we ever got there. ( We would have never moved in had there not been a fence- being a very busy street, two small children in tow)
When it came time to sell, moving along little doggie- I no longer cared anymore- she literally put her foot in our front door, blocking me from closing it. I'd had enough, good girl could take no more. She simply wouldn't leave- I tried slamming the door on her foot, and very loudly stated, "Get out of my house Gladys Kravitz" ( Nosy neighbor from Bewitched) Ray and the kids were in the background just bewildered that mama had just gone wild on our neighbor, "Gladys Kravitz." She no longer knew what to do, I was even shocked by myself, enough was enough, and off she finally went.... silent, mouth agape. This beast would roam the hood, day or night clipboard in hand, looking for infractions to take to the City Council Meetings- each and every week. If someone parked their RV- even in their own driveway, she would call the Sheriff. She would look up what Code it violated, yep she was a Peach, you might say Belle of The Ball. Oh they knew "Gladys", at the Council meetings....knew her well. Probably needed a flask to get them through, probably passed it around.
Ray and I would sit on the Patio at night when we knew she was listening....meaning always. I would"talk" about how great it was "Swinging", loved all the partners we had, appreciated in particular he didn't mind I swung both ways.... I said anything and everything, with not a crack in my voice. He would respond with how much he enjoyed my way of living, that it was just right. We should try more things, and invite different couples and people over. We could practically hear her excitable breathing, then we would go in the house and chuckle, we knew she hung on every word we said. She was that secret voyeur kind.... stirred up trouble, but thought she was really hearing "the goods " on us. I am sure she did hear some interesting stuff, knowing the things we say and don't think about.
Ray made up stories far better than mine, such a great story teller- always has been. I'm pretty boring, it's his delivery... just dry, which makes it even funnier, I had a hard time not laughing very hard. I would go inside- see her- perched- waiting on her back steps to hear more.
We had no privacy on either side--- with huge backyards and neighbors into watching what anyone was doing. Good times.
On Tuesday nights I would babysit so "The Shadow" and Hubby could go to rehearsals for "Bells" at Church. I think she would put on a little fancier frock, get a little dolled up. I dreaded Tuesday nights.... the only thing that got me through it- she had enormous amounts of candy and sweets in the house. She was forever on Weight Watchers, yet had so much sugar and junk food in the house, I was in heaven. I would put the kids to bed, call Ray ( next door) bitching my head off about being next door... why wasn't he? while eating massive amounts of candy, then repositioning the rest of the stash so she wouldn't notice what I had eaten. Soon enough, I was high as a kite from the sugar- all was well.
That is how I would get through Tuesday Nights at Blue Eye Shadows. The only reason I would do it,
we could go out on Saturday Nights....she would babysit. One time when Katie was under two, ( near Christmas time) she got into Blue Eye Shadows candy bowl on her coffee table, what child wouldn't? This infuriated Blue..... she had to let me know... Katie was not going with the program.
Her son used to walk into our house throughout the years- no knocking, just walk in, sit down, ask what was to eat, what's for dessert, etc. He'd walk in the back yard, steal things, that is why it was so funny,"The rules". Always rules upon rules upon rules.... only during breakfast this morning, talking to Ray did I even remember all of this. Blue Eye Shadow, condensed by Ray- to simply"Shadrack", had become our CPA. She would gossip about other neighbors, peoples finances, judging how they lived, etc.We definitely were not living the way she thought appropriate by any stretch, now she knew our finances! At this point now she had simply become 'The Rack"
Ray and I are not fighters on the whole- this is one area where it was very uncomfortable...."The Rack"... not because she was sporting one, trust me -Ray's name for her.
Ray was asking me where all the tax stuff was this morning, that is why I remembered.The interesting thing living next door to her, all the rules, and I thought I was supposed to follow them to be good. Sandwiched between two complete fear based gals.... which only now am I identifying, it was a rough ride. I learned a lot about who I was becoming, letting go of my own fears. Still in my twenties, a young mother, just trying to find my way. Moving on to the street we are now on.... almost thirteen years later, again have learned some good sized lessons. When we moved in to the house we now reside in, we were in an extremely quiet place in our lives. There was no one that we could say to, "Hey look at this house we just bought," no one to bounce it off before we purchased it. I wanted the house simply because it reminded me of "The Brady Bunch", right down to the cul de sac. It was a few notches above a tear down when we bought it, had we thought about it we wouldn't have I am sure. Thirteen years later, putting our heart and souls into it, it has served us well and I am grateful. We have watched our children grow, prosper, there has been deep love in this home. I am getting ready to let go once again - I can feel it, move on, get ready for another adventure, Ray as well. We have grown, learned, just as we have stripped away so much with this house, applied many coats of new paint, life to this house, so too with ourselves. This house has been painful, and a great blessing at the same time. Without the contrast of Blue Eye Shadow and Gladys Kravitz- thinking about them today, I wouldn't be able to look back and see how far I have come. So many years of quiet up against these beautiful foothills, I have found my voice.
It couldn't, wouldn't and wasn't going to be good by any stretch of the imagination. Baby on my hip, a four year old tightly gripping my hand, down the steps, slowly, s-l-o-w-l-y we go.
"Oh, the neighbor seems nice, I think you will get along great, and your kids are about the same age,"the realtor belted out over and over. Hmmm. Leaning, slumped over the wall between our two houses... there she blew, "Blue Eye Shadow."The name came a little later, I will admit, but the picture of her remained in my mind, right there .... instantly.Tight perm, ungodly amount of blue eye shadow, and some sort of shiftette rig I had not seen in some time, decade? (This does put a smile on my face as I write, my typing seems to have picked up, second cup of java didn't hurt either.) She started the litany of rules -what we could do together. Was the room spinning? Wait we are outdoors, was that the sky spinning? We had just moved in and all I thought was whoa..... and get me out of here. On the other side was another interesting gal. No, I am kidding. Before we even moved in, a war had begun with some of the other neighbors and this doll.
(Okay, I am laughing again.) I have to just jump in..... this woman was your nightmare from hell-petitions for this, petitions for that. She started a war with the neighbor behind us, so the fence surrounding our property became a war between them, before we ever got there. ( We would have never moved in had there not been a fence- being a very busy street, two small children in tow)
When it came time to sell, moving along little doggie- I no longer cared anymore- she literally put her foot in our front door, blocking me from closing it. I'd had enough, good girl could take no more. She simply wouldn't leave- I tried slamming the door on her foot, and very loudly stated, "Get out of my house Gladys Kravitz" ( Nosy neighbor from Bewitched) Ray and the kids were in the background just bewildered that mama had just gone wild on our neighbor, "Gladys Kravitz." She no longer knew what to do, I was even shocked by myself, enough was enough, and off she finally went.... silent, mouth agape. This beast would roam the hood, day or night clipboard in hand, looking for infractions to take to the City Council Meetings- each and every week. If someone parked their RV- even in their own driveway, she would call the Sheriff. She would look up what Code it violated, yep she was a Peach, you might say Belle of The Ball. Oh they knew "Gladys", at the Council meetings....knew her well. Probably needed a flask to get them through, probably passed it around.
Ray and I would sit on the Patio at night when we knew she was listening....meaning always. I would"talk" about how great it was "Swinging", loved all the partners we had, appreciated in particular he didn't mind I swung both ways.... I said anything and everything, with not a crack in my voice. He would respond with how much he enjoyed my way of living, that it was just right. We should try more things, and invite different couples and people over. We could practically hear her excitable breathing, then we would go in the house and chuckle, we knew she hung on every word we said. She was that secret voyeur kind.... stirred up trouble, but thought she was really hearing "the goods " on us. I am sure she did hear some interesting stuff, knowing the things we say and don't think about.
Ray made up stories far better than mine, such a great story teller- always has been. I'm pretty boring, it's his delivery... just dry, which makes it even funnier, I had a hard time not laughing very hard. I would go inside- see her- perched- waiting on her back steps to hear more.
We had no privacy on either side--- with huge backyards and neighbors into watching what anyone was doing. Good times.
On Tuesday nights I would babysit so "The Shadow" and Hubby could go to rehearsals for "Bells" at Church. I think she would put on a little fancier frock, get a little dolled up. I dreaded Tuesday nights.... the only thing that got me through it- she had enormous amounts of candy and sweets in the house. She was forever on Weight Watchers, yet had so much sugar and junk food in the house, I was in heaven. I would put the kids to bed, call Ray ( next door) bitching my head off about being next door... why wasn't he? while eating massive amounts of candy, then repositioning the rest of the stash so she wouldn't notice what I had eaten. Soon enough, I was high as a kite from the sugar- all was well.
That is how I would get through Tuesday Nights at Blue Eye Shadows. The only reason I would do it,
we could go out on Saturday Nights....she would babysit. One time when Katie was under two, ( near Christmas time) she got into Blue Eye Shadows candy bowl on her coffee table, what child wouldn't? This infuriated Blue..... she had to let me know... Katie was not going with the program.
Her son used to walk into our house throughout the years- no knocking, just walk in, sit down, ask what was to eat, what's for dessert, etc. He'd walk in the back yard, steal things, that is why it was so funny,"The rules". Always rules upon rules upon rules.... only during breakfast this morning, talking to Ray did I even remember all of this. Blue Eye Shadow, condensed by Ray- to simply"Shadrack", had become our CPA. She would gossip about other neighbors, peoples finances, judging how they lived, etc.We definitely were not living the way she thought appropriate by any stretch, now she knew our finances! At this point now she had simply become 'The Rack"
Ray and I are not fighters on the whole- this is one area where it was very uncomfortable...."The Rack"... not because she was sporting one, trust me -Ray's name for her.
Ray was asking me where all the tax stuff was this morning, that is why I remembered.The interesting thing living next door to her, all the rules, and I thought I was supposed to follow them to be good. Sandwiched between two complete fear based gals.... which only now am I identifying, it was a rough ride. I learned a lot about who I was becoming, letting go of my own fears. Still in my twenties, a young mother, just trying to find my way. Moving on to the street we are now on.... almost thirteen years later, again have learned some good sized lessons. When we moved in to the house we now reside in, we were in an extremely quiet place in our lives. There was no one that we could say to, "Hey look at this house we just bought," no one to bounce it off before we purchased it. I wanted the house simply because it reminded me of "The Brady Bunch", right down to the cul de sac. It was a few notches above a tear down when we bought it, had we thought about it we wouldn't have I am sure. Thirteen years later, putting our heart and souls into it, it has served us well and I am grateful. We have watched our children grow, prosper, there has been deep love in this home. I am getting ready to let go once again - I can feel it, move on, get ready for another adventure, Ray as well. We have grown, learned, just as we have stripped away so much with this house, applied many coats of new paint, life to this house, so too with ourselves. This house has been painful, and a great blessing at the same time. Without the contrast of Blue Eye Shadow and Gladys Kravitz- thinking about them today, I wouldn't be able to look back and see how far I have come. So many years of quiet up against these beautiful foothills, I have found my voice.
Wednesday, March 5, 2014
My Raymond
I was thinking about what it takes to move forward. The fortitude, the drive, just doing it. This story is dedicated to my husband, my hero my Raymond. There are many choices, many roads we can all take, every day. We are presented with many forks in the road, which one will we take? When I feel like giving up, am fearful, I think of my husband. Just as a love song is written with great passion, so beats my heart in this story. I know from living with him day in and day out, what it has taken for him to rise, continue to face his demons, his fears. His father was an amazing artist, who loved planes and trains. Ray's brother fell in love with planes, and interestingly enough, travels non stop on them. I guess he chose that part of Al Spencer's legacy. I need to find a legacy here in all of this heartache. Ray fell in love with trains, his fathers passion as well. Ray's father, a boy from Ohio( his father an engineer for the railroad),wanted his boy to become a baseball player. This young man had dreams, desires of his own in this rough steel mill town. He loved drama, art, which mystified his father. In his teenage years, his mother died, and was sent away to live with relatives. Ray's father went to college, joined the Army, soon after met his mother and they nestled in a small community in Southern California -Pasadena above the Rose Bowl. His mother, from a small town in Nebraska, so the Ohio boy and Nebraska girl were figuring it out together. The home was a very modest one, neighborhood great for raising children. Ray's brother Jeff was the first to come, then Ray less than three years later. Ray's father began to have some success with art, but what came along with it was unexpected stress. Keeping up with the Jone's, this is something both were ill prepared for. Ray's father, now wandering, stumbling around the neighborhood drunk, mama finally saying enough by Ray's teenage years. How quickly this picture perfect image disintegrated, the family poised in front of Pop's Model T- now Pop is propped in front of bottle after bottle of booze in the garage, his new oasis.
During this time, Jeff, I suppose to escape some of this madness, had gone deep into motor cross, bikes, anything to get away from home and Ray drawing, art, escape. Around aged twelve, Papa Spencer was gone- so was the money. Mama Spencer panicked, and the welfare check became Spencer households god. If a car no longer worked, it would be abandoned roadside, and that was that. Growing up, Ray's dad literally used a white glove to inspect cleaning, so this renegade behavior was new it was now survival. The two boys could not relate to one another.....
Having their family become so public, but not for anything notable, just shame. Stumbling drunks, fighting,welfare checks, house literally falling apart. It could not be hidden, the pink elephant was in the hood and it was them. Mama Spencer would only amplify things by becoming more eccentric, feathered hats, feathered boas, extremely erratic behavior that would, by the boys teen years have them wincing. Fancy dresses she would buy, knowing full well she could never pay for- always making deals she could never close,someone else was going to pay, more than likely her two teen boys. I understand my husband more and more now as I write this. He put his toys away so long ago, his favorites being trains. Everything he loved was sold, bartered or simply taken away. Even talking about the day his father left, " I told you," or "What do you want to bring that up for?"would be the words he heard from his mother. By the time Ray turned about fifteen, somewhere in Germany, a boy would be competing in the Olympics for bicycling. That boy would be his brother, Jeff- a lone eighteen year old. I am proud of these two brothers coming out of this household.
By the time Ray was thirty five he lost both parents. His father, dying homeless in Central Park near the Zoo. Ray never saw or spoke to his father again, after seventh grade. We have yet to go back to New York to visit his grave. His brother told us where it is- it will be time when it is time. We have gone back to Ohio, to see Grandpa Spencer's grave, and Nebraska for Grandpa Petersen. His father's wound is the deepest - it will take some time. Ray's Mother's ashes were sprinkled over the ocean by the Neptune society.The house they grew up in was torn down when Katie was a baby, a beautiful new one built in it's place. I am sure whoever lives there is enjoying their home, it looks so peaceful now. Occasionally we take walks by, Ray reminiscing about the old hood, his friends," Dennis The Mennis" childhood he had. I am happy he was able to fulfill so many of his dreams. He did not let anything stop him.... one dream wanting to going to Art Center- he took another route and became a teacher there. With Disney, I did not realize how long it took for someone to even look his art portfolio. He was persistent, every week, just as he had done with other jobs, over and over again. Making cold calls, one year, two years, until finally...... it happened.
He is quiet, determined, doesn't let setbacks stand in his way, they become his challenge. He is the man I love, respect, with such vision. I don't know what he is working on most of the time. "Oh, I've been working on this for three years, " he'll say. That would be Thunder Mountain- I hadn't even seen any of the stuff until maybe six weeks ago, I had no idea. These breathtaking sketches, seriously? I say to him," Have I ever been on Thunder Mountain?" "Yes honey," he says so patiently. "Oh."That is my love..... that is my sweet darling, the man I am so proud of for so many reasons. Not just for surviving, thriving, inspiring so many. Inspiring me, making me want to become more, that is my Raymond.
During this time, Jeff, I suppose to escape some of this madness, had gone deep into motor cross, bikes, anything to get away from home and Ray drawing, art, escape. Around aged twelve, Papa Spencer was gone- so was the money. Mama Spencer panicked, and the welfare check became Spencer households god. If a car no longer worked, it would be abandoned roadside, and that was that. Growing up, Ray's dad literally used a white glove to inspect cleaning, so this renegade behavior was new it was now survival. The two boys could not relate to one another.....
Having their family become so public, but not for anything notable, just shame. Stumbling drunks, fighting,welfare checks, house literally falling apart. It could not be hidden, the pink elephant was in the hood and it was them. Mama Spencer would only amplify things by becoming more eccentric, feathered hats, feathered boas, extremely erratic behavior that would, by the boys teen years have them wincing. Fancy dresses she would buy, knowing full well she could never pay for- always making deals she could never close,someone else was going to pay, more than likely her two teen boys. I understand my husband more and more now as I write this. He put his toys away so long ago, his favorites being trains. Everything he loved was sold, bartered or simply taken away. Even talking about the day his father left, " I told you," or "What do you want to bring that up for?"would be the words he heard from his mother. By the time Ray turned about fifteen, somewhere in Germany, a boy would be competing in the Olympics for bicycling. That boy would be his brother, Jeff- a lone eighteen year old. I am proud of these two brothers coming out of this household.
By the time Ray was thirty five he lost both parents. His father, dying homeless in Central Park near the Zoo. Ray never saw or spoke to his father again, after seventh grade. We have yet to go back to New York to visit his grave. His brother told us where it is- it will be time when it is time. We have gone back to Ohio, to see Grandpa Spencer's grave, and Nebraska for Grandpa Petersen. His father's wound is the deepest - it will take some time. Ray's Mother's ashes were sprinkled over the ocean by the Neptune society.The house they grew up in was torn down when Katie was a baby, a beautiful new one built in it's place. I am sure whoever lives there is enjoying their home, it looks so peaceful now. Occasionally we take walks by, Ray reminiscing about the old hood, his friends," Dennis The Mennis" childhood he had. I am happy he was able to fulfill so many of his dreams. He did not let anything stop him.... one dream wanting to going to Art Center- he took another route and became a teacher there. With Disney, I did not realize how long it took for someone to even look his art portfolio. He was persistent, every week, just as he had done with other jobs, over and over again. Making cold calls, one year, two years, until finally...... it happened.
He is quiet, determined, doesn't let setbacks stand in his way, they become his challenge. He is the man I love, respect, with such vision. I don't know what he is working on most of the time. "Oh, I've been working on this for three years, " he'll say. That would be Thunder Mountain- I hadn't even seen any of the stuff until maybe six weeks ago, I had no idea. These breathtaking sketches, seriously? I say to him," Have I ever been on Thunder Mountain?" "Yes honey," he says so patiently. "Oh."That is my love..... that is my sweet darling, the man I am so proud of for so many reasons. Not just for surviving, thriving, inspiring so many. Inspiring me, making me want to become more, that is my Raymond.
Friday, February 14, 2014
Shorn Sheep
It seemed like such a smart thing to do at the time. All three of us could get in at the same time, must be heaven sent. My oldest sister's friend told her about some place in Hollywood or thereabouts where we could be hair models, get our hair cut for free. Didn't have to ask us twice. The thought of going to "Lee's," the lady my mom had been going to for years, and lets just say gave one fine mens cut on young ladies. She gave my mom's 'do some giant bounce in the front. Her husband Ken used to snarl around when we walked in the door. Had himself one mighty hog parked out yonder. They had three boys that always looked like they were ready to start fires and do weird things to neighbors.
Working with curly hair is an art. Of course when it is wet your hair is straight. When that sucker starts drying, whoa- and if someone does not catch on how to cut that thing, double whoa for your mane. Well, this was some kind of fancy schmancy salon, we were in good hands.
So, back at this salon, it may have been something like Vidal Sasoon, we were going to look like movie stars, we couldn't wait to see. The oldest one goes first as the middle one and I sit and wait. A little time passes and she comes out. She is just standing there waiting to see what we thought of her new 'do. Middle one and I just stare and each other and don't say anything." Cute." As always in any other story I have told, my lip starts quivering and I feel a big laugh wanting to escape the premises. She looks at me like "don't even- I will kick your ass so hard." "No really, it's so cute." Now, nowhere has it dawned on me that I have to get my 'do done , by whoever did this "cute " job on her. It is in the shape of a bowl, with two sausage plopped on either side. She came in with shoulder length brown hair. It was now bleached some orange tinty looking yellow with so much hairspray veneered on it to prop the sausage curls for some spring. I can't contain myself. It is now my turn, and I am watching as my hair gets molded and sculpted into this flat plastered thing to my head. My hair is super wavy, and it is pushed into my skull in the most unattractive way, shorned closely with so much hairspray. I knew I was going to hear "cute" next. The middle one eventually comes out. I can't even type right now reliving this story. She has a very wild fro on her, but hairsprayed and partially straightened. I'm guessing someones arm got tired? The joy was in her expression. We all just stared at each other walking towards the door, all smiles when asked how we like our do's. "Oh yes, we like them very much, thank you". We were nothing if not polite. Lee's house was suddenly starting to looking very appealing. We got out into the parking lot, into the light of day.... and really got a gander.
At first we were so horrified, but then after calming down- we started laughing so hard we could not control ourselves. Good times :)
Working with curly hair is an art. Of course when it is wet your hair is straight. When that sucker starts drying, whoa- and if someone does not catch on how to cut that thing, double whoa for your mane. Well, this was some kind of fancy schmancy salon, we were in good hands.
So, back at this salon, it may have been something like Vidal Sasoon, we were going to look like movie stars, we couldn't wait to see. The oldest one goes first as the middle one and I sit and wait. A little time passes and she comes out. She is just standing there waiting to see what we thought of her new 'do. Middle one and I just stare and each other and don't say anything." Cute." As always in any other story I have told, my lip starts quivering and I feel a big laugh wanting to escape the premises. She looks at me like "don't even- I will kick your ass so hard." "No really, it's so cute." Now, nowhere has it dawned on me that I have to get my 'do done , by whoever did this "cute " job on her. It is in the shape of a bowl, with two sausage plopped on either side. She came in with shoulder length brown hair. It was now bleached some orange tinty looking yellow with so much hairspray veneered on it to prop the sausage curls for some spring. I can't contain myself. It is now my turn, and I am watching as my hair gets molded and sculpted into this flat plastered thing to my head. My hair is super wavy, and it is pushed into my skull in the most unattractive way, shorned closely with so much hairspray. I knew I was going to hear "cute" next. The middle one eventually comes out. I can't even type right now reliving this story. She has a very wild fro on her, but hairsprayed and partially straightened. I'm guessing someones arm got tired? The joy was in her expression. We all just stared at each other walking towards the door, all smiles when asked how we like our do's. "Oh yes, we like them very much, thank you". We were nothing if not polite. Lee's house was suddenly starting to looking very appealing. We got out into the parking lot, into the light of day.... and really got a gander.
At first we were so horrified, but then after calming down- we started laughing so hard we could not control ourselves. Good times :)
Easy Rider
It didn't take much to get me, my purple magenta Schwinn stingray, to become one with the road. Throw in an incentive and it was a done deal, especially in fourth or fifth grade when cash was then introduced into the deal. My two older sisters usually always had some great idea for me, this time it was to pick up a purchase at Crowers, our local market. Of course even that would be a funky name....
Crower's, say it ten times fast. I didn't really care about the cash, my goal when I was done with my "job", swinging by Tastee freeze straight across from Crower's, picking up a double double dipped cone dipped in chocolate. Pros like me didn't need to sit a spell and wile the day away at Tastee Freeze, no I knew how to ride like the wind, hands tossed in the air, while eating my Tastee treat, until I didn't on those occasions, but that is another story.
Salivating at the thought of my sugary treat, I knew I had to do my deed, I knew this could be somewhat challenging. I hemmed and hawed as I got to the magazine section, rifling through the Archie comics, looked pretty funny that Archie. Oh yeah, back to the mission, and I wanted what I wanted. I cooly turned my head to see what other magazine going wayfarers were in the aisle today.
Just my luck right in the section I had to pick up my sisters requested mag-some scruffy looking characters, must be bikers, real ruffians. (They probably looked like the Beach Boys with dark hair)
Inching closer into their section, they stared up at me, probably thinking did you lose your mommy? I had a mission, I wanted my ice cream, move over biker dudes. I clumsily grabbed a couple mags and up to the check out stand- I was off.
"Ok, an abba zabba, Easy Rider magazine, True Confessions." The check out clerk is just staring at this
chubby little fourth grader, with a sweet little grin- as I dig the change out of my pocket, turning beet red. I am sure she is thinking what the hell, probably want ing to laugh so hard. Out the door, across the parking lot my stingray and I burn rubber, pick up my double dipped chocolate cone. I was in heaven. Riding back home, I wondered what stories and pictures we all would read first?
Crower's, say it ten times fast. I didn't really care about the cash, my goal when I was done with my "job", swinging by Tastee freeze straight across from Crower's, picking up a double double dipped cone dipped in chocolate. Pros like me didn't need to sit a spell and wile the day away at Tastee Freeze, no I knew how to ride like the wind, hands tossed in the air, while eating my Tastee treat, until I didn't on those occasions, but that is another story.
Salivating at the thought of my sugary treat, I knew I had to do my deed, I knew this could be somewhat challenging. I hemmed and hawed as I got to the magazine section, rifling through the Archie comics, looked pretty funny that Archie. Oh yeah, back to the mission, and I wanted what I wanted. I cooly turned my head to see what other magazine going wayfarers were in the aisle today.
Just my luck right in the section I had to pick up my sisters requested mag-some scruffy looking characters, must be bikers, real ruffians. (They probably looked like the Beach Boys with dark hair)
Inching closer into their section, they stared up at me, probably thinking did you lose your mommy? I had a mission, I wanted my ice cream, move over biker dudes. I clumsily grabbed a couple mags and up to the check out stand- I was off.
"Ok, an abba zabba, Easy Rider magazine, True Confessions." The check out clerk is just staring at this
chubby little fourth grader, with a sweet little grin- as I dig the change out of my pocket, turning beet red. I am sure she is thinking what the hell, probably want ing to laugh so hard. Out the door, across the parking lot my stingray and I burn rubber, pick up my double dipped chocolate cone. I was in heaven. Riding back home, I wondered what stories and pictures we all would read first?
Thursday, February 13, 2014
Who I Want To Be
I was just thinking how we all play different roles in life, with different people,
perhaps some of us more than others. As we grow, get to know who we are, become comfortable in our own skin, peel away enough to get to the core of our foundation. I have worn many costumes in my life, I always assumed this was the norm. I now understand it was necessary for me, until it wasn't.
When a great deal of damage occurs in a persons life, so many different forms of protection take over.
Coming in the form of positive and negative, sometimes simultaneous for me. Probably my saving grace, but pulling me in two different directions constantly. My sixteenth year of life was my most profound, by far. I moved out of my home- the most dramatic. My childhood ended. On one hand, a Nun in a baby blue pinto and I hung out quite often which I really dug, it made so much sense to me. She was around 24 or 25 and exposed me to so many things- opened my eyes. Social Service, Inner City in LA- on the other hand we would drop by her families home in Encino, which would then blow me away. Her mother seemed very cool, distant . My Nun friend would lose her sparkle when she walked into her mothers kitchen. Quite the opposite of my mother, her mother never forgave her for becoming a Sister of Social Service. My mother never forgave my brother for not becoming a Priest.
I loved hanging in her room at the Nunnery, sorry we didn't do any funky stuff. Had a little vino, she smoked incessantly and she cussed like a sailor which made me laugh. You know, behind closed doors even Nuns let their hair down.
Then there was my neighbor who lived across the street, the local drug store. I just wasn't into it.
I remember going over my friends house to spend the night, ( her parents went to bed at seven thirty) and she would become girls gone wild. There used to be a phone hot line you could scream your number into in the mid 70's. We would scream her number and wait. The crazy thing, her parents would let her go out with boys in 9th grade, but would trip out if we hung out at Thrifty's too long. Her mom worked at The Rectory, was super religious, and thought this gal pal was an angel. The same gal that would whip out, I think it was window pane? like it was nothing. I was so afraid of that stuff, any drug- I knew I would be the one who would never come back from tripping. I was already a trip, trust me, I had so many stories being written in my head.
That was the theme of some of my gal pals, the costumes they wore. Some mighty fine halos-- wish I would have learned that trick, but as in previous stories, I was into my own thing-" The thirty year old divorcee look" at fourteen, as my sister called it. I didn't understand the subtleties of "acting" as my gal pals did with their parents. On the other hand I didn't need to overall, I could sneak out with relative ease. There was a Watchtower light cranked on with their every move. My two closest gal pals at the time couldn't have been further from each other in personality. One was in love with Priests and loved to go to Mass two, three times on Sunday, the other one detested her,asked me why I hung out with such a loser. Then I met Bear, from Winchell's and another Crew I forgot about. This Crew all had divorced parents my- favorite kind. The only problem was with one of the girls. Her mom was hardcore AA at the time, my friend was so in your face about everything, completely controlling. There were four of us in that crew and all we did was talk about our weight, that was a laugh a minute. The controlling one always told us if we only put our minds to it.... blah blah blah. At this point in my life I was no longer overweight, yet every time she was around I would want to eat, go figure.
Enter another strange thing I just remembered- Explores Club. If I were a parent I would freak if this were my child. Explorers Club, a group for outdoors or something. Cool, I don't care sign me up. Four dudes ran this and most of the girls in it were teen angels.
One of my Crew who of course I nicknamed- "Kitty" became girlfriend to one of the leaders ( honestly his name was "Kit") probably ten years older than her. No problem, cool- seemed normal. I think she moved to Ventura that summer with him. What was up with our parents? The world for me that had taken over that year- Bear World and Cops. It all started with me going up to Winchell's to get a Donut one chilly fall night. Bear and I start talking, didn't know each other really- and she introduces me to these two Cops.These two were unrelenting, today they would be in Prison for Life with the key thrown away, their prey- thirteen to sixteen year old girls, too many too count.That is the first time I have ever said that. I still don't have enough of the reaction I should. My friend who went through the same experience- not so lucky. We are no longer friends, and that hurts my soul more than I can say. Her life, I am sure rocks to her. But being married to a man who says if she ever left him, he would burn her and the kids in it- that was years ago. Many other charming things, I am just sad damage will keep you there. When Authority Figures take away something from you in your youth, Priests, Police, Parent,there is a dulling that takes place. To come back to who you are, get back into balance, take away the sarcasm, edge, hurt,defenses, proving, wanting to strike back at people who remind you of so and so.
I became what they wanted me to be. Many things don't faze me that should, yet simple things can still break my heart.
I know my strength, it is my vulnerability. My freedom comes in writing- it makes me stronger every day. My secrets kept me locked up in a prison that was never mine. I hold the key to my freedom. Telling the truth, not pretending. I have nothing to be ashamed of or fear. I have lived my fear and horror. I am living life now, how I want to be.
perhaps some of us more than others. As we grow, get to know who we are, become comfortable in our own skin, peel away enough to get to the core of our foundation. I have worn many costumes in my life, I always assumed this was the norm. I now understand it was necessary for me, until it wasn't.
When a great deal of damage occurs in a persons life, so many different forms of protection take over.
Coming in the form of positive and negative, sometimes simultaneous for me. Probably my saving grace, but pulling me in two different directions constantly. My sixteenth year of life was my most profound, by far. I moved out of my home- the most dramatic. My childhood ended. On one hand, a Nun in a baby blue pinto and I hung out quite often which I really dug, it made so much sense to me. She was around 24 or 25 and exposed me to so many things- opened my eyes. Social Service, Inner City in LA- on the other hand we would drop by her families home in Encino, which would then blow me away. Her mother seemed very cool, distant . My Nun friend would lose her sparkle when she walked into her mothers kitchen. Quite the opposite of my mother, her mother never forgave her for becoming a Sister of Social Service. My mother never forgave my brother for not becoming a Priest.
I loved hanging in her room at the Nunnery, sorry we didn't do any funky stuff. Had a little vino, she smoked incessantly and she cussed like a sailor which made me laugh. You know, behind closed doors even Nuns let their hair down.
Then there was my neighbor who lived across the street, the local drug store. I just wasn't into it.
I remember going over my friends house to spend the night, ( her parents went to bed at seven thirty) and she would become girls gone wild. There used to be a phone hot line you could scream your number into in the mid 70's. We would scream her number and wait. The crazy thing, her parents would let her go out with boys in 9th grade, but would trip out if we hung out at Thrifty's too long. Her mom worked at The Rectory, was super religious, and thought this gal pal was an angel. The same gal that would whip out, I think it was window pane? like it was nothing. I was so afraid of that stuff, any drug- I knew I would be the one who would never come back from tripping. I was already a trip, trust me, I had so many stories being written in my head.
That was the theme of some of my gal pals, the costumes they wore. Some mighty fine halos-- wish I would have learned that trick, but as in previous stories, I was into my own thing-" The thirty year old divorcee look" at fourteen, as my sister called it. I didn't understand the subtleties of "acting" as my gal pals did with their parents. On the other hand I didn't need to overall, I could sneak out with relative ease. There was a Watchtower light cranked on with their every move. My two closest gal pals at the time couldn't have been further from each other in personality. One was in love with Priests and loved to go to Mass two, three times on Sunday, the other one detested her,asked me why I hung out with such a loser. Then I met Bear, from Winchell's and another Crew I forgot about. This Crew all had divorced parents my- favorite kind. The only problem was with one of the girls. Her mom was hardcore AA at the time, my friend was so in your face about everything, completely controlling. There were four of us in that crew and all we did was talk about our weight, that was a laugh a minute. The controlling one always told us if we only put our minds to it.... blah blah blah. At this point in my life I was no longer overweight, yet every time she was around I would want to eat, go figure.
Enter another strange thing I just remembered- Explores Club. If I were a parent I would freak if this were my child. Explorers Club, a group for outdoors or something. Cool, I don't care sign me up. Four dudes ran this and most of the girls in it were teen angels.
One of my Crew who of course I nicknamed- "Kitty" became girlfriend to one of the leaders ( honestly his name was "Kit") probably ten years older than her. No problem, cool- seemed normal. I think she moved to Ventura that summer with him. What was up with our parents? The world for me that had taken over that year- Bear World and Cops. It all started with me going up to Winchell's to get a Donut one chilly fall night. Bear and I start talking, didn't know each other really- and she introduces me to these two Cops.These two were unrelenting, today they would be in Prison for Life with the key thrown away, their prey- thirteen to sixteen year old girls, too many too count.That is the first time I have ever said that. I still don't have enough of the reaction I should. My friend who went through the same experience- not so lucky. We are no longer friends, and that hurts my soul more than I can say. Her life, I am sure rocks to her. But being married to a man who says if she ever left him, he would burn her and the kids in it- that was years ago. Many other charming things, I am just sad damage will keep you there. When Authority Figures take away something from you in your youth, Priests, Police, Parent,there is a dulling that takes place. To come back to who you are, get back into balance, take away the sarcasm, edge, hurt,defenses, proving, wanting to strike back at people who remind you of so and so.
I became what they wanted me to be. Many things don't faze me that should, yet simple things can still break my heart.
I know my strength, it is my vulnerability. My freedom comes in writing- it makes me stronger every day. My secrets kept me locked up in a prison that was never mine. I hold the key to my freedom. Telling the truth, not pretending. I have nothing to be ashamed of or fear. I have lived my fear and horror. I am living life now, how I want to be.
Hal
Sometimes you just have to let the inspiration take you where it does. Hal was mine yesterday, he cracked open a part of writing in me that had a "No access sign," lagging since Mrs Thompson's English class in 10th grade. It all started as a joke. This week will go down for me as one of the longest, life changing times in my life. It has been Mr Toads Wild Ride, I've just had to hold on and be willing. The holding on part was easier than the latter. My friend from high school days and I were texting yesterday, while I was writing. He was going into a lunch meeting, and I was teasing him on how boring that would be. Since he is the top dog and very focused, I knew he had to pay attention, so of course I wanted to mess with him a little bit. I knew he kept looking at his texts, so I would say ridiculous over the top things, starting with "Hal," one of the gents I made up in the meeting. ( I had no idea who was in the meeting, or how many people) I just went off on it, the story of young Hal, his Grand Mammy, Gentleman Jim, and suddenly two hours later, still pounding the keys feverishly, completely lost in what was happening. Hal is now in the confessional because of his love for Peggy Lennon, from the Lennon Sisters. The taunting I started with my friend in the meeting, (what I have been known to do Ray in meetings on an occasion or two) I try to think of the most ridiculous- telling him Hal is thinking about Gentleman Jim, who on occasion helped Grand Mammy move furniture int he middle of the night. Oh no, wait- his mind wandered, that was just a memory, Oh- he is back in the meeting again. Then he tells my friend he thinks about how nice he'd look in a Safari Suit in the meeting.
I won't make this a long story- It's just that something broke free, the whole time we didn't speak, I just saw that he kept receiving my messages. I laughed so hard writing this crazy stuff, I would talk to myself, answer myself,and keep on writing. Somehow this pushed me- to keep writing, dig deeper- write on the spot fiction, ridiculous fiction. In the end the boy goes to confession, because of his obsession over Peggy Lennon of The Lennon Sisters. The priest becomes fascinated about this, asks questions in details that Hal can't possibly understand. Hal just wants to hear what he needs to do to be forgiven, the Priest wants more details. How would he know what she was wearing other than her dress? Hal starts getting uncomfortable, wants to be back on the couch watching Larry Welk with Poppo, eating peanut butter and bologna sandwiches. Then it dawns on him, Efrem Zimbalist Jr would have known what to do in, and he wished The FBI was on. New stories are unfolding. Thanks friend from high school days :)
I won't make this a long story- It's just that something broke free, the whole time we didn't speak, I just saw that he kept receiving my messages. I laughed so hard writing this crazy stuff, I would talk to myself, answer myself,and keep on writing. Somehow this pushed me- to keep writing, dig deeper- write on the spot fiction, ridiculous fiction. In the end the boy goes to confession, because of his obsession over Peggy Lennon of The Lennon Sisters. The priest becomes fascinated about this, asks questions in details that Hal can't possibly understand. Hal just wants to hear what he needs to do to be forgiven, the Priest wants more details. How would he know what she was wearing other than her dress? Hal starts getting uncomfortable, wants to be back on the couch watching Larry Welk with Poppo, eating peanut butter and bologna sandwiches. Then it dawns on him, Efrem Zimbalist Jr would have known what to do in, and he wished The FBI was on. New stories are unfolding. Thanks friend from high school days :)
Tuesday, February 11, 2014
My Life
It happens in a moment, you take it or you don't. If I over think it, anxiety will build and I can't move forward. My car knows where to lead, as it always has. The music plays, as I watch the leaves in the trees all around me, like a symphony. I know it is time. The movie of life begins for me..... Everything slows down, even and especially when it is the last thing I want. I have always been one with my car. Music and my car have been my safe place. Since I bought my first ride at sixteen, my trusty steed, the blue pinto. I would take endless drives and turn on a cassette, heaven on earth. I still take my drives, it is who I am. I trust my car to guide me where I need to be. Sunday would be no exception as it steered me towards my destination, I just wasn't so willing to listen at first.
My resistance, willingness, are you sure? The intuition in my soul was saying, it is time.
As I drove the familiar road gripping tightly on the steering wheel, without thinking I dialed my sisters
number. Why was I doing this? No answer. Then my brothers, again no answer. Ok, not meant to be, keep driving. Closer to my destination, I see a car parked in the driveway seeming vaguely familiar, keep driving. I roll into my old grade school down the street and dial her phone number. "Hi mom, how's it going?" "Clare- is that you?" Casual nothing conversation goes on until I 'fess up I am nearby. Would she like some company? I roll into a nearby 7-11, for a much needed cup o' joe. I have not seen her since last July. I ring the door bell- when do I ever ring the door bell? How formal I have become. I go to the back, into the sliding door in family room. Trying to act very casual, be natural Clare. All is well, I repeat in my head. Handing her a muffin, while tightly gripping my coffee, I breathe as the Olympics blare in the background.Pleasantries exchanged from mother to daughter, really? As I write this, as far as I have gotten into this- what do I want to say? Part 2 That blares in my head, acceptance of what is. Finally getting it.... deep sorrow for what is. I walked away Sunday so fully intact as ME, yet seeing the shell of a person, my mother as I write this- it is difficult to put into words.She had been the most terrifying person in my world for so long. What kept me stuck, the personality I kept repeating- Frances, my mother. Punishing..... negating, belittling, constantly having me prove why indeed I had the right to breathe on this Earth. Sunday it ended. I knew it- I stood in my own power, yet as I write this, it never feels as what you think it would. You wait a lifetime for this transformation, but all I want to do is cry now. I am so proud of me for standing up to her.... this very rough woman, but my opponent, an 85 year old woman. That is where the grief comes. Why? The true sadness is where the acceptance comes. What I agreed to accept, our pact. That she is shallow ( all her words) and chooses not to love, it is too much work. I weep as her daughter as I write these words, because my whole life is based on love, getting to truth, peeling away, being your best. As I sat Sunday and listened, really listened to my mother, saying" How she is just too lazy," as she gazed at the Olympics, moment to moment.
In that moment something changed in me. I recognized, I finally realized.... this is not about me. All those years of begging, pleading for this woman's love. Being told how she prayed for us all because we were going to burn in hell. Enough, I had enough of the burning in hell. The shift changed when I let it lift from me and finally say this was her damage, I didn't do anything wrong. All the years she let me believe I was wrong, bad, different. All the other siblings seeing me from her eyes, her rage, how she saw me. Less. All her disappointment into me, I was the worse pregnancy she ever had, spilling boiling hot water on her stomach when pregnant with me, dad didn't talk to her for three months, he dropped me like a hot potato, hurry up and get married before I get pregnant, the teachers think I am not very smart, I hope Ray doesn't leave em. Billy's the writer, not me. The best part- she didn't remember one thing she said. Sunday was the first time in my life- I ever heard my mother call me "Lovely". She said, "You look lovely." I typically have no expression when complimented, par for the course.These are the ghosts we carry with us- when rarely hearing a positive from a parent- the only positive I heard as an adult was about my service so - I became service oriented. I served the world, I served her. I volunteered everywhere and served her. I cleaned and cleaned and cleaned. My mother was a hoarder. I cleaned her room, her closet, her home endlessly, time and time again, to be commented on, as she sat and judged how I did it. How red my face would get while cleaning. Ray could no longer bear watching me in the past year. He would say she would get sheer joy watching me run around. Nothing satisfied her- I ran faster. If you think that isn't shameful and demeaning, my hidden life..... but it was what it was, I wanted her love, she knew it. I simply don't care anymore- freedom is what I want. Not repeating these patterns, and hopefully having others see patterns they have been trapped in. It was painful. Freedom, awareness comes when it comes. Damage is damage. I am free- I feel it. I feel the transfer of power. How we ended the conversation, I agreed not to talk about hugging, love, etc. and she would not talk about burning in hell.I think God has a very good sense of humor. I am the daughter of a woman who doesn't believe in love, intimacy, hugging, kindness-- it's about the rules, and regulations- that's your ticket to heaven.
This is my story- the story of me really coming into MY life.
My resistance, willingness, are you sure? The intuition in my soul was saying, it is time.
As I drove the familiar road gripping tightly on the steering wheel, without thinking I dialed my sisters
number. Why was I doing this? No answer. Then my brothers, again no answer. Ok, not meant to be, keep driving. Closer to my destination, I see a car parked in the driveway seeming vaguely familiar, keep driving. I roll into my old grade school down the street and dial her phone number. "Hi mom, how's it going?" "Clare- is that you?" Casual nothing conversation goes on until I 'fess up I am nearby. Would she like some company? I roll into a nearby 7-11, for a much needed cup o' joe. I have not seen her since last July. I ring the door bell- when do I ever ring the door bell? How formal I have become. I go to the back, into the sliding door in family room. Trying to act very casual, be natural Clare. All is well, I repeat in my head. Handing her a muffin, while tightly gripping my coffee, I breathe as the Olympics blare in the background.Pleasantries exchanged from mother to daughter, really? As I write this, as far as I have gotten into this- what do I want to say? Part 2 That blares in my head, acceptance of what is. Finally getting it.... deep sorrow for what is. I walked away Sunday so fully intact as ME, yet seeing the shell of a person, my mother as I write this- it is difficult to put into words.She had been the most terrifying person in my world for so long. What kept me stuck, the personality I kept repeating- Frances, my mother. Punishing..... negating, belittling, constantly having me prove why indeed I had the right to breathe on this Earth. Sunday it ended. I knew it- I stood in my own power, yet as I write this, it never feels as what you think it would. You wait a lifetime for this transformation, but all I want to do is cry now. I am so proud of me for standing up to her.... this very rough woman, but my opponent, an 85 year old woman. That is where the grief comes. Why? The true sadness is where the acceptance comes. What I agreed to accept, our pact. That she is shallow ( all her words) and chooses not to love, it is too much work. I weep as her daughter as I write these words, because my whole life is based on love, getting to truth, peeling away, being your best. As I sat Sunday and listened, really listened to my mother, saying" How she is just too lazy," as she gazed at the Olympics, moment to moment.
In that moment something changed in me. I recognized, I finally realized.... this is not about me. All those years of begging, pleading for this woman's love. Being told how she prayed for us all because we were going to burn in hell. Enough, I had enough of the burning in hell. The shift changed when I let it lift from me and finally say this was her damage, I didn't do anything wrong. All the years she let me believe I was wrong, bad, different. All the other siblings seeing me from her eyes, her rage, how she saw me. Less. All her disappointment into me, I was the worse pregnancy she ever had, spilling boiling hot water on her stomach when pregnant with me, dad didn't talk to her for three months, he dropped me like a hot potato, hurry up and get married before I get pregnant, the teachers think I am not very smart, I hope Ray doesn't leave em. Billy's the writer, not me. The best part- she didn't remember one thing she said. Sunday was the first time in my life- I ever heard my mother call me "Lovely". She said, "You look lovely." I typically have no expression when complimented, par for the course.These are the ghosts we carry with us- when rarely hearing a positive from a parent- the only positive I heard as an adult was about my service so - I became service oriented. I served the world, I served her. I volunteered everywhere and served her. I cleaned and cleaned and cleaned. My mother was a hoarder. I cleaned her room, her closet, her home endlessly, time and time again, to be commented on, as she sat and judged how I did it. How red my face would get while cleaning. Ray could no longer bear watching me in the past year. He would say she would get sheer joy watching me run around. Nothing satisfied her- I ran faster. If you think that isn't shameful and demeaning, my hidden life..... but it was what it was, I wanted her love, she knew it. I simply don't care anymore- freedom is what I want. Not repeating these patterns, and hopefully having others see patterns they have been trapped in. It was painful. Freedom, awareness comes when it comes. Damage is damage. I am free- I feel it. I feel the transfer of power. How we ended the conversation, I agreed not to talk about hugging, love, etc. and she would not talk about burning in hell.I think God has a very good sense of humor. I am the daughter of a woman who doesn't believe in love, intimacy, hugging, kindness-- it's about the rules, and regulations- that's your ticket to heaven.
This is my story- the story of me really coming into MY life.
Monday, February 10, 2014
Rootbeer cans
We just knew the category we were in, the moment both their eyes blazed into ours.
It was the yuck one. Yep, in all my 6th grade wisdom I had seen it many a time.These goddesses weren't having it with us, but they had no choice on this forsaken weekend. I am sure the only remedy was to eat another candy bar and toss the wrapper recklessly in the back of Paul's El Camino for me, to cut the glare.
What else was a little gal supposed to do? These two chickitas were in my sisters class, and they sure weren't having any of it with her. Gina and Pam. Gina was very petite with dark silky hair. Pam was tall, blonde, gorgeous surfer girl. Then there were the two of us.
We had gone along on a weekend excursion with my oldest sister and her best friend,
to Laguna. I didn't even know where Pasadena was, ( ten minutes outside of Temple City) so Laguna was a lifetime a way.... and boy was I ready to go. I loved Paul, my sister's best friends boyfriend. That's a mouth full. He was always so sweet, and funny.
I am not sure why the middle sister and I tagged along on many a trip, but we were so happy to be included. Pam and Gina on the other hand clearly were not feeling the joy. My middle sister and I had one thing in common. We liked to joke, and tag- this time we knew we were it.
She would have to be the most sarcastic person I ever met, she is pretty funny.
There were six of us children in the family, so we entertained ourselves however, whenever. Some of us were more dramatic than others. Now I have completely lost interest in this story and am thinking about walking home from the movie theatre one Saturday night with her. I was probably eleven or twelve, she was three years older. We were just strolling down Las Tunas about ten in the evening,when someone decides to throw a can of root beer in her hair. As if she knew the culprit personally, never seeing them, she tells me it was because we are both homely. I am laughing now so hard thinking about us walking home, having an in depth discussion about the true nature of the root beer throwing because we are both so homely. The way she would state things as though it were a fact. Any thing that happened was because we were fat or homely. Okay, let's go get some donuts. Case closed. I don't know why now that is so funny to me, but she said it in such a way that it was just the truth. Oh, they looked at us that way because..... oh, okay. Must be the fat or homely deal. When I was in 9th grade, I used to bleach my hair platinum blonde. We would walk to Thrifty's to buy the bleach, and she would just state in the middle of the store, "You look like a thirty year old divorcee." Ok, I don't know what a thirty year old divorcee looks like, I just turned fourteen, but that was who I was from then on.
Ok, I veered for a moment from the story going down memory lane. I am now just flooded with funny thoughts. Back to Laguna- so we finally get to the beach house and it is time to actually go down to the beach. I look over and Pam and Gina walk out of the house in tiny bikinis with tiny bodies to match. My sister and I give each other the familiar uh oh, what now? Everyone is headed down to the beach, while we both have as many clothes on as humanly possible. We are so tripped beyond imagination about exposing our bodies, and now in front of the Princesses.
We carefully, while laying down remove our cut off cords trying not to breath, as not to let the belly
make any sudden movements, growing any larger than need be. We get through this painstaking process while drinking our "Tabs." I am sure there was a large bag of potato chips and cookies to wash down that diet drink. Suddenly everyone thinks it is such a fun idea to all go in the water.Were they high? I wasn't getting up without something covering my gut. Especially around those two chicks who were watching us as if we were their entertainment. Of course my sister told me she could see them snickering. Hell no, I wasn't getting up. This time I knew she wasn't just being herself, like at the movie theatre with the root beer incident. They didn't like our kind- we weren't cool.
I didn't happen to mention the fact that this was around 1974, and blowdryers were not as popular yet .
Well, we had some interesting hair between the two of us. Anyone who has wavy or curly hair will understand where I am coming from. Humidity, beach weather, your hair turns into a major fro.
My hair is wavy, but my sisters can get down right crazy. I would tell her that her hair was bigger than doors she tried to get into. She had herself quite a fro. Well, the salt water starting misting our hair like crazy, and believe me, we didn't start out like any babes from the get go. Gina and Pam's mouths were agape as they watched the transformation. Especially my poor sisters 'do. What comes with that is
just pure shame. My sister always, and still does have a tougher hide. She would never let anyone get the best of her. Being second to youngest out of six, I wear my emotions on my sleeve a lot more. What you see is what you get most of the time. Especially being youngest sister. I remember these girls as if it were yesterday. I think the reason I am even writing this story, I was thinking about Costa Mesa, where was Costa Mesa? Oh that's where Paul lived. He died a few years later in a car accident. He was such a sweetheart. Here's to you Paul.
I am not sure why the middle sister and I tagged along on many a trip, but we were so happy to be included. Pam and Gina on the other hand clearly were not feeling the joy. My middle sister and I had one thing in common. We liked to joke, and tag- this time we knew we were it.
She would have to be the most sarcastic person I ever met, she is pretty funny.
There were six of us children in the family, so we entertained ourselves however, whenever. Some of us were more dramatic than others. Now I have completely lost interest in this story and am thinking about walking home from the movie theatre one Saturday night with her. I was probably eleven or twelve, she was three years older. We were just strolling down Las Tunas about ten in the evening,when someone decides to throw a can of root beer in her hair. As if she knew the culprit personally, never seeing them, she tells me it was because we are both homely. I am laughing now so hard thinking about us walking home, having an in depth discussion about the true nature of the root beer throwing because we are both so homely. The way she would state things as though it were a fact. Any thing that happened was because we were fat or homely. Okay, let's go get some donuts. Case closed. I don't know why now that is so funny to me, but she said it in such a way that it was just the truth. Oh, they looked at us that way because..... oh, okay. Must be the fat or homely deal. When I was in 9th grade, I used to bleach my hair platinum blonde. We would walk to Thrifty's to buy the bleach, and she would just state in the middle of the store, "You look like a thirty year old divorcee." Ok, I don't know what a thirty year old divorcee looks like, I just turned fourteen, but that was who I was from then on.
Ok, I veered for a moment from the story going down memory lane. I am now just flooded with funny thoughts. Back to Laguna- so we finally get to the beach house and it is time to actually go down to the beach. I look over and Pam and Gina walk out of the house in tiny bikinis with tiny bodies to match. My sister and I give each other the familiar uh oh, what now? Everyone is headed down to the beach, while we both have as many clothes on as humanly possible. We are so tripped beyond imagination about exposing our bodies, and now in front of the Princesses.
We carefully, while laying down remove our cut off cords trying not to breath, as not to let the belly
make any sudden movements, growing any larger than need be. We get through this painstaking process while drinking our "Tabs." I am sure there was a large bag of potato chips and cookies to wash down that diet drink. Suddenly everyone thinks it is such a fun idea to all go in the water.Were they high? I wasn't getting up without something covering my gut. Especially around those two chicks who were watching us as if we were their entertainment. Of course my sister told me she could see them snickering. Hell no, I wasn't getting up. This time I knew she wasn't just being herself, like at the movie theatre with the root beer incident. They didn't like our kind- we weren't cool.
I didn't happen to mention the fact that this was around 1974, and blowdryers were not as popular yet .
Well, we had some interesting hair between the two of us. Anyone who has wavy or curly hair will understand where I am coming from. Humidity, beach weather, your hair turns into a major fro.
My hair is wavy, but my sisters can get down right crazy. I would tell her that her hair was bigger than doors she tried to get into. She had herself quite a fro. Well, the salt water starting misting our hair like crazy, and believe me, we didn't start out like any babes from the get go. Gina and Pam's mouths were agape as they watched the transformation. Especially my poor sisters 'do. What comes with that is
just pure shame. My sister always, and still does have a tougher hide. She would never let anyone get the best of her. Being second to youngest out of six, I wear my emotions on my sleeve a lot more. What you see is what you get most of the time. Especially being youngest sister. I remember these girls as if it were yesterday. I think the reason I am even writing this story, I was thinking about Costa Mesa, where was Costa Mesa? Oh that's where Paul lived. He died a few years later in a car accident. He was such a sweetheart. Here's to you Paul.
Reflections
There's only so much story I can write in my head until I finally get my lazy butt out of bed and get busy. Usually titles come to me first, but that will irritate me and then I will feel so boxed in. Then I will go through this whole process and tug of war with myself : Who made the rules of what I want to write about. Charles Bukowski keeps playing through my brain, making me laugh. I'd never heard of him, until my daughter got hooked in her high school years. We would read together like crazy,
hunger for more, immediately after we finished a page, chapter, book. The descriptions fill my brain, my soul, like no other as he spoke of himself, life, people in it. The rawness, truth as he saw it, no holding back, actually more times than not. But I think that is the beauty of it, he called it like he saw it with no apologies, his life did not allow for that.
It got me thinking about how many layers it takes to break through to get to the core. Then, just when you think what fabulous progress you have made- time to go back to the beginning again. That's how we learn and grow, stay fresh, humble. Doesn't mean we always dig the process and open the door politely for afternoon tea.
There is probably more Bukowski in me than I know, knocking at the door. Begging to be let out and tell it like it is.... just write. No apologies, explanations, fear of fallout. The thoughts that resides in my mind, as my hubby says could make many a truck driver blush. Stories whirling around in my head begging for expression, but the good catholic girl sitting in Sister Eileen's office for so many infractions holds back, waiting to be sent to the office again. All of those office visits made for some creative plotting, one being hoisting up the biggest pair of ladies underwear, bought from the dime store. We had never seen such big white bloomers in our life, that's what made this little adventure even funnier. Running them up the the school flag pole- just to watch Sister Eileen's expression. It wasn't that my friend and I were about being irreverent to our country. Just 7th graders wanting to watch Nuns come out of the convent and see those giant bloomers blowing ever so gently in the wind. Things that made us laugh. There were so many restrictions and rules and punishments for breathing, at an early age we just needed comic relief, and lots of it we would find. Some more inappropriate than others, again the tighter the restrictions placed on us- the neon "Girls Gone Wild" sign blinked on faster- and off we were into the wild street of Temple City. Anyone who knows Temple City is laughing- because it was and is anything but wild, and in the 70's was a very sleepy little hamlet. An occasional ninety year old on a three wheeling bicycle may have mowed you down back in the day. I do see where this story wants to meander down this early morn, the great divide which has been my life. I have always enjoyed many personalities in friendships, probably to suit all the sides of myself. Maybe that is just how we do it, we attract a little of everything in people, what we need, and vice versa. Sometimes the mirror reflecting back does not show the image we thought we "were", time for a new mirror, the windex must not be working. I think this is a good place to stop, reflections. :)
hunger for more, immediately after we finished a page, chapter, book. The descriptions fill my brain, my soul, like no other as he spoke of himself, life, people in it. The rawness, truth as he saw it, no holding back, actually more times than not. But I think that is the beauty of it, he called it like he saw it with no apologies, his life did not allow for that.
It got me thinking about how many layers it takes to break through to get to the core. Then, just when you think what fabulous progress you have made- time to go back to the beginning again. That's how we learn and grow, stay fresh, humble. Doesn't mean we always dig the process and open the door politely for afternoon tea.
There is probably more Bukowski in me than I know, knocking at the door. Begging to be let out and tell it like it is.... just write. No apologies, explanations, fear of fallout. The thoughts that resides in my mind, as my hubby says could make many a truck driver blush. Stories whirling around in my head begging for expression, but the good catholic girl sitting in Sister Eileen's office for so many infractions holds back, waiting to be sent to the office again. All of those office visits made for some creative plotting, one being hoisting up the biggest pair of ladies underwear, bought from the dime store. We had never seen such big white bloomers in our life, that's what made this little adventure even funnier. Running them up the the school flag pole- just to watch Sister Eileen's expression. It wasn't that my friend and I were about being irreverent to our country. Just 7th graders wanting to watch Nuns come out of the convent and see those giant bloomers blowing ever so gently in the wind. Things that made us laugh. There were so many restrictions and rules and punishments for breathing, at an early age we just needed comic relief, and lots of it we would find. Some more inappropriate than others, again the tighter the restrictions placed on us- the neon "Girls Gone Wild" sign blinked on faster- and off we were into the wild street of Temple City. Anyone who knows Temple City is laughing- because it was and is anything but wild, and in the 70's was a very sleepy little hamlet. An occasional ninety year old on a three wheeling bicycle may have mowed you down back in the day. I do see where this story wants to meander down this early morn, the great divide which has been my life. I have always enjoyed many personalities in friendships, probably to suit all the sides of myself. Maybe that is just how we do it, we attract a little of everything in people, what we need, and vice versa. Sometimes the mirror reflecting back does not show the image we thought we "were", time for a new mirror, the windex must not be working. I think this is a good place to stop, reflections. :)
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