My sister Anne has been egging me on to write this story- tonight she gave me another nudge.There is nothing sad about this story though, with my dad's recent passing. The reason she wants me to write it is because of something comical that happened at his graveside. I believe with all my heart that if you cannot have a good laugh about things, even during the most serious incidents sometimes- it's just stress relief, and this is one of those times.
After the Memorial Service at the Church, we made our way to the Cemetery where my dads ashes were buried( My mom wanted to do in the Catholic tradition.) As we sat down for the short service, a priest from the Church spoke for a few minutes. Then a Parishoner jumped up ( who my kids had previously named "Grandpas Biggest Fan") for other reasons back at the Church, broke out singing- with no ones prompting of "Oh My Papa." Now a couple of things are interesting about this. One- my dad used to love this song. There's no way this fellow knew this, other than the fact that we are Italian. Second, he knows about five verses, as his voice gets louder and more boisterous with every word, droning on and on. I couldn't look at anyone or I would have burst out laughing- very loud and out of control. So I chose to look straight inside his large, gaping mouth. It was open so big and wide, I thought I had gotten lost inside Moby Dick. I couldn't look at particular faces, especially anyone in my family.
At no time did anyone, including my mother ask him to sing, or did he ask anyone in my family if we wanted "The Concert." I think that is what made it so funny. He was just giving his free Concert Summer Series. As if the Summer Concert Series were to come to an abrupt end....he broke into"O Sole Mio" right in my mom's face. He was really ramped up by now, not ready for the Concert to end. He took that song for so many twists, turns and verses..... it seemed we were all in a time warp by the end, and made our getaway. He couldn't have been more jacked up. In all fairness he is a very sweet man, who was singing from his heart. It just was so surprising and truly unexpected!
When we got back to the Church Hall, he was kind enough to serenade my mom and her table with some lively Broadway ShowTunes. I didn't get a look at her face. My dad was definitely having a good time watching the show.
Sunday, August 19, 2012
Thursday, August 9, 2012
The Ride
Today is my son's birthday, and I think it is the most relaxed I have seen him. We take Birthdays with great care for each other, wanting the sweetest, or outrageously fun experience - whichever way it swings for the individual. Seeing Matt feel like he could finally breathe- just do his own thing today made my heart sing. No more rules..... just what feels right. We have come a long way from being "careful," not wanting to offend, tiptoeing through the years- finally being able to say, " I love you but get the hell away from me." Everyone in the family saying they have PMS. That is the biggest gift for polite-nics. Saying how it is without fear of repercussion.
Growing up in a severely restricted household, then passing it on to the family you have created takes work to un-do.
Matt was born two days before my birthday, Katie on Father's Day. Our kids knew when to time their births, filling our hearts to overflowing. It has been a very emotion couple of weeks leading up to our birthdays. Five days ago we buried my dad. I have heard my husband say so often - the circle of life continues on. I never really understood what he meant. I do now more than ever.There have been so many deaths of friends loved ones in the past few months, few years. I have watched, listened, absorbed peoples thoughts, feelings, words, tributes, grief, love, frustration, aloneness, loss, exhaustion, process, healing, acceptance, remembrance.
Ray lost both of his parents at thirty five. I was over seven months pregnant with Katie when he lost his Mom. Only this week can I comprehend the sheer aloneness he experienced through it all. My heart took in fully the enormity of it all. No matter what stage you are at with a parent, grief can jolt your heart, ripping through your very being, while awaiting rebirth- to the new life awaiting you. It is not done until it is done.
We were like two boats rowing in a river of loss barely getting through. Saying goodbye to one life,while awaiting the birth of a new one. We couldn't be further apart, not from lack of love, just where our heads and hearts were. Neither had the strength or capacity to enter each others worlds. Children became mine while I could not comprehend the depths of despair my husband had stepped into. Pure loss. I do now. If I could go back, but it doesn't work that way. It is the compassion, empathy, the in-betweens when he needed me. To just hold him, listen, love him. Have patience -not let my anger, my relationship with his mother...simply allow him to grieve.
I'm not sure what this story is about : birthdays, death, birth, or just forgiveness, maybe love.
All of the above. This is what I know.... today is my son's birthday and it is a peaceful day. I am so grateful for all the love in this home, in my heart right now. Happy Birthday my sweet Matt. I love this man, my husband- who has given me Matt and Katie- who I love like crazy. We have had a roller coaster ride of life together- that I would not change for anything. It's just life, being willing to take the ride, never knowing where you will end up. I love being on the ride with Raym. No one is more fun and makes me laugh as much. It's time to go on another ride, I am ready for The Carousel. Softer and gentler is my speed right now.
Growing up in a severely restricted household, then passing it on to the family you have created takes work to un-do.
Matt was born two days before my birthday, Katie on Father's Day. Our kids knew when to time their births, filling our hearts to overflowing. It has been a very emotion couple of weeks leading up to our birthdays. Five days ago we buried my dad. I have heard my husband say so often - the circle of life continues on. I never really understood what he meant. I do now more than ever.There have been so many deaths of friends loved ones in the past few months, few years. I have watched, listened, absorbed peoples thoughts, feelings, words, tributes, grief, love, frustration, aloneness, loss, exhaustion, process, healing, acceptance, remembrance.
Ray lost both of his parents at thirty five. I was over seven months pregnant with Katie when he lost his Mom. Only this week can I comprehend the sheer aloneness he experienced through it all. My heart took in fully the enormity of it all. No matter what stage you are at with a parent, grief can jolt your heart, ripping through your very being, while awaiting rebirth- to the new life awaiting you. It is not done until it is done.
We were like two boats rowing in a river of loss barely getting through. Saying goodbye to one life,while awaiting the birth of a new one. We couldn't be further apart, not from lack of love, just where our heads and hearts were. Neither had the strength or capacity to enter each others worlds. Children became mine while I could not comprehend the depths of despair my husband had stepped into. Pure loss. I do now. If I could go back, but it doesn't work that way. It is the compassion, empathy, the in-betweens when he needed me. To just hold him, listen, love him. Have patience -not let my anger, my relationship with his mother...simply allow him to grieve.
I'm not sure what this story is about : birthdays, death, birth, or just forgiveness, maybe love.
All of the above. This is what I know.... today is my son's birthday and it is a peaceful day. I am so grateful for all the love in this home, in my heart right now. Happy Birthday my sweet Matt. I love this man, my husband- who has given me Matt and Katie- who I love like crazy. We have had a roller coaster ride of life together- that I would not change for anything. It's just life, being willing to take the ride, never knowing where you will end up. I love being on the ride with Raym. No one is more fun and makes me laugh as much. It's time to go on another ride, I am ready for The Carousel. Softer and gentler is my speed right now.
Monday, August 6, 2012
The Gift
I am sitting here listening to The Carpenter's on my son's record player. They are my brother's records, and I am lost somewhere in time between the 70's and now. My heart is hurting, but not down and out-just split wide open. It hurts because there is fresh air hitting it, and I cannot identify this feeling. It also hurts because I lost something that I could never have in the first place- until it left.That is the fresh air hitting it.... it is all for such a good purpose, but such an indescribable pain, I could not and would not have had it here, ever in this lifetime with my dad. We just didn't connect very often in that way. We had our moments, but I had my expectations.... and he had his.We both were sorely disappointed and fell short.
The thing about being a writer like any other creative.... it is how we express ourselves. It doesn't stop when someone dies or tragedy strikes, at least it kicks in for me even more. I write more when I am severely bummed out. Never was one of those happy writers. I could write for hours about the endless oceans waves of darkness and abyss rolling me out to sea. My hubby will laugh heartily about that. I think he has memorized that charmer. Even in my darkest hours, he would quote me on the abyss of my soul. I have many of those stories handwritten in a box.
I am no longer at that stage of the abyss, I am just realizing life's interesting timing. Anyone who has sat with someone who is in the the hospital or ill- sometimes time seems to take forever, when really it is just a couple of weeks. You are in this time warp and have no capacity to understand you can never get any of these moments back. I have heard it over and over- but I didn't understand it. It was tiring, confusing, doctors telling us one thing, a new crew telling us another. My dad was made of steel, outlasting everyone and everything. Even with poor health, he wasn't going anywhere.The doctors said it was a miracle he was alive at all. He nearly lost all his blood at home, then was brought into Emergency and had a heart attack ( which apparently was the least of his problems.)
Something profound is happening, I cannot put into words without making them sound garbled. I feel him in the purest form. No anger, no frustration, no disappointment, just love. Something I never fully experienced while he was living - in this form.
I knew he loved me, in his way. He carried so much pain, physical and emotional, that it was hard for him to reach out to anyone. He had his place in the kitchen, day after day, night after night.
The radio was his best friend.... the window with the curtain pulled back was his view of the world.
Every once in a blue moon he would venture out with his friend for coffee.
His world was the kitchen and his bedroom, where he slept in a chair the past four years - because he struggled breathing. He had been hooked up to oxygen the past ten years. I think had he been 'Joe Schmo' down the street my patience, compassion, so many things would have kicked in more, it did sporadically. Reading this after I have just written it- I would judge me as a terrible daughter. I can only speak the truth of what happened and what needs to heal. Depression that was never talked about ran so deep. I weep for him had he been helped, really loved through it he may have had a different life. Unfortunately I inherited those genes that were never "talked" about. Having to watch a father who could not move at times, completely paralyzed by anxiety, depression, life.
Pretending doesn't skip a beat in their house even with his passing, perhaps even more so now.This is where I am changing.... or the gift my dad is giving me now. Be myself all the way through. I am turning fifty one Saturday. When is enough - enough? I realize in many a household this dysfunction continues.... I have fought so hard to heal it in my own. I need to let it go in every part of my life.Talking about these unpopular things that we have had to keep in the dark, such as depression. Why do you think people stay depressed - staying in the dark.
The only way I have found to heal.... telling the truth. Feeling my feelings.
Allowing my pain to come out, as well as my joy. Letting go of what was never mine.
Filling up the well. Letting love in. Not complicated stuff. Maybe that is why I feel my dad around me right now so much- the best birthday gift to me. What I have always wanted. His love.
The thing about being a writer like any other creative.... it is how we express ourselves. It doesn't stop when someone dies or tragedy strikes, at least it kicks in for me even more. I write more when I am severely bummed out. Never was one of those happy writers. I could write for hours about the endless oceans waves of darkness and abyss rolling me out to sea. My hubby will laugh heartily about that. I think he has memorized that charmer. Even in my darkest hours, he would quote me on the abyss of my soul. I have many of those stories handwritten in a box.
I am no longer at that stage of the abyss, I am just realizing life's interesting timing. Anyone who has sat with someone who is in the the hospital or ill- sometimes time seems to take forever, when really it is just a couple of weeks. You are in this time warp and have no capacity to understand you can never get any of these moments back. I have heard it over and over- but I didn't understand it. It was tiring, confusing, doctors telling us one thing, a new crew telling us another. My dad was made of steel, outlasting everyone and everything. Even with poor health, he wasn't going anywhere.The doctors said it was a miracle he was alive at all. He nearly lost all his blood at home, then was brought into Emergency and had a heart attack ( which apparently was the least of his problems.)
Something profound is happening, I cannot put into words without making them sound garbled. I feel him in the purest form. No anger, no frustration, no disappointment, just love. Something I never fully experienced while he was living - in this form.
I knew he loved me, in his way. He carried so much pain, physical and emotional, that it was hard for him to reach out to anyone. He had his place in the kitchen, day after day, night after night.
The radio was his best friend.... the window with the curtain pulled back was his view of the world.
Every once in a blue moon he would venture out with his friend for coffee.
His world was the kitchen and his bedroom, where he slept in a chair the past four years - because he struggled breathing. He had been hooked up to oxygen the past ten years. I think had he been 'Joe Schmo' down the street my patience, compassion, so many things would have kicked in more, it did sporadically. Reading this after I have just written it- I would judge me as a terrible daughter. I can only speak the truth of what happened and what needs to heal. Depression that was never talked about ran so deep. I weep for him had he been helped, really loved through it he may have had a different life. Unfortunately I inherited those genes that were never "talked" about. Having to watch a father who could not move at times, completely paralyzed by anxiety, depression, life.
Pretending doesn't skip a beat in their house even with his passing, perhaps even more so now.This is where I am changing.... or the gift my dad is giving me now. Be myself all the way through. I am turning fifty one Saturday. When is enough - enough? I realize in many a household this dysfunction continues.... I have fought so hard to heal it in my own. I need to let it go in every part of my life.Talking about these unpopular things that we have had to keep in the dark, such as depression. Why do you think people stay depressed - staying in the dark.
The only way I have found to heal.... telling the truth. Feeling my feelings.
Allowing my pain to come out, as well as my joy. Letting go of what was never mine.
Filling up the well. Letting love in. Not complicated stuff. Maybe that is why I feel my dad around me right now so much- the best birthday gift to me. What I have always wanted. His love.
Say Hello For Me
I am like a child on Christmas Day wanting to cram in so much writing. Not that my feelings are bubbly, frothy and overjoyed- they aren't and don't need to be. They are pure, raw and mine.Undiluted, to the point and flowing- a writers dream. My heart is not blocked and heavy by others points-of-view, judgement, rationale, punishment, burden. For the very first time I am in my own head enough just to let my thoughts flow freely and stand in my own truth.
My heart cracked open in a new way yesterday, it has over the past month and hasn't stopped. Saturday was the Memorial Mass. It was beautiful, a family friend said the Mass, and knowing our big Italian family for well over thirty years, how chaotic we were - and of course it was all about the food. Loud people and food. But a very nice tribute to my dad as well.
Listening to my oldest brother give the Eulogy, I learned so much about my Dad through my brothers eyes.The girls were our mothers / the boys were our dad's. Lines were drawn so many years ago, now it was time sitting in this Church to decide for myself, what did I choose, what did I believe? How did I feel? Was it time to let go and decide for myself through my eyes, as my fathers daughter.
The little girl whose life depended on him at three years old in Children's Hospital, when doctors told my parents I wouldn't make it through the night, laying so ill with pneumonia.
He wouldn't leave my side for two weeks. I would cry even when he left for bathroom breaks.
I remember every moment. As my father lay dying in the hospital, he said to me, " Clare, do you remember that little girl?" I immediately burst into tears. I was three years old, yet I remembered then as I do in this moment that little girl. I was in a ward, with many sick children at Children's Hospital. That little girl had leukemia and was dying. Her parents had abandoned her, and my dad ( I'm sure it was unbearable for him to see her alone and dying) would go over to her crib, hold her, trying to comfort her. In all my three year old fear, wanting only my father, would get very upset. I never understood what he felt as he said through the years, "Clare, do you remember that little girl." Of course I remembered her, she took my dad away. How could I have possibly understood at that age anything else? I understand now. Dad, I told you it was your turn, I wouldn't leave you. I kept my promise.
We got so far away from that through the years- really far. I was so happy to have the opportunity for forgiveness with each other. Time to sit together even when you weren't conscious and just be. The greatest gift for me was bringing you back to the place I was most comfortable with -Hospice. Sitting in that room, like I had with so many others- it was different this time though. It was you, now the rules were different. I comforted, supported, held many hands- but I didn't know what it really felt like. I was simply an observer who cared deeply. I knew because of Grandma.... but with your own parent suddenly it became much more real, and felt very different. It hurt different.
Yesterday I felt you with me, through songs in the store, everywhere. Saying the same thing. Let go. It is all the same message- forgiveness and love. I am listening in my dreams - I hear you, feel you. It was impossible in life to have this- too much water between us. I have always loved the song "The Water Is Wide." Perhaps that is how I will think of you now. I know you are at peace, I finally feel it. I am sorry you have suffered so much in this life. I wish I could have known you dad.... really known the man you wanted to be. I think now we have a really great beginning- now you can be the father you always wanted to be, and me the daughter. Say hello to that little girl from Children's Hospital for me dad. I did get the best part of you- I just didn't know it until now.
My heart cracked open in a new way yesterday, it has over the past month and hasn't stopped. Saturday was the Memorial Mass. It was beautiful, a family friend said the Mass, and knowing our big Italian family for well over thirty years, how chaotic we were - and of course it was all about the food. Loud people and food. But a very nice tribute to my dad as well.
Listening to my oldest brother give the Eulogy, I learned so much about my Dad through my brothers eyes.The girls were our mothers / the boys were our dad's. Lines were drawn so many years ago, now it was time sitting in this Church to decide for myself, what did I choose, what did I believe? How did I feel? Was it time to let go and decide for myself through my eyes, as my fathers daughter.
The little girl whose life depended on him at three years old in Children's Hospital, when doctors told my parents I wouldn't make it through the night, laying so ill with pneumonia.
He wouldn't leave my side for two weeks. I would cry even when he left for bathroom breaks.
I remember every moment. As my father lay dying in the hospital, he said to me, " Clare, do you remember that little girl?" I immediately burst into tears. I was three years old, yet I remembered then as I do in this moment that little girl. I was in a ward, with many sick children at Children's Hospital. That little girl had leukemia and was dying. Her parents had abandoned her, and my dad ( I'm sure it was unbearable for him to see her alone and dying) would go over to her crib, hold her, trying to comfort her. In all my three year old fear, wanting only my father, would get very upset. I never understood what he felt as he said through the years, "Clare, do you remember that little girl." Of course I remembered her, she took my dad away. How could I have possibly understood at that age anything else? I understand now. Dad, I told you it was your turn, I wouldn't leave you. I kept my promise.
We got so far away from that through the years- really far. I was so happy to have the opportunity for forgiveness with each other. Time to sit together even when you weren't conscious and just be. The greatest gift for me was bringing you back to the place I was most comfortable with -Hospice. Sitting in that room, like I had with so many others- it was different this time though. It was you, now the rules were different. I comforted, supported, held many hands- but I didn't know what it really felt like. I was simply an observer who cared deeply. I knew because of Grandma.... but with your own parent suddenly it became much more real, and felt very different. It hurt different.
Yesterday I felt you with me, through songs in the store, everywhere. Saying the same thing. Let go. It is all the same message- forgiveness and love. I am listening in my dreams - I hear you, feel you. It was impossible in life to have this- too much water between us. I have always loved the song "The Water Is Wide." Perhaps that is how I will think of you now. I know you are at peace, I finally feel it. I am sorry you have suffered so much in this life. I wish I could have known you dad.... really known the man you wanted to be. I think now we have a really great beginning- now you can be the father you always wanted to be, and me the daughter. Say hello to that little girl from Children's Hospital for me dad. I did get the best part of you- I just didn't know it until now.
Monday, July 30, 2012
The Record Player
Time suspended, sleep escapes me. My body, muscles, heart- feel heavy and burdened, not quite right. Not unlike many who have gone before me, and will walk beside me, many who will yet have to walk this road. My Dad died a week ago tonight, and I feel even more disconnected then I did then. The Funeral is on Saturday, and I want it to go away. Some of the bonds that were formed with family members are further damaged, while others are miraculously healed. Who would know or believe. Today was the first day in two weeks I have had time to just be, cruise in my car and feel by myself. I am not even sure what it is I was looking for- I just kept looking, searching for something. Some sense of balance.
I am listening to Carole King, with my head phones on. Ray sits beside me on his computer and all feels right with that. He is my North Star. "Child of Mine," by Carole King is on right now. I have been spending a lot of time at my mom's house this past week, more time than I have in such along time. I went into my Dad's room. I sat on the chair..... he slept in a chair the past three or four years because he had to sleep upright to be able to breathe. I looked around his room. It looked so sad. I wanted something to hold onto, a memento, a feeling, a thought. The Quiet was deafening. My heart felt so empty, yearning for something that wasn't. I roamed upstairs, where I spent my twelfth to end of sixteenth year. It wasn't a long time in this house, it is not warm and cozy and welcoming for me. Simply a dwelling I visit.
I searched for something up there.... perhaps a piece of my past that I let me know that I existed. I rustled through the Christmas Stuff in Joe's old room- found a box with my Grandma (on my Mom's side) stuff. Found a few old pics but it kept my heart yearning. I meandered out to the garage, a true no man's land. I looked at my Dad's old Florist Stuff and felt such pain and exasperation. "Why in the hell did you keep all this crap, Dad. What memory did you leave for me to hold onto?"
I looked over to a bunch of old record albums on the side of the garage. My heart let out a sigh. Music- maybe he was leading me to comfort after all. My brothers old albums, all my favorites. Beatles, James Taylor, Beach Boys, Gordon Lightfoot, Simon and Garfunkel. Those and more were the ones that got me through as a teenager and on. I asked my bro if I could borrow them, and my heart lifted. Raym said he would pick me up a record player this week. It has always been the music, writing.
I have been very angry and frustrated at the father I had. I forgave him, which was like peeling an onion over the past couple of weeks at the hospital. The pain of what wasn't .... and now allowing what possibilities in from another dimension are the most difficult. Just letting it be, letting the forgiveness soak in, and let him be a true father from where he is now, without all the baggage. That is where the steel around my heart crumbles.... the little girl comes out, and I suppose the true healing really will take place. I guess honesty is all we really possess.
I look forward to my new record player, my records, and hours of my past love of music and song merging with who I am today..... and just let it all be.
I am listening to Carole King, with my head phones on. Ray sits beside me on his computer and all feels right with that. He is my North Star. "Child of Mine," by Carole King is on right now. I have been spending a lot of time at my mom's house this past week, more time than I have in such along time. I went into my Dad's room. I sat on the chair..... he slept in a chair the past three or four years because he had to sleep upright to be able to breathe. I looked around his room. It looked so sad. I wanted something to hold onto, a memento, a feeling, a thought. The Quiet was deafening. My heart felt so empty, yearning for something that wasn't. I roamed upstairs, where I spent my twelfth to end of sixteenth year. It wasn't a long time in this house, it is not warm and cozy and welcoming for me. Simply a dwelling I visit.
I searched for something up there.... perhaps a piece of my past that I let me know that I existed. I rustled through the Christmas Stuff in Joe's old room- found a box with my Grandma (on my Mom's side) stuff. Found a few old pics but it kept my heart yearning. I meandered out to the garage, a true no man's land. I looked at my Dad's old Florist Stuff and felt such pain and exasperation. "Why in the hell did you keep all this crap, Dad. What memory did you leave for me to hold onto?"
I looked over to a bunch of old record albums on the side of the garage. My heart let out a sigh. Music- maybe he was leading me to comfort after all. My brothers old albums, all my favorites. Beatles, James Taylor, Beach Boys, Gordon Lightfoot, Simon and Garfunkel. Those and more were the ones that got me through as a teenager and on. I asked my bro if I could borrow them, and my heart lifted. Raym said he would pick me up a record player this week. It has always been the music, writing.
I have been very angry and frustrated at the father I had. I forgave him, which was like peeling an onion over the past couple of weeks at the hospital. The pain of what wasn't .... and now allowing what possibilities in from another dimension are the most difficult. Just letting it be, letting the forgiveness soak in, and let him be a true father from where he is now, without all the baggage. That is where the steel around my heart crumbles.... the little girl comes out, and I suppose the true healing really will take place. I guess honesty is all we really possess.
I look forward to my new record player, my records, and hours of my past love of music and song merging with who I am today..... and just let it all be.
Monday, July 2, 2012
The Counter
Ok, I am sitting here watching Dr Phil- and this dumb b---- is sitting on the stage making excuses why she allowed drugs and drinking in her teens home, then blaming the kids. The kids feel insane as she keeps saying "no," it is everyone else's fault. The kids, cops, other parents -as she stares blankly. Okay- this isn't even what my story is about, way too much work, don't even get me started. I will never stop! What did get me revved up was actually tongue in cheek humor from this broad. Dating back, you guessed it:
Clare's School 101... From a Sixteen Year Old- All you need to know and more.
I was thinking about when I started waitressing, and what I learned about peoples behaviors, and how it has served me to this day- when the red lights go off. Run don't walk. Now this is the real me.....
so if you aren't into my story at this point of the game, best be closing up shop and read something else, I feel like letting it fly. Anyone who really knows me.... knows how tame I have been writing. I love words, usage, tone, meaning, shock value. Yes- "shock value".
Too much Catholic School that never leaves me. Pleasures me to no end. So here goes and if you think I am not grinning from ear to ear, hmmm.
So, back in the days of waitressing at sixteen, I was learning all about life - and people's behaviors.
First I will talk a moment about mine. I have something that I don't know what it is called- numbers dyslexia? To this day I get numbers mixed up. I can't even explain it, but they get jumbled up in my head. So, back to waitressing. In the restaurant I began Hostessing first- and couldn't remember where all The Stations in the restaurant were.
It was a big place and all the girls had there favorite customers. They wanted me to put their regulars on their Station, but couldn't get the numbers straight in my head. The first four or five were fine- but past that they would get jumbled. These babes thought I was doing it on purpose. First of all, I wasn't smart, angry or cunning enough to pull off such a feat. I had not learned the female ways of the world to pull off such sabatoge. To calm my jilted nerves from these savage beasts, I would bring whole pies into the bathroom, place them up on the unit that held the paper towels for drying your hands. I kept a large spoon there and would dig in when I got stressed. I am an interesting gal pal, I know.
Can you imagine customers walking in, seeing this yummy pie perched up high, with a huge spoon rakishly laying in it? I would feast on that sucker until it was history.
I moved around a lot- I have always been hyper, and the sugar probably made me even more nervous and forgetful. These chicks were older and had worked this place along time, they were not having it with me, complaining constantly. Who could blame them? The managers had many "talks" with me. "I know you can do this if you just focus." Um, no, trust me, it's not gonna happen. By the time I became a waitress it was a million times better, I only had to focus on six stations. My life became much easier, not to mention these gals got their perfect worlds back.
I had to do a lot of night shifts first, the morning shifts were the much coveted ones.
Working the Counter was the job no one wanted and that is pretty much where I started.
Whoa- interesting crew. Now I know why one of the girls always unzipped her uniform way down in the morning and let her jugs fly a little more freely than usual, and they were some big bazookas.
She tripled her tips. I was sixteen, went to Church a lot and pretty much just stared.
Of course it was mostly men who sit at The Counter. Now when you are very shy, come from an extremely Catholic Home and have no idea how to talk to boys let alone men- you do a lot of observing. I had just turned sixteen, starting Junior Year. This was my first real job after just coming off of a Summer of being a Camp Counselor at a Catholic Girl's Camp in Wrightwood.
I worked until 9 pm and management would try to push it later and later. The Counter People that came in as the evening grew later were very interesting. The Hells Angels Bikers, interestingly enough were the ones I feared the least- even to this day. Again: Clare's everything you learn at 16.
They very nice and the type that would have walked me to my car late at night. The gents that actually scared me the most:
The TV Preacher type that came in with their families on Sundays dressed nice and proper. Good family men. Then the same men would slither in some weekday evening as if I hadn't just waited on them , their lovely wife and children.... and tell me how"They liked my bedroom eyes." First off, I had no idea what the hell they were talking about, but it had bedroom in it, and second it was gross.
I was sixteen, they were a lot older, married and TV Preacher slithering in.That was one of my greatest lessons about trusting my intuition. Those kind always said the grossest things to us.
They looked so clean cut- but said the most repulsive things. To this day.... Ray can see it coming from seven years of waitressing. Okay, that's "One of them." I just can't help myself sometimes. It is a look. You can just spot it. "Would you like some dessert?" " Yes, you baby on the counter." By seventeen I wouldn't blink an eye and just say you are so original. By twenty I would say," Yum, how about you on the counter for dessert ," as I was bringing out my other orders, ringing up the register and clocking out. I would be fired in two seconds now for what would fly out of my mouth. I like words, very descript words. I met amazing people, and it wasn't just one type- but that was the type I am laughing about today. Believe me there were many!
For Halloween we used to dress in Costume each year. Some girls dressed as Playboy Bunnies. I would rather have shot myself. Even wearing my long hair down out of a bun was too much of a reveal for me. I dressed in twenties style one year. I don't think people got the romantic look. I did and loved it. I will post it. Believe me.... I was as wild child as they came.
I just didn't like gross, invasive and still don't. I am private- even though I am very public at times.
I learned so much from waitressing, I never realized I would learn so much about life and keep applying it today.
I used to wait on Kenny Loggins Dad at The Counter. I didn't really care or pay attention all that much, to be honest. I am pretty sure I was too interested in getting back to my pie in the bathroom.
Clare's School 101... From a Sixteen Year Old- All you need to know and more.
I was thinking about when I started waitressing, and what I learned about peoples behaviors, and how it has served me to this day- when the red lights go off. Run don't walk. Now this is the real me.....
so if you aren't into my story at this point of the game, best be closing up shop and read something else, I feel like letting it fly. Anyone who really knows me.... knows how tame I have been writing. I love words, usage, tone, meaning, shock value. Yes- "shock value".
Too much Catholic School that never leaves me. Pleasures me to no end. So here goes and if you think I am not grinning from ear to ear, hmmm.
So, back in the days of waitressing at sixteen, I was learning all about life - and people's behaviors.
First I will talk a moment about mine. I have something that I don't know what it is called- numbers dyslexia? To this day I get numbers mixed up. I can't even explain it, but they get jumbled up in my head. So, back to waitressing. In the restaurant I began Hostessing first- and couldn't remember where all The Stations in the restaurant were.
It was a big place and all the girls had there favorite customers. They wanted me to put their regulars on their Station, but couldn't get the numbers straight in my head. The first four or five were fine- but past that they would get jumbled. These babes thought I was doing it on purpose. First of all, I wasn't smart, angry or cunning enough to pull off such a feat. I had not learned the female ways of the world to pull off such sabatoge. To calm my jilted nerves from these savage beasts, I would bring whole pies into the bathroom, place them up on the unit that held the paper towels for drying your hands. I kept a large spoon there and would dig in when I got stressed. I am an interesting gal pal, I know.
Can you imagine customers walking in, seeing this yummy pie perched up high, with a huge spoon rakishly laying in it? I would feast on that sucker until it was history.
I moved around a lot- I have always been hyper, and the sugar probably made me even more nervous and forgetful. These chicks were older and had worked this place along time, they were not having it with me, complaining constantly. Who could blame them? The managers had many "talks" with me. "I know you can do this if you just focus." Um, no, trust me, it's not gonna happen. By the time I became a waitress it was a million times better, I only had to focus on six stations. My life became much easier, not to mention these gals got their perfect worlds back.
I had to do a lot of night shifts first, the morning shifts were the much coveted ones.
Working the Counter was the job no one wanted and that is pretty much where I started.
Whoa- interesting crew. Now I know why one of the girls always unzipped her uniform way down in the morning and let her jugs fly a little more freely than usual, and they were some big bazookas.
She tripled her tips. I was sixteen, went to Church a lot and pretty much just stared.
Of course it was mostly men who sit at The Counter. Now when you are very shy, come from an extremely Catholic Home and have no idea how to talk to boys let alone men- you do a lot of observing. I had just turned sixteen, starting Junior Year. This was my first real job after just coming off of a Summer of being a Camp Counselor at a Catholic Girl's Camp in Wrightwood.
I worked until 9 pm and management would try to push it later and later. The Counter People that came in as the evening grew later were very interesting. The Hells Angels Bikers, interestingly enough were the ones I feared the least- even to this day. Again: Clare's everything you learn at 16.
They very nice and the type that would have walked me to my car late at night. The gents that actually scared me the most:
The TV Preacher type that came in with their families on Sundays dressed nice and proper. Good family men. Then the same men would slither in some weekday evening as if I hadn't just waited on them , their lovely wife and children.... and tell me how"They liked my bedroom eyes." First off, I had no idea what the hell they were talking about, but it had bedroom in it, and second it was gross.
I was sixteen, they were a lot older, married and TV Preacher slithering in.That was one of my greatest lessons about trusting my intuition. Those kind always said the grossest things to us.
They looked so clean cut- but said the most repulsive things. To this day.... Ray can see it coming from seven years of waitressing. Okay, that's "One of them." I just can't help myself sometimes. It is a look. You can just spot it. "Would you like some dessert?" " Yes, you baby on the counter." By seventeen I wouldn't blink an eye and just say you are so original. By twenty I would say," Yum, how about you on the counter for dessert ," as I was bringing out my other orders, ringing up the register and clocking out. I would be fired in two seconds now for what would fly out of my mouth. I like words, very descript words. I met amazing people, and it wasn't just one type- but that was the type I am laughing about today. Believe me there were many!
For Halloween we used to dress in Costume each year. Some girls dressed as Playboy Bunnies. I would rather have shot myself. Even wearing my long hair down out of a bun was too much of a reveal for me. I dressed in twenties style one year. I don't think people got the romantic look. I did and loved it. I will post it. Believe me.... I was as wild child as they came.
I just didn't like gross, invasive and still don't. I am private- even though I am very public at times.
I learned so much from waitressing, I never realized I would learn so much about life and keep applying it today.
I used to wait on Kenny Loggins Dad at The Counter. I didn't really care or pay attention all that much, to be honest. I am pretty sure I was too interested in getting back to my pie in the bathroom.
Sunday, July 1, 2012
Reinventing The Spencers
The past couple of days have been a nightmare and heavenly. My darling has begun his vacation,
letting down after such a large scale project has not been easy, to say the least. The feelings of coming back into the family, integrating again after being emotionally in another space for so long- it takes Raym awhile, and probably me to let the drawbridge back down.
This time around we realized some major changes took place from this particular project.We both changed so much. This was the biggest project of his career, and the Introvert had to come out of his shell and become a different person over the past few years, lead in a way he wasn't used to. I delved into writing in a way I had not before, and even deeper into my life. Dug in - tore it apart to find out where I needed to go, who I am all, the way through. Whatever that meant, and wherever it took me. We were both in foreign lands. Our kids are grown, but all still live under the same roof- we are a very close family, and communication is a very big part of our lives. It is always very evident when someone is out of step, out of tune.
Ray had to trust himself, that he was making the right decisions at work. Use his gut, raw instinct which he has always lived by, this time it was very large scale. I was using this time, letting my instinct delve into the deepest part of remaining skin that needed to be peeled away. The past few months as deeply as we respected one other, our worlds seemed so far apart. Our love always there, but sometimes when you are so "in it," getting through challenges, white knuckling it, beyond grateful you make it through.
That's what the past six months have been like for both of us. It finally materialized the past few days, when there was time to come together and feel, release emotions that had built up. Things we didn't even know existed. As with our relationship- this can go way back- to the beginning. Until it is done, cleaned up... it is never done. I will never care what any theory is said about this. Remaining residue is just that- if there is still hurt, pain, stuff hanging in the air that is still incomplete- it stands between you.
The depth of love we share- burns so intensely. We have always stated to one another we want to die in each others arms. The thought is unbearable not to be together. It is just how we feel. I say to him, "You better stay healthy and live a really long time, since you are eight years older than me.You are the best part of me, I have fought harder to find out who I am, because you have stood beside me. Behind me when I have fallen. I continually reinvent who I am , as you do. It is who we are. The gift of our children, this family makes me work harder every day to be more, better."
The advantage of stripping life down to the bone- feeling clean. It takes everything, and feels like you will never be done walking through the fire. Today I feel like I am finally beginning.
What do you think break ups and divorce are all about, by the time they get there. Over spilt milk, I don't think so- there are so many things leading to that spilt milk or socks left on the floor. It is usually raw pain of not being heard, misunderstood, not feeling loved. We were no different. The pain coming from growing up with parents who were not present. This is not about "poor us". It is about understanding, those of us, any of us who grew up with Intimacy Issues. Letting down and letting another in, trusting. It doesn't matter if you have been in a relationship six months or thirty years- letting down all the way, fighting fair- opening your heart in your deepest pain and knowing, believing that person standing in front of you will still love you for you. Not looking at you in disgust as the tears start, and roll through like a steam rolling train with no end in sight. The shaking, the anger, the grief. Showing this and more, all of me, my vulnerability, will you still want me? If I don't say the words perfectly what are in my heart in the heat of the moment- am I forgiven?
This has been the past two days, reinventing The Spencers on the deepest level. Telling the truth, but wait haven't we done this one million times? Oh, but this one went deeper. Ouch- do you still love me when the truth is less than pretty about the beginning? My neediness, your unkindness? This is the price we pay of uniting with no roadmap from either side, just love and a whole lot of hope.We wished, yet had no plan- I liked you and you liked me. We married and had babies and life felt like bliss because all we need was love until.....
I didn't understand how to balance a checkbook and you had no concept of time. I figured out family and you figured out work.... never a plan we just stuck to what we were good at. Time went on, we realized what we lacked. I need more in the Work Department - I want to find my way. It is time for you to be less Workaholic and participate in Home Life.We both feel so ill equipped, and shed more tears the past few days, realizing the changes that need to occur. Our shortcomings, what we had to overcome just to get here. A life time. Now the reinvention, the love, the one thing we know for sure that always gets us through. Forgiving ourselves for our perceived imperfections, each other for hurting one another, never on purpose, it is because we are so close. I have never been as ready for this next adventure wherever it leads. We're both more than ready to turn the page and see what is waiting for us.
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